The Catherine Wheel (23 page)

“She might not have known—”

“My dear Randal, we had all been out walking along those cliffs. There had been talk about the tides. It had been mentioned that those rocks were only covered by a spring tide. I think it an incredible place for a suicide. But if it was murder, there would be a strong reason for choosing it. It would be necessary that Florence Duke’s body should be found, because it was intended that she should appear to have killed herself out of remorse for the murder of her husband. There must be immediate proof that she was dead. She could not just disappear. There are very strong currents here, I believe, and a body might be carried out to sea and never washed up.”

Frank Abbott said in his most casual voice,

“Well, about the only thing you haven’t told us is how Florence was spirited out of her locked room. Crisp made a point there, you know. She walked along the passage on her stocking feet, as he said, probably carrying her shoes. Why?”

Miss Silver looked at him gravely and compassionately.

“I think, Frank, that the poor woman went to meet her husband, and that this time Luke White will have no alibi.”

The Thorpe-Enningtons departed to town for the day, Freddy to his business meeting, Lady Marian to a fitting, a hairdresser, a lunch engagement. It was understood that they would return in the evening—“Though I am sure I don’t know what we can do, and as far as the inquests go, I’m thankful to say we didn’t see anything. But of course we shouldn’t like to feel we were running away, should we, Freddy my sweet?” Freddy having made some mournfully inarticulate response, they got into their expensive car and slid away in the direction of London with Marian Thorpe-Ennington at the wheel.

Geoffrey Taverner had gone off in his small cheap car an hour earlier. As he explained to Inspector Crisp, he could do a day’s business and be back by seven o’clock—“Quite a number of contacts to make in the Lenton direction, so I shan’t be far away.” Jacob Taverner gave the Thorpe-Enningtons half an hour’s start, after which he also took the London road. Miss Silver wondered if he was really fit to drive.

Randal March and Inspector Crisp departed somewhat later, leaving Inspector Abbott and a young man called Willis, who was a plain-clothes detective, shut up in Castell’s office.

Miss Silver, after a few words with Jane Heron, descended to the lounge, where she cast on the requisite number of stitches for a pair of bright blue knickers to match little Josephine’s woolly frock. She had chosen a chair quite close to where Mildred Taverner sat nervously turning the pages of an old Picture Post. After looking at her sideways once or twice Miss Taverner edged her chair a little nearer.

“Oh, Miss Silver, when do you think we shall get away?”

She got a kind reassuring smile.

“I am afraid it is impossible to say.”

Mildred’s hand went up to her blue Venetian beads.

“It’s all so dreadful, isn’t it? Having to pass that poor thing’s door every time I go up to my room. Do you believe in haunted houses and ghosts—” She broke off with a little gasp.

Miss Silver knitted placidly.

“What makes you ask that, Miss Taverner?”

Mildred Taverner shuddered.

“I was thinking how dreadful it would be if the door were to swing open when I was going past—her door, I mean—and something—were to come out.”

Miss Silver counted briskly.

“Sixteen—eighteen—twenty—twenty-four—yes, I think that will be about right. No, I think you should put aside these unhealthy fancies. There is nothing in the least supernatural about what has been happening in this house. Now I wonder whether you can tell me whether Mr. and Mrs. Castell are occupying the bedroom which used to belong to your greatgrandfather old Jeremiah Taverner and his wife. Family tradition is an interesting thing, and it occurred to me—”

“Oh, yes—” Mildred Taverner was quite brightly interested—“it’s the same room. The landlord has always slept there. The windows look out in front, and when the coaches came down from London the postillions used to blow their horns at the top of the hill so that he could hear them and be ready to come down. My grandfather said he could remember hearing the horns, though of course his window looked the other way. He and his brother Jeremiah, and Mark, and Luke, they all slept in the corner room. Eily has it now. It looks out at the back, and you can see the sea from the window, but he said he could hear the horns quite late at night. Of course travelling by coach was really quite over, because the railway had been built, but they had these coach parties just the same. People used to come from quite a long way off—and gentlemen riding, and in their dogcarts and all. I think, from what he said, there was a lot of gambling and high play. You know, one doesn’t like to say it, but I can’t help feeling that it wasn’t really a very respectable house. My grandfather didn’t say so of course. He left home when he was quite young, and he had the highest—oh, the very highest character himself. But I think a lot of people in those old times weren’t exactly what we would call respectable now, and I can’t help thinking that Jacob Taverner is making a mistake in trying to rake things up. Geoffrey doesn’t like it, and—and I don’t either.” She gazed at Miss Silver from under damp pink eyelids. “I mean, we’re all respectable now, so why not leave it alone?”

Miss Silver coughed, and opined that there were incidents in the histories of most families which might very well be forgotten.

Mildred Taverner said, “Oh, yes!”

It was shortly after this that Frank Abbott walked through the lounge. Since he could have left the office without doing so, Miss Silver’s eyes followed him. As he went out into the hall he turned and gave her a brief nod before he closed the door. Mildred Taverner was well away with the story of a haunted house in Hampstead. Having received Frank’s nod, Miss Silver gave this narrative all the attention she could spare.

At a quarter to one John Higgins arrived. The news of Florence Duke’s death had reached him, and he announced that he had come to take Eily away. He could not, of course, have chosen a more tactless moment. Lunch was imminent, Annie Castell was up to her eyes, and Eily and Jane were laying the table.

John said, “I’m sorry, Aunt Annie,” and walked through the kitchen, passing Castell as if he wasn’t there. He pushed the baize door and went through, letting it fall back in the angry landlord’s face.

Eily looked up as he came round the varnished screen at the dining-room door. He didn’t see Jane Heron—he didn’t see anyone but Eily. He had just one thing to say, and he said it.

“I’ve come to fetch you away.”

Eily flared up. It is wonderful what a little anger will do for a failing courage. Ever since the horrid moment when they had all stood looking into an empty room and seen that Florence Duke wasn’t there Eily had had a little clear picture in her mind. It was the picture of herself running down the road to Cliff—running like the wind, beating on John Higgins’ door, and throwing herself into his open arms. This picture was at once a source of alarm and of solace. A source of alarm because it admitted to some dreadful danger from which she could only save herself by headlong flight. A solace because it pointed the way to safety. And now here was John in the middle of their all being busy over lunch, talking to her as short and sharp as if she was something he could order about. Well, what would any girl feel like? Fear ceased to operate, because of course, with John here, there wasn’t anything to be afraid about. Anger took its place. Her dark blue eyes gave him a spirited denial. She said,

“I won’t go!”

“Eily!”

Eily stamped her foot.

“I’m in the middle of getting lunch!”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Now, look here, John—”

“Eily—”

The foot stamped again.

“I’m not leaving Aunt Annie, and that’s flat!”

And with that Castell came round the screen, magnificent in dignity and control—no gesticulation, no spluttering rage. He was the respectable host, under his own respectable roof. It had been hard of achievement, but he had achieved it. Self-satisfaction exuded from every pore. He took a striking pose and pointed to the door.

“You will leave. At once. We do not desire your presence. We do not invite it. I will not serve you. If you were not the nephew of my wife Annie, I would have more to say. I control myself. I do not say it. I say only this—‘Go—and immediately!’ ”

John didn’t even look at him. He went up to Eily and took her hand.

“Come away with me, my dear. This is a bad house. Come away out of it.”

She jerked her hand from his. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, but a host of little things held her back. Uncle— she’d always been afraid of him, she didn’t quite know why— lunch to serve—Aunt Annie and the washing-up— She jerked her hand away.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, John, get along out of here and let me get on with my work!”

He stood for a moment, and then turned and went out without another word. The minute he was gone Eily had that picture in her mind again, small and bright like something seen through a peephole—the road to Cliff and herself running down it. But this time John was there too, walking away ahead of her and never turning back, and run as she would she couldn’t catch up with him. She came back with a start to Castell’s hand on her shoulder.

“Come, come, come—get on with your work! You did that very well, but there’s no time to stand here dreaming.”

Jane Heron ran after John Higgins and came up with him by the baize door. Her breath hurried and her colour came and went, not because she had run that little way, but because she had a sense of urgency and she couldn’t find the right words. She caught at his sleeve, and he turned and looked at her with grave blue eyes. Under the gravity there was distress.

Jane knew right away that it was not for himself, but for Eily. She said,

“Don’t worry about her—I’m with her nearly all the time. Miss Silver asked me—”

“Why?”

“She said Eily had had a shock and had better not be left by herself. She slept with me last night. She told Miss Silver she wouldn’t, but she did after all, and I’ll get her to do it again.”

He said, “There’s a lot of badness in this house. It isn’t fit for her.”

Jane nodded.

“I’ll talk to her. She just doesn’t want to be rushed, and she’s fond of Cousin Annie. Don’t worry. I’ll see she’s all right.”

Miss Silver spent the greater part of the afternoon in the lounge teaching Mildred Taverner to knit. In reply to the complaint that she knew it was very stupid but she never could help dropping her stitches Miss Silver instructed her firmly that if the needles were held in the continental manner, it was practically impossible for this to happen. She was not a quick learner, and the effort involved so engaged her attention that she had none to spare for what her preceptress had previously described as unhealthy fancies, and was able to partake of her tea with a very good appetite.

The evening dusk closed down. After some windy days there was a light mist and a mild, still air. The tide was coming up and could be heard lapping against the cove behind the hotel. There was sand there between the rocks—quite a wide half-moon of it when the sea was out. In summer the bathing would be pleasant and safe.

Jeremy and Jane went out after tea and walked up and down watching the tide come in and the last light fade. Eily would be washing up the tea-things in the pantry with Annie Castell. It couldn’t be selfish to snatch half an hour for themselves.

It must have been just short of half past five when Miss Silver pushed the baize door and went along a rather dark passage to the kitchen. It was in her mind that she would like to talk to Annie Castell. Not about anything in particular, but just to talk to her and see what kind of a woman she was. There were a good many possibilities about Annie Castell. Even quite a short conversation might eliminate some of them. But when she came to the bright streak which showed the position of the kitchen door she knew that she would not be able to have her conversation with Annie. Fogarty Castell was there, and even the thick old door could not disguise the fact that he was angry. He was, in fact, shouting at the top of his voice.

Miss Silver took hold of the door-knob and turned it gently until the catch released itself, after which she drew in her hand until the door stood a finger’s breadth from the jamb. As a gentlewoman, eavesdropping was naturally repugnant, but as a detective she was prepared to engage in it without flinching. She now heard Castell shout,

“Leave me? You would leave me?”

A string of words in the French language followed.

Miss Silver had never heard any of them before, and she had no difficulty in concluding that in this case ignorance was scarcely to be deplored. She hoped that Annie Castell did not understand them either. But Castell’s voice, expression, and manner required no translating. An angry man who is swearing at his wife sounds very much the same in any language. Miss Silver could not see into the kitchen, but she could hear well enough. She could hear Annie Castell take a long breath and steady it when Castell stopped swearing, and she heard her say,

“I can’t stand anything more.”

Castell stamped his feet, first one and then the other.

“You will stand what I tell you to stand, and you will do what I tell you to do! Are you not my wife?”

She said,

“Not any more. I’ll cook the dinner tonight, and I’ll cook breakfast tomorrow, and then I’ll take Eily and go.”

“Go? Where will you go?”

“I can get a place—any day—at once.”

Castell roared at her suddenly—a French word culled from the Marseilles slums where he had played as a child. And then, like someone checked in a spring, his voice dropped to a horrid whisper.

“The door—who opened the door?”

Miss Silver did not wait for anyone to answer that question. She was light on her feet, and she could move very quickly indeed when she wanted to. She moved so quickly now that by the time Fogarty Castell looked out into the passage the faint lamplight showed it empty. She had not risked trying to reach the baize door, but had taken the cross passage and gone quickly through the office to the lounge. When presently the door opened and Castell looked in, she was making good progress with little Josephine’s knickers and encouraging Mildred Taverner in what, it must be confessed, was a sadly bungling effort.

At six o’clock Frank Abbott returned and once more walked through the lounge, but this time in a reverse direction. He left the door of Castell’s office ajar, and Miss Silver immediately joined him there. As she came in and shut the door behind her, he was turning up the old-fashioned wall-lamp. The light struck upon his face and showed him with rather more than the usual dash of sarcasm in his expression. At her sober, “Well, Frank, you have something to tell me?” he smiled provokingly.

“Have I? I wonder. You see, you always know the answers already.”

“My dear Frank!”

He laughed again.

“Oh, you were quite right of course. You always are.”

She shook her head in a reproving manner.

“Exaggeration is a bad fault in a detective. An attempt to improve upon facts may be fatal.”

As she spoke she seated herself and resumed her knitting.

With a brief murmur of “Facts!” Frank took a chair and stretched out his long legs.

“Mrs. Wilton delivered the goods,” he said. “She had bathed Albert when a baby and nursed him with a broken collarbone. She deposes to a large mole on the left shoulderblade, and has identified the corpse in the mortuary as that of Albert Miller. That being that, the police are naturally anxious to interview Luke White. Alibi or no alibi, the change-over must have been with his consent. Of course he may have been bumped off since.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“I do not think so.” After a slight pause she continued. “You will, perhaps, agree that he would have a strong motive for preventing Florence Duke from seeing the body which Castell had identified.”

Frank said,

“He and Castell would both have a motive.”

“Yes. That was why I made such a particular point of her not being told until just before the inquest that she would have to identify the body. As soon as Inspector Crisp rang her up I knew that she would be in danger, and I did my best to persuade her to place herself under your protection at Cliff House. Captain Taverner would have driven her there, but she would not hear of it. There is no doubt that someone was listening to that call on the extension. Did it never strike you as peculiar that the extension should have been in the butler’s pantry, and not in this room which was in use as an office? There could be but one reason for so odd an arrangement, and that was the greater privacy of the pantry. No one could approach it without being seen by Annie Castell. But this room, with its two doors, one opening upon a passage and the other on the lounge—”

Frank nodded.

“Yes, I agree. Well, that’s that—so much for the identity question. You were right about the other thing too. Willis and I got to work on the carpet in here, and there’s been blood spilt on it. Wiped off the surface, but some of it had soaked through. It wasn’t quite dry. Miller was killed in this room, just as you said.”

“Yes, I was sure of it.”

“Crisp is a bit shaken, but still clinging to the idea that Florence Duke committed suicide.”

Miss Silver shook her head.

“Oh, no, she didn’t do that. When it was known that she would be asked to identify the body it became too dangerous to let her live. I do not think that the substitution had ever taken her in. I think she knew very well that the body in the hall was not that of Luke White. I think she lifted it sufficiently to see the face—she was a strongly built woman—and that she was not deceived. She must, therefore, have known that her husband was implicated in the murder, and she had to decide at once what she should do. She decided to screen him. A very disastrous decision, but it is hard to blame a wife for shielding her husband. But the people who had murdered Albert Miller would not know whether she had recognized him or not. They would not dare to take the risk of her being confronted with the body and asked to make a formal identification. We have no means of knowing whether it was then and there decided to remove her in such a manner as to make it appear that she had committed suicide, or whether there was an intermediate stage during which they or Luke White entered into negotiations with her. As I said, we shall probably never know, but I incline to the belief that she received some kind of communication. It may have been something directly from her husband, or something purporting to furnish her with information about him. Whatever it was, it decided her to leave her room and meet her murderer.”

Frank nodded.

“I expect you’re right. But we shan’t be able to prove anything—unless somebody turns King’s evidence.”

It was at this moment that there was the sound of running feet. They came from the direction of the lounge. The communicating door was thrown open and Jane Heron appeared, her eyes startled, her colour coming and going. She checked on the threshold with an “Oh, Miss Silver!” and then came out with,

“I can’t find Eily!”