Patricia Wentworth - The Clock Strikes Twelve

Mark’s hands came out of his pockets. He stood up straight.

“What are you saying? What possible motive-”

“She wished to make a complete breach with Mr. Wray. She expected this to follow upon the loss of the blue-prints. I imagine that it might very easily have done so. The thing she wishes most in the world is to prevent a reconciliation between Mr. and Mrs. Wray.”

Mark looked at her in horror, but it was the horror, not of incredulity, but of most unwilling conviction. He got out a handkerchief, wiped a sweating brow, and said,

“Did she-do it?”

“I have told you that I do not know. She had a very strong motive-her brother knew what she had done. If he chose he could ruin her credit with the family. You are in a position to know what that would mean to her.”

He said, “For God’s sake don’t! It’s too horrible. She couldn’t have done it!”

Miss Silver glanced at him compassionately.

“Then we must look for another motive in some other person. Will you tell me what Mr. Paradine said to you when you entered the study on Thursday night?”

He appeared surprised, startled, relieved.

“How do you mean?”

“I want to know what he said when he saw you.”

Mark frowned. A spark of comprehension came and went, a muscle twitched in his cheek. He said,

“How do you know?”

Miss Silver smiled.

“He said the same thing to three other people who went to see him that night. I was curious to know whether he also said it to you. Now will you tell me what he said?”

Mark went back a step. He took hold of the edge of the table above the corner pocket and gripped it hard.

“He asked me if I had come to confess.”

Miss Silver beamed.

“That is just what I thought. He addressed the same remark to Mr. Pearson, and, separately, to Mr. and Mrs. Wray.”

“Why?”

Miss Silver coughed.

“According to Mr. Wray, Mr. Paradine was enjoying the situation he had created. To a man of his ironical turn of mind there would be entertainment in watching the response to a question of this nature. He had just startled you all very much by saying that one of you had betrayed the family interests. He had in mind the theft of the blue-prints, but only one of those present would be aware of this. I believe that one to have been Miss Paradine. The rest could not know what he meant-they could only surmise. It is, unfortunately, true that most people have something to hide. There are privacies of the heart and mind. There are dilemmas, faults, failings, sins, which we would not willingly expose to view. Mr. Paradine’s accusation shocked more than the criminal into a hasty search of conduct and conscience. I wonder how many confessions were made on that Thursday night. I think you made one, did you not? I think it was very kindly received. But suppose, Mr. Mark, that one of the confessions he invited was of such a nature that it could not be made without ruin? Why, then we would have a second motive for the murder. That is what I meant when I said that we must ascertain whether there was anyone who had such a motive-anyone, that is, other than Miss Paradine. We know what her motive was. If she did not murder her brother, there must be someone else with a motive as strong or stronger. To find the murderer we must find that motive. It may not even exist-there may be no other motive. But the fact that these very valuable diamonds were kept in the house does suggest a possible motive. Since every possibility should be explored, I suggest that these jewels should be examined by a competent person. Do you happen to know whether there is a detailed list of them, and where Mr. Paradine would have been likely to keep it?”

Still in that indifferent manner, Mark said, “The list is in the safe. I don’t think there’s an earthly chance that anything is missing. My uncle was always having the things out to look at-he liked handling them. We’ll have a valuer in if you want one, but he won’t find anything wrong. You’ll have to look somewhere else for your motive, and the police aren’t going to look any farther than me. If you ask me, they’ll arrest me just as soon as Harrison tells them the extent to which I benefit under my uncle’s will. I get about three quarters of everything, you know-Uncle James’ idea of supporting the family dynasty. That’s the sort of motive a policeman likes-plain straightforward murder for a sizable lump of cash. Just as soon as it occurs to them to ask Harrison about the terms of the will my number will be up. They’ll probably let me open the safe before they arrest me, but that’s about as much rope as I’ll get. It’s now half past twelve-Harrison is to be here at half past two. I’ve got about two hours. Any suggestions as to what I should do with them?”

Miss Silver chose to regard this as a pleasantry, though as a rule pleasantries are not delivered in so bitter a tone. She smiled and said,

“I think you might find it helpful to talk the matter over with Miss Pennington.”

The next half hour was a busy one for Miss Silver. After spending ten minutes in the study with Colonel Bostock and Superintendent Vyner she returned to her bedroom and found it empty. Polly Parsons, having answered the bell, was asked some questions which resulted in heartfelt sobs and some interesting admissions. Having been bidden to dry her eyes, hold her tongue, and summon Louisa, she departed, still gulping and unfeignedly glad to get away.

Left alone in the sitting-room, Mark stood for some moments looking moodily at nothing. His inward vision was, however, obsessed with the picture presented in Miss Silver’s last words. If he was going to be arrested he had this next half hour in which to see Lydia again. After that the domestic business of lunch would intervene, and then the police would be coming back-if indeed they intended to go. Harrison would arrive, and at any time the balloon might be expected to go up.

Lydia was at Meadowcroft. Normally it took seven minutes to get there by the river path and the foot-bridge. He could cut the seven to five. He went out of the front door and down the steep cliff path at a run.

Meadowcroft stood among the fields on the farther side of the river-a converted farmhouse, mellow and comfortable. He had always considered it wasted on Frank and Irene, who had filled it with jangling modern furniture bought in suites.

He wasn’t thinking about furniture as he let himself in. If Lydia was not in the drawing-room, he would ring the bell and say he wanted to speak to her. Anyone was at liberty to think anything they pleased. He had to see her once more before he stopped being a free man and became the accused.

He walked through the hall without meeting anyone, opened the drawing-room door, and saw Dicky on the far side of the room with his hand on Lydia ’s shoulder and his head bent to kiss her. At any other time this would have halted him. It did not halt him now. He came in, shut the door behind him, and crossed to where they stood together in front of the fire.

Dicky said, “Hullo, Mark!” And then, “Well, I’ll be getting along.”

The words, and the manner in which they were said, went by as if they had not been spoken. As far as Mark was concerned they did not penetrate his consciousness at all. Lydia looked vague, smiled, said something which was just an indistinguishable murmur, and fell silent. Dicky went down the room and out.

As the door shut, Mark moved to the mantelpiece and leaned there, looking down into the fire. After the first moment when he had seen her face lifted for Dicky’s kiss he had not looked at Lydia. He had come to see her, but now that he was here he couldn’t look at her. There was too much to say between them, and now it would never be said. She would marry Dicky and be happy. The family had always planned it that way.