The Clock Strikes Twelve (19 page)

Miss Silver went briskly to the dining-room, where she found Lane laying the table for lunch. Her slight cough having attracted his attention, he straightened up and turned towards her.

“Do you require anything, madam?”

“Thank you, Lane, I should be glad if you would answer one or two questions. I think you are aware that Mr. Mark Paradine has asked me to enquire into the circumstances of his uncle’s death.”

“Yes, madam.”

“I should be glad to know what time it was when you took the tray of drinks into the study on Thursday night.”

Lane looked worried.

“I don’t know that I could say—not to be exact, madam. It was after the quarter to, but it was some way off ten o’clock, I should say.”

“Would that be your usual time?”

“No, madam. Ten o’clock was my time, but if Mr. Paradine wished for the tray earlier he would ring. On the Thursday night his bell went at a quarter to ten. I’d just come back from letting Mr. Ambrose and his party out, when Mrs. Lane told me that the bell had gone.”

Miss Silver said, “Thank you.” And then, “Mr. Paradine was alone in the study when you went in with the tray?”

“Why, no, madam.”

Miss Silver looked brightly expectant.

“Indeed? Pray, who was with him?”

“Well, madam, it was Mr. Pearson. But I don’t want to give any wrong impression. He was just going into the room as I came through the baize door from the hall with my tray.”

“And did he see you?”

“I hardly think so. He was going into the study as I came through.”

“Did he shut the door behind him?”

“He had not time to do so, madam. He must have heard me coming before he could close the door.”

“Did you hear him speak to Mr. Paradine, or Mr. Paradine speak to him?”

The worried look became intensified.

“I hardly like to say.”

Miss Silver looked at him steadily.

“You were with Mr. Paradine for a great many years?”

“Yes, madam.”

She said, “He was murdered.”

Lane had been holding a cut-glass decanter in his hand. It shook. He set it down.

Miss Silver went on speaking.

“Innocent people are under suspicion. There is one guilty person. I hope to find out who it is. Everyone in this house knows something that may help. If everyone will tell me what they know, those innocent people can be cleared. Was it Mr. Pearson who spoke, or Mr. Paradine?”

He had turned a little away to put down the decanter. He remained like that, looking down. He said in a very low voice,

“It was Mr. Paradine.”

“Did you hear what he said?”

“Yes, madam.”

“Will you please tell me what you heard.”

“Madam—”

“Yes, Lane? It will be better if you will tell me.”

He said, “Mr. Paradine said—well, madam, he said, ‘Hullo, Albert, have you come to confess?’ But if I may say so, I took it to be one of Mr. Paradine’s jokes. Being with him as long as I’ve been, I wouldn’t say that it was meant seriously. That was the way Mr. Paradine talked—he’d sound very angry, and be laughing at you all the time. I’ve told you what he said, but I wouldn’t like to think I’d given a wrong impression.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“You have not done so. How long did you remain in the study?”

“No longer than it took me to set down the tray and retire.”

“And where was Mr. Pearson whilst you were doing this?”

“He stayed near the door, madam. If I may say so, he seemed to be rather upset, which I put down to his not being so well accustomed to Mr. Paradine as to relish his way of joking. I can remember being very much taken aback myself when I first come to the River House. Very unexpected, Mr. Paradine could be when you were not accustomed to his way of putting things.”

Miss Silver smiled.

“I can quite understand that. Perhaps it will make you feel easier to know that Mr. Paradine addressed a very similar remark to Mrs. Wray that evening.”

Lane appeared to be very much relieved.

“Then there would be no doubt about its being a joke, madam. Very fond indeed of Mrs. Wray, Mr. Paradine was.”

Miss Silver nodded.

“Well then, Lane, that was all? You came out of the study, leaving Mr. Pearson with Mr. Paradine?”

“You may put it that way, madam. In point of fact Mr. Pearson left the room before me, but just as I was going out Mr. Paradine called him back. I could not avoid hearing what passed. He said, ‘Don’t post that letter to Lewis—I may want to alter it. I’ll see you about it some other time.’ And Mr. Pearson said goodnight and came out and shut the door.”

Emerging from the dining-room, Miss Silver was aware of Mark Paradine on the stairs. He was coming down two steps at a time. He looked like a man driven hard on a road which is none of his choosing. Until Miss Silver pronounced his name, which she did very clearly, it is to be doubted whether he was aware of her presence. In the concentration of his mind upon its own bitter thoughts he might very well have brushed against her as he passed without noticing that she was there. But her “Mr. Mark—” halted him. He turned, looked vaguely in her direction for a moment, and came to.

“Oh—Miss Silver! Did you want me?”

“Just for a moment, if you will be so good.”

After a brief pause of indecision, during which he was remembering painfully that the police were in the study, he opened the first door on the left-hand side of the hall and ushered her into the billiard room, an enormous room with half-drawn blinds and the hot, stuffy feeling of a heated place to which no fresh air has been admitted. Miss Silver thought it a very fine room, but she would have liked to open a window. This not being the moment for such digressions, she gave her whole attention to the matter in hand. But before she had time to speak Mark said in hard, flat tones,

“Well—are they going to arrest me?”

“Are you not rather jumping to conclusions?”

“I think not. I don’t quite see how they can help it. The only question seems to be whether it will be before lunch or afterwards. My uncle’s solicitor, Mr. Harrison, is coming in to see the safe opened at half past two. I thought they might wait till then, though I really don’t know why they should. As far as I know, the only things he kept there were a few private papers and my aunt’s diamonds.” Miss Silver displayed interest. “The ones she is wearing in the portrait?” They had remained standing. Mark leaned against the near end of the billiard table, hands driven deep into his pockets. He nodded.

“That’s it. Nobody’s worn them since she died. They ought to have been in the bank, but he liked having them handy. He used to take them out and look at them. I found him doing it one night, and he told me all about them—what he’d paid for them, how much they’d risen in value, and how well Aunt Clara had looked in them.”

Miss Silver picked out the word value and repeated it with a slight monitory cough.

“They must be of considerable value, Mr. Mark.”

“I suppose they are—” His voice was wearily indifferent.

Miss Silver coughed again.

“To whom are they left?”

“They are divided between my cousin Richard and myself.”

Miss Silver appeared preoccupied. She said,

“They will be valued for probate. Would you object to an earlier valuation?”

“I? Why should I? I don’t take any interest one way or the other.”

She hesitated very slightly.

“Then you would have no objection to a valuer being present when the safe is opened?”

She saw his face change. Eyes and mind seemed to focus upon her for the first time.

“What for?” His voice had a startled sound.

She said gravely,

“Mr. Paradine was murdered. I am not yet sure of the motive behind the murder.”

“I thought you said Elliot’s blue-prints had been taken.”

“They were taken—and they were put back again. The only time that they could have been replaced was between nine and a quarter past. The only person who had an opportunity of replacing them was Miss Paradine. I conclude that it was she who took them. But I do not know whether she returned later and caused her brother’s death by pushing him over the parapet.”

Mark’s hands came out of his pockets. He stood up straight.

“What are you saying? What possible motive—”

“She wished to make a complete breach with Mr. Wray. She expected this to follow upon the loss of the blue-prints. I imagine that it might very easily have done so. The thing she wishes most in the world is to prevent a reconciliation between Mr. and Mrs. Wray.”

Mark looked at her in horror, but it was the horror, not of incredulity, but of most unwilling conviction. He got out a handkerchief, wiped a sweating brow, and said,

“Did she—do it?”

“I have told you that I do not know. She had a very strong motive—her brother knew what she had done. If he chose he could ruin her credit with the family. You are in a position to know what that would mean to her.”

He said, “For God’s sake don’t! It’s too horrible. She couldn’t have done it!”

Miss Silver glanced at him compassionately.

“Then we must look for another motive in some other person. Will you tell me what Mr. Paradine said to you when you entered the study on Thursday night?”

He appeared surprised, startled, relieved.

“How do you mean?”

“I want to know what he said when he saw you.”

Mark frowned. A spark of comprehension came and went, a muscle twitched in his cheek. He said,

“How do you know?”

Miss Silver smiled.

“He said the same thing to three other people who went to see him that night. I was curious to know whether he also said it to you. Now will you tell me what he said?”

Mark went back a step. He took hold of the edge of the table above the corner pocket and gripped it hard.

“He asked me if I had come to confess.”

Miss Silver beamed.

“That is just what I thought. He addressed the same remark to Mr. Pearson, and, separately, to Mr. and Mrs. Wray.”

“Why?”

Miss Silver coughed.

“According to Mr. Wray, Mr. Paradine was enjoying the situation he had created. To a man of his ironical turn of mind there would be entertainment in watching the response to a question of this nature. He had just startled you all very much by saying that one of you had betrayed the family interests. He had in mind the theft of the blue-prints, but only one of those present would be aware of this. I believe that one to have been Miss Paradine. The rest could not know what he meant—they could only surmise. It is, unfortunately, true that most people have something to hide. There are privacies of the heart and mind. There are dilemmas, faults, failings, sins, which we would not willingly expose to view. Mr. Paradine’s accusation shocked more than the criminal into a hasty search of conduct and conscience. I wonder how many confessions were made on that Thursday night. I think you made one, did you not? I think it was very kindly received. But suppose, Mr. Mark, that one of the confessions he invited was of such a nature that it could not be made without ruin? Why, then we would have a second motive for the murder. That is what I meant when I said that we must ascertain whether there was anyone who had such a motive—anyone, that is, other than Miss Paradine. We know what her motive was. If she did not murder her brother, there must be someone else with a motive as strong or stronger. To find the murderer we must find that motive. It may not even exist—there may be no other motive. But the fact that these very valuable diamonds were kept in the house does suggest a possible motive. Since every possibility should be explored, I suggest that these jewels should be examined by a competent person. Do you happen to know whether there is a detailed list of them, and where Mr. Paradine would have been likely to keep it?”

Still in that indifferent manner, Mark said, “The list is in the safe. I don’t think there’s an earthly chance that anything is missing. My uncle was always having the things out to look at—he liked handling them. We’ll have a valuer in if you want one, but he won’t find anything wrong. You’ll have to look somewhere else for your motive, and the police aren’t going to look any farther than me. If you ask me, they’ll arrest me just as soon as Harrison tells them the extent to which I benefit under my uncle’s will. I get about three quarters of everything, you know—Uncle James’ idea of supporting the family dynasty. That’s the sort of motive a policeman likes—plain straightforward murder for a sizable lump of cash. Just as soon as it occurs to them to ask Harrison about the terms of the will my number will be up. They’ll probably let me open the safe before they arrest me, but that’s about as much rope as I’ll get. It’s now half past twelve—Harrison is to be here at half past two. I’ve got about two hours. Any suggestions as to what I should do with them?”

Miss Silver chose to regard this as a pleasantry, though as a rule pleasantries are not delivered in so bitter a tone. She smiled and said,

“I think you might find it helpful to talk the matter over with Miss Pennington.”

The next half hour was a busy one for Miss Silver. After spending ten minutes in the study with Colonel Bostock and Superintendent Vyner she returned to her bedroom and found it empty. Polly Parsons, having answered the bell, was asked some questions which resulted in heartfelt sobs and some interesting admissions. Having been bidden to dry her eyes, hold her tongue, and summon Louisa, she departed, still gulping and unfeignedly glad to get away.

Left alone in the sitting-room, Mark stood for some moments looking moodily at nothing. His inward vision was, however, obsessed with the picture presented in Miss Silver’s last words. If he was going to be arrested he had this next half hour in which to see Lydia again. After that the domestic business of lunch would intervene, and then the police would be coming back—if indeed they intended to go. Harrison would arrive, and at any time the balloon might be expected to go up.

Lydia was at Meadowcroft. Normally it took seven minutes to get there by the river path and the foot-bridge. He could cut the seven to five. He went out of the front door and down the steep cliff path at a run.

Meadowcroft stood among the fields on the farther side of the river—a converted farmhouse, mellow and comfortable. He had always considered it wasted on Frank and Irene, who had filled it with jangling modern furniture bought in suites.

He wasn’t thinking about furniture as he let himself in. If Lydia was not in the drawing-room, he would ring the bell and say he wanted to speak to her. Anyone was at liberty to think anything they pleased. He had to see her once more before he stopped being a free man and became the accused.

He walked through the hall without meeting anyone, opened the drawing-room door, and saw Dicky on the far side of the room with his hand on Lydia’s shoulder and his head bent to kiss her. At any other time this would have halted him. It did not halt him now. He came in, shut the door behind him, and crossed to where they stood together in front of the fire.

Dicky said, “Hullo, Mark!” And then, “Well, I’ll be getting along.”

The words, and the manner in which they were said, went by as if they had not been spoken. As far as Mark was concerned they did not penetrate his consciousness at all. Lydia looked vague, smiled, said something which was just an indistinguishable murmur, and fell silent. Dicky went down the room and out.

As the door shut, Mark moved to the mantelpiece and leaned there, looking down into the fire. After the first moment when he had seen her face lifted for Dicky’s kiss he had not looked at Lydia. He had come to see her, but now that he was here he couldn’t look at her. There was too much to say between them, and now it would never be said. She would marry Dicky and be happy. The family had always planned it that way.

Lydia’s voice broke in upon these cheerful thoughts.

“Mark—what’s the matter?”

He said without looking up, “I wanted to see you,” and then frowned desperately, because what was the good of saying that now? The impulse which had brought him here had expended the last of its energy as he spoke. It failed, and left him drained.

Lydia said,

“Darling, if you want to see me, it’s no good looking obstinately into the fire. You’ve got the direction wrong.”

He straightened up at that, looked down at her, and found her noticeably pale. In a stumbling sort of way he said,

“Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Pale.”

“Darling, my colour comes out of a box, you know. Makeup isn’t done before the funeral—at least, I gather, that’s the idea.”

“I see—” His tone was quite abstracted now.

“Mark, why did you come?”

“I think they are going to arrest me. I wanted to see you again.”

“Why should they arrest you?”

“I told you. I went back. I left a pocket diary on the study table—the one Aunt Grace gave me. Someone recognized it. I was with him till half past eleven, and he was dead before twelve. I come into most of what he’d got to leave. They’re bound to arrest me. I don’t see what else they can do.”

“Why did you go back?”

“I wanted to get away—from the firm—from Birleton. I’d told him so before. We had a row about it. I thought I’d try again. I told him why I wanted to get away. He said all right, if I still wanted to go in a month’s time he’d do what he could about it.”

“Have you told the police that?”

“More or less.”

“Have you told them why you wanted to go?”

“No.”

“Will you tell me?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t think so. It doesn’t matter now. I just came—to say goodbye—”

There was a pause. Lydia looked at him, and looked away. She looked into the fire. It dazzled and shimmered in a very bewildering way. She couldn’t remember when she had cried last, but she thought she was going to cry now. Her voice was hot with anger as she said,

“Do stop being stupid! Why should you say goodbye?”

“I told you. I’d better go now. I don’t want to see anyone else. Are you going to marry Dicky?”

Colour that was not out of a box came back in two bright patches. She looked at him and said,

“Why should I?”

“He was kissing you when I came in.”

“Darling, I should be put in prison if I married everyone who kissed me. It just can’t be done.”

“Why was he kissing you?”

Lydia’s very lovely eyes were as innocent as a baby’s. The slight moisture which had made the flames dazzle deepened the green in them.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.”

Her voice fell to a modest murmur.

“I was promising to be a cousin to him.”

“What!”

She nodded. Black lashes veiled the sparkling green.

“A first cousin—by marriage. He’d just been putting a pistol to my head. He said he had asked me to marry him eleven times and he didn’t mind making a round dozen of it, but if I said no again he was through. He’s awfully fond of Daisy Carter and he thought they’d be very happy together, but he’d give me one more chance. So I said, ‘All right, darling, it’s no.’ The kiss was a fond farewell. No hearts broken, and every prospect of Daisy endowing him with the Carter money-bags.”

“You’re not going to marry him?”

The lashes swept up again.

“A little slow in the uptake, aren’t you, darling?” She came up close, stood on tiptoe, and put up her face.

“You love me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Terribly?”

“Terribly.”

“For a long time?”

“Always.”

“That’s why you wanted to go away?”

“I thought you’d marry Dicky—I couldn’t stand it.”

“Never thought of asking me yourself? You seem to have an inhibition or something. You might get Dicky to show you how it’s done. It’s quite easy really.”

He looked at her without speaking. She reached up, put her arms round his neck, and said between laughing and crying,

“Have a stab at it, darling!”