Vanishing Point

CHAPTER 20

Florrie was a quarter of an hour late with the early morning tea next day. She brought it in with the air of one who serves a funeral feast and said,

“If it’s Mrs. Maple’s well, she never done it herself.”

Mrs. Merridew was awake but not so much awake as not to find this both startling and enigmatical. As the curtains went rattling back, she blinked at the light and said,

“Mrs. Maple’s well? What do you mean, Florrie?”

It was at this point that Miss Silver came in through the door which Florrie had left open behind her. She wore her blue dressing-gown and the black slippers with the blue pompons, and, as always, she was immaculately neat. Her slight murmur of apology was lost in Florrie’s loud repetition.

“If it’s Mrs. Maple’s well, she never done it. That’s what I’ve said, and that’s what I’ll hold to, Melbury police, or London police, or anyone. She’d as soon have flown over the moon, and you can’t get me from it.”

Miss Silver had the advantage of Mrs. Merridew. In the light of last night’s conversation with Frank Abbott, she was able to clarify Florrie’s remark.

“Mrs. Maple’s well is being investigated by the police?”

Florrie gave a jerky nod.

“That’s what I said. And she never done it.”

Mrs. Merridew was sitting up in bed. She reached under her pillow for the old fleecy shawl which had served her for so many years and survived so many washings that it was now the colour of old ivory. She said in a horrified voice.

“Oh, surely no one could suspect Mrs. Maple!”

Florrie said angrily,

“There’s no knowing what the police will say! But it was Miss Holiday I had in my mind. If she went down that well, it wouldn’t be because she threw herself in-no one’s going to make me believe that! She may be there, or she may not, poor thing, but she won’t be there without someone put her there- and I’m not saying who that someone might be. And I’d like to know what good the police are! They didn’t find poor Maggie, did they? All they could say was she’d run off to London -and anyone that knew her could tell them different to that! And as likely as not, they’ll be saying the same about poor Miss Holiday. What would Maggie go to London for? I say she never, nor Miss Holiday neither! And when they find her murdered somewhere, maybe they’ll believe me!” She marched out of the room and shut the door with something that was very nearly a bang.

Mrs. Merridew was arranging the shawl about her shoulders. When she had finished doing this she picked up her cup of tea and said in an agitated manner,

“You don’t really think that poor thing-oh dear, I never did like wells! Maud, you don’t suppose-”

Miss Silver said with composure,

“We have no grounds for supposition at present. If there is a well in Mrs. Maple’s garden, the police would, I think, feel obliged to investigate it.”

Mrs. Merridew sipped from her cup. There were tears in her eyes, and the tea was certainly not hot enough to account for them. She said,

“Oh dear!”

The two ladies were both dressed and downstairs, when Frank Abbott walked up the path to the front door and used the knocker. Miss Silver, meeting him on the threshold, took it upon herself to conduct him into the drawing-room, Mrs. Merridew being already in the dining-room and about to make the tea. As he shut the door behind them Frank said,

“Well, she was there all right.”

Miss Silver made no comment. She looked gravely at him and waited for more. He continued.

“There is an injury to the head, but it could have been done as she fell. The post-mortem will show whether she went into the water alive. On the face of it, I should say she did, because either it was suicide, or it was murder, the only point in putting her there would be to make it look as if it was suicide. I don’t know how it seems to you, and we should not, of course, be too much prejudiced by the fact that we were sent down here to look out for anything fishy that was going on, but I do get the impression that there is a whole lot more in this than meets the eye. Two women of no importance disappear-dull elderly people without sentimental entanglements. Nobody could possibly be supposed to want either of them out of the way. Yet Maggie Bell has never been traced, and Miss Holiday turns up at the bottom of a well. I don’t know about you, but I get the feeling that what we’re looking at is just a few of the bits out of a jigsaw puzzle. They don’t make sense on their own, but if we had the rest of the pieces they might add up to quite a picture.”

Still with that grave look fixed upon her face, Miss Silver said,

“Not a very pretty one, I am afraid.”

He went away, and Miss Silver joined Mrs. Merridew at the breakfast table.

Later on when the meal was over and Florrie had cleared it away Miss Silver followed her to the kitchen. She had been waiting for just such an opportunity, and it seemed to her that the time for it had now arrived. Mrs. Merridew had settled down to write a letter, and Florrie would be occupied in washing up the breakfast things.

It cannot be said that she was in an approachable mood. After her outburst of the early morning she had retreated into rather more than her customary reserve. To Miss Silver’s offer of drying whilst she washed there was a very cold response. She could do her work, she was glad to say, and no one had ever said she couldn’t. Whether it was the sincerity of Miss Silver’s “But I should like to help you, Florrie,” or the smile that went with it, there is no means of knowing, but she made no further protest when a wet cup and saucer were lifted from the draining-board, meticulously dried, and set aside for her to put away. Both the smile and the desire to help were completely genuine, and had won more confidences than can be counted.

It was not until Miss Silver was drying the last plate that she said,

“I wonder, Florrie, whether you would tell me a little more about your cousin Maggie Bell.”

Florrie jerked a shoulder.

“There’s nothing more to tell.”

She met a grave, steady look and turned from it.

“I don’t know what you think there is to tell.”

Miss Silver said,

“I am not asking from curiosity-I think you know that. But I would be glad to check over one or two points with you. Maggie went every day to the Cunninghams?”

Florrie looked sideways. No harm in answering that. She said,

“Yes.”

“What time did she leave?”

“That would depend. Mostly she would get away by half past two.”

“Do you know what time she got away on the day she disappeared?”

There was rather a noticeable pause before the answer came.

“It would be the same as usual.”

“Did she go straight home?”

“Mrs. Bell said she was in before three.”

“What did she do after she came in?”

Florrie emptied the washing-up bowl with a swish.

“How do I know what she did? There was always plenty to do-her mother saw to that. Maggie hadn’t any time to have idle hands. There’d be the tea to get, and after she’d washed up she would get on with her ironing.”

“You say that she would sometimes come down to you in the evening. Was that one of the evenings you were expecting her?”

“What if it was?”

Miss Silver’s look was kind but searching.

“Was it?”

“It might have been.”

Rightly interpreting this as an affirmative, Miss Silver repeated it in a more definite form.

“You were expecting her. But she did not come.”

Florrie’s face twitched painfully.

“No, she never.”

“What time did you expect her?”

She turned the washing-bowl over and spread the dishcloth on it to dry.

“Eight o’clock it would be, unless she was kept.”

“Do you know when she actually left her parents’ house?”

“Eight o’clock was what my aunt said.”

Miss Silver said in a meditative tone,

“She left at eight to come to you. It would be quite dark. Can you remember at all what sort of a night it was-whether there was a moon?”

Florrie shook her head.

“It was a dark night and a drizzle of rain.”

Miss Silver said,

“Florrie, was there anyone who knew that Maggie would be coming in to see you that evening?”

Florrie turned from the sink with an abrupt movement.

“She’d come when she could.”

“I asked you if anyone knew that Maggie would be coming to see you.”

“Most things get known in a village. Maggie’s father and mother would know, but they wouldn’t talk about it. They didn’t like her to come and see me-she’d have to pretend she was slipping out for a breath of air. But they’d know all right.”

“Florrie, did anyone else know?”

She turned a haggard face.

“I’m not saying who knew, or who didn’t know. There’s been too much said already, and I’m not putting anything to it. And that’s my last word.”

Miss Silver said, “Thank you, Florrie,” in a very thoughtful voice.