‘I am afraid Miss Graham is not able to see visitors.’
‘It’s been a shock,’ said Mr Worple. ‘Well, of course it would be, wouldn’t it? But not a bit of good shutting herself up, is it? She wants to see her friends and get brightened up a bit. You just go and ask her whether she won’t see me.’
Miss Silver looked at him in a thoughtful manner. Then she said,
‘Miss Graham is resting. You are a friend of the family?’
‘I’ll say I am – and a very good friend too. Come, it’ll do her good to see me.’
Miss Silver stepped back.
‘I am afraid that you will not be able to do that. But if you would care to come in for a moment…’ She led the way to the dining-room.
When the door was shut upon them she moved in the direction of the hearth and remained there standing.
‘Miss Graham has mentioned your name, Mr Worple. She tells me that you wish to settle in Grove Hill, and that you had made Mrs Graham an offer for this house.’
‘That’s right. And a very good offer it was. Here, are you a relation?’
It would be difficult to find anyone more competent than Miss Silver to check a tone of impertinent familiarity. It was, in fact, an art in which she might be said to excel. Chief Inspector Lamb himself, though never a willing offender, had been known to blench. Yet for the moment Mr Fred Worple was spared. She replied quietly,
‘I am staying with Miss Graham as a friend. Does Mrs Graham’s death alter your plans with regard to the house?’
He had followed her to the hearth and was now lounging against the mantelpiece, the pink carnations dangling from his hand.
‘Oh, well, I don’t know. As a matter of fact there was someone else after it, and I had rather given up the idea. Murder – well, it does rather put you off, doesn’t it? Of course it ought to bring down the price a good bit. I shouldn’t think the girl would want to stay on here – not after what has happened.’
‘I do not know at all what Miss Graham’s plans may be.’
Fred Worple laughed.
‘If she knows what’s good for her she’ll take what she can get for the place and clear out!’
The fire in the grate had been laid but not lighted. Miss Silver looked down in a thoughtful manner at the paper, the sticks, and the coal.
‘I suppose these houses are not very old?’ she said.
‘Oh, about fifty years or so. My old dad – stepfather he was really – he used to say he remembered all this part before it was built over. Part of the old Grove Hill Estate it was.’
‘There must have been quite a good view from the top of the garden then. I suppose that is why the summerhouse was built there. Miss Graham calls it a gazebo. She seems to think it might be older than the house.’
His foot slipped from the kerb.
‘Oh, I don’t know – I never took that much interest. I used to think I’d like to live in a house like this – used to pass it coming out this way and think, “Well, I’d like to live there,” the way kids do. But I’m not so sure now – not after what has happened. Not unless it was going for a song.’ He straightened up. ‘Look here, be a sport and tell Miss Graham I’m here. Tell her it’ll do her good to see someone who isn’t mixed up in all this, and say I brought her these flowers.’
Miss Silver shook her head.
‘I am afraid it is no good, Mr Worple. Miss
Graham is asleep, and I could not possibly wake her.’
Althea woke refreshed. Her reactions on being shown the pink carnations sent by Mr Worple were very much what Miss Silver had expected.
‘He’s a dreadful person – he really is. He just pushed himself in with his offer for the house. Mr Jones – he is the other house-agent – hadn’t any business to let him come up here. We hadn’t put the house in his hands – we have always dealt with Mr Martin. Mr Blount, the other man who wanted to buy it, came up from him. Mr Martin shouldn’t really have sent him either, but he did have some excuse, because I’m afraid my mother let him think we’d be open to a really good offer.’
Miss Silver appeared to be very much interested.
‘It seemed to me that Mr Worple wished to find out whether you would now be prepared to sell the house. He wished to make me believe that he was no longer interested from a personal point of view, but I did not find his manner at all convincing. He is a forward and pushing person, but he appeared to be ill at ease.’
Althea said, ‘He is quite dreadful!’
They were having tea when Nicholas Carey rang the front door bell. Rightly considering that her presence could now be dispensed with, Miss Silver put on her coat and hat and went out. Arriving at Warren Crescent, she turned off there and proceeded along it into Warren Road. The houses here stood in gardens of between three-quarters of an acre and an acre and a half. The Hollies, which as the telephone-book informed her had the privilege of sheltering the Miss Pimms, occupied one of the larger plots. It had three storeys and a large Victorian conservatory. The holly bushes from which it took its name had been cut into the shapes of birds and beasts, but with time and diminishing care they had become less and less agreeable to the eye. Miss Silver regarded them with distaste as she turned in at the gate and ascended four wide steps to the porch. She rang the bell, and the door was presently opened by Lily Pimm. That was of course the drawback about having only a daily maid. The Miss Pimms could remember the time when The Hollies was served by a resident cook, parlourmaid, and housemaid, not to mention a woman once a week to scrub the floors and a boy for the boots and knives and to help in the garden, where there was of course a whole-time gardener. Now there was only Doris Wills, and Doris left at half past two. The Miss Pimms greatly disliked opening their own front door, and Mabel and Nettie combining in the matter, it had become one of the tasks allotted to Lily, the only drawback being that if it was a pedlar or someone collecting for a charity she was quite unable to say no.
She now stood gazing blankly at Miss Silver with the door in her hand. Miss Silver smiled.
‘Miss Lily Pimm? We met a few hours ago at The Lodge, where I am staying with Miss Althea Graham. My name is Silver – Miss Maud Silver.’
Lily brightened.
‘Oh, yes – but you’ve got a hat on now.’
Mabel Pimm appeared in the drawing-room doorway. She directed a caustic look at Lily, and changed it quickly to a smile of welcome for the guest.
‘Oh, Miss Silver, do pray come in! How good of you to call!’
It would perhaps be unkind to compare Mabel’s feelings with those of the wolf who, having laid elaborate plans to attack the sheepfold, is gratified by the voluntary approach of one of its choicer lambs, but it is certain that next to Althea herself there was no one in Grove Hill whom she would rather have ushered into her drawing-room. As they entered Miss Silver was saying,
‘I was so much concerned at your kind visit to Miss Graham being so unavoidably cut short by her faintness that I felt I should call and let you know that she was able to get some sleep and is now feeling a good deal better. Of course the whole thing has been a most terrible shock.’
‘Naturally.’ Mabel was about to add other and well chosen words, when Lily broke in.
‘I can’t think what I should have done if I had found Mamma murdered at the bottom of the garden…’
There was a simultaneous ‘Lily!’ from both her sisters, but it had practically no effect, and she persisted.
‘Of course we haven’t a gazebo, and Mamma was bedridden for some years before she died. But if she hadn’t been, and I had found her – perhaps in the shrubbery – it certainly would have been a most terrible shock.’
‘Lily…’ Mabel’s tone had become an awful one.
Lily’s understanding, though not bright, was capable of receiving the impression that she would do better to hold her tongue. She sat therefore in silence for some time whilst the conversation between Miss Silver and her sisters proceeded, merely turning her head from side to side so as to be able to watch the person who was speaking.