She appeared to consider this gravely. Then she said,
“I did not contemplate making the request myself. I seem to remember suggesting that you should do so.”
He broke into unabashed laughter.
“All right! He’ll bite my head off, but I don’t know that I care. I must remember to tell the Chief when I get back. He thinks I can do with quite a lot of taking down.”
Miss Silver regarded him indulgently, but ignored his last remark. She observed brightly that there was no time like the present, and that if a search was to be effective it must be carried out without delay.
Frank turned to the door.
“All right, I’ll ask him-play the idiot boy, I think, and assume that the instructions stand. But there are no flies on March. I shan’t get away with it, but no matter.”
chapter 39
As Frank had surmised, he did not get away with it. His very creditable assumption that the search of the house would now proceed, and that it would be as well to take Miss Janetta’s room next and get it over, was quite firmly disposed of. March did not exactly say “Nothing doing,” but the effect was clearly conveyed. He then passed to his interview with Jerome Pilgrim, and stated that he had asked Miss Day to come down to the study as soon as she was disengaged.
“She’s doing something for Miss Janetta at the moment, but she said she wouldn’t be very long. When she comes down I shall show her the letter which was found in Clayton’s room and ask her what about it. Miss Silver can be present. Do you know where she is?”
“Yes, I’ve just left her.”
March did not attempt to conceal a smile.
“So I imagined! What does she expect to find in Miss Janetta’s room?”
Frank looked over his shoulder. They were in Roger Pilgrim’s room, and he wasn’t certain that the door had latched. When he had made sure, he said,
“Hashish-bhang-cannabis indica-placed there by Miss Day on the well-established principle of hiding a blade of grass in a hay-field. I’m told the place is a regular chemist’s shop.”
“There is certainly a good deal of what Miss Silver might describe as medical paraphernalia.”
Frank cocked an eyebrow.
“If you want to quote Miss Silver, I can do it more directly than that. She says if she were Lona she’d be right on the spot at this moment getting rid of the stuff. And right on the spot is just where Lona is. What’s the betting that Miss Netta’s fire is at this moment burning with an exotic eastern flame? I don’t know what hashish burns like, but I should expect it to be something in the green or violet line.”
March looked at him hard.
“You don’t mean to say you believe this fantastic story!”
He got a shrug of the shoulder.
“Believe it, or don’t believe it. There isn’t any proof, and I don’t see how there can be. And there is a most convincing scapegoat. Nobody is going to look past Robbins to find a highly chimerical murderer lurking in the background. But it’s rather a staggering thought that perhaps, after all, there is someone there.”
“It would be.” March’s tone was studiously quiet.
“Someone who bumped Henry off in a fit of temper, contrived old Pilgrim’s death, pushed Roger out of the attic window, and then was all ready with her scapegoat. Talk about a ram in a thicket, Robbins fits the part to a hair-hashish in the wash-stand drawer, Henry’s wallet in the chest, and a most convincing suicide to wind up with. Maudie says it happened like that. I don’t say she’s right, but I’ve got a very strong inhibition about saying she’s wrong. And if she isn’t wrong-” again that slight shrug of the shoulder-“if she isn’t-well, we’re letting something loose upon the world. That’s one thing. And here’s another-tigress having tasted blood and got away with it. Cheery prospect, isn’t it? And not a thing that we can do about it so far as I can see, unless that letter knocks her off her balance and she gives herself away.”
March said, “That wouldn’t get us very far. She might have written that letter, or twenty others, and yet have no hand in Clayton’s death.” He changed his tone abruptly. “Let’s stick to facts. There’s a case against Robbins that would satisfy any jury in the world. There is no case at all against Lona Day.”
chapter 40
Lona Day opened the study door and went in. She saw Superintendent March sitting at the writing-table with the overhead light shining down on his thick dark hair, and on the well-kept hand which was laying down a sheet of foolscap as she entered. On his right, at the short end of the table, was Sergeant Abbott, pencil poised and pad ready. He looked up at her, but he did not rise from his seat. It was a long, cold look. Away to the left, detached, remote, and prim, Miss Silver was completing the third row of a grey stocking destined for her niece Ethel’s eldest boy. The blue jumper, finished off and nicely pressed, was now in a drawer which had once held Henry Clayton’s shirts. Tomorrow, if all was well, it would be packed up and posted. In spite of current events the timing was excellent. If the post office did its part, Mrs. Burkett would receive her birthday present by the first post on the morning of that anniversary.
Miss Day cast a fleeting glance at the ball of grey wool in Miss Silver’s lap. Then she came forward and took the chair she had occupied at a previous interview. As she did so, the telephone bell rang. March picked up the receiver. The ghostly rumble of a bass voice could be heard by the other three people in the room, but only he got more than that. He said, “What does she want?” and the rumble began again.
Presently he said, “Oh, well, I’ll be here. What time did you say?… I see-then she won’t be long. I’m not through yet anyhow.”
He hung up and turned to Frank Abbott.
“Someone coming out here to see me. They don’t know what she wants.” Then, “Well, Miss Day, I have asked you to come down because I have something to show you. It has been suggested that you may be able to help us with an identification.”
She looked faintly surprised.
“I? Well, of course if there’s anything I can do-but-I really don’t know-”
“Thank you.”
He lifted the foolscap and disclosed, lying upon a second piece, the sheet of scorched notepaper. The clumsy pencilled characters caught the light. They were turned towards her so that if she would she might read them.
March said,
“Can you help us at all with this, Miss Day? Have you ever seen it before?”
She had looked down at the paper. Now she looked up, the grey-green eyes wide with what looked like surprise. Frank Abbott, on a hair-trigger of critical attention, could not suspect it of being anything else.
Miss Silver’s needles clicked, but she was watching Lona Day. There was nothing to watch. If a shock was received, it had been absorbed. The hands lay, the one against the dark stuff of her dress, the other lightly on the table edge, no muscle tensed, no bone-white knuckles shown. The small nondescript eyes which saw everything continued to watch.
Lona said,
“Am I to read this? What does it mean?”
March answered her gravely.
“It is a letter. Do you know where it was found?”
“Oh, no. How could I?”
“I don’t know. It was found lodged in the chimney of what used to be Henry Clayton’s room. Some attempt had been made to burn it, but the draught must have taken it up the chimney. Will you please read the letter?”
She said at once, “Oh, I can read it-but what does it mean?”
“The writing is disguised. The writer appears to be suggesting an assignation for the purpose of saying good-bye. Since no place is mentioned, I think we may take it that this meeting was to be the last of a series.”