Latter End

CHAPTER 26

Miss Silver gathered up her knitting and left them to it, but almost at once the Chief Inspector followed her out of the room. When she glanced round and saw him he made what she described to herself as a grimace, walked on as far as the drawing-room door, which he opened, and beckoned her in. When he had shut it again he said confidentially,

“Well, what did you make of that?”

Miss Silver stood, her hands clasped on the new knitting-bag which her niece Ethel had sent her for her birthday in July-a capacious affair in a chintz with a pattern of honeysuckle and humming birds. It had been much admired not only by its recipient but by several of her oldest friends. A primrose lining showed here and there where the frill at the top fell over. She took a moment before she said,

“I thought Mrs. Maniple was speaking the truth.”

Lamb nodded.

“Well, so did I. I don’t see why she needed to say anything at all if she wasn’t going to tell the truth. A silly trick to get up to, and one we could run her in for. I’d do it like a shot too if I thought there was any chance she poisoned Mrs. Latter. The trouble is, I’m pretty well sure she didn’t.”

“I agree.”

“For one thing, she’d never have admitted the ipecac if she’d gone on to the morphia-not without she was going to confess the whole thing. That’s my first reason for thinking she didn’t do it. The second one’s stronger. She hit the nail right on the head when she said she’d never have risked Mr. Latter’s taking the poisoned cup. As the evidence stands, neither she who made the coffee nor Miss Julia Vane who took it in had any control over who took which cup. They weren’t either of them in the room when the coffee was shared out. So the murderer was either someone who didn’t care whether it was Mr. or Mrs. Latter who was poisoned, which makes nonsense, or else it was someone who was right here in this room and was able to see that there were no mistakes, and that the cup with the morphia in it got to the person it was meant for. And that means just one of three people- Mrs. Street, Miss Mercer-and Mr. Jimmy Latter.”

Miss Silver inclined her head.

“I agree with you as to the facts.”

He laughed in a good-humoured way.

“Well, isn’t that nice! I don’t know when you agreed with me last over a case. Live and learn, as we used to say.”

Miss Silver’s manner became a trifle remote. She coughed.

“I may agree with your facts without accepting the conclusions you draw from them.”

He laughed again.

“Oh, yes-Mr. Latter is your client, isn’t he? You won’t admit he did it. That leaves Mrs. Street and Miss Mercer. Which of them do you fancy? They were both being turned out of what had been their home for twenty-five years-if Mrs. Street is as old as that. And she’s got a husband she’d like to have here, only Mrs. Latter wouldn’t have it. Well, that’s some sort of a motive for each of them, but I don’t think it would cut much ice with a jury. No, I’m afraid things look very bad for your client. Come now-what do you think yourself? You may as well own up.”

Miss Silver looked at him without any expression at all.

“At the moment I have no opinion to offer.”

She left him smiling to himself and passed into the hall. It was in her mind that she would like to talk to Julia Vane, but she decided that that could wait. There seemed to be an excellent opportunity of a conversation with the kitchenmaid, Polly Pell-rather a shy girl, and so constantly at Mrs. Maniple’s beck and call as to make it very difficult to get hold of her.

She made her way into the pantry, and at once became aware that she would not find Polly alone. The door through into the kitchen was ajar, and the high-pitched voice of Gladys Marsh was plainly audible.

“I’ll get my picture in the papers-you see if I don’t.”

As a gentlewoman, Miss Silver deplored a professional necessity. Gentlewomen do not eavesdrop, but it is sometimes very useful to be able to do so. In her professional character she did not hesitate to avail herself of opportunity when it came her way. She provided herself with a tumbler and stood with her hand on the drinking-water tap. What she heard she found very interesting-very interesting indeed.

A cautious glance round the edge of the door showed her Gladys Marsh sitting across the corner of the kitchen table swinging her legs. She had a cup of tea in her hand. Polly was not in sight. Her voice came hesitating, not much above a whisper.

“I don’t know that I’d care about that.”

Gladys took a noisy gulp of tea.

“Well, I would. You just watch me and you’ll see. There’s a couple of reporters been at me already, but I’m not making myself cheap. I told them so. I’ve said what I know to Chief Inspector Lamb from Scotland Yard-that’s what I told them. And he says I’ll be called at the inquest, and not to say nothing to nobody, so I’m not. ‘Come to think of it,’ I said, ‘why should you boys get the money for my story? I can write it myself, can’t I?’ And the cheeky one with red hair-they’re all cheeky, but he’s the worst-he said, ‘You don’t mean to say they taught you to write?’ and I said, ‘Yes, Impudence,’ and a lot more besides. And he said, ‘You bet!’ and he took two photographs. But I didn’t tell him nothing, only a lot of stuff about the house and the family, and about Mrs. Latter being such a lot admired, and all that. If they want anything more they can pay for it-and if they won’t there’s plenty that will.”

There was a murmuring sound from Polly. Gladys drained her cup and reached for the teapot.

“Oh, come off it!” she said. “What’s the good of being alive if you don’t have a good time when you’re young? You start thinking if there isn’t something you can tell the police and get called at the inquest! That’ll be only a village affair, but when it comes to the trial-”

Polly’s voice came in with a frightened sound.

“Who will they try?”

“Dunno. But I can guess. Can’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

Gladys laughed and swung her legs.

“Who spied on her and caught her in Mr. Antony’s room? Who comes into a lot of money now she’s gone? She told me that herself no longer ago than the Wednesday morning- said she wasn’t going to stay here the way things were going, and the first thing she was going to do when she got up to town was to alter her will. She’d have taken me with her too. Gosh-what a chance!”

“I don’t know that I should care about London.”

Gladys said contemptuously,

“More fool you! You don’t know what’s good for you. I didn’t when I married Joe Marsh and tied myself up to live in a hole like this.”

“Weren’t you-weren’t you fond of him?”

Gladys laughed. Really, Miss Silver thought, a most unpleasant sound.

“Fond of him! I’d been ill and I was out of a job, and he was getting good money. I was a damned fool. If I’m one of the chief witnesses in a big murder trial, why I’ll get dozens of offers-girls do. I’d be able to pick and choose and marry where there’s some money going and a chance of a good time if I hadn’t tied myself up to Joe. However, ’tisn’t for always nowadays-that’s one comfort. I’ll do better than Joe with this trial to boost me.”

“You didn’t ought to talk like that.”

Gladys laughed again. The sound really quite got on Miss Silver’s nerves.

“Oh, I didn’t, didn’t I? Well, you wait and see, Polly Pell! There’s more than that I can say if I choose, but I’m not saying it yet. I’m keeping it back to make a splash with-see?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I can put the rope round somebody’s neck if I choose, and I’m going to choose all right. There’s someone in this house that’s going to swing for what they done, and it’s me that’s going to put the rope round their neck. And get my photo in all the papers, and everyone talking about me! I’ll say this for those reporter chaps, they give you a good write-up. ‘Golden-haired, blue-eyed Gladys Marsh’-that’ll be me, when I’m not a ‘beautiful blonde.’ You see, I’ll be right in the news, and if I can’t make something out of it, my name’s not Gladys Marsh. And won’t you wish you was me!”

Polly achieved emphasis.

“No, that I won’t!” she said.