A cold winter daylight came in through the single window of Fogarty Castell’s office. Beyond the fact that it possessed a large, plain table which supported a blotting-pad, an inkstand, and a pen-tray, there was nothing to differentiate it from any other small shabby room tucked away in the irregular plan of an old house. It was dull, it was bare. It had a square of dirty carpet on the floor and a peeling paper on the walls. A fly-spotted engraving of the Duke of Wellington directing the battle of Waterloo hung on the chimney-breast, which cut off a corner of the room and gave it an uneven shape.
There were two doors, one leading through from the lounge, and the other giving upon a cross passage to the kitchen. The hotel register lay on a chair by the window, the table having been cleared for the accommodation of the police.
Inspector Crisp from Ledlington, small, wiry, and dark, sat before the blotting-pad with a pencil between his fingers and the alert expression of a terrier watching a rat-hole. Round the corner from him at the side of the table, with his chair at an angle which permitted him to stretch his long legs, Inspector Abbott of Scotland Yard leaned back in as easy an attitude as the chair permitted. He had his hands in his pockets. His dark blue suit was unwrinkled, the trousers had a perfect crease. The tie was just what it should have been, adding a discreet touch of colour to an otherwise sombre scheme. His fair hair, mirror-smooth, was slicked back from a high, pale brow. He was beautifully shaved. There was, in fact, nothing about his appearance to suggest a police officer who has been up most of the night dealing with a murder case.
The third occupant of the room was Miss Maud Silver, who had also been up all night, and showed it as little. Her hair with its Alexandra fringe in front, its coils behind, and its controlling net, was the last word in neatness. Her olive-green dress was fastened by a cherished ornament in the shape of a rose carved in bog-oak with an Irish pearl at the centre, a legacy from her aunt Editha Blake, who had departed from a sedate family tradition by marrying a wild Irishman and breaking her neck in the hunting field. Editha’s rose had come a long way and changed a pretty harum-scarum mistress for a prim and practical one. It remained one of Miss Silver’s most valued possessions.
She sat on a low upright chair of the kind produced in the early years of Queen Victoria’s reign. A capacious knitting-bag lay open on her lap, and she was knitting rapidly without once glancing at the busy needles. About four inches of bright china-blue wool depended from them like a frill. When completed, the garment would be a warm woolly dress for her niece Ethel Burkett’s youngest, little Josephine, now just two years old. Since she was a fair child with rosy cheeks and round blue eyes, Miss Silver considered this bright blue wool a very happy choice.
Inspector Crisp was speaking.
“Inspector Abbott suggests that we should run over the statements with you and see whether there is any point which strikes you. The position, as I understand it, is that you are here unofficially at Chief Inspector Lamb’s suggestion.”
Miss Silver inclined her head.
“That is the position.”
“He also tells me that you have worked confidentially with the police on previous occasions.”
Miss Silver made a slight verbal correction.
“I have worked confidentially upon cases with which the police were connected.”
A faint sardonic smile appeared for a moment on Frank Abbott’s face. Inspector Crisp put his head on one side and looked alert. He didn’t get the point, but he thought there was one, and that it had got away. He didn’t like things to get away. He pounced on one of the papers in front of him and turned to get the light on it.
“Now here’s Castell’s statement—a lot about it and about. What it boils down to is this. He’s been manager here for five years, first under a Mr. Smith, and then under Mr. Jacob Taverner whose father had granted the lease of the Catherine-Wheel to Mr. Smith’s father. The original lease ran out a good many years ago, after which Mr. Smith had a yearly tenancy. On his death Jacob Taverner took over the control. Castell’s wife is his cousin. Castell identifies the dead man as Luke White—barman, waiter, general handy-man at the hotel. Says he’s been here three years and he has found him satisfactory. But he belongs to a family with quite a bad name in the neighbourhood—and they are illegitimate connections of the Taverner family. Everyone in this case is a connection of the Taverner family.”
Miss Silver coughed.
“They are all grandchildren or great-grandchildren of Jeremiah Taverner who kept this inn until his death in eighteen-eighty-eight.”
The Inspector’s eyebrows twitched.
“I’ve got a list of them—a kind of a family tree. But I suppose you don’t need to see it.” His tone was sharp.
Miss Silver smiled disarmingly.
“I have had some time to get it by heart. And then I have met the people, which makes it so much easier.”
The paper in Crisp’s hand rustled as he turned it.
“Well, all this party came down yesterday. You arrived at about nine o’clock, and the party broke up some time after ten. One of the guests, Albert Miller, was not staying in the house. He left in an intoxicated condition at half past ten. Did you notice his condition?”
Miss Silver coughed.
“It would have been difficult not to do so. He behaved in a very noisy and illbred manner. Mr. Castell was doing his best to keep him quiet.”
“Were there any words between him and Luke White—any quarrel?”
“I did not see any quarrel. He was calling out for Mr. Castell’s niece, Eily.”
“And Luke White was sweet on her, wasn’t he? There might have been a quarrel over that.”
Miss Silver shook her head.
“Luke White did not seem to be taking any notice. He was standing by the coffee-tray attending to the guests.”
Crisp tapped with his pencil.
“Well, Castell says Miller left the hotel just before half past ten. Captain Taverner confirms this—says Castell drew his attention to the state Miller was in. They were in the lounge at the time, and Captain Taverner says they looked out of the window and watched Miller go off down the road. He says he was walking unsteadily and singing some song about a girl called Eileen.”
Miss Silver coughed.
“ ‘Eileen alannah.’ He was singing it in the lounge.”
Crisp said shortly,
“I don’t know one song from another. But it seems Albert Miller’s out of it. He left here before half past ten, and his landlady, Mrs. Wilton, 6, Thread Street, Ledlington, she says, and her husband corroborates, that Al Miller came in drunk just before half past eleven. They say he made a lot of noise and kept singing this song. The Wiltons are respectable people. Mr. Wilton called up to him to say they’d had enough and he could find himself another lodging in the morning. And Miller said he was clearing out anyhow—used language and said he was fed up with the place and his job and everything—said he was getting out and wouldn’t be back in a hurry. This was on the stairs, him at the top and Mr. Wilton at the bottom. Then he went into his room and banged the door, and Mr. Wilton went down and locked the front door and took away the key because he didn’t want any moonlight flirtings. Seven o’clock in the morning Miller came down, paid a week’s money, and said he wouldn’t be coming back. Said he’d send for his things when he got a job. Mrs. Wilton wasn’t dressed. Mr. Wilton opened the bedroom door a bit and took the money. When he saw it was all right he gave Miller the key to let himself out. Miller went up to the station, where he was supposed to be on duty for the seven-thirty. He walks in as bold as brass in his plain clothes and says he’s had enough—says what he thinks about the stationmaster and the whole bag of tricks and walks out. Nobody’s seen him since. We’ll pick him up of course, but there doesn’t seem to be any chance of his being mixed up in the stabbing, because—to get back to Castell—he says he and Luke White were together for some time after Miller left. He says he went up to his room at about ten to eleven and left White alive and well. White had a downstairs bedroom opposite the kitchen. There doesn’t seem to be any reason why Castell should give Miller an alibi if it isn’t true.”
Miss Silver coughed.
“At such an early stage motives may be very obscure.”
Crisp came back sharply.
“Does that mean you have any reason for suspecting Castell?”
She appeared mildly surprised.
“Oh dear no, Inspector.”
He looked at her suspiciously for a moment, and turned again to the paper in his hand.
“Castell says he didn’t get to sleep at once. He was lying awake, when he heard footsteps coming from the direction of Cliff—that’s the next village along the road. He has a window that looks out at the front. He says the footsteps turned off and went down the other side of the house and round to the back. He says he got up and went along to the lavatory window, which looks out that way. He heard someone come along whistling a hymn tune—Greenland’s Icy Mountains, he says. So then he went back to his bed, because he knew who it was. It seems John Higgins, who is another of these Taverner relations, is courting this girl Eileen Fogarty, and once in a way he’ll come along like that and whistle under her window and they’ll have a word or two. Seems he always whistles the same tune. Castell says he doesn’t approve—says the girl has been in two minds between Higgins and Luke White. But he says she’s of age and can please herself, and he isn’t prepared to have a row about it. He goes back to bed, and he can’t fix the time any nearer than that it must have been well after eleven.”
He paused, put the paper down, and took up another.
“Now we’ll take the girl Eily’s statement. She says she went up to her room between half past ten and a quarter to eleven. She undressed, and was going to lock her door, when she found the key was gone. She says she was frightened—says she always locked her door at night.” He ran his eye down the page. “Here we are—‘I dressed and put on my shoes and stockings. I was frightened to go to bed. I didn’t know what to do. I put out my candle and sat by the window and looked at the sea. I didn’t know how long it was before I heard John Higgins whistling. If he wanted to speak to me any time he would come along and whistle Greenland’s Icy Mountains under my window. We can talk like that without anyone hearing, because my room is at the corner, and there’s the lavatory, and the linen-room, and the back stairs, before you come to another room that side. I told John I was frightened about my key, and he said to go along to Miss Heron and ask her to let me stay with her, and he would come in the morning and take me away and Mrs. Bridling would take me in until we could be married. He said he’d got it all fixed up.’ Asked what she was frightened of, she said Luke White had threatened her.”
He laid the paper down.
Miss Silver had been knitting rapidly, her hands low in her lap, the needles held after the Continental fashion. She said now,
“I believe that is correct.”
Crisp nodded.
“Yes—Miss Heron confirms it. She says the girl came into her room, and seemed frightened, so she told her to stay. She says Eily undressed and got into bed, and they both went to sleep. She woke up, thinking she’d heard a scream, and Eily Fogarty wasn’t there. When she heard a second scream and ran down to the half landing Luke White was lying face-downwards in the hall with a knife in his back, and the girl Eily was sitting on the bottom step with her head in her hands. Mrs. Duke was standing by the newel with her hands covered with blood.”
Miss Silver inclined her head.
“That is correct. I was just behind Miss Heron. She remained on the half landing with Captain Taverner who had just come out of his room there, whilst I went down into the hall. There was no one else present. Mr. Geoffrey Taverner and Mr. Castell came down later, and then Mr. Jacob Taverner. Afterwards Mr. Castell and I found Mr. and Mrs. Thorpe-Ennington very deeply asleep.”
“They really were asleep?”
Miss Silver looked across the clicking needles.
“Undoubtedly.”
“And you met Miss Taverner returning from her brother’s room?”
“Yes. She was much disturbed, and enquired if the hotel was on fire.”
Frank Abbott said with a suspicion of a drawl in his voice,
“And what do you suppose made her think of that?”
Miss Silver gave her slight cough.
“I cannot say. She is an extremely nervous person.”
Inspector Crisp rustled among his papers.
“When I asked this girl Eily in what way Luke White had threatened her she burst into tears and I could get no coherent statement. Now it looks to me as if she may very well have done more than talk to John Higgins out of a window. Suppose she came downstairs and let him in. She says she was up and dressed. Suppose she meant to go off with him—she’d had some sort of a fright, you know. Or she may have just meant to let him in and have a good cry on his shoulder.”
Frank Abbott shook his head.
“That won’t do, because she went along to Jane Heron’s room and undressed and went to bed there. Miss Heron confirms that, you know.”
Crisp said in a dogged tone,
“She may have gone to bed, but she got up again. She was down in the hall in her nightgown when the man was murdered—or as near as makes no difference.”
Abbott nodded.
“Just let Miss Silver hear what she says about that. I’d like to hear it again myself.”
Crisp read from the paper before him, his sharp voice making an odd contrast with Eily’s faltered words.
“ ‘I went to sleep almost at once, I was so tired. Then I woke up. I thought I heard something. I went to see what it was. I saw Luke White lying there in the hall. I didn’t know what had happened. I screamed, but he didn’t move. Then I saw the knife. I ran into the lounge. I thought—they’d had drinks there earlier—I thought of getting something to help him, but everything had been cleared away. I came back. Mrs. Duke was there bending over him. Her hands were all red. I screamed again. Everyone came down.’ ”
Frank said in a considering tone,
“Well—it might have happened like that—”