Catherine drew at her cigarette. When she spoke her tone was openly rude.
“What put that into your head?”
“I think it would be very unwise of you to deny it. The girl at the exchange will no doubt remember the call. She is probably familiar with your voice and that of Miss Cray.”
The blue haze between them thickened. Catherine said equably,
“If she says I called Rietta up, then I did. I very often do. I’m alone here-it passes the time. Anyhow I suppose you have asked Rietta. She would know.”
Miss Silver was sitting upon the couch. There was a bright wood fire and the room was warm. She removed her yellow tippet and laid it beside her. In some purely feminine manner this small incident stirred Catherines temper. In her own mind she stigmatized the tippet as a mangy cat and resented its contact with her sofa. That a woman who wore a thing like that should thrust herself into her house and cross-examine her about a private conversation was the ultimate limit.
Miss Silver’s reply did nothing to allay her anger.
“Miss Cray is under suspicion. It would therefore be important to corroborate any account she might give.”
“Very well-give me Rietta’s account, and I’ll give you my corroboration.”
Since Miss Cray had resolutely refused to give any account of the conversation, this was unfortunately not practicable. Miss Silver coughed, and employed the old device of the red herring.
“In the statements which have been made there are references to a memorandum left by Mrs. Lessiter for the information of her son. I believe it was concerned with some disposition of her effects.”
Catherine said, “I really don’t know.”
The haze hung between them, but something had happened. It would have been difficult to say just what it was- the tensing of a muscle, the momentary halting of a breath, the slightest involuntary movement of a finger. Miss Silver had always found it useful to give particular attention to the hands of anyone whose response to questioning inclined towards reticence.
The hand with which Catherine was holding her cigarette remained steady. If the fingers pressed a little more closely, it was a movement impossible to detect. But the little finger had jerked.
Miss Silver coughed.
“I believe that to have been the case. I should be very glad, Mrs. Welby, if you could bring yourself to be frank with me.”
“Frank?” Catherine laughed. “I really don’t know what you mean!”
“Then I will tell you. Mr. Lessiter had been absent for more than twenty years. He met Miss Cray here, in your house, and walked home with her. The subject of his conversation was the disposition of his mother’s effects. On the evening of the murder you had a conversation with Miss Cray which lasted for ten minutes. Was that also a conversation with regard to the disposition of Mrs. Lessiter’s property?”
Catherine laughed.
“Why don’t you ask Rietta?”
“I am asking you. I believe that some dispute was going on between you and Mr. Lessiter. These things are in the air in a village. It is common knowledge that Mrs. Lessiter lent you the furniture of this house.”
Catherine blew out a cloud of smoke.
“She gave me some furniture-yes. I don’t know what business it is of yours.”
“Miss Cray has engaged me to protect her interests. It is clear that there are two possible points of view involved. I have heard that the furniture was lent-you say that it was given. Mr. Lessiter talked to Miss Cray about the disposition of his mother’s effects. On the night of the murder you called Miss Cray up to talk about a matter of business. Later that evening she had a sharp difference of opinion with Mr. Lessiter over a business matter which involved a friend. Can you be surprised that I put two and two together and arrived at the conclusion that Mr. Lessiter was taking the first point of view? He believed that the furniture had been lent. He endeavoured to obtain corroboration from Miss Cray. At some time during the hours immediately preceding his death he discovered a memorandum in his mother’s writing. I think it is quite clear that this memorandum supported his view. I believe he rang you up and said so, and that you then rang Miss Cray. Later on, during her interview with Mr. Lessiter, Miss Cray recurred to the subject and endeavoured to change some course of action which he was contemplating. I think that what he intended must have been of a nature to cause her serious distress. She told me that their quarrel was about business, and that the business concerned a friend. You cannot be surprised if I conclude that you were the friend. The whole sequence of events is then explained.”
Catherine Welby had not Rietta Cray’s quick temper. She could take a wound as well as give one. But all through the interview anger had been rising in her, retarded by caution, checked once or twice by fear, but still rising. It went cold in her now. She felt as if she had just been neatly dissected, her thoughts, her motives, the movements of her mind laid bare. It was not alone the few formal sentences, it was the feeling that this old maid’s small, shrewd eyes did really see what she was thinking. She even had the strangest feeling that it might be a relief to let go-to open her mind of her own free will, unpack her thoughts, and spread them out to be looked at, weighed, and judged. It was only for the shortest possible space of time. These moments come-and go. We take them, or we let them go.
Catherine Welby let her moment go. She had no idea that in letting it go she had committed herself to an irremediable disaster. She was not hurried by anger. She took her time before she said,
“You’ve got it all very nicely settled, haven’t you? I wouldn’t dream of disturbing the picture.” She got to her feet and dropped the stub of her cigarette into a jade ashtray. “And now perhaps you’ll go.”
Miss Silver was very well qualified to deal with insolence. She regarded Catherine in a manner which relegated her to the nursery-a badly conducted nursery in which the child had not been taught her manners. Rising without hurry, she put on the elderly tippet and fastened up her coat.
“If you should change your mind, you will know where to find me.”
CHAPTER 33
As Miss Silver emerged between the pillars which marked the entrance to the drive of Melling House, a light was flashed in her face. It was a little startling, but since there was an immediate murmur of apology in a young man’s voice, she concluded that the owner of what appeared to be a bicycle-lamp had merely been anxious to identify a friend. In words rather more familiar than she herself would have employed, it was a case of “boy meets girl.” She crossed the road and found her way along the edge of the Green to the path which would take her back to Mrs. Voycey’s.
When she first heard the footsteps behind her she gave them no attention. A nervous person would not adopt the detective profession. It did not occur to Miss Silver to be nervous. There was enough light for her to distinguish her path from the Green it traversed. She was not, therefore, using her torch. The footsteps continued behind her. Presently they drew nearer, and a voice said,
“I-I beg your pardon-”
It was the same voice which had apologized for flashing the bicycle-lamp in her face, a young voice and embarrassed.
Miss Silver stood still, allowed the footsteps to come up with her, and said,
“What is it?”
The bicycle-lamp must have been switched off, for all she could see was a tall black shadow. The voice said,
“I beg your pardon, but you are staying with Mrs. Voycey, aren’t you? Your name is Miss Silver-”
“What can I do for you?”
“I really do beg your pardon-I hope I didn’t startle you. I’m Allan Grover. My father and mother have the Grocery Stores-I think you’ve met them. I’m in Mr. Holderness’s office in Lenton.”