Patricia Wentworth - She Came Back

The Chief Inspector blew his nose, meditatively this time.

“Well, you’d better keep Miss Armitage. I’ll send Frank round. Just leave him to form his own conclusions, will you? He’s a bit too much inclined to take all you say for gospel, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

Deprecation of his tone was evident as Miss Silver replied,

“I do not consider that Sergeant Abbott is so easily influenced-except, as we should all be, by the facts of a case.” The stress laid upon the word “facts” accentuated the reproof.

Lamb turned it off with a laugh.

“Well, we won’t quarrel about that. If Frank is satisfied, the people at the shop will be put through it. I’ll get someone on to finding out about them straight away.”

Sergeant Abbott, arriving at Montague Mansions, was duly acquainted with Miss Lyndall Armitage’s story.

“Where is she, Miss Silver?”

Miss Silver, well on the way to completing Johnny’s second pair of stockings, replied that Miss Armitage was lying down-“in my bedroom next door. She is far from strong, and it has shaken her a good deal.”

Frank regarded her with admiration.

“Tucked up under an eiderdown with a hot-water bottle, I don’t mind betting. Will you be angry if I quote Wordsworth instead of Tennyson?

‘The perfect woman, nobly planned,

To warn, to comfort, or command.’ ”

Miss Silver smiled indulgently. If she detected a faint sardonic flavour in tone and look she gave no sign of resenting it, but said soberly,

“We have not time just now to discuss the poets, my dear Frank. I have kept Miss Armitage here because I do not feel justified in allowing her to return to her flat without protection. She tells me that her cousin, Mrs. Perry Jocelyn, is unlikely to be home much before eleven, and that they have a daily maid who leaves at three o’clock. I think, in the circumstances, that it would be extremely dangerous to leave her alone and unprotected.”

“What makes you think she is in danger?”

“My dear Frank! The day before yesterday at tea-time she acquainted Annie Joyce with the fact that she had overheard part of a conversation between her and the man from whom she was taking her orders. Only two sentences, it is true, but could anything be more compromising?-‘You might as well let me write to Nellie Collins. She is quite harmless,’ and, ‘That is not for you to say.’ They supply clear evidence of a connection with Miss Collins, they imply that Annie Joyce was not permitted herself to answer the letter she had received from her, and they make it clear that she was not a principal, but an agent acting under the orders of this man whom she had come to see. Annie Joyce could have been under no illusion as to the importance of what Miss Armitage had overheard. She did, in fact, do all she could to ensure her silence. She assured her that the whole thing was a mistake, that she must have imagined having overheard the name of Nellie Collins, and she appealed to her affection and family feeling not to repeat anything which might revive the publicity from which they, and especially Sir Philip, had already suffered so much.”

“This was the day before yesterday?”

“Yes. And yesterday afternoon she kept another appointment with the man from whom she took her orders. It is, I suppose, possible, but I do not think it is at all likely that she did not acquaint him with what Miss Armitage had told her. There is some evidence that the interview disquieted him, since he had her followed when she came away from it. If she told him that a previous interview had been overheard, he may have decided that her usefulness as an agent was seriously compromised. The German secret service has never hesitated to sacrifice an agent who might prove to be more of a liability than an asset. If she told him that it was Miss Armitage who had overheard them, you will, I think, agree that she may be in very serious danger, and that until this man is under arrest she should be given the very fullest possible measure of protection.”

Frank Abbott ran his hand back over his hair.

“All right, we’ll look after her. But, you know, the Chief thinks you’re trailing a red herring. He thinks Jocelyn shot the woman. There’s some evidence-no, not evidence- there’s some indication of a personal motive. Suppose he was in love with this Armitage girl. I know some people who live near Jocelyn’s Holt. They tell me everyone was expecting the engagement to be given out, when Annie Joyce bobbed up as Lady Jocelyn. Rather a nasty strain on the temper, you know, especially as local talk had it that Philip Jocelyn stuck to it for as long as he could that he didn’t recognize her, and she wasn’t his wife. Well, he seems to have been convinced in the end, and they set up house together on strictly detached lines. Then something happened which upset his conviction, and at the same time Military Intelligence suggest to him she’s an enemy agent. Pretty galling, don’t you think? Legally she’s his wife. He has accepted her as such, and he’d probably find it difficult- or impossible-to prove that she wasn’t. Not a nice situation. And then he finds her with her fingers in his papers. Don’t you think he might fly off the handle and shoot? Murder’s been done for a good deal less than that. Anyhow, the Chief thinks that’s what happened-and he doesn’t know the gossipy bits I’ve just imparted to you, which are strictly off the record and entre nous. The time question narrows it down, you see. Jocelyn went off at twenty to nine, the laundryman came and went immediately after that, the postman and the boy with the milk one after the other just before nine, and the workmen had camped down on the landing by nine o’clock.”

Miss Silver’s needles clicked rapidly, the long grey stocking revolved.

“Have you traced any delivery of laundry?”

He shook his head.

“Two lots of tenants are away. The man may simply have gone up, found he couldn’t get in, and gone away again.”

Miss Silver gave a small skeptical cough.

“Oh, no, he would not do that. He would have left the basket with the porter.”

“Well, he might. But the porter says people aren’t very trusting with new tenants nowadays-they like payment on delivery.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I see you’ve set your heart on the laundryman.” He got up, looking very tall and slim. “Well, I must see Miss Armitage, and then I’ll go and deal with the hairdresser. Wish me luck!”

Lyndall was presently seen home by a large constable with a benevolent face and a slow, persevering manner of speech. In the twenty minutes or so which it took them to arrive at Lilla Jocelyn’s flat he had told her all about his wife, whose name was Daisy and who had been an upholstress before they were married, and their three children-Ernie, turned seven, who was a wonder at his lessons, Ellie aged four, and Stanley who would be six months old next week. In moments of strain, small, irrelevant things may pass quite unnoticed, but they may also become indelibly impressed upon the memory. Lyndall was never to forget that Ernie could read when he was four, or that little Ellie screamed whenever she saw a cat. The constable appeared to be rather proud of this idiosyncrasy, but informed her that his wife said it wouldn’t do to let it go on, and she was going to get a kitten and break her of being so soft.

Later, when she had ensconced him in front of the kitchen fire and provided him with the papers, she sat down by herself in the L-shaped living-room and thought what a long time it would be before Lilla came home.

It was some time after this that Frank Abbott rang up his Chief.

“Well, sir, I saw Miss Armitage. She’s quite clear about what she heard. The snag is that at the time she wasn’t at all sure whether the woman she followed into the hairdresser’s shop was the so-called Lady Jocelyn or not, because she only saw her back. In fact, what she saw was the right coloured hair, the right sort of coat, and the right coloured dress. But there aren’t so many mink coats walking round London on women with the right hair and just that shade of blue dress. They are the clothes of the Amory portrait and fairly noticeable, you know. Anyhow she wasn’t sure at the time. That’s why she followed her in-she wanted to make sure. And she won’t swear to the voice which she heard on the other side of an unlatched door, but she thought it was Lady Jocelyn’s voice. What she will swear to through thick and thin is what she heard-what the woman said, ‘You might as well let me write to Nellie Collins. She is quite harmless.’ And the man’s answer, ‘That is not for you to say.’ That is what she heard, and that is what she repeated to Annie Joyce. It would certainly make her sit up and take notice, and if she repeated it to her employer, I agree with Maudie that we’d better keep an eye on the Armitage girl.”