There was a knock upon the door. Lamb said, “Come in!” and there entered Mrs. Maniple, very majestic in the almost visible panoply of more than fifty years’ service, her head high, her colour steady, her manner dignified and purposeful. She came round to the far end of the writing-table and stood there, the Chief Inspector on her right, Sergeant Abbott on her left, and Miss Silver in her direct line of sight. There was something about her entry which proclaimed an occasion of the first magnitude. No one spoke until she did. She put her hands down flat on the table edge and said,
“There’s something I’ve got to say.”
Lamb swung round to face her, moving his whole big body. He said,
“You’re the cook, aren’t you-Mrs. Maniple?”
She said, “Yes.”
Frank Abbott got up and brought her a chair.
“Won’t you sit down?”
She looked at him, sizing him up, and said,
“No, thank you, sir.”
For once in his life Sergeant Abbott was abashed. He went back to his seat with some colour in his face, and busied himself with writing-pad and pencil.
The Chief Inspector looked grimly at the old woman who had kept her “sir” for his subordinate. He knew what it meant quite as well as she did. Something in him respected her. Something else made a mental note that Master Frank mustn’t be allowed to get wind in his head. He said,
“I see you have something to say, Mrs. Maniple. Will you tell me what it is?”
She stood there very upright.
“That’s what I’ve come for. Before Mrs. Latter died she was taken sick two or three times. I’ve come to tell you, those turns she had-they were along of what I put in her coffee.”
There was a short electric silence. Miss Silver stopped knitting for a moment and gave her a long, steady look.
Lamb said, “If this is a confession, it is my duty to warn you that anything you say may be taken down and used in evidence against you.”
There was no change in Mrs. Maniple’s expression, nor in her voice when she spoke.
“I’ve no objection to anything being taken down-I wouldn’t be here if I had. And I’m not confessing nothing about what Mrs. Latter died of, only about those sick turns she had, which was along of ipecac-in her coffee mostly, but there was once I put it in the fruit salad.”
Lamb leaned back in his chair, his face as expressionless as her own.
“What made you do a thing like that?”
The answer came grim and short.
“To punish her.”
“Why did you want to punish her?”
“For what she was doing to everyone she come in contact with.”
“As what?”
“It ’ud take a long time to tell the half of it.”
“Never mind about that. You tell us why you thought she ought to be punished.”
She drew her black brows together briefly.
“Very well, then-I’ll put it as short as I can. There was what she did to Mrs. Marsh.”
“Do you mean the young woman, Gladys Marsh, who was acting as Mrs. Latter’s maid?”
“No, I don’t. I mean her husband’s mother, Lizzie Marsh, that’s a cousin of my own and that that there Gladys got sent away to the workhouse. Institute they may call it now, but workhouse is what it is. And Mrs. Latter backed her up. She wouldn’t have darsn’t do it, nor Joe Marsh wouldn’t have let her, if it hadn’t been for Mrs. Latter backing her up and telling Mr. Jimmy all manner of lies.”
“And you put ipecacuanha in her coffee because of that?”
“Not for that by itself. It was for that and other things. There was Miss Ellie-Mrs. Street-that she worked to death like I wouldn’t have stood for any housemaid being worked, and when she’d taken all the strength out of her she was turning her out-wouldn’t let her have her husband, Mr. Ronnie, here to look after. And the same with Miss Minnie that’s been here ever since the old doctor died. Worked her pretty well to death, and then out she could go, and it wasn’t Mrs. Latter that ’ud care whether she lived or died. And more lies to Mr. Jimmy, making him think Miss Minnie wanted to go. That’s why I done it. Maybe I didn’t ought to, but that’s why I done it. And it wasn’t done for no more than to punish her-a drop of ipecac like you’d give a child that had swallowed something. And no harm done. That’s what I come to say.” She took her hands off the table and turned to go.
Lamb stopped her.
“We can’t leave it quite like that, you know. I think you’d better sit down.”
She came back to her former position.
“I can stand well enough.”
“Well, that’s just as you like. I want to ask you some questions. You needn’t answer if you don’t want to.”
“I’ll tell you when I hear them.”
“Well, we’ll start with an easy one. How long have you been here?”
There was pride in her voice as she said,
“It’ll be fifty-three years at Christmas.”
“You didn’t leave to be married?”
She stood up very straight.
“I’m single. The ‘Mrs.’ is what is only right and proper when you’ve turned fifty in a position like what mine is.”
“I see. Very fond of the family, aren’t you?”
“Wouldn’t anyone be after fifty years?”
“Very fond of Mr. Jimmy, as you call him?”
She said, “I saw him christened.” And then, “Anyone ’ud be fond of Mr. Jimmy-he’s one that’s got kindness for all. There isn’t anyone for miles round that don’t love Mr. Jimmy.”
Lamb shifted his position, leaning forward with an arm along the table.
“Well now, suppose you tell us about the times you put this ipecac into Mrs. Latter’s coffee. When did you start?”
He noticed that she did not have to stop and think. Her answer came pat.
“It was the evening Miss Julia come down, and Mr. Antony. They hadn’t neither of them been here for two years, and I thought, ‘Well, they shall have their evening the same as it was before Mrs. Latter come.’ She’d been up to her tricks with Miss Ellie that evening, wanting her to do the flowers all over again when anyone could see she was ready to drop- and she’d done them lovely. And I thought to myself, ‘No, you don’t, my lady!’ for I knew how it ’ud be, Miss Ellie and Miss Julia, they wouldn’t get a moment’s peace, neither with Mr. Jimmy nor Mr. Antony. I tell you she couldn’t abear to see anyone noticed if it wasn’t herself, so I took and put some ipecac in her coffee, she being the only one that took that nasty Turkish stuff-and it made her sick and kept her quiet like I thought it would.”
Frank Abbott turned a page and went on writing. Lamb said,
“Well, that was the first time. When did you do it again?”
“Next day at lunch. There was fruit salad in separate glasses, with cream on the top. Mrs. Latter never took cream, so there was one glass without. I put the ipecac in that.”
“And after that?”
“There was once when Mr. Jimmy was away seeing after Miss Eliza Raven’s affairs down in Devonshire, and there was once more after he come back-I think it was Tuesday last week. And then on the Saturday Mr. Jimmy come down from London, and he says to send in two cups of Turkish coffee because every time Mrs. Latter has it he’s going to have it too. So then I stopped.”
“You didn’t put any more ipecac into the coffee?”
Her eyes met his.
“Do you think I’d have risked making Mr. Jimmy sick?”
“Well, I don’t suppose you would. So you didn’t use any more ipecac. How did you get hold of the morphia?”
Her gaze never wavered. It was perfectly steady and perfectly blank.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“The stuff that was in Mrs. Latter’s coffee on Wednesday night-the stuff that killed her-it was morphia. How did you get hold of that?”
“I don’t know nothing about it.”
“Mrs. Maniple-did you put anything
into the coffee on Wednesday night? You needn’t answer if you don’t want to.”
There was a touch of scorn as she said,
“Why shouldn’t I want to? I didn’t put nothing in, and Miss Julia can tell you so. She stood there watching me all the time-she can say what I did. And if I’d wanted to murder Mrs. Latter a hundred times over, do you think I’d have put poison in one of those cups and let Miss Julia go through with the tray and put it down for them to help themselves- Mrs. Latter, and Mr. Jimmy that I couldn’t love more if he was my own child-and not know which of them ’ud take the poison? Do you think I’d have done that? If I’d got the length of making up my mind to poison her, do you think I’d have risked Mr. Jimmy’s life, with no saying who would take which cup? It’s not sense, and you know it!”
He said, “Maybe.” And then, “I’d like to take you through Wednesday, Mrs. Maniple. Mrs. Latter kept to her room in the morning, didn’t she? That means her breakfast went up to her. Who took it up, and what did she have?”
Mrs. Maniple leaned a little forward on her hands.
“Gladys Marsh come down for the tray and took it up. She had what she always had for breakfast, a pot of tea, a slice of dry toast, and fruit-it was an apple on Wednesday.”
“Not much of a breakfast. Well then, what happened after that? Did she come down for lunch?”
“Yes, she come down. I didn’t know what she was going to do, so I sent Polly up to ask, and she said Mrs. Latter would come down.”
“So she had the same for lunch that everyone else did. What did they have?”
“Mince and two vegetables, with a trifle to follow.”
“What about tea?”
“Mrs. Latter took her car out after lunch. She didn’t come in till getting on for seven o’clock-she wasn’t here for tea.”
“And dinner-what did you give them for dinner?”
“There was fish-baked haddock-and a sweet omelette. And hardly a bit of anything ate.”
“They were all too much upset?”
“Seems like it.”
“And then you made the coffee and Miss Vane took it in?”
“Miss Julia watched me make it.”
“Well now-one thing more. Where did you get the ipecac you put in Mrs. Latter’s coffee? Did you get it out of the medicine-cupboard in Miss Mercer’s room?”
“Not then, I didn’t.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“It was a bottle she give me when I had a cough in the spring. I’d put a drop or two with some honey and vinegar and sup it. And she said to keep the bottle-it wasn’t above half full.”
“You knew she had a medicine-cupboard in her room?”
“Everyone in the house knows that.”
“It wasn’t kept locked, was it? Anyone could help themselves?”
Mrs. Maniple drew herself up.
“There wasn’t no one in the house wouldn’t do that- without it was Gladys Marsh. There’s never been no need to lock things up in this house, thank God. But it’s proper a medicine-cupboard should be locked.”
“You didn’t take anything out of that medicine-cupboard yourself?”
“I’d no call to, nor wouldn’t if I had. If I’d wanted anything I’d have asked Miss Minnie.”
“Did you ask her for anything from that cupboard?”
“No, I didn’t.”
Lamb pushed back his chair.
“All right, Mrs. Maniple. Now Sergeant Abbott will run those notes of his off on the typewriter and read them over to you, and you can sign them.”
CHAPTER 26
Miss Silver gathered up her knitting and left them to it, but almost at once the Chief Inspector followed her out of the room. When she glanced round and saw him he made what she described to herself as a grimace, walked on as far as the drawing-room door, which he opened, and beckoned her in. When he had shut it again he said confidentially,
“Well, what did you make of that?”
Miss Silver stood, her hands clasped on the new knitting-bag which her niece Ethel had sent her for her birthday in July-a capacious affair in a chintz with a pattern of honeysuckle and humming birds. It had been much admired not only by its recipient but by several of her oldest friends. A primrose lining showed here and there where the frill at the top fell over. She took a moment before she said,
“I thought Mrs. Maniple was speaking the truth.”
Lamb nodded.
“Well, so did I. I don’t see why she needed to say anything at all if she wasn’t going to tell the truth. A silly trick to get up to, and one we could run her in for. I’d do it like a shot too if I thought there was any chance she poisoned Mrs. Latter. The trouble is, I’m pretty well sure she didn’t.”
“I agree.”
“For one thing, she’d never have admitted the ipecac if she’d gone on to the morphia-not without she was going to confess the whole thing. That’s my first reason for thinking she didn’t do it. The second one’s stronger. She hit the nail right on the head when she said she’d never have risked Mr. Latter’s taking the poisoned cup. As the evidence stands, neither she who made the coffee nor Miss Julia Vane who took it in had any control over who took which cup. They weren’t either of them in the room when the coffee was shared out. So the murderer was either someone who didn’t care whether it was Mr. or Mrs. Latter who was poisoned, which makes nonsense, or else it was someone who was right here in this room and was able to see that there were no mistakes, and that the cup with the morphia in it got to the person it was meant for. And that means just one of three people- Mrs. Street, Miss Mercer-and Mr. Jimmy Latter.”
Miss Silver inclined her head.
“I agree with you as to the facts.”
He laughed in a good-humoured way.
“Well, isn’t that nice! I don’t know when you agreed with me last over a case. Live and learn, as we used to say.”
Miss Silver’s manner became a trifle remote. She coughed.
“I may agree with your facts without accepting the conclusions you draw from them.”
He laughed again.
“Oh, yes-Mr. Latter is your client, isn’t he? You won’t admit he did it. That leaves Mrs. Street and Miss Mercer. Which of them do you fancy? They were both being turned out of what had been their home for twenty-five years-if Mrs. Street is as old as that. And she’s got a husband she’d like to have here, only Mrs. Latter wouldn’t have it. Well, that’s some sort of a motive for each of them, but I don’t think it would cut much ice with a jury. No, I’m afraid things look very bad for your client. Come now-what do you think yourself? You may as well own up.”
Miss Silver looked at him without any expression at all.
“At the moment I have no opinion to offer.”
She left him smiling to himself and passed into the hall. It was in her mind that she would like to talk to Julia Vane, but she decided that that could wait. There seemed to be an excellent opportunity of a conversation with the kitchenmaid, Polly Pell-rather a shy girl, and so constantly at Mrs. Maniple’s beck and call as to make it very difficult to get hold of her.
She made her way into the pantry, and at once became aware that she would not find Polly alone. The door through into the kitchen was ajar, and the high-pitched voice of Gladys Marsh was plainly audible.
“I’ll get my picture in the papers-you see if I don’t.”
As a gentlewoman, Miss Silver deplored a professional necessity. Gentlewomen do not eavesdrop, but it is sometimes very useful to be able to do so. In her professional character she did not hesitate to avail herself of opportunity when it came her way. She provided herself with a tumbler and stood with her hand on the drinking-water tap. What she heard she found very interesting-very interesting indeed.
A cautious glance round the edge of the door showed her Gladys Marsh sitting across the corner of the kitchen table swinging her legs. She had a cup of tea in her hand. Polly was not in sight. Her voice came hesitating, not much above a whisper.
“I
don’t know that I’d care about that.”
Gladys took a noisy gulp of tea.
“Well, I would. You just watch me and you’ll see. There’s a couple of reporters been at me already, but I’m not making myself cheap. I told them so. I’ve said what I know to Chief Inspector Lamb from Scotland Yard-that’s what I told them. And he says I’ll be called at the inquest, and not to say nothing to nobody, so I’m not. ‘Come to think of it,’ I said, ‘why should you boys get the money for my story? I can write it myself, can’t I?’ And the cheeky one with red hair-they’re all cheeky, but he’s the worst-he said, ‘You don’t mean to say they taught you to write?’ and I said, ‘Yes, Impudence,’ and a lot more besides. And he said, ‘You bet!’ and he took two photographs. But I didn’t tell him nothing, only a lot of stuff about the house and the family, and about Mrs. Latter being such a lot admired, and all that. If they want anything more they can pay for it-and if they won’t there’s plenty that will.”
There was a murmuring sound from Polly. Gladys drained her cup and reached for the teapot.
“Oh, come off it!” she said. “What’s the good of being alive if you don’t have a good time when you’re young? You start thinking if there isn’t something you can tell the police and get called at the inquest! That’ll be only a village affair, but when it comes to the trial-”
Polly’s voice came in with a frightened sound.
“Who will they try?”
“Dunno. But I can guess. Can’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
Gladys laughed and swung her legs.
“Who spied on her and caught her in Mr. Antony’s room? Who comes into a lot of money now she’s gone? She told me that herself no longer ago than the Wednesday morning- said she wasn’t going to stay here the way things were going, and the first thing she was going to do when she got up to town was to alter her will. She’d have taken me with her too. Gosh-what a chance!”
“I don’t know that I should care about London.”
Gladys said contemptuously,
Latter End Page 16
