The Ivory Dagger (20 page)

Chief Detective Inspector Lamb was in no mood to be trifled with. His second daughter, Violet—the flighty one—had been trying his temper to the utmost and upsetting her mother to a really serious extent by announcing that she proposed to become engaged to a South American dance-band leader. It was in vain that his other daughters, Lily now a comfortable matron, and Myrtle on the point of completing her training as a nurse, took every opportunity of pointing out to him that Violet was always getting engaged and it never came to anything, so why worry. As Lily said, ‘If she didn’t go through with it when it was that nice Major Lee, or that very good-looking Squadron Leader, or the young man whose uncle had a blacking factory, well, why shouldn’t she break it off with Pedrillo?’ The mere name sent the blood to Lamb’s head in a most alarming manner. Foreigners existed, and a nice mess they made of things by all accounts. Look at Hitler—look at Mussolini—look at all those foreign Communists! Well, there they were, and they’d got to be put up with or got rid of, according as the case might be, and no doubt some of them were to be pitied and given a helping hand to. But to go bringing them into the family was just a bit of tomfool craziness. Violet and her, ‘Hasn’t he got lovely dark flashing eyes, Pop?’! She needn’t think she could get round him with silly pet names. He was a Chapel member in good standing, but he’d never been nearer swearing in his life.

He was therefore in no mood for tolerance. Frank Abbott, encountering the slightly bulging eyes which had so often evoked an irreverent comparison with the larger kind of peppermint bullseye, was made duly aware that he had better mind his p’s and q’s. The slightest sign of uppishness, and one of the Chiefs most formidable harangues would be forthcoming. Frank knew them all by heart, and had no desire to hear any of them again. He therefore trimmed his course with care and having weathered the short passage from Emsworth station to the office which the County Superintendent had placed at their disposal, was rewarded by a menacing glare and a rasp in the voice more suggestive of a lion than a lamb.

‘Very mild and meek all of a sudden, aren’t you? Makes me wonder what you’ve been getting up to. It’s not natural, and when people don’t act naturally, that’s the time you’ve got to watch ’em. What have you been doing?’

Frank’s left eyebrow rose almost imperceptibly. With a slight accentuation of his usual manner he replied,

‘Nothing, sir.’

The suggestion of an approaching storm was intensified. Lamb sat back in his chair, his big body filling it squarely, his face ruddy and lowering, his strong black hair asserting its vigour by something as near a curl as a drastic hair-cut would allow.

‘Nothing?’ he repeated. ‘Well, I suppose you think that’s a recommendation. A man is murdered in his own house four or five days before his wedding, the girl he’s going to marry is found with her hands all over blood, the dagger that stabbed him lying at her feet, and the man she was going to elope with—old lover chucked over for a richer man—actually in the room.’

‘Only one hand, sir.’

‘Only one!’ The Chief Inspector drew in his breath and let it out again explosively. ‘It doesn’t take more than one hand to stab a man, does it?’

‘No, sir.’

Lamb thumped his knee with a powerful fist.

‘Well then, get on and arrest her—get on and arrest young Waring! It’s as clear as daylight, isn’t it? She was going to elope with him. Sir Herbert Whitall comes down and catches them, and one of them stabs him. Looks as if it was the girl. The dagger was lying there handy, and she grabbed it.’

‘Well, sir—’

He got no farther than that, because the storm broke.

‘Too easy for you, I suppose! Not clever enough! No scope for showing off and making a splash! That’s about the size of it, isn’t it?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Yes, sir—no, sir—well, sir! Might as well be a talking dummy and have done with it! Polite as pie and respectful as you please on top, and as insubordinate as the devil underneath! If there’s one thing that riles me more than another, it’s that, and you know it! If you’ve got anything to say—and I suppose you have—you’d better by half come out with it!’

Frank Abbott came out with it. The medical evidence— Adrian Grey’s evidence—Marsham’s evidence as to hearing voices in the study—the Professor’s magnifying-glass—the Professor’s statement—Miss Whitaker and her alibi—Mr. Haile’s interest under the will, his dubious financial position—the very curious conversation between him and the butler as overheard by Miss Maud Silver—

A deep plum colour suffused the face of Chief Inspector Lamb.

‘Miss Silver!’

‘Maudie the Mascot. All present, and as usual superlatively correct. She had a new knitting-bag, I think. And it’s vests this time, not stockings—pale pink, for a little girl of about three.’

‘Well, I’m—’ Lamb made a commendable effort and checked himself. It was against his principles to swear, and he had already allowed himself to be goaded into mentioning the devil.

No one could have returned his glare more innocently than Inspector Abbott. He risked a ‘Yes, sir,’ and went on rather hastily.

‘Lady Dryden got her down. And you know, sir, it really is extremely useful having her there in the house. I remember your saying what an advantage it was, her being there on the inside, seeing people in a natural everyday sort of way.’

‘I don’t remember saying anything of the sort!’

‘It was over the Latter End case, I think, sir. I remember thinking how well you put it.’

‘Soft-sawdering me now, are you? Well, there’s something in it of course. We come in on a case—everyone’s rattled, most of ’em have got something to hide. Remember that case I told you about? Woman looked as guilty as if she’d done seven murders instead of one, and all she was afraid of was her husband would find out she wore a wig. He was a bit younger, and it seems he’d always thought what pretty hair she had. That’s the kind of thing that tangles up a case, and I won’t say that Miss Silver doesn’t come in handy here and there when it comes to that. No, I’ll give her her due—she knows people, and she sees through ’em. If she’d lived a couple of hundred years ago she’d have been in the way of getting herself ducked for a witch. Pretty short way they had with them too—put ’em in the nearest pond. If the poor creature floated, they took her out and hanged her or burned her at the stake. If she sank, well, that proved she was innocent, so she only got drowned, and everyone went home happy. Nice times and nice doings! But I’ve often wondered about those old women, whether there wasn’t something in it. Poison and suchlike,’ he added hastily.

There was a knock on the door followed by the appearance of a fresh-faced young constable.

‘Beg pardon, sir, but there’s a lady on the line—Miss Silver. Wants to speak to Inspector Abbott—says it’s very important.’

Inspector Abbott got up with an impassive face. Inwardly he allowed himself a rueful ‘That’s torn it! And just when he’s talked himself into a good temper!’ His languid ‘I suppose I’d better see what it is, sir,’ did nothing to avert a frown.

He followed the young constable to the telephone, and heard Miss Silver say on an interrogative note,

‘Inspector Abbott?’

‘Speaking.’

‘I am sorry to disturb you, especially as I understand you are engaged with Chief Inspector Lamb, but there is some new evidence—very important evidence indeed—and I feel that there should be no delay at all in acquainting you with it and laying it before the Chief Inspector.’

Frank whistled.

‘How important is it? He doesn’t particularly care about being deflected, you know.’

‘I said very important. I have a witness here whom you should see immediately. It is the young footman, Frederick. He was out of the house that night, and he saw something. I think that if you could bring the Chief Inspector here, and his evidence could be taken on the spot—’

There was a slight pause. Then he said,

‘Well, I did suggest that you should pull a rabbit out of the hat, so we are in it together—but we’re not going to be popular. I’ll go and tell him. Will you hold on?’

After a brief stormy passage he returned.

‘Are you there?… All right, we’re on our way. It had better be important, you know. There’s a good deal of high explosive about. Au revoir.’

It was unfortunate that the Chief Inspector should have overheard the last two words. Irrupting into the room rather after the manner of a tank, he was able to discharge one of his more vehement homilies—The Ample Provision afforded by the English Language for the Full Expression of all such Sentiments as it is Proper for a Police Officer to entertain.

‘And if there are things that need wrapping up in a foreign language, it’s either because someone’s got wind in the head and wants to show off, or because he’s got something to say he’s ashamed of putting into decent English.’

Frank, who had heard it all before, could only hope that his esteemed Chief would have got the last of it off his chest by the time they arrived at Vineyards.

It being Frederick’s duty to answer the front door bell at this hour of the day, it was he who presently admitted Inspector Abbott whom he knew, and the large man in the dark overcoat whom he guessed with a sinking heart to be ‘the High-up from Scotland Yard’ that everyone in the village was expecting to come down and arrest somebody. At the moment, Frederick felt that it might easily be himself. Irrational but quite vivid pictures of the dock, the condemned cell, and the gallows, passed in horrid procession before his shuddering eyes.

Miss Silver, coming up behind him, shook hands warmly with Chief Inspector Lamb. Her pleasure at this meeting with an old friend was so evident, her inquiries after Mrs. Lamb and his daughters so warm, that he found himself responding to it.

‘And Lily’s little boy and girl? Is Ernest still so much like you?’

‘Well, they say so, poor little beggar. But Jenny is like her mother—just what Lily was at her age.’

The cloud which appeared on his brow at the mention of Violet’s name caused Miss Silver to pass tactfully to Myrtle, of whom there was never anything but good to be said.

‘Only trouble with her is she’s too unselfish—always thinking about other people. Her mother worries and says she doesn’t take proper care of herself.’

They reached the study and passed into it. Frederick, his office done, and in hopes that he might now slip away, found himself under the big man’s compelling eye.

‘Is this the young man?… All right, come in and shut the door!’

As he obeyed with a feeling that the ground beneath him had suddenly become unsteady, he found Miss Silver’s hand upon his arm.

‘Now, Frederick, you have only to speak the truth. There is nothing to be afraid of.’

The words appeared to bear no relation whatsoever to the horrid facts with which he was now confronted. They could not cause these formidable policemen to disappear—they could not put back the clock and untell the tale which he had stammered out less than an hour ago. He had got to go through with it, and when you have got to do a thing you have somehow to find enough courage to do it.

They gave him a chair. The big man sat at Sir Herbert’s desk. Inspector Abbott got out his notebook. They were going to write everything down.

Miss Silver had taken a chair where he could see her. She met a wandering apprehensive glance, smiled reassuringly, and addressed Chief Inspector Lamb.

‘This is Frederick Baines. He had a quarrel with a friend last Saturday, and he slipped out of the house to go down to the village and make it up with her. He is going to tell you what happened.’

Lamb turned his large ruddy face upon the wretched Frederick. He didn’t look like a town policeman at all, he looked like a farmer. He looked terribly like Mr. Long at Bullthorne who had once caught him and Jimmy Good stealing his plums at ten o’clock on a fine August night. He had walloped them well and threatened them with the police. And now here were the police, and he had got to talk to them. He found that he still had Miss Silver’s handkerchief in the pocket of his grey linen house-coat. He fished it out and mopped a streaming brow.

The rather bulging brown eyes of the Chief Inspector regarded him without giving anything away. He said, with a homely touch of country accent on his words.

‘Well, my lad—speak up. You slipped out of the house on the night of the murder to go and see a girl. Was that it?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Had a quarrel with her and wanted to make it up?’ The tone was not unkind. It even inclined to the indulgent. Thirty-five years ago a boy called Ernest Lamb had also slipped out at night, to throw a pebble up at the window of the girl who was now Mrs. Lamb.

Encouraged by the fact that he was not immediately required to disclose the climax of his tale, Frederick produced a number of artless facts about himself and Gloria Good, his voice steadying as he went along and his recourse to the borrowed handkerchief becoming less frequent. Miss Silver was satisfied that he was making a good impression.

Lamb listened, put in an occasional question, and finished up by saying,

‘So you made it up, and no harm done. Of course you oughtn’t to have slipped out of the house that way—you know that without my telling you.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Now what time would it be when you slipped out?’

‘A bit after eleven, sir. There was the gentleman with the auto-bike, Professor Richardson, he come round the house and got on his bike and off down the drive.’

‘Dark night, wasn’t it? How did you know it was the Professor?’

‘I was looking out, sir. My room looks to the front. He’d left his bike right down underneath where I was. He barked his shins against the pedal, and he swore. You can’t mistake the Professor when he swears, sir.’

‘And what time was that? Have you a clock in your room?’

‘Oh, yes—alarm clock, sir. It was between the ten and a quarter past eleven.’

‘What were you doing, looking out of the window?’

‘I’d seen the Professor come, and I was waiting for him to go, sir.’

‘And then?’

‘I thought Mr. Marsham would be doing his rounds. He’d have done all the back premises first and be well out of the way. I listened at the top of the back stairs and slipped down.’

Lamb sat back in the writing-chair, a massive hand on either knee. Frank Abbott wrote in his quick, neat shorthand. He thought, as he had often thought before, ‘The Chief is good with people. He thinks this boy is honest, and he’s giving him a chance to steady down and tell what he knows in his own way. If he bullied him he wouldn’t get a word of sense.’

Lamb nodded.

‘How did you get out—by the back door?’

‘No, sir. Mr. Marsham bolts it, and the bolts creak. There’s’ —he faltered a little—‘there’s a window in the housekeeper’s room, sir.’

Lamb regarded him fixedly.

‘So you didn’t go out by the study?’

There was horror in Frederick’s tone.

‘Oh, no, sir! Sir Herbert was there.’

‘How did you know that?’

‘Because of the Professor, sir—he’d just gone. Sir Herbert always sits up late.’

‘You didn’t go into the study at all?’

‘N-no, sir.’

‘Sure?’

‘Oh yes, sir.’

‘All right—go on. You went out and saw your girl. What else did you see?’

Frederick lost colour.

‘It was when I was coming back, sir.’

‘Well?’

‘I was in the drive—near the top of it, close to the house— and I heard something behind me—it was a stick cracking. So I stood still, and she come up past me on her bicycle.’

‘Who did?’

‘I didn’t rightly know—not then, sir. She was riding without a light, and just after she passed me she got off and started wheeling the bike, so I thought I’d go after her and see who it was.’

Frank Abbott lifted his head and looked across at Miss Silver. She nodded briefly.

Lamb said without hurry,

‘And who was it?’

‘I couldn’t rightly see, sir. She put her bike against a tree a little way from the top of the drive, and she went along the path that goes through the shrubbery. It’s all in amongst the bushes, and I thought, “Well it’s someone that knows the way.” But I kept after her, because it didn’t seem right her leaving her bike like that. I mean, I couldn’t think who it could be—because Miss Whitaker had gone to her sister’s, and none of the maids sleep in.’

Lamb said, ‘Go on.’

‘The path turns and comes out by the terrace. She went up the steps. I darsn’t keep too near in case of her seeing me, because I began to think it was Miss Whitaker, and she’d have got me into trouble about my being out. She’d get anyone into trouble and like doing it—we all know that. So I kept well back. I thought she’d gone in—by the study window. I thought that was funny, and I thought perhaps it wasn’t Miss Whitaker and I’d better find out. So I went up on to the terrace, and there was a light in the study, and the glass door open.’

‘Go on.’

‘There’s two steps, sir. I went up them, and I looked in.’ He used the handkerchief again with a shaking hand. ‘Oh, sir, it was ’orrible! Sir Herbert, he was lying there dead and that knife with the ivory handle sticking out of his shirt front.’

Fank Abbott looked up and said,

‘The dagger was sticking in him? You’re sure about that?’

‘Oh, yes, sir—it was ’orrible.’

Lamb drummed on his knee with clumsy fingers.

‘What was the woman doing?’

‘She was standing there looking down at him. It was Miss Whitaker, sir.’

‘Was she bending over the body?’

‘No, sir—she just stood there. She was talking, sir.’

‘What did she say?’

‘It made my blood run cold, sir. She said, “You asked for it, and you’ve got it.” And I thought she was going to turn round and come away, when the other door opened.’ He pointed. ‘That one, sir. And Miss Lila came into the room.’

‘Miss Dryden?’

‘Yes, sir—walking in her sleep, sir. My sister that died, she used to, and the doctor said never to wake her sudden.’

‘You are quite sure she was walking in her sleep?’

‘Oh, yes, sir—because of my sister—she looked just the same. She come into the room. Miss Whitaker could see how it was, the same as what I could. She laughed something horrid, sir, and she said quite quiet, “This is where you come in, I think”.’

‘Yes—go on. What did Miss Dryden do? Did she touch the body?’

‘Oh, no, sir. She just come in about as far as the middle of the room and stood there. They don’t know what they’re doing when they’re like that, and they don’t remember nothing about it. Miss Whitaker, she goes over to Sir Herbert and she pulls out the knife with the ivory handle—’

‘With her bare hand?’

‘Oh, no, sir—she’d got gloves on. She fetches it out, and she wipes the blood off of it with the front of Miss Lila’s dress and she puts it in Miss Lila’s hand. Oh, sir, it was ’orrid!’

‘You saw her do that?’

No one could have doubted that he had seen it. The boy’s face twitched and worked. His pallor had taken on a greenish tinge. His eyes remembered. He drew a shuddering breath.

‘Oh, sir, I seen it! I wish I never, but I did—Miss Lila’s dress and that ’orrid stain—and the blood on her hand!’

‘I though you said she wiped the knife before she put it in Miss Dryden’s hand?’

Frederick stared.

‘Yes, sir, she did. But she didn’t wipe it clean—it was all blood—and some of it stayed on Miss Lila’s hand.’

‘What did Miss Lila do?’

‘She didn’t do anything—she just stood there. I was afraid she’d wake up—it’s awful bad for them to be waked sudden— but she didn’t. She left go of the knife, and it fell down on the floor.’

‘Can you show me the place?’

‘Oh, yes, sir.’

It was better now that he had got it out. The worst part was over. He could show them where the body was, and where Lila Dryden stood and let the knife fall.

‘And Miss Whitaker?’

He could show them that too—where she was when he looked between the curtains, and how she straightened up with the knife in her hand and went over to where Miss Lila was.

Frank Abbott scribbled on a bit of paper and passed it to the Chief Inspector. Lamb glanced down at it, read, ‘Positions O.K.’ and turned back to Frederick.

‘All right, my lad, you can sit down again…Now go on and tell us what happened after that.’

‘She come away—Miss Whitaker. She says, whispering like, “You’ll be for it, lovely Lila,” and I see she was going to do a bunk, so I got down off the step and behind the bush on the far side, and she come out and down off the terrace as quick as quick—didn’t make a sound neither. I thought I had better get out of it—only I didn’t like leaving Miss Lila like that.’

Lamb said in his weighty voice,

‘Why didn’t you give the alarm? That’s what you ought to have done, you know.’

Frederick disclosed an unexpected vein of shrewdness.

‘And have everyone thinking it was Miss Lila—and me making up a story against Miss Whitaker that no one liked in the house? I thought about it as well as I could, and I seen how it would look, and—I darsn’t.’

‘Well, what did you do?’

‘I stood there and thought, and I didn’t know what to do. And then I heard someone coming along the path by the side of the house and up on to the terrace. It was Mr. Waring, sir. Miss Whitaker, she’d left the study door ajar when she come out, and as soon as he touched the handle it moved. I see him go in. At first he looks through the curtains, and then he pushes them and goes in. That’s when I see it was Mr. Waring. I knew he was sweet on Miss Lila, because he give me a note for her the time he come up to the house and Lady Dryden sent him away. So I thought if he was there he’d look after her a lot better than what I could, and no need for me to get myself mixed up with it. And I come away.’

‘And then?’

‘And I got back through the window in the housekeeper’s room and went up and got into my bed.’

Lamb took a moment, tapping with his fingers on his knee. Then he said,

‘Any idea what time it was when all this happened—Miss Whitaker coming up the drive on her bicycle—Mr. Waring coming along to the study?’

‘Yes, sir—it was gone twelve.’

‘What do you fix that by?’

‘The church clock, sir. You can hear it strike when the wind is that way.’

‘You heard it strike on. Saturday night?’

‘Yes, sir. Miss Whitaker, she had gone up on to the terrace, and I was waiting like I told you. That’s when I heard it—just before I went up too.’

Frank Abbott wrote that down. It fitted—it all fitted—the boy was telling the truth. Bill Waring had listened to the church clock striking twelve a little after he heard something move on the shrubbery path, and a little before he took his own way to the study.

The Chief Inspector bent a long, serious look upon Frederick.

‘It’s all true what you’ve been telling us?’

‘Cross my heart, sir!’

‘The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? You’ll have to swear to it, you know. Are you prepared to do that?’

‘Oh, yes, sir.’

‘All right then. Inspector Abbott has been taking down what you have said. It will be read over to you, and then you can sign it. Don’t put your name to anything you’re not quite sure about.’