“Yes, that’s the way it would be-and his voice kept down to a whisper like Miss Armitage says. It’s a queer thing, isn’t it, that he should have given himself away by falling into the very trick he had used as a safeguard. If he hadn’t said those same words to Miss Armitage in the same whispering voice that she’d heard on the other side of that door, he might have got clear away. Madame Dupont only knew him as Mr. Felix. With that connection cut and Annie Joyce dead, there wouldn’t have been a single clue to lead to Mr. Pelham Trent. You could get quite a moral out of that-couldn’t you?”
Miss Silver said, “Yes, indeed.”
The Chief Inspector resumed.
“Well, there we are-he goes up with the laundry-basket, and she lets him in. She may have been expecting him-we can’t know about that-but she’d be pleased enough to see him, because she’d think she had got what he wanted. There’s no doubt, from the fingerprints, that she had been all through that code-book-copying it, no doubt. You may call it a guess, but it’s a pretty safe one. As you know, the code was out of date-part of the trap to catch her. A man in Trent ’s position would know enough to know that. He may have meant to kill her anyhow, but if she had let herself be trapped, he just couldn’t afford to leave her alive and risk what she might be able to give away. She took fright and tried to get to the telephone. He shot her down. Then he had a look for Sir Philip’s revolver and took it away with him. He may not have had to look-she may have tried to get it-we can’t know. He didn’t leave any fingerprints, so he must have worn gloves in the flat-probably slipped them on when he was waiting for her to open the door. He had the revolver on him, as you know, when he was arrested. It’s a perfectly watertight case, and a good riddance of three dangerous people-more, maybe, if Madame Dupont talks. Well, that’s about all there is to it. Excuse me, will you-I’ve got to see the Assistant Commissioner.”
When he had gone after a cordial handshake, Sergeant Abbott came over to lean against the table and looked down at his “revered preceptress.”
“Well?” he said. “What are you thinking about?”
She gave a slight hesitant cough.
“I was thinking of what the Chief Inspector said.”
Frank laughed.
“He said quite a lot, didn’t he?”
“At the end,” said Miss Silver-“when he said, ‘That is all there is to it.’ Because there are no circumstances in which that can be true.”
“And how?”
She looked at him simply and gravely.
“It goes so far back. I have been talking to the Jocelyns, and they have told me a good deal. It goes back to Sir Ambrose Jocelyn, who made no provision for the woman he had lived with, or for their son. Sir Philip’s father made her a small allowance. The bread of charity is not really sweetened to the recipient by the fact that it is paid for out of a purse which might have been his own. Roger Joyce was a weak and ineffectual person. From what poor Miss Collins told me, it was clear that his daughter had been brought up to consider herself wronged and defrauded. When he died she was fifteen, Miss Theresa Jocelyn took her up, and after making a very unwise attempt to force her upon the rest of the family went abroad with her. A girl of that age is very sensible to slights. She stayed a week at Jocelyn’s Holt, and saw all the things which she might have had if her father had been a legitimate instead of an illegitimate son. She went away with what must have been very bitter feelings. Ten years later Miss Jocelyn, who had made a will in her favour, suddenly changed her mind. She was an erratic and impulsive woman, and just as ten years before she had taken a sudden fancy to Annie Joyce, she now took an equally sudden fancy to Anne Jocelyn, and announced that she was making a will in her favour.” Miss Silver paused and coughed. “Such lack of principle is very difficult to understand. It began immediately to produce the troubles which want of principle always does produce. Sir Philip had a serious quarrel with his wife. He forbade her to take the money, expressing himself with considerable vehemence, whilst she asserted her right to take it if she chose. She was, as you probably know, already a considerable heiress. She defied her husband and joined Miss Jocelyn in France. The effect upon Annie Joyce may be imagined. Her father and Lady Jocelyn’s mother were half-brother and sister, one poor and disowned, the other rich and prosperous. Lady Jocelyn had everything that Annie Joyce had not-rank, position, money, the family estate, the family name. They lived for three months under the same roof. Can you doubt that during those three months the bitterness and resentment in which Annie Joyce had been brought up became very greatly intensified? We have no means of knowing more than Sir Philip has told us of what happened on the beach when he was attempting to get the two girls away. Annie may have realized at the time that Anne had been fatally injured, or she may have remained in ignorance for quite a long while. It seems certain that she returned to the château and lived there as Annie Joyce, that she came more and more under German influence, and that there came a time when they decided to make use of her. She must herself have informed them of her likeness to Lady Jocelyn. Sir Philip tells me that his cousin, Miss Theresa Jocelyn, had a very large collection of family photographs. They would be able to judge of the resemblance for themselves. Up-to-date information about the family was undoubtedly obtained from Mr. Trent. I may say that I had all along a feeling that the person directing the so-called Lady Jocelyn was likely to be someone closely associated with the family. Details which no stranger could have known were essential to the success of the impersonation. The diary accounts for a great deal, but it did not supply the current knowledge of Sir Philip’s affairs, nor had it any share in the careful timing of the-supposed- return of his wife.”
Frank Abbott had been listening with respectful attention. If there was a moment during which the irreverent phrase, “Moralizings of Maudie,” flickered across his mind-if his rather light eyes never entirely lost a faintly cynical spark, he still felt, as he always did, an affectionate respect which had only ceased to surprise him because it was now of quite long standing. As she rose to her feet, he straightened up.
“I see Jocelyn has a notice of his wife’s death in all the papers-with the date.” He picked up the Times from the table behind him and ran his eye down the column. “Here we are-‘On June 26, 1941, by enemy action, Anne, wife of Sir Philip Jocelyn-’ Well, I suppose we shall be seeing his name in the Marriages next.”
Miss Silver coughed, a thought reprovingly. She said, “I hope so.”
Patricia Wentworth
Born in Mussoorie, India, in 1878, Patricia Wentworth was the daughter of an English general. Educated in England, she returned to India, where she began to write and was first published. She married, but in 1906 was left a widow with four children, and returned again to England where she resumed her writing, this time to earn a living for herself and her family. She married again in 1920 and lived in Surrey until her death in 1961.
Miss Wentworth’s early works were mainly historical fiction, and her first mystery, published in 1923, was The Astonishing Adventure of Jane Smith. In 1928 she wrote The Case Is Closed and gave birth to her most enduring creation, Miss Maud Silver.
