Patricia Wentworth - Pilgrim’s Rest

March said, “When Clayton’s body was discovered?”

“Yes.”

“When did you hear of the discovery?”

Her colour had all gone again. Her voice had an odd note of surprise as she said,

“It only happened yesterday, didn’t it? Jim-my brother-in-law-came in to see my husband this morning. He has a room quite near. He had been down here yesterday for his paper. He was on his way down again. I had gone to the office. Jim told my husband all about the case. The reason he came in was because he knew I came from that part of the world-he thought I might know some of the people.” She caught her breath sharply. “He didn’t know how well I knew them. He didn’t know my story, or my real name. I had been calling myself Robertson before I married, and he thought I was a widow.”

“The discovery of Clayton’s body was in all the morning papers, Miss Robbins.”

“I know. But I hadn’t seen them-I never had time in the morning. I used to listen to the eight o’clock news whilst I was dressing Marion. Then I had breakfast to get. I never have time for the papers-it’s always a rush to get off. I have a friend who looks after Marion with her own little girl, and I have to take her there on my way to the office. I usually only do a half day, but if they have a rush of work, I stay on. We are very busy just now, so I was going to stay.”

“Your husband saw the papers, I take it.”

“Yes-after I was gone. He didn’t know what to do-he knew it would be a dreadful shock. Then Jim came in and told him all the things that weren’t in the papers. He said of course there wasn’t the slightest doubt that my father had killed Henry-though of course he didn’t know he was my father. And he said all the newspaper men thought he had killed Roger Pilgrim too, to stop him selling the house, because if it was sold, the cellars would be turned out-” She put up a hand and gripped the edge of the table. “He said, ‘Robbins will be arrested today-there’s no doubt about that.’ ”

After a short pause she went on.

“My husband rang up the office and asked if I could come home-urgent private affairs. They said they couldn’t possibly spare me then, but they would try to let me go by four o’clock. They didn’t tell me he had rung up. When I went to fetch Marion my friend told me that John had asked whether she would keep her for the night. That was when I began to think something must have happened. I went home, and John wasn’t there-he had had an urgent call. We have a daily woman-she gave me the message and said would I wait in for him, and he would be back as soon as he could. He didn’t come until half past five. He told me about Henry, and what Jim said about my father being arrested. He said there was no question but that I must tell the police what I had seen and heard. He said I couldn’t possibly stand out of it.”

“He was quite right.”

She said, “Yes-I know that. I told him I would go down. He said he couldn’t come with me, because of the case he had been called to-he would have to go back. But he said my brother-in-law would meet me. I don’t know what he told him-enough to make him say he would keep in touch all day. He rang up again whilst we were talking, and John said I was coming down, and what train to meet. When I got to Ledlington he was there. He told me my father had committed suicide.”

Miss Silver coughed. Mabel Robbins turned to meet her eyes, very bright, very intelligent, very kind.

Miss Silver said,

“I am afraid I must give you another shock. Your father did not commit suicide. He was murdered.”

If it was a shock, there was no visible effect, just another of those long sighing breaths, and then a low “I wondered about that-I couldn’t see why he should kill himself.”

She turned back to March.

“My mother-Superintendent March, I’ve told you everything I know-may I go to my mother now?”

Miss Silver said, “Someone must tell her first, I think. She believes that you are dead.”

March said with authority,

“I am afraid that must wait. Miss Robbins, you are aware of the implications of this statement you have made. They are very grave.”

She met his look with a perfectly steady one.

“Yes, I know that.”

“In view of the fact that your father is dead and therefore in no danger of arrest-there is nothing you wish to modify?”

Her voice was tired and sad but as steady as her eyes.

“I’ve only told you the truth. I can’t alter that.”

He turned to Frank Abbott.

“Will you ask Miss Day to come down.”

Judy shut the study door and went back up the stairs. It seemed as if the day would never end, nor all the things that had to be done in it. That was what she had been feeling until the moment when she had gone to the front door and Mabel Robbins had stepped into the hall and given her name. And then everything else had been blown sky-high. It isn’t every day that you open the door to someone who has been dead three years.

As she went upstairs she was still under the influence of that shock and she hadn’t begun to think. Her mind was bubbling with unrelated ideas. How dreadful to come like that and find her father dead. How lovely for Mrs. Robbins to have her daughter back. And, “I wonder where she has been all this long time.”

As she turned into the corridor and came to the door of her own room she met Lona Day in her outdoor things-fur coat, small dark hat, handbag swinging from her left wrist. She came up close and said,

“Who was that you let in just now? I heard the bell. Captain Pilgrim can’t see anyone-not anyone at all. He’s ill.”

Judy said without any thought behind the words,

“It was Mabel Robbins. She isn’t dead.”

Lona took her by the arm and began to walk her back towards the stairs. As she did so she said in an indifferent voice,

“I knew that. Didn’t you? Naturally she would come down, but I wasn’t expecting her quite so soon. Hurry, Judy! Captain Pilgrim is very ill. I must fetch Dr. Daly to him. He’s out at Miles’ Farm, and they haven’t a telephone. I must try and catch the taxi which brought that girl.”

Judy hung back.

“You can’t-it’s gone.”

She was hurried on again.

“I must get a lift in the police car then. It’s a matter of life and death.”

Past the foot of the stair, across the hall, out into the glass passage. As Lona opened the door to the street, Judy said,

“Aren’t you going to stay with him?”

The door was open now, a biting cold air came in. The police car stood there at the left, black and empty. Lona said,

“No, no, no! I must get Dr. Daly! There’s nothing to be done till he comes. You must drive-I’m not good enough in the dark. Get in-get in quick!”

She had the door of the car open now, and she had Judy by the arm.

“Get in-get in! Do you want him to die?”

With her foot on the step Judy turned.

“Miss Day, you can’t take a police car like this! You must go back and ask.”

It was Lona’s left hand which was on her arm. The right came up now with something dark in it. They were just shadows, the hand and what it held-frightening shadows out of some horrid dream. They came up close. Something like a cold, deadly O was pressed against Judy’s neck a little below her ear. Lona Day said,

“If you don’t get in at once and start the car, I’ll shoot. If you call out you’ll be dead before anyone hears you. That’s right! Now start the car!”

With all her heart Judy prayed that the switch-key would be gone, but she put up her hand to feel, and it was there.

The cold pressure was gone from her neck. Afterwards she called herself “Fool!” a dozen times, because just there she had her chance and missed it. But it all happened so quickly between one breath and the next. The door behind her opened and shut, and quick on that the pistol was pressing into her spine and Lona Day was saying,