The Fingerprint (14 page)

SID TURNER found himself rather a fish out of water amongst all these people who were using Christian names and talking about their family affairs, and he didn’t like the feeling. In his own surroundings he was very much accustomed to playing the lead. Boys copied his shirts and ties and the way he had his suits cut, and girls waggled their eyelashes and their hips at him. He began to hate all these people, none of whom took any more notice of him than if he had been a bit of furniture.

And then all at once a voice was saying, “I am afraid that no one is looking after you, Mr. Turner.” He looked round and saw the dowdy little woman who had driven back with them from the cemetery. He thought she seemed very much at home, offering him tea or coffee, or another drink if he would care about it. Since she had taken off her hat, he supposed that she was staying in the house—governess or something like that. Yes, that would be it, Georgina Grey’s old governess. He said he could do with a drink, and whilst he was waiting for it it occurred to him that it might be a good plan to get her to talk a bit. Old maids were nosey and generally knew everything that was going on, and they liked the sound of their own voices. It would please her no end to be taken a bit of notice of, and he might quite easily pick up a useful tip or two. A modified version of the smile which made girls waggle was turned upon Miss Silver.

“You the governess or something?”

There is no one better qualified than Miss Maud Silver to set impertinence in its place. It is done in the simplest manner, and like all simple things it is best described by its effects. The offender is aware of a noticeable drop in the temperature. Miss Silver appears to recede to a rather awful distance and he develops sensations of embarrassment which he believed to have been left behind with his early schooldays. Even Chief Inspectors have been known to have this experience. That Mr. Sid Turner escaped it was due to the fact that Miss Silver desired to converse with him. She had noted his approach to Mirrie at the graveside and her reception of it. She had watched his manner to her, and hers to him, during the drive back to Field End. She therefore replied mildly that it was now some years since she had retired from the scholastic profession.

Sid Turner was pleased with his own acumen. The old governess—that was what she was. He was smart at sizing people up. He said,

“Well, I’m a kind of relation of Mirrie’s. Her Aunt Grace’s step-brother, that’s me. Thought I’d come down and see her through the funeral, but there doesn’t seem any chance of getting anywhere near her, not for the moment. I suppose the old man has done the right thing by her?”

Miss Silver gave a hesitant cough.

“The old man?”

“Mr.—Jonathan—Field, if you like it better that way. He said he was going to treat her like a daughter, didn’t he? Told her he’d made a will in her favour. I expect you know all about it. Does she get the house?”

Miss Silver permitted a puzzled look to cross her face.

“I really could not say.”

He laughed.

“Can’t say doesn’t always mean don’t know—does it? I don’t mind betting you could tell a thing or two if you wanted to! Come on—be a pal! It’s nothing but what Mirrie herself would tell me if I could get near enough to talk to her. What about the house? She gets it, doesn’t she?”

Miss Silver’s voice fluttered a little. She said,

“I believe not.”

He stared.

“Then who does?”

“I understand Miss Georgina Grey.”

Sid Turner used a regrettable expression. It passed unrebuked except by a mild “Pray, Mr. Turner!”

“All right, all right. What does she get?”

“I really could not say.”

He took off the rest of his drink at an angry gulp and set the glass down hard. Miss Silver gave a timid cough.

“I am sure that he intended to do all that was kind, but I really do not know about the house. Big houses are so very expensive to keep up nowadays. And the associations—so tragic, and Miss Mirrie is quite a young girl. She would not, perhaps, care to be reminded of Mr. Field’s tragic death every time she went into the study, even though it was not she who found him but her cousin Miss Georgina Grey. Stretched on the floor in his own room and shot through the head. Such a shock for a young girl.”

He said, “But—” And then, very quickly, “You’ve got it all wrong, haven’t you? The papers said he was sitting at his desk.”

Miss Silver’s manner became uncertain and agitated.

“Oh, I do not know. One does not care to dwell upon such a painful subject. I certainly understood, but I may have been mistaken. What paper did you say you had been reading?”

“I didn’t notice. It doesn’t matter that I can see. He’s dead, and we’ve just been seeing him buried, so what’s the odds? All I want to know about is whether Mirrie is going to get her rights.”

Miss Silver did not respond. She appeared unable to detach herself from the tragedy.

“Such a very sad thing. A man with so many friends, so many interests. His collection—really quite famous. Even at the last he seems to have been occupying himself with one of the albums. Famous fingerprints, you know. A strange hobby to take up. Did your paper mention that the album was found beside him?”

“I believe it did. I say—that’s a thought! You don’t suppose those fingerprints he collected had anything to do with his being murdered, do you?”

Miss Silver gazed as if in horror.

“Oh, Mr. Turner!”

“Well, just look at it. There’s the album, and there’s the old man shot through the heart. Stands to reason the police would be wondering whether someone who didn’t care about having his dabs in an album had bumped him off. You don’t happen to know whether anything had been torn out of the album, do you?”

Now that he had set down his drink he did not know just what to do with his hands. At one moment they were in his pockets, the next he was tapping on the edge of the handsome mahogany sideboard against which they were standing. He appeared, in fact, to be beating out some tune which was running in his head.

Miss Silver permitted herself the use of her strongest expression.

“Dear me! Was there something about it in the paper you spoke of?”

“Then a page was torn out?”

“I could not say, Mr. Turner. I wondered whether you had seen it in the paper. There was nothing about it in the papers that are taken here. Oh, no, nothing at all. But perhaps the police—I suppose they would have looked to see whether any of the pages had been torn out.”

“If they haven’t, they ought to get on with the job right away—at least that’s what I should think. But of course it’s nothing to do with me. Apt to get a down on anyone who tries to show them how to do their business.”

Miss Silver coughed in a deprecating manner.

“Oh, but they are so truly competent. I have the greatest respect and admiration for the way in which they carry out their duties. I am sure that they will not have overlooked any clue however slight. And they say, do they not, that murderers always do make some mistake and leave a clue behind them. Detective Inspector Abbott is an extremely intelligent officer, and I am sure he would be most zealous in following up any clues which have come into his hands.”

Mr. Turner’s attention became more concentrated, his tune tapping more vigorous.

“Did you say he had a clue?”

Miss Silver allowed a slight perturbation to invade her manner.

“Oh, no. I really would not like it to be supposed that I had said anything of the sort. My position as a guest in the house would impose the utmost reticence. Anything I knew would be considered as a confidence, and I could not possibly disclose it.”

She was aware of a sharp change in him. His face showed nothing, its smooth pallor did not alter. There was, in fact, no outward manifestation, but she had an impulse to step back. Since she was not in the habit of yielding to impulses she remained where she was, looking up at him and waiting for what would come next. It was he who took that backward step.

The people round them were thinning out and beginning to go away. He saw Mirrie moving in the direction of the door, and turning abruptly, he went after her. She had come out into the hall with some old girl who seemed to be a very important person if the fuss they were making about her was anything to go by—Georgina Grey kissing her—Mirrie being kissed—Anthony Hallam and Johnny Fabian going out to see her off. He came up behind Mirrie and took her by the arm.

“Who on earth was that? Royalty?”

She turned a startled look on him.

“It was Mrs. Borrodale. She is Georgina’s godmother.”

He laughed.

“All that fuss, and not even a title! I suppose she’s got money?”

“No—I think she’s quite poor. They are all very fond of her.”

He said, “I want to talk to you. Where can we go?”

“Sid, I can’t—”

He said brutally,

“Do you want me to talk right out here in front of everyone?”

“Sid, you wouldn’t!”

“You just watch me! Where can we go?”

She took him into the morning-room, and it was he who shut the door.

“Now—what’s cooking?”

“Sid, why did you come?”

“To see you of course! I’ve got to find out how the land lies, haven’t I? And I’m not taking any chances on the phone— people in villages are nosey. I could tell you some stories about that! And as for putting things down on paper—not much!” He whistled expressively. “Not for yours truly!”

“You told me to write to you.”

She had written, and now she wished so much that she hadn’t. She had told him things, and what had he done with what she had told him?

She went over to the fire and stood drooping beside it. Why had she come in here with Sid? She oughtn’t to have come. He was going to make her tell him things, and when she had told him he was going to be dreadfully, dreadfully angry. She ought to have stayed close to Johnny, and then Sid couldn’t have made her come. But Johnny was out on the steps seeing Mrs. Borrodale off.

Sid came over to the hearth. She used to think he looked wonderful when he leaned against the mantelpiece like that with his elbow on it as if the place belonged to him. What he was thinking was that perhaps it did, and she had to tell him that it didn’t, nor to her either, and the more she thought about it the less she felt as if she could. She risked a glance at him, and wished she hadn’t. He had the black look which had always frightened her.

“Well, come on, out with it! How much has he left you? I suppose they’ve read the will?”

Mirrie hesitated. He spoke more roughly.

“That was the lawyer in the car in front of us, wasn’t it? The old woman—Mrs. Fabian, isn’t she—said he was catching a train. Said her son was driving him to Lenton. Meant me to take the hint and go with him, I wouldn’t wonder, but I put her off. What I want to know is how we stand. The old man told you he was treating you as his daughter, and he told you he had actually made and signed a new will.”

“Oh, yes, he did. I told you.”

He gave a short laugh.

“I didn’t wait for you to tell me! I’ve a friend in the lawyer’s office and she tipped me the wink. And you know damned well you’d no business ringing me up like you did. A place like this’ll have extensions all over the shop, I wouldn’t wonder. How do you know there wasn’t someone listening in on the line?”

“Oh, there wasn’t! They were all in the drawing-room just after dinner before the coffee came in, and everyone busy in the kitchen. You said to let you know, and I was ever so excited because of what Uncle Jonathan had just told me. When he came back from London on Tuesday evening.”

“All right, but don’t do it again. He said he had made the will, and Maudsley will have told you what’s in it. You get the house?”

That horrid shaking was beginning again, but Sid didn’t like it if you kept him waiting. She had to answer. She said,

“No—no, I don’t.”

“Who gets it?”

“Georgina does.”

“And what do you get?”

“I—I—”

“Come along—out with it!”

“I don’t—I don’t—get anything. Oh, Sid!”

His hand had shot out and caught her arm above the elbow. She stared up at him, her eyes wide and frightened.

“What do you mean, you don’t get anything? You wouldn’t be lying about it—not to me, would you? You’d better not!”

“I wouldn’t! Oh, Sid, you’re hurting!”

“I’ll hurt you worse than that if you lie to me! He signed the new will. How much do you get?”

A flood of terrified words came stumbling out.

“It wasn’t my fault. He did make the will—he told me he had. He told me I hadn’t got anything to worry about. And then Georgina went and talked to him after dinner and he tore the new will up and—and burned it.”

Sid had turned a really horrid colour—like a tallow candle, only there isn’t anything frightening about a tallow candle, and there was about Sid. She went on looking at him, because she couldn’t look away. He said in a kind of choked voice,

“He—burned—it?”

Mirrie burst into tears.

“It wasn’t my fault—”

There was a moment when Sid Turner thought of so many things to say that they hung back, jostling as it were for first place. It was during that moment that the door opened and Johnny Fabian came in. He saw the perfectly horrible young man who had blown in from London, with a hand on Mirrie’s arm. He saw that Mirrie was crying and he couldn’t get across the room quickly enough.

Sid let go of Mirrie and stepped back. He didn’t like the look in Johnny’s eye, and it was no part of his plan to get let in for a rough house. He said,

“She’s upset.”

Mirrie sobbed, and dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief which had begun the day very smooth and clean and was now a crumpled wreck. Johnny said briskly,

“It’s been an upsetting day. I’m driving Mr. Maudsley to Lenton for his train in ten minutes. Can I give you a lift?”

The thing hung in the balance. Sid Turner wasn’t sure. He hadn’t known Mirrie as long as he had without finding out how slick a liar she could be. He came down on the side of a check-up on what she had told him.

“She’s upset because of being let down flat—that’s what. I’m a family connection, I expect she’s told you, and I’d like to know what’s going to be done about getting her her rights.”