Patricia Wentworth - Miss Silver Deals With Death

She came in, pale and slight, in the new black which spells mourning, followed by a delicate-looking young man with a limp who was Ernest Jackson. They sat down, marked out from the others by their mourning garb, their late arrival, their separate seats.

Sergeant Abbott shut the door and stood against it, not lounging now, but slim and upright and tall, his face expressionless and his blue eyes cool. Actually, he was conscious of some excitement. Was Maudie going to land them in a fiasco, or were they going to bring off something big? He had a tingling in his bones which he did not remember to have experienced over a case before. He looked at the quiet, ordinary people sitting round the room and wondered at himself. He looked at Miss Maud Silver and wondered at her, a quiet, ordinary spinster sitting side by side with another quiet, ordinary spinster, only a bit of Highland tartan between them and the stain made by the blood of a murdered chorus girl-murdered in this room, and perhaps by one of these very ordinary people. Fantastic, but-well, here they were. Ring up the curtain!

Chief Inspector Lamb cleared his throat and looked at Miss Silver. Miss Silver, sitting primly upright with her ungloved hands in her lap, began to speak. The gloves, a pair of worn black suede, lay on the tartan rug between her and Miss Crane. She used exactly the voice and manner with which she would have addressed a class of children. She showed no trace either of self-importance or nervousness. Her look was kind and grave. She said,

“The Chief Inspector has called you all together to clarify a few doubtful points. He is very kindly allowing me to ask one or two questions. I shall begin by explaining my own position. I have been engaged upon a private investigation which seems to have some connection with the sad events of the last two days. The matter I had in hand, though trifling in itself, has acquired a certain importance from the fact of Miss Roland’s sudden and tragic death. Murder,” said Miss Silver in her placid schoolroom voice-“murder has a way of giving significance to the most insignificant trifles. Since yesterday morning we have, I think, all become aware of this. Our every movement, our simplest action, has had the searchlight of an official investigation turned upon it. This is a most unpleasant experience, but in these tragic circumstances it cannot be avoided. I shall not detain you a moment longer than I can help. I am merely anxious at this time to make certain that the time-table which I have here is correct, and to fill in one or two gaps.”

She paused, opened her shabby black bag, and took out a neatly folded paper from which she proceeded to read.

“Time-table of the events of Wednesday evening:-Between 6:30 and 8:30 Miss Roland had several visitors with whom I am not at the moment concerned. She was last seen alive, as far as the Chief Inspector has been able to ascertain, at 8:30, when she came out on to the landing and waved good-bye to a friend who was going down in the lift. It is from this time that speculation takes the place of direct evidence. There is reason to believe that Miss Garside paid a visit to this flat between 8:35 and 8:50. I think, Mrs. Lemming, that you made several attempts to get into telephonic communication with her and failed to do so.”

Mrs. Lemming, leaning back in her chair with an air of complete indifference, was understood to assent. She was immediately and very directly addressed by the Chief Inspector.

“You tried to ring Miss Garside up-and more than once? How often?”

Mrs. Lemming turned a bored glance upon him.

“Three times, I believe.”

“You are not sure?”

“Oh, yes, I am sure.”

He went on questioning her until he elicited that she had looked at her watch before ringing up and that it was then 8.35, and again at ten minutes to nine, when she decided that it was too late to get the game of three-handed bridge which had been the object of her original call.

This disposed of, Lamb looked at Miss Silver and nodded. She began to speak again immediately.

“After that we have a considerable hiatus. It is this gap which someone here may be able to fill. Mrs. Willard, you were, I believe, in some anxiety about your husband that evening. He had gone out soon after seven, and he did not actually return until nearly ten o’clock next morning, having been detained at the home of his brother, Mr. Ernest Willard. Being uncertain as to when your husband would return, you probably opened the door of your flat from time to time and looked out. You did in fact do this, as you informed the Chief Inspector. Now did you on any such occasion see anyone either going up in the lift, or upon the stair between your floor and the next one above it? Your flat being immediately beneath Miss Roland’s, and the other top flat being empty, it would be fair to deduce that any person so seen was on his or her way to or from Miss Roland’s flat. Did you see anyone, Mrs. Willard?”

On being first addressed, Mrs. Willard, who had been looking down at her own clasped hands, gave a start and looked up. As the enquiry proceeded, a distressing flush covered her face and neck. Her eyes took on a frightened expression, her hands clung damply together. At the direct question she swallowed convulsively but did not speak. Beside her Mr. Willard stiffened, straightened his pince-nez, and took the word.

“If I may be allowed to reply for Mrs. Willard, the answer is in the affirmative.”

“She did see someone?”

“She did. When she informed me of the fact, which was not until this afternoon, my opinion-I may say my very strongly expressed opinion-was that the police should be informed immediately.”

“I don’t want to get anyone into trouble,” said Mrs. Willard in a stifled voice.

The Chief Inspector addressed her in an admonitory tone.

“Now, Mrs. Willard, you must understand that this is a very serious matter. You won’t get any innocent person into trouble, you know. You don’t want to shield a guilty one-do you?”

“I don’t want to get anyone into trouble.”

“Mrs. Willard-who did you see?”

It was at this point that Mr. Drake got quietly to his feet and said pleasantly,

“She saw me, Inspector.”

A faint whisper of sound stirred in the room. It was as if everyone had moved a little-as if each had breathed more deeply.

Lamb said, “You came up here to No. 8?”

“I did.”

“What time was this?”

“Half past nine.”

“Why did you come?”

“To see Miss Roland.”

His eyes went past the Inspector to Agnes Lemming. She was pale, but she looked back at him.

Lamb went on.

“Did you see her?”

“No-I didn’t get in. I rang, and there was no answer, so I came away.”

“Was the door shut or open?”

The eyebrows which gave Mr. Drake his resemblance to Mephistopheles rose in an even sharper arch. After a momentary pause he replied,

“The door was ajar.”

“Did you go in?”

“Oh, no.”

“It didn’t occur to you that there might be something wrong?”

“Frankly, it didn’t. I thought she was expecting a visitor. I was afraid that I might be de trop.”

Lamb looked at him hard. Everyone in the room looked at him. Frank Abbott thought, “Here’s a red herring with a vengeance! We put Maudie up to waste time whilst Curtis and the boys get busy downstairs, and she fishes this up. Well, well- on with the play!”

Lamb said in his weightiest voice,

“May I ask what was the purpose of your visit, Mr. Drake?”

To which Mr. Drake replied,

“Oh, just a little matter of business. She was blackmailing me.”

“She was blackmailing you?”

Mr. Drake smiled.