Danger Point (14 page)

MARY, released, ducked her head and scuttled back to her mother’s side. Once there, she directed a long unwinking stare at Pell. His turn had come — Alfred Sidney Pell. But it was not till the young constable put his hand on his shoulder that he lifted first an unkempt head, and then a stiff, unwilling body.

There was a chair for the witness, but he did not sit in it. Having got to his feet he kept them, slouching behind the chair, his hands gripping the rail as he had gripped the bench. He took the oath in a deep muttering voice. The words blurred and ran one into the other. They might have been in some foreign language, mechanically repeated without any knowledge of their meaning.

The Coroner put his preliminary questions. The answers came each with its own long pause.

He was Alfred Sidney Pell. He was twenty-nine years of age. He was a married man. He had kept company with Cissie Cole. She didn’t know he was married. Not until a fortnight ago. She was a good girl and nobody need say anything different. He had been in Mr. Jerningham’s employment as a mechanic. Mr. Jerningham had dismissed him on account of his being married.

The Coroner leaned forward with his air of courteous attention.

“Do you mean that literally, or do you mean that Mr. Jerningham dismissed you because you had been passing yourself off as a single man in order to court Cissie Cole?”

A rough mumble of something that sounded like “That’s right.”

“Now, Pell — about Wednesday evening. Had you an appointment to meet Cissie Cole? I believe you admit meeting her.”

“Yes — I met her. We’d fixed it up.”

“You picked her up on your motor-bicycle as she came away from Tanfield Court.”

“That’s right.”

“But she went there quite unexpectedly, did she not?”

“We’d fixed to meet round about nine o’clock. She was there all right. I didn’t know where she’d been.”

“You see this coat? Was she wearing it when she met you?”

A pause. Then he said,

“She put it on.”

“Did she tell you that it had just been given to her by Mrs. Jerningham?”

“Yes.”

“Did she express pleasure at the gift?”

Another pause, and a longer one.

“I didn’t take that much notice.”

“Did she seem in good spirits?”

He repeated what he had just said, doggedly.

“I didn’t take that much notice.”

Miss Silver thought, “He’s uncouth, but he’s got a brain. He knows he’s in danger. He avoided that cleverly.” She missed the Coroner’s next question, but not Pell’s answer.

“I tell you I’d something else to think about than coats and such.”

“Do you mean that you were going to have an important interview with Cissie Cole?”

“I don’t know about that.”

Yes, he was clever. She looked at the sallow, unshaven cheek and saw how tense was the line of the jaw.

“Will you tell us what happened after you picked Cissie up.”

“We went up on Tane Head like that kid said.”

“Why did you choose Tane Head?”

The man was waking up. His speech had cleared. He lifted his head.

“I wanted a place where we could talk.”

“You had something special to say to her?”

A pause.

“It had got so we had to talk. She was willing.”

“Will you tell us what passed between you.”

He put up a hand and pushed the hair out of his eyes, then back to gripping the chair again.

“We talked. I asked her would she come away with me and I’d get a job somewhere where nobody ’ud know we weren’t man and wife. And she said no.”

“Did you quarrel about it?”

“Not to say quarrel.”

“You have heard Mr. Jerningham’s evidence. He says you came rushing down the track alone at about twenty minutes to ten. Is that correct?”

“Something like that.”

“You were in an agitated state?”

He swallowed.

“I was upset.”

“Will you tell us why?”

“She’d said no — that’s why. Wasn’t it enough?”

“According to the evidence given by Mary Crisp and Mr. Jerningham you had been up on the headland with Cissie Cole for about twenty minutes when you took your motor-bicycle and rode away.”

“Something like that.”

“And you spent that time trying to persuade her to go away with you?”

“That’s right.”

“And she continued to say no?”

“Yes.”

“What made you break off in the end and leave her there if it wasn’t a quarrel? Do you say that there was no quarrel?”

Pell said in a choked voice,

“She wouldn’t listen. I’d said all I could.”

Miss Silver’s eye travelled from him to the Jerninghams. Mr. Dale Jerningham was sitting forward watching his ex-mechanic with a full, deep look of concern. Mr. Rafe Jerningham was looking out of the open window which framed only a rectangle of empty, cloudless blue. His lifted face seemed to have sharpened. The features had it their own way. There was no expression there. Mrs. Dale Jerningham looked down at the hands which were folded in her lap. Lady Steyne looked at the jury. Miss Silver looked at them too — farmers; a retired coastguard; a couple of small tradesmen; the landlord of the Green Man. They sat there with their country faces blank and tanned, and their minds in all probability made up. No one could have told what they were thinking about. There was not a face there but could keep its own counsel.

“If it lay with them to hang him, he’d be dead.” The thought presented itself to Miss Silver’s mind without any credentials whatever, and was immediately accepted.

She went back to Pell. The Coroner was asking,

“Where was Cissie Cole when you left her?”

“Up on the cliff.” The chair back groaned with the strain he put upon it.

“You are on oath. Do you say that she was alive when you left her?”

“Acourse she was!” said Pell in a sudden big voice that filled the hall.

“You did not throw her over the cliff?”

“Why should I?”

“No one knows that but yourself. Did you?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Or see her throw herself over?”

“She hadn’t any call to throw herself over. I never touched her.”

“What was she doing when you left?”

Pell’s voice dropped again.

“She was sitting on the grass. She’d her handkerchief out, crying into it. I spoke angry to her and made her cry. But I never touched her.”

“How near to the edge of the cliff was she?”

“Twenty to twenty-five foot.”

“Do you think she could have fallen by accident?”

“I don’t know — seems she must ha’d done. How do I know what she did after I come away?”

“Did she say anything to you about taking her own life?”

“No.”

“And you swear that she was alive when you came away?”

“She was alive,” Pell said.

He went back to his seat, walking heavily with creaking boots. When he had slumped down again his left hand went back to its old position gripping the bench.

The Coroner recalled Dale Jerningham.

“Just a moment, Mr. Jerningham. How long had you been on the headland before you saw Pell running down the track?”

“Only a very few minutes.”

“Did you hear any cry?”

“No, sir.”

“How far were you from that part of the cliff beneath which the body was found?”

“I should think a quarter of a mile.”

“Would you expect to hear a scream at that distance?”

He hesitated, and then said, “We could hear the sea-gulls.”

“Do you think it is possible that you heard a scream and thought it was the cry of a gull?”

“I don’t think so. A gull’s cry is different.”

“Thank you, Mr. Jerningham… Lady Steyne—”

He asked her the same questions and received the same answers.

That was all the evidence. Mr. Rafe Jerningham was not called.

Miss Silver settled herself in her chair and listened attentively to the Coroner’s summing up. Very clear, very fair, very simple. The medical evidence established the fact that the deceased had met with her death by falling from one of the cliffs of Tane Head. The question before them was how the fall had come about, whether by accident, suicide, or murder. There was no evidence as to any intention to commit suicide. There was evidence of unhappiness. Unhappy people did sometimes give way to an impulse to do away with themselves. This possibility could not be excluded. There was no evidence on the score of accident, but this possibility also could not be excluded.

“You have heard Alfred Pell’s evidence. If you think he is speaking the truth and that he left Cissie Cole on the headland alive, you should, I think, bring in a verdict of death by misadventure — there being no evidence to enable you to decide as between suicide and accident.”

He dealt with Pell’s evidence carefully. Warned them against bias. Directed them as to the law.

The jury retired, remained absent for no more than ten minutes, and returned with a verdict of wilful murder against Alfred Pell.

IN the gangway which had been left down the middle of the hall Miss Silver contrived to find herself beside Mrs. Dale Jerningham. With her small habitual cough she attracted her attention.

“How do you do, Mrs. Jerningham?”

Tall, slender, Lisle looked down at her. There was to the sharp watching eye instant recognition, something that might have been relief, and then quite unmistakably dismay.

“Miss Silver!”

Miss Silver beamed.

“How nice of you to remember me. I am taking a little holiday in Ledlington. Such a relief to get out of London in this heat — really most oppressive, though of course beautiful weather and so good for the harvest. Perhaps you will come over and have a cup of tea with me one day. I was recommended to a very nice boarding-house — Miss Mellison, Snaith Street — recommended by a friend and really most comfortable.”

“I am afraid—”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be,” said Miss Silver surprisingly.

“Miss Silver—”

Miss Silver smiled and nodded.

“Miss Mellison, 14 Snaith Street, and the telephone number is Ledlington 141. I do hope you will come,” she said, and fell back behind Mary and Mrs. Ernest Crisp.

As they came out into the hot sunshine, Dale said,

“Who was that you were speaking to? I don’t know her.”

Lisle looked up with a tinge of colour in her cheeks.

“Nor do I really. I just met her in a train. She’s staying in Ledlington on a holiday.”

Dale was frowning.

“Funny idea of a holiday to come and gape at that poor devil Pell. I don’t know what women are made of. Who is she? What’s her name? Looks like a governess.”

Lisle said, “Yes she does. Her name’s Silver — Miss Silver.”

He said nothing at all, and all at once she was nervous. How could he know the name? He didn’t know the name. If he didn’t say anything it was because there was nothing to interest him, nothing to say.

Alicia came over to her, slipped a hand inside her arm, and walked along beside her, talking in a low, confidential voice. It was only the voice that was confidential — there was nothing in what she said. A little hot flame of anger burned up in Lisle. The glow of it reached her cheeks. The village was being provided with a demonstration of sisterly affection, and Lisle rebelled. She had said that she would help Dale, but she had not known that it would be so hard. What she wanted to do was to pull her arm away and walk on. She could walk a good deal faster than Alicia if she tried.

Dale’s hand touched her on the other side. It was a touch which became a hard, compelling grip. It was no good thinking of what she would like to do. She bent her head and gave due response to Alicia’s talk.

They had only gone a little way, when Mrs. Mallam caught them up. She had hurried to do so, and for once in a way her pasty cheeks were flushed. She wore a tightly fitting white dress, a short black and white striped coat, and a solid-looking black bandeau round her thick golden hair. She panted a little as she said,

“I thought I was going to miss you. Aren’t you in a hurry!”

“Well, we are rather.” Alicia Steyne did not trouble to make her voice polite.

Mrs. Mallam was not at all easily snubbed.

“My dear, you can’t have an inquest and turn me away from your very door. I don’t think, I’ve ever been so thirsty in all my life. The atmosphere in there! I really thought I was going to faint.”

Dale turned to her with a sudden charming smile.

“We’re walking, but I take it you’ve got your car. Be an angel and go along up to the house. Ring till someone comes and say we all want drinks — with lots of ice. It will be a noble act.”

Mrs. Mallam beamed.

“Can’t I take someone with me? Your wife — she looks all in.”

Before Dale could answer Lisle had said,

“Oh, thank you.” To be saved that hot walk in the sun with Alicia’s arm through hers and Dale shepherding them — Real gratitude flooded her heart. And no one could think it strange or say anything. She felt delivered as she leaned back in Aimée Mallam’s little car. The air flowed past her, cool and reviving.

Aimée drove slowly. She said in a sympathetic voice,

“Are you all right? It was frightfully hot, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, quite all right.”

“Horrid business. Nasty for you its being your coat and all. Must have given you a kind of feeling that it might have been you.”

Lisle said nothing. There didn’t seem to be anything to say.

They reached the house, and when the drinks had been ordered Mrs. Mallam asked to be taken upstairs. As she powdered and lipsticked she returned to the charge.

“Do you think that man did it?”

“It looks like it,” said Lisle in a weary voice.

“I suppose it does. But do you know, I thought he was fond of her. Of course that mightn’t stop him killing her if he was jealous or thought she was going to walk out on him. But I couldn’t help thinking suppose he’d come up behind her and just seen the coat and thought it was you, and thought he’d score off Dale by pushing you over—”

Lisle’s voice cut in clear and steady.

“Please. Mrs. Mallam — that’s nonsense. You can’t have listened to the evidence. He took Cissie up there with him. He was talking to her after they got there. He couldn’t possibly have mistaken her for anyone else.”

Aimée Mallam drew a bold cherry-coloured curve with her lipstick. It gave her mouth a queer tilt at the corners — thin, tilted lips, too bright for the pale, plump face.

“Perhaps not — but someone else could. I wonder if anyone did.”

Lisle said, “Please—”

“Your height, wasn’t she, and about your figure? Fair-haired too. When I saw the photograph in the paper I made up my mind to come to the inquest. You see, I couldn’t help wondering—”

“There’s nothing to wonder about.” Aimée Mallam laughed without amusement.

“Well, I wonder all the same,” she said. “I couldn’t help thinking about poor Lydia — Dale’s first wife, you know. I was only just round a bend of the path when she fell, and I heard her scream. I’ve never forgotten it. They said she was picking flowers. Anyhow she fell and she was killed. It was only your coat that fell and another woman who was killed, but don’t you think there’s something odd about it all?” She slipped the lipstick back into her bag and turned round from the glass. “Look here, I’ll tell you about Lydia. That place where she fell — it wasn’t a dangerous place. She wasn’t climbing or anything like that. There was quite a good wide path along the cliff, curving in and out — you know how those paths do. Well, my husband and I were behind. The others had gone on out of sight, and we heard that awful scream. I ran and got round the corner, and there nearest to me, was Dale looking down over the cliff. And a little way on where the path took another bend — there was Rafe, looking over too. And between them was the place where Lydia had gone over. There was a bush, and it was broken. Alicia and Rowland Steyne had been up the hill — there was quite an easy slope above the path. He was a long way up, she was having hysterics on the inner side of the path. They hadn’t seen anything, only heard the scream. Rafe said he was round the next curve and came running back. Dale said Lydia was picking flowers along the edge, and she told him to go back and see what my husband and I were doing. He said he had just got to the corner when he heard her scream. He didn’t see her fall. He said he was out of sight of the place where he left her. He might have been, you know — the path twisted all the time. So nobody saw her fall. Nobody saw this girl fall either, did they? Except the person who pushed her — if somebody did push her.”

Lisle stood and looked at her. She had the feeling that her eyes were fixed. She couldn’t look away. She said in a stiff, unnatural voice,

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“I wonder,” said Aimée Mallam. “And if I were you I should do some wondering too. And there’s something else I’d do, and I wouldn’t wait about, thinking it over either.”

“What do you mean?”

Mrs. Mallam gathered up her bag and walked over to the door. With her hand on it — a bare, plump hand with too many rings — she turned.

“I should go back to America.”