Patricia Wentworth - Anna, Where Are You?

Before Peter Brandon had the least idea of what she was going to do she walked to the window and drew the left-hand curtain back.

There was a door. The last folds of the velvet slid past it and left it bare. But it was not the door that riveted Miss Silver’s attention. She said quickly, “Put out the light, Mr. Brandon!” and as the switch clicked and the room fell dark, they could both see the jutting front of the garage and the glow that came from it. The garage doors were closed. The light came from a window on either side.

Miss Silver put her hand to the curtain and drew it close again.

“It would seem that he went that way, and that he is still there. We will have the light again, Mr. Brandon.”

When it had been switched on she said soberly,

“I expect you noticed that there was a door. There is no doubt that it leads to the garage. If the man who shot Mr. Craddock is still there, he will without doubt be both desperate and dangerous. We cannot count upon the arrival of the police for nearly half an hour. I think we must decide upon what we are to do next.”

“Miss Silver, what I have to do is to find Thomasina. You must see that.”

She laid her hand upon his arm.

“Pray take a moment for consideration. Miss Elliot may already be on her way back to the Miss Tremletts. Mr. Craddock is dead, and the person whom you disturbed, and who is probably the murderer, is in the garage. We do not know why he has delayed his escape. He may be destroying evidence, or he may be waiting for an accomplice to join him. But however he is engaged, it is improbable that he has any time to spare for Miss Elliot. If she is not in the garage she is safe. I think we should make certain that she is not there, and at the same time endeavour to discover the murderer’s identity.”

Peter nodded.

“The windows aren’t any good-at least I shouldn’t think they were. The light wasn’t coming through them clear. There are blinds.”

Miss Silver coughed gently.

“Yes, I noticed that. I think we must see where this door will take us. Let us hope that it is not locked.”

It would have been if the murderer had had the time. The key had actually been taken from the lock on this side but had dropped on the far side of the door. The need for haste had been as great as that.

They stood on the threshold and looked into one of those empty dilapidated rooms. Miss Silver’s powerful torch showed how thick the dust lay everywhere, except on the narrow trodden path which led to the garage door. She turned the light this way and that.

“Look, Mr. Brandon,” she said in a low voice.

A yard from where they stood there were tracks in the dust going away to the left-footprints, quite plain and easy to see, going away to a door in that left-hand wall.

Peter said,

“He didn’t go to the garage. That door goes back into the passage with the hand. He must have got out that way as soon as I was safe in the study. But if he did, who is in the garage?”

“That, I think, is what we had better find out.”

Inside the garage Thomasina stood against the wall. Anna Ball was still talking. She could have talked for an hour and hardly have begun to tell Thomasina just how clever she and Mr. Sandrow had been, and just how much they hated and despised all the stupid people whom they had so easily taken in.

“He had to see Peveril Craddock, because Peveril was turning yellow. He puts on an act, you know-he hasn’t really got a lot of nerve. Mr. Sandrow had made up his mind he would have to deal with him. I expect those were the shots we heard. He was going to arrange it to look like a suicide, but if he couldn’t do that-and he says it’s very difficult to get the fingerprints really convincing-on the gun, you know-then we were going to get him into the car and stage a crash on Quarry Hill. The car would of course be quite burnt out-a can or two of petrol would fix that all right-and Peveril out of the way for good. I don’t suppose Emily would cry her eyes out. He was trying to get rid of the children, you know. But so inefficient-no real nerve. Now if Mr. Sandrow had taken it in hand, there wouldn’t have been any hitch, but he said it wasn’t his business and Peveril could do his own dirty work.”

“ Anna !”

It was when Thomasina said, “ Anna !” that Peter Brandon turned the handle of the door and edged it open. It wasn’t the door behind Thomasina, but the one on the other side of the garage. He had stood behind it with Miss Silver and heard the angry rise and fall of a woman’s voice. Then, as the handle turned and the door slid, he heard Thomasina say Anna’s name on that note of horror and protest. His heart turned over. Because he had been afraid-he had been very much afraid.

She said, “ Anna !” and he opened the door.

The first thing he saw was Anna Ball in slacks and a red jersey standing with her back to him, and, past her, Thomasina against the opposite wall. Her hands were pressed against it, and all the colour was gone from her face. Her eyes were wide and dark, and she stared at the revolver in Anna’s hand. Because that was the really unbelievable thing-Anna Ball was holding a revolver and pointing it at Thomasina. He heard her say,

“He’ll be here any minute now, and then you can join Peveril in the car. Swoosh over the edge of the quarry and a blazing bonfire down below-that’s what’s waiting for you, Thomasina, dear !”

Peter walked into the garage, and she turned her head. In that moment Thomasina snatched the torch from the pocket of her coat and threw it with all her might. She had a strong wrist and a good eye. Peter had taught her to throw fast and straight. She threw now for his life and her own. The torch caught Anna full on the side of the head as she turned. Not a serious blow, but a startling one. It took her off her balance as she swung about. She screamed and stumbled, a shot went wide, and Peter had her by the wrists.

Thomasina came forward and twisted the revolver out of her hand.

Thomasina was never quite sure which was the more dreadful, the last half hour when she had stood facing Anna’s hatred and her revolver, or the next when they were waiting for the police to arrive.

They went back to the study and waited there with Peveril Craddock lying dead and the stain of his blood on the floor. There were comfortable chairs in the room. Anna sat in one of them with the cord of Miss Silver’s dressing-gown holding her there. She sat quite still, quite dumb, her eyes half closed, only every now and then the lids lifted to show the burning hatred there. It was like some horribly bad dream, and, like the things that happen in a dream, it couldn’t be measured by time.

Thomasina did not look at Peter, and he did not look at her. The people you love don’t belong to that kind of dream. You don’t want to see them there. You want to wake up and know that none of it has ever happened.

Miss Silver had taken one of the upright chairs. Her hands were in her lap. Her face was resolute and composed. Her dressing-gown, deprived of its girdle, hung in severe blue folds.

Nobody spoke. The silence was so complete that the sound of the police car coming up the drive startled them all.

And then in a moment the empty derelict house echoed with the tramp of feet and the sound of voices, and there came in on the hushed room with the dead man in it Inspector Jackson, Inspector Abbott, the Police Surgeon.

The routine of investigation began.

Miss Silver was able to get away for long enough to make sure that all was well in the Craddocks’ wing. Looking in upon Emily Craddock’s room, she found it warm and peaceful. Emily herself still slept that deep, exhausted sleep. Jennifer in the big armchair slept too, her head pillowed on her arm, the eiderdown falling away a little at the neck, her breath coming slow and steady. It was all very far removed from the scene in Peveril Craddock’s study. Miss Silver shut the door and went back to it.