Patricia Wentworth - Danger Point

Pictures. Dale in the nursery, lordly and strong at five years old, all smiles and charm as long as he had his way. Rafe and Alicia worshipping. Dale at school, strong and big for his age, carelessly protective to a younger cousin who had a knack of passing exams but wasn’t nearly so good at games. Dale captain of football and cricket. Dale winning the mile. Dale putting the weight. Dale with everything he wanted in the world until Alicia let him down. Too many things coming too easily, and then a knock-down blow. Dale who had had everything he wanted, to have everything taken away.

Was it some sudden temptation which had sent Lydia over the cliff? Or was there even then under all the surface charm and kindness another Dale, perfectly cool and ruthless, who must have what he wanted, no matter what it cost?

Alicia gone and Tanfield threatened. Was that where things began to go wrong? Or had they been wrong all the time? Does a man suddenly become a murderer, or has the cold, ruthless streak been there always? If you matter too much to yourself, if your possessions matter too much, then other people’s interests, other people’s lives, may come to matter so little that they can be sacrificed without a qualm.

Would things have been different if Dale had married Alicia? Outwardly perhaps. There might have been no murder done, because there would have been no advantage in doing it. Why had Alicia thrown him over? Of the two she was the one who had cared – but she married Rowland Steyne. Why? No one would ever know. Alicia kept her secrets. He wondered whether she had come up against that black streak and been scared by it. No one would ever know.

Dale had married Lydia Burrows, quite willingly and cheerfully after a well played scene of renunciation and despair. He had certainly had no love for Lydia, but how perfectly he had played the lover – a really notable performance. At what point had he decided to bring the run to a close and ring the curtain down?

As far as Rafe had ever been able to observe, Dale had had no regrets. Lydia ’s money made everything easy for him again as long as it lasted.

Give him what he wanted, and no one could be kinder or more generous than Dale. The model landowner, hard-working, public-spirited, careful for his tenants; the good master; the man of many friends – were these all parts which the other Dale had played – easily, enjoyable, savouring them to the full? Did he love Alicia? Had he ever loved Lisle? Had he ever loved anyone at all? Or had he only enjoyed playing the lover, the generous master, the good sportsman? The answer came unwillingly. He loved Tanfield. Not Alicia, not Lisle, not Rafe – nothing human. But Tanfield which was in some sort a projection of himself. His possession which in its turn possessed him utterly.

The pictures went on. The night passed.

When the dawn broke, a low white mist covered the sea. Rafe turned and went back into the house,

INSPECTOR MARCH rang the bell of Miss Mellison’s boarding establishment late that evening. Miss Mellison herself opened the door in a flowered overall and a string of bright blue beads, her face rather flushed, and her grey hair wispy from the combined effects of the July heat and the kitchen fire.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting – it’s my girl’s day out. If you wouldn’t mind – my little sitting-room – I’m sure I’m only too pleased. Miss Silver won’t be a moment. I think you know the way.”

She fluttered towards the stairs, disclosing as she turned a section of a brick-red dress of some woollen material with about two inches of green art-silk petticoat showing at the hem. No wonder she was hot.

March entered the little room in which Miss Silver had entertained him on a previous occasion. The windows were shut and the air thick with the smell of cooking and furniture polish. As he turned round from opening everything that would open, Miss Silver came in, cool, and neat, and dowdy.

“My dear Randal – this is very kind! I have naturally been most anxious to see you. Pray sit down. You have dined?”

“Oh, yes.”

She settled herself, picked up a new piece of knitting of which only a couple of rows of pale pink wool appeared upon the needles, and said with a regretful sigh,

“So it was the husband after all.”

Randal March was so much startled that he was quite unable to disguise the fact.

“My dear Miss Silver!”

She inclined her head in a prim little nod.

“It surprises you that I should know anything about it?”

He gave a rueful laugh.

“I am always expecting you to whip out a broomstick and ride away.”

Miss Silver pursed up her mouth in a deprecating manner.

“My dear Randal-”

Before she could say any more the handle turned, the door was pushed open, and Miss Mellison entered with a tray upon which reposed two cups of coffee, a jug of hot milk, a small bowl of sugar crystals, and half a madeira cake.

“Oh, you really shouldn’t have troubled.”

Miss Mellison said that it was no trouble at all. She had taken off her overall and powdered her nose. The brick-red dress, now fully revealed, was high to the neck and long in the sleeve. The blue beads were of the kind that are sold to tourists in all the Venetian shops. She fluttered from the room and shut the door behind her.

“So kind,” murmured Miss Silver – “she quite spoils me.” Then, in a brisker tone, “Dear me – what were we saying? Oh, yes – it is really all very simple. You are wondering how I come to know about Mr. Dale Jerningham having crashed his plane last night. The young man from the Ledlington Stores – his name is Johnson – has a brother who works at the Tanfield aerodrome. When he called with the groceries this morning he said how upset his brother was. There had been something wrong with the plane, but they thought they had got it right. I am afraid I am not sufficiently conversant with such matters to be able to tell you what the trouble was.”

“I’m glad there’s something you don’t know.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“Technical details are always better left to the expert. Well, Johnson told his brother that Mr. Jerningham would go up. He was called to the telephone just as he was starting. There had been an accident at Tanfield Court, and whether this news upset him, or whether there was something wrong with the plane, when Mr. Jerningham did go up he seems to have lost control and his machine crashed in the sea. One of the coastguards saw it – a man called Pilkington. They were all very much upset when he rang up the aerodrome and told them what had happened. Mr. Jerningham was very much liked – very open-handed and generous, so Johnson told his brother.”

March surveyed her with a faint smile.

“How much more do you know?”

Miss Silver sipped her coffee.

“Oh, very little. May I cut you a slice of cake?… No? It is a little dry, I am afraid… We heard about Mrs. Jerningham’s accident from the baker who delivers at Tanfield Court. Poor thing – Mr. Rafe brought her in at midnight soaked to the skin and in a state of collapse. She had fallen into one of those deep pools among the rocks, and they had been caught by the tide. A most providential escape.”

“Yes, I think you may call it that,” said Randal March.

“After that,” said Miss Silver, “it was really all quite simple. A single accident is quite likely to be an accident – I can believe in it as well as anyone. But four accidents in a row one after another, all connected with the same person, is more than I can bring myself to believe.”

“ Four accidents ?”

Miss Silver sipped her coffee.

“About a fortnight ago Mrs. Jerningham was nearly drowned – she only came round after artificial respiration had been employed for some time. Since that her car has been smashed to pieces and she only escaped death by a miracle, a girl who was wearing her coat has been murdered, and she herself has again been within an ace of drowning. She is rescued by Mr. Rafe Jerningham, who then had a telephone conversation with his cousin, immediately after which Mr. Dale Jerningham takes his plane up and crashes. I must confess that I find it impossible not to connect all these events. Am I wrong in doing so?”