In a brisk and businesslike voice she said,
“I told you last night that I had no evidence to lay before you. I have some now. I should be glad of an opportunity of talking it over with you. My train arrives at half past three. I can be with you by four o’clock. I should prefer to see you at the Yard.”
Lamb cleared his throat.
“Now, Miss Silver-”
“The matter is urgent, Inspector. I shall not waste your time. Shall we say four o’clock?”
He said, “Very well.” And then, “Where are you-where are you speaking from?”
“Tunbridge Wells,” said Miss Silver, and rang off.
At a little after four she was sitting in his office, neat and dowdy in her old-fashioned black cloth coat with its faded fur collar and her felt hat with the bunch of pansies on the left-hand side. She was pale and looked tired, but there was an air of deferential obstinacy about her which caused Lamb to fear the worst. If he knew anything at all about women, she was going to try and get her own way, and it would probably end in his having to give her the rough side of his tongue.
She began by telling him about her interviews with Ivy Lord, with Mrs. Underwood, and with Ella Jackson, after which she told him all about her visit to Tunbridge Wells.
By this time Lamb was no longer cross. He was considering what a feather in his cap it would be if Miss Silver’s evidence should prove to be correct and enable him to pull in so notorious a criminal. It began to look as if she had hit on something. On the other hand, if she was wrong-well, no one liked making a fool of himself, and he wasn’t going to be pushed into doing it. Miss Silver was now propounding a plan-one of those fancy stunts which women think up. He didn’t care for them himself, but in this case, and with the possibility that the whole thing might be a mare’s nest, well, it had some points-he wouldn’t go farther than that.
Miss Silver was talking.
“-a meeting of everyone from all the flats at No. 8-that would, I think, be the most suitable locality. I am convinced, and I shall hope to prove it, that the murderer had an appointment with Miss Roland and was admitted by the sitting-room window after ascending the fire-escape. If startled and cornered, I think an attempt will be made to escape by the same way. This is not a certainty, but in view of the character of the person concerned I think it very probable that such an attempt will be made. The window of course should be open-so large a gathering would make this seem quite natural. When we are assembled you could have a search made in the direction I have indicated. If the things I have described are found where I believe they will be found, a pre-arranged message could be brought up to you. Great care must be exercised not to arouse any suspicion. We are dealing with a most cunning criminal.”
Lamb let his hand rise and fall again. It struck the blotting-pad before him and sent the pen which lay there rolling half across the desk.
“You seem to be sure that these things will be found.”
Miss Silver inclined her head.
“I am sure,” she said.
CHAPTER 46
By ones and twos the inmates of Vandeleur House came out of their flats and took the lift or walked up the stair to the top of the house, where the door of No. 8 stood wide with Sergeant Abbott on the threshold to usher them in.
Mrs. Underwood got into the lift, which already contained the Lemmings, but Meade and Giles walked up the stairs. Meade said low in his ear, her face upturned, her grey eyes dark,
“I can’t make Agnes out. Aren’t people queer? Up to now she’s just been anyone’s slave who wanted one, and the way her mother trampled made me boil. She didn’t seem to have a life of her own at all, she just did things for other people. But now it’s all different. She’s so taken up with what is happening to her, she hardly notices that there’s been a murder and a suicide in the house.”
Giles laughed.
“This is where I ask what’s happening to her, isn’t it?”
“Wait and see,” said Meade. She slipped a hand through his arm and brought her voice down to a murmur. “Giles-what is all this about? I don’t like it very much. Why have we all got to go up to Carola’s flat? What was Miss Silver saying to you when she took you off and talked to you just now? Is anything horrid going to happen?”
“Miss Silver seems to think so,” said Giles with rather an odd inflexion.
“Oh, I do hope not!”
“I don’t know-” He bent and kissed the cheek that was nearest. “Hush-not a word!” he said, and hurried her on with an arm round her. Nobody could have heard what passed, it was all so quick and low between the two of them.
They came into Carola Roland’s sitting-room, and found that the furniture had been shifted and rearranged. The writing-table had been pushed against the right-hand wall, and Chief Inspector Lamb sat with his back to it as if he had been writing up to the last moment and had then swung round to face the window. Between him and the door there were three chairs, which were occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Willard and Mr. Drake, Mr. Drake being nearest the door. Upon Lamb’s other side was a vacant chair, and then Mrs. Lemming, Agnes, and Mrs. Underwood. The couch had been moved to the hearth, where it stood with its back to the fireplace. Someone had covered the mark which stained it with an incongruous tartan rug, and here in state sat Miss Silver and Miss Crane, the former still in her outdoor clothes, the latter in her customary drab attire of raincoat and old felt hat. Both ladies wore woollen stockings and very sensible shoes. Beyond the couch stood another empty chair. The silver dancer was back upon the mantelpiece, but the photograph of Giles Armitage had disappeared. It being a mild and muggy evening, both windows stood open, the lower sash of each being raised to the fullest extent. It was half past six and daylight outside-three quarters of an hour to sunset, but a dull sky and thickening air.
The ceiling light shone down upon the blue carpet, the blue and silver upholstery, the tartan rug, and the people in the room. It showed the Inspector looking solid and serious; Mrs. Lemming, handsome and quite obviously in a very bad temper; Agnes in her new clothes, a flush on her cheeks and a dreaming light in her eyes; Mr. Drake, who looked at her and looked away; Mrs. Underwood, breathing quickly and looking as if everything she had on was too tight for her; the Willards, she flushed and untidy, her hair slipping, an inch of petticoat visible at the hem of her dark blue dress, he very much himself again, very stiff, very official; Meade between the Inspector and Agnes, small and young like a child who has got into a grown-up party by mistake-small, and young, and just a little bit afraid. Giles had been reft away from her and given the vacant chair on the farther side of the couch. Thus, starting at the door with Sergeant Abbott, the names run as follows. On the right-hand side of the room-Mr. Drake, Mrs. Willard, Mr. Willard, Chief Inspector Lamb, Meade Underwood, Agnes Lemming, Mrs. Lemming. Across the hearth-Mrs. Underwood, then the couch with Miss Silver and Miss Crane. And lastly, Giles Armitage on a gimcrack skeleton of a chair which must have been a great deal stronger than it looked, since it supported him without so much as a creak.
The first thing Meade noticed was that there were five absentees. Nobody of course would expect old Mrs. Meredith to be here, or that she should be left alone in her flat. Since Miss Crane had come, Packer would of course be obliged to stay behind. But Ivy wasn’t here either. Perhaps she was coming, or perhaps she had refused to come. She had been very queer and upset all day, bursting into tears and giving notice one minute, and relapsing into a sort of dumb misery the next. Bell wasn’t here either, or Mrs. Smollett. Bell would be glad enough to be out of any unpleasantness, but Mrs. Smollett would never get over it. Meade felt thankful she wasn’t there, but perhaps she too was coming. It looked as if somebody else was expected, because there were two chairs on the left of the door next to where Sergeant Abbott was standing. Perhaps one of them was for him. No, it wasn’t, because here was someone else arriving. Of course-this must be Carola’s sister, Mrs. Jackson.
She came in, pale and slight, in the new black which spel
ls mourning, followed by a delicate-looking young man with a limp who was Ernest Jackson. They sat down, marked out from the others by their mourning garb, their late arrival, their separate seats.
Sergeant Abbott shut the door and stood against it, not lounging now, but slim and upright and tall, his face expressionless and his blue eyes cool. Actually, he was conscious of some excitement. Was Maudie going to land them in a fiasco, or were they going to bring off something big? He had a tingling in his bones which he did not remember to have experienced over a case before. He looked at the quiet, ordinary people sitting round the room and wondered at himself. He looked at Miss Maud Silver and wondered at her, a quiet, ordinary spinster sitting side by side with another quiet, ordinary spinster, only a bit of Highland tartan between them and the stain made by the blood of a murdered chorus girl-murdered in this room, and perhaps by one of these very ordinary people. Fantastic, but-well, here they were. Ring up the curtain!
CHAPTER 47
Chief Inspector Lamb cleared his throat and looked at Miss Silver. Miss Silver, sitting primly upright with her ungloved hands in her lap, began to speak. The gloves, a pair of worn black suede, lay on the tartan rug between her and Miss Crane. She used exactly the voice and manner with which she would have addressed a class of children. She showed no trace either of self-importance or nervousness. Her look was kind and grave. She said,
“The Chief Inspector has called you all together to clarify a few doubtful points. He is very kindly allowing me to ask one or two questions. I shall begin by explaining my own position. I have been engaged upon a private investigation which seems to have some connection with the sad events of the last two days. The matter I had in hand, though trifling in itself, has acquired a certain importance from the fact of Miss Roland’s sudden and tragic death. Murder,” said Miss Silver in her placid schoolroom voice-“murder has a way of giving significance to the most insignificant trifles. Since yesterday morning we have, I think, all become aware of this. Our every movement, our simplest action, has had the searchlight of an official investigation turned upon it. This is a most unpleasant experience, but in these tragic circumstances it cannot be avoided. I shall not detain you a moment longer than I can help. I am merely anxious at this time to make certain that the time-table which I have here is correct, and to fill in one or two gaps.”
She paused, opened her shabby black bag, and took out a neatly folded paper from which she proceeded to read.
“Time-table of the events of Wednesday evening:-Between 6:30 and 8:30 Miss Roland had several visitors with whom I am not at the moment concerned. She was last seen alive, as far as the Chief Inspector has been able to ascertain, at 8:30, when she came out on to the landing and waved good-bye to a friend who was going down in the lift. It is from this time that speculation takes the place of direct evidence. There is reason to believe that Miss Garside paid a visit to this flat between 8:35 and 8:50. I think, Mrs. Lemming, that you made several attempts to get into telephonic communication with her and failed to do so.”
Mrs. Lemming, leaning back in her chair with an air of complete indifference, was understood to assent. She was immediately and very directly addressed by the Chief Inspector.
“You tried to ring Miss Garside up-and more than once? How often?”
Mrs. Lemming turned a bored glance upon him.
“Three times, I believe.”
“You are not sure?”
“Oh, yes, I am sure.”
He went on questioning her until he elicited that she had looked at her watch before ringing up and that it was then 8.35, and again at ten minutes to nine, when she decided that it was too late to get the game of three-handed bridge which had been the object of her original call.
This disposed of, Lamb looked at Miss Silver and nodded. She began to speak again immediately.
“After that we have a considerable hiatus. It is this gap which someone here may be able to fill. Mrs. Willard, you were, I believe, in some anxiety about your husband that evening. He had gone out soon after seven, and he did not actually return until nearly ten o’clock next morning, having been detained at the home of his brother, Mr. Ernest Willard. Being uncertain as to when your husband would return, you probably opened the door of your flat from time to time and looked out. You did in fact do this, as you informed the Chief Inspector. Now did you on any such occasion see anyone either going up in the lift, or upon the stair between your floor and the next one above it? Your flat being immediately beneath Miss Roland’s, and the other top flat being empty, it would be fair to deduce that any person so seen was on his or her way to or from Miss Roland’s flat. Did you see anyone, Mrs. Willard?”
On being first addressed, Mrs. Willard, who had been looking down at her own clasped hands, gave a start and looked up. As the enquiry proceeded, a distressing flush covered her face and neck. Her eyes took on a frightened expression, her hands clung damply together. At the direct question she swallowed convulsively but did not speak. Beside her Mr. Willard stiffened, straightened his pince-nez, and took the word.
“If I may be allowed to reply for Mrs. Willard, the answer is in the affirmative.”
“She did see someone?”
“She did. When she informed me of the fact, which was not until this afternoon, my opinion-I may say my very strongly expressed opinion-was that the police should be informed immediately.”
“I don’t want to get anyone into trouble,” said Mrs. Willard in a stifled voice.
The Chief Inspector addressed her in an admonitory tone.
“Now, Mrs. Willard, you must understand that this is a very serious matter. You won’t get any innocent person into trouble, you know. You don’t want to shield a guilty one-do you?”
“I don’t want to get anyone into trouble.”
“Mrs. Willard-who did you see?”
It was at this point that Mr. Drake got quietly to his feet and said pleasantly,
“She saw me, Inspector.”
A faint whisper of sound stirred in the room. It was as if everyone had moved a little-as if each had breathed more deeply.
Lamb said, “You came up here to No. 8?”
“I did.”
“What time was this?”
“Half past nine.”
“Why did you come?”
“To see Miss Roland.”
His eyes went past the Inspector to Agnes Lemming. She was pale, but she looked back at him.
Lamb went on.
“Did you see her?”
“No-I didn’t get in. I rang, and there was no answer, so I came away.”
“Was the door shut or open?”
The eyebrows which gave Mr. Drake his resemblance to Mephistopheles rose in an even sharper arch. After a momentary pause he replied,
“The door was ajar.”
“Did you go in?”
“Oh, no.”
“It didn’t occur to you that there might be something wrong?”
“Frankly, it didn’t. I thought she was expecting a visitor. I was afraid that I might be de trop.”
Lamb looked at him hard. Everyone in the room looked at him. Frank Abbott thought, “Here’s a red herring with a vengeance! We put Maudie up to waste time whilst Curtis and the boys get busy downstairs, and she fishes this up. Well, well- on with the play!”
Lamb said in his weightiest voice,
“May I ask what was the purpose of your visit, Mr. Drake?”
To which Mr. Drake replied,
“Oh, just a little matter of business. She was blackmailing me.”
“She was blackmailing you?”
Mr. Drake smiled.
“Oh, not very seriously. You see, she had discovered my guilty secret. She didn’t like me very much, and she thought it would embarrass me if she let it out. My visit was for the purpose of telling her that it was a matter of supreme indifference to me.”
Abbott thought, “The Chief will spin this out. It’s a good red herring. I like this chap. I wonder what he’s playing
at. He’s got some game of his own. The Chief’s playing up to him.”
Lamb said directly.
“Well, Mr. Drake, if that’s true, you’d better tell us what this guilty secret was.”
Mr. Drake looked past him down the room.
“Oh, certainly. I’m a pork butcher.”
There was an electric silence. Mrs. Willard stared. Mr. Willard stared. Mrs. Lemming looked disgusted. Miss Crane began to laugh in a silly giggling way, with little gasps for breath and little dabbings with a large white handkerchief. Agnes Lemming got up, walked down the room, and slipped her hand inside Mr. Drake’s arm. Mrs. Lemming said sharply,
“Agnes, have you gone mad?”
But Agnes stood there smiling. She looked radiant. She turned with that smiling gaze to the room and said in a simple, happy voice,
“We were married this morning. Please, everyone, wish us joy.”
CHAPTER 48
Mrs. Lemming’s handsome features stiffened and set, her fine skin blanched. She turned the cold fury of her look upon the daughter whom she had bullied for so long. Never before had that look failed of its effect. It is to be doubted whether Agnes even noticed it now. She stood with her hand on her husband’s arm, looking proudly and happily at her friends and awaiting their good wishes. But before anyone could move or speak there was a knock upon the door. Sergeant Abbott stood away and opened it, disclosing Sergeant Curtis, neat and brisk. He came in just over the threshold and addressed himself to the Chief Inspector.
Miss Silver Deals With Death Page 21
