Danger Point (9 page)

THE events of the evening were to be picked over, sorted out, strained through a sieve, set aside to clarify, and strained again. At the time they seemed quite ordinary, everyday, and dull.

Dinner was at eight, and over at twenty to nine. Rafe and Alicia talked. She was brilliant with a new brilliance. Her beauty shone. She wore a green jewel at her breast. Dale drank rather more than usual. Lisle made a pretence of eating. At a quarter to nine when they were having their coffee on the terrace she was called away to see Cissie Cole. Afterwards she was questioned and re-questioned about this visit of Cissie’s, but at the time it was just two girls talking, and both of them unhappy.

Lisle broke the ice by bringing down the green and red checked coat. Even a girl in the throes of an unfortunate love affair can usually extract at any rate a surface pleasure from a new garment. All Mrs. Jerningham’s things were expensive and beautifully cut. The coat had only been worn three or four times. Cissie put it on, looked at herself in an eighteenth-century mirror crowned with a gold shell and broke into a wavering smile. The too vivid checks suited her a good deal less than they had suited Lisle. They took the last shade of colour from her face and turned the pale blue of her eyes to a watery grey. But all she saw was the coat itself, quite new, and smarter than anything she had ever possessed.

“Oh, Mrs. Jerningham — it’s lovely!”

She took it off carefully and folded it inside out. She wouldn’t want to be seen walking away in it, not by that William anyway, but she could slip it on as soon as she got clear of the drive. Some such thought may have been in her mind.

Lisle for her part was thankful for the change in her expression. Cissie had so obviously been sent to see her and was resenting it. But now that reluctant look had gone. She kept one hand on the coat and said,

“It’s ever so kind of you. Aunt said you wanted to see me.”

There was nothing Lisle wanted less. Her heart was heavy with a sense of Alicia’s triumph. She felt beaten and inadequate, but she had to find something to say to Cissie. She said,

“I think she’s very unhappy about you.”

Cissie sniffed and tossed her head.

“She hasn’t any call to be! And if she is she’s not the only one.”

“You mean you are unhappy too?”

Cissie nodded, gulped, and fished a handkerchief out of the front of her dress.

Lisle put a hand on her knee.

“Do you think you would like to go away for a little? A friend of mine is looking for a children’s maid. She has two little girls, and she wants someone to take and fetch them from school and sew for them. Do you think you would like that?”

Cissie choked into the handkerchief and shook her head.

“You don’t think it would make it easier if you went away for a little?”

“And never see him no more?” said Cissie with a sob.

Lisle felt the tears come into her own eyes. Cissie’s “never no more” had touched some secret spring of pain.

“What’s the good of seeing him?” she said.

“Nothing’s any good, ” said Cissie with another sob. She swallowed her tears, stuffed the wet handkerchief inside her dress, and got to her feet, clutching the red and green coat. “It’s no good talking about it anyhow, and I must be getting along. You’ve been very kind, I’m sure — and thank you for the coat.”

Lisle went back to the terrace. Only Rafe was there. He looked over the evening paper and said in his lightest voice,

“Dale’s gone off to do a spot of night flying. Alicia’s driving him. I’m going for a walk. Why don’t you go to bed? You look played out.”

She had picked up her coffee-cup. She drank from it now. The coffee was cold and bitter.

“Did you know he was going to fly?” she said.

He shook his head.

“A sudden idea. He rang up just now.” He went back to his paper. “I think there’s going to be a European war, my sweet.

Birds in their little nests agree

Til old enough to fight.

The big uns kick the little uns out.

Sarve the little uns right.

Blessings of civilisation!”

Lisle put down her cup.

“How long is Alicia going to stay here?”

Rafe let the paper fall.

“That sounds as if you thought she had been here too long.”

“Hasn’t she?”

“Too long — or not long enough.” His voice was still light.

Lisle said, “What do you mean by that?” And all of a sudden he was looking at her hard and full.

“Do you want me to say?”

“Yes, please.”

His eyebrows went up.

“Have it your own way then. You want Alicia to go. You might have outed her last week. I don’t say you could have, because she’s in a very strong position. This is her old home, and it doesn’t look too good for the newcomer to try and put her out. Then, she had been the unattainable, and is still the unattained. That cuts quite a lot of ice, you know. Still, a week ago you might have had a sporting chance, though I’d always put my own money on Alicia, because she hasn’t any scruples, and she’s definitely a lot tougher than you are. Anyhow that’s neither here nor there. Last week has gone and it won’t come back again. Now you’ll have to wait till the glamour wears thin, and that may be a good long time. Alicia’s a very fascinating woman, and she’d give her eyes to get Dale.”

Lisle stood there and listened. His voice was as cold as an east wind. She was so hurt that she felt as if she was bleeding to death, only what was draining away was not blood but hope, and youth, and love. She heard him say,

“It may last a good long time, but it won’t last for ever. You don’t want to stay and watch it going on, do you?”

He got up and came to her.

“Did you ask my advice, my sweet? Never mind, here it is. Europe’s going to be a fairly unpleasant place for the next few months. If I were you I’d go whilst the going’s good. Get along out to the States. If Dale wants you he’ll come after you, and if he doesn’t, well, it’s quite a handy country to get a divorce in.”

She stood quite still and looked at him, face colourless, eyes dark and wide. After a moment she said in a quivering voice,

“Why do you all hate me? Why do you want me to go?”

His hands came down on her shoulders.

“Isn’t hate a good enough reason in itself? Why, what more do you want? Isn’t hate enough? Nasty explosive stuff, you know — liable to go off and blow us all sky high. Don’t you know when you’re not wanted, my dear? Better clear out whilst you can.”

She stepped back with a blind shrinking look. His hands fell from her shoulders. She said,

“Do you hate me — like that?”

Rafe Jerningham laughed.

“Oh, like the devil, my dear,” he said, and ran down the terrace steps and across the lawn.

MISS MAUD SILVER picked up her evening paper and opened it. Her eye travelling rapidly across the headlines, was caught by the alliteration of “Body on the Beach,” and having been caught, remained fixed upon the ensuing paragraph: “Early this morning the body of a young woman was discovered at the foot of a steep cliff in the neighbourhood of Tanfield Court. She had apparently missed her footing and fallen. Tane Head, beneath which the body was found, is a bold and picturesque headland much resorted to by picnic parties and courting couples. Tanfield Court is famous for its Italian garden and a collection of statues brought from Italy and Greece in the late eighteenth century. It is the property of Mr. Dale Jerningham. The body has been identified as that of Miss Cecilia Cole, niece of the postmistress of Tanfield village.” Miss Silver read the paragraph twice before she passed to the next column. It was the name Jerningham in conjunction with Tanfield and the body of a young woman which had arrested her attention. Just for a moment she had feared — yes really feared… But Cecilia Cole — niece of the local postmistress… No, there was nothing in it. Just one of those sad occurrences which evoke a fleeting sigh of pity and are forgotten almost as the sigh is spent.

She began to read about a giant sunflower in a Cornish garden. It was said to be seventeen feet high. Miss Silver’s small, neat features expressed a mild incredulity. She reflected that Cornwall was a long way off.

The telephone bell rang sharply. She folded the newspaper, placed it on the left-hand side of her writing table, and lifted the receiver from the instrument on her right, all without hurry. She heard a voice which seemed to be speaking from a considerable distance. It was a woman’s voice. It said,

“Can I speak to Miss Silver?”

“This is Miss Silver.”

“Miss Maud Silver?”

“Yes. Who is speaking please?”

There was a pause. Then the voice, faint and hesitant.

“You gave me your card in the train — no, it was afterwards on the platform — I don’t suppose you remember.”

“Certainly I remember. What can I do for you, Mrs. Jerningham?” Miss Silver’s tone was pleasant and brisk.

Lisle Jerningham, speaking from a call-office in Ledlington, found herself steadied by it. She said,

“Could I come up and see you — tomorrow? Something has happened.”

Miss Silver gave a slight cough.

“I have just seen a paragraph in the evening paper.”

Lisle said, “Yes.” Then hurrying and tripping over the words, “I must talk to someone — I can’t go on — I don’t know what to do.”

“You had better come and see me. Shall we say half past eleven? That is not too early for you?… Very well then, I will expect you. And please remember that there is always a way out of every situation, and a trouble shared is a trouble halved. I shall expect you at half past eleven.”

Lisle came out of the telephone booth. She was very glad that she would not have to drive herself home. In the midst of the horror and the trouble of the day two things had been clear to her. She must have help and advice, and she could not go to Mr. Robson, because that would not be fair to Dale. If she went to anyone she must go to a stranger, so that the scales should be even — no more weight on one side than on the other.

Without saying anything to anyone she had gone down to the garage and told Evans to drive her into Ledlington. She couldn’t call Miss Silver up from the house, because the line went through the post office exchange, and whatever she might have to say, poor Miss Cole was the last person who ought to hear her say it.

Well, it was done now and she could go home. The police Inspector from Ledlington would be coming over to take a statement from her about Cissie. He would want to see everyone who had seen her — everyone. Well, that was only Lisle herself, and William who had let her in. And what could anyone say? Poor Cissie — she was unhappy — very unhappy. What else was there to be said? There couldn’t be anything else. The police were looking for Pell. But what was the good of that? He had made Cissie unhappy. Suppose he had made her so unhappy that she had thrown herself over the cliff — what could the police do about it now? The law doesn’t punish a man for stealing a girl’s heart or killing her happiness. Only why had the police got to look for Pell? He had his job at the aerodrome. Why wasn’t he there?

These thoughts went round Lisle’s head as Evans drove her back to Tanfield.

When she came into the hall Rafe was there. She had not seen him since he had run down the steps the night before. He came to her now without any greeting.

“Where have you been? The Inspector is here. He wants to see you.”

“I know — he telephoned. I said I would be back. Where is he?”

“In the study with Dale.”

“Dale?”

“He wants to see us all.”

“Why?”

“God knows.”

She was so pale that it was not possible for her to lose any more colour. The ash-blonde of her hair under a white fillet, the white linen of her dress, the privet whiteness of neck and cheek — all these, with something in the way she stood as if movement as well as colour had been withdrawn, made her seem a statue among the other statues.

They stood there without more words and watched the study door.

DALE JERNINGHAM sat on the far side of his own writing-table and faced the Inspector across it. They had never met before, but whereas Inspector March knew a good deal about Tanfield and Mr. Dale Jerningham, he himself was, as far as Dale was concerned, merely the new Inspector from Ledlington, and until this moment nameless. He sat with formal dignity in Dale’s writing-chair with a notebook open before him and a fountain pen in his hand. It was a well shaped, well kept hand, very strong. It went admirably with the rest of him. He was tall and well set-up — a noticeably good-looking man with clear blue eyes and fair hair burnt brown. When he spoke he used the unaccented English of the English public school.

“Well, Mr. Jerningham, I shall be very glad of your assistance. It’s a question of this man Pell. I believe he was in your employment?”

Dale said, “Yes.”

“And you dismissed him about a fortnight ago?”

“Rather over a fortnight ago.”

“Without notice?”

“He had a month’s wages.”

“May I ask why you dismissed him?”

Dale shifted in his chair. The change of position brought his left arm up over the back of it. He said with a kind of careless stiffness,

“Why does one dismiss anyone? It didn’t suit me to keep him.”

The Inspector appeared to consider this. In his own study Mr. Jerningham could give or withold information as he chose, but in a Coroner’s court he would be obliged to speak. He said gravely,

“Of course if you prefer not to make any statement until the inquest you are quite within your rights.”

He saw Dale frown, and thought his shot had gone home.

“I have not the slightest objection to making a statement.”

Mr. Jerningham could be haughty when he liked. He was being haughty now.

Inspector March permitted himself an inward smile.

“Thank you. I am sure you will understand that we want as much information as possible about this man Pell.”

Dale nodded.

“Naturally. I dismissed him on this girl’s account. I had no fault to find with his work — he is a very good mechanic. But he had been passing as a single man, and when it came out that he was married I had a complaint from the elder Miss Cole about his intentions to her niece.”

“Miss Cole asked you to dismiss him?”

“No — she wouldn’t do that. But she was very upset. She had just heard of his having a wife over at Packham — he comes from there. The Coles have been tenants of my family for a great many years, and I felt bound to do something about it. I gave the man his money and told him to clear out.”

“Did you know that he had got a job up at the aerodrome?” said the Inspector.

Dale’s shoulder lifted.

“Yes — it was none of my business. He’s an excellent mechanic.”

“Miss Cole did not make any further appeal to you?”

Dale shook his head.

“She came to see my wife yesterday afternoon.”

“Didn’t you see her yourself?”

“No.”

“And later in the evening Cissie Cole came here also — to see Mrs. Jerningham?”

“I believe she did.”

“You didn’t see her?”

“No.”

The Inspector sat back. Mr Jerningham had found his tongue, but was not very free with it. He said,

“Would you mind telling me what you yourself did during the rest of the evening?”

“Certainly. My cousin, Lady Steyne, drove me up to the aerodrome. I had fixed up to do some night flying.”

“Do you remember what time it was when you left the house?”

“About ten minutes past nine, I think.”

“Was Cissie Cole still here?”

“I don’t know — I suppose she was. We were having coffee on the terrace, and my wife had not come back. She was fetched away to see Cissie.”

“You didn’t happen to pass the girl in the drive then, or see her later?”

Dale shifted again. His arm came down. He said,

“Certainly not.”

“Did you go straight to the aerodrome?”

“Well, no, we didn’t. It was a lovely evening, and we drove about a bit.”

“Did you go in the direction of Tane Head?”

“Yes — in that sort of direction.”

“And did you stop your car and walk up on to the headland?”

Dale made an abrupt movement.

“Look here, Inspector—”

He met a very steady, intelligent gaze. Inspector March said equably,

“Lady Steyne’s car was seen standing by the track which leads on to the headland from Berry Lane. You will understand that I am anxious to know who else was on the cliffs last night. How long were you there?”

Dale Jerningham sat forward.

“I don’t know — some time — we walked about a bit.”

“Did you go right up to the headland?”

“Yes, I think we did.”

“Did you see anyone whilst you were there?”

“There were some children in the lane.”

“No one else?”

Dale was silent.

“Mr Jerningham, if you did see anyone, it is a serious matter for you to withhold the fact.”

There was a moment of doubt and something like strain. Then it gave. Dale said,

“I appreciate that. It is just because it may be serious that I hesitate. You see, the person I saw was Pell.”

The Inspector looked at him keenly.

“Where did you see him?”

“He was coming down from the headland. He passed us and got on his motorbike and rode away.”

“What time was that?”

“I don’t know — somewhere well before ten. There was still some light.”

“Did he see you?”

“I don’t know. We saw him.”

The Inspector was silent for a while. If Pell had a motor-bike, there would have been time to pick Cissie up at the gates of Tanfield Court or on the road into the village. There would have been time for him to reach the headland with her, leaving his machine in the lane or on the track to the cliff. There would have been time—

He asked suddenly, “Where was the motor-bike?”

“Up along the track,” said Dale.

“How far from the lane?”

“Half way to the cliff.”

“Was he in a hurry?”

“In the devil of a hurry. That is why I wasn’t sure whether he had seen us. He came running down the track, flung himself on the bike, started up, and went tearing away like mad.”

Inspector March wrote that down. He was thinking, “Well — ce n’est que le premier pas qui coûte. One minute he won’t say anything because the man is a poor devil who’s been in his employ, and the next he’s positively offering me the rope to hang him with.” He looked up and asked,

“You didn’t see any sign of the girl?”

“No.”

“Or hear any cry?”

“No— nothing. There are always seagulls.”

“What did you do after that, Mr. Jerningham?”

“I think we walked up towards the cliff.”

“And you neither saw nor heard anything of an unusual nature?”

“No.”

“And when did you reach the aerodrome?”

Dale leaned back.

“About eleven o’clock.”