He nodded.
“You’ve got it. There’s a derelict shed just off a track which runs into the lane. A motor-bicycle had stood there- Jackson found traces of oil. The man probably went off that way. You can’t beat a cap and goggles as a disguise, and he could have gone on along the coast past the Catherine-Wheel, or into Ledstow, or back to Ledlington. He could have taken the girl up behind him, or she could have had her own pedal bicycle or a car of a different make and gone off in another direction, possibly taking the loot, which amounted to about three thousand pounds. I think myself that they would separate as soon as possible.”
“I think so too.”
He pushed back his chair.
“Two hearts that beat as one! Jackson and I will now revert to looking for needles in bundles of hay. He is better at it than I am. I get bored.” He leaned forward suddenly. “Look here-why did Mrs. Craddock faint like that?”
“She is a delicate woman, Frank.”
One of his colourless eyebrows rose.
“Well, I suppose she goes on being delicate all the time, but she isn’t always fainting. Why should her delicacy be aggravated to swooning-point just at the moment when Craddock announces that they have nothing to hide? It seems to me a little too dramatic to be quite fortuitous.”
Miss Silver coughed gently.
“It was certainly dramatic. But was that all that struck you?”
“Was there anything which ought to have struck me?”
“I just wondered whether anything had. Whether, for instance, you had been observing Mr. John Robinson with any particular attention.”
He looked puzzled.
“Well, I don’t know. He was playing the fool a bit. There were moments when I had an idea that he was enjoying himself. Of course he might be quite a suitable suspect, if you put it that way. Well established character as an eccentric-nature study and bird-watching, which accounts for his coming and going at any odd hour-boarded-up windows, and a garden which is practically enclosed by a palisade. But then most of this applies to Craddock too. He studies plants under planetary influences. Which sounds a bit like plucking the fifth cinquefoil from the left at three minutes past midnight when the moon is dark and something or other is in the ascendant, as all the best spells have it. And uncommonly convenient for a gentleman who needs a smokescreen. And it was Mrs. Craddock who fainted.”
Miss Silver gazed at him mildly.
“Let us return to Mr. John Robinson. When I asked you whether you had paid him any particular attention I was referring to his habit of quotation.”
Frank Abbott laughed.
“Oh, that? Well, it’s hardly an indictable offence. We have been known to do it ourselves. But I remember he first quoted Tennyson, and then made a slighting remark about the quotation, which was, I must say, not one of the higher poetic flights. I looked at you to see if you were going to wield a thunderbolt, but you spared him.”
She allowed herself a faint, brief smile.
“He made two quotations. They were both from the same poem-rather a famous one. One was, in fact, the first two lines of that poem, and the other from the last two.”
He frowned.
“Something about cliffs. He said-”
Miss Silver supplied the quotation.
“ ‘Long lines of cliff, breaking, have left a chasm, and in the chasm are foam and yellow sands.’ ”
He looked at her blankly and shook his head.
“Nothing doing, I’m afraid. But the other one does seem to produce a slight reaction-‘The little port had never seen a costlier funeral.’ ”
Miss Silver made a gentle correction.
“ ‘Seldom,’ not ‘never,’ Frank.”
He burst out laughing.
“Well, seldom or never-I can’t place the thing. Are you going to tell me?”
“I think not, Frank.”
He got up.
“Well, I must go and find Jackson. I’d love to stop and play quotations with you, but I’m afraid it might give the Colony an idea that you are cast for the part of chief suspect.” Then in a moment he was entirely serious. “Look here,” he said, “I’m not liking this for you-I never did, you know. There’s something uncommonly ruthless about these crimes, and the only clue we’ve got does point to some link with this place. You’ll be careful, won’t you?”
Miss Silver smiled indulgently.
“My dear Frank, I am always careful.”
CHAPTER XXVI
Mr. Craddock’s humour was not at its best by the time Inspector Jackson had finished his polite but pertinaceous questioning. He might, and possibly did, assure himself that he had throughout maintained a high standard of courtesy and philosophic calm, but to anyone whose mind was not adapted to so partial a view it was obvious that he was in a very bad temper. He came into the workroom, and standing upon the hearthrug rather to the rear of the sofa upon which Emily Craddock lay, he delivered himself of an oration. What, he demanded, was the world coming to, what was happening to society, when a person practically indistinguishable from a member of the Gestapo could walk into your house and demand an account of every moment of your time over a period of weeks, together with a complete itinerary of your walks and drives.
“Where was I upon this day and at this hour! And what road did I take to each place! And how long did I stay! I preserved my calm. I said to him, ‘My good Inspector, do you suppose that I keep a minute-to-minute diary of my comings and goings? Could you yourself possibly answer such questions? If you could, I am sorry for you, since it would prove you to be so obsessed with the minutiae of physical life and its earthbound materialism as to be incapable of any higher intelligence. For myself, I live in the realm of thought-I occupy myself with ideas. I am engaged upon an important work on the subject of Planetary Influences, and I certainly cannot tell you just what I was doing at three o’clock in the afternoon on the third of January. I may have been out, or I may have been in. I may have been engaged in my studies, or in writing, or in meditation. I was certainly not in London. It is a place I detest-all noise, and clatter, and disturbing vibrations. The only time I have been to London for months was on the occasion when I made the journey in order to interview Miss Silver, who, as I told the Inspector, will probably remember the date, which was assuredly not January the third.’ ”
He cast a look of lofty interrogation at Miss Silver, who sat knitting by the couch. Since she faced Emily Craddock, she was able to observe that she appeared to be rather stunned by the reverberations of Mr. Craddock’s powerful voice. She was also well placed to intercept his glance, and to reply,
“I believe it was January the eighth.”
The brief respite being over, Mr. Craddock resumed.
“The Inspector had literally nothing to say. I believe that, while remaining perfectly courteous, I was able to administer a sufficient rebuke. People on these lower planes are extremely insensitive, but I believe I was able to show him that his impertinence left me quite unmoved.” The rolling voice developed a rasp. He addressed his wife. “If it had not been for your lack of self-control, my dear Emily, I should not have been subjected to all this unpleasantness. I cannot imagine what came over you. I state in front of the other members of the Colony and in the presence of two police officers that I have nothing to hide, and you immediately give way to the incredible folly and stupidity of fainting. I really feel that I am entitled to an explanation. If you cannot perceive the invidious conclusions which might be, and undoubtedly were, drawn from this lamentable exhibition, I feel it my duty to point them out to you.”
Emily Craddock’s white cheek became a shade paler-something of a feat since it already appeared to be quite drained of colour. She put out her hand in a groping way towards Miss Silver, who laid down her knitting and took it in a kind warm clasp. It was cold to the touch, and it trembled.