Mr. Holderness regarded him with a majestic air.
“An eavesdropper’s account of an interview between his employer and a client-a morbid lovesick puppy’s account of his own jealous imaginings! My dear Mr. March, you must be perfectly aware that this sort of stuff isn’t evidence. No court of law would admit it.”
March said quietly, “I am telling you what he has said. His evidence as to your car would be admitted.”
“I have admitted it myself, and accounted for it in a perfectly reasonable manner.”
“Allan Grover will swear that he saw you come down the drive on Wednesday night-and not from the Gate House.”
“I have no doubt that he will be prepared to back his jealous fancies, but I think I could make very short work of them.” He paused, levelled a brilliant indignant glance first at March and then at Drake, and said, “And now are you going to arrest me?”
His tone demanded and challenged. It had all the effect of a blunt “If this is bluff, I call it.” It increased the Chief Constable’s sense of being on ground by no means secure against a most disastrous collapse, whilst at the same time stimulating his determination to maintain that ground. There was hardly any pause before he replied,
“I am afraid we shall be obliged to make a search of the premises.”
Mr. Holderness laughed scornfully.
“It would take you some time to go through all our deed-boxes. Perhaps if you were to give me some idea of what you expect to find in them-”
“I think, Mr. Holderness, we should like to begin with your safe.”
Still with that angry, dominating look, he threw himself back in his chair.
“And if I refuse?”
“Inspector Drake has a search-warrant.”
The deep colour of fury rose to the very roots of the thick grey hair, the dark eyes glared, the left hand lying on his knee jerked into a clench, the right hand tightened upon the arm of the chair until every knuckle showed as white as bone. To the two men who were watching him it seemed as if at any moment all this intense rage and protest must break into a violence of invective, yet moment by moment fell into the silence and he made no sound. Then very slowly the purple colour ebbed away. The eyelids dropped over the glaring eyes. When they rose again the paroxysm was over. He was left very much his usual self-a little paler, a little sterner, a little more dignified. He said,
“Very well. I have, of course, no objection to offer. I do not know what you expect to find. I should have thought my years of practice in this town and the record of my firm might have protected me from what I can only describe as an outrage. I have nothing to conceal, and I can only hope that you will have as little to regret.”
He pushed back his chair, rose to his feet, and crossed to the left-hand side of the hearth, where he stood in a very composed manner whilst he pulled a steel chain out of his pocket and selected one of the keys depending from it.
The panelling about the hearth was enriched with a double row of heavily carved rosettes rising from the floor to a level with the mantelshelf, after which they turned inwards to frame the Stanway portrait. Mr. Holderness took hold of two of these rosettes and twisted them. There was a click, and a section of the panelling started opening like a door until it disclosed the steel front of a modern safe. Nothing could have been more ordinary than the manner in which he unlocked the steel door, set it wide, and withdrew the key.
He said, “There you are, gentlemen,” and went back as far as his chair, where he stood to watch them, one hand in his pocket, the other still holding the bunch of keys.
The safe was fairly full. There were packets of docketed papers. Drake lifted them out, only to find more of the same behind. These too were taken out. Three old-fashioned leather cases followed. They contained an amethyst necklace, set after the Victorian manner in heavy gold, with two matching bracelets. As Drake opened the cases, Mr. Holderness remarked in a sardonic manner,
“I do not really know that these will help you-or Mr. Allan Grover. They were my mother’s. Since my sister does not care to wear them, I keep them here, and sometimes please myself with looking at them. They are not of any great value.”
At the back of the safe two cardboard shoe-boxes stood one upon the other. As Drake reached for them, Mr. Holderness’s hand came out of his pocket. He walked round to the other side of the chair and sat down. Drake lifted the first box clear and raised the lid. March saw a crumpled mass of tissue paper, Drake’s hand with the reddish hairs on the back taking it away, and under the paper a gold foot gleaming, the long line of bare shining limbs-a golden rose-crowned Summer, ten inches high.
Drake said, “There’s another, sir,” but before the paper had fallen from the companion Spring, Mr. Holderness groaned and slumped sideways in his chair.
CHAPTER 42
Miss Silver was alone in Mrs. Voycey’s drawing-room. It being Monday, Cecilia had gone forth with a shopping-basket to the Stores, from which she would presently return replenished with groceries and gossip. Miss Silver, for this time, had excused herself.
“I should, perhaps, write a letter or two, so I feel that I would on the whole prefer to stay at home this morning, if you will not think me rude, my dear Cecilia.”
Mrs. Voycey did not think it at all rude. Stimulating as she found dear Maud’s company, it would have made it difficult for her to have a heart-to-heart talk with Mrs. Grover, and a heart-to-heart talk she meant to have. On Bessie Crook’s authority Maud Silver had sent for Allan Grover yesterday evening, and when she, Bessie, had returned after a good hour in Mrs. Grover’s parlour, not only was Allan still there, but the Chief Constable’s car at the door, and he and Inspector Drake in the drawing-room for the best part of three-quarters of an hour. And when Mrs. Voycey got home from the evening service all dear Maud could say was, “My dear Cecilia, I would tell you if I could, but at present it is all very confidential.”
Cecilia Voycey had always been told that discretion was a virtue. She would not for the world have denied or questioned it. All the same there are virtues which are very well in the abstract, but which, encountered in the flesh, can be a source of extreme irritation. Maud was perfectly right of course, but Cecilia felt the need of an uninhibited gossip with Mrs. Grover.
Miss Silver sat in the drawing-room and knitted. She was well away with the second sleeve of little Josephine’s jacket, and hoped to finish it before lunch. She would then crochet an ornamental edging all round and furnish it with bows of washing ribbon, after which she could start upon the knickers. The day being chilly, a small fire of logs burned on the hearth, which was set with bright rose-coloured tiles. They did not quite strike the same key as the damask curtains, which in their turn just failed to hit it off with the paeonies, roses and other floral adornments which bloomed so brightly on every chair and sofa. Miss Silver, who liked colour and liked it in profusion, considered the whole effect very tasteful, very bright. She had inhabited some drab schoolrooms in her time.
She knitted, but her thoughts were far away. She did not exactly expect a visit, but she thought it possible that she might receive a telephone call.
When Randal March came into the room she rose to meet him and gave him her hand. He clasped it strongly, held it for a little longer than usual, and said in a tone of extreme gravity,