Inspector Crisp fussed off to use the telephone and set the Lenton registrar looking up July marriages in ’31 and ’32.
When he had gone Frank Abbott remained draped against the fireplace. He contemplated Miss Silver, whose attention appeared to be absorbed by little Josephine’s bright blue dress, the completed skirt of which now lay spread out upon her lap. The gathered effect was very satisfactory—really very satisfactory indeed. The tight plain bodice which she was about to begin would be becoming and quaint. She decided that the measurements were just what they should be, picked up her needles, and set them clicking.
The smile with which Frank was regarding her would not have been allowed to betray him if they had not been alone together. It expressed very faithfully the feelings with which she had now for many years inspired him. They were an odd mixture of affection, respect, amusement, and something very like reverence. It would have surprised a good many people to catch the expression which softened those cool blue eyes, though there was still a hint of sarcasm when he smiled. It was there as he said interrogatively,
“Well?”
She looked up at him with gravity.
“What is it that you want to know?”
“Your reaction to Castell’s volte-face. First he pushes John Higgins at us up hill, down dale, and across country, and then he bounds in all helpful-boy-scout, says his wife Annie forbids the banns, and offers us Florence Duke instead. What do you make of it?”
She was knitting steadily.
“What do you make of it yourself?”
“What I said to Crisp. I think the bright idea was to frame John Higgins, shift the interest away from the Catherine-Wheel—I believe that’s fundamental—make a crime passionel of the murder. And Annie Castell wouldn’t stand for it—cut up rough—maybe threatened to spill the beans. She may, or may not, have any to spill, but if she has, I think she’s been threatening to spill them if Castell doesn’t lay off John Higgins. He’s her own nephew, and she may be fond of Eily.”
Miss Silver inclined her head.
“I think so.”
“The bit about Eily, or the whole lot?”
“I think the whole of it. But the scene described by Castell could not have occurred as he described it. There was not time for all that story about Luke White’s marriage to have been discussed by him and his wife in the interval between his leaving this room and returning to it, especially if Mrs. Castell was in the state of distress upon which he insists.”
Frank said, “Yes—I agree. They had probably had a series of scenes about Higgins. When he came away from seeing us she presented an ultimatum—if he didn’t stop framing John, beans would be spilled. Castell got the wind up, came to terms, and bounded in to offer Florence Duke instead. What do you think about her?”
She coughed in a meditative manner.
“She had certainly had a shock.”
“Do you mean before the murder?”
“Oh, yes. I noticed her at once. I thought at first that she had had too much to drink, but I came to the conclusion that there was something more than that. When Miss Heron was telling me about all the Taverner cousins I asked her whether anything had happened to upset Mrs. Duke. She looked startled, and replied, ‘Yes, I think so, but I don’t know what it was.’ She then told me that she had met Mrs. Duke on the stairs just before dinner. Mrs. Duke asked if she was looking all right, and added that she had had ‘a most awful turn.’ Jane Heron asked if there was anything she could do, and Mrs. Duke said nobody could do anything. She then used these words—‘That’s the way when you are in a fix—you get yourself in, and you’ve got to get yourself out.’ ” Miss Silver paused and coughed. “As a matter of fact Miss Heron reports her as putting it more strongly than that.”
Frank Abbott laughed.
“Let’s have it!”
Miss Silver let him have it in a prim quoting voice.
“ ‘You get yourself in, and you’ve damn well got to get yourself out—nobody can’t do it for you.’ After which she said, ‘Oh gosh—why did I have to come!’ I have questioned Miss Heron again about this scene, and she gave me exactly the same account of it. I should consider her a reliable witness.”
Frank whistled.
“Looks as if Castell was right, both as to the marriage and the supposition that Florence had no idea that she was going to encounter the fascinating Luke. It begins to look as if she might have had a brain-storm and done him in. There would be the Eily motive—”
Miss Silver coughed.
“There is no evidence to show that she was aware that Luke White was paying attentions to Eily.”
He frowned.
“There is no evidence to show that she wasn’t aware of it. That sort of thing is supposed to be in the air, isn’t it? She may have seen the man look at her. Wouldn’t that be enough for a jealous woman? That’s a very thin story she put up about going out to the back premises to have a look at the dear old family kitchen. I think she went to have a meeting with Luke, and if they met they’d be likely enough to quarrel. He may have taunted her with Eily. I suppose there would be plenty of ways in which a hot-blooded woman could be worked up to the point of doing murder.”
Miss Silver had been knitting placidly. She now gave a gentle cough.
“When did she take the knife? If it was on her way to his room, then she already meant to kill him. It seems to me that that would be a little sudden after fifteen years or so of separation. If, on the other hand, she first quarreled with him in his room, and then after reaching a state of passionate anger went into the dining-room and took the knife, what was Luke White doing? Did he stand in the hall and wait for her? If so, he must have seen her come out of the dining-room with the knife in her hand. She was wearing a tight thin silk dress and could not possibly have concealed it. If he was killed where he was found, she must have been standing behind him on the bottom step. You will remember the medical evidence states that the thrust had a downward trend. If it was made by a woman, she must have been standing above him at the time. Can you imagine any circumstances which would have brought them into such relative positions—she on the bottom step with the knife in her hand, and he not more than eighteen inches away with his back to her.”
Frank said, “They must have been coming down the stairs— there isn’t any other way it could have happened. Look here, we don’t have to take her story about going through to the back premises. Suppose she didn’t go to his room at all—suppose he came to hers. They quarrel. She follows him down the stairs and stabs him from the bottom step.”
Miss Silver coughed.
“And when did she get the knife? Are you presupposing that she took it up to bed with her?”
He made a gesture of submission.
“Reverend preceptress! I give it up—you’ll have to tell me. What did happen?”
She gave him a glance of indulgent reproof and knitted thoughtfully for a few moments. Then she said,
“I am unable to believe that he was killed where he was found. As you say, it could only have happened if he had been coming downstairs with the murderer a step behind him. This would imply premeditation, for the murderer must have had the knife ready. But who would plan to murder a man in so public a spot? At the sound of a cry, or of the fall, it was to be expected that the house would be roused. It would be very difficult for the murderer to retreat without being seen. I really am quite unable to believe that Luke White was killed in the hall. Then, if he was killed elsewhere, could Florence Duke have dragged him single-handed to the place where he was found? To say nothing of the fact that such a proceeding would almost certainly have left a trail of blood, can you give me any single reason why it should have been attempted?”
Frank shook his head.
“No, I can’t.”
Miss Silver pursued the theme.
“A jealous woman who has just stabbed a man in a fit of passion would be in no state to transfer the body from one place to another. Mrs. Duke is a strongly built woman—she might have been able to move the body. But what motive could she have for doing so? A woman in the frame of mind you have supposed would either have remained beside the body in a dazed state, or else got back to her room as quickly as possible.”
Frank nodded.
“Florence Duke was found beside the body in a dazed state,” he observed.
Miss Silver coughed sharply.
“She was not beside it when Eily came downstairs.”
“She heard the girl coming and slipped into the dining-room. When Eily went into the lounge she thought she could get away up the stairs, but there wasn’t time. Eily came out again, and Florence was caught with the blood on her hands.”
Miss Silver said in a mild, obstinate voice,
“That still does not explain how he came to be in the place where he was found.”
Crisp snapped the door open, came in from the lounge, and snapped it shut again. He looked alert and pleased as he came up to the table.
“Well, Mrs. Castell was speaking the truth. Luke White married Florence Duke at Lenton register office on July 7th ’31. So now we’ll have her in and ask her what about it.”
Florence Duke took the chair which faced Inspector Crisp and the cold light from the window. Frank Abbott’s cool cynical gaze dwelt upon her. A big strongly built woman. He thought she could have shifted the corpse all right if she had wanted to. But Maudie was quite right—why should she want to? But she was set on it that someone had shifted Luke White, and for the matter of that, why should anyone want to? There could be only one answer to that—he had been killed in a place which would have implicated the murderer. Suppose that place was Florence Duke’s room. The idea occurred, only to be rejected. Impossible to believe that she had dragged the corpse along the corridor and bumped it down the stairs without at least rousing Maudie who had cat’s ears and slept with one eye open when she was on a case. He remembered that Mrs. Duke’s room was next to hers, and the idea which had for the moment seemed quite bright went out like a quenched spark.
His attention returned to Florence Duke. Crisp was reading over the original statement she had made, and he had leisure to observe her. She must have been a handsome girl of the type which coarsens young. He supposed her to be in the early forties. Good hair, good eyes, good teeth. Odd fleeting likeness to the magnificent Lady Marian, who wouldn’t have been at all pleased if her attention had been drawn to it. Colour in the cheeks probably a good strong red when things were going all right—a nasty bluish look about it now. Frightful clothes—too tight, too bright, too short, too everything. Short royal blue skirt, elaborate revealing knitted jumper which failed to match it by a couple of shades, a cheap paste brooch pinned on to the front of it.
Crisp laid down the paper from which he had been reading.
“That’s your statement, Mrs. Duke.”
“What about it?”
The words came in that slow way she had. Frank could imagine the voice having its attractions—the voice, and that slow way of speaking, and the really fine eyes. Might have been quite an alluring figure behind the bar of the George in ’31.
Crisp tapped the table.
“You call yourself Mrs. Duke. Is that your real name?”
“It’s what I was born with.”
“But you’re a married woman, aren’t you?”
“Not now.”
“Do you mean you are divorced?”
“No—we separated.”
“What is your legal name?”
“That’s my business. He was a bad lot. I went back to my own name that I’d a right to.”
Crisp tapped vigorously.
“Is your legal name White?”
Her colour drained away, then rushed back alarmingly.
Crisp said sharply, “Did you marry Luke White at the register office at Lenton on July 7th 1931?”
There was sweat on her forehead. She was flushed to the very roots of her hair. The colour receded slowly, leaving a hard fixed patch on either cheek. She said,
“You’ve got it.”
“The murdered man was your husband?”
“We were married like you said. It didn’t last above six months. He was a bad lot.”
Crisp frowned severely.
“Well, this alters the position—you can see that, can’t you, Mrs. White?”
She said sharply, “Don’t call me that!”
He gave a slight shrug of the shoulders.
“You can call yourself what you please. The fact that Luke White was your husband puts you in a very different position from the one you were in when all the information we had was that you and he were strangers. You can see that, I suppose. If he was a stranger, you hadn’t any motive for wanting him out of the way. If he was your husband, you might have quite a strong one. I’m going to take you over that statement of yours again, and I’ve got to tell you that your answers will be taken down and may be used in evidence.”
Frank Abbott left his place by the fire and came forward to drop into the chair at the end of the table. He produced pencil and notebook and sat waiting.
Miss Silver continued to knit, her hands low in her lap, her eyes on Florence Duke, who did not speak. The fine dark eyes looked at Inspector Crisp with something of defiance. Frank Abbott thought, “She’s got cold feet all right—but she’ll put up a show.”
Crisp had the statement in his hand. He ran his eye down the page.
“Here we are. You say you hadn’t undressed, and you give a number of reasons for why you hadn’t. You got thinking about old times—you were accustomed to sitting up late—you didn’t think you would sleep if you went to bed. Now wasn’t it the real reason that you were waiting for the house to be quiet before going down to see your husband?”
She went on looking at him without speaking. He only gave her a moment.
“You needn’t answer if you don’t want to, but wasn’t that the reason? You were the only person in the house who hadn’t undressed—weren’t you? Everyone else had been in bed and asleep—hadn’t they? You hadn’t undressed because you were waiting to come down and go along to your husband’s room. That’s right, isn’t it? Perhaps you had an appointment with him—”
Her lips parted on the one slow word, “No.”
Something like a smirk of satisfaction just touched Crisp’s expression. She had spoken, and she had practically admitted that she had in fact come down to see Luke White. He proceeded to follow up the advantage.
“But you came down intending to see him?”
Quite suddenly she blazed.
“What’s the harm if I did?”
“Oh, none—none. He was your husband, wasn’t he? You waited till everyone was asleep, and you came down to see him. No harm in it at all. Only what you said in your statement was that you were looking for a drink and something to read. That wasn’t true, was it?”
The deep angry voice said,
“I wanted the drink all right.”
“But you came down to see your husband?”
She cried out, “Not so much of the husband! I was through with him. I came down to see Luke White.”
“I thought so! And then you quarrelled.”
She said flatly, “That’s a lie! He wasn’t there.”
Crisp said, “What!”
Florence nodded.
“Nice to think there’s something you don’t know. He wasn’t there.”
He looked furiously at her. Before he could speak Miss Silver coughed and said,
“Pray, Mrs. Duke, how did you know which room to go to?”
She turned her head, and seemed for the first time to be aware of Miss Silver’s presence. She said, with all the heat gone from her voice,
“I asked that girl Eily where he slept. Not just like that, you know—she’d have thought it funny. The way I put it was, how many bedrooms did they have, and where had everyone been put.”
Frank Abbott’s hand moved to and fro across the paper. Crisp tapped with his pencil. He said impatiently,
“That doesn’t matter! You say you went to Luke White’s room and he wasn’t there.”
She shook her head.
“No, he wasn’t there.”
“Sure you struck the right room?”
“Yes. There’s only the one bedroom—opposite the kitchen.”
“How long were you there?”
“I don’t know. I thought he’d be coming. I looked round a bit. Then I thought I’d wait in the kitchen. That was all right what I said before. I went in the kitchen and had a look round and a couple of glasses of sherry like I said—there was a bottle on the dresser.”
“How soon did Luke White come along?”
She shook her head.
“He didn’t come. I got tired of waiting and went through to the hall like I told you. He was laid there with the knife in him, and that girl coming out of the lounge. I went to see if he was dead, and got my hands all messed up. Then Eily screamed, and everyone came down.”
He went on asking his questions, but he got nothing more from her. She had come downstairs to see Luke White, but she hadn’t seen him. She hadn’t set eyes on him until she saw him lying dead in the hall. She hadn’t laid hands on the knife or used it. She hadn’t stabbed Luke White.
Crisp let her go in the end. He was at once complacent over what he had got, and irritated because he had got no more. He stabbed with his pencil at the blotter and broke the point as he said,
“She did it all right. It couldn’t be anyone else.”
Frank Abbott looked up from his neat shorthand notes. He used the voice which Crisp stigmatized as B.B.C. to say,
“I don’t know.”
The Inspector fetched a knife from his pocket, released the blade with a jerk, and attacked the damaged pencil. Between slashes he said,
“Of course she isn’t Castell! It’s got to be Castell, hasn’t it?” He laughed harshly. “No substitutes accepted!”
Miss Silver coughed in a hortatory manner.
“Pray, Inspector, is there no news of Albert Miller?”