Silence Observed (18 page)

“I understand the force of considerations of that kind, Mr Richardson. And I take it you were not aware that there is a painting of very great value in this house?”

“Certainly I was not aware of it. Nor was Miss Kipper – until a certain recent occasion which we both, I think, have in mind.”

“It makes a difference, wouldn’t you say? Relatives may disagree about the ownership of a piano, or make off with a dinner service and argue about it afterwards. But when it comes to a proposal to–”

“Quite so.” Richardson was looking wary again.

“But I must say, Sir John, that I have renewed misgivings about the propriety of this discussion. I think I must advise Miss Kipper – and Mr Heffer, too, for that matter – not to answer questions at this stage.”

“Questions?” Appleby shook his head. “My dear sir, I don’t intend to ask any. I merely propose – for the sake of clarifying my own mind and yours – to embark on what may be called a brief narrative. I may say that there is only one point in this affair about which I am still seriously in the dark. It will emerge presently, and perhaps I shall get some light on it. May I begin?”

There was a moment’s silence. Then – very properly – it was the goddess who spoke.

“Please begin,” Jane Kipper said.

“Miss Kipper,” Appleby said, “has for long lived with her aunt in this house in what may be termed a depressed situation. She has received an expensive, but not particularly useful, education. But the money has run out; she is dependent on her miserly relation; her solicitor can only advise patience. It is all very trying and vexatious – particularly as Miss Kipper is not unattractive, and ought therefore, by the law of nature, to be having a good time.”

Appleby paused on this. He knew, that these young people were going to be let off; he knew that he was himself going to conspire to this end; he didn’t see that he need pull his punches.

“Miss Kipper’s expensive education has run to the history of art. This hasn’t, perhaps, put her quite in the connoisseurs’ class – but it has prompted her, one day, to pause before a certain painting on her aunt’s wall. It is a painting uncommonly like the Rembrandts she has seen when being conducted with her fellow pupils round the best galleries. She forms a plan.”

“I just wanted to find out,” Jane Kipper said. “That was how it started, you see.”

“Quite so.” She was, Appleby reflected, an entirely commonplace girl. In ten years’ time, Jimmy Heffer would have become aware that his wife was an entirely commonplace woman. But he was himself an entirely commonplace man. Only accident had thrust them into their present uncommon situation. One day there would be boy Heffers trudging through Eton and King’s, girl Heffers trudging through the best picture galleries. So be it – Appleby said to himself. Let them out of this silly jam. Let it all go on.

“Miss Kipper,” Appleby said, “forms a design. There is, indeed, one impediment to it. Her aunt keeps an extraordinarily sharp eye upon all her possessions. Mrs Kipper’s waking life, in fact, may be described as a sort of sentry-go. Fortunately, however, she does – once a month, or thereabouts – go off the job. Last Friday – a week ago today – she goes up to London to see her solicitor, Mr Wiggins of Gray’s Inn. That would be right?”

Jane Kipper gave a grave assent.

“So Miss Kipper goes up to London too – with this exciting and problematical painting under her arm. She learns that it is of great value. But she learns this in circumstances of unexpected embarrassment – particularly considering that she has taken the precaution of writing down a false name and address. She learns it in the presence of a young man who is, in fact, known to her. I don’t know how this comes about, but the point is not very material.”

“My sister and Jane were at the same school,” Heffer said. “I recognized her at once, and she recognized me. Since I knew her name, I was able to trace her.”

“Heffer,” Appleby continued impassively, “lost no time in contacting Miss Kipper. The lady had, as we have noticed, this measure of good looks. And she controlled, even if she did not own, an artistic work of hitherto unsuspected value. I think it conceivable that Miss Kipper somewhat dramatized her situation – and that Mrs Kipper perhaps put in an appearance well-calculated to confirm Heffer in the view that here was a helpless orphan, defrauded of her just rights by an aunt who was little better than an ogre. Be that as it may, it was now Heffer’s turn to form a design. He proposed to obtain a replica of the Rembrandt, good enough to pass the daily scrutiny of Mrs Kipper to her dying day, and to sell the original for Miss Kipper’s benefit. Mrs Kipper had no interest in the arts, and there was no possibility of the fact of such a transaction coming to her notice. The only serious snag was that Heffer’s superior, Sir Gabriel Gulliver, was now aware of the existence of the painting. Heffer and Miss Kipper discussed this. Could he be brought into the plot? Heffer, who knew him very well, did not for a moment believe that he could. Miss Kipper, who considered herself to be a great judge of character, thought otherwise. She believed that she had discerned a certain lack of solidity in Sir Gabriel, which might be played upon. It was thus that, when this morning’s fatality took place, Heffer was not free from the appalled sense that Miss Kipper might have tackled Sir Gabriel, discovered her mistake, and killed him to prevent his disclosing the conspiracy. This supposed action of Miss Kipper’s was, indeed, a thing very unlikely in the light of last night’s events – to which I shall presently come. But Heffer has had a bad morning, all the same.”

“It can’t be said that you helped,” Heffer said.

“I now return” – Appleby continued, unheeding – “to Heffer’s design. He knew – or took means to discover – that a man called Trechmann was in a position to have a replica of the Rembrandt made under conditions of secrecy. He entered into negotiations with him. But Mrs Kipper was again a difficulty. The Rembrandt must always be in its accustomed place by day. The only possible arrangement, then, was that Miss Kipper should bring it to Trechmann’s shop by night – doing so a sufficient number of times to enable an identical canvas to be painted. And that brings us to six p.m. yesterday evening. At that hour Heffer stepped into Trechmann’s shop to confirm the arrangement. As it happened, he stepped straight into another and larger conspiracy – or rather into the fatal consequence of such another conspiracy. He found Trechmann shot dead. It was a great shock to him.”

Appleby paused with mild irony on this. Heffer made as if to say something, and then thought better of it.

“And there was an additional awkwardness – as there is apt to be in such amateur attempts at criminal practice. From within seconds of Trechmann’s being shot, Heffer was under the observation of the police. He thus had no means of secretly communicating with Miss Kipper and warning her not to turn up with the painting later that night as planned. In the circumstances, he behaved with a certain amount of resource – staging a sort of sit-down strike which enabled him to be on the spot still when Miss Kipper arrived. He gave a warning shout. And Miss Kipper – wearing, I think, the same slacks in which we see her now – bolted, picture and all. This morning seems to have found Heffer somewhat irresolute. He went back to work. He couldn’t quite decide what it was safe to do. And so he was overtaken again by events – this time the shooting of Sir Gabriel Gulliver. As soon as he got away from an unpleasant luncheon engagement, however, he beat it for Veere House – followed, naturally, by adequate police observation. So here we are.” Appleby paused, and then turned to Richardson. “I believe that I have now sketched the entire course of your client’s involvement – and her friend’s involvement – in the very grave matters I am investigating.”

“Thank you,” Richardson said. “The situation, then, is clear. These young people were engaged in a prank, and stumbled upon something very different.”

“You may call it a prank if you like – although I’m not at all sure that a judge would agree with you. But my main business is certainly with other characters in the drama.”

“Precisely.” Richardson appeared eminently satisfied. “Our young friends had this half-baked notion of copying an old painting, and so forth. But it all came to nothing, and we can pass on to more serious matters. If either of them can help you in any way, Sir John, it is a course that I would urge upon them very strongly.”

Appleby had taken out his watch and glanced at it.

“I haven’t much more time,” he said, “for this end of the affair. But there are one or two points I should be glad to have cleared up. The painting of a replica is in itself a perfectly reputable proceeding. But I take it, Heffer, that you felt you had to have it done in a particularly confidential way?”

“Of course I did.” Heffer was impatient. “Anybody competent to copy that picture would know what he was copying: an unrecorded Rembrandt of great value. So there must be no tale-telling. That’s why I sought out this fellow Trechmann.”

“Trechmann was known – at least in a certain limited circle – to be involved in dubious transactions in the field of art dealing?”

“Yes – in a very limited circle indeed. There was just the beginning of talk about him.”

“Had you heard a rumour that Trechmann was in some way connected with definite faking of pictures?”

“Yes – rather obscurely, I had.”

Appleby gave a satisfied nod.

“It’s a point of some importance. Any talk of that sort would mean that Trechmann’s usefulness to certain people who may be called his principals was coming to an end. Did you get the impression that your replica was going to be executed on the premises?”

“That seemed the implication. But I saw no sign of preparation for anything of the sort.”

“You wouldn’t. Trechmann’s shop was connected, by way of the roof, with a studio in which a great deal of enterprising artistic fraud was perpetrated. At least, that is the inference from the evidence that has begun to come in. The occupier of the studio was thick enough with Trechmann to use his drawing pins and index cards in just the way that Trechmann did. And the liquidating of Trechmann was carried out synchronously with a thoroughly efficient emergency evacuation of the studio. In fact it may be said that a very considerable industry was wound up yesterday. But not, perhaps, in a totally negative spirit.” Appleby considered for a moment. “Would I be right, Heffer, in supposing that you told this fellow Trechmann more or less your whole story?”

“Yes. I had to. He said he couldn’t undertake to have the copy made without a knowledge of the full circumstances.”

“I see. In my opinion – and it’s a matter in which I have some experience – you’d never make other than rather a naive crook. Good afternoon.”

And Appleby didn’t wait to see the young man flush. He had got to his feet, bowed to Richardson and the astounding Miss Kipper, and walked out of the room. Veere House and its denizens were no longer of much interest to him. It was Rose Cottage, Winterbourne Crucis, that he was beginning to wonder about.

The light was fading as Appleby drove back through Woodford. He had parted from both Parker and his own driver, and was at the wheel of the big police car himself. He had an instinct for solitude at this stage of an affair. And it is something you get – after a fashion – when driving a car into London against rush-hour traffic. He decided to go straight home. It was too early for Judith to be back – too early by a good bit. All the same, he’d get straight back to Westminster.

It seemed a long time ago that this had been the Manallace mystery. But it was only yesterday that he had been listening, idly enough, first to Charles Gribble’s innocent delight and then to Charles Gribble’s comical dismay. It had been a few hours after that, again, that Gabriel Gulliver had got talking, and that the mighty name of Rembrandt had in consequence come up over the horizon. In history – criminal history – it would be as the Rembrandt mystery that this would go down. He wondered what would happen to Mrs Kipper’s Old Man. Perhaps Richardson, who was a shrewd chap, would establish that it was really Miss Kipper’s Old Man. In which case it would probably end by making Jimmy Heffer’s fortune after all. One wouldn’t be able to call that a very moral conclusion to the affair. Not that it would matter very much in the world in which the Old Man lived. In that world the Old Man was lodged timelessly.

When old age shall this generation waste,

Thou shalt remain –

Appleby braked smoothly. The London Hospital again. And another ambulance.

Six o’clock came tumbling down from Big Ben as he turned out of Whitehall. Five minutes later he was on the pavement before his own front door. As he felt for his latchkey a car drew up behind him. He glanced at the man getting out of it. He was Jimmy Heffer.

“That sort of trailing is easier than I thought.” Heffer jerked out the words nervously as he came up. “Do you mind, sir? Can I have just another word with you?”

Appleby nodded silently. He didn’t want this. But he could see that something had cracked in Heffer. The young man had been realizing things. Appleby opened the door, switched on a light, and led the way to his study.

“Yes?” he said, without sitting down.

“I wanted to say this: that it did seem to me, on the facts, to be justly and honestly Jane’s. The damned picture, I mean.”

“Jane, did you say? Quite a lot seems to have been happening at high speed in this bad business.”

“Yes, I know. But she did turn out to like me, you see. Just as I liked her.”

“And so you set out on more justice and honesty together.” Appleby looked at the young man steadily. “Heffer, there’s only one thing it occurs to me to say. Queer things can happen to a man’s judgement in the face of beauty like that. I’ve never seen such a girl. And you’d never seen such a girl. As for the girl herself, I don’t see her as carrying much responsibility. For her, quite genuinely, the picture was just a piece of disputed family property, no doubt. But for you, you know, it was something that came along in the course of your job. And one’s job comes first.”