Miss Silver Comes To Stay

CHAPTER 22

When Rietta Cray had finished her telephone call she remained sitting at the writing-table upon which the instrument stood. She liked a good-sized table, and was grateful for the room afforded by a bulging bay which broke the front wall of the dining-room. She stayed there, the dining-table at her back-one of the old-fashioned Victorian kind built to take a family and much too large for its present surroundings. Neither it nor the heavy upright chairs with imitation Sheriton backs and seats of faded brocade were in the least suited to a cottage, but Rietta had grown up with them, and it would never have occurred to her to change them. They belonged to the time when her father had the leading practice in Lenton and they lived in a big house on Main Street. That time seemed very far away. Dr. Cray died, and they came to live at the White Cottage. Nearly thirty years ago. A long time.

She sat looking at the telephone for some minutes before she stretched out her hand and again lifted the receiver. The voice which answered her from the exchange was not Gladys Luker’s, as it had been when she rang up Carr. It was Miss Presser who said, “Hullo!” and that made everything a great deal easier. Everyone in Melling knew that Gladys listened in if she thought there was going to be anything worth listening for, but Miss Prosser couldn’t be bothered. She was not deaf but a little hard of hearing, and as she put it herself, “I’ve got enough to do getting hold of what I’ve got to.”

Rietta gazed at the number she wanted and had to repeat it-“21 Lenfold.” She wondered whether Miss Prosser would remember that it was Randal March’s private number. On being made Chief Constable of the county he had bought an agreeable small house some miles out of Lenton, installed an elderly married couple to do for him, and developed an interest in the garden, which boasted a tiny stream, a water-lily pond, and a patch of woodland.

As she waited for the call to come through she told herself that she was a fool to ring up, but that she would probably be preserved from the consequences of her folly because as likely as not Randal wouldn’t be there. He might if he was coming home to lunch. But then it was quite likely that he wouldn’t be coming home to lunch. He might even be coming over here-if Superintendent Drake had had time to make his report.

Someone lifted the receiver on the other end. Randal March said, “Hullo!” The colour ran hot to the roots of Rietta’s hair. Why in the world had she rung him up? A most preposterous piece of folly. She heard her own voice say in deep, calm tones,

“Is that you, Randal?”

He sounded warm and pleased as he said, “Rietta!”

Her flush died down. She thought, “He hasn’t heard yet- it’s all right.” She said,

“I just wanted to ask you something. It’s about your Miss Silver. You know she’s staying here with Mrs. Voycey who is an old school friend of hers-”

“So I gathered. Have you met her? Unique, isn’t she?”

“Yes. Randal, how good is she-at her job, I mean?”

He laughed.

“Oh, definitely top of the class! No, that’s the wrong simile. She’s the teacher up at the desk, with the rest of us sitting in a row in the infants’ class.”

Her voice went deeper, slower.

“Do you really mean that? Seriously?”

“Quite seriously. Rietta, why do you ask? Is there anything wrong?”

“Quite a lot.” She slipped into French just in case. “James Lessiter was murdered here last night.”

“So I am informed. I haven’t had a report yet.”

Rietta Cray said, “I’m the chief suspect, Randal,” and rang off.