Patricia Wentworth - The Fingerprint

“Well-”

She pulled her hands away and clapped them together.

“What is it-what is it?”

He had a laughing, teasing look.

“Quite impracticable, darling, I’m afraid.”

“Tell me what it is! Tell me at once!”

He said, “Well, I suppose you could marry me.”

Her look changed. Something came into it which was too fleeting for him to be sure of what it might be. She drew in a quick breath and said,

“Could I?”

“Well, people do get married. You will some day. I’m not really suggesting that you should marry me.”

Another of those quick breaths, and then,

“Why aren’t you?”

“Darling, you’re too young.”

The colour rushed into her face.

“Heaps of girls marry when they are eighteen!”

He went on smiling.

“I’m too poor.”

“But if I don’t mind about your being poor?”

He laughed.

“If I was one of those high-minded noble characters, I should say, ‘How can I, darling? People might say I was marrying you for your money’!”

“I don’t call that noble, I call it silly.”

“As a matter of fact so do I.”

“Is that why Anthony doesn’t ask Georgina?”

“I shouldn’t wonder.”

“He’s in love with her, isn’t he?”

Johnny laughed.

“You had better ask him!”

Mirrie looked up through her eyelashes.

“I’ve seen him look at her. I would like to have somebody look at me like that. He doesn’t even seem to know I’m there.”

“No-I’ve noticed that myself. Cheer up, there are lots of good fish in the sea.”

“Are there?” Her voice was small and sad.

Johnny said, “What about me, darling?”

They were late for tea. Mirrie came in with rosy cheeks and shining eyes. She shook hands with Miss Silver, who regarded her indulgently, and slipped into a place beside her. Mrs. Fabian, who was pouring out the tea, announced that it was stewed, and that she considered stewed tea to be most unwholesome.

“My dear father was so very strict about the way that it was made. He always insisted on double the usual amount, two spoonfuls for each person and two for the pot, and it was never allowed to stand for more than just one minute by his watch. Very extravagant we should consider it now, but in his own house when he said a thing it had to be done. I can never remember my mother disputing his wishes in any direction. I can’t think what he would have said about the tea ration.”

Johnny laughed.

“That, darling, we shall never know, and perhaps just as well. I’ll have another half cup of tannin.”

DETECTIVE INSPECTOR FRANK ABBOTT was at Field End by nine o’clock next morning. The first person whom he saw after Stokes had admitted him was Miss Maud Silver coming downstairs. Since she was hatless and was carrying her flowered chintz knitting-bag, he could come to no other conclusion than that she was staying in the house. He waited for her, received a leisured greeting, and said,

“Is it permitted to ask how you got here?”

“Certainly, Frank. Miss Grey drove me over in her car.”

“I thought you were paying Monica a visit. She seemed to think you were, yesterday when I was there after lunch. You had only just come, hadn’t you?”

She said with composure,

“Miss Grey has retained my professional services.”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“A fast worker. She came, she saw, you conquered- she whisked you back here. All just a little bewildering, don’t you think?”

“She is a friend of your cousin Cicely’s.”

“Which of course explains everything! Have you had breakfast?”

“Not yet. The bell rang as you arrived.”

He stood aside to let her pass.

“I shall be in the study. Perhaps you will look in there when you have finished. I should like to have a word with you.”

Miss Silver made her way to the dining-room, where she found Mrs. Fabian, Georgina, and Anthony. Mirrie arrived a moment later. She was out of breath, because all her life it had been such a crime to be late and she had dropped off again after that early morning cup of tea which was one of the high lights of life at Field End. No more tearing out of bed the minute the alarm clock went, the room all dark, bare feet on an icy floor. Instead, hot tea and a lovely warm snuggle in bed. She didn’t usually go to sleep again, but this morning she had just sunk down into a queer mixed dream in which Johnny and she were being married and someone came up the aisle behind them and said, “No.” She woke up all frightened, because she hardly ever dreamed and she didn’t like it when she did. And then it was late and she got the old rushed feeling, which was silly, because no one would scold her here, no matter how late she was. Uncle Albert and Aunt Grace and Matron were miles and miles away. She need never see them again, she need never go back to them now.

Johnny came in behind her. He put a hand on her shoulder as he passed, and said,

“Sleep well?”

And then they all sat down. Mrs. Fabian was holding forth on the passing of the country house breakfast.

“Three or four things on the hot plate, and eggs just any way you fancied them, and cold ham and cold tongue. Scottish families used to have porridge first, but my dear father always said oats were horse’s food. He disliked them greatly and would never have porridge on his table. And of course there were none of those breakfast cereals before the first world war. Or at least I don’t think there were. Things are so apt to slide together in one’s mind, don’t you think?”

The question appeared to be directed to the company in general. Miss Silver, whose thoughts were far too well ordered to allow of any such slipping and sliding, contented herself with the observation that two world wars had certainly brought about many changes. After which she partook of a medium-boiled egg, two slices of toast, and a cup of tea, and presently came into the study, where she found Frank Abbott at the writing-table. He greeted her with a serious,

“Do you know, I’m sorry Cicely has dragged you into this.”

He was immediately made aware that he had offended.

“I am not in the habit of allowing myself to be dragged into a case.” She was seating herself as she spoke, having first moved the chair a little farther away from him.

He shook his head.

“You know what I mean, and I’m going to tell you why. You like girls. Georgina Grey is an extremely attractive one, but it looks as if there was very little doubt that she shot her uncle.”

“She is aware that you think so.”

He said,

“Look at the evidence. He quarrels with her on Monday morning and tells her he is going to change his will. He tells the other girl too-Mirrie Field. She is enchanted and goes round prattling. Jonathan Field goes off up to town, sees his solicitor, and makes his new will. He comes back here on Tuesday evening and tells Mirrie what he has done. The rest of the family is given to understand that his business has been satisfactorily completed. I imagine they could all put two and two together. Not many hours later Jonathan is shot dead while he is sitting here at his table. Georgina says it was just before one o’clock when she came down and found him. That glass door on to the terrace was open and banging- she says that is what woke her. She also says she picked up the revolver and put it on the table. There are no fingerprints on it but hers. In addition to all this, the grate was full of charred paper, some of it quite easy to identify as part of a legal document. Georgina says it was his new will, and that he burned it himself after a reconciliation scene with her. She did follow him to the study after dinner, and I have no doubt they had a scene, but as to whether it was a reconciliation or another quarrel we have only her word for it. She didn’t shoot him then, because he was alive when Stokes came in at ten o’clock. But if, as seems most likely, she did shoot him at some time during the night, she could very easily have burned the will before she called Anthony Hallam. It all hangs together, doesn’t it?”