Patricia Wentworth - She Came Back

Lamb sat looking at her. She wore the old black jacket with its narrow shoulders and worn fur collar, the neat dowdy felt hat with its small bunch of purple pansies on the left-hand side. Her hands in their shabby black kid gloves were folded in her lap. He was thinking, “Looks as if ten bob would buy her up, but there’s something about her-you can’t get from it.” He said,

“Well, that’s that-she was an enemy agent all right. She drugged Sir Philip last night and went through his papers. Seems he suspected her, and they were a fake lot. Military Intelligence went through them for fingerprints and found hers all over the place. We come in to arrest her, and there she is, by the table in the study, shot through the head. The question is, did Sir Philip catch her at his case and shoot her out of hand? Some men might. I’m bound to say he doesn’t look that kind to me.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“If the papers were not genuine, there would be very little motive for his shooting her. He might have done so if he had suddenly discovered that she was an enemy agent, but not if, as I understand, he knew that already and was a party to the trap which had been laid for her.”

“Um-that’s a point. Yes, there’s something in that. Anyhow he says he left her alive. They both had coffee-her bedroom was done but not his-the grate in here was all in a mess. The police surgeon says she’d been dead some hours at least. We’ll know more about that later. Well, Sir Philip starts out at twenty to nine. The porter saw him go. Says he’d just looked at his watch because he was expecting work-men round to see to the skylight on this floor-it was warped, and the blackout wouldn’t stay put-so he was about and taking notice at the time. He says Sir Philip went off at twenty to, and he says he was looking queer. The men he was expecting came in at nine o’clock and went upstairs. From then on, there they were until half-past twelve, right outside this flat-nobody could go in or out without their seeing them, and nobody did go in or out. We got on to the men, and they’re positive about that.”

Miss Silver said, “Dear me-” in a meditative manner.

Frank Abbott considered his Chief’s superior tone a little overdone as he continued.

“That narrows things down a bit-you’ll admit that, I suppose. She must have been dead before the men came at nine. That gives twenty minutes after Sir Philip left for someone to have got in and shot her and got away again. The porter was hanging about looking out for his men, and he says he didn’t see anyone.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“No doubt you pressed him on this point. People are very apt to say they haven’t seen anyone, when what they really mean is that they have not seen anyone whom it would occur to them to suspect.”

“Quite so. And, as you say, I pressed him. Actually, three people went up and came down again whilst he was waiting for the workmen-the postman, whom he knows personally, a boy delivering milk, and a man from the laundry.”

“Had the milk been taken in?”

“No, it hadn’t. That looks as if she was dead by the time it came.”

“For which flat was the laundry?”

“He doesn’t know. It was just after Sir Philip went, and he was at the back of the hall. The man went past with the laundry-basket on his head-he didn’t take any more notice than that. Three of the flats have new tenants-he doesn’t know where they go for their laundry.”

Miss Silver coughed and said, “Quite so.”

Lamb banged his knee.

“Look here, you don’t suggest that a perfectly strange laundry man comes in here, knows just where to put his hand on Sir Philip’s revolver, shoots the woman and goes off again with the weapon, all inside of five or six minutes?”

Miss Silver coughed again.

“It does not take very long to shoot anyone. Sir Philip’s revolver may not have been used. If she considered herself to be in danger she may have tried to get hold of it-she would, of course, know where it was. After committing the crime it would, perhaps, occur to the murderer that he might throw suspicion on Sir Philip by removing it. This is, however, mere speculation.”

Lamb gave his robust laugh.

“I’m glad you admit that!”

“I would like to know whether the laundryman was seen coming down again.”

“Yes, he was. The porter was answering a ’phone call, so he only saw him out of the tail of his eye.”

“Had he still got the laundry-basket on his head?”

“Well, he would have, wouldn’t he? He’d bring back the clean clothes and take away the dirty ones. And it’s no good asking me any more about it, because that’s all I know. You can ask the porter, but you won’t find he knows any more either. No-the way it looks to me, the one that had the motive and the opportunity is Sir Philip. You may say that the motive isn’t strong enough-and there’s something in that. But the circumstances are all very suspicious. Here’s one of them. He was at the War Office from nine to half past twelve-we’ve checked up on that-but he walks in at Mrs. Perry Jocelyn’s flat at a quarter to one, sees Miss Armitage, doesn’t see anyone else-it’s one of those L-shaped rooms, and they’re round the corner-and says, ‘Anne’s dead.’ Doesn’t say any more because he realizes there are other people there, just turns round and walks out again. Now unless she was dead before he left this flat he couldn’t have known about it. His explanation is that he meant something quite different-meant, in fact, that he was now certain that it was his wife who had died three years ago. What do you think of that?”

“He said it to Miss Armitage, thinking that they were alone?”

“So I understand. Mind you, he didn’t say so-he left Miss Armitage out of it. I’m putting in what Miss Jocelyn said. She rang up to ask what had happened. It was she who mentioned Miss Armitage.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“It must have given her a great shock, poor girl. She does not look at all strong.‘”

“Do you know her?”

“I have met her. A very charming girl.”

“Do you mean there’s something between her and Sir Philip? Looks as if there might be, his running off to her like that. Look here, if that’s the case, he’d have a very serious motive. Say he’s tied up to this woman-doesn’t know if she’s his wife or not, but can’t prove she isn’t-there would be a very serious motive there.” He paused, and added, “His revolver’s gone. He admits it was there last night. What do you make of that?”

Miss Silver declined to make anything of it at all. She opined that it was a very interesting case, and that it was without doubt in the most capable of hands. Having permitted a perfectly genuine note of admiration to appear in her voice, she gave him a friendly smile and said,

“It is so good of you to let me know just how matters stand. I am really very much interested, especially after the rather curious thing which happened yesterday.”

Frank Abbott felt a lively curiosity. What sort of rabbit was Maudie going to bring out of the hat? He had an inward spasm as he thought how much the simile would have shocked her. Or would it? You never knew with Maudie.

If Lamb felt any curiosity he didn’t show it. His tone was off-hand and casual as he said,

“Oh, yes-there’s something you wanted to tell me.”

Miss Silver’s manner became faintly tinged with reproof.

“There was something I felt it my duty to tell you.”

“Well, let’s have it. I’ll have to be getting along.”

The reproof became a little more definite. The Chief Inspector had the fleeting illusion that he was back in school and was perhaps about to be rebuked. It was so strong that for a moment he saw quite plainly the village schoolroom where he had learned the three R’s-the long bare room, the rows of forms, the red-cheeked country children, the small-paned windows standing open to a summer sky and the buzz of bees, the blackboard, the teacher’s face… Old Miss Payne-he hadn’t thought of her for years… It came and went in a flash, but he found himself sitting up and looking respectfully at Miss Silver, who was addressing him.