Patricia Wentworth - The Fingerprint

“You heard! And we’re not talking here-there are too many people about. We’ll get on the next bus separately and get off at the fourth stop from here. We’re not to look as if we’re together.”

They finished up at the back of a very nearly empty tearoom. When the waitress had brought them tea and cakes they had as much privacy as it was possible to achieve.

She had taken only one strong comforting sip, when he said,

“Now what’s all this about a police Inspector?”

She set down her cup again because her hand was shaking too much to hold it.

“He came in after we got back from lunch. He saw Mr. Maudsley, and as soon as he had gone Mr. Maudsley sent for me. He was dreadfully angry and upset. He said there had been a leakage of information from his office and he meant to find out who was responsible. I don’t know what I felt like.”

Sid Turner made it clear that he took no interest in her feelings.

“Tell me what he said.”

“It’s that girl-” When it came to naming Mirrie Field she couldn’t keep her voice from trembling. “You oughtn’t to have rung her up. You ought to have kept right away from her until the will was proved-I could have told you that.”

He said in a low dangerous tone,

“When I want you to teach me my business I’ll let you know. What about the girl?”

“Someone listened in when you were talking to her. They’ve got one of those party lines. I suppose you didn’t know about that, but they have. Anyone can just lift a receiver and listen in on the others. Someone did when you were talking to Mirrie Field. She was telling you about the will having been signed, and you said you had a friend at court so you knew already. When the police asked her what you meant by a friend at court she said it was someone in Mr. Maudsley’s office. Oh, how could you tell her about me! I’ve never done anything like it before, and I wouldn’t have done it for anyone else in the world. You wanted to know, and I told you, but I never thought you would give me away.”

He said,

“Stop nattering! Does Maudsley suspect you?”

“Oh, no . That is what is so dreadful-he trusts me. And he thinks it’s Jenny Gregg.”

He laughed.

“Then what’s all the fuss about? You’re in the clear, and Jenny gets the sack. That’s all. If a girl talks out of place, there isn’t anything the police can do about it.”

He looked at her and thought what a stupid woman she was. One good thing, he wouldn’t have to keep up with her after this. He liked a girl to be warm and willing. He could make love to pretty well anything if it was in the way of business, but this thin, anxious woman with her scruples and the marks like bruises under her dark eyes, well, it would certainly be a relief to be rid of her.

She was watching him. She hadn’t been twenty-five years in a lawyer’s office for nothing. She was very much afraid.

“Sid, don’t you realize what this means? I’m not thinking about myself or about Jenny Gregg. The police are asking these questions because they are thinking about you.”

He looked at her with contempt.

“There’s nothing for them to think about. I’ve known Mirrie since she was a child. She lived in my sister’s house-in a way you may say I am a relation. I got to know you, we liked each other, and you happened to mention Mr. Field’s name- said he was leaving a lot of money to a girl called Mirrie Field. There’s nothing the police can do about that, is there?”

“It would lose me my job, and I should never get another.”

“Oh, well, there’s no need to mention names. I can just say it was a girl in the office. If they press me, I’m the perfect gentleman and couldn’t give a young lady away. You don’t need to worry about your job. No one is going to think of you having a boy friend when there are a couple of girls around. Is Jenny the fair one?”

She said, “Yes.”

She was cold right through and through-cold and numb. Presently she would remember what he had said and feel the bruise which his words had left. At the moment she felt nothing but the numbness and the cold.

He said,

“Well, we’d better not be seen together. You go home and take some aspirin or something and get that look off your face. Better say you’ve got a headache, or people will be beginning to wonder what’s happening to you.”

She said,

“You don’t seem to realize the police think you had a motive for Mr. Field’s murder. They’re trying to connect you with it. They think he was killed because he had signed that will. They think you went down there and shot him on Tuesday night because that will he had signed in the afternoon left a lot of money to Mirrie Field. I think she has told them whatever she knows.”

“She doesn’t know anything, and there isn’t anything to know. As for Tuesday night, the Jenkins, where I live, can tell your nosey-parker policeman I came in to fetch my raincoat about nine. Coming downstairs I caught my foot in it and took a nasty fall. They came running out and found me knocked clean out at the bottom of the stairs. Tom had to give me brandy and help me up to bed. Mrs. Jenkins gave me two of her sleeping-tablets and they put me out till the morning. Pretty bad head I had too, but no bones broken. They said to knock on the floor if I wanted anything, but I slept like the dead. Not much the police can do about that, is there?”

She had kept those strained dark eyes upon him. They searched his face. She said,

“You’ve got a motorbike, haven’t you?”

“So what?”

“Where do you keep it?”

“In the shed at the bottom of the yard.” He met her look with a savage angry one. “What are you getting at? You don’t think I fell downstairs, had to be helped to bed, and then got up and took the bike out and went down to this place Field End to shoot a man I’d never seen, do you?”

In her own mind she said, “I don’t think you fell downstairs.” She didn’t say it aloud. She went on looking at him and she went on thinking. He could have faked that fall- thrown something down, clattered down the last few steps and made quite a noise, bumping and calling out without really being hurt at all, and if he wasn’t hurt he could have climbed out of his bedroom window. And the motorbike needn’t have been put away. He could have left it handy and wheeled it out when something heavy was passing along the road. She didn’t want to have these thoughts, but they were there in her mind. She was to wonder afterwards whether Sid knew they were there, because quite suddenly he changed. The smile that had charmed her came into his eyes. He edged his chair round a bit and slipped his hand inside her arm, running it up and down with the caressing touch which had set her heart beating, beating.

Now she was too cold to feel anything at all-too cold, and too much afraid. Presently there would be the sense of loss, the sense of shame, but for this moment there was only the fear and the bitter cold.

For the first time since she had met him she counted the moments until she could get away from his look, his touch. It was the only relief that she could hope for.

FRANK ABBOTT dropped in at Field End on Tuesday morning. He asked for Miss Silver, and she came to him presently with her knitting-bag on her arm and the white woolly shawl now two thirds of the way towards completion wrapped up in a soft old face-towel-one of those fine white ones with a diaper pattern on it now quite out of date and superseded by cleansing tissues. The much faded date in the corner of this one was 1875, and it had been part of the wedding outfit of an aunt.

Miss Silver took out the shawl, spread the towel over her knees, and turned her attention to Frank.