Miss Silver coughed.
“What I cannot understand, Randal, is why such valuable ornaments should have been left out upon the study mantelpiece in what was practically an unused house. Mrs. Lessiter had been dead for two years. Mr. Lessiter had not been near the place for over twenty.”
“Yes, it’s a bit casual, but Mrs. Lessiter was like that.” He told her what Rietta had said about the insurance, and then continued, “I asked Mrs. Mayhew just now, and she says the figures were put away at the back of one of the pantry cupboards after Mrs. Lessiter died, but she got them out again before Lessiter came down because they belonged to the study mantelpiece and she thought he would miss them.”
Miss Silver said, “I see-” She knitted briskly. “Randal, what was Mr. Lessiter doing when he was killed? Was he writing?”
He gave her a curious look.
“Not so far as we can ascertain. He had obviously been clearing up-the fireplace was choked with burnt stuff. On the writing-table itself there was only one paper-the old will leaving everything to Rietta. It had been scorched down one side and is rather badly stained. All the pens and pencils were in the pen-rack. All the writing-table drawers were shut.”
“Then what was he doing at the writing-table?”
“I don’t know.”
She looked at him in her most serious manner.
“I think it may be very important to find out.”
“You think-”
“I think there is a suggestion that some paper is missing. If so, it must be of vital importance. It may have been abstracted by the murderer. It certainly cannot have disappeared by itself. It is also quite certain that a man does not sit at his writing-table without any occupation. He must either be writing, reading, or sorting papers. The only paper before him was this short will. But both Mrs. Mayhew and Miss Cray make some slight reference to another paper. Miss Cray mentioned it to me.”
“What paper?”
“The memorandum referred to by Mrs. Mayhew in reporting what she had overheard of the interview between Mr. Lessiter and Miss Cray. She reports him as saying that he had come across her letters when he was looking for a memorandum his mother had left for him.”
“There is nothing to show that he had it out on the table.”
“Not in Mrs. Mayhew’s statement. But in conversation with me Miss Cray did refer to it. I asked her if she knew what was in it, and she replied that she believed it to contain information as to certain dispositions Mrs. Lessiter had made.”
“Did she say that this paper was on the table during her interview with Lessiter?”,
She weighted this thoughtfully.
“Not in so many words. I certainly received that impression.”
“It may be important-” he paused, and added, “very important. Will you call her up and ask her whether the memorandum was actually there, in sight?”
“Yes, I can do that. The telephone is in the dining-room. You had better come with me.”
Rietta Cray answered the call in her deep voice. No one would have guessed with what shrinking she had lifted the receiver. Miss Silver’s voice brought relief.
“I hope I have not disturbed you. In describing your interview of the other night you mentioned a certain memorandum. Did you actually see this paper?”
The scene came back. James, with his smiling malice and his talk of her letters-“love’s young dream.”…And then, “The memorandum my mother left me… some people would be glad if they could be certain it was in ashes like your letters…” Catherine’s voice on the telephone-“He’s found that damned memorandum.”
The reassurance was all gone. She felt the buffeting of opposing loyalties-Catherine-Carr. It was characteristic of Rietta Cray that she did not think of herself. She tried to steady her thoughts, to determine just how much she could safely say.
Miss Silver repeated her question.
“Did you see this paper?”
She said, “Yes.”
“Can you describe it?”
No harm in answering that.
“There were several sheets of foolscap. They had been folded up to go in an envelope, and taken out again. The envelope was lying there, and the foolscap half unfolded. I recognized the writing.”
Miss Silver said, “Thank you,” and hung up. She turned to face Randal March.
“You heard?”
He said, “Yes.”
CHAPTER 30
Mrs. Crook brought in tea, and reported afterwards to her friend Mrs. Grover that the Chief Constable was ever such a nicelooking gentleman and ever so polite, “but no appetite for his tea, and the scones were lovely though I say it myself.” In these circumstances the meal was not prolonged. When March refused a third cup of tea, Miss Silver coughed in a deprecating manner and said,
“I should like to ask you to do me a favour, Randal.”
He smiled.
“What is it-the half of my kingdom?”
“I hope I should never ask you for what you would find it impossible to give.”
“You alarm me! Let me know the worst!”
She gave him her own charming smile.
“It is really a very simple matter. I would very much like to see the study at Melling House.”
“Well, it will make talk, you know.”
“My dear Randal, do you imagine that people are not talking now?”
“Not for a moment. But I am not anxious that they should talk about a triangle consisting of you and me and Rietta Cray.”
“It is quite impossible to stop people gossiping-especially in a village.”
“What do you hope to effect? Drake is highly efficient. Everything will have been gone over with a microscope.”
“I have no doubt of it.”
Under her mildly obstinate gaze he gave way.
“Very well. You’re taking an unfair advantage of me, you know. I am too anxious about this case to be sure of what I ought to do.”
“My dear Randal-”
He pushed back his chair and got up.
“We had better make the best of a bad job,” he said.
Mayhew, answering the door a little later, peered out. It was a dark afternoon, and the light was on in the hall. He ought to be able to see who it was in the car, but he couldn’t. He blinked up at the Chief Constable and wondered what had brought him back again. Dreadful times when you had to brace yourself up every time the front door bell rang.
He said, “Yes, sir?” in an enquiring tone, and went on bracing himself.
It appeared that no blow was about to fall. March was saying,
“I’m sorry to trouble you again. I just want to go through to the study. Nothing’s been done to the room yet, I suppose?”
“No, sir. Superintendent Drake told me they’d finished and we could get on with it, but I thought I’d leave it till the morning.”
“Oh, well, I shan’t be long. I’ve a lady with me. She may find it cold waiting in the car. I’ll just ask her if she would prefer to come in.”
With this discreet piece of camouflage, March ran down the steps again. His voice came back to Mayhew at the door.
“It’s cold for you here. Perhaps you would rather come in. I won’t be any longer than I can help.”
Miss Silver emerged. Mayhew knew her at once-the little governessy person who was staying with Mrs. Voycey. Mrs. Crook had a tale of her being some kind of a detective. Maybe she had a fancy to see the room where a murder had been done. Maybe not. It wasn’t his business. He’d enough on his mind without troubling about other people’s affairs. Anyway she was coming in with the Chief Constable.
He showed them to the study, switched on the lights, and went over to draw the curtains. Then he went across the hall, and through the baize door to the housekeeper’s room where his wife sat dabbing her eyes and staring at the unwashed tea-things.