‘Well, you haven’t really answered my question, have you? Now, do you know whether Sir Herbert had signed that new will?’
‘I haven’t the slightest idea.’
‘You were his secretary. Did nothing of the correspondence go through your hands?’
‘There was not much correspondence. Sir Herbert dealt with the matter personally. He has been up at his flat in town a good deal. He could call on his solicitors and give his instructions verbally.’
‘And were you in London, or down here?’
‘Sometimes one and sometimes the other, according to what suited Sir Herbert’s convenience.’
‘But he told you a good deal about this will?’
‘I wouldn’t say that.’
‘And about the old one?’
‘I really know very little about either.’
‘Did you know that Mr. Haile was a beneficiary under the old will?’
For the first time, she hesitated. It struck him that if she knew and didn’t want to say, she would have to consider whether he could catch her out. If she did know, someone else might know that she knew. The thought had just time to present itself before she said,
‘I really couldn’t say. Sir Herbert would say things-I didn’t know whether he meant them, and I didn’t take a lot of notice.’
‘He did speak of Mr. Haile being a beneficiary?’
There was a spark in the fine dark eyes-a bright malicious spark.
‘He spoke of cutting him out of his will.’
‘Meaning out of this new will?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘When did he say this, Miss Whitaker?’
She looked down into her lap. Her voice went flat again.
It was yesterday.’
‘He was talking about Mr. Haile?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did he say?’
The spark glowed again.
‘He said Mr. Haile would be dining here and spending the night. On his usual errand. He called it a fool’s errand and said Mr. Haile should have no more money out of him. “Not even after I’m dead,” he said. “I’m tired of him, and when I’m tired of anyone their name comes out of my will.” ’ The last few words came with an extraordinary edge to them. She half rose from her chair, and said, ‘Is that all? Because that’s all I can tell you.’
‘Just a moment, Miss Whitaker. You were away last night, were you not?’
She resumed her seat and said sharply,
‘I made a statement to Inspector Newbury. It was read over to me, and I signed it. My sister is not strong, and I had a telephone message that made me anxious. Mr. and Mrs. Considine gave me a lift to the village when they went away at half past ten, and I caught the last bus to Emsworth. I spent the night with my sister at 32, Station Road. I did not get back here until ten o’clock this morning.’
She might have been reciting a lesson, but with that underlying sharpness. Frank had an impression of every door being locked and every window barred. Against what? He would have very much liked to know. He let her go, and she went out, walking a little as if there were armour under the thin black woollen dress.
When she was gone he pushed back his chair and came over to the fire.
‘Well, what do you make of that?’
Miss Silver’s needles clicked.
‘What do you?’
An eyebrow rose.
‘Animus against Haile. Possibly against others. Possibly against the late Herbert. Considerable insistence on the perfect alibi for the perfect secretary. Newbury is going into the question of the alibi. He’s a very thorough fellow. As to the animus, there seems to be quite a lot of it knocking about. Haile has it in for Lila Dryden. Lady Dryden and the perfect secretary have it in for Haile. A curious and rather unnatural partnership.’
Miss Silver gave her slight cough.
‘What makes you say that, Frank?’
‘I really don’t know-it just struck me that way. Lady Dryden rather busy with her own importance. Perfect secretary probably not caring about being treated like a blackbeetle. Just something on those lines. Did I hit a bull’s-eye by accident?’
‘I think you may have done. I thought I would let you see Miss Whitaker before I told you of a conversation I had with Lady Dryden.’
‘Another?’
‘We were together for most of the afternoon.’
‘And she had something to say about Miss Whitaker?’
‘A good deal.’
‘As what?’
‘It was very well done. Miss Whitaker had been such an invaluable secretary. Sir Herbert had depended on her in every way. Really too much, if she might say so. These associations tend to become a little too intimate. There had, of course, been some talk. There always is. Miss Whitaker is quite a good-looking woman. Naturally, she herself did not believe the stories. If there had been any foundation for them, Sir Herbert would hardly have been refusing to allow her to resign her position.’
Frank whistled softly.
‘Oh, she wished to go, did she?’
‘So Lady Dryden said.’
‘Well, if she really wanted to go, he couldn’t make her stop.’
Miss Silver said gravely,
‘I put that point. Lady Dryden intimated that there might be ways in which pressure could be brought to bear, adding, “I believe she had some expectation of being remembered in his will”.’
‘The question then arises as to which will. It looks as if the perfect secretary might have been down for a legacy in the old will, and was being told that it wouldn’t get into the new one unless she stayed put. By the way, I wonder why he wanted her to stay.’
‘He seems to have relied upon her a good deal. She had been with him for ten years, and he was used to her. If there had been an affair between them it was probably over, and he was too cold and selfish a man to consider her feelings in the matter.’
‘Do you think she cared for him?’
‘I do not know. She is certainly suffering from shock. It is impossible to say whether it has gone deeper than might be expected in the circumstances. To arrive back after a few hours absence and find that her employer had been murdered would naturally be a severe shock to any young woman. She would hardly have stayed ten years in Sir Herbert’s employment if it had not suited her to do so. So abrupt an end to ten years’ service would be, to say the least of it, discomposing.’
Her use of this word caused Frank Abbott to slide a hand across his lips. Miss Silver would certainly not expect him to smile at this juncture, and he was not at all confident of being able to disguise a keen if momentary amusement. Beneath a cool and rather highbrow exterior he concealed a sense of humour which had sometimes landed him in trouble. He expressed agreement, and rose to his feet.
‘Well, I must be off, or Lady Dryden will be offering me a meal in the housekeeper’s room. It might, of course, be informative, but the Marshams wouldn’t like it. Association with the police is very lowering to the social standards. I will go and see how bad the food at the Boar can be. Bill Waring is also staying there. Perhaps we shall mingle our tears over cabbage-water and flabby fish. Go on having conversations with all and sundry. Another instalment of this great murder mystery tomorrow. Expect me when you see me!’
An affectionately reproving glance followed him to the door.
When he had gone Miss Silver began to put away her knitting. Their talk had lasted for quite a time, and she had made a good start with the second pink vest. As she lifted the knitting-bag, something rolled from her lap to the floor. Bending to pick it up, she discovered it to be the magnifying-glass which Frank Abbott had taken from the writing-table to show her. During their subsequent conversation it had lain unregarded in her lap, screened by the flowery chintz of her niece Ethel Burkett’s birthday gift. The old knitting-bag had been really quite worn out. This one was delightfully gay, with bunches of flowers in the most tasteful colours and a lining of deep coral pink. Miss Silver admired it almost as much as she rejoiced in the affection which had prompted the gift. Even at this moment half her mind was upon dear Ethel and her children-so warm, so loving. She had a mere modicum of attention left for the magnifying-glass, and that of a surface nature. It must be very uncomfortable to use such an instrument for any length of time. The thought just came and passed. She got up and went over to the writing-table with the intention of replacing it there.