The Case Of William Smith (11 page)

That evening when they had had their supper and had cleared it away and washed up, William told Katharine all about Emily Salt and her listening at doors. He was making sketches of Crummocky Cows, sitting in a low chair and leaning forward with a writing-pad on his knee.

‘Of course she’s balmy,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how Mrs. Salt stands her. Whenever I’ve been there she’s either been peering round a door or disappearing round a corner. But all the same I don’t feel so happy about Mr. Tattlecombe’s will. He’s left me the business — did I tell you?’

Katharine said, ‘No.’

‘Well, he has. He told me about it that time I got knocked on the head. It’s awfully embarrassing when people tell you they’ve left you things in their wills.’

‘He told you that evening?’

‘Yes. He said Mrs. Salt was comfortably provided for, and a lot of things about our having worked the business up together and he wanted me to have it. Of course it’s got nothing to do with Emily Salt who he leaves it to — he told her that — but I can’t help wishing she didn’t feel like she does about it.’

‘It isn’t her business,’ said Katharine firmly.

She was plumping up the cushions and doing the sort of things that women do to a room which has been empty all day. Now she came to look over William’s shoulder at the sketches he was making. She put a hand on his back to steady herself and felt him wince. She said in a startled voice,

‘Did I hurt you? Why?’

He put up his left hand and caught hers.

‘It’s nothing. I’ve got a bruise, and you just hit it off.’

She stood beside him, looking puzzled, her hand in his.

‘What an extraordinary place to get a bruise. How did you get it?’

‘Someone jabbed me in the back with a stick.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, I think he was trying to push me under a bus.’

‘William!’

‘It didn’t come off, so you needn’t look like that.’

She was quite white. Her hand trembled. She said,

‘When was it? Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Thursday, I think — yes, Thursday, because I met that Scotland Yard chap Abbott when I was going back from here and told him all about it. Darling, you’re shaking.’ He pulled her down beside him and put his arm round her.

‘What did he say?’

‘Abbott? There wasn’t anything he could say. I was jabbed, but I couldn’t see who jabbed me.’

‘Tell me what happened.’

He told her. When he had finished she said,

‘How far had you gone before it happened?’

‘It’s about a ten minutes’ walk from Selby Street to where I was getting the bus.’

She said, ‘You could have been followed.’

He nodded.

‘Well, I shan’t be going that way again.’

She thought to herself that it might happen anywhere — anywhere at all. Then, to William,

‘When you told Mr. Abbott, he must have said something — didn’t he?’

She was sitting on the ground beside him now, leaning against his knee, and he was trying different shaped patches on a cow. His voice was a little absent as he said,

‘Oh, he gave me the address of a Miss Silver. Governess turned detective, only he called it Enquiry Agent. He said she was a friend of his. He seemed to think she might be interested, but as I said, I don’t see what she or anybody else can do. There isn’t any motive, and I didn’t see anyone either time. I just got hit over the head and jabbed in the back. There’s nothing to go on.’

‘No, darling. Where does this woman live?’

‘I’ve forgotten. I expect it’s in one of my pockets — I had this suit on.’ He put down the pencil and dived. ‘Yes, here it is — Miss Maud Silver, 15 Montague Mansions, and a telephone number.’

Katharine put out her hand for it.

‘I’ll put it away. We might want it — you never know.’

He said, ‘Not likely,’ and began on a different arrangement of patches.

On Thursday afternoon, which was early closing at the Toy Bazaar but not in the neighbourhood of the Mews, Katharine got rid of William by sending him to buy a cake for tea, and then went off in the opposite direction, leaving a note just inside the door to say she had remembered something urgent and would be back as soon as she could.

She rang Miss Silver up from the first call-box she came to, and went on her way feeling very much as if she had jumped into a deep pool without knowing how to swim. If it had been a matter of herself, she would have turned back long before she got to Montague Mansions. If it had been anyone else but William, she would never have got there at all.

She did get there, was admitted by Emma Meadows, who looked the comfortable countrywoman she was, and was ushered in upon Miss Silver and her Victorian room. Miss Silver, laying down her knitting on the arm of her chair and rising to shake hands, saw a tall, graceful girl with a heightened colour. She said, ‘Mrs. Smith?’ and Katharine said,

‘I rang up. It is very good of you to see me at such short notice.’

Miss Silver coughed.

‘I shall be glad if I can help you in any way. Will you not sit down?’

She picked up her knitting again and looked at her visitor in a kind and encouraging manner. The bright colour came and went. Mrs. Smith was nervous. She had breeding as well as very engaging looks. Her hair — really very pretty indeed — brown, but not at all a usual shade — so bright with those golden lights in it. Her clothes too — very becoming and well chosen, though not new — a good Scotch tweed, made by a first-class tailor — and the hat, very plain, but not the sort of hat which can be bought in a cheap shop. Miss Silver’s eyes passed to the shoes, the stockings, the handbag. She knew quality when she saw it, and she saw it now. The shoes and the handbag were not new. All this was received and registered as her visitor took the chair on the other side of the hearth.

It was no more than a moment before Katharine said,

‘I don’t know whether you can help me — I don’t know whether anyone can — but I thought I would come and see you. Mr. Abbott — I think he is Detective Sergeant Abbott — gave my husband your address — ’ She paused, and added, ‘My husband doesn’t know that I have come.’

Miss Silver was knitting briskly. She had finished the pair of blue leggings for little Josephine and had begun a coatee to match them. It was still in a very embryo stage, and appeared as a pale blue frill no more than a couple of inches deep. She said,

‘You are Mrs. William Smith?’

Katharine looked startled. Her colour brightened, faded, brightened again.

‘Yes.’

‘Sergeant Abbott has spoken of your husband. Perhaps that will make it easier for you to talk to me.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He told me that he had witnessed an assault upon Mr. Smith, and that he had subsequently recognized him, but without being able to remember his name. He was a good deal interested, and so was I. Your husband will have told you of the incident.’

‘Yes, he told me. He — he doesn’t know who he is, you see. He had a head wound, and he doesn’t remember anything until he came out of a German hospital in ’42. That’s where his memory begins — it’s all quite clear after that. He had an identity disc which described him as William Smith. That’s all wrong. He kept the name because he hadn’t any other, but the real William Smith was quite an uneducated man. He was a Cockney, and he worked in a tannery. William went down to the place. They all said he wasn’t their William Smith.’ She hesitated a little, and then went on. ‘My husband hasn’t the kind of looks that change at all. Anyone who knew him as a boy would know him now. I expect you know the type — rather blunt features, very thick fair hair that won’t lie down, very strong build, very friendly expression. It’s the type that doesn’t change at all — it just gets older. I’m telling you this to explain Mr. Abbott’s recognizing him like that. I think anyone who had met him would remember him. Frank Abbott did, but he didn’t remember his name. It’s quite possible he never heard it, because everyone was just calling him Bill. It was at a party at the Luxe, you know.’

Now that she had made a start it wasn’t so difficult. In fact it wasn’t difficult at all. The room was so exactly like rooms which she remembered when she was a little girl and went visiting with her grandmother. Gran herself had possessed photograph-frames in silver filigree on plush, and had cherished a photogravure of The Stag at Bay. Old Miss Emsley who had been one of Gran’s bridesmaids, had possessed chairs of the same family as these, with curly walnut legs and spreading laps. Great-aunt Cecilia had worn beaded slippers and net fronts with little bones to keep the collar stiff. These familiar associations promoted confidence. Miss Silver diffused it to a quite extraordinary degree. By some means best known to herself she possessed the art of turning back the clock until the state of tension and fear in which so many of her visitors found themselves gave way insensibly to the atmosphere of the schoolroom. Here the problem became the teacher’s affair, to propound, to explain, and to resolve. The responsibility was hers, the solution already known.

Katharine did not put any of this into words, but she felt its influence. When she had told Miss Silver about Tattlecombe’s Toy Bazaar, the Wurzel toys, Mr. Tattlecombe’s accident, and what William had told her about being hit over the head, Miss Silver gave her gentle cough.

‘I think that is not all.’

Katharine said, ‘No.’

She locked her hands tightly together in her lap and told Miss Silver about the jab in the back. Then she told her about Emily Salt.

‘She really is a very queer sort of person. I don’t think she’s right in her head. William says she has dreadfully creepy ways, and Mr. Tattlecombe says she ought to be in a home. He says she listens at doors too. I believe she is very angry because Mr. Tattlecombe has made a will leaving the business to William. I — I wondered — ’

‘Yes, Mrs. Smith?’

‘She really isn’t right in her head — I’m sure about that. Mr. Tattlecombe had been telling William about his will that first time he was attacked. I did just wonder if she had been listening at the door and — and— Oh, it does seem dreadful, but I can’t help thinking of it!’

Miss Silver knitted thoughtfully.

‘And the second attack — that also occurred after he had been visiting Mr. Tattlecombe?’

‘Yes. She could have followed him.’

‘Would she be physically capable of such an assault?’

‘She is a tall, bony woman.’

After a moment Miss Silver said, ‘Sergeant Abbott, who witnessed the attack, appeared to have no doubt that the person he saw was a man.’

The quick colour came to Katharine’s cheeks.

‘It was dark and wet. Mr. Tattlecombe’s waterproof was hanging in the hall — I saw it myself when we went there to tea.

Miss Silver knitted in silence for a little while. Then she said,

‘When did Mr. Tattlecombe sign the will benefiting your husband?’

‘The day before he told William about it.’

‘In fact the day before the first attack.’

‘Yes.’

‘It was the first attack, Mrs. Smith? There had been no previous indications of enmity or ill will from any quarter?’

Katharine was taken by surprise. When she looked startled, as she did now, her eyebrows took an upward tilt, her eyes widened and brightened. William called it her flyaway look. It really did give her the air of a creature poised for flight. It was not lost on Miss Silver. She said with some firmness,

‘Was the blow on the head the first attempt?’

The colour drained out of Katharine’s face. She said in a distressed voice,

‘I don’t know.’

‘I think it might clarify your ideas if you put them into words. You have some incident in mind — it would be better if you would tell me what it was.’

Katharine felt as she had often felt when bathing. You walked into shallow water which was deceptively warm and tranquil, then, as it rose about your body, it became colder and the cold rose too. If you went too far, any step might take you out of your depth. She thought this step was safe. But was it? She didn’t know. She looked at Miss Silver in some distress of mind, and then without any premeditation found herself saying,

‘I was thinking about Mr. Tattlecombe’s accident.’

‘Yes?’

‘It happened just outside the shop. He lives over it, and he always goes out for a breath of air the last thing at night. It was about half-past ten, and it was a very dark, damp night. He came out by the private door with the light on in the passage behind him, and he went to the edge of the kerb and fell under a car. He says he was “struck down”. He had concussion, and he was badly bruised, and there was an injury to his leg. He might easily have been killed. Of course he may have slipped — ’

‘You connect this incident with the other one?’

Katharine looked away from her into the fire.

‘He is the same height and build as William is, and he has the same kind of hair, only it’s grey — but with the light shining on it from behind — ’

Miss Silver inclined her head.

‘Quite so. The face would be in shadow, and fair hair would be indistinguishable from grey.’

‘Yes.’

‘A little shiver ran over Katharine. She put out her hands as if to warm them. The logs in the grate sent out a comfortable glow. But the cold was inside her. She was afraid — afraid of what she was thinking, afraid of what she was saying, afraid of where it might be taking her. It mustn’t take her too far — it mustn’t, it mustn’t. And then she knew that it had already done so. Miss Silver was saying,

‘You mean that someone who had planned the attack mistook Mr. Tattlecombe for Mr. Smith. That would mean that the person who attacked him was not at all familiar either with Mr. Tattlecombe or his habits. He or she must have been expecting to see Mr. Smith. But Emily Salt would know Mr. Tattlecombe, since she had lived, for so many years with his sister. Did she at that time know Mr. Smith?’

Katharine had that distressed look again.

‘I don’t know — I don’t think so. William said he hadn’t ever seen her until Mr. Tattlecombe went to his sister’s house after he left the hospital.’

‘But Mr. Tattlecombe visited at his sister’s house. Emily Salt would have known him?’