The Case of William Smith

Chapter Thirty-seven

Abigail got slowly to her feet. She had knelt beside the body, turned the glove back from the wrist and felt for a pulse that was not there. Now she stood up and put a hand on the newel-post to steady herself.

‘She’s dead – ’

Miss Silver had been kneeling too. She also rose. Her face was very grave.

Abigailsaid in an expressionless voice, ‘Her heart was all right – the doctor said so – ’

Miss Silver came to her.

‘You will want all your courage, Mrs. Salt. I fear that it was poison.’

‘Oh, no!’

‘I think cyanide. There is the suddenness, the appearance, and the distinctive odour. We must not touch her or disturb anything. Scotland Yard must be informed at once.’

Abigail Salt’s eyes had filled with tears. They had a bewildered look. The tears began to run slowly down over her cheeks, which had lost nearly all their rosy colour. She held on tightly to the newel and said,

‘But why?’

‘Can you not think of any reason, Mrs. Salt? Where is your telephone? The police must be notified.’

Abigail said, ‘It’s here – in this downstairs room.’

They went into the sitting-room to which she had taken William Smith on the night he was attacked. In a very brisk and businesslike manner Miss Silver asked if she might speak with Sergeant Abbott or Chief Inspector Lamb. When she heard Frank Abbott’s voice she said briefly,

‘A shocking fatality has occurred. I am speaking from 176 Selby Street. Miss Emily Salt has just entered the house and dropped down dead. I suspect cyanide.’

Sne heard him whistle at the other end of the line.

‘Suicide?’

‘I did not say so. The person who was to be watched – is there any information from that quarter?’

‘Yes – let me see – Donald reported that she had returned to town at midday yesterday.’

‘I already knew that.’

‘He followed her to her flat. You always know everything, but I just wonder whether you know that she has been living there as Mrs. Woods.’

Miss Silver coughed.

‘I have been suspecting it for the last half-hour. It supplies the link for which I have been looking.’

As she hung up the receiver her mind was working rapidly. The indispensable link had been established. Mavis Jones had been for fifteen years a confidential secretary. It appeared that she was now Mrs. Cyril Eversley, but that for a good many years out of the fifteen she had occupied a very comfortable flat as Mrs. Woods. And Mrs. Woods was Mary Salt’s daughter and Emily Salt’s niece, May. She stood there thinking of Emily Salt’s abnormal mentality, her crazy devotion to this new-found niece, its fading – and its recurrence about two months ago.

About two months ago – when William Smith had paid a visit to Eversleys and been recognized by the old clerk. About two months ago – when Mr. Tattlecombe had been struck down and Mr. Yates had heard the casualty in the bed next to him mutter something that might have been ‘Joan’ or ‘Jones’, and then, ‘She pushed me.’ That was the beginning of it – death of Mr. Davies – accident to Mr. Tattlecombe. Attacks on William Smith – the tampering with his car – that was how it went on. And now the death of Emily Salt. Was that the end?

Emily Salt was dead – thought focused on that. Why? She thought Emily had been an instrument, and that the instrument had been discarded. When do you discard an instrument? The answer appeared in a very bright light. When it has done its work – when it might be dangerous to keep it. But the work for which this instrument had been required was the destruction of William Smith.

An instrument is only discarded when its work is done and it would be dangerous to keep it.

What work?

The destruction of William Smith.

How?

Into that very bright light in her mind there came a single word. It was the word with which she had accounted to Abigail for the death of Emily Salt.

Cyanide.

Perhaps concealed in the stick of chocolate still clasped in her hand. Cyanide can be concealed in other things beside chocolate. Quick and clear came the picture of Abigail Salt telling her about the pot of apple honey. ‘A pot of my apple honey which I had set aside all ready to leave at my brother’s for William Smith and his wife.’

She turned upon Abigail.

‘Mrs. Salt, you missed a pot of apple honey.’

There was a look of surprise, a slight start. The words seemed so irrelevant, the occasion so trifling.

‘Yes.’

‘You told me that you had put it aside. Did you mean that it was packed up?’

‘Yes, I had done it up all ready to take.’

‘Was there any message enclosed?’

‘Just a line, “With kind regards – Abigail Salt.” Miss Silver – ’

Miss Silver was opening her bag. She took out a notebook, consulted it, found the telephone number she required, and dialled with steady fingers. When she heard the receiver lifted at the other end of the line she spoke. Her voice was steady too,

‘Mrs. Eversley?’

No one but herself was to know with what a feeling of thankfulness she heard Katharine’s voice say, ‘Yes.’