The Clock Strikes Twelve

Chapter 45

There was a shattering silence. Even the young constable lifted his head with a jerk and stared across his shorthand notes at the family amongst whom this bomb had fallen. His quick hazel eyes flicked over them. Mr. and Mrs. Wray, just opposite-gosh, he looked grim!-and she’d got her mouth open as if she was going to scream, only there wasn’t any sound. Miss Pennington and Mr. Mark Paradine-he looked bad, like a man looks when he’s been hit and you don’t know whether he’ll drop or not. The Super-well, was he expecting that, or wasn’t he-you couldn’t properly tell. That Miss Silver-well, you couldn’t tell about her either-a queer little cup of tea if ever there was one. Mr. Ambrose now-it wasn’t any surprise to him-he’d known it was coming all right-bad case of strain- he’d known all along-tried to cover it up. Well, when it came to your own family, he supposed most of us would.

All this in the oldest medium of all-the thought-pictures which invention has never managed to overtake. All the pictures were there in the brief moment in which he turned, as everyone else had turned, to look at Grace Paradine. She was sitting in her upright chair, and she had not moved. She had been too pale before to lose any colour now. Her hands had been lying in her lap. They lay there still. There was no measurable change or movement, but there was a dreadful effect of tension, of the lack of movement being due not to weakness, but to implacable control. What it was that was being controlled showed for a moment in her eyes-an indescribable look of… He couldn’t get any nearer to it than violence. He thought to himself with a kind of surprise, “Gosh-she did it!”

Miss Silver’s cough came into the silence. She leaned forward and spoke down the table to Elliot Wray.

“Mr. Wray-if I may make the suggestion-there is no need for Mrs. Wray to be here.”

Grace Paradine moved. She looked where Miss Silver was looking and allowed her eyes to dwell upon the ashy face against Elliot’s shoulder. Then she said in a deep, calm voice,

“Phyllida will stay.”

Elliot bent. His lips could be seen to move. Phyllida shook her head.

Grace Paradine said, “Since she has heard this monstrous accusation, I should like her to hear me answer it.” She turned to the Superintendent.

Through the giddiness which hung round her like a mist Phyllida could hear him warning her. The words that had been said to Albert Pearson were being said again-“anything you may say… taken down and used against you…” The room was full of that giddy mist. It came and went in waves. She couldn’t see anyone’s face. She let her head rest against Elliot’s shoulder and felt his arm hold her up.

Deep under all the dreadfulness was the feeling that he was there.

Miss Paradine listened composedly to the formal words. Then she said,

“Thank you, Superintendent. I am naturally most anxious to do anything I can to clear this matter up. I should have thought that such an accusation, coming from one who admits his own presence-”

Mr. Harrison, sitting beside her, leaned forward and said something in a low voice. She did not turn towards him, but made a slight negative movement with her head.

“Thank you-I very much prefer to speak. The accusation is, of course, fantastic. Mr. Pearson’s motive seems obvious.” Her glance rested for a moment upon the diamonds. “He admits to a manufactured alibi. He admits to being present when my brother fell. I really do not know what more you want.”

Vyner looked her straight in the face.

“There is another witness besides Mr. Pearson.” He turned abruptly. “Mr. Ambrose-”

Grace Paradine turned too.

“Well, Frank, it seems to rest with you. You can dispose of all this in a moment.”

Their eyes met. There was command in hers. No anger now, no violence-a calm and smiling demand. It was the most horrible moment of his life. If she had been less sure of him, less sure of herself, it would have been easier. She smiled into his eyes and waited for him to clear her. As he could. He had only to say that the person who came out of Clara Paradine’s room was a stranger-too tall, too short, too large, too small to be Grace Paradine. He had only to say that he had seen a stranger’s face. His heart sickened in him. He couldn’t do it. With that smiling glance on his, he couldn’t do it. Cause and effect- the thing done, and what it does, to yourself, to everyone else-the thing called justice, the thing called crime, the inevitable link between them-the dead man whom he loved more than most sons have loved a father-the stubborn core of his nature which would yield no farther-these things constrained him. He withstood that smiling demand, and saw the smile burn out in anger.

She said in that deep, full voice,

“Come, Frank-we’re all waiting for you. Since I wasn’t there, you couldn’t have seen me. You have only to say so.”

He said, “I can’t-”

The words dropped into the hush which waited for them. They had been said-they couldn’t be taken back again. He felt a kind of dreadful relief.

Vyner said, “You recognized Miss Paradine?”

“Yes-” The word was only just audible.

Grace Paradine stood up.

“Just a moment, Superintendent. I think I have the right to ask you to test this extraordinary allegation. Since my nephew says that he saw me come out of my sister-in-law’s room, I must suppose that he honestly thinks so. I can prove that he is mistaken, and I would like the opportunity of doing so. But perhaps before we go any farther someone will tell me what motive I am supposed to have had. One does not, after all, commit a crime without some motive, and since I had none-”

Vyner said, “There is a motive, Miss Paradine. When Mr. Paradine told you all that one of the family had betrayed its interests he was alluding to the theft of Mr. Wray’s blue-prints. They were taken from his attaché case some time late on Thursday afternoon. They were put back on the corner of his table between nine o’clock and nine-fifteen-we have witnesses who can narrow the time down to that. You are the only member of the family who was alone even for a moment during that period. You were the only one who had the opportunity of putting those blue-prints back.”

She looked at him with a touch of contempt.

“That is quite fantastic. I really cannot be troubled to deal with it now. What I should like you to do is to test what Mr. Pearson and Mr. Ambrose have said. I suggest that we should go out upon the terrace-or rather that Mr. Ambrose should go out-and stand where he says that he was standing on Thursday night. Mr. Pearson should be in the bathroom looking out of the window. I will come out of my sister-in-law’s room, cross over to the parapet, and return.”

Vyner was looking at her keenly.

“What do you hope to prove by that, Miss Paradine? Since it is now broad daylight, the test is without any value at all. There should be, and will be, a test carried out after dark.”

Grace Paradine smiled. It was the slight, almost involuntary smile of the hostess shepherding her guests. It took acquiescence for granted. Her whole manner did that. Vyner was not insensible to it. She said graciously,

“Of course you will carry out your own tests, Superintendent, but I am sure you will not refuse me this one. It really will not take more than a moment, and I think that even by daylight I shall be able to show you that it was quite impossible that either Mr. Ambrose or Mr. Pearson should have seen the face of the person who came out of that bedroom.”

Had she been a shade less assured in her manner, Vyner might very well have refused. Her self-possession; the reasonable, even temper of her voice; the way in which she so assumed his consent that she had already taken a step towards the door-all these things swung the balance down. He said,

“Very well, Miss Paradine, I won’t say no. But to my mind there’s no value in it.”

Mr. Harrison had risen to his feet. He stood, shocked and doubtful, looking after his client. He supposed that she would be his client. It was all quite unbelievable, quite dreadful. He didn’t think his firm had ever handled a murder case before. He desired most ardently that they might avoid handling this one.

Miss Silver had risen too. Like Mr. Harrison, she was looking after Grace Paradine, who had gone through into the bedroom closely followed by the young constable who had been taking notes. Their voices could be heard there, and after a moment the rattle of curtain rings.

Vyner said, “Come, Mr. Ambrose-we’d better get on with it.”

As the two men moved together towards the glass door, Miss Silver opened her lips and then without speaking brought them quickly together again. The room was emptying fast. Albert Pearson went out, presumably to take up his position at the bathroom window. Richard Paradine, Mr. Harrison, Mark, and Lydia had followed Vyner and Frank Ambrose to the terrace. The glass door remained open-Elliot and Phyllida just short of it.

Miss Silver came up with them, laid a hand on Elliot’s arm, and said in a low, insistent voice,

“Keep her here, Mr. Wray. Don’t let her go out.”

He looked round at her, startled by her manner.

Vyner could be heard calling out, “Now, Miss Paradine-”

All those on the terrace looked towards the windows of Mrs. Paradine’s room-two large windows and a glass door forming a bay. Across this bay the curtains had been drawn, but whereas in the study they cut the bay off from the room, in the bedroom they followed the curving line of the windows. The rose-coloured lining could be seen touching the glass.

They all saw the rose colour move and shimmer. A dark gap appeared in the middle of it. The handle of the glass door moved, the door opened, Grace Paradine came out. There were a couple of steps down. She took them, came half across the terrace, and looked first to her right where Frank Ambrose stood by the nearest of the drawing-room windows, and then to the left where Albert Pearson leaned from the window of the bathroom. Her glance swept the family outside the study, and she turned.

Phyllida wasn’t there. But Phyllida must be there. The dark dominant eyes went seeking till they found her, just inside the study. But not looking out-not looking this way. And she must look-she must see-she must remember. If they would give her time. But the young constable was at her elbow. Vyner was coming up. She called out in a ringing voice,

“Phyllida!”

There was no time-no time at all. She saw Phyllida move and turn to the terrace.

Vyner said, “What is it, Miss Paradine?”

They all heard her say, “It’s nothing.”

But Phyllida was looking, Phyllida was coming out.

Now-

Phyllida had made no more than that one movement towards the terrace, when Elliot pulled her roughly back, turning her head against his shoulder and holding it there.

So she did not see what Grace Paradine had meant her to see-the quick step on to the parapet, and the quick step over it and down. She did not see, but she knew. She shuddered and went limp and cold in Elliot’s arms.