Patricia Wentworth - The Case of William Smith

‘You mean that someone who had planned the attack mistook Mr. Tattlecombe for Mr. Smith. That would mean that the person who attacked him was not at all familiar either with Mr. Tattlecombe or his habits. He or she must have been expecting to see Mr. Smith. But Emily Salt would know Mr. Tattlecombe, since she had lived, for so many years with his sister. Did she at that time know Mr. Smith?’

Katharine had that distressed look again.

‘I don’t know – I don’t think so. William said he hadn’t ever seen her until Mr. Tattlecombe went to his sister’s house after he left the hospital.’

‘But Mr. Tattlecombe visited at his sister’s house. Emily Salt would have known him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Someone who knew Mr. Tattlecombe and did not know Mr. Smith might, in the circumstances, have taken Mr. Smith for Mr. Tattlecombe, but I fail to see how he could have taken Mr. Tattlecombe for Mr. Smith.’

Katharine’s hands were clasped again in her lap. Her words came in a soft hurry.

‘Then – then it couldn’t have been anything, could it? It was stupid of me to think that it could. That’s the worst of this sort of thing – it sets one’s imagination to work.’ She caught at the word and clung to it. ‘I’ve been imagining things – it was just my imagination. I quite see what you mean – it couldn’t have been anything else.’

She put a hand on the arm of her chair as if she was going to rise. A hortatory cough arrested the movement. She felt called to order. Her hand stayed where it was. She had that startled look. Yet there was nothing alarming about the question which followed the cough.

‘At the time of Mr. Tattlecombe’s accident were you already working at the Toy Bazaar?’

‘Oh, no.’

‘How long have you been there?’

‘About six weeks. I came just afterwards. They were short-handed.’

‘You answered an advertisement?’

The waters were getting deep again. Katharine said,

‘No.’

‘You were recommended – perhaps by Mr. William Smith?’

Her colour came too quickly. So did her words.

‘Oh, no – he didn’t know I existed. I just asked – if they wanted anybody.’

‘Had you any previous experience?’ said Miss Silver.

‘No, I hadn’t. I – I needed a job.’

Miss Silver smiled.

‘Pray do not think me very intrusive. I am wondering what took you to Tattlecombe’s Toy Bazaar.’

Katharine felt as if a wave had broken right over her head. It was a moment before she could get enough breath to say,

‘I – I needed a job. I – I just went in and asked.’

Miss Silver said, ‘I see.’

For a moment Katharine felt that the small nondescript-coloured eyes really did see right through her. She felt the kind of panic which comes in dreams when you find yourself naked amongst the clothed. Her hand clenched on the arm of the chair. She got up.

‘Miss Silver, I mustn’t stop. My husband doesn’t know I’ve come to see you. If – if you think there is anything you can do, will you do it?’

Miss Silver got up too. She said in a very quiet and composed manner,

‘What do you think I can do?’

Katharine looked at her.

‘I don’t know. I thought if you could find out – about Emily Salt – ’

Miss Silver met the look.

‘ You would like me to find out that it is Miss Salt who has been attempting your husband’s life. She is an unhinged person who ought to be placed under restraint. It would be a simple and satisfactory solution, would it not? But I cannot undertake to provide this solution. I can only promise that I will do my best to arrive at the truth. And I cannot undertake any case where I am deliberately kept in the dark.’

‘Miss Silver – ’

Her rather stern look softened.

‘You are thinking that you have no reason to trust me. You must decide whether you will or not. Let me quote the late Lord Tennyson – “Oh, trust me all in all, or not at all.” ’

‘Miss Silver – ’

She was met with a sudden disarming smile.

‘There is no reason for you to trust me. Pray do not think that I would urge your confidence, but you must not think that I can accept the half confidence which aims at concealment. You have kept a good deal from me, have you not? I think you know much more about your husband than you have told me. He has lost his memory, but you have not lost yours. You say that he has not changed – that it would be easy for anyone who knew him before he disappeared to recognize him now. What gives you this assurance? You feel no need to press Frank Abbott for the name he has forgotten – to insist that he should go through every friend and acquaintance he has in order to find the evidence which would restore the lost identity of William Smith. Why? Because, I think, you do not need this evidence. I think you know very well who your husband is. If you want my help, come to me again. I shall be glad to do what I can. Go home and think about what I have said.’

Katharine went home feeling rather dazed. She walked all the way because she wanted to think, but the turmoil in her mind was too great. Her thoughts were dashed this way and that by tides of feeling over which she had no control. In the end it all came out to the same thing – she didn’t know what to do.

She went on walking. The air was soft and damp – one of those mild January days which easily turn to fog. She would have been glad of the sharp feel of frost on her face, or a keen wind to buffet her. There was only that mild, gentle air. If she went back to Miss Silver she did not know what might come of it. At the worst there might be publicity, disgrace, things that William would find it hard to forgive. If she held back she might be taking risks with his life.

She came to the flat to find him gone – a note where hers had been:

‘I thought I’d just go over the car. Mr. Tattlecombe said something about giving us Saturday afternoon.’

He came in late for tea, kissed her cheerfully, and went to wash. It wasn’t until he was helping himself to jam that he asked her where she had been. She had wondered whether he would ask, and what she was going to say. But when it happened she knew. She couldn’t lie to William, and she couldn’t shuffle. The answer was as simple as the question. She said,

‘I went to see Miss Silver.’

‘Miss Silver?’

‘Mr. Abbott’s friend – the one whose address he gave you.’

William put jam on his bread – a good deal of jam. Then he said,

‘Oh, her?’ Why did you do that?’

‘Because of what you told me.’

‘Do you mean about my being pushed?’

‘Yes.’

‘It was rum, wasn’t it? This is good jam. Where did you get it?’

‘It’s some I made last summer when I was down in the country.’

‘I thought it didn’t taste like grocer’s jam. Talking about things being rum, that is.’

‘What is?’ Her laugh shook a little. ‘You’re being incoherent. We were talking about jam.’

‘That’s what I meant – your making it last summer, and I didn’t even know that there was any you to make jam, and if I had known I wouldn’t have known you were making it for me, and you wouldn’t either. What were you doing in the country?’

‘I was staying with an aunt.’

‘Where?’

‘At Ledstow.’

He crinkled up his eyes.

‘Ought I to know where Ledstow is?’

‘It’s about seven miles from Ledlington.’

He nodded.

‘I’ve been down to Ledlington on business, just for the day. Rather a nice old market square, but a frightful statue in the middle of it – Sir Albert Something-or-other in marble trousers. What’s this Miss Silver person like?’