Who Pays the Piper? (28 page)

CHAPTER XLI

Mrs. O'Hara seemed quite to enjoy the walk, up hill though it was.

“I used to be very fond of walking when I was a girl, but of course it is many years now since I have done anything in that way—just down to church and back in summer. James was always so particular about not taking the car out on Sundays. But I don't know when I was out walking after dark until the other night, and really, darling, I had forgotten it was so pleasant. Quite a mild air if a little damp, but I had on my fur coat, and it doesn't seem to have done me any harm—in fact I really feel all the better for it.”

Cathy listened in a sort of horrified astonishment. She said, “Oh, Mummy!” in a choked, protesting voice.

“Well,” said Mrs. O'Hara equably, “one just goes on doing the same things every day because there isn't anything else to do, and when anything really happens, even if it's something dreadful, one can't help feeling as if it made a break, if you know what I mean.”

They came out of the little orchard, skirted the tennis court, and after crossing the lower terrace came up the left-hand steps.

“This is the way I came up on Monday,” said Mrs. O'Hara. “But when I was coming away I went down by the farther steps, because I thought I heard someone coming up this way, and I think from what I have heard since that it must have been Susan. I didn't want to meet anyone just then of course, so I went the other way. I see there is a light in the study, darling, so we will just knock on the glass door and go in that way.”

At the sound of that knocking Inspector Lamb stopped short in the middle of a sentence. It was the sentence with which a police officer is bound to caution the person whom he is arresting. The hand he had stretched out fell from Bill Carrick's shoulder. He said in a tone of sharp annoyance,

“What's that?”

It was as if the knocking had broken something. Not a silence, for there had been no silence to break—the Inspector had been speaking. But something did break—the tension which held Bill with his shoulders squared facing arrest, which fixed Susan where she stood, one hand at her throat, the other leaning upon the writing-table, her eyes on Bill as if she was looking her last at him and could not look away.

Frank Abbott could not look away either. But it was Susan Lenox at whom he was looking—Susan with all the colour and beauty drained from her face and nothing left but pain. For a moment the pain was his own. Then the knocking fell and the tension broke. The Inspector spoke his sharp “What's that?” Susan's breast lifted with a long breath, and as Abbott went to open the door he was aware that she and Bill were moving, drawing together, and turning to see who was coming in.

Mrs. O'Hara came in in her fur coat with a small fleecy shawl over her head and Cathy behind her, a little exhausted ghost, bare-headed, her fine colourless hair all blown about. In spite of Susan's shoes, which were a size too large for her, Milly, O'Hara moved with grace. She brought a social manner with her. As she came up to the writing-table, it became impossible to forget that the house, this very room, had been the heritage of her family for many generations. By the far door hung the portrait, a doubtful Lely, of the Millicent Bourne who had been one of Catherine of Braganza's maids of honour. From over the mantelpiece she herself looked down from Lazlo's canvas, young and lovely, with Laura at her side. She looked up at the picture for a moment, because she could never come into this room without that silent greeting for Laura. Then, as her eyes dropped, she seemed to become aware of something strange. She had been speaking, but no one else had spoken, until now as she moved towards a chair the Inspector said in a harsher tone than was usual with him,

“Mrs. O'Hara, I must ask you to leave us.” He turned to Cathy. “Please take your mother away.”

A look of gentle surprise crossed Milly O'Hara's face. Having reached the chair, she seated herself, removed the shawl from her head, opened her fur coat, unwound a long grey chiffon scarf from about her neck, and said,

“But, Inspector, I have something to say. I have come here on purpose to say it.”

“You had really better go, Aunt Milly,” said Bill.

He and Susan were standing together now, and Susan's hands were locked about his arm. Really Susan looked very pale—very pale indeed. Mrs. O'Hara shook her head slightly at Bill and turned graciously to the Inspector.

“I must apologize for interrupting you, but I really have something to say. Perhaps before we go any further you will tell me whether it is true that you are thinking of arresting someone.”

“Perfectly true,” said Inspector Lamb rather grimly.

“Then if that is the case, I am afraid I have no choice, because of course I couldn't let you arrest an innocent person, whether it was Miss de Lisle or anyone else, much as I dislike the idea of the publicity involved—and really the press seem to me to go into the most unnecessary details nowadays, though of course it is all quite interesting if you can look at it from the standpoint of an outsider, which in this case I most unfortunately cannot do.”

Cathy said “Mummy!” in an agonized voice. She went down on her knees by the chair.

Mrs. O'Hara put out a hand and patted her.

“Now, darling, you mustn't upset yourself. You wouldn't want any innocent person to get into trouble, would you? And I am sure the Inspector will do all he can to keep your name out of it.” She smiled faintly at Lamb, who had turned a really alarming colour. He put a finger inside his collar as if to loosen it, replied to the smile with a portentous frown, and said with as much restraint as he could manage,

“What are you talking about, madam?”

Mrs. O'Hara's eyes opened widely. She said in a tone of surprise,

“But, Inspector—I was talking about Mr. Dale—I thought we all were.”

He said firmly, “If you know anything about the murder of Mr. Dale, madam, I must ask you to say so plainly, and if you do not, I must ask you to leave us.”

“But, Inspector——”

“Mrs. O'Hara, do you, or do you not know anything about this murder?”

This time he got his plain answer. With her hands lightly folded in her lap and in a gently practical tone she replied,

“Of course I do—I was there.”

There was a moment of profound silence. Probably no one breathed. Looking round with a kind of pleased surprise, Mrs. O'Hara encountered the apoplectic stare of Inspector Lamb, Frank Abbott's fixed pale gaze, Bill's frozen incredulity, Susan's horror, and the clouded anguish in Cathy's eyes. Incredibly, she appeared gratified by the effect she had produced. She nodded slightly and said in a conversational tone,

“Perhaps I had better explain.”

Frank Abbott alone found voice.

“It might be a good plan,” he said, and heard his Inspector snort.

Mrs. O'Hara smiled upon him. He really had quite a look of the Francis Abbott with whom she had danced through that brief season before the war. She must remember to ask him if he was a relation. The smile was a gracious one. She said,

“The only reason I didn't speak of it before was because of Cathy. So disagreeable for a young girl to have her name in the papers—though I must say a good many of them don't seem to mind that nowadays.”

The Inspector broke in rather loudly.

“You say you were present when Mr. Dale was shot?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And you wish to make a statement?”

“I am quite willing to do so. You see, I couldn't let an innocent person——”

“Quite so. Abbott!”

Addressed in this peremptory voice, Frank Abbott produced notebook and fountain pen. Mrs. O'Hara watched him with interest.

“I suppose I had better begin from the beginning?”

“If you will.”

She settled herself comfortably and smiled at Susan, then began.

“Of course, Inspector, you will understand that I don't want what I am saying to get into the papers. Family matters—well, perhaps you have a family yourself. But so much has been in the papers already that perhaps it doesn't matter, and I must just rely on you to do what you can. You see, when my niece told me that she had broken off her engagement to Mr. Carrick and was going to marry Mr. Dale, I saw at once that it wouldn't do at all. She didn't even pretend to be happy, and I could see that it would never do. I made up my mind that I must have a talk with Mr. Dale and tell him so, and as there is no time like the present, I thought I would just walk up through the garden. It was a very mild evening——”

“What evening are you referring to?”

“Oh, Monday—the day Mr. Dale was shot. That is what I am telling you about. I just went in to see if Cathy was asleep, and I thought she was. And then I went into Susan's room, which is just opposite, to get some shoes because all mine are so thin. And it seems Cathy wasn't asleep, because she saw me.”

Susan leaned forward.

“
You
took the shoes, Aunt Milly—
you?”

“Oh, yes, my dear.”

Susan began to tremble.

“Did you take one of my handkerchiefs too?”

“I believe I did—Cathy says so. But I couldn't find it afterwards, so I am afraid I must have dropped it.”

Susan leaned back hard against Bill's arm.

“Fibs picked it up. He's been trying to blackmail me. He picked it up by Mr. Dale's body.”

“What's this?” said Lamb. “Who's Fibs?”

Susan said, “Mr. Phipson.”

“A very rude nickname,” said Mrs. O'Hara reprovingly. “But blackmail—oh, he really shouldn't have done that!”

In a firm official voice Inspector Lamb said,

“Will you kindly proceed with your statement, madam.”

Mrs. O'Hara appeared to be slightly taken aback. She said,

“Yes, yes—oh, certainly. But I am afraid that just for the moment I am not quite sure.… Susan dear, where had I got to?”

Lamb answered before Susan could.

“You had taken a pair of shoes and a handkerchief belonging to Miss Lenox, and you were intending to walk up the garden and have a conversation with Mr. Dale upon the subject of his marriage to your niece. I shall be glad if you will proceed.”

“Yes, yes—of course—how stupid of me!” said Mrs. O'Hara with her faint gracious smile. “Cathy darling, I think it would be much better if you would have a chair and lean back. You know kneeling is apt to make you faint. Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Abbott. And now—let me see.… Oh, yes, I put on Susan's shoes—terribly loose of course, but I managed quite well—I have them on now as you may have noticed. And then I put on my fur coat, and this cloud over my hair—my mother used to tell me they called them fascinators when she was a girl—and I came out through the French window in the drawing-room, because of course I didn't want Susan or Bill to hear me.”

“Did you know where they were?”

“Well, I knew they would be in the dining-room or the kitchen, and of course I didn't want them to know that I was going to see Mr. Dale.”

“Go on, madam.”

“Well, I managed quite nicely. Really it felt quite like old times walking up through the garden, and when I came to the terrace and saw that there was a light in the study——”

“How did you see it?”

“Well, I came up the steps at this corner, and looking along the side of the house, I could see that one of the windows in the bay was open and the curtain drawn back, so I knew that Mr. Dale must be there. I thought, why go round to the front door when he can let me in quite nicely and privately and we can have our talk without anyone knowing. There is such a terrible amount of gossip in a village, and I thought how much better it would be if no one were to know that I had come to see Mr. Dale.”

Frank Abbott's head was bent over his notes. The light struck down upon his pale, sleek hair. Every other pair of eyes in the room was bent on Mrs. O'Hara's face, which retained its habitual expression though warmed by an unusual flush. She continued without hurry or confusion.

“I intended to knock upon the glass door, but when I got there I found that it was ajar. As you can see, it opens outwards. I pulled it towards me, and was just going to draw the curtain back, when I heard voices and realized that Mr. Dale was not alone.” Mrs. O'Hara paused and looked from one to another. “I stood just where I was for a moment. Of course I had no idea that I might be overhearing a private conversation. I just felt that it was a little awkward, and I wanted a moment to make up my mind what I had better do next. I do hope, Inspector, that you won't think that I had any idea of eavesdropping—such an unpleasant thing——”

“What did you hear?” said the Inspector.

Mrs. O'Hara's flush deepened. It was very becoming.

“This is what I should so much have preferred not to repeat,” she said. “And I do hope, Inspector, that it will not be necessary for the press——”

“What did you
hear
, madam?”

Mrs. O'Hara resigned herself with a sigh.

“I heard my daughter's name. Nothing else would have made me go on listening, but when you hear something like that about your own daughter——”

The Inspector jerked a handkerchief from his sleeve and passed it over an empurpled brow.

“Will you kindly state what you heard!”

Mrs. O'Hara looked at him with a faint surprise.

“Oh, yes. But I want you to understand what a shock it was. I really could hardly believe my ears, but he spoke so very distinctly——”

“Who spoke?” said the Inspector.

There was a hush in the room. Frank Abbott raised his head.

“Mr. Phipson.”

The name fell into the hush and broke it. The Inspector made a quick movement.

“What did he say?”

Mrs. O'Hara gave a little cough.

“I really
couldn't
believe my ears——”