Miss Silver Deals With Death (18 page)

Miss Silver sighed, smiled resignedly, and went in search of Mrs. Underwood, whom she found in her bedroom, and apparently without occupation. She was sitting in a chintz-covered easy chair beside a small gas fire turned low. There was plenty of daylight outside, but it was of a cold and cheerless nature.

Miss Silver was pleased to observe the fire. She considered the fumed-oak mantelpiece and the surround of rose-coloured tiles very tasteful. Drawing a smaller chair up to the hearth, she sat down and came to the point.

“Ivy and Miss Roland were old friends. I was convinced that this must be so, and she made no attempt to deny it. She has been in the habit of walking along the ledge outside your window and climbing up the fire-escape to visit her friend.”

“That narrow ledge? Impossible!”

“For you or me, yes, but not for a girl who had been trained as an acrobat. I felt sure from the beginning that she was not walking in her sleep. Her possession of a piece torn from your letter to the person who was blackmailing you would have been too much of a coincidence. I was sure that there was some connection between her and the person who had your letter, but when you discovered that this person was Miss Roland, I was not altogether convinced that it was she who was the blackmailer. It seemed unlikely that she would in that case have been so careless as to carry your letter in her bag, and to allow you to catch sight of it there. When she was murdered, I felt tolerably sure that it was not she who was blackmailing you. It also became evident that the affair was extremely serious, and that the blackmailer was a dangerous person who would stick at nothing. You have not been entirely frank with me, but I now urge you in your own interest and from a sense of public duty to tell me what I want to know.”

“What is it?” Mabel Underwood was breathing quickly. Her eyes were fixed on Miss Silver’s face.

Miss Silver coughed.

“Pray do not be alarmed. Remember that I am trying to help you. I cannot do so while you keep me in ignorance. The matter is urgent. I want to know whether it was only money that was demanded of you.”

All the colour dropped away from the plump cheeks, leaving them pale under two rouged patches. A fumbling hand went up to the throat.

“How did you know?”

“You told me that you could not raise the money. I did not think that the amounts you could manage would be worth the blackmailer’s risk. Remembering your husband’s position, it struck me that money might not have been the chief object. You had paid one sum. The fact that you had done so was enough to compromise you. I wondered whether the next demand had been for information.”

Mrs. Underwood nodded.

“The letter said they wouldn’t insist on a money payment if I liked to help them with some facts for a book about the Air Force.”

“And what did you say to that?”

“I didn’t say anything. I just put what was on the torn piece of paper—that I hadn’t any money to give.”

Miss Silver nodded approval.

“That was very wise of you. Now, Mrs. Underwood, I have to ask you why you were being blackmailed. I cannot work for you in the dark. I have to discover the blackmailer’s identity. You must help me to do this. You have a secret. If you will tell me what it is, it will narrow the field of my search. I beg of you to remember that this is a murder case, and that the murderer is at large. Suspicion is bound to rest on innocent people. You yourself are not exempt. Pray be frank with me.”

Mrs. Underwood got out her pocket-handkerchief and began to cry.

“If I knew what to do—”

“You had better tell me all about it.”

“It will get into the papers—”

“I think I can promise you that it will not.”

Mrs. Underwood gave a great gulping sob.

“I was only seventeen,” she said, “and Father brought us up so strict. Mother’d been dead two years, and he had his sister to keep his house. A good hand with the dairy work she was, but we hated her. She was stricter than Father. We’d a farm ten miles out of Ledlington, but I’d never so much as been in to see the shops, she was so strict. I’d never been into a shop in my life, only the little general store at Penfold Corner, till I went to stay with my cousins the winter I was seventeen. I’d been poorly, and the doctor said I ought to have a change, so I went into Ledlington to the Tanners that were Mother’s second cousins. Minnie was about a year older than me, and the next one, Lizzie, was twenty-three. They took me shopping with them. It was just before Christmas. I’d never seen anything like it in my life. I didn’t tumble to it at first, but those two girls—well, they came home with more than they paid for. What with the crowds and the Christmas shopping, it was easy enough—a pair of stockings here and a bunch of artificial flowers there, and no one any the wiser. They weren’t a bit ashamed either when I began to notice it—only laughed and boasted about how smart they were.” Mrs. Underwood dropped her handkerchief into her lap and gazed at Miss Silver with the tears running down her face. “I don’t know what came over me, but I took a pair of stockings. There was going to be a party, and I hadn’t any to wear, only thick hand-knitted wool, and not a penny in my pocket. I don’t remember meaning to do it—I don’t believe I did—but the next minute I was putting the stockings into the pocket of my coat and the shopwalker had me by the wrist. I don’t know what I felt like. I wanted to die, but you can’t just because you want to.” She wasn’t sobbing now, but the tears kept running down. Her voice and her words were the voice and words of Mabel Peabody—a low, horrified voice and simple words. “He gave me in charge. They brought me up in court and I was bound over because of being only seventeen and nothing against me. But there was a headline in the Sun—Farmer’s Daughter Charged, and my name. And Father wouldn’t have me in the house again. He sent me down to his cousin Ellen Sparks that kept a boarding-house at Southsea and told her to keep me strict. Oh lord—and didn’t she! Up early and down late, working my hands off, and never a penny in my pocket. Six years that went on—six years hard labour. And then Godfrey came and stayed, and took ill—some kind of a low fever he’d got abroad—and I looked after him. Well, he fell in love with me and we were married. And that’s all. Only if anything was ever to hurt him through me, what do you suppose I’d feel like? I was like a slave in prison and he took me out. What do you think I’d feel like if I was to hurt him?”

Miss Silver said in a very gentle voice,

“We won’t let your husband be hurt, Mrs. Underwood. Now please be brave and dry your eyes, for I want your help. All this took place how long ago?”

“We’ve been married getting on for sixteen years.”

“And this occurrence was six years before that—” She thought deeply for a time, whilst Mrs. Underwood sniffed and dried her eyes. Then she said, “Twenty-two years ago—that makes the time right. But you were only a visitor in Ledlington, and for a very short while. However there is just the possibility—did your cousins by any chance attend at St. Leonard’s church?”

Mrs. Underwood opened her eyes very widely indeed.

“Oh, yes, they did.”

“The Vicar was the Reverend Geoffrey Deane?”

“Oh, yes—he was.”

“There is often quite a little gossip about a clergyman’s family—parishioners take an interest. Mr. Deane had a daughter, had he not?”

Mrs. Underwood nodded.

“Oh, yes. Lizzie and Min talked a lot about her. She’d been married in the summer to a Mr. Simpson. Now what was her name? Why, Maud—that was it—Maud Millicent. Sweetly pretty, we thought it was, but she was a fast sort of girl. There was some story about her dressing up in her brother’s clothes and getting the bank to pay her out some of his money. It was passed off as a joke, but it made talk, and Min said if it hadn’t been for who her father was she’d have been in trouble. Liz said she was the best mimic you could think of. She could take off anyone she wanted to and you’d think it was them.”

Miss Silver coughed and said,

“I believe she could.”

A couple of hours later Chief Inspector Lamb looked in. Sergeant Abbott had news for him, but allowed it to wait while his chief talked.

Lamb pushed back his hat, stuck his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, and stretched himself out in Carola Roland’s largest chair.

“D’you know, Frank,” he said, “human nature is—well, I don’t know if I’ve got the word to describe it, not having had your advantages in the way of a fancy education. The nearest I can get to it is, it’s uncommon like a cartload of monkeys—can’t tell what it’ll be up to next.”

Frank Abbott sat on the arm of the other chair in a languid attitude.

“Meaning Maundersley-Smith?”

Lamb nodded.

“A rum go,” he pronounced. “He’s got the name of being pretty hard-boiled. You don’t get from nothing to where he’s got to without you’re tough, and that’s his reputation. Well, this tough nut broke down and cried like a baby when I told him about the girl. Made me feel bad, I tell you—me—and I suppose I’m tough if anyone is.”

Frank Abbott failed to suppress a smile—perhaps he didn’t try very hard. It made him look much younger.

He got a reproving frown.

“Insubordinate—that’s what you are. No respect for your superiors. Why, when I was your age I’d have burst into a cold sweat if a Chief Inspector’d so much as looked at me.”

Frank laughed.

“Too hot in here for a cold sweat, sir.”

“No discipline left in the Force,” said Lamb. “I was telling you about Maundersley-Smith when you interrupted.”

“What did he say, sir?”

Lamb shifted in his chair.

“Broke down and cried like I was telling you, and then came out with the whole story. Seems there’s a wife he’s been separated from for fifteen years, and he never troubled about a divorce because he hadn’t any thoughts of getting married again—said it kept the girls off from chasing him. Then he comes across Carola Roland and goes down flat. He started divorce proceedings, got a decree nisi in July, and was going to marry Carola in January as soon as the decree was made absolute. That’s what brought her to Vandeleur House and kept her so quiet—there wasn’t to be a breath of scandal in case the King’s Proctor took it into his head to intervene. The girl knew which side her bread was buttered. She wrote him smarmy letters like the one we found, and made him stay away. Last night he said he simply couldn’t bear it. He got out his car and drove himself here—didn’t ring up or anything, but just came along. I fancy he was pretty jealous about her. Anyhow he says he got here about eight o’clock and didn’t stay more than half an hour—says she wouldn’t let him. She gave him a drink, and she had a glass of wine and a biscuit herself, so we’ve got that accounted for. And then she said a few kind words and pushed him off— said she’d got her reputation to think about, and what fools they’d be to risk upsetting the divorce. I asked him if there had been any quarrel, and he broke down and said she loved him for himself alone and there had never been a cross word between them—said the last he saw of her she was smiling and kissing her hand to him as he went down in the lift. It must have been him Bell saw going away from the house at half past eight.”

“Think he was telling the truth, sir?”

“Well, I do. Of course there’s no corroboration. There might have been a quarrel, he might have killed her, and he might have been putting on an act for me, but I don’t think so. Simple sort of chap once you got under his skin, and mortal fond of the girl. I think he was telling the truth. Now what have you got for me—anything?”

Frank Abbott stretched his long legs and then sat up.

“Plenty, sir. To begin with, I spent an hour with Maudie. She was kind and instructive. She suggests amongst other things that the Willards would bear investigation. Mr: Willard was dangling after Carola, and Mrs. Willard washed a perfectly new dress some time between last night and ten o’clock this morning—don’t know what she was wearing when Curtis saw her. Possibility that the dress was stained, and that traces of the stain still remain. She is also very insistent on the antecedents of all flat-holders being dug up. Furthermore, there was quite a piece about Miss Garside being on the rocks. No groceries for a week— all that kind of thing.”

Lamb looked up with his eyes round and bulging.

“As bad as that, was it? We knew she was hard up. Here— where did Miss Silver get all this?”

“She helped Mrs. Smollett wash up, sir.” A smile flickered and was gone. “Well, then, after all that I went round the jewellers—I got a list from Mrs. Jackson—and the second place I went to had the ring. Big shop in the High Street—Allingham’s. Miss Garside brought it in this morning at half past nine, and they bought it. Mr. Allingham said she was an old customer and they never dreamed of there being anything wrong. They had bought other things from her—a couple of diamond brooches and a fine Queen Anne teapot. He showed me the ring, and there were the initials all right—M. B. It looks bad.”

Lamb frowned.

“Looks mad to me. Woman must be off her head to go to a shop where she’s known, with a murdered woman’s ring. I suppose she thought we shouldn’t find out that the rings had been changed. The public’s got an idea that the police are a lot of thick-headed numskulls who can’t see what’s under their noses. And that’s the fault of all these detective novels—a pack of rubbish! Well, we’ll have to go along and see the woman— arrest her, I suppose. There’s a case over the ring anyhow, unless she’s got a much better explanation than I can think of.”

Frank Abbott got up.

“She might have taken the ring, and yet not have had anything to do with the murder. Have you thought of that, sir?”

Lamb nodded.

“That’s on the cards, but not very likely.”

“You remember saying what Maudie’s strong suit was—that she knew people? You said she didn’t make mistakes about them. Well, she says if Miss Garside, who is a very tidy and particular person, had washed the blood off that statuette she would have put it back on the mantelpiece, but that Mrs. Willard, who is clean but very untidy, might very easily have washed it and dropped it back on the sofa. If she handled the statuette before the blood was dry she might have stained her dress, and that would account for her having washed it.”

Lamb got to his feet.

“Look here, Frank, what are you driving at? They didn’t all kill her, did they? I like a case where there aren’t so many people who might have done it. All right, all right—we’ll take ’em one at a time. Mrs. Willard’s on the way down anyhow.”