‘It was about Nicky – you must tell them. He didn’t do it – he really didn’t. You will tell them, won’t you?’
Miss Silver did not take her hand away. She said,
‘I will tell them just what you say, my dear.’
Althea drew a long breath. She had done what she had to do. The hand that was holding Miss Silver’s relaxed. She drifted into sleep.
When Frank Abbott returned to the house she was still sleeping. Miss Silver took him into the dining-room, where he drew the curtain across that side of the bay which faced the porch, coming back to pull out one of the chairs and sit down across the corner from Miss Silver. He looked at her with affection. The neatly netted hair with its Alexandra fringe in front and its plaits behind, the little vest of tucked net with the boned collar, the grey dress with its faint black and mauve pattern, the brooch of bog-oak in the form of a rose with an Irish pearl at its heart, the grey thread stockings, and the neat black glacé shoes with little ribbon bows on them, made up a picture which delighted him. She had brought her knitting with her. A small pale pink garment depended from the plastic needles.
He said in a lazy voice,
‘You are really a very demoralizing associate for a police officer, you know.’
She gave him a half smile and continued to knit.
‘In what way do I demoralize you?’
‘My dear ma’am! I find it impossible to look at you and to remember that there is such a thing as crime. You diffuse an atmosphere of security which forbids it.’
‘My dear Frank!’
‘I know, I know – crime exists, and we are here on a murder case. Let’s get down to it. I have been interviewing the untidy Mrs Traill, and you may take it from me untidy she is. And so is No. 4 Holbrook Cottages, and her daughter-in-law, and the three little Traills under school age. But quite respectable and cooperative. I give the Miss Pimms top marks. Lily appears to be the human phonograph. Mrs Traill as reported by her being if anything rather more accurate than Mrs Traill as reported by Mrs Traill.’
Miss Silver gave the slight cough with which she was wont to draw attention to an inaccurate or exaggerated statement.
‘My dear Frank…’
He put up a hand.
‘No – pause before you accuse me. I am prepared to prove the point. There were two occasions when Mrs Traill’s version of what happened on Tuesday night differed slightly from Lily Pimm’s account of the conversation in the fish queue. Pressed by me, Mrs Traill immediately discarded her own version and agreed that what she had said to Mrs Rigg outside the fish shop was the right one. Her own expression, I may say, and very handsomely conceded, was “That’s right!” I felt that for tuppence she would have called me “ducks”. It was all very matey.’
Miss Silver pulled on the pale pink ball.
‘I have no doubt as to the accuracy of Lily Pimm’s account. I do not believe her capable of inventing anything.’
He nodded.
‘Well, she didn’t in this case. So there we are with the missing link we were talking about when I looked out of the window and saw Mabel and Lily on the step. As far as I remember, I was saying that the chances were about fifty-fifty as regards Nicholas Carey. He couldn’t prove that he didn’t come back and murder Mrs Graham, and we couldn’t prove that he did. Well, Mrs Traill’s evidence alters all that, doesn’t it? As reported by Lily and confirmed by herself, Mrs Traill states that she came out of 28 Hill Rise at twenty past eleven, walked approximately a hundred and twenty feet along the pavement until she was level with the gazebo, and then heard Mrs Graham call out, “How dare you, Nicholas Carey!” He is not going to find it easy to explain that away, is he? Miss Graham took her mother into the house at, shall we say, a quarter to eleven. She and Carey had an assignation for half past ten. They had to meet. Her mother had to get up, put something on, and come and find them. After which there had to be time for a row, persuasions, and getting Mrs Graham back into the house. Say a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes – but we should still be well this side of eleven o’clock. Carey says he went off at once, walked for a long time, and got back to Grove Hill House he can’t say when. Mrs Traill, who can’t have any axe to grind, is prepared to swear that she heard Mrs Graham call out to him in an angry voice at somewhere between twenty and twenty-five past eleven. So one of them is lying, and only Carey has a motive for that particular lie.’
Miss Silver gave a gentle cough.
‘I think that you are assuming more than is warranted by Mrs Traill’s statement. Mrs Traill heard a voice say, “How dare you, Nicholas Carey!” and in view of the other evidence we are, I suppose, justified in assuming that it was Mrs Graham who was speaking. The words are the same as those heard half an hour previously by Nurse Cotton. But whereas Nurse Cotton was able to identify the voice as that of Mrs Graham, Mrs Traill is in no position to do so. Still it is a fair assumption that the speaker was the same in both cases. What I do not feel we are entitled to assume is that the person she addressed was necessarily the same.’
‘She used his name!’
Miss Silver knitted briskly.
‘It was about half an hour since she had gone into the house, leaving Nicholas Carey in the gazebo. Miss Graham had put her to bed and retired to her own room, where, as she tells me, she fell instantly and deeply asleep. We do not know what it was that took Mrs Graham back to the gazebo. There must have been some evidence of an intruder – probably the flash of a torch. There seems to be no doubt that what she saw convinced her of Mr Carey’s continued presence in the garden, and she could place only one construction on it, that he was waiting there to see her daughter. Hurrying out, she reaches the gazebo, is aware of the intruder, and calls out, using the words overheard by Mrs Traill, “How dare you, Nicholas Carey!” But do you suppose that she really saw and recognized him? I think the most she would see would be an impression that there was someone moving there. I went up the garden last night just after eleven o’clock. The weather was very much the same as it was on Tuesday. There was no moon, and there are overhanging trees at the top of the garden. As I came up to the gazebo it was very dark indeed. The interior was like a black cave.’
He said,
‘There was a flashlight in the pocket of Mrs Graham’s coat.’
Miss Silver’s voice reproved him.
‘If she had been using it, it would not have been found in her pocket. It was probably her sense of hearing which told her there was someone in the gazebo, and I maintain there is no proof that it was Nicholas Carey.’
There was a pause before he said,
‘I shall have to go up and report to the Chief. I think he will say that the evidence must go to the Public Prosecutor. You are predisposed in Carey’s favour, but you don’t need me to tell you that Mrs Traill’s evidence looks bad for him. On the other hand no one will want to be in too much of a hurry. Those “Rolling Stone” articles of his made a big splash. But they are pretty tough, you know, and life in the sort of places they describe would be calculated to rub off some of the finer scruples. I think it might be just as well if you didn’t give Althea Graham too much encouragement to expect a happy ending.’
TWENTY-FIVE
FRANK ABBOTT HAD been gone about half an hour when a knock upon the front door took Miss Silver into the hall to open it. There was a young man standing in the porch with a bunch of pink carnations in his hand. He was good-looking in rather an obtrusive sort of way, and he had the air of being very well pleased with himself. He was in fact Mr Fred Worple, and he had called to see Miss Althea Graham. He imparted these facts in a negligent manner and advanced a step as if he had no doubt that he would be admitted.
Miss Silver stood where she was.