Mr. Brading's Collection

by Patricia Wentworth

THIRTY-THREE

  ‘WELL, WHAT DO you make of that?’

  March was alone with Miss Silver. They were in the laboratory. Lilias Grey, at Miss Silver’s suggestion, had been invited to retire to Lewis Brading’s room, where there was a very comfortable couch. An elderly chambermaid had been placed in charge of her. Miss Grey made no objection. She had cried a good deal, but dried her eyes when it was suggested, also by Miss Silver, that she might care to have a cup of tea. Crisp went away when she did, leaving March alone with Miss Silver. She was considering how difficult it was to disentangle the lie that was half a truth from the truth that was half a lie. She recalled with admiration the lines in which Lord Tennyson had dealt with this fact. Leaning back in one of those low armless chairs which she preferred, she continued to knit. She answered March’s question with another.

  ‘What do you make of it yourself?’

  He lifted a hand and let it fall again.

  ‘It all depends on whether she is telling the truth. Is she?’

  ‘I think so, Randal.’

  His voice took a cynical tone.

  ‘All that rubbish about the brooch being borrowed, and wanted to make a sketch of it?’

  Her needles clicked.

  ‘Oh, no, of course not. That was just a smokescreen. She is the type who will never look a fault in the face and admit to it. It is the common shoplifting type. They must excuse what they do, put a good face on it, and keep their self-respect. It is a kind of muddled thinking which corrodes the whole character. Miss Grey exemplifies it at every turn. She stole Mr. Brading’s brooch, but I am quite sure that she did not shoot him.’

  He was inclined to agree. He said,

  ‘Your reasons?’

  She was knitting with a certain brisk cheerfulness.

  ‘My dear Randal, this crime was very carefully premeditated, very cleverly plotted. It bears the marks of a clever mind working swiftly and ruthlessly — quick to turn circumstances to account. Can you see Miss Grey’s mind operating in any such manner? Pray consider the situation in which she found herself. She had robbed Mr. Brading. He had found her out. She knew that Mrs. Constantine was aware of her theft. Mr. Brading had rung up to tell her she must bring the brooch back. She did so. Do you suppose for a moment that she had provided herself with a weapon and had come down here with the intention of shooting him? I do not suppose that she has ever handled a firearm in her life. With her capacity for self-deception it would be impossible for her to believe that Mr. Brading really meant to expose her. She expected an unpleasant scene, but not that he would proceed to extremities. Had he convinced her that she was in real danger, she would have had recourse, not to Major Forrest’s revolver, but to Major Forrest himself. She would have informed him in a deluge of tears of the cruel and unsympathetic attitude which Mr. Brading was taking up. I can assure you, Randal, that she is — though for different reasons — quite as incapable of shooting anyone as I am myself. The sight of Mr. Brading’s dead body terrified her, and, true to her type, her sole idea was to pretend that nothing had happened. She does not think clearly or intelligently at any time. Under the influence of shock she does not really think at all. She acts from instinct and habit. I am sure it did not occur to her that by stating Mr. Brading was alive when she left him she would be throwing suspicion on Major Forrest.’

  March said dryly,

  ‘She was capable of sufficient thought to destroy the will.’

  Miss Silver shook her head in a very decided manner.

  ‘Not thought, Randal — instinct. Her whole course of conduct shows her to have been strongly acquisitive. She read the will, and saw that Mr. Brading had left everything to Mrs. Robinson. She had only to strike a match in order to counteract what must have appeared to her to be a monstrous injustice. You have seen her and heard her. Is it not perfectly clear that she would consider such a course to be quite justifiable?’

  ‘Oh, she would justify anything.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  After a moment he said,

  ‘If you’re going to take her evidence, it clears Charles Forrest. That’s what you came down here to do isn’t it?’

  Miss Silver did not rise. She said sedately,

  ‘I came down here to serve the ends of justice and to discover the truth. You know me too well to believe that I could have any other motive.’

  He smiled.

  ‘You have just produced an extremely able piece of special pleading.’

  Her cough conveyed reproof.

  ‘You asked for my opinion. I have given it.’

  He sat for a moment, chin in hand, studying her.

  ‘It has not occurred to you that there might be quite another explanation for, shall we say, this variation from Miss Grey’s original statement?’

  She returned his look with bright intelligence.

  ‘What explanation do you suggest?’

  ‘She is Forrest’s adopted sister. She is supposed to be devoted to him. As you have said, she is not a very clear thinker. At the time that she made her statement it would not occur to her to say she left Brading alive at ten past three would be liable to throw suspicion upon Forrest, who says he found him dead at twenty past. When she does begin to realize it she is frightened, and when she finds that Forrest is on the brink of arrest she comes out with this story of Brading having been dead when she got here just before three.’

  Miss Silver smiled in a perfectly amiable manner.

  ‘That is quite ingenious, Randal, but it will not do. In the first place, I do not suppose for a moment she knew that Major Forrest was in danger of being arrested. In the second, she did not come out with the statement about finding him dead. She was surprised and startled into admitting it. And in the third, I really do not see Miss Grey thinking of anyone’s interests in an emergency except her own.’

  ‘You think she was surprised into making that admission?’

  ‘Certainly. I was watching her very closely when she came in. Did you not see how she checked involuntarily as she came in sight of the writing-table? She checked. Her eyes dilated. She stared at you in a horrified manner. She found it difficult to advance. I was quite sure then that she had seen Mr. Brading lying there shot. You asked me whether I thought she was telling the truth when she admitted this was the case. I think the fact that she was doing so is corroborated by her description of the position of the body. It was correct in every detail, was it not?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Forrest might have told her that.’

  ‘It is not very likely. He would not describe such a distressing scene to a person of so hysterical a temperament.’

  ‘Well, I agree with you there. I am not sure that I do not agree with you all along the line, in which case Forrest is in the clear.’ He smiled. ‘You are a very efficient advocate.’

  The pale pink vest revolved. She said,

  ‘Major Forrest does not need an advocate. The facts speak for themselves. Have you considered, Randal, that the changing of the revolvers is an actual proof of his innocence?’

  ‘My dear Miss Silver!’

  ‘If you have not considered it, pray do so. Mr. Brading’s visitors on Friday afternoon all came from Saltings. Any one of them might have obtained possession of Major Forrest’s revolver, the one with the scrape on it, and have exchanged it for the one which had been given to Mr. Brading and which bore his initials. Since Mr. Brading’s revolver was on the spot — and it is agreed that this fact was generally known — why was it not used for the murder? As an attempt was made to pass the death off as suicide, we must agree that Mr. Brading’s own revolver was not used because it could not be used. The murderer would have been unable to take it out of the drawer and fire it at the very close quarters necessary to support the idea of suicide. He, or she, had therefore to provide another weapon, and, in the event, to use it. But, alone amongst those four visitors, Major Forrest had no need to provide himself with another weapon. He could have stood by his cousin’s side, turned the conversati
on to the revolver he had given him, and found some pretext to open the drawer and take it out. It would all have been perfectly natural and easy. Major Forrest could have shot his cousin without arousing the slightest suspicion. He did not need his own revolver, and he is a good deal too intelligent to have employed it.’

  March was looking at her very intently.

  ‘Someone employed it. Who are you suggesting?’

  ‘Someone who could not count on getting hold of Mr. Brading’s own revolver. Someone who planned the whole thing very carefully, but was so hurried in the performance that the fingerprints which were to convince the police that Mr. Brading had committed suicide slipped and were smudged. Someone who was obliged to remove Mr. Brading’s revolver and leave the other because Mr. Brading’s revolver was fully loaded and there is simply no place in this room where he could have got rid of a shot.’

  March put up a hand.

  ‘My dear Miss Silver!’

  She smiled at him kindly but with gravity.

  ‘It is all true, is it not? Whilst you are thinking it over I would suggest that you send for Mr. Moberly.’

  His brows drew together.

  ‘Moberly?’

  She said,

  ‘There are one or two questions I should like to ask him. I have abstained from putting them until I could do so in your presence.’

  He said, ‘Moberly—’ again in a meditative voice. And then, ‘Oh well, I don’t mind seeing

  Moberly myself. He’s got the wind up, and we may get something out of him. I’ve an idea there’s something to get.’

  He picked up the house-telephone and spoke into it.

  After he had laid it down again he turned round smiling a little and said,

  ‘Observe — I send for him first and ask questions afterwards. What do you want to ask him about?’

  She said,

  ‘The letters which came by the second post on Friday.’

  ‘What letters?’

  ‘You will remember the waiter’s excuse for having overheard part of a conversation between Mr. Brading and Mr. Moberly. He said he was bringing in Mr. Brading’s letters.’

  He looked at her with a faint shade of surprise.

  ‘Is there any reason to suppose —’

  ‘I think so.’ She was knitting steadily and briskly, her small neat features composed, her aspect purposeful. ‘You see, one of those letters was from Mrs. Robinson.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I asked the waiter.’

  March was frowning.

  ‘Would he know her writing?’

  ‘Oh, yes — he seemed to be quite familiar with it. She has been here a great deal. She has written letters and given them to him to put in the post-box. It is down by the gate.’

  ‘But —’

  She inclined her head.

  ‘I know, Randal. Mrs. Robinson was here until fairly late on Thursday evening. She was one of the party to whom Mr. Brading showed his Collection. She walked home along the cliffs with Major Forrest. This letter must have been written after she reached Saltings. That is why it interests me. I find that there is a pillar-box about a quarter of a mile from Saltings where a lane comes out upon the main road. Anything posted there after five in the afternoon would be collected early next day and delivered locally by the second post. This would count as a local delivery. I am indebted to Miss Snagge for these particulars. She sorted the letters when they came in on Friday, and she corroborates Owen in saying that one of Mr. Brading’s letters was from Mrs. Robinson. I think we are entitled to conclude that it was written after she got back to Saltings.’

  He said, ‘Oh, well they were engaged. People do that sort of thing.’

  She said rather sharply,

  ‘I think there is more in it than that. Mrs. Robinson walked home with Major Forrest. He has said that she told him Mr. Brading had asked her to marry him and had executed a will in her favour. You will observe the form of her communication — he had asked her to marry him. I think it is possible that she had not up to that time given him a definite answer.’

  ‘He wouldn’t have signed a will in her favour if she hadn’t.’

  ‘Then perhaps it was merely that she herself was still hesitating. I must tell you that Mrs. Constantine, who is very acute, and Miss Dale, who is an indefatigable gossip, have both been at some pains to inform me that Mrs. Robinson is very much attracted by Major Forrest.’

  March laughed.

  ‘And you believe everything you hear?’

  She said primly, ‘I do not find that at all difficult to believe, Major Forrest is an extremely attractive man.’

  ‘And what conclusion do you draw from that?’

  ‘None at present. But that is where I hope Mr. Moberly may help us. She had that walk with Major Forrest, and then she wrote and posted a letter to Mr. Brading. After he had received it he put through two angry telephone calls. We know that one was to Miss Grey. We do not know whether the other was to Mrs. Robinson. I suspect that her letter was either a refusal or a definite acceptance. In neither of these cases does it account for what followed.’

  March nodded.

  ‘Look here, I think we’ll have Forrest in before we see Moberly.’

  He spoke into the house-telephone again.

  ‘Just keep Mr. Moberly back till I ring. And ask Major Forrest to come over.’

  Charles Forrest came into the room rather wondering what he was going to find there. Crisp had left him some time before, but he had been asked to remain in the writing-room, and he had done so. There seemed to be some constabulary activity. From the window sounds reached him of comings and goings. Opening the door, he could observe a policeman in charge of the house-telephone. Stacy was not in sight. He shut the door again and remained alone with his own thoughts until summoned to the laboratory, where he was received by Miss Silver with a smile, and by the Chief Constable with a pleasant ‘Come and sit down, Forrest.’

  The last thing he had expected was to be taken through that embarrassing walk with Maida, but he came out of it without going beyond what he had said in his statement. She had told him that Lewis Brading had asked her to marry him, and that he had made a will in her favour. The will was to be signed next day. They had discussed the whole thing. He had remarked that she would not find his cousin very easy to live with, but he had been very definitely under the impression that she intended to accept him. When March said, ‘You didn’t think she had already done so?’ he replied, ‘Well, as near as makes no difference.’

  It was at this point that Miss Silver put her first question.

  ‘Did you know that she intended writing to him that evening?’

  He didn’t know where all this was getting them. He said,

  ‘She did write to him.’

  March exclaimed, ‘You know that?’

  ‘I posted the letter.’

  ‘Do you mind telling us just what happened?’

  Charles looked the surprise he felt.

  ‘Nothing happened. After we got in I wrote a letter myself and was going out to post it. Maida was on the stairs with a couple of letters in her hand. I offered to post them for her, and she gave them to me. That was all.’

  ‘Any conversation?’

  He was frowning. No harm that he could see in repeating what she had said. He let them have it.

  ‘She just gave me the letters and said, “Well, you’re going to have me for a cousin,” and I said, “And very nice too.”’

  ‘You’re sure she said that?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘Then you took it that the letter she gave you to post was her acceptance of Brading’s offer?’

  ‘Of course.’

  March thought, ‘Well, that’s that. So it wasn’t her letter that made Brading angry, and we’re barking up the wrong tree.’

  Miss Silver gave a gently interrogative cough.

  ‘There were two letters, Major Forrest?’

  ‘Yes, two.’

  ‘D
id you notice to whom the second letter was addressed?’

  ‘Oh, yes. It happened to be uppermost — I couldn’t help seeing it.’

  ‘And to whom was it addressed?’

  For the life of him March couldn’t see what she was getting at. He heard Charles say,

  ‘To a friend of hers, a Mrs. Hunt.’

  ‘Did you notice the address?’

  ‘Oh, she’s a Londoner. She’s been down once or twice. I couldn’t tell you the exact address. If you want it you can get it from Maida.’

  Miss Silver coughed again, this time in a deprecating manner. She pursued her questions.

  ‘Is Mrs. Hunt an intimate friend?’

  Charles laughed.

  ‘Oh, I should think so. The kind you’d be bosom friends with after a bus ride — hearty, genial — more or less all over everybody.’

  March let it go at that.

  ‘Well, I think that’s all we wanted to know. I had better tell you that there have been — developments. I must ask you just to stay in the club for the moment, but apart from that there is no reason why you should not behave as usual.’

  Charles took this with rather a straight look.

  ‘Meaning that I’m not under detention any longer?’

  ‘Meaning just what I said.’

  ‘Do you know, I should rather like an explanation.’

  March frowned.

  ‘Miss Grey has made a statement.’

  He saw the dark face harden.

  ‘What has she said?’

  ‘That Brading was dead when she got here.’

  That Charles was completely taken by surprise was beyond doubt. He said,

  ‘What!’

  ‘That is what she says. If she is to be believed, it would of course exonerate you.’

  ‘Lewis was dead when she got here—’

  March said, ‘Go away and think it out.’

  Charles got up.

  ‘Where is she?’

  It was Miss Silver who answered him.

  ‘She is lying down. One of the chambermaids is looking after her. She was a good deal upset.’

  He took himself out of the room in frowning silence.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  JAMES MOBERLY CAME into the laboratory with the air of a man who has braced himself to meet disaster. Whereas in the ordinary way he stooped a little, he now held himself stiffly upright. Miss Silver smiled at him as he came in. The tone in which she invited him to be seated recalled her schoolroom days. March, glancing from her to Moberly, wondered just what she took him to be — the tongued-tied boy paralysed with shyness — the ingenious one ready for emergency with a lie — the dunce who does not know his lessons — the idler who has scamped his work — or the mutineer who defies authority? Next moment he was recalling Moberly’s story and setting him down as the boy who has blotted his copybook.