Miss Silver Comes To Stay

CHAPTER 32

Miss Silver walked down the drive. The air really was quite pleasant. Cold of course, but she was warmly clad-her tippet so cosy, her coat of such good strong cloth. She felt a sober gratitude for these and all her other blessings. There had been a time when she had expected to serve all her life in other people’s houses with no prospect but that of an indigent old age. Now, thanks under Providence to her change of profession, she was in an enviable position of independence. She had a comfortable flat, an attentive and devoted maid, and an insurance policy which would enable her to continue these comforts.

It was really dark under the trees-not quite dark enough to necessitate the use of that excellent torch, a present from a friend and devoted admirer, Sergeant Frank Abbott of Scotland Yard, recently promoted to the rank of Inspector. The shrubbery was somewhat overgrown. She considered the sad condition of neglect to which labour shortages and heavy taxation had reduced so many fine country places. During her lifetime the whole way of living had changed. The good things of life were being spread more evenly, but it was sad to watch the passing of so much that was beautiful.

Just before she came to the two tall pillars which marked the entrance she turned to the right, took the narrow path which led to the Gate House, and rang the bell. Catherine Welby, opening the door, permitted herself to look a little more surprised than she would have done if her visitor had been anyone but Mrs. Voycey’s dowdy old school friend. She could not for the life of her think why Miss Silver should be paying her a visit-elderly ex-governesses were not in the least in her line. She prepared to be bored, and with not at all too good a grace.

As it turned out, boredom was not the sensation which this interview was to arouse. Miss Silver, passing before her into the sitting-room, regarded it with interest. Surroundings are often an index to character. She noticed the brocade curtains, the pastel colouring, the quality of the furniture, all good, some of it valuable. Over the mantelpiece a round Dutch mirror with a cut-glass border charmingly reflected the scene. It reflected Catherine in a blue dress which matched her eyes.

Miss Silver seated herself and said gravely,

“You are wondering what has brought me here, Mrs. Welby.”

“Oh, no.” Catherine’s tone was light-the small change of social observance, so carelessly scattered as to come very near to rudeness.

Loosening the tippet at her neck, Miss Silver said,

“I think so.”

Catherine said nothing. She too had seated herself. Her beautiful dark blue eyes held an enquiring expression, the arch of her eyebrows was a little raised. She really might just as well have said, “What the devil do you want?” and had done with it.

Miss Silver did not keep her waiting.

“I am here because Miss Rietta Cray has asked for my professional assistance.”

“Has she?” The eyebrows rose a little higher.

“Yes, Mrs. Welby. You are an old friend of Miss Cray’s.”

“Oh, yes.” Catherine leaned sideways, took a cigarette from a tortoiseshell case, and struck a match.

Miss Silver coughed after the manner of a teacher who calls the class to order.

“It will not have escaped you that Mr. Lessiter’s death has placed Miss Cray in a somewhat serious position.”

The tip of the cigarette glowed. Catherine blew out a cloud of smoke.

“I shouldn’t think it had escaped anyone.”

“You are perfectly correct. As an old friend of Miss Cray’s you will, of course, be willing to do all that is in your power to clear her.”

“I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do.”

“I think there is. As you are no doubt aware, Miss Cray was called to the telephone at twenty past eight on Wednesday night. She talked to her caller for ten minutes, and almost immediately afterwards went up to Melling House, where she had an interview with Mr. Lessiter. You were the caller, were you not?”

Catherine drew at her cigarette. When she spoke her tone was openly rude.

“What put that into your head?”

“I think it would be very unwise of you to deny it. The girl at the exchange will no doubt remember the call. She is probably familiar with your voice and that of Miss Cray.”

The blue haze between them thickened. Catherine said equably,

“If she says I called Rietta up, then I did. I very often do. I’m alone here-it passes the time. Anyhow I suppose you have asked Rietta. She would know.”

Miss Silver was sitting upon the couch. There was a bright wood fire and the room was warm. She removed her yellow tippet and laid it beside her. In some purely feminine manner this small incident stirred Catherines temper. In her own mind she stigmatized the tippet as a mangy cat and resented its contact with her sofa. That a woman who wore a thing like that should thrust herself into her house and cross-examine her about a private conversation was the ultimate limit.

Miss Silver’s reply did nothing to allay her anger.

“Miss Cray is under suspicion. It would therefore be important to corroborate any account she might give.”

“Very well-give me Rietta’s account, and I’ll give you my corroboration.”

Since Miss Cray had resolutely refused to give any account of the conversation, this was unfortunately not practicable. Miss Silver coughed, and employed the old device of the red herring.

“In the statements which have been made there are references to a memorandum left by Mrs. Lessiter for the information of her son. I believe it was concerned with some disposition of her effects.”

Catherine said, “I really don’t know.”

The haze hung between them, but something had happened. It would have been difficult to say just what it was- the tensing of a muscle, the momentary halting of a breath, the slightest involuntary movement of a finger. Miss Silver had always found it useful to give particular attention to the hands of anyone whose response to questioning inclined towards reticence.

The hand with which Catherine was holding her cigarette remained steady. If the fingers pressed a little more closely, it was a movement impossible to detect. But the little finger had jerked.

Miss Silver coughed.

“I believe that to have been the case. I should be very glad, Mrs. Welby, if you could bring yourself to be frank with me.”

“Frank?” Catherine laughed. “I really don’t know what you mean!”

“Then I will tell you. Mr. Lessiter had been absent for more than twenty years. He met Miss Cray here, in your house, and walked home with her. The subject of his conversation was the disposition of his mother’s effects. On the evening of the murder you had a conversation with Miss Cray which lasted for ten minutes. Was that also a conversation with regard to the disposition of Mrs. Lessiter’s property?”

Catherine laughed.

“Why don’t you ask Rietta?”

“I am asking you. I believe that some dispute was going on between you and Mr. Lessiter. These things are in the air in a village. It is common knowledge that Mrs. Lessiter lent you the furniture of this house.”

Catherine blew out a cloud of smoke.

“She gave me some furniture-yes. I don’t know what business it is of yours.”

“Miss Cray has engaged me to protect her interests. It is clear that there are two possible points of view involved. I have heard that the furniture was lent-you say that it was given. Mr. Lessiter talked to Miss Cray about the disposition of his mother’s effects. On the night of the murder you called Miss Cray up to talk about a matter of business. Later that evening she had a sharp difference of opinion with Mr. Lessiter over a business matter which involved a friend. Can you be surprised that I put two and two together and arrived at the conclusion that Mr. Lessiter was taking the first point of view? He believed that the furniture had been lent. He endeavoured to obtain corroboration from Miss Cray. At some time during the hours immediately preceding his death he discovered a memorandum in his mother’s writing. I think it is quite clear that this memorandum supported his view. I believe he rang you up and said so, and that you then rang Miss Cray. Later on, during her interview with Mr. Lessiter, Miss Cray recurred to the subject and endeavoured to change some course of action which he was contemplating. I think that what he intended must have been of a nature to cause her serious distress. She told me that their quarrel was about business, and that the business concerned a friend. You cannot be surprised if I conclude that you were the friend. The whole sequence of events is then explained.”

Catherine Welby had not Rietta Cray’s quick temper. She could take a wound as well as give one. But all through the interview anger had been rising in her, retarded by caution, checked once or twice by fear, but still rising. It went cold in her now. She felt as if she had just been neatly dissected, her thoughts, her motives, the movements of her mind laid bare. It was not alone the few formal sentences, it was the feeling that this old maid’s small, shrewd eyes did really see what she was thinking. She even had the strangest feeling that it might be a relief to let go-to open her mind of her own free will, unpack her thoughts, and spread them out to be looked at, weighed, and judged. It was only for the shortest possible space of time. These moments come-and go. We take them, or we let them go.

Catherine Welby let her moment go. She had no idea that in letting it go she had committed herself to an irremediable disaster. She was not hurried by anger. She took her time before she said,

“You’ve got it all very nicely settled, haven’t you? I wouldn’t dream of disturbing the picture.” She got to her feet and dropped the stub of her cigarette into a jade ashtray. “And now perhaps you’ll go.”

Miss Silver was very well qualified to deal with insolence. She regarded Catherine in a manner which relegated her to the nursery-a badly conducted nursery in which the child had not been taught her manners. Rising without hurry, she put on the elderly tippet and fastened up her coat.

“If you should change your mind, you will know where to find me.”