Dark Threat (16 page)

‘No, miss.’

‘Then how do you know that Mr. Clayton locked it after him?’

‘That’s what he took the key for.’

‘But you don’t know that he used it—do you? You have just said that he was inclined to be heedless. His mind was full of going to see Miss Freyne, he might very well take the key and forget to lock the door—or consider that it was not necessary to lock it, since he did not intend to be very long. That is possible, is it not?’

For the first time Robbins shifted his position, sat a little farther back in his chair, and set a hand on either knee. His face showed nothing. The right hand moved on the stuff of his suit. Frank Abbott thought, ‘She thinks someone went after him and brought him back. If anyone did that, the door must have been open—Henry couldn’t have locked it. That’s the only time Henry could have got back into the house without being seen—somewhere between five and ten minutes while Robbins was away. Unless it’s Robbins who called him back, Robbins who did him in. In which case he never left the hall at all—though why he should let Henry go out into the street and then call him back and knife him is just one of those things that don’t make sense. He couldn’t know that Lesley would be looking out of the window. I can’t make head or tail of it. I wonder if Maudie can.’

He heard Robbins say, ‘I don’t know, miss,’ and he heard Miss Silver take him up.

‘Robbins, no one would call you deaf, but I have noticed that your hearing is not at all acute. If Mr. Clayton had locked that door, you would not, I think, have heard the sound of the key turning?’

After a pause he said, ‘No.’

‘You are not accustomed to hearing that sound, so you would not miss it. In fact you would not have known—you did not know—that Mr. Clayton ever locked the door.’

There was a longer pause. Then he said, ‘No,’ again.

The questions went on, but they brought out no fresh evidence. Just at the end Miss Silver asked one which seemed quite irrelevant.

‘You served in the last war, did you not? Were you in France, or did you go out to the east at all?’

He said in a surprised voice,

‘I was a Territorial, miss. I got sent to India.’

She inclined her head.

‘I remember—Territorial regiments were sent out there. You were there for the duration, I suppose?’

‘Yes, miss. Mr. Pilgrim kept my place open, and I come back to it.’

As Robbins turned to leave the room, March called him back.

‘Ever see this before?’

He was taking a key out of the piece of brown paper in which it had been wrapped. When it was free he laid it down on a sheet of paper—a handsome and distinctive piece of work, beautifully wrought with three lobes and a cockle shell in each.

Robbins stared at it gloomily and said, ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Old front door key?’

‘Yes.’ He paused, and added, ‘May I ask where it was found, sir?’

March looked at him very straight.

‘Where do you think?’

‘I suppose we could all make a guess, sir, but it isn’t a matter for guessing.’

‘No—quite right, Robbins. It was found in Mr. Clayton’s pocket.’

T
HE FIRST
J
UDY
saw of Frank Abbott was when she met him in the upstair corridor. They stood and looked at each other for a moment before he said, ‘March wants to interview Miss Janetta. I told him she’d want notice.’ There was a fleeting spark of amusement. ‘There was an old lady in Dickens who expired murmuring “Rose-coloured curtains for the doctors”, wasn’t there? Perhaps she was an ancestress.’

‘Miss Janetta isn’t dying,’ said Judy demurely. Then all of a sudden she shuddered. ‘Don’t talk about people dying—I just can’t bear it.’

‘Well, she isn’t going to. You’ve just said so.’

He put an arm round her, took her along to the big empty state bedroom, and shut the door. When he had done that he put his other arm round her too and kissed her a good many times.

‘Silly—aren’t you?’ he said in an odd unsteady voice.

‘It’s been horrid—’

‘My child, I told you so, but you would come.’

He kissed her again. This time she pushed him away.

‘Frank—who did it? Do they know?’

‘Not yet. Look here, Judy, I want you to clear out.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Oh, yes, you can. You can come and do your work, but I won’t have you here at night. I’ll fix it up with Lesley Freyne—she’ll take you in.’

She said, ‘Penny is there. That’s all that matters.’

‘Well, you matter to me. I’ll fix it for you.’

‘No—I won’t go. I’m next to Miss Silver, and I can lock my door. Besides, who’s going to want to murder me?’ Another of those shudders ran over her. ‘Don’t look at me like that. I’m not going.’

He said soberly, ‘I think you’re being stupid. If Jerome gets one of his attacks, you have a bad night. I hear he had one a couple of nights ago.’

‘He didn’t have one last night.’

‘Perhaps they gave him something to keep him quiet.’

‘So they did the other night, but he had one just the same.’

He looked at her attentively.

‘What was supposed to set him off?’

‘Seeing Miss Freyne.’ Judy’s voice was quite expressionless.

‘He has one after seeing Lesley, but he doesn’t have one after Roger falls out of the window, and he doesn’t have one after they find Henry’s body. Does that seem odd to you?’

‘Very odd.’

He kissed her again, lightly this time, and turned to the door.

‘I mustn’t dally. There are moments when being a policeman palls. Go in and ask Miss Janetta when she will be ready to see March. And it’s no good her saying she isn’t well or anything like that, because he means to see her, and Daly won’t back her up.’

He waited, and he had to wait some time, but in the end she came out to say that Miss Janetta would see Superintendent March in twenty minutes, and she hoped that he would make his visit as short as possible, as she was feeling terribly prostrated.

Frank Abbott got back to the study to find Lesley Freyne there. She gave him her hand and a friendly smile, and he thought, as he always thought, what a nice woman she was, and what a pity she hadn’t married and had a pack of children of her own instead of having to make do with evacuees. Of course it was very nice for the evacuees.

He went to his place, took up his pad, and wrote down an interminable string of questions and answers. Sometimes he could have flinched for her, but she kept her quiet dignity and gave no sign however near the quick the question must have cut. March was as considerate as he could be, but he had his duty to do, and to establish a motive for Henry Clayton’s death was part of that duty.

‘Miss Freyne, you will appreciate that I have to ask you questions which you may find it painful to answer. In the statements which were made at the time of Clayton’s disappearance there were references to a disagreement which had taken place between you during the afternoon. Can you indicate the nature of that disagreement?’

‘I am afraid not. It was a private matter.’

‘A good many private matters have to be disclosed in the course of a murder case. When you made your original statement there was no reason to suppose that Clayton was dead. Now things are different. The body which was found in the cellars yesterday has been identified as that of Henry Clayton. His name is on a tab on the coat, and his signet ring has been identified by Jerome Pilgrim. There is no doubt at all that he was murdered. It seems likely that, for some reason, he returned to the house after having left it, and that he was stabbed in or near the lift going down to the cellars. The weapon was probably taken from one of the trophies in the dining-room and subsequently replaced. Examination has disclosed traces of blood close up to the hilt of one of the daggers. Scrapings from the floor of the lift show similar traces. In these circumstances, you must see that I have no choice but to press you. Anything that caused a disagreement between you and Clayton might throw some light on the motive for this crime.’

‘I don’t think it could possibly do that.’

‘You might not be the best judge. Will you not change your mind?’

She shook her head.

‘It wouldn’t be fair to do so. It might cause distress to an innocent person.’

‘You mean that your quarrel was about a woman?’

‘It wasn’t really a quarrel. It wouldn’t help you to know about it. We took different points of view about something—that was all.’

‘Can you not particularize a little more than that? You need not mention names.’

She seemed to be considering. After a while she said, ‘Yes, I could do that. A case came up in conversation—I took one point of view, and Henry took another.’

‘What kind of case was it?’

‘The case of the unmarried woman who has a child. I took the point of view that the child had claims upon both the parents which should override everything else.’

‘And Clayton?’

‘He didn’t agree. He said of course the man must pay, but he didn’t admit any responsibility beyond that. It is what a great many men would say. There wasn’t any quarrel.’

March looked at her.

‘Was the case you were discussing that of Mabel Robbins?’

She had a momentary colour in her face.

‘No, of course not!’

‘I don’t know why you should say “of course”. You must have known the girl.’

‘Oh, yes, I knew her. She was very pretty and charming.’

‘Then it would have been natural that you should have her case in mind—wouldn’t it?’

‘It was another case—a case in the papers.’

‘It might have been another case, and yet you might have had Mabel Robbins in your mind. That would be natural, wouldn’t it?’

‘Mr. March, do you really expect me to be able to tell you just what was in my mind three years ago.’

‘I think you would know whether you had thought about Mabel Robbins. Come, Miss Freyne—you were reluctant to speak of this disagreement because you didn’t want to involve an innocent person. Will you assert that this person had no connection with the Robbins family?’

She said with composure, ‘No. I had better tell you. I was thinking about Mrs. Robbins. I have always been so sorry for her—I didn’t want to say anything to revive Mabel’s story. Please don’t misunderstand me. The case I discussed with Henry had nothing to do with the Robbins, but I knew if I mentioned it that the Robbins would be dragged in—as they have been now.’

He looked at her hard.

‘Miss Freyne—did you know that Mabel Robbins was dead?’

‘Yes—Mr. Pilgrim told me. He said the Robbins did not want it spoken of. I never mentioned it.’

‘But you knew. Did you know at the time of this disagreement?’

‘No, I don’t think I did. I think Mr. Pilgrim told me afterwards.’

‘You’re not sure?’

‘Yes, I am sure that it was afterwards.’

‘Did you know who was the father of Mabel Robbins’ child?’

‘No.’

‘Did Mr. Pilgrim tell you anything about that?’

There was a long pause before she said, ‘Yes.’

‘Did he tell you that he thought Clayton was the father?’

‘He said he was afraid of it.’

‘Did he give you any reason for thinking so?’

She turned very pale indeed. She kept her voice steady, but it was very low.

‘He said Robbins told him.’

W
HEN
M
ARCH KNOCKED
at Miss Janetta’s door and went in he found Miss Lona Day in attendance. He was aware that the stage had been set and his part mapped out for him. He was undoubtedly the crude policeman blundering into a lady’s sick-room. The curtains, half drawn across the windows, were flowered in roses and forget-me-nots. Pink linen blinds half down converted the cold daylight into a rosy glow.

Just at first he couldn’t see anything. Miss Day conducted him deviously amidst furniture until he reached the bed, where he was provided with a seat. After a minute or two his eyes cleared and he discerned Miss Janetta amidst pink bed-linen with an embroidered coverlet drawn up to her waist. She appeared to have sufficient strength to sit up. She wore a bed-jacket trimmed with a great many yards of lace, and not a hair of her elaborate curls was out of place. A boudoir cap composed of about two inches of lace, a rosebud and a bunch of forget-me-nots nestled coquettishly amongst them, and she wore several valuable rings. He reflected that she looked a good deal more like a Dresden shepherdess than a mourning invalid.

She was speaking to him out of the pink haze.

‘You must forgive me if I have kept you waiting. It has been such a terrible shock. I am not as strong as my sister. You will not mind if my nurse stays in the room.’

‘I would rather see you alone, Miss Pilgrim.’

She gave a fluttered sigh.

‘Do you know—I don’t really feel—I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to let her stay. Lona dear—my smelling-salts—’

Miss Day’s eyes met his with sympathy. She said, ‘I think you’d better let me stay.’

He gave up. If he pressed her, she would probably swoon, and then it would all be to do again.

After producing a vinaigrette Miss Day had drifted tactfully over to the window. Miss Janetta addressed him.

‘Just tell me what you want to know, and I will do my best. But I must save my strength—you will help me to do that?’

‘I won’t keep you longer than I can help. I wondered whether you could tell me what was the general feeling in the family with regard to the sale of the estate—when it was first suggested.’

Miss Janetta forgot all about being prostrated. She said with surprising energy, ‘It was my brother. I can’t think how he came to think of such a thing. I never was so shocked in my life. And getting Roger to break the entail! I can’t think what either of them were thinking about. We were all quite horrified.’

‘When you say
we
, to whom do you refer?’

The curls were lightly tossed.

‘All of us—the whole family. Why, my sister would simply have broken her heart. She lives for the garden, and—of course you couldn’t be expected to understand, but there have always been Pilgrims at Pilgrim’s Rest.’

He produced a sympathetic smile.