Patricia Wentworth - The Clock Strikes Twelve

Albert Pearson jerked back his chair so violently that it crashed. The patchy colour had gone from his face, the dark skin had a greenish tinge. He leaned over with his hands on the table, propping himself. If ever a man showed the extreme of fear, he showed it. But there was something else-something which made Miss Silver lay a hand on the Superintendent’s sleeve. He was about to step back in order to pass behind Mark, but the hand checked him. She said,

“Wait! He has something to say.”

Leaning there, sweating, shaking, Albert said it. He looked straight down the table over Miss Silver’s head to Frank Ambrose leaning tall and gloomy against the black marble of the mantelshelf.

“Mr. Ambrose-you can’t let him do it-you can’t let him arrest me! You can’t go on holding your tongue, and nor can I. I’m an innocent man, and you know it. If I was there, so were you, and we both saw what happened. You’re not going to stand there and hold your tongue! I’d have held mine if it hadn’t come to this, but I’m not holding it now-I couldn’t be expected to. If you don’t speak, I’m going to-and you may think it comes better from you.”

There was a startled silence. All the faces turned towards Frank Ambrose, whose face showed nothing except an impassive fatigue. When Superintendent Vyner said sharply, “Mr. Ambrose?” he straightened himself with an effort and answered the implied question.

“Yes-there is something that I must say. Pearson is right. I don’t think I can let you arrest him. You see, I came back again.”

Miss Silver rose to her feet, moved her chair to one side, and sat down again. By turning her head either to the right or to the left she could now see both Albert Pearson and Frank Ambrose. For the moment her attention was engaged by the latter.

Vyner said,

“In a statement made this afternoon, Mr. Ambrose, you said that you came back here to see Mr. Paradine at about half past ten. This is corroborated by Mrs. Wray, who heard your uncle address you by name as you came in. You say further that you remained for about twenty minutes and then left the house and went home. Is that correct?”

“Quite correct-except that I didn’t go home.”

“You left the house?”

“Yes, but I didn’t go home. I will try to explain. I intended to go home, but I didn’t want to get there too early. I was a good deal distressed at my stepfather’s frame of mind. I was afraid of a serious breach in the family. He had told me what he meant to do, and I could see that it was likely to lead to a breach. The night was then fine. I wanted to think, and I set out to walk the long way round by the stone bridge-it’s about three miles. When I got to my own door I looked at my watch. It was between a quarter and ten minutes to twelve. I didn’t feel like going in- I felt that I must go back and find out what had been happening here. I knew that my step-father would still be up, and I planned to go by way of the terrace and either catch him as he came out or knock on the glass door and get him to let me in. I went back by the foot-bridge and up the cliff path. In daylight I do it in seven minutes. I suppose I may have taken ten- I wasn’t hurrying. I had made up my mind that it would be better to wait till he came out on the terrace-he might have had someone in the study with him. I came up on to the end of the terrace and about half way along it. Then I stopped. The sky had clouded over behind me, but there was a little moonlight on the river. There was a good deal of diffused light. I could see the parapet against the line of the river, and I could distinguish the windows against the white wall of the house. I saw the window of my step-father’s bathroom thrown up. It is a sash window. Someone leaned out of the lower half.”

“Did you see who it was?”

“No. At the time I thought it might be Lane. It certainly wasn’t my step-father. There would be no mistaking his height.”

“It could have been Mr. Pearson?”

Frank Ambrose said in a casual voice,

“Oh, yes, it was Pearson, but I didn’t know that until afterwards.”

Miss Silver took occasion to look down the table in the direction of Albert Pearson. He was standing up straight with one hand in a pocket and the other on its way there. From the fact that it grasped a large white handkerchief she considered that he had been wiping his forehead. The greenish tint had gone from his skin. He had the air of a man who has been reprieved. She brought her glance slowly back again- the young constable, busy over his shorthand-Richard Paradine, standing up-Miss Paradine, very upright, very pale-Mr. Harrison a little more shocked than before-Frank Ambrose, with his look of a man at the end of his tether.

Behind her Vyner said,

“Will you go on, Mr. Ambrose.”

Everyone in the room was to remember the pause that followed. What must be said next would be irrevocable, because here was an eye-witness of James Paradine’s death. Whether confession or accusation, the words, once spoken, could never be recalled.

Frank Ambrose said in a tired, even tone,

“This room and my mother’s room next door are alike. I saw the glass door of my mother’s room swing open. Someone came out on to the terrace-”

“Not Mr. Pearson?”

“No, not Pearson. I heard the first stroke of the hour on the Orphanage clock up the road. A moment later my step-father came out from this room and walked across the terrace to the parapet. The person who had come out of my mother’s room followed him. I didn’t want to intrude. I stood where I was. I didn’t guess what was going to happen-you don’t think about things like that until they happen. I saw my step-father pushed, and I saw him fall. The person who had pushed him ran back into my mother’s room. It was all so sudden that I didn’t move. It seemed to happen faster than I could think. Then the rain came. I had a torch in my pocket. I got it out and ran up, flashing it over the terrace. The beam swung wide and caught Pearson at the bathroom window. He knew that I had seen him, but I didn’t know until just now that he had recognized me. I went and looked over the edge. It was pouring with rain-I couldn’t see a thing. I went down to the river path, and found my step-father lying there dead. When I was quite sure that he was dead I went home.”

There was another pause. Vyner said,

“You should have reported what you had seen to the police, Mr. Ambrose.”

Frank Ambrose assented wearily.

“Naturally.”

“If you did not, it was because you had some very strong motive for keeping silence?”

This time he got no answer.

“Mr. Ambrose-I have to ask you whether you recognized the person who came out of the late Mrs. Paradine’s room.”

Albert Pearson, standing stocky and obstinate at the end of the table, said in his most dogmatic manner,

“Of course he did. And so did I.”

Vyner turned a direct gaze upon him.

“You say that you recognized this person. Will you explain how? Mr. Ambrose has just stated that the light was not sufficient for him to recognize you until he turned the beam of his torch upon you.”

Albert nodded.

“There was a light on in the room she came out of-that’s how. I saw her when she came out, and I saw her when she went back. The light was right in her face.”

The pronoun was like an electric shock. Elliot Wray’s arm tightened about his wife. Lydia drew in her breath sharply. Vyner said,

“You say it was a woman?”

“Of course it was.”

“What woman?”

Frank Ambrose took a step forward. He said,

“Pearson-”

But Albert shook his head.

“It’s no good, Mr. Ambrose-you can’t cover it up. I’m not going to hang for her, and that’s that. You’d all like it that way-I know that. That’s why I monkeyed with the clock. I knew that if I hadn’t an alibi, you’d all be saying that I was the one who’d done something he’d got to confess to. But there’s nothing doing-not when it comes to hanging. I saw who it was that came out of that door, and you can’t get away from it.”