Miss Silver Comes To Stay

by Patricia Wentworth

  The deep colour of fury rose to the very roots of the thick grey hair, the dark eyes glared, the left hand lying on his knee jerked into a clench, the right hand tightened upon the arm of the chair until every knuckle showed as white as bone. To the two men who were watching him it seemed as if at any moment all this intense rage and protest must break into a violence of invective, yet moment by moment fell into the silence and he made no sound. Then very slowly the purple colour ebbed away. The eyelids dropped over the glaring eyes. When they rose again the paroxysm was over. He was left very much his usual self-a little paler, a little sterner, a little more dignified. He said,

  “Very well. I have, of course, no objection to offer. I do not know what you expect to find. I should have thought my years of practice in this town and the record of my firm might have protected me from what I can only describe as an outrage. I have nothing to conceal, and I can only hope that you will have as little to regret.”

  He pushed back his chair, rose to his feet, and crossed to the left-hand side of the hearth, where he stood in a very composed manner whilst he pulled a steel chain out of his pocket and selected one of the keys depending from it.

  The panelling about the hearth was enriched with a double row of heavily carved rosettes rising from the floor to a level with the mantelshelf, after which they turned inwards to frame the Stanway portrait. Mr. Holderness took hold of two of these rosettes and twisted them. There was a click, and a section of the panelling started opening like a door until it disclosed the steel front of a modern safe. Nothing could have been more ordinary than the manner in which he unlocked the steel door, set it wide, and withdrew the key.

  He said, “There you are, gentlemen,” and went back as far as his chair, where he stood to watch them, one hand in his pocket, the other still holding the bunch of keys.

  The safe was fairly full. There were packets of docketed papers. Drake lifted them out, only to find more of the same behind. These too were taken out. Three old-fashioned leather cases followed. They contained an amethyst necklace, set after the Victorian manner in heavy gold, with two matching bracelets. As Drake opened the cases, Mr. Holderness remarked in a sardonic manner,

  “I do not really know that these will help you-or Mr. Allan Grover. They were my mother’s. Since my sister does not care to wear them, I keep them here, and sometimes please myself with looking at them. They are not of any great value.”

  At the back of the safe two cardboard shoe-boxes stood one upon the other. As Drake reached for them, Mr. Holderness’s hand came out of his pocket. He walked round to the other side of the chair and sat down. Drake lifted the first box clear and raised the lid. March saw a crumpled mass of tissue paper, Drake’s hand with the reddish hairs on the back taking it away, and under the paper a gold foot gleaming, the long line of bare shining limbs-a golden rose-crowned Summer, ten inches high.

  Drake said, “There’s another, sir,” but before the paper had fallen from the companion Spring, Mr. Holderness groaned and slumped sideways in his chair.

  CHAPTER 42

  Miss Silver was alone in Mrs. Voycey’s drawing-room. It being Monday, Cecilia had gone forth with a shopping-basket to the Stores, from which she would presently return replenished with groceries and gossip. Miss Silver, for this time, had excused herself.

  “I should, perhaps, write a letter or two, so I feel that I would on the whole prefer to stay at home this morning, if you will not think me rude, my dear Cecilia.”

  Mrs. Voycey did not think it at all rude. Stimulating as she found dear Maud’s company, it would have made it difficult for her to have a heart-to-heart talk with Mrs. Grover, and a heart-to-heart talk she meant to have. On Bessie Crook’s authority Maud Silver had sent for Allan Grover yesterday evening, and when she, Bessie, had returned after a good hour in Mrs. Grover’s parlour, not only was Allan still there, but the Chief Constable’s car at the door, and he and Inspector Drake in the drawing-room for the best part of three-quarters of an hour. And when Mrs. Voycey got home from the evening service all dear Maud could say was, “My dear Cecilia, I would tell you if I could, but at present it is all very confidential.”

  Cecilia Voycey had always been told that discretion was a virtue. She would not for the world have denied or questioned it. All the same there are virtues which are very well in the abstract, but which, encountered in the flesh, can be a source of extreme irritation. Maud was perfectly right of course, but Cecilia felt the need of an uninhibited gossip with Mrs. Grover.

  Miss Silver sat in the drawing-room and knitted. She was well away with the second sleeve of little Josephine’s jacket, and hoped to finish it before lunch. She would then crochet an ornamental edging all round and furnish it with bows of washing ribbon, after which she could start upon the knickers. The day being chilly, a small fire of logs burned on the hearth, which was set with bright rose-coloured tiles. They did not quite strike the same key as the damask curtains, which in their turn just failed to hit it off with the paeonies, roses and other floral adornments which bloomed so brightly on every chair and sofa. Miss Silver, who liked colour and liked it in profusion, considered the whole effect very tasteful, very bright. She had inhabited some drab schoolrooms in her time.

  She knitted, but her thoughts were far away. She did not exactly expect a visit, but she thought it possible that she might receive a telephone call.

  When Randal March came into the room she rose to meet him and gave him her hand. He clasped it strongly, held it for a little longer than usual, and said in a tone of extreme gravity,

  “Well, you were right.”

  As he released her and moved over to the fire, she said,

  “Did you arrest him?”

  “No. He had cyanide on him. He is dead.”

  “How extremely shocking!”

  “It will save a lot of scandal, but of course-it shouldn’t have happened.”

  She seated herself. He dropped into the chair on the other side of the hearth and went on speaking.

  “You know, he put up such a good case that I began to think I was heading for a crash. Even if Allan Grover’s evidence had been admitted it could have been torn to shreds. Nobody loves the eavesdropper-and a clerk eavesdropping on his employer!” He made a gesture. “If it hadn’t been for your backing, I would never have taken it as far as I did this morning, and right in the middle I got one of the worst hollow sinkings I can remember. The fellow was so respectable, so imposing, so virtuously indignant-it just didn’t seem possible.”

  “What happened, Randal?”

  “We had a search-warrant. He opened his safe and stood back to watch us whilst we turned it out. At some point in the proceedings he must have walked round his chair and sat down with his back to us. He had the poison on him, and he must have taken it when Drake fetched out the two shoe-boxes which were right at the back of the safe. Remember the gold Florentine figures-the four Seasons? There were two of them in each box. We had just got Summer out, when he groaned and fell over.”

  Miss Silver repeated a previous comment.

  “Very shocking indeed.”

  March said grimly, “I shall probably be criticized for having allowed it to happen.”

  “You can hardly be said to have allowed it.”

  “No, but I was off my guard. The fact is, my mind was a good deal taken up with the idea that we had bitten off more than we could chew.”

  “My dear Randal!”

  “Sorry-it slipped out. Anyhow that’s what I was feeling like. And then Drake was opening one of those shoe-boxes, and I saw a golden foot sticking out. Holderness must have seen it too, and once anyone had seen it the game was up. I ought to have gone over to him at once, but I took just that first moment to feel relieved and to see the figure come out of the box, and by that time the mischief was done. Now why in heaven’s name did he take those figures to start with, or having taken them, why did he keep them?”

  Miss Silver gave a gentle cough.

  “I imagine that th
ere may have been two reasons. The loss of the figures would suggest a burglary. And without doubt Mr. Holderness would be aware that they were extremely valuable. He may have thought that he would be able to dispose of them abroad by some roundabout method-there are ways in which these things can be done. As far as keeping them in his safe is concerned, where else would you expect him to keep them? The possibility of suspicion falling on him would not, I think, have entered his mind. He could lock the figures away and feel quite secure. And so he would have been if it had not been for Allan Grover and your search-warrant.”

  He smiled at her.

  “You are too modest. The proper ending to that sentence is-‘if it hadn’t been for Miss Maud Silver.’ And as to its being my search-warrant, I can tell you there was a time when I came very near to disowning it. I had some embittered thoughts about my own weakness in having given way to your very considerable pressure. May I ask now what you did expect us to find?”

  “Just what you did find, Randal.”

  “The figures?”

  “If Mr. Holderness was the murderer, I had no doubt that they would be there. And after hearing Allan Grover’s story I had no doubt that Mr. Holderness was the murderer.”

  “Then it comes back to ‘if it hadn’t been for Miss Maud Silver.’ ”

  She was knitting industriously. Over the clicking needles she shook her head.

  “Oh, no-I can claim no credit. I merely noticed one or two points, and having met Allan Grover, I thought it might be helpful if I could have a talk with him.”

  Randal March continued to smile at her with a good deal of affection. He leaned forward now and said,

  “Ah-those points. Are you going to tell me what they were? I should very much like to know.”

  “Certainly, if you wish it. As you are aware, I came to the case with a perfectly open mind. I knew none of the people, I had no preconceived ideas, and I was therefore very much on the alert for the impressions which I was bound to receive. To begin with Miss Cray. I found it quite impossible to believe that she had any guilty knowledge. I found her open, candid, honest, and extremely scrupulous about involving anyone else. It was quite out of the question that she should have taken those Florentine figures or committed a murderous attack upon Mr. Lessiter.”

  The warm colour came up into Randal March’s face. He nodded and said,

  “Go on.”

  Miss Silver measured the pale blue cuff which she was knitting. It wanted half an inch of the right length. She pulled a fresh strand of wool from the ball and continued.

  “With regard to her nephew Mr. Carr Robertson, my impressions came to me almost entirely through other people. He was in no mood to allow me to question him, and I did not expect him to do so. But when Miss Cray with obvious sincerity declared that he had at first been quite certain that it was she who had killed Mr. Lessiter, and that even now he was not quite sure that she had not done so, I was inclined to accept her statement, and to consider that the murderer must be looked for elsewhere. The third suspect, Cyril Mayhew, I dismissed after hearing what Allan Grover had to say. Everything else apart, if he had wished to steal, there must have been many things which might have been taken and either not missed for months or never missed at all. The extreme improbability of his removing these noticeable ornaments from the room most constantly occupied by Mr. Lessiter, and the certainty that such a theft would immediately be discovered, occurred to me with considerable force. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed clear that the figures had been stolen, not only by someone who knew their value, but by someone who intended that value to suggest a motive for Mr. Lessiter’s murder which would disguise the real motive.”

  March said, “That might have involved Carr Robertson.”

  Miss Silver shook her head.

  “Superficially, yes-but actually, no. Consider the evidence. He has suddenly discovered that it is James Lessiter who has seduced and deserted his wife-he rushes out of the house. But he does not go up to Melling House-he walks over to Lenton and spends quite a long time with Miss Elizabeth Moore. They were at one time engaged, they had been separated, they now become reconciled. It is just possible that a man in those circumstances might commit a murder, but I think it extremely improbable, and I certainly do not think that if he had done so he would have brought that bloodstained raincoat home and introduced it to Miss Cray with the accusing remark, ‘Why did you do it?’ ”

  “He did that-”

  “Yes, Randal. It convinced Miss Cray of his innocence, and it convinced me. Though I had not seen much of him, I had received a very definite impression of his character. He might have been worked up to the point of violence, but he was incapable of duplicity or theft. And if he had killed Mr. Lessiter, it was inconceivable that he should have tried to shift the blame on to Miss Cray.”

  “Yes, that’s true enough. And where did you go from there?”

  She coughed gently.

  “I considered Mrs. Welby, but I could not arrive at any conclusion. Both from my own observation and from what I had heard about her I judged her to be of a cold and self-centered disposition. I was sure that she was untruthful, and I suspected that she was dishonest.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “How devastating! All that, but not murder?”

  She shook her head reprovingly.

  “I could not believe that she could have brought herself to hit a man over the head with a poker. If she had been going to murder anyone she would, I am sure, have employed poison. A woman of her fastidious refinement would have to be carried quite outside herself with passion before she could kill a man in so brutal a manner. And Mrs. Welby was, I am convinced, incapable of being carried out of herself by passion. All the same, I was sure she knew something that she was keeping back, which was of course the case.”

  Leaning back in his chair, March looked at her with a half-quizzical admiration.

  “And now we come to Mr. Holderness. You know, I really would like to know how you got there.”

  “In the simplest manner in the world.” She paused to measure the pale blue cuff, and finding it long enough, began to cast off. “The whole thing really turns on those gold figures. They were not taken by accident, but for a definite purpose. I believed that purpose to be two-fold. The value of the figures entered into it, and the question of making the whole affair appear to be the result of a burglary. I had to consider who would have the necessary special knowledge about the figures. I had already discarded Miss Cray, Mr. Carr Robertson, and Mrs. Welby. The latter might have taken them so far as any moral scruples were concerned, but she was already under suspicion owing to her previous misappropriations, and I was sure she was much too clear-headed to have added to her danger by so compromising a theft.”

  “Did you never consider the Mayhews? They could hardly have helped knowing all about the figures.”

  “I think they probably took them for granted. When a thing has always been there, you do not think about it. I was naturally struck by Mrs. Mayhew’s extreme distress and prostration, but this was explained by her anxiety on account of her son. As soon as this was relieved, she made a remarkable recovery. As regards Mr. Mayhew, I found that he enjoyed the respect of everyone in Melling. I think in a village it would be very difficult for him to bear the kind of character he bears without deserving it. Also, on comparison of the time of his arrival by bus from Lenton with the time of Mr. Carr Robertson’s visit, it did not seem possible that he could have committed the murder. Mr. Robertson must have reached Melling House about ten-thirty. Mr. Lessiter was dead and the raincoat heavily stained. Mr. Mayhew, I believe, came out from Lenton on the last bus, which does not arrive until eleven. I had, therefore, to consider who else would be likely to know about the figures. It was at this point that the name of Mr. Holderness presented itself.”

  “But my dear Miss Silver-”

  She gave him a look faintly tinged with reproof.

  “I did not say that I suspected him. His name
presented itself as that of a person who must surely have known the value of the figures.”

  “They were entered in the inventory and for probate merely as four gilt figures.”

  She coughed.

  “I found that a suspicious circumstance. It was common knowledge that Mrs. Lessiter was on very confidential terms with her solicitor, and according to Miss Cray she was both proud of the figures, which were a legacy from her side of the family, and fond of talking about them to her intimates. I thought it impossible that Mr. Holderness should not have known their history.”

  March said drily, “He evidently did.”

  “I was sure of it. The next thing that attracted my attention was Mr. Holderness’s advice to Mr. Carr Robertson, who had consulted him professionally. He advised him to make a full statement to the police.”

  “Very correct.”

  With some half dozen stitches left on her last needle, Miss Silver paused in her task of casting off.

  “My dear Randal, it is no part of a solicitor’s duty to advise a course which must lead to the immediate arrest of his client, at so early a stage and with an inquest pending. The reason why Mr. Carr Robertson was not arrested was, I imagine, the emergence at that time of a new suspect in Cyril Mayhew. But my attention had been once more directed to Mr. Holderness. I found myself wondering why he should have given his client such dangerous advice.”

  “You are very acute.”

  “We now come to the matter of the telephone conversations as reported by Gladys Luker. I was extremely anxious for this information. Miss Cray was protecting Mrs. Welby and would give me no help, but I had rather more than a suspicion that Gladys would be able to do so. Her aunt is a friend of Mrs. Voycey’s housekeeper, and I had learned from Mrs. Crook that the girl seemed to have something on her mind. When you let me see a copy of her statement I was struck by the recurrence of Mr. Holderness’s name. Consider those two calls and their implications. Mr. Lessiter has been looking for a memorandum left by his mother. He has, by all accounts, turned the house upside down to find it. When he finds it, what is the first thing he does? He asks Gladys Luker for Mr. Holderness’s private number. She only catches the first words he said, but they are quite illuminating. He says, ‘Good-evening, Mr. Holderness. I’ve found my mother’s memorandum.’ A little later, when he is ringing up Mrs. Welby, he says the same thing, ‘Well, Catherine, I’ve found the memorandum.’ After which he goes on to tax her with misappropriation of his property, and after stating his intention to prosecute he says, ‘I’ve an old score to settle, and I always settle my scores. I’ve just been ringing old Holderness up.’ Randal, those words made me think very seriously indeed. They would pass an indication that he had consulted his solicitor about Mrs. Welby’s fault, but I rather doubted if he would have rung Mr. Holderness up at that hour, and at his private address, if he had not had some more particular reason. In the light of those two telephone conversations, both beginning in the same way, and the remark about paying off old scores-not an old score, you will observe-I began to consider whether the memorandum referred to might not contain something which would embarrass Mr. Holderness as well as Mrs. Welby. Mrs. Lessiter’s circumstances would have made a fraudulent manipulation of funds comparatively easy. She was not businesslike. She trusted her solicitor, and treated him as an intimate friend. Her son had been absent for so many years that no one expected him to return, or to take any great interest in his mother’s dispositions.”