The Case of William Smith

Chapter Forty

In the next few days two inquests were held in two separate districts of London. Neither of them took long or attracted very much attention. The verdict in each case was suicide whilst the balance of the mind was disturbed. There was apparently nothing to connect May Woods, 39, married, with Emily Salt, 58, single, except the fact that they had both poisoned themselves by taking cyanide.

Where justice has no end to be served, it is not the policy of the police to provide the public with a dish of scandal at the expense of innocent survivors. Since neither Evans nor Donald was called as a witness, there was simply nothing to connect the two deaths. In the case of Emily Salt, the doctor who had attended her during a recent attack of influenza stated that she was, he considered, decidedly unhinged, and that he had advised her sister-in-law that it might be better if she could be placed under some restraint. Mrs. Salt and Miss Silver deposed to hearing her enter the house, and to finding her dead at the foot of the stairs. The police surgeon gave evidence as to the cause of death, and that was all. There was no mention of a pot of apple honey.

At the inquest on Mrs. Woods it was stated that on receiving a visit from a police officer she locked herself in her room, and when the door was broken down she was found to have taken a fatal dose of poison. The Coroner enquired whether Mrs. Woods had reason to suppose that she would be arrested. On receiving an affirmative reply he asked whether the police had any further evidence to offer, and was told that they had not. The deceased was identified as Mrs. May Woods by the caretaker of the block of flats in which she had resided for the past five years.

At Eversleys it became known that Miss Jones was dead. Cyril Eversley wore a black tie and stayed away from the office. He had been too profoundly shocked to realize that before very long he would be experiencing an almost equal degree of relief.

On the day after the two inquests Miss Silver dispensed coffee and conversation to Frank Abbott and to William and Katharine. It was icy cold outside, with a north wind full of little pricking points of snow, but Miss Silver’s room with its blue plush curtains drawn, a fire blazing, and cakes and coffee displayed beside it, was bright and comfortable. A warm, cheerful light illumined the patterned wall-paper, the photogravures in their yellow maple frames, Miss Silver’s gallery of photographs, and Miss Silver herself in a utility silk purchased in the last year of the war and worn one year for Sundays, a second for every day, and now come down to evening wear with the addition of a black velvet coatee – a most comfortable and treasured garment, so time-honoured as to verge upon the legendary.

Frank Abbott, very much off duty, looked across at William and said,

‘Good production, don’t you think? No fuss, no scandal, no headlines in the papers – in fact what the eye doesn’t see the heart needn’t grieve over.’

William said, ‘Yes, it was a good show – very well managed. We’re very grateful. You can’t afford that sort of publicity when you’re trying to get a business on its legs again.’

Frank lifted his coffee-cup.

‘Well, here’s luck – ’ his eyes went to Katharine – ‘to you both.’

She smiled at him.

‘You’ll come and see us sometimes, won’t you?’

‘I’d like to – if I shan’t have unpleasant associations. You’ve had a rotten time.’

She shook her head.

‘The bad part’s gone. We’ll keep the friends we’ve made – Mr. Tattlecombe, and Mrs. Salt, and Miss Silver, and you.’

Miss Silver smiled, then gave her slight cough.

‘I saw Mrs. Salt this afternoon. She told me one or two things which interested me extremely. I had been trying to think where this series of crimes and attempted crimes could really be said to have begun.In nearly every case one finds that the seed of a crime has been present in thought for a long time before it germinates and passes into action. There are, perhaps, years during which selfish, ruthless, ambitious, and despotic tendencies could, and should, be checked and eliminated. In the case of Emily Salt, in the case of Mavis Jones, we have to go a long way back. When I went to see Mrs. Salt I was very much struck by an enlarged portrait of her mother-in-law, Mrs. Harriet Salt, the mother of Emily and the grandmother of Mavis Jones. The features must always have been marked. In youth, Mrs. Salt tells me, they were remarkably handsome. But they had become harsh. The face as actually pictured was that of a ruthless despot. I learned this afternoon that the camera had not traduced her. It was under her iron domination that Emily Salt became the warped creature that she was. She might never have been very bright, but she need not have been repressed, thwarted, and bullied. With kindlier treatment her affections could have been developed and useful occupations found for her. She was not allowed to make friends, so all her capacity for affection was dammed up and became abnormal, manifesting itself in a crazy devotion which could only prove unwelcome to its object. A very sad case.’

Frank Abbott lifted a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Is the late Miss Mavis Jones, alias May Woods, a sad case too?’

Miss Silver looked at him gravely. ‘I think so, Frank. She was a wicked and unscrupulous woman. She might have been something very different. Her mother, as you know, was Mary Salt, Harriet Salt’s eldest daughter. She was, by all accounts, a handsome, high-spirited girl with a strong resemblance to her mother. When Abigail Salt first mentioned her she spoke of a runaway marriage, but I learned this afternoon that so far as the family knew no marriage had taken place. Mary Salt was going to have a child, and her mother turned her out. No one knows what happened to her or to her child for several years after that. Her name wais never mentioned. The family closed its ranks. For what follows, Emily Salt is the authority. When she was seeing a good deal of her niece just before the war she told Abigail that Mary Salt, after working her fingers to the bone to keep her child, had married a man called Jones, an elderly valetudinarian. I think he had been a schoolmaster. Mavis got a secondary school education, matriculated, and took a course in typing and shorthand. Her mother died when she was sixteen. Mr. Jones was then quite sunk in invalidism, and the sister who came to look after him turned Mavis out. This is, of course, her own account. She must have been about twenty-three when she entered your firm’s employment, Mr. Eversley. She had excellent abilities, a prepossessing appearance, and assured manners. She became Mr. Cyril Eversley’s secretary – in what year?’

William said, ‘ ’Thirty-seven or ’thirty-eight. She was very efficient.’

‘Oh, yes – a clever, efficient woman who came to rely on her own cleverness and efficiency to such an extent that she allowed these qualities to dominate her. I do not know, Mr. Eversley, whether you have yet been able to make a thorough examination of the books of your firm, but I would advise you to do so. I can only account for her subsequent actions on the supposition that your return to the firm would have involved her in criminal proceedings.’

William said, ‘Yes, I think so.’

Miss Silver coughed and proceeded.

‘Her marriage to Mr. Cyril Eversley was, of course, designed to afford her some protection. But it was not enough. She must have been conscious of defalcations too serious to be condoned. We now come to the tragic affair of Mr. Davies. I think we must conclude, Mr. Eversley, that when Mavis Jones opened your typed letter asking for an interview she received a shock. You signed it in your own handwriting, William Smith. She must have seen the first part of that signature too often not to have been struck by it. With only one word to go on, she could not be sure, but she was enough impressed to give you an appointment at an hour when neither of the partners would be there and the staff would be preparing to leave.’

William said, ‘One of the girls in the office remembers her pushing Davies off early. As a matter of fact she defeated her own ends. She hustled him, he forgot something, and he came back for it. That’s what he told you, wasn’t it, Kath?’

She said, ‘Yes.’

‘That’s when he ran into me. Of course I didn’t know him from Adam. The poor old chap went away feeling quite dazed and rang Katharine up. She isn’t sure whether she told him not to say anything or not. She wrote it to him next day, but he never got the letter.’

Miss Silver had picked up her knitting. The two blue coatees were finished and packed up ready for the post. A cardigan for the baby’s mother, her niece Ethel Burkett, was now upon the needles. About half an inch of deep bright cherry-red could be discerned – most warm, most cheerful, most comfortable. Knitting rapidly and without effort, she gave it a passing glance of admiration and reverted to the analysis of crime.

‘If Mr. Davies had been more reticent, there is very little doubt that he would have been alive today. I think there can be no doubt that he sought Miss Jones out and told her of his encounter. She probably tried to make him believe that he had been deceived by some chance likeness – she may even have commented on it herself. But when she discovered that he was in possession of her visitor’s address she must have decided that it was all too dangerous. Consider the evidence of Mr. Yates who occupied the bed next to that in which poor Mr. Davies died. The official account stated that he had passed away without speaking, which of course only meant that the nurses had not heard him speak. Mr. Yates, however, heard him say three things – the first a name which he took to be Joan or Jones, and after that two disconnected sentences, “She didn’t believe me,” and, “She pushed me.” I think there can be no doubt that Mavis Jones followed him from the office and found the opportunity she was looking for. He was pushed under a car and fatally injured. On that same evening Mr. Tattlecombe met with a very similar accident. Here we have no direct evidence. One can only weigh the probabilities and draw an inference. I think that Mavis Jones went down to Ellery Street that night to have a look at the lie of the land. I do not think it probable that she had any definite plan. It is possible, but I do not think that the probabilities lie that way. It was getting on for half-past ten at night, and she had no means of knowing whether William Smith lived on the premises, but, as it must have seemed to her perverted mind, fortune favoured her. The door opened and a man came out and crossed the pavement. She would have seen him as a dark shape against the light of the open door. In height and build he resembled William Smith. It must be remembered that though she would know Mr. Tattlecombe quite well by name as the brother of Abigail Salt, she had never seen him. What she saw now was a strong, upright figure, and the light striking upon a thick head of light-coloured hair. Mr. Tattlecombe’s hair is grey, and Mr. Eversley’s is fair. I think they would look very much the same at night with the light coming from behind. Mr. Tattlecombe has always maintained that he was “struck down”. I believe Mavis Jones pushed him, as she had pushed Mr. Davies.’

Katharine said, ‘It sounds too horribly cold-blooded.’

Miss Silver continued to knit with great rapidity.

‘It is a commonplace to say that one crime leads to another – “The lust of gain in the heart of Cain,” as Lord Tennyson so aptly says. And, if I may quote from a modern writer, “If you take the first step, you will take the last.” ’

Before the picture of Kipling as a modern the three young people sat dumb. Unconscious, Miss Silver pursued her theme.

‘We do not know when Mavis Jones discovered her mistake. She must have thought it too dangerous to repeat the attempt immediately, and she does not seem to have known that Mrs. William Eversley had obtained a situation at the Toy Bazaar.’

Katharine smiled faintly.

‘I told the family that I’d taken a job and was going away, and I didn’t give anyone my address. But – ’ she hesitated – ‘they did get to know where I was. At least Brett did – I don’t know how.’

Miss Silver’s needles clicked.

‘I think Mr. Brett Eversley rang you up late on Friday evening – the day before you married Mr. William Smith.’ She brought out the name with a smile.

Katharine said, ‘Yes.’

‘You had, I believe, taken tea with Mrs. Salt and Mr. Tattlecombe at Selby Street that afternoon. Your address was by that time known to them, and therefore to Emily Salt.’

‘I suppose so.’

William said, ‘Mr. Tattlecombe had known the address for a day or two. Miss Cole had it when we engaged Katharine. She went to Mr. Tattlecombe to complain that I was going to see Katharine in the evenings. It wasn’t her business of course, but Mrs. Bastable must have said something, and Miss Cole got worked up – she’s like that. Anyhow Mrs. Salt came to the wedding, so there wasn’t any secret about the address by then.’

The strip of cherry-coloured wool on Miss Silver’s needles had lengthened. She said,

‘Precisely. I think there can be very little doubt that Emily Salt rang up Mavis Jones, and that Mavis Jones immediately imparted the information to Mr. Brett Eversley. I do not know whether she had a grudge against him, or whether she considered that protestations of devotion on his part might ease the situation as regards the firm.’

William said, ‘It might be a bit of both. He used to run round with her. But Brett wasn’t in this business, you know. He wouldn’t have let himself be used like that if he’d known I was alive – I would like that to be quite clear to everyone. My cousins have both welcomed me back, though it has put them in an awkward position financially. Whatever Mavis Jones was doing, it was all off her own bat.’

Miss Silver inclined her head.

‘From what Mrs. Salt tells me it is evident that Miss Jones was not idle. The intimacy with Emily Salt had been resumed as far back as December. In this manner Mavis would know when Mr. Tattlecombe came to Selby Street for a period of convalescence, and she would be informed of any developments regarding William Smith. It was not hard for her to work up Emily Salt’s grievance over Mr. Tattlecombe’s will into a state which induced the poor unbalanced woman to make her two attempts upon Mr. Eversley’s life.’

William said, ‘Those were Emily – I thought so all along. You know, I picked up a note on the pavement after the first one. It was from Mrs. Salt to Mr. Tattlecombe, and I couldn’t think how it got there.’

Miss Silver coughed gently.

‘She wore Mr. Tattlecombe’s raincoat and used the kitchen poker. Mrs. Salt found the coat quite wet, and the poker rusty. You had a most providential escape, both then and when she endeavoured to push you off the island. The next attempt – the one in which the wheel of your car was loosened – was, I imagine, the work of Miss Jones. She had driven a car for some years. I use the word imagine advisedly, because the only evidence about this attempt is of a negative character. It could not have been the work of Emily Salt, since she was in bed at the time with a sharp attack of influenza. One of the difficulties of the case has been that two separate motives were apparent, and two entirely different suspects. Emily Salt had no possible interest in the attack on Mr. Davies, and a definite alibi for the time of Mr. Tattlecombe’s accident – she was present with Mrs. Salt at a chapel Social. She also had an alibi on the occasion of the attempt on the car. And it did not appear possible to connect Mavis Jones with the two attacks on Mr. Eversley, since both his visits to Mr. Tattlecombe were unpremeditated, and she could not have known of them beforehand. At the same time I felt quite unable to believe that there was no connection between these two sets of attempts on Mr. Eversley’s life. There had to be a link, and I went to Mrs. Salt to find out what it was.’ She turned to Frank Abbott with a smile. ‘Excellent work done by Detective Donald and Detective Evans helped to make the whole position clear. In the light of their evidence I think there can be no doubt at all that Mavis Jones rang Emily Salt up on the Sunday evening. She would know that it was quite safe to do so, as Mrs. Salt never missed evening chapel. During that conversation she told Emily to meet her just round the corner in Morden Road, thus avoiding the possibility of her car being seen in Selby Street. Either at this time, or perhaps on some previous occasion, Emily must have mentioned the pot of apple honey. It would be a grievance that this very special preserve should be given away, and to the very people of whom she already felt a crazy jealousy. What is certain is that she was told to bring the pot of apple honey with her, and that she did so. Detective Evans actually saw the parcel being unwrapped while the two women were sitting in the car in the cul-de-sac behind Rasselas Mews. I feel sure that Mavis Jones avoided touching it, but that she superintended the proceedings and supplied the cyanide. As you will have heard, analysis shows that practically the whole of the poison must have been in the top of the jar and had been decanted into the little cut-glass dish which Mrs. William Eversley set out upon her tea-table. How the cyanide was obtained, we do not know.’

William frowned and said, ‘My cousins tell me there was a wasps’ nest outside the office window last summer – some cyanide was bought to deal with it.’

Miss Silver gave a reproving cough.

‘There should be more restraint upon the sale of these dangerous poisons. Procedure is at present sadly lax. A great deal of crime would be avoided if the means were not to hand. Miss Jones probably had no evil intentions when she put the surplus cyanide away. She may have forgotten that she had done so. She may have come across it by accident, or she may have remembered it – we have no means of knowing. But if she had not had this poison ready to her hand she might not have resolved upon this last, most ruthless crime which would rid her of Mr. William Eversley and of Emily Salt by a single stroke and leave her, as she supposed, in a position of complete security.’ She paused for a moment and sighed. ‘The triumphing of the wicked is short. It is all very sad, very regrettable, but I think we now know how it happened. As I said before, some excellent work has been done. I trust that Chief Detective Inspector Lamb is aware of how much I have valued his very kind cooperation.’

Frank Abbott bent over the fire, poker in hand, his face not quite under control. He had a picture of Lamb with empurpled cheeks and bulging eyes being graciously thanked for his co-operation. Maudie was marvellous – she really was. From her moralizings to her quotations from the moderns (!), from her strict hair-net to the toes of her beaded shoes, she was unique and he adored her. Her reproving cough came to his ears.

‘My dear Frank, you are really spoiling the fire. It did very well as it was.’

William and Katharine walked home together. Curious how quickly a place could become home when you were happy there. This wasn’t Carol’s flat any more – it was theirs, it was home. Because wherever they were together would be home. Coming into it with Katharine, William got the feeling he had always had when he came into the house in his dream – the feeling of safety, the feeling of something shared, the feeling of home. He couldn’t put it into words. He could only put his arms round Katharine and hold her close.