Patricia Wentworth - Miss Silver Deals With Death

“She didn’t tell you who it was?”

Ella shook her head.

“I didn’t ask her. To tell you the truth, Miss Silver, I didn’t like the sound of it. The fact is she’d got the idea she could turn the tables-get hold of something that would put this blackmailer in the wrong, and use it to make them give up trying to blackmail her. I didn’t like the sound of it at all. It seemed right down dangerous to me, and so I told her.”

“You were right. She tried to blackmail the blackmailer, and she got the worst of it. That was inevitable. She was dealing with a dangerous and experienced criminal. We still have that criminal to deal with. She gave you no clue as to the person’s identity?”

Ella shook her head.

“Not even by the use of a pronoun? She never said he or she ?”

Ella shook her head again.

“No, it was always they . ‘They think they can do this or that, but I’ll show them’-you know how one talks. It isn’t grammar, but everyone does it.”

Miss Silver nodded in an abstracted manner. Her thoughts were busy. After a little she said,

“Mrs. Jackson, will you tell me why your sister was being blackmailed?”

Ella started and flushed. Then she said,

“Oh, well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now. You get past minding, don’t you? And it wasn’t her fault, poor Carrie-she thought he was dead.”

“Bigamy?” said Miss Silver.

Ella flushed again.

“She thought he was dead. She married him when she was only a kid-ran away from home. They were on the halls together. He was a horrid man. Well, in the end he went off with someone else, and she heard he was dead. I suppose she ought to have taken more trouble about finding out if it was true, but she didn’t bother. Only after she’d married Jack Armitage and he’d been killed the blackmail began. She paid up once or twice because she was afraid that if Major Armitage found out he’d stop the allowance, and she was getting friendly with the gentleman she was going to marry, Mr. Maundersley-Smith-she didn’t want him to know. He was the sort that thinks a girl’s perfect because she’s pretty. I always thought he’d have some shocks if he married Carrie. But there-it never came to that, only you can see why she didn’t want him to know.”

Miss Silver said, “Yes, indeed.” She though Ella Jackson a very sensible young woman. Fond of her sister too, but not blind to her faults. She coughed and enquired,

“Was she being asked for money all the time, or only at first?”

Mrs. Jackson had a startled look.

“She hadn’t a lot to give,” she said.

“She had some valuable jewellery.”

“Well, nearly all of it came from Mr. Maundersley-Smith- everything except the diamond ring that Jack Armitage gave her. Mr. Smith would have noticed if she hadn’t worn his presents. Besides she looked upon the jewellery as a kind of nest-egg.”

“Then it wasn’t money she was asked for?”

The startled look was still there. Ella said,

“No-it wasn’t.”

“I think I can guess what it was. Mr. Maundersley-Smith is a big man in the shipping world. It might have been supposed that your sister would be able to supply valuable information.”

Ella nodded.

“Yes-that was it. And it fairly got her back up. Carrie was my sister, and no one knows her better than me. She’d done a lot of things I didn’t like-it’s no good pretending she hadn’t- but that’s a thing she wouldn’t do, not with a war on anyhow. So she set herself to find out who was running the show, and to get even with them.”

“A very dangerous enterprise,” said Miss Silver gravely.

The night passed without incident. A young police constable kept solitary vigil on the landing between No. 3 and No. 4. Miss Silver remained at No. 3. A comfortable bed was made up for her on the drawing-room sofa, but she did not occupy it. As soon as the rest of the household had retired and might be supposed to be asleep, she carried a chair to the kitchen and sat there all night with the door wide open to the hall of the flat. At intervals she went to the window and looked out, raising the sash so that she could see right along that side of the house. The window of Ivy’s small bedroom was so near that she could have touched it with her hand. She observed with approval that it was closely fastened, and that the curtains were drawn across it on the inside. She could also have touched the ledge which ran all round the house beneath the windows. There was a similar ledge on every floor. She wondered how often Ivy Lord had passed along this one. She meant to make quite certain that neither she nor anyone else should pass along it tonight. The night went slowly by.

As soon as it was light she took a bath-the hot water supply was really most commendable. She dressed herself in her outdoor clothes, partook of a cup of cocoa and a bowl of bread and milk, and went into Mrs. Underwood’s room to inform her that she would be away for some hours and not to wait tea, though she hoped to be back by then. After which she walked downstairs, bade Bell a cheerful good-morning, and departed upon her errand.

Vandeleur House woke up flat by flat and began to go about its business. Mrs. Smollett, arriving to scrub the stairs, was took bad at the news of pore Miss Garside’s suicide, and had recourse to the ready hospitality of Miss Crane. A restorative of a most congenial nature was produced. Gossip and horrified speculation ran riot. Mrs. Smollett had rarely enjoyed a fatality so much. She was very late indeed in beginning the stairs. She had in fact got no farther than Mrs. Underwood’s landing, when Miss Lemming came running up to ring the bell and be admitted by Miss Meade Underwood, who seemed to be expecting her.

“Wearing her old purple when she came up, wasn’t she, same as she’s worn it day in and day out till you’re sick sore and weary of seeing it. And Miss Meade kisses her, and in they go and shut the door. And I hadn’t got done with the hall not by the half of it before Miss Lemming comes down again. Well, Miss Crane, I give you my word I was that taken aback I dropped my brush. I wouldn’t hardly have known her, and nor would you. Real good clothes she’d got on-a kind of sandy mixture tweed with an orangy fleck in it and a jumper to match. Took ten years off her age and that’s a fact.”

Miss Crane, over an eleven-o’clock cup of tea, displayed the deepest interest.

“How very strange.”

“And what’s more,” said Mrs. Smollett, “everything she’d got on was new-shoes, stockings, hat, gloves, and a brand-new bag. Wonderful what a difference clothes make. You’d have took her for under thirty. ‘Well,’ I says to myself, ‘if that don’t beat the band!’ Mind you, she didn’t give anyone time or I’d have said something. Short of running I never see anyone go faster.”

Just before one o’clock Miss Silver put through a telephone call to Chief Inspector Lamb at Scotland Yard. As her familiar voice and slight hesitant cough fell upon his ear, he looked decidedly cross. For women in general he had a great deal of respect, but one thing he would say, and he defied anyone to disprove it, they never knew when to leave a thing alone. It wasn’t just the last word they wanted either-it was all the words, all the time. His voice though perfectly polite informed Miss Silver that she was overstepping the limits of his patience.

In a brisk and businesslike voice she said,

“I told you last night that I had no evidence to lay before you. I have some now. I should be glad of an opportunity of talking it over with you. My train arrives at half past three. I can be with you by four o’clock. I should prefer to see you at the Yard.”