Latter End (12 page)

Frank’s shoulder lifted in a slight shrug.

“Mrs. Street hardly looks the type for murder.”

Lamb thumped his knee.

“There isn’t any type for murder—how often am I to tell you that? People do it when what they want and what they think they ought to have gets to be so important that there’s nothing else matters—they’ve lost their balance and come down on the side where there’s only themselves and they can do what they like—all the things that keep people back from killing when they’re angry don’t count any more. It’s liable to happen to anyone who doesn’t keep a hold of himself. Do you know what’s struck me most in what that Gladys Marsh said? It’s the bit about their all hating Mrs. Latter. She might be exaggerating, or she might not. But hate is a very dangerous thing to have knocking about—it’s one of the things that takes people off their balance. And—the woman’s dead. I don’t say I suspect Mrs. Street—not on the evidence we’ve got so far—but I’d say she had a motive.”

“I suppose so—”

“Then there’s Miss Mercer. She’s got a motive too, but I’d say it’s the weakest of the three. She’s lived here for twenty-five years—she’s leaving because Mrs. Latter wanted to start fresh with a staff she’s picked herself. Well, that’s the sort of thing that’s happening every day—a middle-aged man gets married, and the woman who’s been running his house for him don’t hit it off with the new wife. It may be a daughter, or a sister, or a housekeeper—it isn’t often it answers. By all accounts, this Miss Mercer is a quiet, gentle little woman. Not the kind to make trouble, or it wouldn’t have lasted two years as it has. I don’t doubt she’s got some sore feelings. Looks ill too. But, as I said, it’s the sort of thing that’s always happening, but not what you’d do murder for.”

Frank Abbott’s colourless eyebrows rose. He gazed at an upper shelf of the book-lined walls, where the Waverley Novels had stood unread these sixty years except by Julia Vane, and said,

“Doctor’s daughter, wasn’t she?”

Nothing could have been more casual, but Lamb looked at him hard.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Village doctor’s daughter. Village doctors usually dispense their own drugs. I was wondering what happened to the late Mercer’s stuff—the morphia, you know. Smerdon says he took away a medicine-chest out of Miss Mercer’s room—the police surgeon was going to go through it. I asked what about fingerprints, and he was inclined to be huffy— said of course they’d thought of that—been over everything before they turned it over to the surgeon. I asked what they’d found, and he said he hadn’t had time to check up, but he’d let us have the results this evening.”

He got up as he spoke and wandered to the farther of the two windows. One looked upon the terrace, the other commanded a view of the drive and its approach to the front of the house. It was from this window that Frank Abbott watched the progress of a car which was coming slowly up the winding drive—Antony Latter’s car, with Antony Latter at the wheel. A clump of shrubs obscured the passenger beside him. The car emerged from the shrubs. Frank Abbott gave a long, low whistle. The car passed out of sight. He turned round with a gleam in his eye and said drily,

“Latter went to meet someone at Weston, but nobody told us who it was. Now we know.”

The Chief Inspector stared. His mind, which Frank had once irreverently compared with a tram, ran very efficiently upon its own lines but was not equipped for a rapid side step. He was considering morphia in connection with Miss Mercer and a village dispensary. Antony Latter and the person he had been meeting at Weston constituted an intrusion. They broke the thread of his thoughts. He stared, took hold rather angrily of Frank’s last words, and said,

“So now we know? What are you talking about?”

“Maudie,” said Sergeant Abbott.

The purple colour rose in Lamb’s cheeks. His eyes bulged.

“Not Maud Silver!”

Frank smiled maliciously.

“The one and only Maudie,” he said.

Miss Silver heard the schoolroom door close behind her. That was Mr. Antony going away, an action she very much approved. She always preferred to be alone with a client, and in a case like this it was more than usually desirable.

Jimmy Latter was sitting at the schoolroom table. He had lifted his head from his hands when his cousin opened the door and said her name, but he had made no attempt to rise. She came forward with her hand out, saying, “How do you do, Mr. Latter?” and after a moment’s hesitation he took it. She was not prepared for a grip that was both painful and prolonged. She released herself at what she considered a suitable moment and took a chair on the other side of the table. He continued to stare at her with red-rimmed eyes which had a lost, bewildered look. His first words were those which he had used to her on the telephone.

“You said it was a trick—but she died. She’s dead, you know—last night. It seems much longer ago than that. Why did you say it was a trick? She’s dead.”

She looked at him kindly.

“Yes, Mr. Latter. I am deeply sorry for you. Since you have asked me to come down here, it seems that you think I can help you.”

He shook his head.

“Nobody can help me,” he said.

“Then why did you send for me, Mr. Latter?”

He put up a hand and rubbed his nose—the old gesture, but with something forlorn about it.

“I want it cleared up—I want to know how it happened. The police are here—from Scotland Yard. They seem to think—I don’t know what they think—” His voice trailed away.

Miss Silver looked at him very directly. She said in a clear, firm voice which held his attention,

“Mr. Latter, will you listen to me? I should like to help you. I will do so if I can. You say you want to know how this thing happened. That is, you desire to know the truth. Sometimes the truth is painful. It may be so in this case. Remember that there will be police officers in charge. If your wife did not die a natural death, I may be able to be of some assistance in discovering how it came about, but I can give no pledge that what I discover will not be painful to you, nor can I undertake to conceal any material evidence from the police. Do you really wish me to take the case?”

He said doggedly, “I want it cleared up.” And then, “It wasn’t natural. They say it was morphia—an overdose of morphia. She didn’t take things like that—she never took them. If she took it herself, it was done on purpose. If someone else did it, then she was murdered. It’s got to be cleared up.”

Those red-rimmed eyes had not moved from her face. They looked as if they had forgotten how to sleep. There were marks like bruises under them. All the rest of the skin had the ghastly pallor of a normally fair, freshly coloured complexion from which the blood was withdrawn. He kept his eyes on her and said without any change of voice,

“You see, I’ve got to know whether I killed her.”

In her time Miss Silver had heard more than one startling confession. She appeared undisturbed, though the gravity of her expression deepened. She said in a quiet voice,

“Would you like to tell me just what you mean by that?”

He nodded.

“That’s why I wanted you here. The police don’t care about that part of it, but it’s what matters to me. I’ve got to know whether I killed her.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“That has a strange sound, Mr. Latter.”

He nodded again.

“Yes, I suppose it has. You see, we had quarrelled. It hadn’t ever happened before. I don’t suppose that many people who have been married two years can say that. But all I ever wanted was for her to be happy and have things the way she liked them.”

“What did you quarrel about?”

He ran a hand through his hair and said vaguely,

“It was about one of the cottages. It must have been a misunderstanding, because she told me old Hodson wanted to go and live with his daughter-in-law in London. But it seems he didn’t, and of course I couldn’t turn him out—his family has always lived there. Lois was vexed because she’d promised the cottage to some friends of hers—for week-ends. Of course it was just that she didn’t understand. But she was angry with me—that’s how it all began.”

“Yes, Mr. Latter?”

He rumpled his hair again, thrusting nervously at it as if it was something that he would like to brush away. He said,

“Something happened after that. It’s not easy to tell you, but I’ve got to. The police know about it, because there was a girl who listened at the door—Joe Marsh’s wife. She’s no good, and I’m sorry for him. I don’t know what Lois saw in her, but she would have her here. I never cottoned to her myself—and she listened at the door—”

“What door, Mr. Latter?”

His eyes shifted. They looked past her.

“My cousin Antony’s—the one who met you. He came down on business. I asked him to—made rather a point of it—so he was here. It was just after the quarrel. Lois was angry. She must have been very angry, or she wouldn’t have done it. Antony says so, and I think he’s right.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“What did she do?”

“I think she wanted to make me angry by flirting with him. He’d been in love with her, you know, but she refused him and she married me. I’m sure I don’t know why—Antony’s a much better chap. I don’t want you to think any of it was his fault, because that wouldn’t be fair. He asked her to marry him, and she said no, and that was the end of it as far as he was concerned. He went away and got over it, and—well, now he’s engaged to someone else—to Julia—Julia Vane, you know.”

Miss Silver inclined her head.

“Pray continue.”

“So it wasn’t his fault,” said Jimmy Latter in a dead voice. “It was pretty late, but I hadn’t gone to sleep. I was wondering whether I would go and see if Lois was awake too. I thought perhaps we might make it up. Her room is the other side of the landing. I was just going to open my door, when I heard hers open. When you’ve lived a long time in a house you know just where a sound comes from, and I’ve got very quick ears. I thought perhaps she was coming to me, but she wasn’t. I came out of my room and saw the door of her big clothes-cupboard shutting on the far side of the landing. It’s a room really. It used to be the dressing-room of the room Antony has, and there’s a door through. I went after her. She didn’t hear me, because by the time I got there she was in Antony’s room talking to him.” The dead voice fell a tone. It had no expression except that it began to drag on the words. “I heard her say, ‘It’s two years since you kissed me. Don’t you want to kiss me now?’ ” His eyes came suddenly back to her with a look of defiant misery. “The police have got it all written down. That girl was listening at the other door— she’s got it all pat. It wasn’t Antony’s fault. He said she was my wife now, and he said he wasn’t in love with her any more. She said he usedn’t to be such an icicle, and she called him ‘Joseph,’ laughing at him. That’s when I went in. He was asking her if she liked the idea of being Potiphar’s wife. She was in her nightgown. I told her to go back to her room, and she went. That was the last thing I ever said to her.”

“When did this happen, Mr. Latter?”

He put his head in his hands.

“It must have been Tuesday—yes, Tuesday night. Today is Friday, isn’t it?”

She said, “Yes, Friday.”

“Then it was Tuesday. Antony went away in the morning before anyone was up. I went out all day and most of the next. I didn’t sleep—I couldn’t seem to think—I didn’t know what to do. Lois and I didn’t speak. We met at dinner, but we didn’t speak. I came into the drawing-room both evenings and took some of the coffee—because of what you said about her not taking anything that other people didn’t have. They were sending in two cups of coffee, and I was having one of them.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“Were the cups poured out before they came in, Mr. Latter?”

He nodded.

“I took one of them. That’s what the police keep harping on—how could anyone know which one I was going to take? The police have got it all down—they’ll tell you what happened. I went back to the study as soon as I’d drunk my coffee. Julia went for a walk. Ellie and Minnie went to bed. Lois stayed in the drawing-room. She was all alone. When Julia came in and found her it was too late. We got a doctor, but it was too late.” He lifted his head and stared at her. “It was a dreadful thing to happen to a woman, my coming in like that and finding her with Antony. And I let two days go by—I didn’t go near her, and I didn’t speak. I left her alone— even that last evening I left her alone. If that’s why she took the stuff, then I killed her, didn’t I? I don’t want you to tell me I didn’t if I did. I only want you to find out the truth.”

Miss Silver returned his gaze with a very steady one. She said,

“I will do my best, Mr. Latter.”

When Miss Silver came out of the schoolroom she stood for a moment, her hand fallen from the door which she had closed behind her. Under the surface her thoughts were grave and disturbed, but at the moment she was wondering what she had better do next. It was her custom when she came into a household professionally to make contact as soon as might be with every member of it. As the experienced cashier in a bank takes the feel of the coins which run through his fingers and knows the counterfeit by touch, so she had over and over again found her instinct served her in these first contacts. Being temperate in all things, she did not give undue weight to her impressions, but held them in balance with observation and reason. She might have quoted from the Victorian poet whom she so much revered, in his summing up of different types of men: “For good ye are and bad, and like to coins, some true, some light.”

Of the people in this house, she had met only the two men, Jimmy Latter and his cousin Antony. She glanced at her watch. Just on seven o’clock. She would doubtless meet the rest of the family at the evening meal. It was no part of her method to seek any set interview, but rather to observe the give-and-take of family life under conditions as nearly natural as could be. It would be pleasant to go up to her room, unpack her case, and adjust her toilet for the evening, but she had first to ascertain whether Chief Inspector Lamb and Sergeant Abbott were still upon the premises, and to break to them her presence in a tactful manner. She had not wished to see them until she had interviewed her client, but, having learned from him that he had in no way prepared them for her coming, she was now anxious that there should be no delay. They might, of course, have left the house, but this did not seem very likely.

Antony Latter had indicated the position of the study when he brought her in, mentioning that the police officers were using it. The room from which she had just emerged was the old schoolroom. He had mentioned that too—“My cousin has taken refuge in the old schoolroom.”

She began to walk down the hall in the direction of the study, and was almost level with it when the door opened and the massive figure of Chief Inspector Lamb emerged. Frank Abbott, following him, saw her face light up with a welcoming smile. Her hand came out to meet a somewhat reluctant clasp, whilst in tones warm with kindness she declared her pleasure at this encounter. The extraordinary thing was that the pleasure was so perfectly genuine. She really was delighted to meet an old and respected friend. Her enquiries after his family were sincere. She remembered that Mrs. Lamb had been ill in the summer, and hoped so much that all was well with her again. She knew all about the three daughters and showed a deep interest in hearing the latest news of them. She remembered that it was Myrtle who had been in the W.A.A.E.’s, Violet in the Wrens, and Lily in the A.T.S. Lily was now married. Miss Silver knew all about that too. The young man had a nice position in a solicitor’s office, and they were very happy.

Frank’s smile, if sardonic, was admiring. The ice in which the Chief had encased himself was by this time completely melted, the barometer was at Fair and Warmer, and he was informing Miss Silver that he hoped to be a grandfather in the spring.

With her congratulations these preliminaries came to an end. The compliments were over, but the atmosphere remained genial. Lamb’s voice was friendly as he said,

“And what brings you here, if I may ask?”

Miss Silver looked about her. The hall appeared to be empty, but there was no harm in being careful. She passed into the study, and the two men followed her. When Frank had shut the door she said,

“Mr. Latter is a client of mine. He came to see me last Saturday and told me that his wife thought someone was trying to poison her.”

Lamb stared.

“Oh, he did, did he?”

Miss Silver’s manner became slightly more restrained.

“That is what I am telling you, Chief Inspector. If you can spare the time, I will acquaint you with what passed. But of course I do not wish to detain you.”

Lamb said, “No, no—let’s have it.”

Frank Abbott produced a chair. They all sat down.

Miss Silver coughed.

“Naturally, I recommended him to go to the police.”

Frank’s eyebrows rose. He bit the corner of his lip. Lamb’s “Naturally” tried his gravity a good deal. Sarcasm wasn’t really in the Chief’s line. One was reminded of an elephant doing tricks.

“His wife was not willing that he should do so.”

“That’s what he said?”

“That is what he said. I will give you as accurate an account of our interview as I can.”

She did so, speaking in her clear, measured voice. From their knowledge of her, both men were aware that the account would be meticulously correct. She would waste no words, but she would omit no detail. The interview with Jimmy Latter took form in both their minds. She said in conclusion,

“I do not know what you will think, but I was very strongly of the opinion that Mrs. Latter’s attacks, which were obviously not of a serious nature, were the result of a spiteful trick. The symptoms were such as would be produced by a simple emetic like ipecacuanha, and except as indicating the presence of ill will towards Mrs. Latter, I did not consider the attacks of any real importance. Mrs. Latter was contemplating extensive changes in the household. I expect you are aware that Mrs. Street and Miss Mercer were leaving, and that a regular staff was to be installed. Mr. Latter was opposing this—or perhaps that is too strong a word, he was not happy about it. It seemed to me that relations in the household were strained, and that the sooner the parties separated the better. I advised him not to prolong the situation. I also told him that it would be as well if Mrs. Latter were protected against any further tampering with her food by confining herself to what other people were eating and drinking. He agreed, but said, ‘She will have her coffee.’ As you probably know, she took Turkish coffee, made specially for her as the rest of the family disliked it. Mr. Latter tells me that from Saturday evening onwards two cupfuls were made and poured out, and that he always took one of them— this being the case yesterday evening when Mrs. Latter succumbed.”

Lamb said, “Yes, there’s a young woman here who has made a statement about those attacks. She’s a flighty piece of goods and not what I’d trust as a witness, only as it happens nobody denies what she says. What I was wondering was whether we’d have heard anything about Mrs. Latter’s attacks if it hadn’t been for this Gladys Marsh—I was just saying so to Frank. But now it seems that Mr. Latter came to you about them, and you thought someone was playing a trick.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“That was my opinion then. I may say that I have not yet seen occasion to alter it.”

Lamb gazed at her with a perfectly stolid face.

“You think the preliminary attacks were not connected with the one which caused her death?”

“I am not prepared to be definite on the subject, but that is what I am inclined to think. They seem too trifling in their nature and effects to constitute a serious attempt upon Mrs. Latter’s life.”

Still with that stolid expression, Lamb said,

“With every respect for your opinion, there’s more than one way of looking at those attacks. You might have a bungler feeling his way—you might have a clever criminal drawing a red herring across the trail—you might have someone who hated Mrs. Latter beginning with a trick and, finding out how easy it was to bring it off, going on to murder.”

Miss Silver inclined her head.

“I would agree with that as a general statement. I do not know enough about the evidence in this case to say how any of these theories would agree with it.”

Lamb cleared his throat, a sound which commanded attention.

“You say Mr. Latter is your client. Are you here to prove that he didn’t poison his wife?”

Miss Silver looked very much shocked. Her tone reproved him.

“I did not think it would be necessary to explain to you what I have put very clearly to Mr. Latter. I am not here to prove anyone guilty or anyone innocent. It is my endeavour in every case I undertake to discover the truth, and to serve the ends of justice.”

Lamb’s colour rose. He said, “Yes, yes,” in an uneasy voice. And then, “No offence meant. But you know, your position—well, I’m within my rights in asking to have it defined.”

“Perhaps you would care to define it, Chief Inspector.”

If the words were formal, the smile which accompanied them had a surprising charm. He felt himself consulted, deferred to. His prickles lay down, his colour came back to its normal crimson. He produced an answering smile.

“Well, if you were a friend of the family and Mr. Latter had a great respect for you and would naturally turn to you for advice—and if you were willing to co-operate with the police—”

Miss Silver made a gracious inclination.

“I should find that perfectly satisfactory.”

Frank Abbott covered his mouth with his hand. The Chief walking on eggshells was a ponderous sight. It was accomplished, and without anything being broken, but the performance lacked grace. Maudie, of course, remained perfectly at her ease, dispensing frowns and smiles at the appropriate moment.

He got back to his Chief Inspector, who was speaking.

“Well now, bearing in mind what I said about a red herring, I’d like to ask you whether Mr. Latter coming to see you last Saturday and telling you someone had been trying to poison his wife—whether that mightn’t have been a put-up job. Suppose he’d made up his mind to get rid of her?”

“With what motive?”

“Jealousy—”

Miss Silver coughed.

“He had no cause for jealousy until Tuesday night, when he found her in his cousin’s room.”

Lamb stared.

“Oh, you know about that?”

“Yes. He had no cause for jealousy until then.”

Lamb looked at her shrewdly.

“Well, that’s all we know. There may be quite a lot we haven’t heard about. Or it mayn’t have been jealousy at all. Mrs. Latter came in for a large fortune from her first husband. We don’t know how it’s been left—not yet. It may go back to his family, or it may not. Mr. Latter says there was some dispute about the will, and a settlement was made out of court—Mrs. Latter and the relations divided the money. Mr. Latter thinks she got her share unconditionally, but he doesn’t know for certain. He says he never talked to his wife about money, and didn’t even know if she had made a will. Well, that sounded like poppycock to me. I got him to ring up her solicitor. There’s a will all right, and they’re posting a copy—it should be here in the morning. If Latter is down for anything considerable, there might be a motive in that. He might think it a pretty clever piece of work to come to you with a story of someone trying to poison his wife, and go away to play the devoted husband sharing his wife’s coffee so that no one should tamper with it… Well, what do you think of that?”

Miss Silver looked at him very seriously.

“Do you know what is Mr. Latter’s chief concern?” she said.

He gave a short laugh.

“I can’t say I do, but I suppose you are going to tell me.”

She said, “Yes. All he wants is an assurance that she did not commit suicide.”

Lamb pushed his chair back a couple of inches.

“What’s that?”

“He wants to be sure that his wife did not commit suicide. It is weighing on him very much that she may have done so. If she did, he thinks that he would be responsible for her death. After the scene in Mr. Antony’s room there was a complete breach between husband and wife. He let two days go by without speaking to her. He is afraid—I believe quite desperately afraid—that she took the morphia herself.”

Lamb thumped the table.

“He wants us to prove that someone murdered her?”

Miss Silver coughed.

“I do not think that he has got as far as that. His mind is fixed upon the dreadful thought that he may have driven her to suicide.”

Lamb leaned forward, a hand on either knee.

“I’d want more than his word before I’d believe that! I’m not saying he’s guilty, but I’m not saying he’s innocent. He’d the strongest motive of anyone, and the best opportunity of making sure that he didn’t get the poisoned cup of coffee himself. Now what you say about his state of mind may be true, in which case he’s an innocent man, and I’m sorry for him. Or he may be the clever criminal I said we might have to look out for, in which case all this about wanting to be sure it wasn’t suicide—don’t you see how it might be just a smoke screen?” He pushed his chair farther back and got up. “Well, I shan’t convert you, and you won’t convert me—not tonight. We’re at the Bull in the village, and if it’s as bad as I think it’s going to be, I shall be glad when the job’s over. One comfort is, Frank’s going to like it a lot less than I do!” He laughed heartily. “If you like, he can step up after supper and let you look through the statements as far as we’ve got. Only mum’s the word.”

Miss Silver beamed.

“That will indeed be kind.”

Lamb shook her warmly by the hand.

“Mind you, there’s an advantage you’ve got over us that’s as good as a running start. We come down, and we see people just about as much on their guard as they can be. In a murder case they’ve most of them got something to hide—if it isn’t about themselves it’s about somebody else. They’re thinking about every word they say, and they don’t say more than they’ve got to—unless they’re like this Gladys Marsh that’s so full of spite she can’t unload it fast enough. But you come in as a friend. You see them when they don’t think anyone’s watching them. They talk natural to you, a thing they don’t do to a police officer. There’s no denying you’ve an advantage over us, and that’s why I’m willing to strain a point and let you know where we stand—as far as we can be said to stand anywhere yet. Well, Frank’ll be up after supper, and I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“I very much appreciate your confidence.”