Patricia Wentworth - The Case of William Smith

It was no more than a moment before Katharine said,

‘I don’t know whether you can help me – I don’t know whether anyone can – but I thought I would come and see you. Mr. Abbott – I think he is Detective Sergeant Abbott – gave my husband your address – ’ She paused, and added, ‘My husband doesn’t know that I have come.’

Miss Silver was knitting briskly. She had finished the pair of blue leggings for little Josephine and had begun a coatee to match them. It was still in a very embryo stage, and appeared as a pale blue frill no more than a couple of inches deep. She said,

‘You are Mrs. William Smith?’

Katharine looked startled. Her colour brightened, faded, brightened again.

‘Yes.’

‘Sergeant Abbott has spoken of your husband. Perhaps that will make it easier for you to talk to me.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He told me that he had witnessed an assault upon Mr. Smith, and that he had subsequently recognized him, but without being able to remember his name. He was a good deal interested, and so was I. Your husband will have told you of the incident.’

‘Yes, he told me. He – he doesn’t know who he is, you see. He had a head wound, and he doesn’t remember anything until he came out of a German hospital in ’42. That’s where his memory begins – it’s all quite clear after that. He had an identity disc which described him as William Smith. That’s all wrong. He kept the name because he hadn’t any other, but the real William Smith was quite an uneducated man. He was a Cockney, and he worked in a tannery. William went down to the place. They all said he wasn’t their William Smith.’ She hesitated a little, and then went on. ‘My husband hasn’t the kind of looks that change at all. Anyone who knew him as a boy would know him now. I expect you know the type – rather blunt features, very thick fair hair that won’t lie down, very strong build, very friendly expression. It’s the type that doesn’t change at all – it just gets older. I’m telling you this to explain Mr. Abbott’s recognizing him like that. I think anyone who had met him would remember him. Frank Abbott did, but he didn’t remember his name. It’s quite possible he never heard it, because everyone was just calling him Bill. It was at a party at the Luxe, you know.’

Now that she had made a start it wasn’t so difficult. In fact it wasn’t difficult at all. The room was so exactly like rooms which she remembered when she was a little girl and went visiting with her grandmother. Gran herself had possessed photograph-frames in silver filigree on plush, and had cherished a photogravure of The Stag at Bay. Old Miss Emsley who had been one of Gran’s bridesmaids, had possessed chairs of the same family as these, with curly walnut legs and spreading laps. Great-aunt Cecilia had worn beaded slippers and net fronts with little bones to keep the collar stiff. These familiar associations promoted confidence. Miss Silver diffused it to a quite extraordinary degree. By some means best known to herself she possessed the art of turning back the clock until the state of tension and fear in which so many of her visitors found themselves gave way insensibly to the atmosphere of the schoolroom. Here the problem became the teacher’s affair, to propound, to explain, and to resolve. The responsibility was hers, the solution already known.

Katharine did not put any of this into words, but she felt its influence. When she had told Miss Silver about Tattlecombe’s Toy Bazaar, the Wurzel toys, Mr. Tattlecombe’s accident, and what William had told her about being hit over the head, Miss Silver gave her gentle cough.

‘I think that is not all.’

Katharine said, ‘No.’

She locked her hands tightly together in her lap and told Miss Silver about the jab in the back. Then she told her about Emily Salt.

‘She really is a very queer sort of person. I don’t think she’s right in her head. William says she has dreadfully creepy ways, and Mr. Tattlecombe says she ought to be in a home. He says she listens at doors too. I believe she is very angry because Mr. Tattlecombe has made a will leaving the business to William. I – I wondered – ’

‘Yes, Mrs. Smith?’

‘She really isn’t right in her head – I’m sure about that. Mr. Tattlecombe had been telling William about his will that first time he was attacked. I did just wonder if she had been listening at the door and – and- Oh, it does seem dreadful, but I can’t help thinking of it!’

Miss Silver knitted thoughtfully.

‘And the second attack – that also occurred after he had been visiting Mr. Tattlecombe?’

‘Yes. She could have followed him.’

‘Would she be physically capable of such an assault?’

‘She is a tall, bony woman.’

After a moment Miss Silver said, ‘Sergeant Abbott, who witnessed the attack, appeared to have no doubt that the person he saw was a man.’

The quick colour came to Katharine’s cheeks.

‘It was dark and wet. Mr. Tattlecombe’s waterproof was hanging in the hall – I saw it myself when we went there to tea.

Miss Silver knitted in silence for a little while. Then she said,

‘When did Mr. Tattlecombe sign the will benefiting your husband?’

‘The day before he told William about it.’

‘In fact the day before the first attack.’

‘Yes.’

‘It was the first attack, Mrs. Smith? There had been no previous indications of enmity or ill will from any quarter?’

Katharine was taken by surprise. When she looked startled, as she did now, her eyebrows took an upward tilt, her eyes widened and brightened. William called it her flyaway look. It really did give her the air of a creature poised for flight. It was not lost on Miss Silver. She said with some firmness,

‘Was the blow on the head the first attempt?’

The colour drained out of Katharine’s face. She said in a distressed voice,

‘I don’t know.’

‘I think it might clarify your ideas if you put them into words. You have some incident in mind – it would be better if you would tell me what it was.’

Katharine felt as she had often felt when bathing. You walked into shallow water which was deceptively warm and tranquil, then, as it rose about your body, it became colder and the cold rose too. If you went too far, any step might take you out of your depth. She thought this step was safe. But was it? She didn’t know. She looked at Miss Silver in some distress of mind, and then without any premeditation found herself saying,

‘I was thinking about Mr. Tattlecombe’s accident.’

‘Yes?’

‘It happened just outside the shop. He lives over it, and he always goes out for a breath of air the last thing at night. It was about half-past ten, and it was a very dark, damp night. He came out by the private door with the light on in the passage behind him, and he went to the edge of the kerb and fell under a car. He says he was “struck down”. He had concussion, and he was badly bruised, and there was an injury to his leg. He might easily have been killed. Of course he may have slipped – ’

‘You connect this incident with the other one?’

Katharine looked away from her into the fire.

‘He is the same height and build as William is, and he has the same kind of hair, only it’s grey – but with the light shining on it from behind – ’

Miss Silver inclined her head.

‘Quite so. The face would be in shadow, and fair hair would be indistinguishable from grey.’

‘Yes.’

‘A little shiver ran over Katharine. She put out her hands as if to warm them. The logs in the grate sent out a comfortable glow. But the cold was inside her. She was afraid – afraid of what she was thinking, afraid of what she was saying, afraid of where it might be taking her. It mustn’t take her too far – it mustn’t, it mustn’t. And then she knew that it had already done so. Miss Silver was saying,