Patricia Wentworth - The Clock Strikes Twelve

Shocked into immediate interest, Mark straightened up, came forward a step, and standing level with Mr. Jones and the Superintendent, said in a startled tone,

“What do you mean?”

Mr. Jones picked up a pen from the table, held it poised, and used the nib as a pointer. It hovered above the trefoil brooch.

“That is a copy-very good paste. So is the butterfly-and the bar brooch. So are the stones in these solitaire earrings and the solitaire ring. The large centre stone in the corsage ornament has also been replaced by paste.”

Mark said, “What!” And then, “Are you sure?”

Mr. Jones showed his gleaming dentures in a slight pitying smile.

“There is no doubt of it at all, Mr. Paradine.”

Silence descended on the room. Superintendent Vyner’s eyes turned towards Miss Silver. As plainly as if he had spoken, they said, “Well, there’s your motive.”

Miss Silver coughed, and, as if by one consent, they both looked at Albert Pearson. It was not only his hands that were sweating now. His forehead glistened. Even to the most casual eye he was ill, and ill at ease.

Vyner turned to Mr. Jones.

“The rest of the stones all right?”

Mr. Jones produced a pocket magnifying glass and brought it to bear upon each piece of jewelry in turn. The process appeared to be interminable. But in time all things come to an end. The magnifying glass went back into a deep breast pocket. Mr. Jones lisped his assurances, and was encouraged to depart. The door shutting behind him sounded to Albert Pearson like the crack of doom. His heart beat with sickening heavy thumps. His hair was clammy on his brow. Through the mist which clouded his glasses he was aware that everyone had turned in his direction. It was like the worst kind of nightmare. He heard Superintendent Vyner addressing him by name.

“Will you come up to the table, Mr. Pearson. I should like to ask you one or two questions. At the same time it is my duty to warn you that what you say may be taken down and used in evidence against you.”

He came forward, stumbled upon a chair, and finding himself seated, began mechanically to polish his misted glasses. When he put them on again there was a smart young constable with a notebook almost at his elbow and everyone was looking at him-everyone except Phyllida, who looked as if she was going to cry. Of the others, Miss Paradine wore the kind of expression with which she might have dismissed a dishonest kitchenmaid. It was too much de-haut-en-bas to be vindictive, but it held a very definite trace of satisfaction. He was not only outside the family circle now, he was judged and damned before ever a word was spoken. As he sat there he could feel the ring of circumstance closing in to damn him. He was to be what he had always known they would make him if they could-the scape-goat. Well, he’d got his alibi-let them see if they could break it. He’d been one too many for them there. He squared his shoulders, leaned forward with his arms upon the table, and said,

“I’m perfectly willing to answer any question you like.”

They were all looking at him. The Superintendent and Mark standing together over the laid-out cases where the diamonds caught the light. Lydia Pennington on Mark’s other side, moving closer, slipping her hand inside his elbow. Elliot Wray with an arm round Phyllida, who was shaking-and what had she got to shake about, damn her? Against the mantelpiece, directly under his mother’s portrait, Frank Ambrose staring gloomily, not so much at him as past him down the room. Across the corner from the Superintendent, at the end of the table, Miss Silver, dumpy and dowdy, with her ridiculous bog-oak brooch and the small bright eyes which looked you through and through. Across the other corner from her, Mr. Harrison, grave and shocked. Beyond him Miss Paradine, Richard, and right at his elbow here, the young constable with the notebook.

Albert Pearson set his mind, set that rather heavy jaw, met all those shocked, accusing looks, and said stubbornly,

“Well-what about it?”

Vyner said, “Mr. Pearson, there are certain obvious reasons why this discovery is compromising for you. A substitution of stones such as has taken place is not everybody’s job. It could also only have been done by someone who had access to this room and to the late Mr. Paradine’s keys. You happen to combine both these qualifications. It is therefore my duty to ask you whether you have anything to say.”

Albert had himself in hand. He said in his earnest, boring voice,

“Quite so. But I am afraid I can’t help you. I know nothing at all about this.”

“The diamonds are gone, Mr. Pearson, to the tune of something like two thousand pounds. They didn’t go of themselves.”

“I suppose not, Superintendent. It doesn’t occur to you that Mr. Paradine himself may have had them replaced?”

“Are you going to say that you acted under his orders?”

“Certainly not. I am only saying you may find it difficult to prove that the work was not done by Mr. Paradine’s orders. You will naturally examine the cases for fingerprints, but I am afraid that you will be disappointed. You see, Mr. Paradine handled them so constantly himself. He liked having the jewels out and looking at them-a fact which would have made it very difficult for anyone to tamper with them.”

There was a pause before Vyner said,

“You are very well informed, Mr. Pearson.”

The large round glasses were turned upon him steadily. Albert said,

“What do you expect? I was his secretary.”

“Very well. I said there were obvious reasons for suspecting you. There are others not so obvious. Was it in your capacity as secretary that you put on the clock in Mr. Wray’s room by a quarter of an hour on Thursday night?”

A dull, ugly colour came up in patches under Albert’s skin. The skin was clammy. His hands lay in full view upon the table. It took all his will power to keep them there unclenched. He said in a rougher voice,

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do. The under housemaid, Polly Parsons, saw you come out of Mr. Wray’s room when she came up to turn down the beds. She was surprised to find that the clock in that room put the time at ten minutes past ten, whereas the clock in your own room made it five minutes short of the hour. Fifteen minutes’ difference, Mr. Pearson. You were very careful indeed to have an alibi for the time that Mr. Paradine was to be waiting in his study. He was waiting there to receive a confession. When you went in to say goodnight to him just after ten minutes to ten, Lane, who was immediately behind you, heard Mr. Paradine say, ‘Hullo, Albert-have you come to confess?’ You had no time to answer him because Lane came in with the tray. I suppose you were both there for a few minutes, which would bring the time right for you to run upstairs, alter the clock, and be down again to meet Mr. Wray and stay with him until that altered clock gave you your alibi by pointing to eight minutes past twelve. But it was then actually only seven minutes to-there was still seven minutes of the time which Mr. Paradine had set. You said goodnight to Mr. Wray, who went immediately to the bathroom and turned on the taps. You knew that Mr. Paradine would still be in the study-you had time to catch him there, and to answer the question which he had asked you. If you had a confession to make you had time to make it. If you did not mean to make a confession you had time to reach the terrace by way of any of those ground-floor windows. There is a print of yours upon the frame of the bathroom window. In common with everyone else in the house, you were aware that Mr. Paradine invariably went out on the terrace before he retired for the night. Someone waited there for him, Mr. Pearson. Someone pushed him over the parapet. It is my duty to tell you-”