Miss Silver Comes To Stay

by Patricia Wentworth

  The Superintendent maintained his poise. He said,

  “I can’t force you to answer my questions, Miss Bell, but when the inquest is held you will be obliged to attend and give your evidence on oath. Meanwhile it is of course your duty to assist the police in every way you can.”

  She stood there. Now that he had made her angry, she wasn’t frightened any more. He couldn’t make her speak- he had said so himself. She wouldn’t answer anything she didn’t want to. She wouldn’t answer anything about Carr being angry.

  Now he was speaking again.

  “Mr. Robertson went out, and then Miss Cray went out?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long were they away?”

  “They didn’t go together. He went out of the front door, and she went out at the back.”

  “All right, we’ll take them one at a time. When did Miss Cray come in?”

  What did he want with all these silly questions? What was he getting at? She said,

  “It was a quarter past nine-the news had just finished.”

  “And Mr. Robertson?”

  “I don’t know-I went to bed.”

  “You didn’t hear him come in?”

  “No, I didn’t. I can’t tell you any more about anything.”

  He said, “Just a minute, Miss Bell-it was after Mr. Robertson had recognized the picture that he went out, didn’t he?”

  “I told you he did.”

  “What time was that?”

  “It was half past eight. I looked to see because of the wireless programme.”

  “Mr. Robertson recognized this picture and almost immediately went out of the house. He was angry, wasn’t he? Did he bang the door?”

  He’d trick her, would he? Fancy’s temper boiled over.

  “Ask him!” she said and ran out of the room. The dining-room door fell to behind her with a resounding slam.

  Constable Whitcombe so far forgot himself as to whistle.

  CHAPTER 20

  Carr had walked into Lenton at very much the same pace as he had used the night before. He found Jonathan Moore in his shop discoursing at leisure with old Lady Fitchett. The contrast of her square bulk and gruff manners with Jonathan’s distinguished height and polished courtesy would have entertained him at any other time. As it was, he chose the other side of a Chippendale bookcase and made for the door at the back of the shop.

  It took more than a bookcase to deflect Lady Fitchett’s interest. Her attention wandered from the Hispano-Mauresque plates which were under discussion. She demanded with energy,

  “Who was that?”

  Jonathan Moore looked vague.

  “I really couldn’t say.”

  “Well, he’s just walked through your private door as if it belonged to him.”

  “One of the men perhaps-”

  “One of the men, my foot! It looked like Carr Robertson.”

  “Then it probably was.”

  Lady Fitchett snorted. Nothing made her so angry as an attempt at concealment.

  “Jonathan, you are prevaricating! Is Carr back?”

  “I believe so.”

  “High time, if you ask me! Has he made it up with Elizabeth?”

  She got a most charming smile.

  “You had better ask him.”

  There was a second snort.

  “You want a great deal too much for these plates.”

  “Think of my income tax.”.

  “Think of mine!”

  Carr went through the private door and whistled. The sound made Elizabeth ’s heart turn over. This was what he had always done-come through the door and stood just inside it whistling, so that if she was upstairs she would hear him and come down, and if she was in the parlour she had only to call, “Come in!”

  She called, and next moment there he was, and she was in his arms. Something about the way he held her set her wondering. Then all in a minute she was afraid. He didn’t kiss her, he only held her as if he couldn’t bear to let her go.

  “Carr-what is it?”

  She had to say it again. Even then there was a pause before she got her answer. The hard grip relaxed. He set her away at arm’s length, his hands heavy upon her shoulders, and said,

  “You’ll have to chuck me again.”

  “Carr!”

  “Somebody murdered James Lessiter last night, and they’ll be pretty well bound to think it was me.”

  She kept her eyes very steadily on his face.

  “And was it?”

  He laughed harshly.

  “There-you see-you’d believe it yourself for twopence!”

  Elizabeth ’s eyes were very bright-hazel eyes as clear as water.

  “Not for twopence-only if you said so.”

  “Well, I didn’t. I might have before I saw you, not afterwards. And anyhow I shouldn’t have gone up behind him and brained him with a poker.”

  “Carr!”

  “Somebody did. I found him-”

  “You didn’t go there!”

  “Oh, yes, I did. It’s no good telling me I was a fool-I know that now. I didn’t know he was going to be murdered. I was going to see him and have a show-down and bang the door on the whole thing-finish-new book, chapter one-wedding-bells and a happy-ever-after story. It seemed like quite a good idea. You see if he was going to be up and down to Melling House, and I was going to be to and fro to the Cottage, we were more or less bound to meet. I thought it would be better to have a show-down in decent privacy. We could then cut each other at leisure, and Melling would stop asking us anywhere together. It did seem a good idea.”

  She stood there, her head with its windblown hair a little tilted back on the long, slender throat, her eyes never wavering from his face.

  “What happened? Tell me.”

  He told her about seeing Catherine’s light and going on up to the house, then round the corner, up the two steps, and in through the door that stood ajar, and the drawn curtains. He spared her nothing-the man lying dead across his desk, the stained poker, the raincoat with its drenched sleeve and splashed skirt.

  When he had finished she said,

  “It’s a pity you wiped the poker.”

  “I had to-in case-”

  She shook her head.

  “It was a pity. You said you wouldn’t have come up behind anyone and hit them over the head with the poker. Did you think Rietta would?”

  The colour came up into his face.

  “I didn’t begin to think until a lot later than that. That damned coat was there-the next I knew I was wiping the poker. I don’t suppose it made a ha’p’orth of difference. The murderer had been thinking all right. He either slipped on that coat to do the job, or else he messed it up afterwards- on purpose. Do you think he would have overlooked the poker?”

  “No-” She thought for a moment. “Carr, if you took the raincoat away and didn’t leave any fingerprints yourself, I don’t see what there is to make anyone think it was you.”

  He said grimly, “There’s our little Fancy-that’s all. She and I were looking at Henry Ainger’s papers together, when I turned up James Lessiter’s picture. I can’t remember what I said, but she will. Something on the lines of ‘I’ve got you, you swine!’ After which I proceeded to bang out of the house.”

  “Won’t she hold her tongue? Couldn’t you have asked her-”

  He was frowning fiercely.

  “No!”

  Then all at once he relaxed.

  “It wouldn’t be a bit of good if I did. The child is quite artless, and they’d have it out of her. Better let her say her piece and take the line that we haven’t got anything to hide.”

  The telephone bell rang. Elizabeth walked over to the table and lifted the receiver. He heard her say, “Yes, he’s here.” Then she looked over her shoulder.

  “Carr, it’s Rietta. She wants to speak to you.”

  Rietta Cray’s deep voice came to him along the wire.

  She was speaking German. She said,

  “It’s not
too good, Carr. They have taken away the coat. We didn’t wash it well enough. Mrs. Mayhew knows I was there. She listened. She heard him speak about his will and say, ‘If young Carr murders me tonight, you’ll come in for a tidy fortune.’ It’s not so good, is it? I thought you had better be warned.”

  There was a click as she hung up. He did the same, and turned, repeating what she had said. At the end he used the words Rietta had used.

  “Not so good, is it?”

  She said soberly, “They’ll find out who did it. But you ought to have legal advice.”

  “Yes-I’ll go and see old Holderness.”

  “He’s not-a criminal lawyer.”

  His mouth twisted.

  “Gosh-that rubs it in!”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You needn’t be-we’re going to have to go through the mill all right. To come back to Holderness. He knows us all, and if we’re too criminal for him, he can turn us over to somebody else. He’ll know who we’d better have. I’ll go round and see him.”

  “Come back and tell me what he says.”

  He nodded, went a step or two towards the door, and came back.

  “ Elizabeth, last night is washed out. We’re not engaged.”

  Her eyes were brighter than ever. She was tall enough to put her arms round his neck without standing on tiptoe. Her locked hands drew his head down until she could lay her cheek against his.

  “Aren’t we?”

  “No.”

  “All right, darling, I don’t mind-we’ll get married instead.”

  “ Elizabeth!”

  She said, “Don’t be silly! Run along and see Mr. Holderness!”

  CHAPTER 21

  Mr. Holderness sat back in his chair. His florid colour stood high, but the black brows which made such a handsome contrast with his thick grey hair were drawn together in a frowning line, and the eyes they shaded had a worried look. It had become more and more pronounced as Carr’s story proceeded. He drew in his breath now and let it out again in gusty protest.

  “My dear Carr!”

  Carr’s lip twitched.

  “Damnable-isn’t it?”

  Mr. Holderness drummed on his knee with big white fingers.

  “You realize, of course, that if all this comes out, you’ll be in very serious danger of arrest.”

  “I’ve done nothing else but realize it.”

  “Of course there is no reason why it should all come out.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Who knows that you went up to Melling House last night? How many people have you told?”

  Carr jerked a shoulder.

  “Rietta- Elizabeth -you-”

  “Then don’t tell anyone else. They must hold their tongues, and you must hold yours.”

  He said slowly, “I’m not sure about that.”

  “You’d better be.”

  “I’m not sure. You see, they know Rietta was there-they’ll say she had a motive. She went up to warn him that I’d found out about him and Marjory. He told her some cock-and-bull story to soothe her down. Then he produced a will he had made in her favour when they were engaged-and Mrs. Mayhew was listening at the door! She heard him say, ‘If young Carr murders me tonight, you’ll come in for a tidy fortune.’ That puts it fair and square on Rietta-or me. If I back out, it just leaves Rietta. Besides, everything else apart, Fancy will tell them about my recognizing his photograph and slamming off in a blazing rage.”

  Mr. Holderness set his jaw in a very obstinate manner.

  “There will be time enough for you to commit suicide if it proves that Rietta is in real danger. I really must insist that you hold your tongue.”

  Carr cocked an eyebrow.

  “Suicide?”

  Mr. Holderness stared at him angrily.

  “You might just as well, if you propose to tell the police, firstly, that you recognized James Lessiter’s portrait last night as that of the man who seduced and deserted your wife, and secondly, that you were present on the scene of the crime at or about the time it was committed. You can do as you like, but I refuse to be associated with any such folly. Rietta is not, to my mind, in anything like so serious a position as you are. No one who knew her would believe that she would commit a sordid crime for money.”

  Carr gave a half absent nod, and then came out with,

  “I wonder who did do it-”

  The large, well kept hand rose and fell upon Mr. Holderness’s knee.

  “James Lessiter had made a great deal of money. That kind of fortune is often made at the expense of somebody else. It seems improbable to me that it was a local crime, though quite possibly pains may have been taken to make it look like one. I wonder, now, whether there is anything missing. I had a very careful inventory taken after Mrs. Lessiter’s death. I think the first thing for me to do will be to communicate with the police and suggest that they should check on it. There were some valuable things in that house. If any of them are missing-well, that will be something for the police to follow up. And meanwhile I insist that you keep your own counsel. If you are asked to make a statement you will say that, acting under the advice of your solicitor, you prefer to say nothing until the inquest. That will give me time to find out how the land lies.”

  Carr nodded briefly, his mind elsewhere. He appeared to be debating something. An air of hesitation in the end resolved itself. He said,

  “Do you know anything about Cyril Mayhew?”

  The hand on Mr. Holderness’s knee jumped slightly.

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “Idle curiosity. I asked Rietta about him the other day, and she shied off the subject. What has he been up to?”

  “I believe he has been in trouble.”

  “With the police?”

  “I am afraid so. He was bound over.”

  “What has he done?”

  “Theft from his employer, I believe. The Mayhews felt it very much. It’s hard when an only son goes wrong. They are most respectable people.”

  “Only children get spoilt. Cyril was a horrid little squirt.”

  “Parents are often extremely unwise. What made you ask about Cyril Mayhew?”

  Carr looked at the ceiling.

  “Nothing-except that I saw him at Lenton station last night.”

  Mr. Holderness knit his brows.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Did you speak to him?”

  “No. I only saw him by accident. He got out of the last carriage and cut away behind the booking-office. It didn’t strike me he wanted to be spoken to. I’ve been wondering if he went home last night.”

  Mr. Holderness said,

  “I think we will ask the police.”

  CHAPTER 22

  When Rietta Cray had finished her telephone call she remained sitting at the writing-table upon which the instrument stood. She liked a good-sized table, and was grateful for the room afforded by a bulging bay which broke the front wall of the dining-room. She stayed there, the dining-table at her back-one of the old-fashioned Victorian kind built to take a family and much too large for its present surroundings. Neither it nor the heavy upright chairs with imitation Sheriton backs and seats of faded brocade were in the least suited to a cottage, but Rietta had grown up with them, and it would never have occurred to her to change them. They belonged to the time when her father had the leading practice in Lenton and they lived in a big house on Main Street. That time seemed very far away. Dr. Cray died, and they came to live at the White Cottage. Nearly thirty years ago. A long time.

  She sat looking at the telephone for some minutes before she stretched out her hand and again lifted the receiver. The voice which answered her from the exchange was not Gladys Luker’s, as it had been when she rang up Carr. It was Miss Presser who said, “Hullo!” and that made everything a great deal easier. Everyone in Melling knew that Gladys listened in if she thought there was going to be anything worth listening for, but Miss Prosser couldn’t be bothered. She
was not deaf but a little hard of hearing, and as she put it herself, “I’ve got enough to do getting hold of what I’ve got to.”

  Rietta gazed at the number she wanted and had to repeat it-“21 Lenfold.” She wondered whether Miss Prosser would remember that it was Randal March’s private number. On being made Chief Constable of the county he had bought an agreeable small house some miles out of Lenton, installed an elderly married couple to do for him, and developed an interest in the garden, which boasted a tiny stream, a water-lily pond, and a patch of woodland.

  As she waited for the call to come through she told herself that she was a fool to ring up, but that she would probably be preserved from the consequences of her folly because as likely as not Randal wouldn’t be there. He might if he was coming home to lunch. But then it was quite likely that he wouldn’t be coming home to lunch. He might even be coming over here-if Superintendent Drake had had time to make his report.

  Someone lifted the receiver on the other end. Randal March said, “Hullo!” The colour ran hot to the roots of Rietta’s hair. Why in the world had she rung him up? A most preposterous piece of folly. She heard her own voice say in deep, calm tones,

  “Is that you, Randal?”

  He sounded warm and pleased as he said, “Rietta!”

  Her flush died down. She thought, “He hasn’t heard yet- it’s all right.” She said,

  “I just wanted to ask you something. It’s about your Miss Silver. You know she’s staying here with Mrs. Voycey who is an old school friend of hers-”

  “So I gathered. Have you met her? Unique, isn’t she?”

  “Yes. Randal, how good is she-at her job, I mean?”

  He laughed.

  “Oh, definitely top of the class! No, that’s the wrong simile. She’s the teacher up at the desk, with the rest of us sitting in a row in the infants’ class.”

  Her voice went deeper, slower.

  “Do you really mean that? Seriously?”

  “Quite seriously. Rietta, why do you ask? Is there anything wrong?”

  “Quite a lot.” She slipped into French just in case. “James Lessiter was murdered here last night.”