The police were still using the business room, although they had notified their intention of moving to the Moonraker's Arms later in the day. Mrs. Maxie privately wished them joy of the cooking.
Sally's room was kept locked. Only Dalgleish held the key and he gave no explanation of his frequent visits there nor of what he had found or hoped to find.
Lionel Jephson had arrived early in the morning, fussy, scandalized and ineffectual. The family only hoped that he was being as big a nuisance to the police as he was to them, As Deborah predicted he was at a loss in a situation so divorced from his normal concerns and experience.
His obvious anxiety and reiterated admonitions suggested that he had either grave doubts of his clients' innocence or little faith in the efficiency of the police.
It was a relief to the whole household when he scurried back to town before luncheon to consult with a colleague.
At twelve o'clock the telephone rang for the twentieth time.
Sir Reynold Price's voice boomed across the wire to Mrs. Maxie.
"But it's disgraceful, my dear lady.
What are the police doing?" ‹I think at the moment they're trying to trace the baby's father."
"Good God! Whatever for? I should think they'd do better to concentrate on finding who killed her."
"They seem to think there could be a connection."
"Damn silly ideas they would get.
They've been here, you know. Wanted to know about some pills that Epps prescribed for me. Must have been months ago. Fancy him remembering after all that time. Now why do you suppose they worried about those? Most extraordinary thing. Not going to arrest me yet, Inspector, I said. You could see he was amused." Sir Reynold's hearty laughter crackled unpleasantly in Mrs. Maxie's ear.
"How very tiresome for you," said Mrs.
Maxie. ‹I am afraid this sad business is causing a lot of trouble to everyone.
Did you send them away happy?"
"The police? My dear lady, the police are never happy. I told them plainly that it's no use expecting to find anything in this house. Maids tidy up everything that isn't actually kept under lock and key.
Fancy looking for a bottle of tablets which I had months ago. Damn silly idea. The inspector seemed to think I ought to remember just how many I took and what happened to the others. Well, I ask you! I told him that I was a busy man with something better to do with my time. They were asking, too, about that spot of bother we had at St. Mary's about two years ago. The inspector seemed very interested in it. Wanted to know why you had resigned from the committee and so on." ‹I wonder how they got on to that?"
"Some fool's been talking too much,
I suppose. Funny how people can't keep their mouths shut, especially to the police.
That chap Dalgleish said to me that it was a funny thing you weren't on the St. Mary's committee when you ran practically everything else in the village.
I told him you'd resigned two years ago when we had that spot of trouble and, naturally, he wanted to know what spot of trouble. Asked why we hadn't got rid of Liddell at the time. I said to him, 'My dear chap, you can't just chuck a woman out after twenty-five years' service. It's not as if there was actual dishonesty.' I take my stand on that, you know. Always have. Always will. Carelessness and general muddle with the accounts, maybe, but that's a far cry from deliberate dishonesty. I told the man that we'd had her before the committee - all very hushed up and tactful of course - and sent her a letter confirming the new financial arrangements so that there couldn't be any misunderstanding. Damn stiff letter, too, all things considered. I know you thought at the time that we should have turned over the Home to the diocesan welfare committee or one of the national associations for unmarried mothers, instead of keeping it on as a private charitable concern, and so I told the inspector."
"I thought it was time we handed over a difficult job to trained and experienced people, Sir Reynold." Even as she spoke Mrs. Maxie cursed the unwariness which had trapped her into this recapitulation of old history.
"That's what I mean. I told Dalgleish, 'Mrs. Maxie may well have been right. I'm not saying she wasn't. But Lady Price was keen on the Home - practically founded it, in fact - and naturally I wasn't keen to hand it over. Not enough of these small individual places left now.
Personal touch is what counts. No doubt, though, that Miss Liddell had made a nonsense of the accounts. Too much worry for her. Figures not really woman's work.' He agreed of course. Had quite a laugh about it."
Mrs. Maxie could well believe it. The picture was not a pretty one. No doubt this facility for being all things to all men was a prerequisite of success as a detective. When the hearty man-to-man amusement had died down Mrs. Maxie had no doubt that Dalgleish's mind was busy with a new theory. Yet how was it possible? The mugs and cups for those last night drinks had certainly been placed ready by ten. After that time Miss Liddell had never been out of her hostess's sight.
Together they had stood in the hall and watched that glowing triumphant figure carrying Deborah's beaker up to bed. Miss Liddell might possibly have a motive if Sally's taunt had any significance, but there was no evidence that she had the means, and certainly not that she had had the opportunity. Mrs. Maxie, who had never liked Miss Liddell, was still able to hope that the half-forgotten humiliations of two years ago could remain hidden in that Alice Liddell, not very efficient, not very intelligent, but fundamentally kind and well-meaning would be left in peace.
But Sir Reynold was still speaking.
"And by the way, I wouldn't take any notice of these extraordinary rumours that are going round the village. People are bound to talk you know, but it will all die down as soon as the police get their man.
Let's hope they get a move on. Now don't forget, let me know if there's anything I can do. And mind you lock up carefully at night. It might be Deborah or yourself next. And there's another thing." Sir Reynold's voice became hoarsely conspiratorial and Mrs. Maxie had to strain to hear. "It's about the boy. Nice little fellow as far as I could see. Was watching him in his pram at the fete, you know. Thought this morning I'd like to do something there. Not much fun losing your mother. No real home. Someone ought to keep an eye on him. Where is he now? With you?"
"Jimmy's back at St. Mary's. It seemed best that way. I don't know what will be arranged for him. It's early yet, of course, and I don't know if anyone's given much thought to it."
"Time they did, dear lady. Time they did. Perhaps they'll put him up for adoption. Better get on the list, eh? Miss Liddell would be the person to ask, I suppose."
Mrs. Maxie was at a loss for an answer.
She was more familiar with the laws of adoption than Sir Reynold and doubted whether he could be considered the most suitable applicant to have charge of a child. If Jimmy were to be adopted his situation would ensure that there were plenty of offers. She herself had already given thought to the child's future. She did not mention this, however, but contented herself by pointing out that Sally's relations might yet accept the boy and that nothing could be done until their views were known. It was possible, even, that the father would be traced. Sir Reynold dismissed this possibility with a hoot of derision but promised to do nothing in a hurry. With renewed warnings against homicidal maniacs he rang off. Mrs. Maxie wondered whether anyone could be as stupid as Sir Reynold appeared to be and what could have prompted his sudden concern for Jimmy.
She replaced the receiver with a sigh and turned to the day's letters. Half a dozen were from friends who, obviously in some social embarrassment, expressed their sympathy with the family and their confidence in Maxie innocence by invitations to dine. Mrs. Maxie found this demonstration of support more diverting than reassuring. The next three envelopes bore unfamiliar handwriting and she opened them reluctantly. Perhaps it would be better to destroy them unread but one never knew. Some information of value might be lost that way. Besides, it was more courageous to face unpleasantness and Eleanor Maxie had never lacked courage. But the first two letters were less objectionable than she had feared. One, indeed, was meant to be heartening. it contained three little printed texts with robins and roses in unreasonable proximity and an assurance that whosoever endured to the end would be saved. It asked for a contribution to enable this good news to be spread and suggested that the texts should be copied and distributed to those friends who were also in trouble. Most of Mrs. Maxie's friends were discreet about their troubles but, even so, she felt a tinge of guilt as she dropped the texts into the wastepaper basket. The next letter was in a mauve scented envelope from a lady who claimed psychic powers and was prepared, for a fee, to organize a seance at which Sally Jupp might be expected to appear and name her murderer. The assumption that Sally's disclosures would be completely acceptable to the Maxies did at least suggest that the writer gave them the benefit of the doubt. The last communication bore the local postmark and merely inquired, "Why weren't you content to work her to death, you dirty murderess?" Mrs. Maxie looked at the writing carefully but could not remember seeing it before. But the postmark was clear and she recognized a challenge. She decided to go down to the village and do some shopping.