Patricia Wentworth: The Fingerprint

There are plans which are built up a bit at a time, shaping themselves as you go along. And there are plans which come into mind, as it were, ready made. Into Sid Turner’s mind there came such a plan. What was the last place on earth where anyone would look for him? Field End. And with this as a start the whole plan was there, waiting to be carried out. Field End, the money he was going to need, the satisfaction of teaching Mirrie a lesson, the clever twist which would bring her under his hand-everything was there to the last detail. He finished his drink and went out to find himself a car.

FIELD END dined at half-past-seven, a concession to modern conditions to which Jonathan Field had been brought by his own fair mindedness and the representations of the invaluable Stokes.

“Eight o’clock or half-past-eight was all very well with a full staff, sir, but dailies just won’t stay so late for the washing up, and it’s more than me and Mrs. Stokes can undertake with so many in the house. Now if it was to be half-past-seven-”

Jonathan had dined at somewhere between eight and half-past ever since he came out of the schoolroom, but he gave way with a good grace.

When the half hour struck and Mirrie had not put in an appearance, Georgina went upstairs to see what she was doing. She came running down again to say that Mirrie hadn’t changed, and that she wasn’t in her room. Her outdoor coat was gone and a pair of outdoor shoes. The house was searched, and it was plain that Mirrie was not in it.

Miss Silver had a word with Stokes.

“Miss Mirrie seems to have gone out. Do you know of any telephone calls she might have had?”

“There was someone called up for Mr. Johnny. Getting on for half-past-six that would be.”

“There was not any call for Miss Mirrie?”

“Not just then, miss. A little later on there was.”

“Did she take it?”

“I told her there was a gentleman on the line, and she went into the study to take it there.”

“After you spoke to Miss Mirrie, did you go back to your pantry?”

“Not at once, miss. Mrs. Fabian came out of the drawing-room, and she was talking about whether Mrs. Stokes had made any arrangements about eggs for the preserving, and whether we should get them the same as we had always done or go in for a change. It took a little time, because if you’ll excuse my saying so, there’s nothing upsets Mrs. Stokes like changes and I was trying to get Mrs. Fabian to see it her way, so by the time I got back to my pantry Miss Mirrie had got off the line, and they had put that nasty howler on to show there was my receiver left off. A very annoying practice, if I may say so.”

It seemed that no one had seen Mirrie since just after seven o’clock, when Georgina met her on the stairs and she said she was going up to dress.

Miss Silver went into the study and rang up Maggie Bell.

“Miss Bell, this is Miss Silver speaking. You will remember that I came to see you on Sunday. You were so very helpful then that I am tempted to believe that you may be able to help me now. We are troubled about Miss Mirrie. She received a telephone call a little while ago, following which she seems to have gone out without telling anyone where she was going. Now I wonder if you happen to know who called her up.”

Maggie hastened to be helpful.

“Oh, yes, Miss Silver-it was Mr. Johnny.”

“Mr. Johnny Fabian?”

“Oh, yes, Miss Silver. So I’m sure there isn’t anything for you to worry about. He rang up and he said, ‘Johnny Fabian speaking.’ And Miss Mirrie said, ‘Oh, I can only just hear you. The line’s dreadful-you sound about a million miles away. And tell me,’ she said, ‘what about the garage?’ she said. ‘Is it what you want? And is there really a flat over it like you said? And will you be able to buy it? And, oh darling, I’m so excited!’ And Mr. Johnny said, ‘Now listen,’ he said. ‘This is very particular, and you’re to do just what I tell you, or there won’t be any garage or any flat, or any you and me for that matter. I’ve got to put down a deposit, and I must have the money tonight or he’ll close with somebody else. How much money can you raise?’ She said something about money in the bank and tomorrow, and he said that wouldn’t do, he’d got to have it tonight. So she said she’d got ten pounds in the house, but Miss Georgina might have some she could let her have. And Mr. Johnny said she wasn’t to say a word to Miss Georgina or to anyone, most particularly she wasn’t. It was a top secret between him and her, because if anyone else got to know about it, there would be a lot of talking and arguing, and there wasn’t time for that. It was all he could do just to pick up the money and get back, or he’d have missed his chance. He said she was to take the ten pounds and be out at the gate with it just before half-past-seven and he’d tell her all about it then. And she had better bring the pearl necklace she had on the night of the dance, because the man might take it as a pledge until they could raise the money-‘And mind, not a word to a soul!’ he said.” Maggie rattled it all off with obvious enjoyment.

“Seems funny to me,” she concluded, and as she heard her own voice saying the words there was a clouding of that pleased sense of being clever and helpful. There seemed to be a coldness in the room. Miss Silver said something very odd indeed.

“Miss Bell,” she said, “are you sure it was Mr. Johnny?”

Maggie felt as if someone had hit her. She really did. She said, “Oh!” And then, “That’s what he said, ‘Johnny Fabian speaking,’ and Miss Mirrie she couldn’t hardly hear him, the line was so bad.”

“Miss Bell, did you think it was Mr, Johnny’s voice?”

Now that she came to think about it, it might have been anyone’s voice. She had had to listen as hard as she could to do no more than pick up the words. No more than a whisper it was really. When she had told Miss Silver this there was a grave “Thank you, Miss Bell,” and the connection was broken. That was the part Maggie hated so much, when the line went dead and other people went away and did things but she had to stay on her sofa and remember the pain in her back.

Miss Silver came out of the study and saw Georgina and Anthony in the hall. They were not speaking to each other, they were waiting for her. But before she had time to say anything the front door opened and Johnny Fabian walked in. He looked from one to the other of them and said,

“What’s up?”

Johnny was quick-he had always been quick from a child. There was something he didn’t like, something about the way Miss Silver was looking. She said,

“Mr. Fabian, where is Mirrie Field?”

IT WAS JUST before half-past-seven when Mirrie slipped down the back stairs and let herself out by the side door. She was feeling clever and excited, and very, very pleased with herself and with Johnny. They were going to have their own darling flat, and she would be helping him to get it. And she had thought of everything. About not coming down the front stairs or through the hall in case of meeting anyone. She hadn’t lived all those years with Aunt Grace and Uncle Albert without knowing all about slipping out of the house without being seen or heard. She was wearing her pearl necklace and she had ten pounds in her pocket, and it was all most romantic and interesting. She went just outside the left-hand gate and stood there hugging herself in her warm tweed coat and waiting for Johnny to come. It was a dark evening without moon or stars, cloud overhead and a light wind blowing. It ruffled her curls and she put up a hand to them. She ought to have brought a scarf to tie over her head, but it was too late to go back for one now. The wind blew her hair about, and she hoped Johnny wouldn’t be long.