Through The Wall (21 page)

“Do you think he really knew anything?”

Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“Yes, I think he did. I think—he saw—someone. He wouldn’t tell me. He said he wanted a good sleep and he was going to go and have it.”

“And that was all?”

“Yes.”

“You had no further conversation?”

“Not about that.”

“Mrs. Felton, I am afraid I must press you. Someone who was in the garden overheard a part of your conversation with your husband. You were heard to say, ‘No, no, I won’t. It’s no use your wanting me to, because I won’t.’ That does not seem to fit in with what you have just been telling us.”

The colour came up into her face. She said,

“No.”

“I am afraid I must ask you to explain.”

She said, “He wanted me to say that he was here with me on Thursday night.”

“I see. But you had already said he wasn’t.”

“That is what I told him. I said it wouldn’t be any good, and if he knew who it was—” Her voice trailed away.

“You went on refusing?”

“I said I wouldn’t, and he was angry. He went away angry.” She put her hands up to her face and covered it.

Miss Silver directed what might almost be described as a commanding look at the Chief Constable. He got to his feet and said,

“I am very sorry to have distressed you, Mrs. Felton,” and retreated, taking Inspector Crisp with him.

As they went down the stairs together, Crisp said in a dogged voice,

“Well, sir, that puts a bit of different complexion on everything, doesn’t it? You wouldn’t arrest Felix Brand because of this house being shut up from seven in the evening till Jackson got here from Farne in the morning and no possibility of anyone from the other house being able to get in and put the scarf where it was found. And now it seems the house wasn’t shut up at all. The study door and the door between the houses, they were both wide open between midnight and, say, five in the morning, when Mr. Felton tells his wife he woke up and went down and shut them. Anyone that had murdered Miss Adrian could have brought that scarf in and hung it up. Felix Brand as well as anyone else. Nothing to stop him—nothing to stop anyone.”

A little later, when Crisp had gone back to taking statements, Miss Silver came down to the study, leaving Marian with her sister, and Richard Cunningham in his room across the landing with the door wide open so that he could see everyone who came up or went down. He caught Miss Silver at the top of the stairs and said abruptly,

“I want to get those girls away. They can’t stay here another night. There’s a homicidal lunatic about and it isn’t safe. What did anyone want to kill Felton for?”

She said gravely,

“He knew who the murderer was.” And then, “I am going down to speak to the Chief Constable now. I will see what he says about Miss Brand and Mrs. Felton.”

She went on down the stairs, and he went back to his room with the open door.

Randal March was standing by the study window looking out. When Miss Silver came in he shut the window and turned. He met a look of intelligence and commendation. She said,

“Ah, I see you have thought of that.”

“I don’t want to run any risk of being overheard.”

“No. You may have noticed that I had shut the window upstairs. It may interest you to know that during his interview with his wife Cyril Felton occupied that armchair by the window, and it was certainly open then, since Eliza heard part of what was said.”

“You mean that his remark about knowing who the murderer was might have been overheard?”

“Yes, Randal.”

He waited until she was seated in one of the low armless chairs which she preferred. She was, for once, without her knitting-bag. Her hands lay in her lap. When he had pulled up a chair at a comfortable angle to her own he said,

“Do you think that girl is speaking the truth?”

“Oh, yes, Randal. She had been holding everything back. It was like a sort of cramp. She did not say a word even to her sister. But this second shock broke all her controls. She was no longer capable of holding back anything at all.”

“Do you think Felton really knew who the murderer was?”

She gave him the look which would in his schoolroom days have been accompanied by a “Come, Randal, you can do better than that.” In their changed circumstances the thought was rather differently expressed.

“Can you give me any other reason why he should have been murdered?”

He nodded.

“It looks that way. But if he really knew anything, why did he not come to the police with it? And why try to get his wife to cook up an alibi for him when she had already said that he was not with her on Thursday night?”

She coughed. Her tone was prim as she said,

“You are not forgetting that he had been endeavouring to blackmail Helen Adrian? I am afraid the answer to your question is that he had no intention of going to the police, because it was in his mind to make a profit out of what he knew. In order to be in a position to do this he required an alibi for himself. He probably felt sure that he could induce his wife to give him one. What he did not take into account was that to blackmail a murderer is the most dangerous form of crime in the world. There is, from the murderer’s point of view, only one real chance of survival, the death of the blackmailer.”

“I agree.”

“It is impossible to say whether his remark to his wife about knowing the murderer’s identity was overheard and his death then and there determined upon, or whether he had already made some blackmailing approach, but from the moment the murderer knew that he or she was discovered Cyril Felton’s death became a necessity.” She coughed. “I am, of course, taking the murderer’s point of view.”

At any other moment he might have smiled, but he felt no inclination to do so now. He said,

“Yes—you’re right.” Then, with an abrupt change of voice and manner, “You see how all this affects Felix Brand’s position. I struck out against arresting him because he couldn’t have brought that scarf back into the house and locked up— the evidence then being that all doors and windows in this house were shut, locked, or bolted as from seven-fifteen, with the exception of bedroom windows opened after the occupant was ready for bed. Well, that’s all gone by the board. The study door was open, the door between the houses was open, from midnight to daybreak when Cyril Felton went down and shut them. Felix Brand could perfectly well have brought that scarf in and put it back on its peg.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“And so, Randal, could anyone else.”

He said with some bitterness,

“Exactly—the case is wide open again. Any one of the people in these two houses could have killed Helen Adrian. It remains to be seen how many of them could have killed Cyril Felton. Crisp wants me to arrest Felix Brand, and as far as Helen Adrian is concerned he’s back at the top of the list. But when it comes to Cyril Felton he’s pretty near the bottom.” He dived into a pocket and took out a folded paper.

“These are just rough notes of what Crisp had got before I came. He’s always fancied Felix, so he led off with him. Well, it seems Penny Halliday went up on the cliffs with him as soon as they had washed up lunch. He says they stayed there till getting on for half past four, when she came in to get tea for the old ladies. He said he didn’t want any—couldn’t face another family meal—and stayed where he was until about half past five, when he came strolling in to see why Penny hadn’t come back, and walked into Crisp on the doorstep. Penny Halliday confirms all the first bit. Says it was five-and-twenty past four when she looked at her watch and said she must go in. She says it’s about ten minutes fast going, and it may have taken her a quarter of an hour. She boiled a kettle and took the tray into the front sitting-room where Mrs. Brand was having her rest at just after five o’clock, coming up with Miss Remington in the hall. They had hardly begun their tea, when they heard someone scream next door, and she ran over to see what was happening. Now you see, it is just physically possible for Felix to have followed her back to the house, got into that ground-floor room which Felton was using as a bedroom. The window was wide open and no distance from the ground—” He broke off. “It’s physically possible, as I say, but looked at from any other point of view, it doesn’t make sense. He couldn’t have heard what Felton said to his wife about knowing the murderer, because he was up on the cliffs with Penny. If Cyril had already started a blackmailing approach and the murder was planned, is it credible that he would have left it so late in the afternoon? He couldn’t have got to the house till a quarter to five, just when everybody would be rousing up and thinking about tea. And how could he know that Cyril would be in his room and asleep? If it wasn’t planned, he had to go into the house and get a weapon—probably a knife from the kitchen—whilst Penny was getting tea and Miss Remington was coming downstairs. And then he had to get rid of the weapon— probably by cleaning it and putting it back in the drawer, because both Penny and Eliza say there isn’t a knife missing on either side of the house.” He made an impatient movement. “I suppose it could just have been done, but nothing will ever persuade me that it was done.”

Miss Silver inclined her head.

“I think you are right, Randal. As you know, I have never believed that Felix Brand was the murderer.”

He said, “You still think—well, never mind now, let’s get on with this. I suppose Penny Halliday could have done it, but everything I’ve just said about Felix applies, and more strongly, to her. She would have a bare quarter of an hour to boil a kettle and get tea, get in through the window and kill Felton, clean up herself and the knife. That’s a point I forgot when we were talking about Felix—the murderer was lucky if he got off without a stain on him somewhere. But to get back to Penny. It would have been pretty good going, wouldn’t it? And I may say that even Crisp isn’t barking up that particular tree.”

“I am glad to hear it. It would not be possible for Penny Halliday to murder anyone.”

He looked at her in a quizzical manner.

“Not even to cover up for Felix? Tigress in defence of cub?”

Miss Silver coughed in a reproving manner.

“It would not be possible for her to stab a man in his sleep.”

“No—I believe you’re right. And, as I say, even Crisp isn’t keen on her as a suspect. Of course the person who had all the time in the world to do it is Eliza Cotton. She admits to having heard part of the conversation between Felton and his wife when she was out in the garden, and she could very easily have heard him tell her he knew who the murderer was and then say that he was going to his room to get some sleep. She says she went in and had a bath, but there was most of the afternoon for her to wait until he had dropped off and then go in and kill him. And plenty of time after that to clean the knife, and put it back, and go and have a bath. The motive, of course, would be the same as Penny Halliday’s—to protect Felix Brand.”

She coughed again, indulgently this time.

“As a hypothetical case you put it well. I do not think that you are very serious about it.”

He said, “Perhaps not. Less likely things have happened.” Then, after a pause, “I’m rather at a loose end. I brought over a search-warrant for Crisp, and I’m letting him get on with it. He’s having a female searcher to do the women and go through their clothes. You see, as I said, whoever knifed Felton would be lucky if he got away without a stain somewhere. I think everyone will have to submit to a personal search.”

“I am quite willing to do so, Randal.”

“You?”

She said in a placid voice,

“I was in the house. I have no alibi. I was quite alone in the study. I could very easily have done it. It would probably make it easier for everyone if no exceptions were made.”

He said thoughtfully,

“Yes, that’s true. And very good of you to think of it.” Then, with a half laugh, “I am expecting hysterics next door.”

As he spoke, there was a knock. Inspector Crisp followed it, notebook in hand. On seeing Miss Silver he checked, but was told to come in. To March’s “Anything fresh?” he replied, “Not yet, sir. I’ve left Mrs. Larkin with the ladies. Mrs. Brand is riding a very high horse indeed, and Miss Remington is saying she was never so insulted in her life, so I came away and left them to it. I thought you might like to know what kind of account everyone gives of how they spent the afternoon. Eliza Cotton we’ve had, Miss Halliday we’ve had. Miss Brand and Mr. Cunningham say they walked along the beach. She says round about four o’clock she dropped off, and he says he went for a stroll, but never out of sight. Says he wouldn’t have left her. Well, he could have, and he could have done the job and got back again—they were only round the next point. But where’s the motive? I can’t see that either of them has got one.”

“As you say. What were the ladies next door doing?”

Crisp did not exactly sniff. He merely gave the impression that he might have done so if he had belonged to the sniffing sex.

“Mrs. Brand says she was in her sitting-room—that’s the room corresponding to the one where Mr. Felton was killed. Her sister and Miss Halliday say she puts up her feet and goes to sleep over a book as regular as clockwork every Sunday afternoon. She says she was reading and never closed an eye, and if anyone had gone out of the front door or across in front of the window she’d have known. If you ask me, I should say she was asleep—and she isn’t the kind to wake easy.”

March nodded.

“And Miss Remington?”

“Says she made herself a cup of coffee in the kitchen, and after that she was up in her room doing this and that. Says she took off her dress and laid down, and she might have dropped off for a bit but she wouldn’t swear to it. I asked her if she heard Eliza Cotton in the garden calling the cat, and she says she might have done, she couldn’t be sure, Eliza was always calling him. I asked her whether she heard Mr. and Mrs. Felton talking in Mrs. Felton’s room, and she said if she did she wouldn’t take any notice—the house wasn’t their own any longer, and you couldn’t expect it to be quiet like it was in Mr. Brand’s time. Well, of course I wasn’t taking that for an answer. She’s a lady that will play up if you give her a chance, so I just let her see I wasn’t giving her one. I said, ‘Miss Remington, I’m putting it to you straight. Your window and Mrs. Felton’s are next door to each other. Did you hear voices coming from Mrs. Felton’s room, or did you not? She said yes, she did, and how disturbing it was and people had no consideration for other people’s feelings. I asked her could she hear what was said, and she said no, she couldn’t, it was just voices. And then she got angry and asked if I thought she didn’t hear quite enough of the chatter that went on all day without listening to it more than she could help. I pressed her, but she wouldn’t admit to hearing anything more than the voices.”

“Have you tried listening in her room whilst someone speaks in the other?”

“I did that next—got her to come up to her room and sent Wilkins in next door. Miss Brand and Mrs. Felton were together in Mrs. Felton’s room, and Mrs. Felton showed him where her husband sat when he was talking to her. Well, then Wilkins was to say something like what a fine day it was, and Mrs. Felton was to let him know whether he was speaking about as loud as her husband did.”

“How did it come off?”

Crisp frowned.

“Nothing much to go on, if you ask me. Anyone lying down on the bed, well, they wouldn’t hear anything but the voices, as Miss Remington said. The nearer you got to the window, the more you’d hear. But only in the way of sound. I didn’t get the words of what Wilkins was saying until I went right up to the window and leaned out. So that’s what it comes to—if she’d gone and hung right out of that window she could have heard what Felton said, but if she was moving about the room or lying on the bed she couldn’t. At least I couldn’t.” He stooped, pushed the notebook down into his pocket, and said, “Well, I’ll be getting back.”

When he had gone Miss Silver said,

“A zealous and responsible officer, but perhaps a little inclined to measure everything by his personal standards.”

Since this was his own opinion, March made no demur. He merely smiled in a rather non-committal manner and enquired,

“Now what exactly do you mean by that? It wasn’t just said to pass the time—was it?”