The Benevent Treasure (21 page)

He was surprised into a sudden movement.

‘Who told you that?’

The sage-green dress had a pocket. She produced a card and proffered it. He read in neat inconspicuous type,

Miss Maud Silver

15 Montague Mansions

Leaham Street

There was a telephone number, and in the bottom left-hand corner the words, ‘Private Enquiries’. He was less surprised than he would have been half an hour ago.

She said sedately,

‘The young man’s stepfather commissioned me to make some enquiries. In the course of them the daily help who was working here at the time of Mr. Thompson’s disappearance told me that Miss Cara had given him a coin which she believed to be a lucky charm. She said he wore it always about his neck on a chain. At some time subsequent to his disappearance she was doing Miss Olivia’s room, when she noticed Miss Olivia’s bunch of keys depending from the keyhole of a drawer which had always been kept locked. She said that the drawer was open, but I do not credit this. I think the key was in the lock, and that she could not resist gratifying her curiosity. Be that as it may, she was very much startled to find that the drawer contained not only the coin which Mr. Thompson had so constantly worn, but also the missing diamond brooch. I may say that I went to see her because I was told she had declared that Alan Thompson had never left Underhill. I got no more out of her than I have told you. She was, in fact, very reluctant to speak of the matter at all. As far as she did speak, I believe her to have been telling the truth. If Alan Thompson did not take the brooch which he was accused of taking, he may not have taken the money either. He really had very little reason to do so. Miss Cara was on the eve of marrying him — ’

He interrupted her sharply.

‘How do you know that?’

‘Colonel Gatling of Hilton St. John spoke of it to Stephen Eversley. His brother, the Reverend Cyril Gatling, had agreed to marry them. He was a good deal exercised about the matter, and wrote down his misgivings in a diary which came into Colonel Gatling’s possession after his death. He had, of course, no right to repeat what he had learned from so private a source.’

Rock said, ‘If she was going to marry him — ’ He left it at that.

‘Precisely. He had no inducement to disappear.’

‘He may have felt he couldn’t face the marriage.’

Miss Silver gave a slight disapproving cough.

‘From what my enquiries have brought to light, I do not fancy that he would have scrupled at what was so evidently to his advantage. By all accounts Miss Cara would have given him anything he wanted. I cannot believe that he would have turned his back upon such a favourable prospect. Even if the story stood alone, I should find it difficult to believe. Taken in conjunction with the two eighteenth-century cases and with recent events, it appears to me to tax credulity too far.’

‘You suggest — ’

She said gravely,

‘Mr. Thompson disappeared. Miss Sayle has disappeared. In both these cases there was a threat to Miss Olivia Benevent. If her sister married, she lost everything except a very moderate life-interest. When her sister died she was in a similar position. She reacted by accusing Miss Sayle of being responsible for the death. She has forbidden Mr. Eversley the house, and she is dismissing Mr. Burdon and myself. I am quite unable to believe that Miss Sayle has disappeared voluntarily. I am afraid that she may have been tricked or enticed into the passages, or even taken there by force. That they are dangerous is certain. I feel that a search-warrant should be produced without delay, and that there should be a thorough investigation. Mr. Eversley, as an architect, would be in a position to give the most valuable assistance. Miss Benevent is in a hurry to get rid of him. As you can see, the matter is extremely urgent. We do not know what has happened already, but I am sure there is no time to be lost.’

After a short but decisive encounter with Miss Olivia Benevent Inspector Rock retired upon his Chief Constable. It was all very well to be told to use tact and to handle her with kid gloves. You couldn’t use tact with a tank, or handle an atomic bomb with kid gloves. He would not have dreamed of allowing these or similar exaggerated expressions to escape into speech, but they thronged his mind and set up quite a disturbance there.

Major Warrender heard him with sympathy.

‘Formidable person,’ he said. ‘But look here — this search-warrant — what’s your idea about it? It’s an awkward position to my way of thinking. She has made no objection to your searching the house?’

‘No, sir.’

‘To be sure, it wasn’t for her to say one way or another, except as a matter of courtesy — not with Miss Sayle there.’

‘That’s just it, sir, Miss Sayle isn’t there now, and Miss Olivia has got the bit between her teeth. When I asked her about hidden passages she just said there weren’t any. When I told her that her sister’s body had certainly been moved, and that Anna Rossi had been seen to brush dust from her slippers and remove a cobweb from the tassel of her dressing-gown, she sent for Anna and put it to her that she hadn’t done any such thing.’

‘Oh, come, Rock, you shouldn’t have let her do that!’

‘How was I going to stop her, sir? She just said, “You had better ask Anna about that,” and she rang the bell. And then before the woman was well inside the door she was putting it to her — “The Inspector says you brushed some dust from Miss Cara’s slippers and a cobweb from her dressing-gown. I have assured him it’s all nonsense, but you had better tell him so yourself.” ’

‘And what did Anna say?’

‘Stood and looked at her like a dog that thinks it’s going to be beaten. And when I put it to her the way it ought to have been put, she flared up and said how could there be any dust or cobwebs the way the house was kept? And I said, “I’m not talking about the parts of the house I’ve seen, but you’ve got some secret passages here, haven’t you?” And all she could do was to stare at me and say she had never heard of any such thing. And then she began to cry and go on about her poor Miss Cara.’

‘You ought to have seen her alone,’ said Major Warrender.

Inspector Rock considered that the Chief Constable was being wise after the event.

The question of a search-warrant hung uneasily between them. Just what Major Warrender would have done if he had been left to himself, it is difficult to say. As it turned out, he was not to be left to himself. The arrival of Stephen Eversley and Miss Maud Silver precipitated a decision. Stephen was grey and grim, Miss Silver decorously determined. Both were insistent that Candida Sayle could have no possible reason to run away, and that in fact she had not done so.

Major Warrender tapped on his writing-table.

‘And you suggest — ’

‘That she has not left Underhill,’ said Stephen Eversley.

Miss Silver took up the tale.

‘Miss Sayle informed me of her belief that the house contained a secret passage or passages. Someone had come through her room in the night.’ She described Candida’s experience and went on to repeat her description of having seen dust and a cobweb on Miss Cara, and Anna brushing them away. Her manner was calm and persuasive. She concluded, ‘If such passages exist, as indeed they do in so many old houses, what we fear is that Miss Sayle found the entrance to one of them, probably the one which opened on her own room, and that she may have been induced to explore it. We fear that she may have met with an accident.’

Major Warrender tapped again.

‘Is there any evidence as to the existence of these passages?’

She had only got as far as ‘Miss Sayle — ’ when he interrupted her.

‘Well, you see, that’s just it, it’s all Miss Sayle. There’s no evidence except hers, and quite frankly, what does it amount to? She could quite easily have been dreaming. Miss Benevent denies that any such passages exist.’

Stephen said,

‘And isn’t that what she would do if they were a family secret? Look here, sir, if those passages don’t exist, why won’t she let me satisfy myself that they don’t? She had me there because she had got fussed about cracks in the oldest part of the house, but she wouldn’t let me make a proper examination, and when I said I must have more light in the cellars and wanted to bring in a powerful electric lamp, she wouldn’t hear of it — put me off and wrote to say they wouldn’t require my services. Even from what I was allowed to see I can tell you there’s plenty of room where those passages could run. It’s the front of the house that’s been built on to. The older part was old in the sixteenth century, and the walls there are thick enough for anything.’

‘And that’s true, sir,’ said Inspector Rock.

Miss Silver coughed in the manner in which she had been accustomed to call a class to attention. Her eyes rested upon Major Warrender with an expression of mild authority.

‘There really appears to be no reason why Miss Benevent should adopt an obstructive attitude. May I point out that she has no right either to give or to withhold permission for a thorough search of the house? Underhill was the property of Miss Cara Benevent, and she is dead. It has now passed to Miss Candida Sayle. You may confirm this by ringing up Mr. Tampling, who is the family solicitor. He is also my cousin Miss Arnold’s legal adviser, and the reason for my presence in Retley being to help her in a matter of family business, I have some slight acquaintance with him myself. He should, I think, be told that Miss Sayle has disappeared. As her representative, his presence would seem to be highly desirable if a search is to be made.’

Major Warrender experienced some relief. He would not, it appeared, be obliged to face Miss Olivia Benevent without support, if indeed he had to face her at all. He looked at Miss Silver with gratitude, for of course what she said was perfectly true. Olivia Benevent had really no legal status. It was not she but Candida Sayle who was Cara Benevent’s heir. He reached for the telephone and rang up Mr. Tampling.

In the darkness Candida remained motionless, her hand on the torch. Brushing past handkerchief and purse, it had closed on the smooth, cold metal and become frozen there. For the moment thought was frozen too. Then gradually it came to life again, questioning, clamouring for an answer. How had the torch got into her bag?

It wasn’t hers. She had brought no such thing to Underhill. There was a torch of Barbara’s packed up in one of the boxes she had left in store, an old battered thing which had gone through the war in the days when Barbara Sayle was a warden and had come out of it with a veteran’s scars. There was a dent on the rim which held the glass… Her fingers moved on the thing she held — unchipped glass and a smooth metal ring. This couldn’t be Barbara’s torch. It lay there under her hand new and undented, and whoever it belonged to, it was not she who had put it into her bag. Then who? There was an answer to that — the same person or the same people who had dressed her in her outdoor clothes and brought her here.

But why? As to the clothes, the answer was not far to seek. It was meant to look as if she had run away. She had been accused, and she had run away. The picture was clear enough. But the torch — that didn’t account for the torch. She had been put into this dark place and left there to its terrors. Then why the mercy of the torch? She thought it would have taken more than one person to carry her. Perhaps it had come to one of them how dreadful it might be to die in the dark. Perhaps — her thought broke off.

Since she had the torch, it was all that mattered. Then why did she delay to use it? In the depths of her mind she knew the answer. It was because it gave her a little hope which she was loth to lose. She could stay there with the torch under her hand and feel that she could break the darkness. She had only to move her finger on the switch and there would be light. But was there any chance that the torch would have been put in her bag if it was going to help her? She could not think… Suppose she pressed on the switch and no light came — could anyone be cruel enough to make such a mock of hope? She didn’t know. She had stumbled into a nightmare where anything might happen.

Suppose the light came on and showed her something more dreadful than the dark — some trap, some pit, or just the blank unbroken walls of a tomb. Perhaps the torch was there to show her how little hope there was.

All this time she had been dulled by the drug, but the effect was waning. Quick and suddenly her courage rose. If you don’t do everything you can, you will always be beaten and you will deserve it. If you don’t fight on even after it doesn’t seem to be any good, you are not worth saving. She lifted the torch out of the bag and pressed the switch.

The beam was bright and strong. It cut the darkness and came to rest no more than a yard away, splashing its light against the dull surface of a wall. She turned it this way and that. There was a wall on either side of her and a roof above. She thought the roof would be six foot over her head as she sat, perhaps more, perhaps less. She was sitting back upon her heels with the bag in her lap. The passage ran away in front of her.

Her feet and ankles were cramped. She got up on to her feet and stood waiting for the blood to come back into them. She was dizzy enough for her first step to take her to the wall with a hand stretched out and groping for it. The air was heavy. Turning the torch the other way, she could see that the passage went away to the right. She didn’t know whether to go on or to go back. As her head cleared she became aware that the wall against which she was leaning was made of brick. With nothing to sway her choice, she went step by step in the direction towards which she had been facing when the light came on. Ten paces brought her to a turn. The passage narrowed and the roof was nearer. She came to a flight of steps, very narrow, very steep, and climbed them. Ten steps going up, and at the head of them a small square platform and a door. She went down on her knees and set the torch beside her, propping it with her bag.

The door was about two and a half foot high by two foot wide. It was made of old weathered oak. The light showed up the grain and the dry grey surface of the wood. It was all dry here — dry and dusty. Not damp like the passage below. She put out her hand to the oak and pushed against it. It was as solid as the floor upon which she was kneeling. There was no handle to the door.