Miss Silver Comes To Stay (23 page)

“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.”

She cast off the last stitch, pulled the wool through the loop, drew it tight, and transfixed the pale blue ball with the needles she had been using.

“Well, Randal, there you have what was in my mind. When it came to Mrs. Welby’s death, I found myself unable to believe that she had committed suicide. I felt sure that she had not murdered James Lessiter, but I also felt sure that she knew a good deal about the crime. Those footprints under the lilacs were hers. I paid her a visit after their discovery, and she was very much alarmed. My impression with regard to Mr. Holderness’s connection with the affair was naturally deepened when, after her death, I found Mrs. Welby had hastened in to Lenton by an early bus on Saturday morning and gone straight to his office.”

“And how in the world did you know that?”

She answered very composedly,

“Gladys Luker was off duty and went out on the same bus. She had been made very unhappy by Allan Grover’s infatuation for Mrs. Welby, and she followed her to see whether it was her intention to visit the office in which he was employed.”

He made a mock gesture of despair.

“How can a poor policeman compete? You can take the village lid off and see how the wheels are going round. Gladys and Allan are people to you. You know their relations to the ninth or tenth degree, where I don’t even know that they exist.”

She gave him a deprecating smile.

“You are falling into Frank Abbott’s trick of exaggeration. I am only trying to convey to you how very small and slight were my grounds for suspicion when I decided to ask Allan Grover if he would come and see me. I could not have anticipated what he had to disclose, but it was village talk that he haunted the neighbourhood of the Gate House, and I thought it just possible that he might have seen or heard something of interest either on the Wednesday or the Saturday night.”

She folded little Josephine’s jacket neatly and put it away in her knitting-bag.

“Well, Randal, I do not think there is anything more that I can tell you. As soon as I heard what Allan had to say I rang you up. I suppose there can be no doubt that Mr. Holderness went to the Gate House on Saturday night with every intention of silencing the woman who had it in her power to implicate him in James Lessiter’s murder. She had already shown him plainly that she intended to make a profit out of what she knew. I am constantly amazed at the criminal folly of the amateur blackmailer. It does not seem to occur to them that the course on which they have embarked is not only unprincipled but extremely dangerous, and that where the crime in question is murder their attempt is only too likely to lead to a second fatality. I do not suppose that Mrs. Welby gave a thought to the danger she was inviting. Mr. Holderness was evidently in the habit of visiting her. When he arrived on Saturday evening she received him as usual. She made coffee—”

March interrupted her.

“The fact that there was only the one cup on the tray is accounted for. His explanation is that he never took coffee, though she always offered it. He said it kept him awake, and added that it did not have the same effect on her. In the circumstances I found that rather grim.”

Miss Silver inclined her head.

“I think he would have brought the sleeping tablets with him, probably already dissolved. He could easily distract her attention for long enough to give him the opportunity of introducing the mixture into the coffee. We know from Allan Grover that he did not stay for more than twenty minutes. She had drunk the coffee, and was probably already beginning to feel drowsy. He had doubtless made himself very charming, and had promised everything she asked. There was nothing to wait for. He left her and drove home.”

“Yes—it would have been like that.” He got to his feet. “There will be quite a lot of ends to tidy up. Drake will be in his element.”

He took both her hands and held them for a moment.

“I am going to Rietta. Don’t tell anyone yet, but I’m going to be the happiest man in the world.”

After all, it was not until a good deal later that Randal March rang the bell at the White Cottage. When he looked at his watch, on Mrs. Voycey’s front doorstep, and found that it was past half past twelve he decided to run out to Lenton and lunch there before trying to see Rietta, who would at this moment be engaged in the homely task of getting the midday meal. He considered that he would certainly be in the way, and that no reasonable chance of seeing her alone would occur until after two.

At a quarter to he had his finger on the bell. Coming to the door, Rietta Cray stood for a moment looking at him. They looked at one another. Then he put his arm round her, took her through to the living-room, and shut the door. They had a great deal to say. Time slipped by whilst it was said. They talked quietly, gravely, soberly, but behind everything, and constantly gaining in strength, there was a deep sense of having come home.

After a little silence Rietta said,

“I don’t think we ought to be engaged.”

Randal laughed.

“I would rather be married.”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“What did you mean?”

“I don’t think we ought to be engaged until all this horrid business is over.”

He took her hand and held it.

“My dear, there’ll be the inquest, and, I suppose, three funerals, and then as far as we are concerned there will be no more to say. I agree that we should wait until all that sort of thing is over, if that is what you mean. If, on the other hand, you are suggesting that we should put off our marriage until Melling has stopped talking about the affair, I am not taking any.”

“People will talk.”

“They always have—they do—they always will. It amuses them quite a lot, and it doesn’t really hurt us at all. I shall write to my mother tonight, and you can tell Carr. The village can wait for a week. By the way, I’ve told Miss Silver. She is the soul of discretion. But of course she knew already—I gave myself away half a dozen times.”

She said, “So did I,” and they fell into a brief companionable silence, hands linked, thoughts ranging. His went back to their meeting at the edge of the Common, her face, caught by the headlights, a blanched mask of tragedy. Now, in the daylight, what a change. Her eyes had their calm beauty again. There was bloom, softness, colour. As he watched, it brightened. She said,

“About the Mayhews—”

He burst out laughing.

“How in the world did you get to the Mayhews?”

She looked surprised.

“I was thinking about them. I went up to see Mrs. Mayhew this morning.”

“Why?”

“Mrs. Fallow said she wanted to see me.”

“And why did she want to see you?”

“Well you know, Randal, it really is extraordinary how things get round in a village. She wanted to see me because she thought perhaps you could do something about Cyril.”

“Do you mind saying that again, darling?”

Her lips trembled into a smile.

“I know it sounds funny, but that’s what she said.”

“She wanted to see you because she thought I could do something about Cyril? It doesn’t look to me as if we should have to do very much about giving out our engagement!”

They were both laughing. Rietta said,

“Things do get round.”

“They do! Well—what am I supposed to do about Cyril?”

She was serious again.

“Well, it’s this way. He did come down on Wednesday, and he came because he was desperate for money. And she took some of her husband’s savings and let Cyril have them— she didn’t tell me how much. But the point is this. The wretched boy was in trouble a year ago and was put on probation. He got into bad company, and now one of his old associates is blackmailing him on account of something which didn’t come out at the time.”

“We can soon put a stop to that.”

“What can you do?”

“Get on to the Probation Officer—he’ll see the boy. And you’d better tell Mrs. Mayhew to write and tell him to make a clean breast of everything. He’ll be all right if he does that.”

After a little she said,

“Randal, about that money of James’s—I’d like to tell you what he said about it.”

“What did he say?”

“He showed me the will, like I said in my statement. I said it was nonsense and put it on the fire, but he picked it off. He said if he was making another will, he would probably do the same thing all over again, and that he would rather I had the money than anyone else. And then he asked me what I would do with it, and at first I said I wouldn’t discuss it, but when he said, ‘Well, just as a hypothetical case—’ I told him.”

“And what did you tell him?”

“Oh, just an old sort of dream of mine. No, dream isn’t right, because it was a sort of plan, only I hadn’t any money to do it with, and of course the place didn’t belong to me.”

He was watching her with delight.

“Darling, do I know what you are talking about?”

“Yes—Melling House. It did seem such a pity it should stand empty when there were all those rooms, and people all over the country with nowhere to go—particularly elderly people. After having a home of their own and being the head of a family, it’s so really horrid for them to have to go and live with a daughter-in-law on sufferance. It’s hard on the daughter-in-law too. In fact it’s wrong all round. So I told James I would turn the house into little flats—one room— two rooms—and the big groundfloor rooms a dining-hall and for recreation. He seemed quite interested. I hadn’t liked him so much since I was twenty-one. And then when I thought he was all softened I began to ask him not to harry Catherine the way he was doing, and he was so abominable about her that I lost my temper. I told him just what I thought of him and walked out—and that’s how I came to forget that wretched raincoat.”

There was a pause. Then he said,

“You mean to take the money then?”

She looked surprised.

“Oh, yes. He wanted me to have it—he really did, you know. And there are no near relations. In fact I don’t really know that there are any relations. Catherine and I were both distantly connected—and Catherine’s gone. I should like Melling House to be some good to somebody, and I think it would be nice for the Mayhews.”

This was in such a practical voice that it made him laugh.

“That settles it, of course!”

“Well, they would hate to move, and they would fit in. It’s nice when things fit in all round.” Then, a little more hesitatingly, “You won’t mind, will you? My taking the money, I mean.”

It occurred to him that it was typical of Rietta to be afraid that he might not like her to be enriched. He found himself answering honestly,

“A little.”

“Please don’t. You needn’t. He wasn’t in love with me, or I with him. I think he just thought I’d use it—” she paused for a word, and then said, “sensibly.”

At this moment the door opened and Fancy Bell ran in, checked with graceful abruptness about a yard from the threshold, and said, “Oh, I beg your pardon!”

Rietta said, “Don’t go away. You know Mr. March—”

“But I didn’t know he was here, though I did wonder when you didn’t hear the telephone, because you generally do, and—I’m so sorry, Mr. March—how do you do?”

Randal shook hands with her. She wore her scarlet suit and looked quite distractingly pretty. Her eyes shone, and her colour came and went. She turned back to Rietta, a little breathless.

“So I thought I had better answer it—and it was Carr. And Mr. March being here, I expect you know it’s all out about Mr. Holderness being the one that murdered everyone, and his committing suicide and all. I thought I’d be the first to tell you, but Mr. March being here—”

Rietta said, “Yes, he told me.”

After a momentary disappointment Fancy brightened.

“And Carr’s bringing Elizabeth Moore over to tea, and they’re giving out they’re engaged. He says I’m to call her Elizabeth. He sounded ever so pleased. It’s nice, isn’t it, and makes a sort of change after these murders. I mean, they’re all very well in the newspapers, but when it comes to having them right where you live, and the police in the house—” A wave of perfectly lovely colour swept up to the roots of her hair. “Oh, Mr. March, I didn’t mean to be rude!”

He laughed.

“Don’t worry—I’m off duty.”

“I only meant—Miss Cray, I only meant—well, an engagement does make a nice change, doesn’t it?”

Rietta said quite simply and earnestly,

“Yes, it does.”

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