She said suddenly, close to his ear, ‘Do you still think I’m telling lies?’
There wasn’t a spark of resentment in her voice. It was engagingly soft. Henry liked soft-voiced women. He was a good deal shaken and melted. He said,
‘Hilary – ’
‘Yes, darling?
‘What I mean to say is – well, it isn’t easy to put it the way I want to, but – look here, are you really sure that all this happened?’.
‘Cross my heart!’
‘You’re sure you didn’t dream it?’
‘Quite, quite, quite sure. Henry, I didn’t really – it all happened.’
‘Well then, suppose it happened – I don’t say whether it did or it didn’t, but suppose it did.’
‘What do you want to suppose?’
‘I want to go back to the smash. You say there were two men in the car that knocked you over?’
‘There were two men in the car that ran me down,’ said Hilary firmly.
‘Did you see them?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Then how do you know there were two men?’
Hilary put out the tip of her tongue and drew it back again.
‘Because they carried me. One of them had me by the shoulders, and the other one by the knees. Besides – one of them spoke – I told you. He said, “Be quick – we’ll make a job of it!” And he wasn’t talking to me!’
‘Did you know his voice?’
Hilary said ‘No’ with heartfelt regret. It would have been so nice and easy if it had been Mercer’s voice and she could have sworn to it. But it wasn’t, and she couldn’t, so she had to say so. As a matter of fact this did her good with Henry, because if she had dreamed the whole thing she would probably have tacked the voice on to Mercer.
He frowned and said, ‘You only heard one man speak?’
‘That’s all. But there were two of them carrying me, and they dumped me face downwards in the road and got into the car again to run me over.’
Henry stiffened perceptibly. A beastly dream if it was a dream. And if it wasn’t… He felt as if he was walking in the dark upon a road which might at any moment collapse. A preliminary tremor stirred the very ground upon which his foot rested, and at the next step he might become aware of an opening gulf. If Hilary’s life had really been attempted, there must be some strong motive behind the attempt. If the attempt had failed, the motive remained. If it was strong enough to impel murder once, would it not be strong enough again? He wished with all his heart he could be sure that it was all a dream.
He looked down at the stains on the front of Hilary’s dress and coat. She said that they had put her down on her face in the road. Her jumper was stained right up to the throat. He knew what he wanted to believe, but there is no help in believing what isn’t true. He said,
‘Who do you think the two men were? Have you any idea?’
‘Yes, of course I have. I think one of them was Mercer.’
‘But not the one you heard speak?’
‘No, not that one.’
‘Mercer wouldn’t have a car.’
He was arguing as if the thing was true instead of being fantastic.
‘Oh no – the car belonged to the other man. It was a big car.’ She gave a little shudder as she remembered it rushing down upon her. Then she said in a defiant voice, ‘It was Bertie Everton’s car. I’m sure it was.’
‘What makes you say that? What have you got to go on?’
‘Nothing – I’m just sure. And he did come round to the shop on purpose to tell you Mrs. Mercer was mad after she’d talked to me in the train.’
Henry felt a most overwhelming relief. He had very nearly swung over to believing in Hilary’s villains, but thank goodness he had been pulled up in time. The whole thing was fantastic. On this point at least he could bring proof.
‘Look here, Hilary, you mustn’t go saying things like that – you’ll be getting yourself into trouble. And you’re wrong – it couldn’t have been Bertie Everton because he was in London.’
‘Oh – did you see him?’
‘No, but Marion did.’
‘What?’
‘ Marion saw him. You know you told me to ring her up and say I was bringing you home. Well, he’d just left her then. She was in a white rage about it. He rang her up at her shop. She only just managed to choke him off coming there, I gather, and when she got back to the flat he was waiting for her. So you see -you mayn’t like Bertie Everton, but he didn’t try and run you down. He’s got a perfectly good alibi.’
Hilary lifted her head with a jerk.
‘I think Bertie Everton has too many alibis,’ she said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Marion was still in a cold rage when they arrived at the flat. A hot anger would have been so much easier to meet. When you love someone and they look at you as if they had never seen you before and never want to see you again, it does rather take the edge off coming home.
Hilary subsided on to the floor in front of the fire. There was a chair to lean against. She folded her arms on the seat and pillowed her head upon them. Henry, in the open doorway, was very well aware that he hadn’t heen asked to come in, and that he was not expected to stay.
Marion had walked to the window. As she turned, Henry came in and shut the door. With a lift of her eyebrows, she said,
‘I think Hilary ought to go to bed.’
Hilary said nothing. Henry said,
‘I think you’d better hear what she’s got to say first. It concerns you – quite a lot.’
‘Not tonight. I’ve had one visitor already, and I’ve run out of polite conversation.’
‘So I gather.’
‘Then will you please go, Henry.’
‘Not just now.’
Without lifting her head Hilary spoke in a muffled voice.
‘Please, Marion.’
Marion Grey took no notice.
‘I really want you to go,’ she said.
Henry leaned against the door. He had his hat in his hand.
‘Just a minute, Marion. And I think you’d better listen, because – well, I think you had better. Hilary’s had a very narrow escape.’
She took him up there and echoed the word.
‘Escape. From what?’
‘Being murdered,’ said Hilary in a mournful, muffled tone.
Marion turned her head sharply.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Being murdered. I nearly was. Henry can tell you – I’m too tired.’
Marion looked from one to the other. She saw Henry’s brows drawn together, frowning. She saw the look in his eyes as they rested on Hilary’s untidy curls. Something melted in her. She let herself down into a chair and said,
‘All right, Henry, say your piece.’
Henry said it. The odd thing was that repeating Hilary’s story gave him the feeling that it was true. He continued to assert that he was not convinced, but as he told her tale he found himself endeavouring to convince Marion, and in the end he didn’t know whether he had convinced her or not. He simply didn’t know. She was leaning her head on her hand. Her eyes were screened. Her gaze was turned inward upon her own guarded thoughts.
‘The heart knoweth its own bitterness, and a stranger intermeddleth not with its grief.’ She was not angry now, but she was stilt cold. There was no warmth in her. When he had finished she sat silent, and when the silence had gone on too long Henry broke it bluntly.
‘You’ve had Bertie Everton here. Hilary thinks he was one of the men who tried to do her in. It’s quite unreasonable, but she does think so – there you are. I think you’ve got to tell her what time he rang you up, and when he rolled up here, and how long he stayed. Hilary seems to think it’s rather compromising to have an alibi, but the fellow can’t have been in two places at once.’
‘I didn’t say he could,’ said Hilary in a buried voice. Then she lifted her head about an inch. ‘An alibi isn’t being in two places at once – it’s doing a crime in one place and pretending you were somewhere else.’