“Is this the letter?” He was being offered it-the same dirty, creased note that Mac had written and that Jenny had never had.
“Yes, that’s it!”
“Read it out.”
“Do I read the date too?”
“You read everything.”
He read the date aloud, and then went on, “ ‘Jenny, don’t say anything to anyone’-that’s underlined that is. And then it goes on, ‘but come out and meet me up on the heath as soon as it is quite dark. Mac. Bring this with you.’ ”
Chapter XLV
Dicky stepped down from the witness-box and made his way through the crowded court to where Miss Silver and his mother sat together. Jimmy Mottingley had taken his place in the box. He spoke up well and clearly.
“You are James Mottingley?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Will you describe what happened on the day of the murder.”
He did so, and as he spoke it all came rushing back on him-his mother’s drawing-room-his mother calm and placid-talking to Mrs. Marsden and delaying him when he wanted to get started. It all came back to him as if it had happened yesterday. He could hear the very tones of their voices. It was uncanny how the give and take of that conversation came back to him. It was only by an effort that he kept his voice loud enough to fill the court room. It was as if he was back in his mother’s drawing-room with his eye upon the clock and counting out the time that it would take him to reach Hazeldon.
“I was very late in starting. The clock said half past six.”
“You drove fast?”
“I drove as fast as I could. I had this appointment.”
“With the dead girl?”
“With Miriam Richardson.”
“Go on.”
“When I got to Hazeldon I drove slowly up on to the Heath. I expected her to be near the road by the patch of gorse bushes, but I couldn’t see her. So I drove on a bit, and then I got out and walked back. I thought perhaps she hadn’t waited as I was so late.”
“What time was it when you got there?”
“I don’t know. I was in a hurry because I knew that I was late. I got straight out of the car and ran back to the clump of gorse. She wasn’t there. Then I went round the bushes and I found her.” His voice dropped to a horrified whisper, but it was a whisper that carried.
“Will you describe what you saw.”
Jimmy went on in that strange carrying whisper.
“She was there-on the ground. When I touched her I knew-that she was dead-”
“How did you know that she was dead?”
“She was cold-she was quite cold.”
“What did you do?”
“I went out on the road, and a bicycle was coming. I stood and waved, and it stopped. The man came with me, and I told him I had come there to meet a girl, and that I had found her dead. He took me to the police station, and we got the constable. That’s all.”
“Mr. Mottingley, you are on oath. Did you strike the blow which killed Miriam Richardson?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you ever think of killing her?”
“No, sir.”
“That is all. You can step down.”
“Call James Fulbrook!”
Mr. Fulbrook stepped up into the witness-box and took the oath.
“Mr. Fulbrook, will you tell us what happened on your way back to Hazeldon on the day in question.”
“I had been to see my daughter who was laid up with her first child, and as I was coming back-”
“What time would that be?”
“I should think it was a quarter or twenty to eight, but I can’t be quite certain. I didn’t look at my watch.”
“That’s near enough. Go on.”
“I was coming down the road towards Hazeldon-”
“You were on a bicycle?”
“Yes.”
“Go on, Mr. Fulbrook.”
“Well, I was coming along, and all of a sudden there was someone in the road ahead of me holding up his hands and calling out. There’d been a car parked by the side of the road a little way back, and I thought someone had got into trouble, so I stopped. And when I stopped, there was a young man in a great state of distress. He said the girl he’d come to meet had been murdered, and would I come and see her. So I came.”
“And the girl was dead?”
“The girl was dead and cold.”
“What did you do then?”
“I took the young man with me in his car to the police station, and we fetched the constable.”
Dicky listened with all his ears. He was very glad that Mr. Fulbrook hadn’t been in the court when he was giving his evidence. Not that they had touched his apples, but that was the reason they had had for trying to get the cart wheel out of the pond. He wasn’t going to do that sort of thing any more-it wasn’t worth while.
And then they had finished with Mr. Fulbrook, and the Clerk said,
“Call Inspector Abbott!”
Frank stepped up into the witness-box. Dicky gazed at him in reverence and determined in his own mind that that would be a wizard career. If he were to study good and proper from now on, why shouldn’t he finish up in the C.I.D.? That was what Inspector Frank Abbott was, and what he didn’t know wasn’t worth knowing. He listened with all his ears.
Inspector Abbott was asking for the discharge of the prisoner. He was saying that the man who wrote that note was the murderer, and the note was the one which Dicky had had in his pocket until Miss Silver and Miss Jenny had gone to see him. It was Miss Jenny that Mac meant to kill, not the other girl at all. Coo! That must have been a sell for him that must! And a let-off for Miss Jenny. He liked Miss Jenny, and he hadn’t liked Miriam Richardson. If one of them had got to be killed it was much better to be the Richardson girl. And what a sell for this Mac when he found he’d killed the wrong girl! He wondered when he found out that he had made a mistake.
With all these thoughts in his mind the time passed. The Inspector was saying that Mr. Mac had committed suicide. That was a pity, that was. There’d have been a juicy big murder case if he hadn’t. Dicky’s imagination played lovingly with the thought of it.
And then it was all over. Sir James Coghill was telling Mr. Mottingley that he could go free. The lady whom he had discovered to be Mrs. Mottingley, the mother of the prisoner, was sitting very still and stiff. She was just in front of them. If he had been the accused his mother wouldn’t have sat like that, she wouldn’t. But Mrs. Mottingley she sat there stiff and straight, and as if she didn’t feel anything at all. Or was it that way? He wasn’t sure. He wished she would move or speak. It wasn’t natural for her to sit so still. Her husband thought so too, because he stooped down and whispered to her. They were so close that Dicky could hear what he said. It was, “Marian-” That was her name, and he said it twice. And then he said, “My dear, are you all right?” and with that Mrs. Mottingley moved. Come to think of it, she hadn’t moved until then-not all the time. But now she did move. She half turned towards her husband, and she gave a deep sigh and fell sideways. Coo! The excitement wasn’t all over!
Dicky sat where he was and saw Miss Silver go round to the end of the row and down. She’d know what to do, she would. He felt an implicit trust in Miss Silver’s ability to control any situation. There she was, as cool and as calm as anything.
“If you will all stand away and just leave her to me. Mr. Mottingley, will you kindly get me a glass of water? She will be all right in a minute. No, madam, she is not dead. She has merely fainted.”
Dicky’s bosom swelled with pride. She could manage them, she could! He was roused from his trance of admiration by his mother. She plucked him by his sleeve and said in a frightened whisper,
“Oh, what a dreadful thing! Oh, Dicky, is she dead?”
Dicky picked up the last word and said it loudly.
“Dead? What ’ud she be dead for? There’s Miss Silver looking after her!”
Mrs. Mottingley drew a long breath. She was not back yet, but she was coming back. She felt weak, relaxed, and happy. She opened her eyes for a moment and saw Jimmy and her husband. They were her whole world, and they were safe. It was all right. The dreadful time was over. Jimmy was free. The little elderly lady who was kneeling beside her smiled at her and said,