Through The Wall (23 page)

By a quarter past ten the ground floor on Marian Brand’s side of the house had been deserted by everyone except Constable Wilkins, who had orders from Eliza to stay where he was in the kitchen until the ladies were ready for bed, and then Mr. Cunningham would let him know and he would go up and sit on the landing. As by this time he was a good deal more frightened of Eliza than he was of Crisp and the Chief Constable put together, he said, “Yes, Miss Cotton,” and remained where he was in a very amenable manner, whereupon she departed to her attic, where she locked the door and wedged a chair under the handle in approved country fashion.

It was dusk outside, but not quite dark. In the house it was dark enough. As Miss Silver crossed the landing she stood by the bathroom door for a moment and heard on her right the sound of voices coming from the room which Ina Felton was sharing with Marian Brand. On her left Ina’s own room lay dark and empty. She turned the handle gently and went in. The window was shut, but the curtains had not been drawn. She could see a pale breadth of sky.

She went over to the window, opened the right half of the casement, and leaned out. On one side the two windows of Marian’s room showed chinks of light. On the other, beyond the dividing wall between the houses, everything was dark. The drawing-room windows had been shut. The occasional sounds from the piano had ceased. There was no light in Cassy Remington’s room, nor in the one beyond it, which had been Helen Adrian’s and was now Penny Halliday’s again. The evening was very warm, and the windows of both these rooms were open. Miss Silver closed and latched the casement which she had opened and returned across the landing to her own room. She did not put the light on, but went over to the window and looked out.

The ground floor of the next-door house was dark on this side, as it had been on the other. Over the parlour she could see that Felix Brand’s window was open and the room quite dark. But in the room next to hers, which was Florence Brand’s, just on the other side of the dividing wall, though the casement window stood wide, there was a light behind the chintz curtains, throwing up a rather heavy pattern of red and purple rhododendrons. Miss Silver had not been in the house for two days without hearing all about those curtains. There had been good thick ones with linings, ageing a little in ’39, when of course owing to the outbreak of war it had not been possible to replace them. Seven years later, when they actually fell to pieces, the best that could be achieved was a chintz, and linings were not to be thought of.

As she leaned from the window and became aware of voices from behind the rhododendrons she reflected that this was indeed a fortunate circumstance. Lined damask curtains such as had once obscured the light and prevented the air from entering Mrs. Brand’s room would have had a sadly deadening effect upon sound. As a gentle-woman, Miss Silver would not have dreamed of listening to a private conversation. As a private investigator, she had often conceived it her duty to do so. She was very near that open window. The chintz, although so darkly patterned, presented hardly any obstacle to sound. The voices were those of Mrs. Alfred Brand and her sister. Miss Silver conceived it her duty to listen.

She was not the only person to do so. Penny was the last to come upstairs. Since Eliza had moved over to the other side of the house it was she who made a round of the downstairs rooms to make sure that the doors were locked and the windows latched. She picked up the Some Chapters of my Life from where it had once more slipped to the floor, plumped up the cushions and straightened the chairs in the parlour, and then passed on to the drawing-room. Felix, of course, had forgotten to shut the garden door. It stood wide, and the warm air came in with that peculiar sweetness which is never felt by day.

She latched the door and stood for a moment looking at the scrawled, untidy sheets with which the piano top was strewn. The room was full of Felix. He might have been standing there beside her. She came away no more than a minute or two before Miss Silver looked out of Ina Felton’s window and found the drawing-room dark.

Penny had finished her round. She went upstairs. The landing was dark. A streak of light on the far side showed that Florence Brand was in her room with the door ajar, and the moment Penny heard Cassy Remington’s voice it wasn’t hard to guess why Aunt Cassy never could shut a door properly. She kept tight hold of the handle and turned it, and went on keeping hold of it so that it turned back again when she let go. It was one of a lot of little things which had always made it difficult to be fond of Aunt Cassy however hard you tried, and it exasperated Felix to swearing-point. But then, of course, it wasn’t at all difficult to do that.

The light-switch was over by the bedroom door. It ought, of course, to have been at the head of the stairs, but Florence Brand’s motto was, and always had been, “Put it near me and it will be quite convenient for everyone.” There had been raging rows about that light-switch. Penny remembered them quite well in the year before the war when Martin Brand made up his mind to link up with the grid and have electric light put in. It still shook her a little to remember them—rows do something really horrid to children. In the end Florence Brand got her own way. The switch was on the wall just outside her door. It was on the wall not six inches away from where the strip of light showed at the door’s edge.

As Penny lifted her hand to it she heard Cassy Remington say in her light, high voice,

“I shall say Felix did it.”

The hand which Penny had lifted stayed where it was, just short of the switch. It did not seem to belong to her any more. There was a streak of light in front of her eyes along the edge of the door, and there was Cassy Remington’s voice saying, “I shall say Felix did it.” She saw the light, she heard the words. She felt nothing. She stood quite still and waited for what would come next.

Florence Brand made a sound of some kind. Cassy Remington’s voice went higher.

“I shall say he did it, and the police will take him away, and then we shall have a little peace.”

This time Florence spoke. Her voice had the same sound as before, an odd heavy tone that might have been disapproval. She said,

“They don’t believe everything you tell them.”

Cassy laughed angrily.

“They’ll believe this. Because it’s only reasonable. Who else had any reason to kill Helen Adrian—answer me that! You can’t, can you? Nobody can. He was crazy about her—crazy with jealousy. He saw the light on that blue and yellow scarf she was wearing over her head, and he followed her down to the terrace and pushed her over the edge after Cyril Felton had come in. And then of course Cyril guessed and tried to blackmail him, and he killed him too.”

Florence Brand said,

“How do you know?”

There was that high, excited laugh again.

“I saw him come in at the gate.”

“When did you see him?”

“I was looking for Penny out of this window. She is always so forgetful when she is with Felix—I wanted to know whether she would be back to get the tea. I came in here, and I looked out of the window. I’m going to tell the police what I did, and I’m going to tell them I saw Felix come in off the road.”

“And did you?”

“Really, Florence—what a thing to say! Of course I did!”

“He didn’t come in till after the police got here.”

Cassy Remington said with enjoyment,

“Oh, yes, he did. I looked out of the window, and I saw him. He came in at twenty to five. I saw him, but he didn’t see me, because I stood behind the curtain.”

Florence Brand said slowly,

“He couldn’t have got here. Penny left him up on the cliff at five-and-twenty to five.”

“And you believe her! She would lie her head off for Felix, and you know it! Besides, her watch might be wrong, or anything. And he could have run after her and got here very nearly as soon as she did, couldn’t he? The police won’t take any notice of what Penny says. They won’t have any opportunity—I can promise you that!” She laughed.

There was a sound in the room as if Florence Brand was getting to her feet with one of her ponderous movements. Penny heard her say,

“You had better be careful, Cassy. You had better sleep on it. I don’t think—”

“You never do,” said Cassy Remington in a spiteful voice. “You haven’t enough brain, and you are too indolent. But you had better do what you can to back me up. They’ve taken that dress of yours away, you know, and when they find there’s a bloodstain all down the front—”

Florence Brand said, “A bloodstain!” Her voice had a shocked sound. Then she seemed to pull herself together.

“Really, Cassy, I don’t know what you are thinking about! You know as well as I do that it was the juice out of the tart at lunch.”

“Are you sure about that? Are you really quite sure? I wouldn’t be too sure if I were you.”

“You were there—you saw me spill the juice.”

“Did I? Do you know, I wouldn’t like to have to swear to it.”

“Penny saw—”

“I don’t think we need bother about Penny.”

“It was fruit juice. They can tell that by testing it.”

Cassy laughed, high up and shrill.

“Oh, my dear Florence, I have a feeling that they will find something much more interesting than currant juice! That is one of the reasons I am going to tell the police about Felix. He could have come in, you know, and wiped the knife on your skirt whilst you were reading about the Wessex Parson. Or perhaps better let the Parson go, and stick to it that you were fast asleep and snoring. I don’t mind saying you were. After all, I am your sister.”

She was coming towards the door, but before she reached it she turned to say something more. What it was, Penny didn’t know. Her hand dropped to her side, her feet took her quickly, silently across the landing. She hesitated for a moment, and then went into Cassy Remington’s room and shut the door.

It was at this point that Miss Silver drew back from the sill upon which she had been leaning. The conversation which she had overheard alarmed her very much. She considered that the time had come to take a step of which the Chief Constable could not possibly approve, a fact which she deplored without allowing this in any way to deflect her.

As she emerged upon the landing she observed that Richard Cunningham’s door was ajar. On the impulse, she turned and knocked. It was opened immediately, and showed him to be fully dressed. When he had joined her on the landing she said, in a low tone,

“Mr. Cunningham, I am not easy. Will you do just what I ask you?”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I am going through into the other house. The door has been unlocked, and I have taken the precaution of oiling the bolts. If I call you, come at once. If I do not, stay in the passage on this side of the door.”

“Do you want me to call Wilkins?”

“No—there must be no noise. If there should be any disturbance, you can call to him. I think you had better take off your shoes.”

A low-powered bulb afforded enough light for him to see that she had not neglected this precaution herself, and that even in black woollen stockings her feet were remarkably neat. They carried her without any sound at all past Ina Felton’s empty room to the door between the houses. When he joined her there the bolts were drawn back and she was turning the handle. The passage and the landing beyond were dark, a circumstance which she considered providential.

Leaving the door ajar behind her, she went forward along the passage and disappeared from Richard Cunningham’s view.

Cassy Remington came across the landing from her sister’s room. She did not put on the light, because she had lived nearly twenty years in the house and could have walked about it blindfold either by day or by night. As she opened her bedroom door, someone moved over by the window.

On the instant her hand was at the switch. The light showed Penny very pale. She had been leaning out filling her lungs with the fresh salt-tasting air. She stood up now and fixed her eyes upon Cassy Remington.

“Good gracious me—what a fright you gave me, Penny! What are you doing in the dark? And what do you want?”

“I want to speak to you.”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I? And half the insects in the cove will be here too, with the windows open and the light drawing them.” She came across the room at a run as she spoke, pulled the casements to, drew the curtains across them, and said sharply, “Well, what is it?”

As she came back into the middle of the room, Penny’s eyes followed her. It was a crowded place. There was a big old-fashioned bed, a monumental wardrobe, a tallboy, a double wash-stand with a marble top, a pedestal table in polished walnut covered with knick-knacks, photograph-frames and odds and ends. A steaming cup of coffee rested upon the latest book from Miss Cassy’s library list. In the middle of everything else Penny found room to wonder about the coffee, because Cassy never took it at night—she said it kept her awake. At a second impatient “Well?” she said,

“I want to speak to you. I must.”

Cassy Remington had not shut the door behind her when she came in. She did not shut it now. Why should she? Felix was in his room across the landing, and Florence in hers. If either of them opened a door, she would hear it at once— she was very proud of her quick hearing. They were both behind shut doors, and there was no one else in the house. She left the door as it was, and said softly,

“What do you want, Penny?”

Penny was dreadfully pale. She said,

“I want to speak to you. I want to tell you I heard what you said just now—in Aunt Florence’s room.”

Cassy made one of her jerky movements.

“I should think you would be ashamed of listening at a door. Like a spy!”

Penny shook her head.

“No, I am not ashamed. You said you were going to tell the police it was Felix. You said you were going to say that you saw him come in from the road at twenty to five.”

Cassy nodded.

“It will be my duty. I ought to have told them at once.”

Penny said, “But it isn’t true. I left him up on the cliff. I got here at a quarter to five. He wasn’t here until a great deal later than that. Inspector Crisp had come.”

Cassy Remington laughed.

“That is your story! Mine is different. I shall say he came in by the gate at twenty to five. I shall be asked about it at the inquest, and that is what I shall say. On oath!”

“Why?”

“Really, Penny!”

“I can tell you why. I can tell the police. They took away that dress you washed, didn’t they? You told them you washed it on Saturday and rolled it down for ironing in case you went down on the beach after tea today. But you didn’t wash it on Saturday. The door of your wardrobe was open this morning when I came in to help you make your bed, and that navy blue dress was hanging there. It hadn’t been washed then.”

“What does it matter when it was washed?”

“It wasn’t washed at lunch-time.”

“I suppose you went and looked in my cupboard!”

Penny said, “No—why should I? But I washed my hands in the bathroom just before lunch, and the basin was clean. After I came in from the cliff I went to wash again, and there were blue stains. Navy always runs. So I knew you had washed something that ran blue.”

There was a silence in the room. Outside on the dark landing Miss Silver waited for it to break. She could see no more than the handsbreadth of the open door had to show—a section of wallpaper, curtains, coverlet, carpet. Nothing to inform her of where Penny was, or Cassy Remington. But her ears served her better. They told her that Penny was over by the window, and Miss Remington a good deal nearer the door. She had already made up her mind that if the distance between them were materially lessened, she must be prepared to enter the room. Meanwhile it was in the highest degree desirable that she should be able to see what was going on. She reflected that Cassy Remington would be facing in the direction of the window, and consequently would have her back to the door. She decided to take the risk of widening the handsbreadth and applied a gentle pressure.

The edge of the pedestal table came into view, with the cup of coffee standing on Miss Cassy’s library book. A little more, and she could see Miss Cassy’s shoulder, arm, and hand. The arm hung straight. The hand gripped on a fold of her grey skirt. If it had been clenched like that upon anything which would have served as a missile or a weapon, Miss Silver would have gone in at once, but all that it clutched was a piece of grey flannel. But with what energy, what a fury of bloodless knuckles, strained muscles, and digging nails!

The door moved a very little more. Cassy Remington’s head came into the picture. It was turned towards the window. The silence was broken by a light, high laugh.

“Really! My dear Penny, how ridiculous you are! If you want to know, I rinsed out some handkerchiefs with blue. What a grand discovery! What a marvellous piece of news for the police! Are you sure you wouldn’t like to ring them up about it at once?”

Penny said quietly and steadily, “There isn’t any blue in the house. I finished the last a week ago.”

The hand remained at its dreadful tension, but the light laugh came again.

“Oh, my dear Penny! It doesn’t occur to you that I might have a store of my own? Really, you know, this is all too absurd! You’ve let yourself get worked up about nothing! And I’m going to send you to bed with a nice hot drink and one of Florence’s sleeping tablets.”

“No!” The word came on a quick uneven breath.

Cassy Remington said,

“Oh, yes, my dear, I think so. Little girls who are all worked up and fancying things had better have a good long sleep and forget all the nonsense they have been frightening themselves with. You can have my coffee. I shouldn’t really take it at night—it keeps me awake. I had a fancy for it, but I won’t take it now. Florence let me have two of her tablets last night, and I only took one. I’ve got the other, over by the bed.” As she spoke she moved away and out of sight. “I expect you will find one quite enough. I am sure you need a good sleep. You can’t swallow tablets, can you? I remember how tiresome you always were as a child.” She came back into sight again, reaching forward over the table. “Here you are—just one tablet. You can dissolve it in the coffee yourself. And I’d like to see you take it, because you really do need a nice long sleep.”

The hand with the tablet remained stretched out. Penny made no move. She said,

“It’s no good. I know.”

The tablet was set down on a photograph album. Cassy Remington’s voice went sharp.

“Do you want me to go to the telephone and ring up the police now? I am going to unless you take that tablet and go off to bed. I shall tell them that I saw Felix come in off the road at twenty to five. I shall tell them I know my watch was right because I set it by the wireless at one o’clock. I was looking out of Florence’s window, you know, and I saw him. But if you will take that tablet and go off to bed, we can talk about it again in the morning. When you are calmer.”

“No!”

Cassy Remington struck her hands together.

“You want me to telephone to the police? Really, Penny, you are the most unreasonable creature! Do you suppose I am anxious to bring disgrace on the family? After all, Felix is my nephew.”

“You were very careful to tell Inspector Crisp that he wasn’t.”

Cassy stamped her foot.

“The papers will say that he is! And everybody knows we brought him up. Come along—take your coffee and the tablet, and we’ll talk in the morning. You don’t want to force me to do anything that you’ll be sorry for all your life. Because once I’ve told the police—once I’ve told them, Penny—there’ll be an end of it. I can’t say it and take it back again!” She laughed suddenly. “Dear me, I don’t know what all the fuss is about. I used to think you would do anything for Felix. But if you won’t—well, I can’t make you, can I? I’ll just go down and ring up the police.”

Penny said, “No—no!”

Miss Silver could see her now. Her eyes were wide and dark, her hands pressed together under her chin. She took a slow step forward, and another, and another, and came to the table. One of the clasped hands moved, released itself, and came down towards the tablet. But it did not take it up. It caught at the table edge. She said in a very low voice,

“If I wasn’t here—there would be nothing to stop you.”

“There isn’t anything to stop me now,” said Cassy Remington.