He was watching her now to see if she was going to believe him. Those very blue eyes of his were like those of a dog who isn’t at all sure whether he is going to get the bone on which his hopes are fixed. Had he put it across, or hadn’t he? Ione wasn’t sure herself-not under that pleading gaze. She said,
“Well, that’s your case, Geoffrey. I don’t know whether I believe it or not. It could be true, or it could be”-she made a slight pause-“very well put together. I would much rather believe that it was true.”
He said in a despondent tone,
“It’s true-but I can’t make you believe it.”
“Well, anyhow it leaves a good deal unexplained. When Jacqueline Delauny asked you whether you would marry her if you were free-just what did she mean? You see, there are two ways in which you might be free to make a second marriage-Allegra might die, or she might divorce you. Which of those two things was Jacqueline suggesting?”
He broke in, voice and manner very much disturbed.
“Ione-you’ve got it all wrong! Don’t you see Jacqueline was just upset? She’s a very controlled person as a rule-you must have noticed that. But this business about Margot has really thrown her right off her balance. She was fond of her, and of course it was a constant occupation. Now she is all at a loose end. What you overheard gives a very unfair picture of what she is really like. It was an emotional outburst, and when she gave way to it she believed that we were quite alone. After all, I’m fond of her, you know-and I suppose she is of me. We have known each other for a long time, and she just let herself go.”
Ione agreed.
“Oh, yes, she let herself go. But I still want to know how she thought you were going to be free. Had you ever discussed a divorce?”
“No-no-of course not!”
“Then the alternative would be Allegra’s death. If she had been pushed under that bus this morning, you would have been free, Geoffrey.”
He stared at her with an effect of stupidity. Ione repeated her words.
“If she had gone under that bus she would have been killed, and you would have been free.”
He still went on staring at her. When words came they were hoarse and choked.
“You can’t-possibly-mean what you’re saying-”
“You would have been free.”
He went down suddenly on his knees by the table and hid his face against his outflung arms. His shoulders heaved with sobs. He kept saying Allegra’s name and choking on it. It was the most complete and sudden breakdown Ione had ever witnessed. She hoped with some fervour that Jacqueline Delauny was not listening. If she were to be added to the scene, she did not feel that she could continue to cope with it.
There was, however, no dramatic entry. Geoffrey’s sobs became quieter. He lifted a ravaged face, got to his feet, and sank into the armchair by the fire. There had been no tears. That ravaged face bore no sign of them, but it was horribly drawn. There was no doubt that he had received an overwhelming shock. She did not mean to speak first, and she had to wait for some time before he said in a low stumbling voice,
“You-mustn’t-say-things like that. I love Allegra. When you spoke of her going under that bus it was just as if you were telling me that it had happened.”
Two voices spoke in Ione. One said, “He was shocked through and through. He really loves her.” And the other, “If Allegra had been killed today, her money wouldn’t have gone to Geoffrey-it would have come to me.”
She came over to the fire and stood there looking down at him.
“What did Jacqueline mean when she said you had let Margot take that crazy rope?”
His face twitched. He said in a tone of utter weariness,
“It just shows you how off her balance she was.”
“She said it twice, and she laughed when you denied it.”
“Am I to deny it to you? The thing nobody seems to understand is that I loved Margot. She was a child, and I’m-fond of children. I want them. Some day, I hope, Allegra-” He broke off, lifting his head. “You see, that is how it was-she was just a child that I was fond of. Sometimes she was a naughty child, but you don’t stop loving children because they are naughty. That was one of the reasons I’ve been fond of Jacqueline-she loved Margot too. You don’t know how patient she was. You heard her today at her worst, but she has lived with us for two years, and I have seen her at her best.”
Yes, Jacqueline Delauny had been endlessly patient. It did not need anyone to tell Ione that. She had seen it for herself. Everything that Geoffrey said about her was true. And Geoffrey had made out a good case for himself. A man with a drug addict and an abnormal girl on his hands would not lightly part with devoted efficiency in the shape of a Jacqueline Delauny. All the same, she would have to go. Amongst all the uncertainties which filled her mind Ione took firm hold of this necessity. She said,
“She will have to go, Geoffrey.”
“For a single breakdown after years of self-control?”
“It went a little farther than a breakdown, I think. There was a definite proposal that Allegra should be got rid of, and that you should marry her.”
“She didn’t know what she was saying.”
“My dear Geoffrey, she knew perfectly well. And I don’t think-you know, I really don’t think that it was the first time she had tried to get an answer to that question. And right on the top of that she was asking you why you had let Margot have the rope that killed her. Doesn’t it strike you that anyone who is capable of throwing that sort of bomb is a good deal too dangerous to be under the same roof as Allegra?”
“She didn’t know what she was saying. If you were listening, you must have realized that she was beside herself. I have told you just how it all happened. I can’t make you believe me. We had better stop talking about it now, because I want to go to Allegra.”
CHAPTER 26
Miss Silver took a journey to town next day. She explained to Miss Falconer that she might be obliged to stay the night, but she would let her know in good time.
Arrived at the terminus, she entered a telephone-box. After some little delay she was connected with the extension for which she had asked. To a familiar voice saying, “Hullo?” she replied, “Miss Silver speaking.”
The voice, which was that of Detective Inspector Frank Abbott, immediately took on a tinge of warm affection.
“My dear ma’am-what can I do for you?”
Miss Silver coughed.
“I have been down in the country, but I have come up for the day. I am speaking from a call box. I wondered if it would be possible for you to see me for half an hour.”
He permitted himself to laugh.
“Someone been getting himself murdered amidst bucolic scenes?”
Miss Silver’s tone rebuked him.
“I hope to prevent a murder. I think perhaps the Yard may be able to give me some information.”
“Well, anything we can do. Come right along!”
It was a tribute to the importance of her errand that she took a taxi. When she entered his office Frank Abbott gave her as warm a welcome as if she had been a favourite aunt. There were, in fact, very few people who had seen his glance soften and heard his voice change as they did for his Miss Silver. No two people could have provided a more complete contrast-the tall fair young man with the beautifully cut suit, his hair slicked back above a bony nose and ice-blue eyes, and the ex-governess with her flavour of the family photograph-album of some forty years ago. She was wearing the good black cloth coat which had served her for many years and her best hat, not new but freshly trimmed with a ruche of magenta velvet ribbon and two rather irrelevant bows. The hat, of course, was black. All her hats were black, like the stout laced shoes upon her feet, the worn handbag, and the shabby kid gloves.