The Benevent Treasure (22 page)

Mr. Tampling was a little grey man. He had a bright enquiring eye and a tendency to romance which he made it his business to hold in check. He considered that it should be kept in its place, where it afforded him a good deal of secret pleasure. He was now in his early sixties, and he had known Miss Olivia Benevent ever since he could remember. His father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather had handled the Benevents’ affairs. When he had first come into the firm as a very young man Miss Olivia had patronised him. She was a few years the elder, and she had not only behaved as if those few years were a good many more, but she had very obviously regarded him from the other side of a social rubicon which could never be crossed. He made up his mind about her then, and had never seen any occasion to alter it. He was sorry for Miss Cara, who was obviously quite incapable of standing up for herself, and he had done his best to protect her interests. He was now quite prepared to do his best for Candida Sayle, and since he was an executor of the will under which she inherited, he was in a position to do so. He expressed himself as shocked at her disappearance and concerned for her safety.

As he waited for the Chief Constable to pick him up, this concern increased. He was remembering a conversation with Miss Olivia Benevent after her father’s death. It had been necessary for him to remind her that it was not she but Miss Cara who inherited the estate, and that, apart from Miss Cara’s right to assign a life-rent of the property to her husband in the event of her marriage, it would pass at her death to her sister Candida Sayle.

She had stared back at him with cold anger.

‘My sister Candida is dead.’

‘I believe she had children.’

‘A son and a daughter. What has that to do with it?’

‘The son would inherit. Failing him or his children, the daughter would do so.’

He had never been able to forget her look, her words. She had not raised her voice. She had said that she hoped no child of Candida Sayle would survive, and she had said it as if she were cursing them. He had been most profoundly shocked, and he had not forgotten. He remembered that Miss Cara had cried out, and that Olivia had quelled her with a look. He could see poor Cara now with the tears running down her face, catching her breath and murmuring, ‘Oh, no — no — that is a dreadful thing to say!’

Miss Olivia was in the drawing-room when Joseph informed her of Mr. Tampling’s arrival.

‘There is another gentleman with him — Major Warrender — and the Police Inspector.’

She sat very upright, her plain dead black relieved against the white brocade chair. She had her embroidery-frame upon her lap, and a needle threaded with scarlet silk in her hand. There were three handsome rings on the third finger. They crowded one another, but the diamonds flashed bravely. She said in a measured voice,

‘Major Warrender is the Chief Constable. I have not sent for him, or for Mr. Tampling, but I will see them.’

She looked very small and black as they came round the lacquer screen into the big white room. She was setting a stitch in her embroidery, and she did not look up until they were half way across the floor. She did not rise to meet them. There was a cold stare from the shallow black eyes, a raising of the narrow arched brows, and a slight, very slight inclination of the head. After which she addressed herself to Major Warrender.

‘May I ask the reason for this visit? My sister is very recently dead. Is there to be no consideration for my grief?’ The tone was even harsher than the words. She turned to Mr. Tampling. ‘I not quite know why you are here, but since you are, you can perhaps tell me whether I am obliged to put up with these intrusions.’

He took the word from Major Warrender, who was only too glad to let him have it.

‘Miss Benevent, I must advise you that it would be very unwise for you to refuse to co-operate with the police. The Chief Constable informs me that Miss Cara’s death cannot be attributed to an accident. I was her legal adviser, and I am an executor under your grandfather’s will. The estate has devolved upon Miss Candida Sayle. I am informed that she has disappeared. In the circumstances, I feel sure you must see that every possible assistance should be given to the police. There is no desire to intrude upon your privacy, but you are not in a position to withhold all possible facilities for a very complete search of the house.’

She appeared to stiffen. He guessed at the forced control of a formidable temper. When she spoke, it was without any expression at all.

‘The house has already been searched.’

He had not met Candida Sayle, but he knew now that he had seen her. On a day a week ago in Stephen Eversley’s car. They were talking together and laughing, and he had thought to himself that young Eversley was a lucky man. The picture came back to him now — a young man quite obviously in love and a girl with bright hair and sparkling eyes, the air of youth and happiness which surrounded them. He turned from it to the dead weight of Miss Olivia’s resistance.

‘There have been developments since the search was conducted. Major Warrender will tell you that he is not satisfied.’ He turned to the Chief Constable. Miss Olivia also turned to fix him with that cold resentful stare. He said,

‘Miss Benevent, Miss Sayle has disappeared. There is a suggestion that she may have strayed into some passage in the older part of the house and have found herself unable to get out. If you know of any such place — ’

‘I do not. Miss Sayle is not here.’

‘Then where is she?’

She lifted a hand and let it fall again. It held the needle with the scarlet thread.

‘How should I know? I believe her to be responsible for my sister’s death. When she found that the police would not accept it as an accident she became frightened and she has run away. You would be better employed in trying to trace her. You are wasting your time here.’

With the last word, her attention appeared to be withdrawn. She lifted the embroidery-frame and took a fine, smooth stitch. Mr. Tampling came up to her and spoke in a low voice. She might not have heard him. He said,

‘This is very unwise. I have to tell you that there is a search-warrant. Major Warrender does not wish to use it. As Miss Sayle’s nearest relative you must be deeply interested in her being found. I would urge you in the strongest terms — ’

She looked up then, scanned him briefly, and said,

‘I do not know what more you want. I have told you my opinion. Major Warrender will do as he pleases. Miss Sayle’s whereabouts do not interest me.’ She went back to her embroidery again.

Joseph was waiting in the hall, the quiet decorous manservant, resentful of an affront to the house he served, but concealing it deftly. To have the police back again when it was to be hoped they had seen the last of them, and with the police Mr. Eversley who had been forbidden the house, and that Miss Silver who had come as it were out of nowhere! He had expressed himself with a good deal of freedom on the subject of Miss Maud Silver. One had only to see her for five minutes to tell what sort she was. He had a good deal to say about it to his wife Anna.

‘If there is one grain of dust in a room, she will see it! If anyone whispers a word in the middle of the night, she will hear it! I had only to set my eyes on her and I knew!’

He was asked to produce his wife, and did so. She had been crying again. Upstairs in the room that had been Candida Sayle’s she was questioned, and went on crying. She didn’t know about a passage that opened here. She didn’t know about any passage at all. If there were such a thing, it would be secret. She would not know about it — she would not want to know. Such places were horrible — they had been made for some bad purpose. Nothing would make her enter one. In a place like that, who could know what there might be? Mice, or even rats! Or some pit into which you might fall and never be heard of again! She called God to witness that nothing would make her set foot in such a place.

Rock said, ‘She knows something.’ To which Miss Silver replied,

‘I do not think she knows, but I think she is afraid.’

‘What is she afraid of?’

She said gravely,

‘Of Miss Olivia — of what has happened to Miss Cara — of what may be happening to Miss Sayle.’

‘You don’t think—’

She dropped her voice to its lowest tone.

‘Inspector, I too am very much afraid.’

Stephen Eversley had not spoken at all. He went straight from the door to the recess between the chimney-breast and the side wall of the house. Shelves filled with books from the floor almost to the ceiling, a carved border to simulate a bookcase. He began to take the books out of the shelves. Presently the other two men joined him.

It is astonishing how much room books can take up. Even the smallest book-case when emptied appears to have given up double the number of books which it could have been supposed to contain. The piles upon the floor grew high. Sometimes they overbalanced and fell. The books had to be carried farther back into the room. There was no dust. The empty shelves were clean. The first thing Stephen discovered was that they were not fastened to the wall. There were wooden side-pieces and a wooden back. There was, in fact, what amounted to the shell of a book-case fastened into the recess, but by what means it did not appear.

There could be a door here, and if there was, there must be some means of opening it. He did not believe that Candida had been dreaming when she saw someone come from the recess and pass through the room with a torch held low. His mind became concentrated on the task of finding the opening.

The other two men stood back and watched him. He had the skill and the incentive which were beyond anything they could supply. Anna’s breath still came unevenly, but she no longer sobbed aloud, and her tears had ceased to flow. When Miss Silver touched her on the arm she rose and followed her to the room next door. Bidden to sit down, she said in a distressed voice,

‘Miss Olivia will not like it. I must go back to her.’

She was overborne by a manner of calm authority.

‘Not just yet, Anna. I want to talk to you — about Miss Candida. You have served the Benevents for a long time, have you not?’

‘For forty years.’ There was pride in her tone.

‘And you loved Miss Cara?’

‘God knows I loved her!’

‘Miss Candida is also of the family, and I think Miss Cara loved her.’

‘Yes, yes, she loved her — my poor Miss Cara!’

‘Then will you think what she would have wished you to do? You do not believe that Miss Candida has run away, do you? You do not believe that she had anything to do with Miss Cara’s death. You know very well that she had not anything to do with Miss Cara’s death. You know very well that she had no reason to run away. If there is anything else that you know, you must tell it before it is too late. Do you want for all the rest of your life to have to think, “I could have saved her, but I would not speak”?’

Anna’s hands twisted in her lap. She said in a tone of agony,

‘What can I do?’

‘You can tell me what you know.’

‘Dio mio, there is nothing — they would kill me!’

‘You will be protected. Where did Miss Cara get the blow that killed her?’

The twisting hands came up in a gesture of despair.

‘How do I know? I will tell you, and you shall judge. There are secret places — that is all I know. It is not my business — I do not look, I do not speak. I have seen dust on my poor Miss Cara’s slippers. I think sometimes that she walks in her sleep, but I do not ask. There is a night I miss her from her room and I come looking for her. I think perhaps she has gone to Mr. Alan’s room to grieve for him. So I come this way, and she comes out of his room, walking in her dream. She comes by me and she is talking to herself. “I can’t find him,” she says, “I can’t find him!” And, “They have taken him away!” She goes back to her room, and she is crying all the way. I help her out of her dressing-gown, and there is dust on it and cobwebs, so I think she has been in the secret places and I am very much afraid.’

‘Why were you afraid?’

Anna drew in her breath sharply.

‘Because of what old Mr. Benevent told me.’

‘What did he tell you?’

Anna’s voice dropped to what could only just be heard.

‘He was very old,’ she said. ‘He would talk to himself, and he would talk to me. He tells me about the Treasure — how it is quite safe in a secret place. “Quite safe,” he says, and laughs to himself. “A man may walk over it and not know it is there. He may go up, and he may go down, and he will not know. And if he knew, and if he went, it would never do him any good.” And then he would take hold of me by my hand hard — hard, and he would say, “Yes, it is safe — quite safe.” But not to go near it, never go near it — not for anything in the world. Not to give and not to take — there was something about that in a rhyme.’

Miss Silver quoted it gravely:

‘ “Touch not nor try,

Sell not nor buy,

Give not nor take,

For dear life’s sake.” ’

Anna stared from her reddened eyes.

‘Who told you that?’

Her look was held.

‘It was Miss Candida. Anna — where is Miss Candida?’

Anna put her hands up and covered her face.

‘O Dio mio — I think she is dead!’

Candida did not know how much time had gone by. Perhaps the effect of the drug had not quite worn off, perhaps the heavy air of this small confined space had dulled her senses, but after she had come upon the door which had no handle everything seemed to stand still. She couldn’t move the door, she couldn’t go on, and there was no strength in her to go back. She wasn’t afraid any longer — everything was too hazy for that. But she remembered that she must save the battery of the torch, and she switched it off. She didn’t remember anything after that for quite a long time.

She woke to a cramped position and stiff limbs, and for a moment she did not know where she was. With returning memory, she put on the torch again. There was no sense in staying here. The door wouldn’t move, and the air was fresher below. She went down the steps and back along the way that she had come. There must be other ways out of these passages. There was the one behind the bookcase in her room, and certainly one in the room which Nellie had had, or how could Miss Cara have come into it walking in her sleep? There might be a dozen ways in, a dozen ways out. Any one of them would serve her turn, but she must find it before the light began to fail.

She came back to the place from which she had started. At least she thought it was that place, because looking back, she had seen, or thought she had seen, that the passage ran away to the right. She went on and found that the right-hand bend had become a turn. There was something that lay across the path. The light fell on it. It was an iron bar coated with rust. She stepped across it without thinking what it might be.

The passage ran on a few feet and ended in a kind of hollow cave or niche. The niche was narrower than the passage, and it was raised above it. The beam of the torch played over it and showed an iron-bound box or chest with the lid thrown back. It filled the niche and it disclosed, piled up within, the treasure which Ugodi Benevento had stolen three hundred years ago.

At the first glance she had held the torch too high, but even then she had no doubt as to what she had stumbled upon. There was a dish or platter standing on its edge and leaning against one of the hinges. There was a pair of candlesticks fallen in a St. Andrew’s cross. There were other things. She remembered that there had been a golden dish — no, ‘sundry golden plates and dishes’ — in the list which she and Derek had read, sitting safely in the daylight with the table between them. They had looked across the three-hundred-year gap, and Derek had warned her to have nothing to do with the Treasure. She could remember that he had said to let it alone. And then he had spoken about Alan Thompson — just his name and, ‘I’ve got a feeling he didn’t leave it alone.’

It was something like that — in her mind, but vaguely, with memory playing on it as the beam of the torch played on the hidden things in the niche.

The beam was still too high. The hand that held the torch was rigid, reluctant to bring it down. She did not direct it consciously, but began, to move as if she could no longer hold it up. The shimmering light slid over the stones of a necklace. They were great red stones, and they were linked with diamonds. It slid lower. Now what it touched was not stone, but bone. Fleshless bones of a skeleton hand which clutched the edge of the chest.

Lower, down the shape of an arm, to a heap of huddled clothes pressed close against the niche. Someone had knelt there to clutch at the Treasure — had knelt — and clutched — and died. Even to Candida’s failing senses there could be no doubt as to who that someone had been. She had no doubt at all that it was Alan Thompson who had laid hands on the Benevento Treasure and died for it. She took a wavering step backwards and went down.