The Clock Strikes Twelve

Chapter 14

The family had assembled in Miss Paradine’s sitting-room, a pleasantly furnished room with deep blue curtains and upholstery. There was a fine old walnut bureau and some Queen Anne chairs, and half a dozen moderately good watercolours on the plain cream walls. But what took the eye and held it were the photographs in every size and aspect, from babyhood to what magazine articles call present day, of Phyllida. There was, to be sure, one remarkable omission. Phyllida in her wedding dress was not represented by so much as a snapshot. The photographs ceased with Phyllida Paradine. There were none of Phyllida Wray. It was only a stranger, however, who would have been struck with this. The family were too used to it to take any notice, and it was the family who were assembled-Grace Paradine, Frank and Brenda Ambrose, Mark and Richard Paradine-sister, stepson and daughter, nephews-and Phyllida.

Miss Paradine was speaking as Elliot Wray came into the room. He shut the door behind him and surveyed the scene-Grace Paradine and Phyllida on the sofa; Mark at the window with his back to the room; Frank Ambrose and Dicky on the hearth, Frank with an elbow on the mantelpiece, Dicky fiddling with a bit of string, both of them shocked and strained; Brenda bolt upright in one of the Queen Anne chairs, her black felt hat tipped crooked.

Grace Paradine took no notice of the opening and shutting of the door. She went on with what she was saying in her deep, full voice.

“I don’t see how there can be any question about it. He wasn’t himself at all. I don’t know when I was so shocked. It is not only quite unnecessary for it to be mentioned-it would really be a great injustice to his memory. He could never have said what he did if he had been himself. It was”-the deep voice vibrated as if it were about to break-“it was terribly painful. We all felt that, and I think we want to forget about it as soon as we can. We don’t want to remember him like that.” She forced a tremulous smile and looked from one to the other.

Mark’s back gave no clue to what he was thinking. Brenda looked obstinate, Frank Ambrose grave and doubtful. In Dicky alone she discerned a response. Elliot had been very markedly excluded, but it was he who spoke. He came forward, joined the group by the fire, and said,

“I gather that you are discussing whether to say anything about what happened at dinner last night.”

“Why should we?” said Brenda defiantly. This was so unexpected that everyone stared at her. “I don’t see that it’s anyone’s business.”

Dicky nodded.

“Of course it isn’t. Why should it be? The whole thing’s perfectly ridiculous-I don’t know why we’re discussing it. Aunt Grace has said anything that needs to be said. He wasn’t himself last night-anyone could see that. I thought he’d gone off his head- I suppose we all did. Very painful and upsetting-the sort of thing they call a brain-storm, I suppose. Then he went out on the terrace like he always does to have a look at the river and fell over. Turned giddy or something. It’s a bad business, but we don’t want to make it worse, cooking things up.”

Frank Ambrose said,

“Yes, it’s a bad business.” And then, “I don’t suppose they’ll ask any questions that would be difficult to answer-why should they?” There was no ring in his voice, and no conviction behind the words. They fell discouragingly upon the room.

There was a flat silence which lasted until Elliot said,

“They’ll ask whether he was just as usual last night, and they’ll want to know who saw him last.”

This time the silence was not flat, but electric. Again it was Elliot who broke it. He said what he had said to Phyllida.

“If we’re going to hold our tongues, we’ll all have to hold them. Better look at it squarely. There were ten of us at dinner last night besides Mr. Paradine. He made a serious charge against one of us. He didn’t say who it was, but he said he knew. He also said he meant to punish the person in his own way, and that the amount of punishment would depend on whether he got a full confession before midnight. He said he would be in his study until then. Everyone knows that he didn’t say things unless he meant them. If he said he was going to stay in his study until twelve, then he did stay there until twelve. And everyone knows that he never went to bed without crossing the terrace to look at the view. We’ve all heard him talk about it and say that he hadn’t missed a night for fifty years except when he was away from home. Well, if those three things are put together, I think we’re all going to be asked some questions we don’t particularly want to answer. We would all rather hold our tongues, but the thing is, if one of us doesn’t we are all going to be in the soup. The thing that’s got to be decided here and now is whether those ten people can be depended upon.”

Grace Paradine looked past him and said with a good deal of emphasis,

“It is a matter for the family to decide.”

The implication was too plain to be missed-Elliot Wray was mixing in matters which did not concern him. It took him no time at all to understand and accept the challenge.

“It’s a matter which will have to be agreed upon by all the ten people to whom Mr. Paradine spoke last night. Pearson’s making himself useful-he’ll be along presently. What about Irene and Lydia? Can you answer for them, Frank? There isn’t much time, you know-the Superintendent will be wanting to see Miss Paradine. What about it?”

He addressed Frank Ambrose, but it was Brenda who replied. She gave a short laugh entirely devoid of merriment and said,

“Lydia and Irene! I don’t suppose either of them could hold their tongues if they tried! I can’t say I’ve ever seen either of them try.”

Frank Ambrose was frowning heavily. He said,

“They’ll have to-that’s all about it.”

“If they don’t?”

“They’ll have to.” He gave himself a kind of shake and straightened up. “I would like to say that I think too much is being made of what happened last night. I agree with Aunt Grace that he wasn’t himself-he couldn’t have been. The whole thing was extremely painful, and I can’t think why anyone should want to talk about it. I suggest that we stop doing so. It has nothing whatever to do with the police, and it has no possible bearing on the Governor’s accident. I propose that we now drop the subject.”

Grace Paradine said,

“I quite agree.”

After which there was a pause which was broken by Brenda Ambrose, who said in her most downright voice,

“I wonder what put it into his head. And I wonder if anyone did go and see him in the study last night.”

The colour ran up into Phyllida’s face. Elliot saw it because he was looking at her. And all mixed up with being angry and wondering whether anyone else had seen her flush, he was thinking that Lydia was right-she had got thin. And he hated that grey dress-it made her look like a ghost. But he supposed she would have to wear it. Insensate custom mourning-barbaric. His eyes met hers and forbade her to speak. Then he swung round on Brenda.

“That’s another thing the police will want to know-which of us saw him last? I was with him for a minute or two after I said goodnight in the drawing-room. If nobody saw him later than that, I suppose it rests with me.”

Grace Paradine’s glance just flickered over him.

“You went to see him in the study?”

“I did.”

“Do we ask why?”

“You do if you like-I don’t at all mind saying. He asked me to stay here last night because we had business together. I went to the study to say goodnight to my host. I wasn’t there three minutes, as Albert can testify. He saw me go in, and waited for me to come out again.”

Brenda fixed her light gaze upon him and said in the tone of one who makes a discovery,

“Albert-now that’s an idea! I don’t mind betting that it was Albert whom the Governor meant-I don’t mind betting it was. I wonder what he’s been up to-letting out official secrets, or hanky-panky with the cash? When you come to think of it, Albert’s much the most likely person.”

Elliot laughed.

“That, my dear Brenda, is exactly what Albert thought. That is why he was waiting for me. He said with perfect frankness that the family would try and put it on him, and he wanted an alibi. So he clung to me till well after midnight. It was rather like sitting up with the Encyclopedia Britannica. But I’m in a position to say that he never got a chance of going anywhere near the study until after the accident must have happened.”

“But no one knows when it happened-not exactly. How can they?” said Dicky.

Elliot looked round at him.

“Well, as a matter of fact they can, because it began to rain just after twelve, and the ground under the body was dry. The Superintendent says it was coming down hard. Albert and I were having drinks in the dining-room about then. It was nearly ten past twelve when we got back to my room and said goodnight. So I’m afraid it’s no good picking on Albert for the family skeleton.”

Brenda said, “Pity-” and with that the door opened and Albert Pearson came in.

“The Superintendent would like to see Miss Paradine.”

Grace Paradine got up.

“Perhaps I had better see him here. What do you think?”

Elliot said,

“Shut that door, Albert! Look here, we’ve agreed that it’s no use saying anything about what happened at dinner last night.”

Albert said,

“Oh, quite-let sleeping dogs lie and all that. But it’s not going to be so easy-is it?”

For the first time, Mark Paradine turned round. He had stood looking out over the wet gravel sweep, the frost-burned lawn, and wet, dark shrubberies which were all that were to be seen from this side of the house. It was Phyllida’s sitting-room which looked upon the river and had the view. Miss Paradine had contented herself with the lesser prospect.

It is to be doubted whether Mark knew what he had been looking at. He turned, and Elliot was conscious of some degree of shock. The dark skin had a greenish tinge. There was a tension of every muscle. The line of the jaw was rigid. The eyes had certainly known no sleep. He said harshly,

“What do you mean?”

Albert came a little farther into the room.

“Well, you see, it’s going to be awkward.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, they’re not satisfied. I’ve been there with them, and I’ve done my best, but they’re not satisfied.”

“How do you mean, they’re not satisfied?”

Mark’s hands were deep in his pockets. Elliot guessed at fists clenched hard. Everything about him seemed to be clenched. He began to have cold feet. He liked Mark.

Albert said in the voice which always sounded a little smug,

“Well, they’re not. They’re not satisfied about its being an accident.”

“What else could it be?” said Grace Paradine in deep indignant tones.

Albert turned to answer her.

“Well, they haven’t said, Miss Paradine, but it’s plain enough that they’re not any too satisfied. You see, there are a lot of scratches and abrasions which must have been due to his striking the parapet. Dr. Horton says he must have come up against it hard, and they don’t seem to think he’d have done that if he’d turned giddy. I’m afraid it’s going to be awkward.”