Vanishing Point

CHAPTER 45

She never stops talking,” said Frank Abbott. “It’s pretty grim. They’ve got her in the Infirmary-she just goes on and on and on. Detailed accounts of everything for the last twenty years.”

Miss Silver sighed.

“An extremely shocking case,” she said.

It was the evening of a crowded day. They sat in the drawing-room at the White Cottage, Frank stretched out in the largest chair, Miss Silver primly upright with her knitting in her lap. Mrs. Merridew was still with Lucy Cunningham, and would remain there until she had seen her settled for the night. The coffee-tray stood at Frank’s elbow, and a pleasant fire burned upon the hearth. He said,

“The Chief Constable wouldn’t believe it, you know. Said she had gone off her head, and the whole thing was just a painful delusion. Even the sight of the Melbury rubies didn’t shake him. There had been Crewes at Crewe House for three hundred years, and so forth and so on. If there was a villain in the piece it would be Henry Cunningham. The Cunninghams, you see, have only been here about thirty years, and as to Selby, a mere chance-come Londoner, well naturally, he might be anything. Odd, you know, because he is quite an able man. But that sort of thing is died in the wool-the old county family can do no wrong.”

Little Josephine’s leggings were very nearly completed. There had been just enough of the cherry-coloured wool. She said,

“And pray, how did you convince him?”

Frank poured himself out another cup of coffee. He sugared it extravagantly.

“Well, you know, when she said that Maggie Bell’s body was in the old sand pit just off the road down the second lane to the left on the way to Melbury and it was there under a tangle of nettle and bramble, he had either got to credit her with second sight or come round to the idea that she had helped to put it there just as she said. She told us with a good deal of pride how she had intercepted Maggie on her way to the Hunts’s and got her into Selby’s car by saying there was something she wanted her to explain to Florrie’s mother. After which it was quite easy for Selby to knock her on the head, and so to the sand pit. Exit Maggie who, like the unfortunate Miss Holiday, had seen too much. Very regrettable, and a lot of trouble for Lydia Crewe. Henry had been careless enough to leave stolen diamonds lying about on his table when he went out of the room and returned to find Maggie looking at them. Naturally, after that there was only one thing to be done, and Selby and Lydia did it. I gather they didn’t tell Henry. All he did was to pack the stuff in his specimens.”

“That is so. Mr. Lester and I overheard her assuring him that Maggie had gone away because she was bored, and that Miss Holiday had committed suicide. He was uneasy, but only too anxious to be convinced. A weak man, and very much under her influence.”

Frank finished his cup and set it down..

“You know, what got everyone all wrong was the original assumption that the disappearance of Maggie Bell had anything to do with the leakage of information at Dalling Grange. If Maggie hadn’t been working for the Cunninghams, and Nicholas Cunningham had not been employed upon highly confidential work at Dalling, the two things would never have got mixed up. The security people couldn’t get it out of their minds, and it coloured the whole approach. For instance, they investigated Selby and found he had retired from a perfectly respectable garage business in which he and his brother were partners. If they had found out-which they didn’t-that Mrs. Selby’s father used to have a small jeweller’s shop which he left to his daughter, it really wouldn’t have meant anything to them at all, but that is where all the funny business went on. Mrs. Selby didn’t know anything about it-I gather Selby was pretty lordly about her affairs. He picked up a very clever jewel-faker cheap- French Jewish refugee-and they got going on substituting new stones for old. What I want to know is, how did you tumble to it?”

Miss Silver reprehended the expression. A slight cough conveyed the fact. Frank blew her a kiss.

“Apologies and regrets! Evil communications corrupt good manners. My cousin has a lamentable vocabulary. After which honourable amend you will, I am sure, relent and tell me all.”

She smiled with indulgence.

“My dear Frank, you talk very extravagantly. What is it you want to know?”

“How you got on to the jewel business.”

Her needles clicked. She pulled on her cherry-coloured wool.

“It is a little difficult to say. Miss Crewe affected me in a very disagreeable manner. She was closely and curiously linked with the Cunninghams. There had been an engagement between herself and Henry Cunningham. Mrs. Merridew made it clear that he was completely dominated by her. Then a valuable piece of jewelry was missed in circumstances which threw suspicion on Mr. Cunningham, and he lent colour to it by leaving the country. After more than twenty years he returned, a quiet depressed recluse, interested only in natural history. And Lydia Crewe went out of her way to advertize the fact that there was a complete breach between them. She would cut him dead in the street. She did so on the occasion when she came here to tea. Mrs. Merridew was very much distressed about it, and told me that it was her invariable practice. The conversation at tea turned upon Lady Muriel Street having discovered that the stones in a brooch which she had always believed to be valuable were imitations. It was Mrs. Merridew who introduced the subject, but Miss Crewe pursued it in rather a curious manner, instancing a similar discovery on the part of Lady Melbury which need never have been made public if it had not been that Lord Melbury had most indiscreetly talked about it among their friends. She went on to say that if all were known, it would be found that a great deal of historic jewelry had been copied and the originals sold, and that sensible people kept these things to themselves. There was something in the way she spoke which I find difficult to describe, it left a certain impression. Her tone was disagreeably censorious, yet it evinced a kind of pleasure. The subject undoubtedly pleased her. She dwelt upon it. I fancied I could detect some personal pride-I cannot get nearer to it than that.”

He was watching her with interest from between half-closed lids, those light eyes of his intent.

“Yes-go on.”

“When Miss Holiday disappeared, and after the discovery of her body, I went back over these first impressions and found in retrospect that they were considerably intensified. For one thing, it was impossible not to connect this latest disappearance with that of Maggie Bell a year ago. But I could not accept a theory which would link the murder of Miss Holiday with a leakage of military secrets from Dalling Grange.”

“May I ask why?”

She inclined her head.

“I was becoming convinced of a sinister connection between Miss Crewe and the tragic death of Miss Holiday. Miss Cunningham met this poor woman coming away from Crewe House on Sunday evening. You informed me that the police had obtained a statement from a young woman who happened to pass them on her bicycle. She said that one of them dropped a letter and Miss Cunningham picked it up. Miss Cunningham’s explanation was that this letter was one which Miss Holiday pulled out of her overall pocket when she used her handkerchief. Seeing that the envelope had been opened and was addressed to Miss Crewe, she considered that it had been picked up by mistake, and offered, as she was going there, to take it up to Crewe House. In the brief episode the motive for the murder of Miss Holiday became plain. The letter contained something so dangerous to Miss Crewe that she would stick at nothing to ensure that it went no farther. When the murder of Miss Holiday was followed by an attempt upon Miss Cunningham, I felt convinced that Miss Crewe was engaged in something of a criminal nature, and that Miss Cunningham’s life was in serious danger. But I was not prepared to accept any theory which involved Miss Crewe in the sale of secrets to a foreign power.”

Frank Abbott opened his eyes.

“You surprise me.”

Miss Silver’s gaze rested on him in a disappointed manner.

“My dear Frank, you are not really thinking. Miss Crewe is an evil and ruthless woman, but it is never safe to neglect the motives which prompt a criminal. In the case of Lydia Crewe they are not difficult to discern. She has an implacable pride of race, a passion amounting to idolatry for her family, its traditions, its exploits, its accumulated possessions. Since the Crewes were an integral part of the county, and the county an integral part of the nation, she would no more be a party to anything of a treasonable nature than she would neglect to rise to her feet when the National Anthem was played. But in the business of robbing her neighbours she was probably well within the family tradition. History presents one with a continuous picture of the rise and fall of great families-lands lost by adherence to a losing cause-lands acquired at a neighbour’s expense through the chance of being found upon the winning side. I have no doubt that the Crewes had their ups and downs in just such ways as these, and that Miss Crewe’s depredations appeared to her in this guise. Everything fitted into this picture. The complacency which I had observed when she was talking about the jewel robberies, the touch of personal pride, her assumption that the conversion of valuable heirlooms was now widespread-all these things left me in very little doubt as to what had been going on. But it was Miss Cunningham’s danger which made the situation so urgent. After you had left me I became more and more uneasy on her account. In the end I felt impelled to go to the Dower House. I thought I would see if there was a light in her bedroom. Beyond that I had no plan. As you know, I most providentially encountered Mr. Lester, and as we were making our circuit of the house we saw Miss Crewe go in by the secret door.”

He passed a hand over hair already mirror-smooth.

“My dear ma’am, you are always in the right place at the right moment. In fact, the complete reply to that dreary fallacy- ‘Never the time, and the place, and the loved one all together’.”

“My dear Frank-”

He hastened to forestall rebuke.

“Miss Cunningham owes you her life.”

Miss Silver was casting off. As the last cherry-coloured stitch dropped from the needles, she said,

“It has all been a terrible shock to her. I do not think she had many illusions about her brother. She knew him to be weak and drifting, but she had no suspicion that he was involved in a criminal enterprise, and no idea at all that the breach between him and Lydia Crewe was no more than a sham and that in reality he was seeing her constantly and was as much under her influence as he had ever been. His trial and all that must come out at it will be a very terrible experience for the poor woman.”

He hesitated for a moment. Then he said,

“Keep this to yourself. Selby’s for it, of course, but Cunningham isn’t at all likely to stand his trial. He has had some kind of a seizure. I gather he is not expected to come round. It would save his sister and young Cunningham if he didn’t. By the way, the Dalling Grange affair has been cleared up- the Security people let us know this morning. An attempt was made to frame Nicholas, and apparently he turned the tables. The real villain of the piece was Burlington ’s trusted private secretary, Brown. It’s the same old story-a minor indiscretion to start with, a glass too much, the temptation to magnify his own importance by appearing to be well informed. Then pressure, the threat of exposure, blackmail- the whole bag of tricks-you know how it goes. Fingerprints on a compromising letter which had been planted on Nicholas finally gave him away. When confronted with them Brown collapsed-one of Kipling’s ‘brittle intellectuals who crack beneath a strain’! So that is that. I hope you went to bed and slept this morning after being up all night?”

Miss Silver smiled.

“I was more pleasantly engaged.”

“And now what have you been up to?”

She laid her knitting-needles down upon little Josephine’s completed leggings.

“I attended a wedding. I was giving away the bride.”

“How extremely versatile! Who was it?”

“Rosamond Maxwell. Miss Crewe was sending Jenny away to school today, and Mr. Lester had persuaded Rosamond to consent to this sudden wedding in order that he might have the right to act for her in the matter. The two girls were entirely financially dependent on Miss Crewe. Owing to Jenny’s long period of invalidism following upon an accident, Rosamond had been unable to earn anything. The situation was, in fact, so difficult that an immediate marriage seemed to be the only solution. Mr. Lester asked me to be present because he felt that Rosamond should have some support, and they did not like to involve any of Miss Crewe’s friends in what she was bound to consider an affront.”

Frank whistled.

“Poor old Craig-he’s run into something!”

Miss Silver coughed reprovingly,

“I can assure you that he considers himself extremely fortunate to have won the love of so good and charming a girl. As Lord Tennyson so aptly says:

Frank sat up laughing.

“Oh, if it’s that way of it, there’s nothing more to say, is there! What is a mad murderous aunt or two when you and Lord Tennyson approve! She’s raving, so they won’t hang her anyhow. All that remains is to offer one’s felicitations, select a suitable gift, and hope for the best. It’s a mad world anyhow.”

Miss Silver smiled.