The Clock Strikes Twelve (17 page)

A little later Miss Silver met four people. Each was encountered in the most natural and casual manner. To each she addressed the same question.

Albert Pearson was passing along the passage when she came out of the study. He appeared to be on his way to the back stair leading to the bedroom floor above. At the sound of Miss Silver’s slight cough he looked round. When she said, “Oh, Mr. Pearson—” he turned back and came to meet her.

“Can I do anything for you, Miss Silver?”

“Oh, no, Mr. Pearson—I was just wondering if you knew what had happened to Thursday’s Times. There was something I wanted. But it does not really matter. I do not wish to be troublesome.”

Mr. Pearson was all that was polite. He thought Lane would know—“I will ask him.”

“Oh, pray do not trouble. I only wondered—do you happen to know whether Mr. Paradine had the paper on Thursday night?”

Albert gazed through his thick lenses with an air of industrious concern. Miss Silver was reminded of an ant. La Fontaine’s fable floated through her mind as he said,

“Why, yes, I believe he did—in fact I am sure of it. It was on his table when I said goodnight.”

“He was not reading it when you went in?”

“Oh, no. It was on the table.”

“On the left-hand side?”

“Why, yes, Miss Silver.”

He received a gracious smile.

“Thank you, Mr. Pearson. Then I think Lane will have it. No, pray do not trouble—I will ask him myself.”

She encountered Lane in the hall. He produced the Times of the 31st without any delay. The sight of it appeared to affect him and Miss Silver in quite opposite ways. Whilst a gratified expression showed itself upon her face, Lane came near to being overcome. The fact that the paper did not seem to have been unfolded was the text of a mournful homily.

“Dreadful, isn’t it?” he said. “I never knew him not to read his Times before. Regular as clockwork he’d sit down to it after dinner.”

“Then did nobody else read it?”

Lane shook his head.

“No, madam. The ladies had their own papers. The Times was special for Mr. Paradine—he didn’t like anyone else to touch it. He must have been very much put about not to have thought about it on Thursday.”

“Did you see it when you went into the study after dinner?”

“Oh, yes, madam. It was lying on the table on his left.”

“He wasn’t reading it?”

“Oh, no, madam—it wasn’t unfolded.”

“Can you remember whether it was lying flat on the table?”

“No, madam, it wasn’t.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Quietly and with decision Lane was sure.

“You see, madam, I couldn’t help wondering why it didn’t lay flat. There seemed to be something under it, and I couldn’t help wondering what it was, Mr. Paradine being a gentleman who kept his table very neat.”

“Thank you, Lane.”

Times in hand, Miss Silver ascended the stairs. She met Phyllida Wray just at the top and enquired without more ado,

“Did you see this paper on the study table when you were talking to your uncle on Thursday night?”

Phyllida looked vague for a moment, then collected herself and murmured,

“Yes, I think so—oh, yes, I did.”

Further questions elicited that she hadn’t noticed particularly, but now she came to think of it the paper was sort of pushed up as if there was something underneath it. She really hadn’t thought about it at the time, but looking back, that was how it was.

Miss Silver proceeded to her bedroom, where she found Polly Parsons, in lilac print with a duster. Shutting the door behind her, she said,

“You can go on with your dusting in a moment, Polly. I only want to ask you a question.” She held out the Times. “Was this paper lying on the study table when you went in to make up the fire on Thursday night? Think carefully before you answer.”

Polly stared round-eyed at the Times. Then she said,

“Oh, no, miss, it wasn’t.”

“Are you sure, Polly?”

“Oh, yes, miss. It wouldn’t be on the writing-table—Mr. Lane would never have put it there. There’s a table special for the papers. I’d have noticed at once if it was out of its place.”

There was none of the embarrassment of the night before—not a stammer, not a blush. The colour in the rosy cheeks varied as little as if they had really been apples. The blue eyes met Miss Silver’s with the blankest innocence.

She said, “Thank you, Polly,” and went out, closing the door behind her.

Mr. Wray was in his room next door. She could hear him moving.

At her tap he said “Come in!” with just a touch of impatience in his tone.

He must have been walking up and down in the room, for he now stood at the window looking out. When the door shut he looked over his shoulder and appeared surprised. He said,

“Miss Silver!”

She said, “I would like to talk to you, Mr. Wray. Shall we sit down?”

“What is it? All right, you have the chair, I’ll sit on the bed. What do you want to talk about?”

She was regarding him with grave attention. She still held the Times of December 31st. She offered it now for his inspection.

“Did you see this paper on Thursday night when you went in to say goodnight to Mr. Paradine?”

“Yes—it was on his desk—I thought he had been reading it.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Wray, it had never been unfolded.”

He gave a half impatient laugh.

“Then I suppose he was going to read it.”

“It has never been unfolded, Mr. Wray.”

He leaned his elbows on the brass foot-rail of the bed, propped his chin on his hands, and said,

“All right—where do we go from there?”

Miss Silver coughed, not exactly in reproof but, as it were, to recall her own attention to the matter in hand. A strange idiom but really quite expressive— she must remember it… She wondered what dear Lord Tennyson would have said about modern slang. Something intolerant, she feared… The cough recalled her. She said crisply,

“Mr. Paradine was accustomed to read the Times every evening after dinner. On Thursday night he was in his study from nine till twelve o’clock, and he did not even unfold it. What does that suggest to you?”

Elliot looked at her very straight.

“Suppose you tell me what it suggests to you?”

“Very well. In someone else the reason might have been distress of mind, but from your observation of Mr. Paradine you assert that he was not distressed. Mrs. Wray gives me the same impression, and so does Mr. Mark. Mrs. Wray was helped and comforted by her interview. Mr. Mark was treated with sympathy and affection. ‘The heart at leisure from itself to soothe and sympathise’ is not usually met with in anyone who is under a severe personal strain.”

Elliot grinned.

“You know, that doesn’t sound awfully like Mr. Paradine to me.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“We have different ways of expressing ourselves, Mr. Wray. It is a fact that Mrs. Wray and Mr. Mark received sympathetic treatment.”

“Mark?”

“Yes. He was with Mr. Paradine between eleven and eleven-thirty on Thursday night. I think you just missed him when you came downstairs with Mr. Pearson. There is a perfectly satisfactory reason for this interview, but we need not go into that now. Pray let us return to the Times. I believe there were two reasons why it remained unopened. The first is that it was used to conceal something, and the second that Mr. Paradine was too fully occupied.”

“And how was he occupied?”

Miss Silver looked at him with bright intelligence.

“I think he had a number of visitors.”

“A number?”

“I believe so. There were, first, Mr. Pearson and yourself. Then Mrs. Wray, for about twenty minutes between ten and ten-thirty. Mr. Mark could not have arrived much before eleven, but I have reason to believe that there was another visitor at half past ten, since Mrs. Wray seems to have left the study in some haste and by way of the late Mrs. Paradine’s bedroom.”

Elliot looked at her.

“I suppose you were there!”

Miss Silver smiled. In the manner of one who instructs a backward class, she explained.

“She left her fingerprints on both doors of that room. She would hardly have gone out that way if she had not wished to avoid someone who was coming in by the study door.”

Elliot said, “Well, well. She’s one of the unfortunate people who can’t tell a lie, you know. Don’t be too hard on her.”

Miss Silver’s cough appeared to deprecate this levity. She said,

“I do not, of course, know who the visitor was.”

“You surprise me.”

“But I am quite sure that Mrs. Wray knows. However, we will leave that for the moment and come back to the other reason why the Times remained unopened. It is the more important of the two.”

Elliot’s face went grim.

“You said it was put there to cover something. Did you mean that it was put there to cover the cylinder with my blue-prints?”

“Yes, Mr. Wray.”

“What makes you think so?”

Miss Silver had brought her knitting-bag with her from her room. She now extracted little Roger’s leggings and began to knit. Above the dark grey wool and the clicking needles she continued to look at Elliot.

“It is very simple, Mr. Wray. At nine o’clock, which was just as the ladies were coming out of the dining-room, the under housemaid, Polly Parsons, went into the study to make up the fire. The Times was then on the paper table. At round about ten minutes to ten, when you and Mr. Pearson and Lane were all in the study within a few minutes of one another, the Times lay on the writing-table at Mr. Paradine’s left hand. Lane says he noticed particularly that it had not been opened, but that it was not lying flat. He seems to have wondered what was under it. It was still there and still unopened when Mrs. Wray came down just after ten, and when Mr. Mark arrived at eleven.”

“For the matter of that it was still there in the morning.”

“And it was covering the cylinder with your blueprints?”

“Yes.”

He made an abrupt change of position, shifting away from the foot-rail and sitting up straight.

Miss Silver said, “There is a strong probability that the cylinder was placed there between nine o’clock, when Polly came in to do the fire, and about ten minutes to ten, when Lane saw the Times in position to cover it.”

Elliot put his hands in his pockets and said,

“That’s not possible.”

Miss Silver’s needles clicked. Little Roger’s leggings revolved.

“Pray, why do you say that, Mr. Wray?”

“Because no one in the family had the opportunity of putting it back between those times. Nobody was alone.”

“Mr. Pearson?”

Elliot frowned.

“Lane was already in the study when he got there. Besides—” He finished the sentence with a shrug.

“I agree that the time would be a very unlikely one for anyone to choose, the Ambrose party having just left, and the family separating for the night.”

“An incredible time,” said Elliot. “Besides Lane was there first. As you say, he noticed the Times.”

“Yes. I was not seriously considering Mr. Pearson. Everything points in another direction. You say that no one had the opportunity of replacing the cylinder between nine and a quarter to ten because no one was alone. I think myself that the time may be narrowed down to the quarter of an hour which elapsed before the men joined the ladies in the drawing-room and Mr. Paradine went to his study. I feel sure that the cylinder was placed there during this period, and there is only one person who had the opportunity of doing so.”

“None of the men left the dining-room, Miss Silver.”

“I am aware of that, Mr. Wray. But one of the ladies did leave the drawing-room.”

Elliot’s fair brows made a rigid line above a gaze of singular intensity. He said, “Who?” and kept his voice so quiet that the word had a toneless sound.

Miss Silver returned the look for a moment with a very steady one of her own. Then she said,

“Miss Paradine.”

Elliot tipped back his head and laughed. The sound was not a pleasant one.

“You’re a brave woman! Have you any idea what sort of explosive you’re handling?”

Miss Silver coughed.

“I am giving you the result of what I have observed and deduced, Mr. Wray. I should be glad to continue.”

“I should be glad if you would.”

She went on knitting.

“If you will consider the facts quite impartially you will admit that Miss Paradine was the sole member of the family who had the opportunity of replacing your cylinder. Unless you prefer what you have yourself stigmatized as the absurd proposition that Mr. Pearson chose the moment when Lane was bringing in drinks, and the members of the family were exchanging goodnights, to rush into his employer’s presence and confess to a theft.”

Elliot shook his head.

“You can wash that out. Albert is the soul of caution.”

“So I imagine. We therefore return to Miss Paradine, who left the drawing-room at a few minutes after nine with the avowed object of bringing down the New Year’s gifts which she had prepared for her guests. She was away for a very short time, but it would not have taken her long to do what I believe she did do. I think she came along this passage and down the stair at the end of it, and so into the study. It would really hardly delay her at all. Having deposited the cylinder upon Mr. Paradine’s table, she had only to set the baize door ajar and listen, to make sure that there was no one in the hall before she crossed it and returned to the drawing-room with her gifts.”

Elliot gave a long, low whistle.

“Grace Paradine!” he said. “Why?”

Miss Silver’s needles clicked.

“Don’t you know why, Mr. Wray? I think you do. Forgive me if I speak plainly. She hates you—she is jealous of you. She has separated you from your wife. She has a very intense nature, and it is wholly set upon Mrs. Wray. It is quite impossible to be in the same room with the three of you without becoming aware of this. I have been very acutely aware of it. Mrs. Wray is aware of it too. It troubles her deeply. She is pulled in one direction by upbringing and by what she thinks of as loyalty and duty, and in another by all her natural instincts and feelings. Now consider Miss Paradine’s position. She has achieved what I think she set out to achieve—a separation between you and your wife. I do not know how she effected it, but she is a woman of considerable force of character and, I think, quite unscrupulous where her feeling for Mrs. Wray is concerned. She is very dominant, very possessive, very sure of her own claims. And then you come up here on a business visit. She is afraid of a meeting between you and Mrs. Wray—she is afraid of future visits. She casts about for something that will prevent them. It occurs to her that if valuable plans were lost the breach between you and the Paradines might be rendered complete. I do not know whether such a result would have followed, but she might have supposed that it would. You will remember that Mr. Richard Paradine had tea with her on Thursday. It seems from your statement of what Mr. Paradine told you that Mr. Richard was aware that his uncle was bringing home papers of such importance that he would not leave them in the office unguarded whilst he went to wash his hands, but desired Mr. Richard to remain there during his absence. Mr. Richard has struck me as an amiable and rather talkative young man. I think we shall find that he mentioned the papers to his aunt. I am persuaded that she then found some opportunity of abstracting them, and that Mr. Paradine was perfectly well aware that she had done so. He told you that he knew who had taken them, did he not?”

Elliot nodded.

Knitting rapidly, Miss Silver proceeded.

“I have been very specially struck by the fact that Mr. Paradine seems to have felt no uneasiness about the loss of these important blue-prints. You would agree on this point, would you not?”

Elliot’s look had sharpened.

“Yes.”

“You described him as being in very good spirits.”

He said grimly, “Oh, yes—he was enjoying himself.”

The needles clicked briskly.

“Don’t you see what that implies, Mr. Wray? A valuable secret was missing. If Mr. Paradine was able to enjoy the situation, it means he was perfectly persuaded that there was no military reason for the theft. He must, for instance, have been quite certain there was no danger that the blue-prints might be photographed. Think for a moment, and you will see it was incredible that he should temporize as he did if he had the slightest doubt on this point.”

In an expressionless voice Elliot said, “Yes.”

Over the revolving needles Miss Silver’s eyes were as bright as those of a bird—the proverbial early bird with the worm in view. The slight sideways tilt of her neat head was quite in keeping. She said crisply,

“Mr. Paradine knew that your blue-prints had not been taken because they were blue-prints, but for the purely personal and private reason that they were yours. After living with her for the last twenty years, we may suppose that he had a tolerable knowledge of Miss Paradine’s frame of mind and of the situation in the house. We don’t know how he knew that she had taken the cylinder, but he certainly did know. He may have been fond of his sister, but there is no doubt that he was very angry, and quite determined to punish and humiliate her. I think we may allow that she was punished. That speech of his at the dinner-table must have been a dreadful experience for Miss Paradine. The family has always regarded her with great affection and respect—one cannot help observing that at every turn. Even Miss Ambrose had no criticisms.”

“They put her on a pedestal,” said Elliot bitterly. “I’ve been up against that—Aunt Grace can do no wrong. It’s the great family myth. I’m the sole blasphemer.”

Miss Silver nodded.

“Few characters can support the weight of infallibility. But once you have grown accustomed to a pedestal it is very hard to step down—harder still to be pushed down, and perhaps in public. When Miss Paradine sat at the dinner-table on Thursday night and heard her brother say he knew who had committed that still unnamed offence she must have suffered very deeply indeed. She could not be sure that his next words might not inform the whole family that she was the offender. I think you may feel sure that she had her punishment then.”

Elliot’s face was colourless and set.

“She’d asked for it, hadn’t she? Do you expect me to be sorry for her? You know what she has done— to me—to Phyllida. Even if I beat her now—even if that damned pedestal of hers is smashed so that she never gets on to it again—it’s robbed us of a year.”

He got up, walked to the window, stood there a moment, and came back again, hard and controlled.

“Did she murder her brother?” Miss Silver’s clicking needles stopped. Her hands rested in her lap.

“I don’t know, Mr. Wray.”