Patricia Wentworth - The Clock Strikes Twelve

Miss Paradine ignored the outstretched hand. To his “This is a terrible thing!” she replied that it was very good of him to have come. He thought how impassive she was, how controlled. He would have thought the better of her if she had broken down. And then, as she turned a little and the light from the farther window struck her face, he was shocked at her pallor and the dark marks under her eyes.

“It’s been a horrible shock. If there is anything that we can do… It’s a terrible break-up for you, Grace. I can’t think what it’s going to be like without him-I can’t realize it at all-he has always been there. And it’s worse for you-I don’t know what to say about it. I hope you’ve got Phyllida here-she’ll be a comfort. Elliot’s with you too, isn’t he? James rang me up last night and said he was staying. Threw our table out, and if it had been anyone else he’d have had the rough side of my tongue, but as it was, we were only too glad, Bessie and I. Dreadful thing for young people to separate like that. James felt it, I know-wanted to see it made up. Hope he had the satisfaction of knowing he’d brought them together again. Never could understand what went wrong myself. She’s a charming girl. I’m glad you’ve got her with you.”

Grace Paradine said in her deep, controlled voice,

“Yes, I have got Phyllida.”

Then she moved a step and rang the bell.

“You will like to see Mark, Robert.”

Mark had reached the head of the stairs, when Elliot Wray caught him up.

“Here-wait a minute.”

“What is it?”

“Where have you put this woman?”

“In the study. I’ve told Lane she’s to have the bedroom next to yours.”

Elliot said abruptly,

“I want to see her.”

“All right, come along. Do you want me to come too?” Elliot considered.

“I don’t know… No, I’ll see her alone. How much does she know?”

“ Lydia saw her first-I don’t know what she said. I told her what happened last night, and told her the names of the people who were there and the way they were related-things like that.”

Elliot stood for a moment as if he were in two minds whether to say something or not. In the end he laughed grimly and said what he hadn’t thought about at all.

“Well, you seem to have inherited a bomb-throwing tendency along with the rest of it.” After which he went off down the stairs and round the corner towards the study, just missing Robert Moffat, who had emerged from the drawing-room on the other side of the hall.

Elliot’s first view of Miss Silver gave him a shock of surprise. She wasn’t in the very least like anything he had expected. Just what he had expected, he didn’t know. Something hard and efficient-a stony eye and a mouth like a trap-certainly not this mild, decorous little person in clothes which must have been out of date when he was born. He was reminded of an Edwardian period film seen recently enough to bob up at the sight of her.

He said, “Miss Silver?” and received a pleasant smile and a slight inclination of the head.

She was seated at the table with a green copybook before her. It was curious to see her there in old James’s chair. The police had occupied the room all the morning. Photographs had been taken both here and on the terrace, everything had been gone over for fingerprints. Now the room was straight and tidy again. The police had done with it. Mr. Paradine had done with it. Except for the fact that this little governessy person was sitting at his table, everything was just as it had been last night. The chairs had been put back in their accustomed places. The table, the ink-stand, the blotting-pad were just as usual, except for the green copybook in front of Miss Silver and, a little way off on the left, one of those small pocket diaries which Miss Paradine had been handing out last night. It was the blue one. He wondered how it had got there. He couldn’t remember who had had the blue one-he hadn’t been noticing. He thought it would be Mark, or Richard. He came over and picked it up. As he turned it in his hand, it fell open, as a book will do when it has been bent back to mark a place. A date sprang into view-February 1st.

With the diary still in his hand, he was aware of Miss Silver saying,

“Is it the date that interests you, or the book?”

He put it down at once.

“Oh, neither. Miss Paradine was giving these diaries as presents last night. I wondered-”

“To whom this one had been given? You think not to Mr. Paradine?”

“I don’t know.” There was some finality in his tone.

He took a chair and sat down.

“I believe you have a list of all our names. I am Elliot Wray. Mark Paradine said I could come and talk to you.”

“Oh, certainly.”

Her voice was the voice of a gentlewoman, pleasant in tone, a little prim. As he was thinking this, she said,

“What do you want to talk to me about, Mr. Wray?”

Something prompted him to say,

“I am wondering how much you know.”

Miss Silver smiled. Rather a rugged-looking young man-intelligent-not so obviously under a strain as Mr. Mark Paradine. Her excellent memory provided her with the reflection that he was one of the two members of the family circle fortunate enough to have an alibi for the time of the murder. She smiled at him.

“Not so much as I should like to know, Mr. Wray. Perhaps you will add to my knowledge. I may say that I am very glad to see you. Will you mind if I ask you some questions?”

“Not at all.”

“Well then, Mr. Wray-you do not live in Birleton?”

“No.”

“And you are engaged on confidential work in connection with aeroplane construction?”

“Yes.”

“These things are common knowledge? And so is the fact that your present visit to Birleton was connected with work being done for the government at the Paradine-Moffat Works?”

“I shouldn’t say that it was common knowledge.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“Will you agree that this knowledge was common to the party dining here last night?”

He gave her a glance of quick surprise.

“Yes, I would agree to that-at least to this extent that they could all have known as much, if they had been interested. I don’t suppose any of the women would have bothered about it.”

Miss Silver coughed again.

“Suppositions are not always reliable, Mr. Wray. But let us continue. You stayed here last night, I believe, but not the night before. Had you expected to stay here at all?”

She saw his fair brows draw together in a frown as he said,

“No.”

“Had you expected to dine here last night?”

“No.”

“Will you tell me what occasioned the change in your plans?”

He said with an assumption of carelessness, “Mr. Paradine rang me up at seven o’clock. He said he wanted to see me on a matter of business.”

“And when you came out here he insisted on your remaining for dinner and staying the night. May I ask how you had intended to spend the evening?”

He gave her a curious look.

“I was dining with Mr. Moffat, Mr. Paradine’s partner.”

“And you broke the engagement?”

“Mr. Paradine broke it for me.”

Miss Silver said, “Dear me-” and then, “I am going to ask you a question which you may not wish to answer. Miss Pennington and Mr. Mark Paradine have given me an account of what took place at the dinner table last night. It must have been a very trying experience, especially for the guilty person. I understand that Mr. Paradine actually used that expression, ‘the guilty person,’ but beyond stating that the family interests had been betrayed he gave no indication of the nature of this betrayal. The police will, of course, have made enquiries on this point. I have no means of knowing what information they may have obtained, or what conclusions, if any, they may have arrived at. I should just like to ask you whether you brought any papers or plans with you on this visit. I feel sure that you must have done so.”