“It might be.”
“It is not possible at present to say whether Mr. Jacob Taverner is implicated or not. He may be merely what he appears to be, an elderly man with a great deal of money, no ties, and the desire to promote a family reunion, perhaps with the intention of deciding upon the terms of his will. He might have a financial interest in the Catherine-Wheel, without any knowledge of its smuggling activities, if indeed these exist. There is, of course, no proof that they do, only a good deal of suspicion, and the suggestion that where there is smoke one would expect to discover a fire.”
Frank stood up straight.
“In fact Jacob may be innocent, and so may the Catherine-Wheel. We’ve got nasty suspicious minds, and we are apt to see what we are looking for-as per my esteemed colleague Crisp. Well, we shall see.”
Miss Silver was folding up her knitting and putting it away. She now rose to her feet.
“Just one moment, Frank. I would like you to have this carpet washed.”
“My dear Miss Silver!”
“Very carefully, of course. I should not, perhaps, have said washed. I should like it to be examined very carefully, with a view to ascertaining whether there are any bloodstains.”
“Bloodstains?”
“Recent ones, of course. The colour of the carpet and its dirty condition would conceal them.”
He gazed at the floor. The square of carpet which covered it to within a foot of the walls must originally have been of a deep brownish red with a small all-over pattern now almost entirely lost in the general gloom. He said slowly,
“Just what do you expect to find?”
Miss Silver coughed.
“Evidence that Luke White was killed in this room,” she said.
CHAPTER 31
Jeremy and Jane, returning to the Catherine-Wheel in a state of mind blissfully superior to murder, were encountered by Miss Silver as they opened the front door. She had, in fact, been listening for the sound of the car.
“Just one moment, Captain Taverner,” she said.
They stood where they were, the door still open, until Miss Silver stepped outside and shut it between them and the inn. It was then that Jane came down to earth sufficiently to realize that Miss Silver was attired for the road. She wore the black cloth coat, the elderly tippet, the black felt hat, and the woollen gloves.
Without any delay she came to the point.
“Captain Taverner, I am going to ask you a favour. Will you be so kind as to drive me in to Ledlington?”
Jeremy said, “Of course.”
Miss Silver coughed.
“It is very good of you. I should prefer to start immediately if it would be quite convenient. There is someone with whom I should like to have a short conversation. I think I can undertake not to keep you waiting more than twenty minutes. It might be less, but I think I can promise that it will not be more.”
Jeremy laughed.
“Jane will hold my hand!”
Miss Silver sat at the back and smiled indulgently at the two young people in front. She had, of course, been offered the seat beside the driver, but her refusal had been definite.
“I should really greatly prefer to be behind. I find the headlights disturbing.”
She sat in the dark and watched them go by. Not so very many after all. It hardly needed the sudden flashing light to inform her that Jeremy and Jane were sitting very close together, and that they were in a state of extreme happiness. Neither of them would really mind if her conversation with Mrs. Wilton were to last more than twenty minutes.
They drew up in Thread Street, with the old church of St. James looming dark at the corner. Measuring the distance to No. 6 with her eye, Miss Silver could well understand that the Wiltons need never be in doubt as to the time. As she pressed the bell, the clock in the church tower gave two chiming strokes for the half hour. Once you were accustomed to the sound it would no longer rouse you, but if you were lying awake in the night you would hardly fail to hear it.
The door was opened a little way. A dimly lighted passage appeared, and, blocking most of the view, someone very tall and broad.
“Mrs. Wilton?”
“Yes.” The voice was firm and pleasant.
Miss Silver moved so that what light there was might fall reassuringly upon her own face and figure.
“My name is Silver-Miss Maud Silver. You will not know it. I wonder if I might have a very short conversation with you.”
Mrs. Wilton hesitated.
“If it’s about a subscription-” she began.
“Oh, no-nothing of that sort, I assure you.”
The passage light enabled Mrs. Wilton to observe the smile which had won so many confidences.
“It is just that I should be very grateful if you would allow me to talk to you for a little about Albert Miller.”
For a moment the thing hung in the balance. If it hadn’t been for Miss Silver’s smile, the scales would have gone down with a bang on the wrong side and the door would have been shut. The momentary pause allowed a variety of considerations to present themselves. Mrs. Wilton had her share of curiosity, but if she had been expecting Mr. Wilton home to his tea she would not have allowed it to interrupt her preparations. But Mr. Wilton was working over-time and would not be home until eight o’clock. She wouldn’t mind a bit of a sit-down and a bit of a gossip. She opened the door and asked Miss Silver in.
The room into which she showed her smelled of furniture-polish and moth-ball. Except on occasions of state the Wiltons used their warm and comfortable kitchen. The sitting-room existed as the shrine of their respectability. It housed in unblemished splendour the suite bought thirty years ago out of Mrs. Wilton’s own earnings on the occasion of her marriage. It consisted of a sofa and two chairs-lady’s easy and gent’s ditto. The springs were intact, the bright blue plush as bright and blue as on the day when she had proudly paid the bill. Moth had been kept at bay by the cunning insertion of moth-balls in every crevice- hence the smell. The carpet, contributed by Mr. Wilton, matched the suite in colour and had been just as carefully kept. There was a white woolly mat in front of the cold hearth, where a fan of pink crinkled paper faintly simulated an absent flame. There were two blue vases on the mantelpiece, and a gilt clock which had at one time been a source of strife in an otherwise harmonious married life, Mrs. Wilton having bought it cheap at an auction because it took her fancy, and Mr. Wilton having used it as the text for a good many heavy-handed sermons when he discovered that it had no works. Everything in the room was spotlessly clean, and anything that could be polished had been polished until you could see your face in it. There were pink curtains at the bow window, and a gas-bracket with a pink glass shade on either side of the mantelpiece. At the application of a match to the nearest bracket all this colour and polish sprang into view.
Miss Silver, who shared Mrs. Wilton’s partiality for pink and blue, and had no objection to seeing them mixed, was able to exclaim with genuine admiration,