Patricia Wentworth - Danger Point

He gave a short angry laugh.

“Then there really is something you don’t know! Well, I’ll tell you. On the right shoulder just below the top of the arm a complete print of Rafe Jerningham’s right hand, the palm towards the shoulder blade and the finger coming right round on to the sleeve. On the left side an equally clear impression of his left hand in an exactly similar position. If that doesn’t mean that he stood behind her and took her by the shoulders, what does it mean? And if he did that, for what other purpose did he do it than to push her over the cliff?”

Miss Silver sat with her hands folded upon her knitting.

“That,” she said, “is very interesting. But have you any idea of why he should want to push her over a cliff?”

The colour came up into March’s face, showing plainly under the fair skin.

“Oh, I’ve got ideas. What I haven’t got is evidence. Something may turn up, or it may not. He may have had half a dozen reasons, but the one I fancy is the same as in his cousin’s case. Just look at the thing as a whole for a moment. Don’t divide the Jerninghams up. Take them as a solid block – as a family. Every enquiry I’ve made points to their very strong attachment to this property which has belonged to them for hundreds of years. Dale is said to have spent his first wife’s money lavishly on improvements. He runs the estate himself, and works hard at it. Rafe contents himself with a modestly paid job at the local aircraft establishment because it keeps him at home. He refused a very much better post in Australia a couple of months ago. Lady Steyne, who had been married ten years, comes back here as soon as she is a widow. Her husband had a place and he left it to her, and a considerable fortune as well, but she comes back here. They stick to each other, these Jerninghams, and they stick to Tanfield. And Tanfield is slipping away from them. As soon as I had those prints I went over to see the old Superintendent at his home. He’s got a dicky leg but he can talk all right. He’s a Ledstock man and he knows about everyone in the district. He says the Jerninghams have always been like that. ‘Close woven yarn’ was his expression – touch one of them and you touch the lot. And this is what he told me. They’re on the rocks. The first Mis. Jerningham was an heiress, and the money all came to Dale. Most of what he didn’t spend on the property petered out in the depression, and there isn’t much left. These people talk very freely of their affairs, you know, and Mrs. Black had a cousin’s daughter in service up at Tanfield Court. Well, the sale of some land for the aircraft establishment and aerodrome tided them over for a bit, and six months ago Dale married again – another heiress. But the talk is that the money is tied up, and that Dale will have to sell. There’s a man called Tatham after it – soap-boiler or something of that sort. You say that Mrs. Jerningham told you she had just made a will in her husband’s favour. Considering the Jerninghams as a family block who will stand or fall together, would Rafe Jerningham have no motive for pushing his cousin’s wife over the cliff if he knew about that will? And do you suppose for a moment that he didn’t know about it? Add to this that he is Dale’s heir, and that Dale has another passion besides Tanfield – flying. I am told he is as keen as mustard and extremely reckless. Tanfield might need an heir at any time. Don’t you think that Rafe Jerningham has a pretty strong motive? People have done murder for a good deal less than that.”

“There is a motive, ” said Miss Silver. “But it would only influence a very unprincipled character. And I must confess, my dear Randal, that I think you are straining the probabilities when you contend that, granting a motive, Mr. Rafe had the opportunity of committing this murder. You say he talked with Mrs. Jerningham after she had seen Cissie Cole, and then went for a walk along the beach. According to your theory he got on to the cliff path and hurried to the headland, where, seeing Cissie Cole in Mrs. Jerningham’s coat, he took her in the failing light for his cousin’s wife and pushed her over the cliff. But why did he go to Tane Head at all, and why, having hurried there, should he think it possible that the person whom he saw could be Mrs. Jerningham whom he had just left at Tanfield Court?”

March ran his hand through his hair.

“I can’t tell you why he went there, because I don’t know. He may have been restless. He may, like Lady Steyne, have wanted to see the sunset, and he may have hurried because the light was failing. But it would have been perfectly possible for Mrs. Jerningham whom he left at Tanfield to have reached Tane Head before him. Her own car was out of action, but her husband’s car was there and so was Rafe’s. She also might have wanted to watch the sunset. But he wouldn’t think of all that. He’d see a familiar figure with its back to him outlined against the sunset. Cissie Cole was a tall, thin girl with fair hair. A back view of her in Mrs. Jerningham’s own coat might have deceived anyone. I believe it deceived Rafe Jerningham. I believe he came up behind her, took her by the shoulders, and threw her over the cliff, and came back as he went without anyone seeing him. There wasn’t anyone to see him except his cousins, Dale and Lady Steyne. If they did see him, do you suppose they would tell? And if that poor girl cried out and they heard her, do you suppose they’d tell that either? No – that’s what happened, but unless a witness drops from heaven there isn’t enough evidence to risk a sixpence on – nothing but those handprints on the shoulders of her coat.”

Miss Silver gazed at him.

“Did you ask Mrs. Jerningham who helped her on with her coat the last time she wore it?”

“Yes, I did,” said March in an exasperated tone – “and it was Rafe. But I swear those prints were not made then. They’re not in the right place, and they’re too fresh. You don’t put your hands round the top of a woman’s sleeve when you help her into a coat. And they’re too clear. They couldn’t have been made on Sunday. They’re the clearest of all the prints.”

“It’s certainly a very interesting case,” said Miss Silver.

MISS SILVER was walking along the high street next day, when she saw Mrs. Dale Jerningham get out of a car and go into Ashley’s through the big swing door. The car, which was driven by Rafe Jerningham, moved on again at once and disappeared amongst the traffic. Miss Silver watched it go. She thought it turned down into Market Square, but she wasn’t sure. She followed the tall, slim figure in white and came up with it in the Ladies’ Outfitting.

“Good-morning, Mrs. Jerningham.”

Lisle turned from the counter, startled.

“Miss Silver!”

“We do keep meeting, don’t we?” said Miss Silver affably.

Lisle said “Yes” in a rather shaken tone. They did keep on meeting – but it couldn’t mean anything – if it did mean anything, it would mean… She said, hurrying to get away from her own thoughts, “I’m getting a bathing-dress. Mine got torn -” And there her voice faltered and dropped.

Miss Silver gave her little cough.

“Ah, yes – that would be when you were nearly drowned, would it not? I remember you told me. But you did not tell me how it happened, or who saved you. You were bathing with your husband and his cousins, were you not?”

The elderly saleswoman brought a pile of stockinette bathing-dresses and put them down on the counter.

“Perhaps you wouldn’t mind looking these through, Mrs. Jerningham. We’re rather busy this morning.” She went away.

There was no one near them at that counter. Lisle picked up a cream jersey tunic and said,