Poison in the Pen

CHAPTER 36

Since Miss Eccles only had morning help, and that not every day, it was she herself who opened the door in reply to Miss Silver’s knock. She had put on the hall light, and as she stood back under it Miss Silver was shocked to see how greatly she had changed in the two days that had passed since Roger Repton’s death. She was, as always, carefully dressed, and she was not wearing black, but the navy blue skirt and cardigan seemed too loose. Her hair had lost its spring and the silver lustre which had set off the delicate complexion and the bright blue eyes. There was no colour anywhere now. Miss Silver was reminded of a doll that has been left out in the rain. There was compassion in her voice as she said,

“May I come in for a few minutes, Miss Eccles? Miss Repton has charged me with messages, and I have a basket of apples which she has sent you. I think she said the name was James Grieves. I hope that is right.”

Social training is not lightly thrown aside. Whilst the last thing Mettie Eccles desired was to open the door to a stranger, she felt herself quite unable to close it in that stranger’s face. Miss Silver, stepping into the passage, was conducted to a sitting-room with blue curtains, a few pieces of good furniture, and the oriental carpet which had been a present from Roger Repton. There was no white in the pattern, and the prevailing colours were a deep blue and some shades of rich old rose. Miss Silver reflected that a scrap of white paper would certainly be quite noticeable against it.

Miss Eccles took the basket of apples and emptied them out into a bowl of old bleu de roi. Returning the basket, she had intended to remain standing, but as Miss Silver had taken a seat, she could hardly refrain from doing so herself.

“Miss Repton hoped you would understand that she would have come down but she is not really quite up to it, and Dr. Taylor insists that she should not put any strain upon herself.”

Mettie Eccles said in a dry voice,

“What a pity that doctors cannot give us a prescription against strain.”

Miss Silver said,

“We have to find such a prescription for ourselves. Friendship and sympathy help, do you not think so? Miss Repton is reaching out for them. She asked me to say how very much she wanted to see you, and how glad she would be if you would come over.”

Mettie Eccles did not look as if she had wept. Her eyelids had the brown, shrivelled appearance which comes from tearless grief. Momentarily between these dry lids her eyes took on colour-not their old bright blue, but the colder shade of steel. She said,

“Not whilst that woman is there.” The words came short and sharp.

“You mean Mrs. Repton? Miss Maggie said-”

Mettie Eccles lifted a hand.

“I don’t know what Maggie is made of. How can she eat or sleep or live under the same roof with Roger’s murderess? You have come with messages to me. I would like you to take that back as my message to her. That woman murdered Roger, and Maggie and Valentine go on living in the same house with her, and the police don’t arrest her!”

Miss Silver spoke with a sudden quiet air of authority.

“Miss Eccles, do you truly believe that Mrs. Repton poisoned her husband?”

Mettie Eccles gave a terrible little laugh.

“Doesn’t everyone? Don’t you?”

Miss Silver coughed in a manner which conveyed the impression that she was being discreet.

“Then you must believe that she wrote those anonymous letters.”

Mettie Eccles stared.

“What has that got to do with it?”

“Everything, I think. Colonel Repton was killed because he had declared that he knew who had written them.”

“He was killed because he was going to divorce that woman and cut her out of his will.”

Miss Silver’s air of authority became more noticeable. She said,

“I think not. He was killed because he knew who had written the letters, just as Connie Brooke and Doris Pell were killed because they knew.”

Miss Eccles was accustomed to dominate an argument. She had a quick brain and a quick tongue. It was something new to her to find herself without words. She said almost in a whisper,

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Miss Silver went on speaking in that quiet voice,

“Only the person who wrote the letters had an interest in those three deaths. Did you ever see one of the letters?”

Mettie Eccles said, “No.” And then, “Why should I?”

“You might have had one.”

The sagging shoulders lifted in a gesture of pride.

“There hasn’t ever been a reason for anyone to write me a letter like that. No one can say-no one-” Her voice shook and broke. “How dare you ask me that?”

Miss Silver went on calmly.

“Then you would not know what the letters looked like? You would not know whether this was a piece of one?”

She put out her hand with a small torn scrap of paper in it. A scrap of cheap white paper which looked like the corner torn from the bottom of a sheet. Mettie Eccles took it in her hand and looked at it. She saw scrawled on it the first part of the name Tilling-just three letters, and then the jagged edge of the tear. Miss Silver said,

“You wouldn’t have seen this scrap of paper before? You would not be interested to know where it had been found?”

She was watching Mettie Eccles intently. What she saw interested her very much. She had come with an open mind, and with great experience in reading the motives and the thoughts of others. She had come without fear or bias, and she saw what she had hoped to see, an answer to the problem on which she was engaged.

Miss Eccles’ reaction was in line with the most salient of her characteristics. Even in her present condition of shock and grief a lively curiosity had its way. She exclaimed and said,

“Good gracious-you don’t mean to say you’ve had one!”

“No.”

“Not poor Maggie! What a shame! It’s too bad!”

Miss Silver said soberly,

“I would like to tell you a story. On the day that Doris Pell was drowned she paid a call in connection with her work as a needlewoman. In that house, and during that call, she picked up a scrap of cheap white paper torn from the corner of one of those anonymous letters. It had the first three letters of the word Tilling written upon it. She knew it at once for what it was, because she had herself received the letter from which this corner had been torn. By the way, may I have my piece of paper back?”

Miss Eccles handed it over. A little colour had come into her face. She said with almost her old energy of voice and manner,

“What a perfectly horrid thing! What house was it?”

“I cannot tell you that.”

Miss Eccles’ brows drew together in a frown.

“Good gracious-but you must! Don’t you see how important it might be? Why, she was here that afternoon. I was going to have some nightgowns made-poor Doris! Now, let me see, where else had she been? I know she was up at the Manor because Maggie was in a way about her blouse not being right, and Doris had been there and fitted it and was going to run up again with it in the evening, and it was when she was coming back from there that she was drowned. That all came out at the inquest, only the more I think about it- I haven’t been able to help thinking about it-the more I just don’t believe that she did it on purpose. She was here that afternoon and I was talking to her, and if she had had that in her mind, don’t you think it would have shown?”

Miss Silver said, “You interest me extremely. Will you tell me just how Doris was that afternoon? Was she just as usual?”

“No-no-she wasn’t-I can’t say that. But she wasn’t depressed or gloomy. Not the way a girl would have to be before she made up her mind to commit suicide. And you know, the Pells weren’t Church people, but they were very religious. Doris was a good girl and she would have known how wrong it was. I just thought perhaps something had upset her. As a matter of fact I wondered whether Maggie had been a little sharp with her about the blouse, and I thought it wouldn’t be like her if she had. Maggie is a muddler, but she has always been easygoing.” She paused, as if considering, and then shook her head. “No, I can’t get nearer to it than that about Doris. I thought something had upset her, and I thought she was jumpy. But I don’t believe she drowned herself.”