Kathy Lingbourne had made up her mind. She was twenty-two, and she had taken her mother’s place at seventeen. Her father was a hardworking solicitor with very little time to spare for his children. In the five years that had passed since Kathy had become mistress of the house all her endeavours had been to supply her dead mother’s place, and to keep her father from being worried. She wasn’t the eldest of the family. That was Len. Then came Kathy, and David, and Heather. They were all close together. Heather, the youngest, was just eighteen. Jimmy Mottingley had been Len’s friend to start with, and she had taken to him at once because he was shy and had very nice manners—much nicer than Len’s. That was the worst of not being the eldest at home. She could manage David and Heather, but when Len wanted to take his own way he took it, and if she said anything he would laugh and say he was two years older than she was, and what about it? Jimmy Mottingley wasn’t like that. He was gentle and rather shy, and he was frightfully afraid of his father and of his mother. Of course they were grim—Kathy admitted that. But he was their only child, and you ought not to be afraid. In a muddled sort of way she thought that to be afraid like that was wrong, and she dimly saw that the more afraid you were, the more harm it did, not only to you, but to the people you were afraid of.
Latterly she hadn’t seen quite so much of Jimmy, and she knew why. She had met Miriam with Jimmy, and Miriam had made her blood boil —she really had. She spoke to Jimmy exactly as if she owned him body and soul, and no one had the right to do that with anyone else. And Jimmy had changed, she saw that at once. And here Kathy blamed herself very much because she had thought about herself and not about Jimmy. She had let herself feel hurt, and she had shown it not only to Miriam but to Jimmy himself. She could still see his look as she turned away, and she could still hear what Miriam had said, not loud but in that dreadful kind of whisper which carries more than anything, “What a frightful girl!” It was after that that Jimmy stopped coming to the house. And it was after that that Kathy began to find out what Jimmy meant to her.
It was no use of course. Jimmy had gone. Miriam had got him. And it wouldn’t have mattered if she had been a different kind of girl. Jimmy wanted someone who was kind and firm, and who didn’t care for herself but only for him. And Miriam wasn’t like that—she wasn’t like that at all. She was hard and self-seeking. She would be very bad for Jimmy. Kathy went through a bitter time of unhappiness, but no one knew about it. And then just when she had got through the worst of it there came that dreadful Monday morning. Len was down first for a wonder. She had come into the room and found him frowning over the paper. She had only to shut her eyes and the scene sprang to life. She came in with the eggs and bacon, and Len turned sharply and said, “Oh, I say, Kathy, here’s a dreadful thing—Jimmy’s got taken up for murder! That beastly girl he used to go about with, she got herself bumped off, and they say Jimmy did it—Jimmy! Why, he couldn’t kill a mouse!”
Kathy saw herself standing quite still. Looking back at it, she saw the whole scene just as if two other people were acting it on the stage. She saw herself putting down the eggs and bacon slowly, carefully, and then turning round to face what was coming to her. She didn’t know what she said. Her memory stuck fast on that one dreadful minute when she knew what had happened, and that Jimmy was accused of murder. It was quite unbelievable, but it had happened.
In the time since then she had gone about her usual jobs. They were not the kind of things you can leave undone. And gradually she began to know what she would do. Jimmy was at Colborough. She would go there and she would try to see him. If they wouldn’t let her, she would try and find out what she must do to get permission. She wasn’t going to ask her father—not yet. When she found out what she must do she would think about whether she would tell him or not. Just at present that would be enough. Things were like that with her—she could see one thing to do and she could do it. When it was done she would think about the next thing, but not till then.
It was Mrs. Crowley’s day for coming in, so she saw her and said that she would be out for the day.
“Mr. Len and my father will be out, but David and Heather will be home to lunch. Just tell them that I’ve gone out for the day, and I don’t know when I shall be back.”
Mrs. Crowley nodded and smiled.
“Do you good to have a day out. Too much sticking to your job’s a mistake, that’s what I say. Do you good it will to get right away from all of it. You’re only young once. You get on with it and enjoy yourself, that’s what I say.”
Mrs. Crowley left a little warmth in her mind. She was a kind woman.
She took the train to Colborough. It was Monday morning. She didn’t remember when she had come away on a Monday morning before. She had come away, and she had left everything. She was very glad that there was no one she knew in the train. She just wanted to sit quiet and think about Jimmy.
It wasn’t until she stood at the prison gates that she thought, “I don’t know what to do.” The idea of getting to the prison had been so fixed in her mind that she had never thought past it to what she would do when she got there. Now, as she surveyed the grim gateway and the high walls, a feeling of despair threatened her. At once she rose to combat it. She had thought that it was all going to be quite easy. That was nonsense. But you couldn’t do anything at all if you let things threaten you. She lifted her head and looked at the prison gates. “I won’t be frightened of them—I won’t—I won’t,” she said to herself.
As she stood there, a little lady in old-fashioned clothes came round the corner. She was walking quite briskly, and ordinarily she might not have noticed the girl who stood looking at the prison gates, but since she intended to turn in at the gates herself she did notice her and, noticing, became sympathetically attentive.
“Can I help you? Forgive me—but you look ill.”
Kathy brought her eyes back from the gates. She said, speaking slowly,
“I was thinking what a difference there was between this side of the gates and the other.”
Miss Silver’s interest was awakened. That the girl was in an abnormal state was plain. She said,
“Yes?”
Her voice full of kindness and sympathy did something to Kathy. She felt suddenly protected, as if she had come out of danger into safety. She didn’t know what she felt. In the confusion of her mind she didn’t know that she was speaking until she heard her own voice say,
“I don’t know how to get in. I’ve come a long way, and I don’t know —I don’t know—” Her voice trailed away into silence.
She stood looking at Miss Silver, and Miss Silver looked back at her. She saw a girl of two or three and twenty. She had grey eyes with very thick lashes which made them look dark, and she had dark hair. There wasn’t an atom of colour in her face. She wasn’t pretty. When she was happy she would be pleasant and—yes, rather appealing, but just now there was a dead weight of misery and hopelessness about her. It was not in Miss Silver to pass on unregarding. She said,
“You are in trouble, my dear. What is it?”
Kathy answered not so much the words as the kindness of her tone.
“I don’t know how to get in.”
“There is someone there in whom you are interested?”
“Oh, yes—”
“Then, my dear, you will have to take the proper steps. It is not possible to see a prisoner—”
“Not possible? Oh—but you were going in—”
“Yes, I was going in. But I have an appointment.”
The girl jerked into life.
“Could you find out what I have to do to see him? Will you? Oh, will you?”
“I will do what I can. Who is it you wish to see?”
“It’s Jimmy—Jimmy Mottingley.”
Miss Silver looked closely at the girl. She saw what she had seen already. She said gently,
“You are a friend of his?”
“Yes, I’m his friend. Do you know him?”
“Yes, my dear. I was on my way to see him.”
“Then—then can you take me in with you?”
Miss Silver’s manner became even kinder.
“I am afraid that would not be allowed. I have had to get special permission. But I will take a message from you if you would like to give me one.”
A little colour came into the pale cheeks and the eyes brightened.
“Will you tell him from Kathy that I know he didn’t do it. Please, what is your name?”
“I am Miss Maud Silver—a private investigator.”
“Oh—did Jimmy ask for you?”
“No, it was his father who came to see me and asked for my help.”
“Is his father being nice? He doesn’t think much of Jimmy, and he is terribly strict.”
Miss Silver smiled.
“Do not be in too much of a hurry to judge, my dear. Mr. Mottingley is in an agony about his son. He is doing all that can be done for him.”
“He doesn’t believe it then? Oh, Miss Silver, no one who knew Jimmy could really believe it—they couldn’t! It just isn’t in Jimmy to do a thing like that. He couldn’t! He really couldn’t! Jimmy is kind, and—and— Miss Silver, if I could make you understand—”
“I understand that he has a very good friend in you, my dear.”
“No—no—it’s not that way. I forgot you don’t know me. I’ll try and tell you, or you won’t understand. I am Kathy Lingbourne. My father is a solicitor at Collingdon. My mother died when I was seventeen. That’s five years ago, and I have run the house ever since. There are four of us. Len is older than I am, and the other two are younger. Len is in Mr. Mottingley’s firm, and that is how Jimmy started coming to the house. Len got to know Jimmy and they got to be friends, and that is how it was. I know Jimmy very well indeed. He couldn’t have killed that girl. He couldn’t kill anything. The other boys teased him about it—you know how boys are. He tried very hard, but he simply couldn’t do it. That is why I know that he didn’t kill this girl. She was a horrid girl, but he didn’t kill her. He couldn’t have done it—not if he’d tried ever so! And look here, Miss Silver, they say that she was knocked down first and then —strangled. Was it like that?”
“Yes, my dear, it was.”
“Then Jimmy couldn’t have done it—he simply couldn’t. I know him so well. Even supposing he hit her—and he wouldn’t have, he wouldn’t —the minute she fell down he’d have been on his knees beside her asking her if she was hurt and doing his best to reassure her. I tell you I know Jimmy.”
Miss Silver was touched. And she found herself in agreement. She said,
“My dear, I must go in. But I shall not be long. Will you wait for me, and then I can give you an account of my visit. There’s a nice shop across the road. They make most excellent tea there. I had some when I came down before. You can say that you are waiting for someone and they will not trouble you. The woman is a nice placid creature. And now I must go.”
Kathy sat down to wait. The minute she saw the woman in the shop she knew that waiting would be restful. She seemed to have been keyed up for a very long time, and now quite suddenly it was all over. Meeting Miss Silver had begun it, and when she had seen her go through the gates into the prison, and had turned her back and gone over the road to the tea-shop, the process had gone on. The shop was called Mrs. Brown’s Teahouse, and when she lifted the latch and walked inside there was a large rolling Mrs. Brown all smiles and affability.
“Well, me dear, come along in with you! And shut the door, for it’s a nasty day outside.”
Kathy gave her a blank piteous look and said, “Is it?” And with that Mrs. Brown came bustling out from behind her counter and had Kathy by the arm.
“Now just come along with me. You’ll sit down here in the back shop by the fire. And you’ll take your gloves off and get your hands warm, for it’s an aching cold today, and if gloves keep the cold out, so they can keep it in too, that’s what I always say.” She said a good deal more, but most of it went past Kathy.
When she opened her eyes and became aware of things again, the large woman was saying, “And you’ll be as right as rain—you see if you’re not.”
It felt like a promise. Things were going to be all right. She must just wait. She opened those deeply fringed eyes of hers and fixed them on Mrs. Brown with a trusting look which went to the lady’s kind heart, and said,
“You are very good. Are you Mrs. Brown?”
The woman laughed cheerfully.
“That’s me, though to tell you the truth there’s never been a Mr. Brown. But when you come to the fifties, well, I say it sounds better to be Mrs. Brown. But Brown I was born, and Brown I’ll die when me time comes. And now, me dear, I’ll go and make you some tea, and that’ll put fresh heart into you.”
Kathy was on a little settee in the room behind the shop. There was a sort of gauze curtain between the two rooms. The settee on which she was sitting was lumpy, and yet it was comfortable. Her troubles seemed all to have dropped from her. She said in a dazed, exhausted voice,
“You are so very good. I think I had better wait a little. The lady whom I am with has gone to see someone”—she paused and caught her breath —“someone in the prison. She said they wouldn’t let me see him, so I came in here to wait for her. Is that all right?”
“Yes, of course it is, my dear. It’s not likely I’ll have anyone else in. Not a great day for visitors, Monday isn’t, and not at this time o’ day either. But are you all right to wait—that’s what I want to know. What did you have for lunch?”
“Lunch?” said Kathy as if she had never heard the word before and didn’t know what it meant.
“That’s what I said, l-u-n-c-h—lunch. And you needn’t tell me, because I know by the look of you that you never give it a thought. Gels—” said Mrs. Brown with strong reprobation, “I know ’em! I never had none of me own, but believe you me, there’s nothing about gels I don’t know. Seventeen nieces I’ve got, the darters of my five brothers, and what you can’t learn from a niece you’ll never learn from a darter—that’s what I say. Now what could you fancy? I don’t run to lunches as a rule, but a negg to your tea?”
“It’s not time for tea, is it?”
“Well, not formal like it’s not. But you can have tea any time, that’s what I always say. And I’ve got some lovely eggs. My brother Steve he brought them in yesterday afternoon—come over with his youngest, Doris. She’s got a look of you, me dear, if you don’t mind my saying so, and a real nice gel she is. Well then, I’ll do you a negg, and I’ll do it right away, because your friend she won’t be wanting more than a cuppa, I should say. I’ve seen her before. Last week it was—Thursday or Friday —and she come in for a cuppa. So you have your egg, me dear, and she’ll be only too pleased.”
Kathy sat still. She didn’t know afterwards whether she had dropped asleep or not. She might have, but if she did, it was only for a minute or two. She had the curious feeling that time had stopped.
Miss Silver went into the prison. She was taken to the room that she had been in before, and presently Jimmy was brought there. He looked a little brighter than he had that first time, and he was certainly glad to see her. She transacted her business with him—a matter of the time he had left his mother and her friend, and the time it had taken him to drive to his meeting-place with Miriam. He gave clear answers, and Miss Silver would have been a good deal more comfortable about his movements if it had not been for a most trying discrepancy between the evidence of the two ladies concerned—Mrs. Marsden stating that she looked at her watch just after Jimmy had left and had found the time to be ten minutes past six, whereas Mrs. Mottingley had said that Jimmy left the house at six-thirty. Both ladies had been obstinate in sticking to the fidelity of their timepieces. Jimmy said frankly that he didn’t remember, but he added that the drawing-room clock was always going wrong. He did not seem to take in the importance of the twenty minutes’ difference, and the mere fact that he did not do so tended to make his evidence the more credible to Miss Silver, though she doubted if it would have that effect upon a jury. However, there was no more to be done with it, and after all both times were open to argument. So much depended upon the speed at which Jimmy had driven.
Miss Silver turned to the subject of Kathy.
“You had another visitor this afternoon, Mr. Mottingley.”
“Another visitor?”
“Miss Kathy Lingbourne. She did not know that she would have to get special permission to see you, but I met her at the gates and told her that I would give you a message and take back one from you. You have a very firm friend there, Mr. Mottingley.”
She saw his hands catch one another close. He said in a shaking voice,
“I didn’t expect her to come. I—I haven’t treated her right.”
“She is not thinking of that, I can assure you.”
“I—I don’t mean that there was anything between us—there wasn’t. She was just kind to me, as she is to everyone. I was a friend of her brother’s. His name’s Len—he’s in my father’s business. And Kathy was wonderful to me—to all of us. Kathy’s good.”
“Yes, I could see that.”
“Anyone could see it with Kathy. Oh, that sounds rude! I don’t mean to be rude. What I mean is—”
Miss Silver smiled.
“You need not trouble to explain, Mr. Mottingley. I know exactly what you mean. Miss Kathy, as you said, is good. I would trust her judgment, and she is very sure of your innocence.”
Jimmy brushed a hand across his eyes. Then he looked straight at Miss Silver.
“If Kathy believes in me it’s something to go on. You can see that, can’t you? I didn’t think anyone would, but you say Kathy does.”
“Yes, Miss Kathy does. You can rely on that.”
When her interview was over Miss Silver crossed the road to the bun-shop.
Kathy had just eaten an egg and some bread and butter and was looking much better. She looked up at Miss Silver with pleading eyes, but she waited while Mrs. Brown took the order and bustled away. Then she said,
“Miss Silver, how is he?”
Miss Silver smiled very kindly.
“I think that he is better, and I think that your message and the fact that you had come over to see him did him a great deal of good. I think he has been feeling very much forsaken. His parents, though truly devoted, have built up a wall of separation between themselves and him. He was their fourth child, and they lost the other three. I think that they imposed an iron discipline upon him, not so much for his sake as for their own, and instead of strengthening his character they weakened it.”
Kathy’s eyes were very soft.
“Oh, you do understand. It has been just like that, only I didn’t know that they cared.”
“They care very deeply,” said Miss Silver.
“I didn’t know,” said Kathy. “And he didn’t know either. If—if they really do care, do you think you could tell him so? I think it would make a great difference to him. And—and if you get the opportunity, do you think that you could get them to see that he doesn’t need scolding. Anyone can think of things to say to themselves which are far worse than what anyone else can say to them. Only—only they won’t do it while they are defending themselves. I do know that because of my sister. She’s only eighteen, and if she has done anything stupid—like girls do, you know—and you leave it to her, she will say what she’s done and how stupid it was. But if I were to say it, she would make a quarrel of it and say it was just what anyone would do. Oh, I’m putting it very badly, but I’m sure you know what I mean.”
“Yes, my dear, I do.”
The tea came, and Miss Silver enjoyed it.
“It is so seldom that one gets tea really properly made like this is. Most people do not observe the golden rule of making sure that the kettle has boiled, and freshly boiled.”
A highly gratified Mrs. Brown responded.
“Ah, there you have it! That’s what I always say. I remember when I first went into service at the Manor House the cook there she didn’t believe in having the water freshly boiled, and it was pain and grief to me with the training I’d had from my dear mother, to see the haphazard ways of her. Well, another ten years and I was cook meself, and I give you me word they thought the tea had been changed, it made all that of a difference.”
When she had gone away, Kathy turned to Miss Silver.
“Will you tell me what I must do to see Jimmy?”
Miss Silver was silent for a moment. Then she said,
“My dear, I know you only want to do what is best for him.”
Kathy looked at her with wide startled eyes.
“Oh, yes I do—I do.”
“Then I think I must say to you that I think it would be very unwise—”
“For me to see him? Oh, Miss Silver, why?”
“Can you not see why? I think you must do so if you think of the circumstances. Mr. Jimmy went down to Hazeldon to see this unfortunate girl. If it comes to a trial, the prosecution will suggest that they quarrelled, and that in the course of this quarrel he killed her. I think that you ought to abstain very carefully from doing or saying anything which may tend to supply a reason for such a quarrel. His interest in another woman would be such a reason. I think it would be absolutely fatal both for your own sake and that of Jimmy Mottingley himself that there should be any hint of his possible interest in another woman. You have spoken of a brother and sisters. Have you no father, my dear?”
Kathy started.
“Oh, yes. My mother died when I was seventeen, and I came home to look after the younger children and to run the house. My father is a solicitor. He is a very busy man, and he is not very strong. I didn’t want to trouble him.” .
Miss Silver smiled warmly.
“I am sure you will find that he is in agreement with me as to the necessity of your remaining quite detached from this business. I think it would be very dangerous for Jimmy Mottingley if you were to involve yourself in this case in any way.”