Out of the Past

CHAPTER 18

Marie Bonnet came into the room in a demure manner. She had no objection to an interview with this policeman who had so distinguished an air. She knew instinctively that her approach must be a subtle one-she must present an appearance of refinement, of delicacy. She achieved a very creditable imitation, and insensibly he began to feel less uneasy at having let Miss Silver go. For that was the astonishing thing, Miss Silver had refused point-blank to stay, and she had gathered up her knitting and departed before the girl came into the room, remarking with a considerable degree of firmness that she had no professional connection with the case and would rather not be present. Such a thing having never in his experience happened before, he was unable to feel easy about it.

He looked up as Marie came. Not pretty, but with something about her that took the eye-very smooth, pale skin, good ankles, and quite expensive stockings. He had too many female cousins not to know just as much about nylons as they did. Marie’s nylons were of good quality, and if he wasn’t mistaken, just out of the packet. It would have surprised him very much to learn that she had bought them herself.

He asked her to sit down, and she did so, crossing her legs in a manner that brought the nylons rather more into view and then pulling her skirt down to cover them. It was a black skirt, very neat, and the shoes were trim. He had her name, and he addressed her as Mademoiselle Bonnet, at which mark of courtesy she gave him one quick upward glance and then looked down again.

“Mlle Bonnet, you know, of course, that Mr. Field who was staying here has been murdered.”

“Yes, indeed-le pauvre m’sieu!”

“I gave you my name when I came in-Inspector Abbott. I am a police officer from London. Since Mr. Field was staying in this house, you will, I am sure, understand that I should like to ask you a few questions.”

“But yes, m’sieu.” Her voice was soft. She was all compliance.

“Mr. Field was here how long?”

“On Tuesday evening he arrives here at half past six-seven-I do not know. He sees Miss Anning. They talk-he is perhaps an old friend.”

“Who told you that?”

She made a slight gesture with her hands. They were well kept, the nails bright with polish.

“It is known. Besides-” She flashed him a look that promised, tantalized, and withdrew.

“He didn’t dine here that evening?”

“No, he went out again. He is to dine at Cliff Edge where he has friends. Later when dinner is over Miss Anning tells me that a room is to be prepared for him. Next day he is here for breakfast, for lunch, and for dinner. Then someone assassinates him-le pauvre m’sieu!”

“Yes. I’d like to come back to Tuesday evening. Had you ever seen Mr. Field before?”

“Me, m’sieu? But no!”

“Heard of him?”

She shook her head.

“But no, m’sieu!”

“Then how did you know, right away on that very first evening, that he was an old friend of Miss Anning’s?”

She looked up startled, wary. Then she smiled.

“It is very simple, m’sieu. As I said, it is known. And besides-I came past the door when they were talking. It was evident that they were not talking as strangers.”

She found herself confused under his glance. Blue eyes should be smiling eyes, but his were as cold and pale as the shadows on ice. He said in a voice as chilly as his look,

“You listened.”

“But no, m’sieu! I would not do such a thing!”

His smile was not a reassuring one.

“You happened to hear. These old houses are quite solidly built. Suppose you tell me just how you happened to hear.”

“M’sieu doubts my word?”

“M’sieu doesn’t think you could have heard anything to speak of through that rather solid door.”

“I did not say that it was shut!”

“Oh, it was open?”

“Evidently, since I could hear what Miss Anning said.”

“And what did Miss Anning say?”

Her breast heaved.

“Why should I tell you? If you do not believe my word, why should you believe what I say?”

“I don’t promise that I will. I should like to hear how the door came to be open when Miss Anning was talking to her old friend, and I should like to know what you heard-or whether you did in fact hear anything at all.”

The very smooth white skin became slightly tinged with red. The lashes lifted to disclose a flash of anger. She said in a voice that was no longer as quiet and demure as it had been,

“Does one lie because one does not tell everything at once?”

His light glance dwelt on her.

“I don’t know-does one?”

When a girl is angry she will sometimes tell the truth. She was certainly angry. He wondered if she was going to tell it now.

“Then I will tell you! And it will be the truth that I shall tell! If you do not believe me, it will be because you are stupid, and that will not be my fault! On the Tuesday night when I was coming into the hall, there was Mrs. Burkett going into this room where Miss Anning and Mr. Field were talking. She had the door open and she was going in, but she stopped. She stopped because Miss Anning was speaking, not loud, but as one speaks when one would be glad if one had a knife in one’s hand. And would you like to know what she said? It frightened Mrs. Burkett, and it frightened me. Until that moment I did not know that Miss Anning and Mr. Field were more than strangers. But one does not speak so to a stranger, m’sieu-I tell you that! One speaks like that only to a lover, or perhaps to a husband! I do not suppose that Mr. Field was the husband of Miss Anning!” She emphasized the word quite strongly. “Oh, no, I do not suppose that-not for an instant!”

“Mlle Bonnet, what did you hear Miss Anning say?”

“She said, m’sieu-and it was not only I who heard her, but Mrs. Burkett who is the niece of your friend Miss Silver-she said, speaking to Mr. Field, ‘I could kill you for that!’ ”

Frank Abbott has been considered to bear a very strong resemblance to the portrait of his grandmother, the late Lady Evelyn Abbott, whose cold and formidable temper had made her disliked and feared by a large family circle. Cousins would hasten to say that the likeness was more in feature than in fact, and that in spite of it he really had quite a number of human feelings, but when, as at this moment, his features sharpened and the blue of his eyes went pale and cold he could produce a very similar effect. He thought Marie Bonnet was telling the truth, and he thought he knew now why Miss Silver had so carefully dissociated herself from this affair. He recalled the picture-postcard to which he had already alluded. Dated four days ago from Cliffton-on-Sea, it had read in part: “Ethel and I are greatly enjoying the sea breezes. She leaves on Wednesday, but I shall be here for another week.” Ethel was Mrs. Burkett. Her husband was a bank manager in the Midlands, and she was Miss Silver’s favourite niece. Since this was Thursday evening and she was to leave on the Wednesday, she would already have returned to her husband, her three boys, and to little Josephine.

He turned a chilly stare upon Marie Bonnet and said,

“One of those remarks to which it is difficult to find the correct answer. May I ask what Mr. Field said in reply?”

“But he said nothing, m’sieu. It is all so quick. Mrs. Burkett opens the door, I hear Miss Anning say, ‘I could kill you for that!’ and then Mrs. Burkett makes an apology and comes out in a hurry. She shuts the door, and me”-with a slight shrug of the shoulders-“I do not wait, I am gone.”

Frank Abbott considered. Mrs. Burkett would certainly have repeated what she had heard to Miss Silver. He could check up on this girl’s story. But just why had she told it to him? There were a number of reasons-the simplest a desire to get herself into the lime-light. Others-a grudge against Miss Anning? A desire to draw a red herring across the path? At the moment no discernible motive for this.

He asked sharply, “Why do you dislike Miss Anning?”

She opened her eyes widely. They were not anything particular either in shape or colour, but she could do tricks with them. This one registered innocent surprise.

“But, m’sieu-”

“I know-you don’t dislike her, you never thought of such a thing, and all that. But you don’t really like her very much, do you? Suppose you tell me why. Is she strict-harsh- particular about little things like perquisites? You needn’t be afraid of telling me. She doesn’t look as if she would be too easy, and I won’t pass it on.”

He smiled, and after a moment she smiled too. Her lashes fell.

“But, m’sieu, I do not dislike Miss Anning. She is my employer.”

“How long have you been here?”

She shrugged again.

“In England -ten years. In this house four months. The money is good. When I have saved enough I shall go home to France.”

“And you do not dislike Miss Anning.”

“No, m’sieu.”

Spite is a thing that is difficult to conceal. It had been apparent from the first word she spoke. It came to him that he had asked Miss Silver what she thought of Marie Bonnet, and that she had given him rather a curious answer. She had said, “Mrs. Anning does not consider that she is trustworthy.” Mrs. Anning. So it was the invalid mother who was disliked. He said smoothly,

“How fortunate that is. It isn’t pleasant to be-disliked. Is it possible, then, that Miss Anning has made you feel that she dislikes you?”

Marie threw up a hand.

“She would have no reason! I know my work, and I do it! She is fortunate that I have stayed so long! It is not everyone who would remain, and so I have told her! She says, ‘My mother is old-she has had an illness. She does not mean to insult you.’ And I say she is not so old, and she is not so ill that it is permitted to her to say these things! ‘That French girl!’ Am I ashamed that I am French? And, ‘She listens at doors!’ Is it that I wish to listen to what a mad old woman says? And, ‘Why do you keep these foreigners? I don’t like them!’ Do I like her? I should like to ask her that!”

“So it is Mrs. Anning who dislikes you and whom you dislike so much.”

Marie smiled. The anger had gone out of her.

“Why should I dislike a mad old woman?”