Patricia Wentworth - Pilgrim’s Rest

“And where were you at the time of the fall, Miss Day?”

“Well, I really don’t know, because I didn’t hear it.”

“You didn’t hear the cry, or the fall?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“How do you account for that?”

“The bathroom window looks to the side of the house, and the plumbing is old. I’d just been running water to fill the kettle, and the pipes make quite a noise. But of course I don’t know that I was in the bathroom at the time. I was backwards and forwards to my own room, and the windows there look out to the front.”

“But Captain Pilgrim’s windows look on to the paved garden.”

“Two of them do. It is a corner room, and there is another window to the side of the house.”

“How do you account for Captain Pilgrim not hearing the cry?”

“He had the wireless on. But I think he did hear it, because when I went in to him-afterwards, you know-he said, ‘What happened? Did someone call out?’ So I thought it best to tell him what had happened.”

“Who told you, Miss Day?”

“Judy Elliot. I saw her in the passage, and she looked so upset that I ran along and asked her if anything was wrong.”

March turned to Frank Abbott.

“You were taking a shorthand note of what Miss Elliot said. Wasn’t there something about Miss Day thinking she had heard a cry?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is that right, Miss Day?”

“Oh, yes, that’s what I said to her. But, you know, I’m not sure about it-I couldn’t swear to it or anything like that. And the more I thought about it, the more I felt, ‘Well, perhaps it was just imagination,’ because I honestly didn’t think about it at all until Judy said there had been another accident.” Her eyes dwelt upon March’s face with rather an appealing expression.

He said, “I see.” And then, abruptly, “Miss Day, have you ever suspected Robbins of taking drugs?”

She looked at him in a startled fashion. The word came into his head and stayed there-she was startled, but she wasn’t surprised. She said,

“Oh, dear!” And then, “Oh, I wouldn’t like to say.”

“I think you will have to. I am not asking you whether he did take drugs-or a drug. I am asking you whether it ever crossed your mind to suspect him of doing so.”

She said with some appearance of relief,

“Well then, it did.”

“Did you suspect him of using any particular drug? And if you did, what made you suspect him?”

She looked distressed.

“He talked to me once about hashish. That’s cannabis indica, you know, only he called it by the Indian name, bhang. He’d been in India.”

“I think you have been there too, haven’t you?”

“Yes-that is how he came to talk to me about it.”

“What did he say?”

“He asked me if I had ever tried it. He said it gave you wonderful dreams. And of course I told him how dangerous it was, and warned him that it was illegal to use it in this country.”

“And what did he say to that?”

Miss Day gave a slight shiver.

“He looked at me in rather a curious sort of way and said I wasn’t to think he used it, only there were times you liked to feel you’d got something by you that would make you sleep. I felt sorry for him, because I knew that he and his wife were in trouble over their daughter, so I just warned him again as seriously as I could. I didn’t repeat what he said to anyone.”

“When did this conversation take place?”

“Oh, it was a long time ago-when I first came here, quite three years ago.”

“Was it before or after Henry Clayton disappeared?”

She thought for a minute, and then said,

“I think it was after that-but not very long after.”

“Miss Day, did you ever see Robbins under the influence of a drug like hashish?”

She took a minute over that. When she spoke, it was with hesitation.

“His manner was very strange sometimes. I couldn’t say if it was due to a drug.”

“What is the effect of hashish?”

The hesitation continued.

“It is-a narcotic-”

“But it induces dreams?”

“I believe it does.”

“Does it sometimes have an exciting effect?”

“I have heard that it does-I don’t really know much about it.”

“It might induce bad dreams as well as pleasant ones?”

“I suppose it might.”

“Have you never heard of its having that effect?”

“Well-I have-”

“Miss Day, did it ever occur to you that Captain Pilgrim’s nervous attacks might be caused by the administration of some such drug as hashish?”

She cried out at that,

“Oh, don’t! Oh, how dreadful!”

“Did it never occur to you? From what I have heard, the symptoms were all present-heavy sleep, from which he was aroused by distressing dreams to a dazed and abnormal state. That is so, is it not?”

“Yes, but-oh, how dreadful-how wicked!”

“Did that suspicion ever cross your mind?”

She was in considerable distress.

“Not-not until this last attack. I did think when I first came that perhaps the sedative he had been ordered for occasional use-I did wonder whether it was agreeing with him, and Dr. Daly changed it. He didn’t have an attack for some time after that. But when he had this last one I did just think, just suspect-no, it wasn’t as definite as that-I mean I couldn’t really think it-there wasn’t any motive-what motive could there be? Oh, I do hope it isn’t true!”

“Would Robbins have had the opportunity of administering such a drug? You said just now that he sometimes took up Captain Pilgrim’s tea. Did he take up his supper?”

“Oh, yes, always-unless he came down for it.”

“It could, I suppose, be administered in anything that was highly seasoned?”

Lona’s eyes were full of tears. She brought out a handkerchief and dabbed them.

“Oh, yes, I suppose so.” She dabbed again. “I’m sorry, but it does seem so dreadfully wicked. I can’t believe it!”

March said drily,

“Well, it isn’t a thing we can expect to prove. We shall see whether the attacks stop now.”

She let a smile break through and said,

“That would be wonderful!”

March let her go.

As Lona Day went up the main staircase she met Miss Silver coming down, and stopped for a moment to enquire after Mrs. Robbins, and expressed pleasure at hearing that she was lying down and had fallen asleep.

“Judy is sitting with her.”

Lona Day said, “That is very kind. But then Judy is kind- isn’t she?”

She lingered for a moment as if she would have liked to go on talking, but receiving no encouragement from Miss Silver’s silence, she put up a hand to her head and said,

“What a day! It feels like a year since this morning. I hope Miss Netta is having a little nap too-it will do her good. It is so sad that she and her sister are no help to one another. Well, I must go to my real charge, Captain Pilgrim. Those policemen will be coming up to see him any time now. He is being wonderful of course, but I can’t help feeling anxious about him.”

It was a pity that Frank Abbott could not have been there to hear his Miss Silver produce one of her moral maxims. She coughed slightly and remarked that anxiety produced an atmosphere sadly adverse to recovery. After which her beaded slippers took her firmly on her way.

Lona Day found her patient using the telephone extension in his room. She caught no words, but the tone of his voice was warm. As she came in, he said, “Yes-presently then. I’ll ring up when they’ve gone.” He hung up the receiver and turned, to meet an affectionate accusing gaze.

“You know you shouldn’t-you really shouldn’t.”

“And why not? If you think it’s restful to sit still and do nothing with this sort of thing going on in the house, well, I should say there was a hole in your training. You know, I am not really an invalid now.”