Miss Silver Deals With Death (20 page)

Lamb had a good-humoured smile.

“Now, Miss Silver, you go along and have a rest. You’re letting your nerves get the better of you, and we can’t have that. Good people are scarce, you know.”

Miss Silver took no notice. She came up close to him and put a hand on his arm.

“Will you leave a man here all night, Inspector? I am feeling very apprehensive about the safety of one of the inmates of Mrs. Underwood’s flat. I shall make an excuse to stay there myself tonight, but I shall be greatly obliged if you will place a man on duty in the hall of the flat.”

Lamb looked grave.

“I could place one on the landing outside. I couldn’t put one into the flat without bringing a charge or getting Mrs. Underwood’s consent.”

She thought for a moment, and then said,

“The landing will do, Inspector.”

“And you go and have a nice rest,” said Inspector Lamb.

Instead of taking the Inspector’s kindly meant if somewhat patronising advice, Miss Silver put on her coat and hat and walked briskly to the corner, where she caught a bus into the town.

There was still daylight when she alighted in the High Street. A few enquiries and about five minutes’ walk brought her to her destination, a small old-fashioned jeweller’s shop with the name of Jackson above it in letters of faded gold. The shutters were up. Miss Silver made her way to what appeared to be a private door and rang the bell. After a few moments’ delay Mrs. Jackson opened it. Miss Silver at once said,

“May I come in? We met this morning in your sister’s flat at Vandeleur House. My name is Silver—Miss Maud Silver. I am very anxious indeed to have a talk with you.”

As she spoke she was over the threshold.

There was no welcome in Mrs. Jackson’s manner, but she closed the door and led the way along a dark passage to the back of the house. Here the light was on and red chenille curtains drawn in a pleasant old-fashioned parlour with a table in the middle, chairs round it, a horsehair couch with a carved back, an upright piano, and a mantelpiece crowded with photographs. Under the light Ella Jackson was seen to be pale and tired, her colourless hair disordered, her air very obviously that of a woman who has been caught at a disadvantage. There was quite a pause before she said,

“Do sit down.”

Miss Silver accepted the proffered chair. She drew it out from the table and seated herself. When Mrs. Jackson had followed her example, she said,

“I owe you every apology for intruding upon you in this manner. It is very good of you to receive me. I ask you to believe that I should not have troubled you if the matter were less urgent.” She paused, and then went on in her gravest voice. “There has been another death at Vandeleur House.”

Ella Jackson started.

“Oh, how dreadful!”

“Yes—it is dreadful. It is Miss Garside who has been found dead in her flat. She sold your sister’s ring this morning, and this evening she was found dead in her flat. The police regard her death as suicide. They believe that she killed your sister. I do not share that belief. I am of the opinion that she was murdered, and for the same reason that your sister was murdered— she knew too much, or the murderer suspected that this might be the case and was taking no risks. I do not dispute that she effected an exchange of her own ring, which was paste, for your sister’s which contained a valuable diamond, but I believe that her presence at or near the time of the murder was accidental, and that she was not a party to it.”

The reluctance had gone from Mrs. Jackson’s manner. Her eyes were fixed upon Miss Silver’s face. She put up a hand and pushed back a straggling lock of hair, but she did not speak, only moved her head in an almost imperceptible motion of assent.

Miss Silver went on.

“I see that you are inclined to agree with me. I am very glad of that, for I need your help. The murderer is a cunning and dangerous person and is still at large. The matter is extremely urgent, and the greatest care and discretion must be exercised if a further fataility is to be avoided.”

Ella Jackson said “Oh!” on a sharp breath of protest.

Miss Silver shook her head.

“I am not exaggerating. I am very deeply concerned. Chief Inspector Lamb is an able and honest man—I have a great respect for him—but I cannot shake his conviction that Miss Garside committed suicide, and that this suicide closes the case. I must have evidence in order to shake this conviction. Enquiries which I shall make tomorrow will, I hope, provide me with some of this evidence. Meanwhile it is in your power to help me. Will you do so?”

Ella Jackson said, “Yes, I will.”

Miss Silver beamed upon her.

“That is so very kind. I will not keep you any longer than I can help. I have a question to ask you, and I hope very much that you will be able to answer it. Your sister talked to you about her affairs, did she not?”

“About some of them. She didn’t tell me everything.”

“Did she tell you that she was being blackmailed?”

Ella Jackson took a quick, short breath.

“How did you know?”

“Another person in the house was being blackmailed. Miss Roland was in possession of a letter from this person to the blackmailer. The police regard this as evidence that your sister was herself the blackmailer, but from the fact that she exposed this letter carelessly in her bag and allowed the writer to see it I deduce that she was not a principal in the matter. I believe she merely intended to tease the writer of the letter. I began to wonder whether she herself was being blackmailed, and had come into possession of the letter in an attempt to secure evidence against the blackmailer. If she knew who this person was, it would supply a motive for the murder. Now, Mrs. Jackson— can you help me?”

Ella Jackson leaned forward.

“She was being blackmailed—she told me that—and she came down here because she thought she’d got a clue to the person who was blackmailing her. She thought it was someone in Vandeleur House—that’s why she took that flat. Of course it suited her in other ways—it was out of the way and quiet, and she wanted to be near me—but that’s really why she took it. There was a girl she’d known when she was on the halls—a girl that used to be an acrobat but she had an accident and couldn’t carry on. Carrie got her to go into service with Mrs. Underwood in No. 3 so that she could help her. The last thing she told me was that they were getting on fine and going to make someone sit up.”

“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.”

Lamb cleared his throat.

“Now, Miss Silver—”

“The matter is urgent, Inspector. I shall not waste your time. Shall we say four o’clock?”

He said, “Very well.” And then, “Where are you—where are you speaking from?”

“Tunbridge Wells,” said Miss Silver, and rang off.

At a little after four she was sitting in his office, neat and dowdy in her old-fashioned black cloth coat with its faded fur collar and her felt hat with the bunch of pansies on the left-hand side. She was pale and looked tired, but there was an air of deferential obstinacy about her which caused Lamb to fear the worst. If he knew anything at all about women, she was going to try and get her own way, and it would probably end in his having to give her the rough side of his tongue.

She began by telling him about her interviews with Ivy Lord, with Mrs. Underwood, and with Ella Jackson, after which she told him all about her visit to Tunbridge Wells.

By this time Lamb was no longer cross. He was considering what a feather in his cap it would be if Miss Silver’s evidence should prove to be correct and enable him to pull in so notorious a criminal. It began to look as if she had hit on something. On the other hand, if she was wrong—well, no one liked making a fool of himself, and he wasn’t going to be pushed into doing it. Miss Silver was now propounding a plan—one of those fancy stunts which women think up. He didn’t care for them himself, but in this case, and with the possibility that the whole thing might be a mare’s nest, well, it had some points—he wouldn’t go farther than that.

Miss Silver was talking.

“—a meeting of everyone from all the flats at No. 8—that would, I think, be the most suitable locality. I am convinced, and I shall hope to prove it, that the murderer had an appointment with Miss Roland and was admitted by the sitting-room window after ascending the fire-escape. If startled and cornered, I think an attempt will be made to escape by the same way. This is not a certainty, but in view of the character of the person concerned I think it very probable that such an attempt will be made. The window of course should be open—so large a gathering would make this seem quite natural. When we are assembled you could have a search made in the direction I have indicated. If the things I have described are found where I believe they will be found, a pre-arranged message could be brought up to you. Great care must be exercised not to arouse any suspicion. We are dealing with a most cunning criminal.”

Lamb let his hand rise and fall again. It struck the blotting-pad before him and sent the pen which lay there rolling half across the desk.

“You seem to be sure that these things will be found.”

Miss Silver inclined her head.

“I am sure,” she said.