Poison in the Pen

CHAPTER 32

March remained looking, not at her but past her into the small fire which burned on the study hearth. Actually, his mind had swung back to the recollection of other times when Miss Silver had used that earnest tone and when she had been right. Throughout his experience she had made a habit of being in the right. It might be, it frequently was, exasperating, but it had to be reckoned with. He felt himself obliged to reckon with it now. He could depend upon his own judgment to be intelligent, temperate, and fair, but he felt bound to recognise in Miss Silver something to which he could not lay a claim. And of course he could always save his pride by having recourse to the perfectly legitimate argument that she had the opportunity denied to the police of seeing the various suspects at their ease and without any consciousness that they were being watched. He found that he did not desire or intend to avail himself of this argument. His desire was, quite simply, to arrive at the truth. He turned an open look upon her and said,

“I wonder-”

He was aware of some added warmth in her regard. The answer had pleased her. He was conscious of an absurd satisfaction. She said,

“I think, like myself, you must feel unable to push coincidence beyond a reasonable point. Doris Pell comes back to her aunt and says that she knows who wrote the anonymous letters. She is drowned the same evening. Connie Brooke is heard to say that she knows who wrote the letters. The story is all round the village within twenty-four hours, and only a few hours after that Connie is found dead in her bed from an overdose of sleeping-tablets. On Saturday Colonel Repton is heard asserting that he knows who wrote the letters. Once more the story is circulated. On the Monday afternoon he is found poisoned in this very room. Can you possibly believe that the case of Doris Pell has no connection with the other two cases, and that they are not all the work of the same hand?”

He nodded.

“It certainly looks that way. But as long as the first death stood alone and Miss Pell withheld her evidence, no other verdict than suicide could be expected in the case of Doris Pell. There is now a presumption that these three deaths were caused by the same person. The question is, what person? And it seems to me that the additional evidence you have produced piles up at Scilla Repton’s door. Doris could have picked up the compromising scrap of paper somewhere else than in Miss Maggie’s room. We don’t know in what circumstances it came to be on the floor at all. It could have spilled out of a drawer, a book, or a blotter. It could have been pulled out of a pocket with a handkerchief. It could have dropped from a waste-paper basket or a handbag. You say that Doris was shown up to Miss Maggie’s room. What happened when she left?”

“Florrie took her up, but she found her own way down.”

“Then she could have gone or been called into Scilla Repton’s bedroom, or into her sitting-room which has a door into the hall as well as into the drawing-room. Was there anything to prevent that?”

“Not that I know of, Randal.”

“Mrs. Repton may have wanted her to undertake some work for her. They could have been looking at patterns, and the piece of paper may have been caught up with them and fallen. Mrs. Repton would know that Doris was returning to the Manor after dark, and she is a strong, active young woman who could easily have pushed her off the bridge. If she did take that first step, the others would follow, with a strong additional money motive in Roger Repton’s case. There is, of course, no evidence to connect her with Connie Brooke on the night of her death, but if it can be proved that she poisoned her husband, there would be no need to proceed with the other two cases.”

Miss Silver shook her head.

“I cannot feel any assurance of Mrs. Repton’s guilt.”

“Would you like to tell me why?”

The crochet hook went in and out, drawing the blue wool into a trellised edging. She said,

“It is very difficult to put into words. If she is guilty, I should expect some indication of her guilt, some suggestion that she is vulnerable. But I could not discern that Mrs. Repton had the least awareness of danger. Fear is the hardest thing in the world to disguise. Had she been afraid, I do not believe that she could so entirely have concealed the fact. It did not seem to me she realized that she had any cause for fear.”

“I should say she was fairly tough.”

“Even the most hardened criminal has an instinct for the approach of danger. Had Mrs. Repton been conscious when you were questioning her that she had committed three murders, and that she now stood on the brink of discovery, I feel sure that her reactions would have been other than they were. There was a kind of lack of awareness which impressed me. I do not know that I can get nearer to it than that.”

“She is tough, and she was putting on an act. If these three people were murdered, I maintain that she is the most likely person to have murdered them.”

Miss Silver shook her head.

“This case does not begin with the murders, Randal. It begins with the anonymous letters. They are quite fundamental. In looking for their author you are looking for a frustrated person with a secret passion for power.”

He lifted his brows.

“I can imagine that Scilla Repton might feel frustrated in Tilling Green.”

“Oh, no, Randal-not at the time when the letters began. Her affair with Gilbert Earle was going on, and her mind would have been occupied with the shifts and subterfuges which such an intrigue entails. Also I gravely doubt if she would have accused herself of infidelity, as the letters certainly did.”

“Did any other letters accuse her besides the one to Colonel Repton?”

“I think it likely that Miss Grey’s letter did so. According to Florrie, she received one. In fact she admitted as much to you, did she not?”

“Oh, yes-she said that she had burned it. I should say that you are probably right, and that it accused Scilla Repton and Gilbert Earle of an intrigue.”

“And do you think that Mrs. Repton herself would have written such a letter?”

“I don’t know. I think she might have done if she was out to smash Valentine Grey’s marriage regardless of who got hurt. That was the motive suggested by her husband.” He moved, got up. “This is all sheer speculation, you know, and I must get on. I think myself that we have enough evidence to warrant the arrest.”

She put away her work and rose.

“Will you question her again?”

“I do not see that there is any other course open to me. She will have to be cautioned this time.”

He left the room feeling a little as if he had not quite measured up to some indeterminable standard.