The Brading Collection (13 page)

“Oh, I’m so sorry—but you understand, don’t you? I couldn’t bear it alone any more, and you’re safe. Oh, I must go and tidy up!”

Stacy had perforce to wait. Her “I’ll go now” was waved away with an “I won’t be a moment.”

The moment lengthened to a good many minutes before Lilias came back, a little pale, a little sad, but quite under control. She told Stacy that she had done her good.

“One exaggerates things, sitting here all alone with nothing to do but think. You won’t speak of it to anyone—you won’t tell Charles?”

“I’m not very likely to be seeing him.”

Lilias sighed quite gently.

“You might. He goes to the club quite a lot.”

The cold anger in Stacy looked round the door behind which she had shut it in.

“And I should be likely to walk up to him and say, ‘Lilias has just been telling me she thinks you shot Lewis and burned his will!’ ”

The blue eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, Stacy!”

Stacy pushed the anger back and shut the door on it again. She had had all the scenes she could stand. The one remaining thing to do was to get away. She said,

“Sorry, Lilias, but you did rather ask for it. I’m not the one who’s been saying things, you know. Goodbye.”

Stacy came down into the hall. Well, it was over. And it had been her own fault for coming. She needn’t have come. She had just let Saltings draw her like a magnet, and she deserved every bit of what she had got. It was all over now, and she needn’t think about it again. A horrid niggling whisper said, “You’re going to have to think about it quite a lot.”

She came out on to the steps, and felt the sun. It was still very hot. She stood for a moment wondering if she would put up Myra Constantine’s umbrella. She didn’t like the glare, but she was still cold inside. As she hesitated, a car turned in at the gate and came up between the trees. Her heart jumped. Charles was the last person on earth she wanted to see. Or was he?

Before she could make up her mind he was out of the car and running up the steps. No smile, no greeting, nothing but a hand on her arm and a quick, “I hoped I’d catch you.”

“I’m just going.”

“You can’t. I want to talk to you. Come along—you haven’t seen my flat. I’ve got the billiard-room, the butler’s pantry, and some of the things house-agents call offices—all very commodious. Adams did a very good job of work, I think. Come along!”

She was being taken through the hall again. Charles opened a door, they went in, and it shut behind them. She had no time to consider the competency of Mr. Adams. There was a sort of lobby, a bit of passage, another door, and a section of the billiard-room with two windows to the garden. It wasn’t until they were there that she managed to say,

“I really ought to go back.”

Charles said, “No.” He walked to the window and looked out. As he stood there with his back to her, Stacy was aware of currents, feelings, emotions. She had a panic-stricken desire to run away, but her legs wouldn’t move. Her tongue wouldn’t move either. She just stood.

Then the moment passed. Charles turned round and said,

“This is all rather a mess. I’m sorry you’ve been let in for it, but there it is.”

Legs and tongue became normal again. It was a great relief. She said,

“If there’s anything I can do—”

Charles had his frowning look. Not the kind he had when he was angry, but the kind that meant he was thinking. He said,

“Well, there is. You saw the woman who was with me when I came into the club just as you were starting out?”

“The little governessy person?”

“Yes. Don’t laugh. She’s a private detective. Sit down, and I’ll tell you. Lewis went to see her a fortnight ago.”

As they sat down side by side upon the sofa, Stacy was aware that she couldn’t have stood for another minute. Her head felt quite empty.

She said, “Lewis—” and stuck.

Charles said, “I know—it’s incredible, and she’s incredible. But it’s happened—she’s happened. Lewis went to see her because he was uneasy. He wanted her to come down. She didn’t like him, and she wouldn’t. This morning she got a letter from him saying there had been a development, and asking her all over again. She put down the letter, took up her morning paper, and read the headlines. Meanwhile I had a letter from Lewis too. It was in the top drawer of his desk. It said Miss Silver was to be called in if anything happened.”

“Charles!”

He nodded.

“He was uneasy—he had his presentiments? I don’t know, you don’t know, nobody knows. He had heard about Miss Silver from Randal March who is our Chief Constable. She used to be his governess.”

“That’s what she looks like.”

“I know. But she impressed Lewis. She does impress one—somehow. She showed me his letter, and, believe it or not, she had impressed him to such an extent that he told her she could name her own fee. How’s that?”

Stacy’s face expressed the incredulity he expected.

“Lewis said that?”

“He did.”

The fact that Lewis Brading had seldom been known to spend a penny upon any object not connected with his Collection rose imposingly between them. There was a pause while they contemplated it. Then Charles said,

“So you see! And there’s something about her. After giving her tea and taking her over the annexe I’m rather sitting at her feet myself. Now what I’m leading up to is this. I want you to tell her what you told me—about waking up and hearing things in the night.”

Stacy looked horrified.

“Charles, I couldn’t!”

“Why?”

“Because it couldn’t have anything to do with Lewis being shot.”

“Why couldn’t it? It’s just what he told Miss Silver when he went to see her. He said he slept—too heavily—and woke with the feeling that there had been someone in the annexe—all vague like that, but he thought he had been drugged. It fits in.”

Stacy’s horrified look had changed to one of distress. She said,

“Yes, but—Charles, I think it’s something quite different. There’s something I can’t tell you. I don’t think it would be fair.”

“All right, darling, go on being beautifully, perfectly fair. Fais ce que dois, advienne que pourra, and all the rest of it. Let the murderer get away with it because you couldn’t possibly repeat something you weren’t supposed to know! You’ll come and see me in the condemned cell, won’t you? Or don’t divorced wives count? We shall have to find out.”

“Don’t!”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I’d much rather not have to. But there it is—if you’ve overlooked the fact that I’m the natural, first-class, A-l suspect, the police haven’t. They’re only in the early stages at the moment, and they’re being quite polite, but they think I did it. So if you know anything, and don’t particularly want to score me off—”

She said, “Charles—” in an agitated voice.

His manner changed.

“Here’s something Miss Silver said. It struck me rather. She said that most people have something to hide. And that when it came to a murder case, it wasn’t only the murderer who was trying to cover up. Well, you can see for yourself how that complicates things. If there’s something you know—something you didn’t tell me—”

“It hadn’t happened then. Look here, I’ll tell you what it was, then you’ll see for yourself it couldn’t have anything to do with Lewis being shot.”

“Yes, you’d better tell me.”

She sat up straight in the sofa corner with her hands in her lap. No rings on them. She had taken off her wedding-ring. His glance just flicked the bare third finger. She said rather quick and low,

“Yes, I’ll tell you. It was quite a different sort of thing. I found out what it was after I’d spoken to you. I heard the sound again—at least I woke up out of rather a frightening dream—I think it waked me. I got up and looked out of the window. The light came on outside in the glass passage. It wasn’t on when I woke up, then it came on—suddenly. I thought someone—Charles, it sounds like nonsense, but all along, both times, I thought someone had come from the annexe into the house.”

He shook his head.

“The light can only be turned on and off from the annexe.”

“I know. I’m not arguing about that. I’m only telling you what I thought at the time, because that’s what made me go and look down over the stairs.”

“Well?”

“I saw Hester Constantine—”

“My poor child! You must still have been dreaming. No wonder you said it was a frightening dream!”

“Charles, I’m serious.”

“You really mean you saw Hester Constantine come from the annexe?”

“I don’t know whether she came from the annexe, or whether James Moberly did—they might have been in the study. It must have been he who turned the light on and off—unless you can possibly imagine it was Lewis.”

“Honi soit qui mal y pense—I can’t. Hester Constantine! I think not!”

“Then it was James Moberly. She looked quite different, poor thing—all lighted up and happy. And she had one of Myra’s shawls, a bright embroidered thing. She—Charles, you can’t mistake it when anyone looks like that. It’s—it’s frightfully pathetic—those two poor things. Myra says Lewis has always treated him like dirt and he couldn’t call his soul his own. She didn’t see that Hester couldn’t either. If they sort of clung on to one another and tried to get a little happiness—” She put out her hands to him. “Charles, don’t you see how—how savage it would be if we were to throw them to the police?”

He said, “Poor old James!” And then, “We won’t throw him to the police if we can help it. But I think we’ll have to have a showdown. There’s more to it than you know, and if James has been snapping lights on and off, and letting people into the annexe at night—to say nothing of drugging his employer—well, I think he’ll just have to explain what it was all about, and he can begin by explaining privately to Miss Silver and me.”

Stacy said, “I feel awful.”

He took her hands, held them for a moment lightly, and let them go again.

“Nice womanly sentiment, darling. But I’m not prepared to be led away with gyves upon my wrists because of being too delicate to ask James a few straight questions.”

Stacy’s mind swung back. She had said, “Nonsense!” to Lilias, and she felt like saying “Nonsense!” again, but there was the cold breath of fear blowing. She didn’t know how serious he was, but if he was serious at all—

Charles said, “I don’t actually want to be arrested for murder if I can help it.” Then, before she could say anything, “Being a little morbid, aren’t we? How did the visit to Lilias go off?”

“All right.”

He laughed.

“As bad as that! My poor sweet, I thought you looked a bit jaded.”

At about the same time that Charles and Stacy were talking at Saltings, Randal March got out of his car, walked into the hall at Warne House, and enquired for Miss Maud Silver. Edna Snagge thought him a very goodlooking man. She could admire Charles Forrest with his dark ugly charm, and she could admire as different a type as Randal March with his fair hair burned brown, his steady blue eyes, his look of health. She thought Miss Silver no end lucky to have the two of them coming to see her one after the other and nothing to bring them so far as she knew. She went to find Miss Silver, and received a gracious word of explanation.

“Mr. March? Oh, yes—certainly. He is an old pupil of mine. So kind and attentive of him to call.”

Edna said, “I’ve put him in the little writing-room. You won’t be disturbed there.”

She received a beaming smile.

The little writing-room was on the shady side of the house. On cold, dull days it had been stigmatized as a gloomy hole. On a hot evening like this it had its points, but it was never a popular resort. Miss Silver reflected that their conversation was not likely to be disturbed.

She found the Chief Constable standing with his back to a funerary mantelpiece carried out in black marble. The clock matched it, but was relieved by little gold turrets. A shadowy engraving of what was probably some famous battle picture was hardly to be distinguished from the surrounding wallpaper.

Greetings of the most affectionate nature passed, to be followed by enquiries for his mother—“I was so concerned to hear about her having a cold”—and about his sisters, Margaret and Isabel.

Difficult as it was to believe now, Randal March had been a delicate little boy, and it was for this reason that he had shared his sisters’ schoolroom. He had also been very much spoilt. Having successfully routed two governesses, he had regarded Miss Silver’s arrival as the provision of more cannon-fodder. The local doctor had opined that it would do him harm to be thwarted. Miss Silver, after listening sympathetically to all Mrs. March had to say, dismissed it from her mind and proceeded to establish the cheerful discipline which she was accustomed to maintain in her schoolroom. Randal found his energies provided with a more interesting outlet than naughtiness. He conceived a high respect for his teacher which remained in full force down to the present moment. For her part, though she had never allowed herself to have favourites and was always scrupulous in her enquiries for his sisters, it was an unadmitted fact that her affectionate feeling for Randal was of a more spontaneous character.

Preliminaries over, she seated herself, took out her knitting, and revealed the inch-wide strip of soft pale pink wool which indicated that a baby’s vest was in process of construction.

Randal March sat down opposite to her and said, “Well?”

She gave a little cough.

“Well, Randal?”

He laughed.

“All right, I’ll deal. I’d like to see Brading’s letter.”

She produced it—from the knitting-bag, a circumstance which struck him as characteristic.

Leaning forward to take it from her, he scanned the few lines:

Dear Madam,

I am writing to ask you to reconsider your decision. There have been developments. The matter is confidential, and I do not wish to go to the police—at present. This is a pleasant country club. I have reserved a room for you, and must beg you to come down immediately. You may name your own fee. If you will ring me up and let me know by what train by you will be arriving, I will see that you are met at Ledstow.

Yours truly,

Lewis Brading

March looked up and said,

“What did he mean by developments?”

“I have no idea.”

He sat frowning at the letter for a moment. Then he said,

“You only saw him once?”

“That is all.”

“Will you tell me what he said?”

She was knitting rapidly. The strip of pale pink wool revolved. There was a moment before she answered him.

“Yes, I think I must.”

With the verbal accuracy which he knew was to be trusted she gave him Lewis Brading’s words and her own. When she had finished he said coolly,

“Well, he seems to have asked for it. You know, this looks very bad for Moberly. It fits in too. Look here, perhaps you’d like to take some notes. Here’s a timetable of what happened yesterday up to the shooting.” He reached sideways to pick up a pencil and paper from the small writing-table at his elbow.

The knitting was laid down, the pencil poised. He produced a sheaf of papers from the case beside him, detached one of them, and said,

“Here we are. Brading took the nine-thirty bus to Ledlington. At ten-fifteen he went into the Southern Bank, asked to see the manager, and signed a will-form which was duly witnessed by him and a clerk. He said something about asking for congratulations before long. A lady called Maida Robinson says he had asked her to marry him on the previous evening.”

Miss Silver inclined her head.

“Major Forrest has told me about Mrs. Robinson. He has also given me a timetable showing Mr. Brading’s visitors during yesterday afternoon.”

“Well, that clears the ground—I need only give you the morning. Brading got back here at eleven-thirty. He went to his study—you’ve seen it, I suppose?”

“Yes.”

“He was there for about half an hour. James Moberly was with him. One of the waiters overheard part of their conversation. He dresses it up—says he was taking Brading some letters which had come in by the second post and couldn’t make up his mind whether to go in or not, because they were quarrelling. Of course there isn’t the slightest doubt that he heard the raised voices and listened deliberately. He may even have loosened the catch a bit—it slips rather easily. Anyhow, he’s prepared to swear that he heard Moberly say, ‘I can’t and won’t stand it any longer.’ He says Brading laughed in a nasty way and said, ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to.’ Moberly said, ‘I won’t, and that’s flat!’ Brading laughed again and asked him what he was going to do about it, and Moberly said, ‘You’ll see.’ After which this man, Owen, appears to have thought he had stood there long enough, so he knocked and went in. He says Brading was sitting at the table and Moberly was standing looking out of the window. Moberly admits there was a disagreement.” March put down the paper from which he had been reading and took up another. “Here’s his statement—all very watered down and innocuous, as you will see. He says:

‘I was in the study at eleven-thirty, when Mr. Brading came in. I took the opportunity of telling him that I would like to resign my post. This was not on account of any personal disagreement or any dissatisfaction on either side, but because I found my health was suffering from having to live under the unnatural conditions which he considered necessary. A good deal of my work has to be done in the annexe, and I have to sleep there. The absence of air and light were affecting my health. Mr. Brading was angry and said he would not let me go. What Owen says he overheard is substantially correct, but we were not quarrelling. He was annoyed at my giving notice, and I was sticking to my point. At five minutes to twelve Mr. Brading went over to the annexe. I let a minute or two go by, and then I followed him. I had my own key, so I was able to let myself in. I could hear his voice coming from his bedroom. He was telephoning, so I stayed where I was—that is, in the passage from which his bedroom and the laboratory open. I kept at the far end of the passage, so I did not hear what was said. When he rang off I was going to go to him, but he asked for another number. I could not distinguish what number it was, only the tone of the voice. I thought it sounded as if he was angry. Just at the end of the call I heard him say, ‘You’d better.’ Those words were said most emphatically. Then he rang off, and I went to him and told him that I could not withdraw my notice, but that I would of course remain until he was suited. I then returned to the study, and from there went in to lunch. When he had finished his own lunch he came over to my table and stopped for a moment to say that I might have the afternoon off, as he would not be wanting me.’ ”

March looked up for a moment.

“They apparently had all their meals over here in the club. I asked him if they usually ate at separate tables, and he said yes, their hours were different and they both preferred to be independent. I may say that the staff confirm this. Well, I’ll go on now. There isn’t much more.”

He went back to James Moberly’s statement.

“ ‘I left the dining-room a little later and went over to my room in the annexe to fetch a book. The steel door was locked as usual, and I used my key to open it. When I came back to the club a few minutes later I made sure that it was shut behind me, as I always do. It locks itself when it is shut, and I am quite sure that I left it locked. I went to the study and spent the afternoon there reading. I heard the clock strike three. About ten minutes later Miss Constantine opened the door. When she saw that I was alone she came in. We sat there talking until Major Forrest gave the alarm. We were together the whole time. Neither of us left the room.’ ”

Miss Silver coughed.

“The study window looks towards the annexe. Did you enquire whether Mr. Moberly was in a position to see the glass passage, and whether he noticed any of Mr. Brading’s visitors?”

“Yes, I asked him that, but it doesn’t get us any farther. He says people were coming and going, but he was reading and didn’t take any particular notice. The only person he saw was Major Constable. He says he heard someone running, looked up, and saw him in the glass passage. He was running from the annexe, and he had something white in his hand.”

Miss Silver was knitting briskly.

“Was Mrs. Robinson’s bag white?”

“Yes—a big white plastic affair. She had her bathing things in it. I think it’s quite clear that Constable was coming back from fetching it when Moberly saw him. You say Forrest gave you all those comings and goings?”

“Yes, he was most helpful.”

“Well, Moberly says he didn’t see anyone else until Miss Constantine came in, and after that they were talking.”

“What does Miss Constantine say?”

“That she was with her mother until three o’clock, went to her room to tidy, came downstairs just as Lilias Grey left the club, went along to the study, and spent the time there talking to Moberly, just as he says.”

Miss Silver’s needles clicked.

“When I asked Major Forrest if they were friends he replied that he did not think Miss Constantine ‘ran to friends much.’ The study was Mr. Brading’s room. Unless she had previous knowledge, she could not have expected to find Mr. Moberly there alone. Did she know that he would be there alone? Was her visit to him, or was she looking for Mr. Brading? It was his study.”

March made an impatient movement.

“Does it matter?”

She looked at him mildly.

“It might, Randal.”

“They both say that they were together between three-ten and three-thirty. It is, of course, possible that one or both of them are not telling the truth. In fact I’ll go so far as to say that things don’t look too good for Moberly. In which case Miss Constantine may be lying to protect him, or she may simply have been muddled about the times. She impressed me as rather a vague sort of person.”

Miss Silver said in a considering voice,

“That would not be so easy. The time of Miss Grey’s departure is fixed by Miss Snagge in the office, also the time of Major Forrest’s arrival ten minutes later. It would be difficult for Miss Constantine to be muddled as to whether Mr. Moberly was in the study when she got there and for the next ten minutes. You are, I suppose, drawing my attention to the fact that it was during this time that Mr. Moberly would have had the opportunity of going over to the annexe to shoot Mr. Brading?”

March nodded.

“According to Miss Grey, Brading was alive at three-ten. According to Forrest, he was dead at three-twenty. According to Miss Constantine and James Moberly, they were together in the study during the intervening ten minutes. According to Edna Snagge, no one came through the hall. Since you always know everything, I suppose you know that the only other room opening on to that short length of passage, the billiard-room, was locked up all day.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“Yes—Major Forrest very kindly verified that.”

“Miss Peto, the manageress, says there is only one key, and she had it. The room keys are not interchangeable. I’ve had them all tried, and there isn’t one that fits the billiard-room door. So we get this situation. Lewis Brading is alive at three-ten, and dead at three-twenty. In that intervening time one of six people killed him—Miss Grey, James Moberly, Miss Constantine, Charles Forrest, Edna Snagge, or Brading himself. Some of these are too improbable to be considered at all seriously. I’ll take Brading himself first. The death was meant to look like suicide, but Crisp was suspicious from the beginning—Inspector Crisp from Ledlington—you’ll remember him at the Catherine-Wheel, I expect. [see Miss Silver #16, The Catherine-Wheel, 1949] He’s as sharp as a terrier after rats, and as soon as they got the fingerprints on the revolver he said they were all wrong. It’s the most difficult thing in the world to get a natural print from a dead hand. The murderer had had a try, and he hadn’t brought it off.”

Miss Silver said, “Dear me!”

March gave his half laugh.

“Dear me it is. And that rules out Lewis Brading. Now we’ll take one of the improbables, Edna Snagge. All the times depend on her observation and statement. She could have walked down the passage, and, provided the steel door was left open by Miss Grey; she could have entered the annexe, gone through to the laboratory, and shot Lewis Brading. Only there’s no earthly reason why she should. I don’t really think we need consider her. She is a perfectly good, respectable girl on the brink of becoming engaged to a perfectly good, respectable young man. She wasn’t a legatee under Brading’s will, and she had no more to do with him than with anyone else about the place. In fact she had no conceivable motive, and I only mentioned her because it was physically possible for her to have done it.”