Patricia Wentworth - The Fingerprint

“Oh, yes, quite dramatic. We were buried under a heap of rubble in the blitz, not knowing each other from Adam, or caring cither for the matter of that, and neither of us thought we’d ever see daylight again. Curious how that sort of thing takes people. I never felt more alive in my life-noticed everything more than I’d ever done before or since-everything speeded up, intensified. There was a pain, but it didn’t seem to belong to me. The other fellow was where I could just reach him. He wasn’t hurt, just trapped and mad with fright-what they call claustrophobia. I passed him my cigarette-case and matches-that’s how I got a fingerprint-and with the third cigarette he began to tell me about a murder he had done. In fact two murders, because he said he had had to kill a possible witness in order to make himself safe after the first one. He had got it all worked out in his mind that the second one didn’t really count. He said it was practically self-defence, because she would have gone to the police if he hadn’t stopped her, and the only way he could be sure of stopping her was by finishing her off. He was perfectly clear about it, and it didn’t seem to bother him at all. But the first one bothered him a bit. You see, he’d done that one to get hold of some money. He said he ought to have had it anyhow and the man he murdered had got it by undue influence, and he seemed to think that would make it all right about the murder. At least he hoped it would, but when a couple of bombs came down pretty near us he didn’t feel any too sure about it. He may have been making it up, but I didn’t think so then and I don’t think so now, so when he passed the case back to me I wrapped my handkerchief round it and slipped it into my breast pocket just in case.”

Anthony said, “What happened after that?”

Jonathan looked across at him with something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“As far as I was concerned that was the end. There was another bomb, and I didn’t know anything more until I woke up in hospital with a broken leg. As a matter of fact that last bomb was a blessing in disguise, because it shifted the stuff that was over us and the Red Cross people were able to get me out.”

“And your murderer?” That was Anthony too.

“Never saw hair, hide or hoof of him. He must have crawled out and got away, because there were no corpses lying about. So he’s probably walking around somewhere and still trying to make up his mind whether he’s a double murderer or not.”

Georgina made a little gesture that said, “Oh, well-” and turned round and went away, leaving the door open behind her. Now was there any importance in that, or wasn’t there? There might have been. Because anyone in the hall could have come up close enough to have heard what Jonathan had said and what Jonathan was saying now. Georgina had stood in an open doorway. She had gone away and left it open behind her. Anyone could have heard what Jonathan said.

THE DANCE went very well. Frank met quite a lot of people he knew. He danced with Cicely Hathaway. She wore a flame-coloured dress and she was enjoying herself. She told him it was said that Mr. Vincent was looking for a wife and she didn’t envy her.

“If Mrs. Shotterleigh had her way, it would be Mary or Deb, but either of them would rather have Johnny. Anyhow the Vincent man must be at least twenty years older than they are, and he’s the dullest man I ever met in my life. Has he told you how he lost his British Guiana stamp?”

“He has!”

She laughed.

“He tells everyone. Did you go to sleep, or just come over numb with boredom? And you know, it ought to be an exciting story!”

“Yes, he’s like that. But we needn’t talk about him.”

When he had danced with his Aunt Monica, a charming inconsequent person to whom he was devoted, he approached Miss Mirrie Field, who fluttered her eyelashes at him and said, “Oh-” in rather an alarmed sort of way. If that was her game, he was in the mood to play it.

“I don’t actually go about arresting people at dances, you know.”

She let him have a good view of her eyes. They were an unusual shade of brown and very pretty.

“But you do arrest them sometimes?” The words were just breathed.

“As occasion offers.”

“That must be horrid-for you.”

He allowed himself to laugh.

“I believe it hurts them rather more than it does me.” He put his arm round her and they slipped into the dance.

Someone had built on a ballroom at the back of the house. Jonathan’s grandmother was an heiress, and she had six daughters. The ballroom had no doubt assisted her in her determination to supply them with eligible husbands. It stood at right angles to the block of the house, and thanks to a wealth of creepers and a charming formal garden which brought it into harmony with the terrace under the drawing-room windows, it was no longer the eyesore which it had been when it was new.

The floor was very good, the music delightful, and their steps went well together. She was a little soft, light thing and she could dance. He had a passing wonder as to how she might compare with Georgina Grey. She passed them at the moment, coping with Lord Pondesbury who had a tendency to treat every dance as if it were some kind of a jig of his own invention. In the circumstances Frank gave Georgina marks for the kindness of her smile.

Mirrie looked up at him and said,

“How well you dance!”

“Thank you, Miss Field.”

She gave him a dimpling smile.

“Oh, you mustn’t call me Miss Field-I’m just Mirrie. And this is my very first dance.”

“No one would know it. You are very good.”

She said, “I love it,” in a reverential voice. “I wanted to go into ballet, but you have to start so young, and there wasn’t enough money for me to have lessons. Did you ever want anything dreadfully, dreadfully badly and have to give it up because there wasn’t enough money and there simply wasn’t anywhere you could possibly get it from? I don’t suppose you ever did, so you can’t possibly know what it feels like.”

Frank knew very well, but he wasn’t going to say so. He had been intended for the Bar, and he had had to give it up when his father died. He said,

“It was a pity about that. What are you going to do instead?”

Her colour rose becomingly. The dark lashes came down and hid her eyes. She said in a murmuring voice,

“Uncle Jonathan is being so kind.” And then, “Oh, don’t you love dancing?”

They danced.

Later, when they were sitting out, she stopped suddenly in the middle of some artless prattle about this and that to lift a fold of the white frilly skirt which billowed out over the low chair and say,

“Do you know, this is the very, very first dress of my own I’ve ever had.”

He was stirred to amusement and something else.

“And who did the others belong to?”

She said, “They were cast-offs.”

“You mean you had older sisters?”

“Oh, no. They belonged to people I’d never heard about- people who send parcels to poor relations. You don’t know how horrid it is to get them.”

“It might have been much more horrid if you hadn’t.”

“It couldn’t have been.” She had a mournful and accusing look. “You don’t know how horrid it was. Some of the things were so ugly, and they didn’t really fit. I expect some of them belonged to Georgina. She says no, but I expect they did. She is older than I am, you know, and a whole lot taller, so her things would always have been much too large. They used to put tucks in them all over and say I would grow into them in a year or two, but I never did. I expect they kept me from growing. Don’t you think if you hated a thing very much it might keep you from growing into it? There was a perfectly horrid dress with yellow stripes exactly like a wasp, and I had to wear it whether it fitted me or not.” She gave a heartfelt sigh and added, “I did hate my relations.”