The Ivory Dagger (17 page)

It was not a person now but an inanimate object upon which she focused her thought—that long glass door which Professor Richardson had found unlocked at just before eleven o’clock.

Miss Silver leaned back in her chair and considered the door.

It was unlocked at eleven o’clock, but the Professor stated with emphasis that it had been bolted behind him when he went away. Yet Bill Waring had found it not only unlocked but ajar at a little after midnight. Since the fastening was of the old-fashioned kind by which the turning of the handle drives a bolt down into a socket in the threshold, there could be no question of its being opened from outside by someone in possession of a key. It could therefore only have been opened from within, and it had been so opened twice. Once before eleven o’clock—by whom and with what object? And again after being locked by Sir Herbert at eleven-fifteen.

It was impossible to avoid the conclusion that the person who had opened it this second time was either Sir Herbert Whitall himself or his murderer. Professor Richardson was gone before a quarter past eleven. Had someone then come tapping on the glass and been admitted? Was this person expected? Or only so familiar that he—or she—would be admitted without question? Miss Whitaker would be such a person. Had she bicycled out from Emsworth and come tapping on the glass to make one last jealous scene, and in the end snatched up the dagger? Or had someone come along the dim passage from the sleeping house through that other door to wreak some grudge or satisfy some greed, going back to the sleeping house again but first setting the door to the terrace ajar so that it might be thought that the murderer came that way? Upon this point there was no evidence.

Miss Silver looked at her watch. The hands stood at a quarter before midnight. She went to the mahogany wardrobe, unhung her black cloth coat, and put it on. She replaced her thin beaded slippers with a pair of Oxford shoes and assumed her second-best hat. At the open door of her room she paused and listened. A most profound silence had settled upon the house. On this floor at least nobody moved or stirred.

At the head of the stairs she paused again. A small light burned in the hall below. The carpet was thick and new, her feet made no sound upon it. Crossing the hall, she made her way to the Blue Room, where Bill Waring had had his interview with Lady Dryden, and which he had appointed as his meeting-place with Lila. The window, as she had noted when she had been in the room for the purpose of telephoning to Frank Abbott, was of the simple casement type—no locks, no bolts, no bars. She had merely to lift the latch, push open the right-hand half of the window, and step out. On the inside a low window-seat made the process extremely easy, whilst even on the outer side there was no more than a two-foot drop, and since the gravel of the carriage sweep came right up to the house there was no risk of leaving footprints.

Switching off the light in the room, she climbed out and drew the window to behind her. The latch would prevent it from shutting completely, but there was no wind, and she felt assured that it would remain as she had left it until her return. It might be that she would not require to use this mode of ingress, in which case she would of course make it her business to see that the latch was fastened from the inside.

With all this present in her mind as part of an orderly plan, she stood for a few moments so that her eyes might become accustomed to the darkness. At first she could distinguish nothing at all. Then what had seemed to be a black curtain resolved itself into the grey of a cloudy sky and the darker shadow of the trees about the drive. She was facing that way. Turning a little more towards the house, she was aware of the dense mass of shrubbery which flanked it. She had provided herself with a torch, but was unwilling to use it if the necessity could be avoided. By keeping close to the wall it would not be possible to miss the flagged path which Bill Waring had taken on the night of the murder. There was, of course, another path beyond this one, winding through the shrubbery. It was in the direction of this second path that both Bill Waring and Eric Haile had located the slight sound which both deposed to having heard. Neither could say that it might not have been made by an animal—dog, or cat, or fox. As Miss Silver moved cautiously along the flagged path by the house she reflected that if it was a human being who had used that other and more deeply shadowed path, he—or she—must have been very familiar with it.

She reached the terrace steps and ascended them. Coming round the black bush of rosemary which screened the study door, she saw, as Bill Waring had done before her, that there was a light in the room. Where all the other windows showed black to the midnight sky, there came through the study curtains a just perceptible glow.

If she paused for a moment, it was not because this fact necessitated any disarrangement of her plan. When, earlier in the evening, she had entered the room and turned the handle of the glass door until the bolt which held it was released, she had had two objects in view—she wished to know whether the fact that the handle was no longer in the closed position would have escaped Marsham’s notice, and also whether the fact that the bolt had been released would have caused sufficient draught to attract the attention of anyone who happened to be occupying the room. As regards the first point, it was Marsham’s habit to draw the curtains and latch the windows between six and seven o’clock. This from her own observation. She did not suppose that he would test the bolts again. He spoke of making his rounds upon the night of the murder, but it seemed unlikely that he would actually examine the fastenings, and he had specifically stated that he had not on that occasion entered the study, as Sir Herbert was there. It was her present purpose to ascertain whether any member of the household could have counted on his overlooking the fact that the bolt on the study door had been withdrawn. If Professor Richardson had found the door ajar at a little before eleven, that bolt must have been released by someone inside the house, it must have been done between seven o’clock and, say, ten minutes to eleven. She herself had visited the study just after seven o’clock this evening—a very good time, because at that hour the servants were busy and the guests in their rooms.

She went up the two steps from the terrace and tried the door. It moved noiselessly under her hand, swinging outwards. There was not only a light in the room beyond, but there were two people there. From the other side of the curtains Eric Haile’s voice said,

‘What is it?’

If there was a moment when Miss Silver imagined that the words were addressed to herself, it passed as she heard Marsham say,

‘Was there anything I could get you, sir?’

There was a hint of impatience about Eric Haile as he said,

‘I didn’t ring.’

‘No, sir. I was up late, and seeing the light under the door—’

‘You wondered if I was lying murdered on the floor!’

As Marsham made some soft deprecatory sound, Miss Silver stepped into the space behind the curtains and pulled the door to, taking care that it should not jar. As a gentlewoman, eavesdropping was naturally repugnant to her feelings. She would not, in her private capacity, have dreamed of listening to a conversation which was not intended for her ears. As a detective she had not infrequently conceived it her duty to do so. Mr. Haile’s remark was in the worst possible taste—oh, very decidedly so.

By moving the middle fold of the curtain with great discretion she was able to see into the room. Both men were in her line of vision. Mr. Haile at the writing-table, and Marsham just inside the open door from the passage. As she watched, he shut it behind him and came forward.

‘As a matter of fact, sir, there is something I would like to mention if you would pardon the lateness of the hour.’

Eric Haile laughed.

‘The later the hour, the clearer the brain! If I ever did any serious work—which I don’t—I should start at midnight. Well —what is it?’

Marsham’s face was without expression. His voice betrayed some slight hesitation,

‘I should not wish to be inopportune—and you will, of course, have had very little time to consider your domestic plans. I only wished to say that, when you have done so, Mrs. Marsham and myself would esteem it a favour if you would inform us at your earliest convenience—’

Eric Haile jerked an impatient shoulder.

‘Good lord, man—come to the point! You want to know what I am doing about the place, and the staff—especially the staff. Is that it?’

‘At your earliest convenience, sir.’

Mr. Haile had a thoughtful look. If there had been a hint of bravado it was gone. He said,

‘I don’t know about this place—I haven’t been into anything yet. But the flat in town—I shall keep that on of course. And I shall want a butler and a cook. Your wife is an extremely good cook.’

‘She has always been considered to be so, sir.’

‘And good cooking covers a multitude of sins, doesn’t it!’ He paused, and added with emphasis, ‘You think so—don’t you?’

‘Sir—’

‘You know what I mean, don’t you? Let’s be plain about it. My cousin had discovered that you were fleecing him, and he was about to discharge you without a character. He told me so when I was in the study with him before dinner on the night he—died. If I were to give that information to the police, don’t you think it would interest them?’

Marsham’s face had gone grey, but he stood up to the blow.

‘May I ask if you have said anything to the police, sir?’

‘Not yet.’ He gave a short half laugh. ‘And just in case you should have any idea of removing an inconvenient witness, let me suggest that it would be very difficult to get away with another body on the spot marked X.’

‘Sir!’

‘It would be quite incredibly stupid.’

Marsham said with dignity,

‘You are pleased to amuse yourself, sir. Perhaps you will permit me to make a personal explanation. You employed a very derogatory expression with regard to myself when you used the word “fleecing”. I admit that I overstepped the bounds of legality in accepting a commission from the wine and cigar merchants patronized by Sir Herbert. When I was in service with the late Lord St. Osbert I had his authority to take my commission. He said they made enough out of him, and why shouldn’t I make something out of them? I was with him for ten years, sir.’

‘And my cousin didn’t see things in the same light as Lord St. Osbert?’

‘No, sir.’

Eric Haile gave his easy laugh.

‘He didn’t go into particulars, you know. I suppose you would like me to withdraw—or shall I say soften—the word fleecing.’

‘It is not an expression I should employ to describe the acceptance of a commission.’

‘Nor I!’ He laughed again. ‘Are you going to ask me to believe that Sir Herbert had no more grounds than that for dispensing with the really excellent services of yourself and of your wife?’

Marsham gave a slight deprecating cough.

‘If you will excuse me, sir, you do not appear to have been correctly informed. I tendered my notice to Sir Herbert together with that of Mrs. Marsham a week ago. He was unwilling to accept it, and informed me that it would be to my advantage to stay on with him.’

‘You wanted to leave?’ Mr. Haile sound surprised.

‘I was not happy in the position, sir. On the Saturday night Sir Herbert sent for me whilst I was superintending the laying of the dinner table. He informed me that he would not accept my notice, and offered me a rise of salary. When I refused it he so far forgot himself as to threaten me, saying that if I left, it would be without a character and with the police on my heels.’

‘All on account of a little matter of commission? Come, come, Marsham! If I were to hand all this on to the police, how far do you think that story would take you?’

From where she stood Marsham’s face was plainly visible to Miss Silver. Beneath its smooth and mannerly surface she was aware of something that did not flinch. He said in quite his usual manner,

‘I should consider it inadvisable to import the police into the matter, sir. Everyone has some private affairs which he would not care to have intruded upon. Let us take the question of last Saturday night—or of any other night, sir. There are always a number of persons in a house any one of whom could be about his private business at an hour or in a place which might be considered compromising. By the police for instance. Their profession induces a very suspicious habit of mind. If I may say so, sir, it would be most unwise to import them into the matter under discussion.’

There was quite a prolonged pause, during which Eric Haile looked fixedly at Marsham. There was no change in the butler’s expression, which remained perfectly respectful. In the end Haile said gently,

‘I take it you are suggesting something. What is it?’

‘I was putting a hypothetical case, sir. There is, I believe, a somewhat vulgar proverb regarding the wisdom of letting sleeping dogs lie.’

Haile rapped with his knuckles upon the edge of the table.

‘And how long do they lie? Until they are hungry. And when they have been fed they will presently be hungry again—and again—and again.’

Marsham’s manner took on a faint shade of reproof. He did not care for the way in which his metaphor had been turned against him. He used the tone of one who has observed a social solecism but is too well bred to draw attention to it.

‘I hardly think so, sir. The whole matter must naturally be a painful one—one would not willing recur to it. That would be my point of view, and I imagine that it would be yours also. In my opinion the less said on the subject the better. If you will accept our notice and embody the kind appreciation which you have expressed regarding our services in a testimonial, it would, I think, be satisfactory.’

Eric Haile burst out laughing.

‘What a thundering hypocrite you are, Marsham!’ he said. ‘I don’t know that I can bear to part with you, and I shall probably always regret it if I do. But, as you say, there are things which are better forgotten, and I might find myself wondering about this and that—from time to time, you know. So perhaps we are better apart. You shall have your testimonial. But I advise you to walk warily in the matter of—shall we say—commission? Or anything else that might be likely to interest the police. Good-night!’

Marsham said, ‘Good-night sir.’

As he turned to leave the room, Miss Silver opened the door behind her and stepped back. For a moment the darkness was bewildering. She closed the glass door without making any sound and waited until she could see her way. Then she went down the terrace steps and along the paved walk by which she had come to the window of the Blue Room, which she had left unlatched. A few minutes later she had reached her own room with a good deal to think about.