The Ivory Dagger (11 page)

It was about three-quarters of an hour later that Miss Silver, coming through the hall, was aware of Adrian Grey emerging from the passage which led to the study. He was not alone, and his companion was Detective Inspector Abbott. She had been about to go upstairs, but she paused and waited for them with a smiling face and an outstretched hand.

Frank Abbot took the hand and reciprocated the smile. Adrian Grey having mentioned that there was a Miss Silver staying in the house, he was by no means unprepared for the appearance of the lady whom he had been known in moments of expansion to address as Revered Preceptress. They were, all jesting apart, on a footing of deep attachment, and, upon Frank’s side, of a most unfeigned respect. As always in the presence of a stranger, she addressed him with formality.

‘Inspector Abbott—this is indeed a pleasure!’

Frank, on his side, was equally punctilious.

‘My dear Miss Silver! Grey told me that you were here. Perhaps we could have a talk—if you can spare me a little time?’

Adrian passed on, and they were alone. Miss Silver coughed.

‘I should appreciate the opportunity.’

Frank shed his formal manner.

‘Then come along to the study and give me the low-down on everything and everyone.’

She said, ‘My dear Frank!’ but her tone was an indulgent one.

They went down the passage together and came into the study.

No trace of the tragedy remained. Herbert Whitall’s body had been removed long ago. The photographer and the fingerprint man had done their work. The room had been ordered. The light which had shone down upon such a terrible scene now disclosed no trace of it. There was not even a stain on the deep-toned carpet to show where the ivory dagger had dropped from Lila’s bloodstained hand—if indeed it had so dropped. The couch upon which Adrian Grey had laid her stood at its accustomed angle to the fire. A bed of glowing ash sent out a pleasant warmth.

Miss Silver sat down on the sofa, not too near the fire, because the room was really very comfortable, whilst Frank Abbott arranged himself in a casual attitude on the arm of one of the big chairs. When she had opened her knitting-bag and extracted from it little Josephine’s vest and a crochet-hook she found him regarding her with a quizzical smile.

‘Grey tells me that you have been here since one o’clock. You therefore already know all. How much are you going to tell me?’

She drew on a pale pink ball and began to finish off the neck of the vest with a neat crochet edging.

‘My dear Frank, you sometimes talk very great nonsense.’

He laughed.

‘Well, I would like to know who did it. Was it the lovely Lila?’

‘I do not think so.’

‘No more do I. But if it were not for one extraordinary lucky fact, I should say that nine juries out of ten would hardly leave the box—unless they were so overcome by her looks that they couldn’t bring themselves to believe the evidence. I mean, just consider it. I suppose you have heard about the scene in the drawing-room last night—the Lucia di Lammermoor business, with a John McCormack record on the gramophone and Mrs. Considine imparting the story of the opera—the unfortunate Lucy going mad and stabbing her bridegroom. I’ve just had it all from Haile, and he says Lila Dryden was a good deal affected. I gather she didn’t like her bridegroom much better than Lucy liked hers. Grey tried to soft-pedal the whole thing, but you can imagine that the prosecution could make a good deal of play with it. Well, the guests go away at half past ten. Everyone goes upstairs except Whitall, who is in the habit of sitting up late. Round about midnight Lila Dryden comes down, presumably to meet the devoted Bill Waring. A note from him urging her to elope was found in her room. For some reason she opens the glass door in the study instead of the window indicated by him in what, I believe, they call the Blue Room. I can’t think of any reason why she should have done this but apparently she did. She is interrupted by Herbert Whitall. She turns round from the window, sees him, picks up up the dagger which is lying on the writing-table, and strikes blindly with it. As luck will have it, she hits a vital spot. He staggers back and falls. The dagger drops from her hand, staining her dress. Then Mr. Bill Waring, who has got tired of waiting in front of the house, comes up on to the terrace, sees the light, finds the door ajar, and walks in. And at practically the same moment Mr. Adrian Grey comes in by the open door from the passage. He and Bill Waring see each other, and they both see Lila Dryden. She faints. Adrian Grey puts her on the sofa—and by the way, it is rather illuminating that it was into his arms she threw herself and not Bill Waring’s.’

Miss Silver said primly, ‘He is a very old friend.’

‘So everyone tells me. Well, he puts Lila on the sofa, and he and Bill have a short dramatic conversation which interests them both so much that neither of them notices that the door has been opened. This time it is Mr. Haile who butts in, but not at all obtrusively. He stands and listens. Here’s his statement of what he heard.’ He opened an attaché case which he had set down in the lap of the chair, took out a typewritten sheet, and began to read.

‘Waring said, “I came to take her away. I told her to meet me. I said I’d be outside that room to the left of the hall.” Grey said, “Then why are you here?” and Waring said, “She didn’t come. I thought I would walk round the house. I saw a light—I saw Lila. The door was ajar. I came in.” Grey said, “You’re sure you didn’t kill him?” and Waring said, “My God, no! He was dead. She was standing there like you saw her, with the blood on her hand.” After that they talked about what they were going to do. There was a stain on her dress. They didn’t think it would come out, and if they destroyed the dress it would be missed. Grey told Waring to clear out and get back to town. If he stayed it would drag Lila in. He had got to get out. Grey said he would say he heard Lila come out of her room and followed her down the stairs, that he was behind her all the way, and that Herbert Whitall was dead when they reached the study. Lila must have touched him and got the blood on her that way. He had been dead some time. When he had said all this, he said it was a good story and it would stick. And I came into the room and said I didn’t think it was quite good enough.’

He folded up the statement and tossed it back into the case.

‘There, gentlemen of the jury—that is the case for the prosecution, and a pretty damning case it is.’

Miss Silver let the adjective pass without reproof.

‘And what is the case for the defence? You mentioned an extraordinarily lucky circumstance.’

‘Oh, it’s the medical evidence. Bill Waring says he heard twelve o’clock strike before he started to walk round the house. Whether you accept that or not, Haile says he looked at the clock as he came into the study, and it was just after ten past twelve. He rang up the police at once, and they were there in half an hour. Dr. Everett was out on a case in this direction, and they picked him up on their way. Well, he swears that the man had been dead for an hour at the very least, and the postmortem bears that out. If Lila Dryden stabbed him she wouldn’t have just stood there for a good half hour or so. The same applies to Bill Waring and Adrian Grey. Granted they were both in love with Lila Dryden—and that gives either of them a motive for getting rid of Whitall—why in heaven’s name should they hang about on the scene of the crime for half an hour? It doesn’t make sense, and I think it lets them out. Besides stabbing—it’s really not the sort of thing you would expect either of them to go in for. I can see Grey reasoning with Whitall, and I can see Bill Waring knocking him out, but I can’t see either of them stabbing him with a gimcrack fancy dagger. I don’t know how that strikes you?’

Miss Silver said,

‘Very much as it strikes you, my dear Frank. I have not as yet had an opportunity of meeting Mr. Waring, but from what I have heard of him it would not seem to be at all in character that he should stab Sir Herbert. There would, for one thing, be no need for him to do so. I understand that he is a powerful young man. If, for instance, Sir Herbert had interrupted Miss Dryden’s projected elopement and proceeded to resist it by force, it would, I gather, have been an easy matter for Mr. Waring to knock him down. He has been described to me as an expert boxer.’

Frank nodded.

‘As you say. Two hearts that beat as one! Quotation from classical poem whose author I forget. To proceed. Setting Lila Dryden, Adrian Grey and Bill Waring aside for the moment, what ideas have you?’

The crochet-hook went in and out, making a delicate shell pattern about the neck of little Josephine’s vest.

‘None, I think, that I can formulate at the moment. There are, however, a few points.’ Her gaze dwelt upon him thoughtfully. ‘The Ivory Dagger. It was, I understand, exhibited to Sir Herbert’s guests last night, and afterwards locked away by him.’

‘Yes, that is so. As to the locking away, Adrian Grey, Mrs. Considine, and Professor Richardson are all prepared to swear to that. Lila Dryden says she didn’t notice it, but he always locked his ivory things away. Lady Dryden says she wasn’t interested. Miss Whitaker was not in the room, and Mr. Considine and Mr. Haile were talking about gramophone records and not taking any notice.’

‘Then how did it come about that the dagger was here in the study, conveniently to a murder’s hand?’

‘Oh, I think that is easily explained. Whitall had an argument with the Professor about its authenticity. I expect old Richardson stung him up, and he went and fetched the dagger after the others had gone up. It would be quite a natural thing for him to do. And there is this support for the theory that he did do it.’ He got up, went over to the writing-table, and came back with a small cylindrical object in the palm of his hand. ‘You see what it is—a jeweller’s magnifying-glass. It had rolled under the table. They’ve been over it for fingerprints, so it doesn’t matter about handling it. A bit of a muddle, I gather, but a good plain mark of Whitall’s thumb right on top.’

‘You think he was examining the dagger?’

‘Yes, I think we may assume that he was. In which case it would be lying there on the table, and very handy for anyone who wanted to do him in. Any other points?’

Miss Silver drew her wool through a loop and fastened it off. The neck of the little pink vest was finished. She turned her attention to a sleeve.

‘Yes, Frank. There is my position in this house.’

‘Well, I’m never surprised to see you, because you do keep on cropping up. But I was just wondering how you came to be here—so soon.’

Miss Silver gave a gentle cough.

‘Lady Dryden called up Miss Fortescue between the discovery of the murder and the arrival of the police. She told her to get in touch with me and bring me down here as soon as possible.’

‘You know Lady Dryden?’

‘I have met her. She is Lady Urtingham’s cousin.’

‘Well, well. And the point you wish to raise?’

‘My position in the case. I am not entirely happy about it. I have said to Lady Dryden what I say to every client—I do not come into a case to prove anyone innocent, or guilty, I come into it to discover the truth and to serve the ends of justice. Lady Dryden replied that her niece was innocent, and that the discovery of the truth would prove her innocence. I went on to say that in any criminal case, and particularly in a murder case, a very strong light is turned upon the thoughts, the actions, and the lives of everyone directly or indirectly connected with it. I pointed out that it was not always possible to say what will or will not come out. She drew herself up and said that she and her niece had nothing to hide. I told her that if she were not really willing to be taken at her word, I could retire from the case, but if I undertook it I must have a free hand and feel myself at liberty to consult with the police. She replied coldly that neither she nor Miss Dryden had anything whatever to conceal, and that her sole object in retaining my services was to arrive at the real facts of the case.’

Frank’s fair eyebrows lifted.

‘I am reminded of “Perhaps it is right to dissemble your love, but why need you kick me downstairs?” Do you usually press a client as far as that?’

There was a silence long enough to be marked before she said,

‘No, Frank.’

‘Meaning?’

‘I think that, in spite of her disclaimers, Lady Dryden has something to hide.’

‘Then why import you into the case?’

The crochet-hook went in and out, making little pink shells.

‘She was very much alarmed about her niece’s position. She was desperately anxious to avoid an arrest and the consequent blow to her own social position. She had heard exaggerated stories, and believed me to have some influence with the police. She hoped that I should be a channel through which her views might percolate. Those, I think, were her reasons for sending for me in the first place, and for retaining me after I had made my position clear. I do not wish you to think that I believe her to have been directly concerned in the murder.’

‘You said she had something to hide.’

‘Yes. I have asked myself why she should have been forcing her niece into this marriage.’

‘It was like that?’

‘Very much so. And I have wondered about her motive.’

Frank Abbott regarded her quizzically.

‘One has heard of it being done, you know. The lovely Lila is a social asset. Lady Dryden would expect her to make a brilliant match. Bill Waring is merely a nice chap with decent prospects. The late Whitall had what it takes nowadays—enough capital to live on till the cows come over. Lady Dryden may merely have wanted to wipe the eye of her dearest friends, whose plainer daughters were making better matches. Or she may have wanted some of that capital.’ He paused, and added, ‘Or do you mean anything more sinister than that?’

Miss Silver had begun upon the edging of the second sleeve. She said gravely,

‘I think so. I have understood both from Lady Urtingham and from Miss Fortescue that the late Sir John Dryden was a wealthy man, and that he was devoted to the child whom he had adopted. On the way down in the train Miss Fortescue said that the marriage with Bill Waring would have been quite possible with what he is getting now and what Sir John left Miss Dryden. Yet Lady Dryden had been at some pains to impress upon me that, owing to substantial losses, her husband had not been able to do what he wished, and that her own resources were very limited.’