He laughed again.
“Oh, yes-Mr. Latter is your client, isn’t he? You won’t admit he did it. That leaves Mrs. Street and Miss Mercer. Which of them do you fancy? They were both being turned out of what had been their home for twenty-five years-if Mrs. Street is as old as that. And she’s got a husband she’d like to have here, only Mrs. Latter wouldn’t have it. Well, that’s some sort of a motive for each of them, but I don’t think it would cut much ice with a jury. No, I’m afraid things look very bad for your client. Come now-what do you think yourself? You may as well own up.”
Miss Silver looked at him without any expression at all.
“At the moment I have no opinion to offer.”
She left him smiling to himself and passed into the hall. It was in her mind that she would like to talk to Julia Vane, but she decided that that could wait. There seemed to be an excellent opportunity of a conversation with the kitchenmaid, Polly Pell-rather a shy girl, and so constantly at Mrs. Maniple’s beck and call as to make it very difficult to get hold of her.
She made her way into the pantry, and at once became aware that she would not find Polly alone. The door through into the kitchen was ajar, and the high-pitched voice of Gladys Marsh was plainly audible.
“I’ll get my picture in the papers-you see if I don’t.”
As a gentlewoman, Miss Silver deplored a professional necessity. Gentlewomen do not eavesdrop, but it is sometimes very useful to be able to do so. In her professional character she did not hesitate to avail herself of opportunity when it came her way. She provided herself with a tumbler and stood with her hand on the drinking-water tap. What she heard she found very interesting-very interesting indeed.
A cautious glance round the edge of the door showed her Gladys Marsh sitting across the corner of the kitchen table swinging her legs. She had a cup of tea in her hand. Polly was not in sight. Her voice came hesitating, not much above a whisper.
“I don’t know that I’d care about that.”
Gladys took a noisy gulp of tea.
“Well, I would. You just watch me and you’ll see. There’s a couple of reporters been at me already, but I’m not making myself cheap. I told them so. I’ve said what I know to Chief Inspector Lamb from Scotland Yard-that’s what I told them. And he says I’ll be called at the inquest, and not to say nothing to nobody, so I’m not. ‘Come to think of it,’ I said, ‘why should you boys get the money for my story? I can write it myself, can’t I?’ And the cheeky one with red hair-they’re all cheeky, but he’s the worst-he said, ‘You don’t mean to say they taught you to write?’ and I said, ‘Yes, Impudence,’ and a lot more besides. And he said, ‘You bet!’ and he took two photographs. But I didn’t tell him nothing, only a lot of stuff about the house and the family, and about Mrs. Latter being such a lot admired, and all that. If they want anything more they can pay for it-and if they won’t there’s plenty that will.”
There was a murmuring sound from Polly. Gladys drained her cup and reached for the teapot.
“Oh, come off it!” she said. “What’s the good of being alive if you don’t have a good time when you’re young? You start thinking if there isn’t something you can tell the police and get called at the inquest! That’ll be only a village affair, but when it comes to the trial-”
Polly’s voice came in with a frightened sound.
“Who will they try?”
“Dunno. But I can guess. Can’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
Gladys laughed and swung her legs.
“Who spied on her and caught her in Mr. Antony’s room? Who comes into a lot of money now she’s gone? She told me that herself no longer ago than the Wednesday morning- said she wasn’t going to stay here the way things were going, and the first thing she was going to do when she got up to town was to alter her will. She’d have taken me with her too. Gosh-what a chance!”
“I don’t know that I should care about London.”
Gladys said contemptuously,
“More fool you! You don’t know what’s good for you. I didn’t when I married Joe Marsh and tied myself up to live in a hole like this.”
“Weren’t you-weren’t you fond of him?”
Gladys laughed. Really, Miss Silver thought, a most unpleasant sound.
“Fond of him! I’d been ill and I was out of a job, and he was getting good money. I was a damned fool. If I’m one of the chief witnesses in a big murder trial, why I’ll get dozens of offers-girls do. I’d be able to pick and choose and marry where there’s some money going and a chance of a good time if I hadn’t tied myself up to Joe. However, ’tisn’t for always nowadays-that’s one comfort. I’ll do better than Joe with this trial to boost me.”
“You didn’t ought to talk like that.”
Gladys laughed again. The sound really quite got on Miss Silver’s nerves.
“Oh, I didn’t, didn’t I? Well, you wait and see, Polly Pell! There’s more than that I can say if I choose, but I’m not saying it yet. I’m keeping it back to make a splash with-see?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I can put the rope round somebody’s neck if I choose, and I’m going to choose all right. There’s someone in this house that’s going to swing for what they done, and it’s me that’s going to put the rope round their neck. And get my photo in all the papers, and everyone talking about me! I’ll say this for those reporter chaps, they give you a good write-up. ‘Golden-haired, blue-eyed Gladys Marsh’-that’ll be me, when I’m not a ‘beautiful blonde.’ You see, I’ll be right in the news, and if I can’t make something out of it, my name’s not Gladys Marsh. And won’t you wish you was me!”
Polly achieved emphasis.
“No, that I won’t!” she said.
CHAPTER 27
At the sound of footsteps coming from the direction of the hall Miss Silver set down the tumbler she was holding and walked briskly to meet them. It was Julia Vane whom she encountered. It did not escape her that, in addition to being unusually pale, Julia had a look of endurance which had not been there when they met at breakfast. Whatever may have been her errand, Miss Silver forestalled it.
“I should appreciate a short conversation with you, Miss Vane, if you can spare the time.”
She had shut the door behind her. Julia looked past her in that direction.
“I was going to see Mrs. Maniple. Is she in the kitchen?”
Miss Silver shook her head.
“Oh, no-she is still in the study with Sergeant Abbott. I will not detain you for long. Perhaps the drawing-room would be suitable.”
Julia preceded her there in dumb rebellion. The house was no longer their own-it certainly wasn’t Jimmy’s. Their lives, their actions, their time, the words they spoke, the words they dared not speak, were all conditioned by this timeless nightmare in which they lived and moved. She turned, to see Miss Silver looking at her kindly. Her voice too was kind as she said,
“Truth is always best, Miss Julia.”
The bitterness she felt for Manny, for Jimmy, for all of them, came out in her voice as she answered,
“Is it?”
Miss Silver said, “I think so. It is not always easy to see it at the time. That is one of the things which makes the conduct of a murder case so difficult. People with something to conceal persist in trying to conceal it. It may be a serious matter, or it may be quite trifling, but the result is the same-the issues are obscured. People who are habitually truthful are tempted to depart from the truth. They are not usually very successful. It requires a good deal of practice to deceive an experienced police officer. It is much easier, as well as much safer, to tell the truth.”
The words which formed themselves in Julia’s mind dissolved as she looked at Miss Silver. They were what anyone might suppose. “Do you think I’m telling lies? Why should I? I haven’t got anything to hide.” They were in her mind, but they never reached her lips. She looked at Miss Silver, and lost sight of her primness and her dowdy clothes. She didn’t see them any more. She was aware of intelligence and strength. She was intelligent enough herself to recognize these qualities, and strong enough to value them. She said in a quiet, humble voice,