Miss Silver coughed.
‘I do not think so. I believe that she was telling the truth. I arrived at the point in a somewhat oblique manner, and it was only when pressed for every detail of what she had seen on Tuesday night that the facts emerged. She was so impatient to be gone to the pictures with Sam Bowlby, and she had, I am sure, no idea that what she told me was of any importance whatever. She said at the end, “I told you it wasn’t nothing, any of it,” and went off without a thought in her head except about her boy and the film they were going to see.’
Lamb took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.
‘Well, I’ll take your word for that. But what a mix-up! Bush came out of the church before ten. He was in it not so very long after the shot was fired. If he hasn’t got an alibi to cover the time, there’s nothing to say he didn’t fire that shot himself. He was seen coming out. If he wasn’t seen going in, well… And there’s another thing. If that girl’s telling the truth and she saw him lock the door, then all that business about the key goes west – there’s nothing to show that the door was locked at all before Bush locked it. The fact that Madoc had a key isn’t nearly so important as it was.’
Miss Silver said, ‘Exactly. The theory that Mr Harsch committed suicide was based on the fact that he was found behind locked doors with his own key in his pocket. The case against Mr Madoc was based upon the discovery that he had come into possession of Miss Brown’s key after a jealous scene with her, and about a quarter of an hour before the shot was fired. But since it now appears that the door behind which Mr Harsch’s body was found was neither locked by his own key nor by the one in Mr Madoc’s possession, but by Bush, it seems to me that the case against Mr Madoc is very much weakened. When it is further considered that there is evidence that Ezra Pincott was murdered last night, the case would seem to be very weak indeed, since Mr Madoc could have had no hand in this murder.’
Lamb hoisted himself out of his chair.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I won’t say yes, and I won’t say no. But this man Bush has certainly got something to explain. We’ll have to see him and ask him what about it.
Half way to the door he turned back.
‘You haven’t got a motive to hand us, I suppose? Respectable sextons don’t go about murdering organists as a rule. You’ve got to have a motive, you know. Juries are funny that way.’
Miss Silver drew herself up. It was the slightest, most ladylike of gestures, but it certainly conveyed to Sergeant Abbott, if not to his superior officer, that the Chief Inspector had allowed a perhaps natural exasperation to impair the courtesy due to a gentlewoman. There was a faint chill upon her voice as she said, ‘There is a possible motive, and I feel it my duty to acquaint you with it. Bush, though born a British subject, is of German origin. His parents settled in this country. The name was Busch, spelt in the German manner with an sch, the English spelling being adopted during the last war. Miss Fell informs me that a short time previously this man Frederick Bush, who was then about seventeen years of age, was approached by enemy agents who endeavoured to persuade him to obtain information for them. He was at that time under-footman in a house where the conversation at the dinner table might have been of considerable value. I must hasten to add that he immediately refused, and that he acquainted Miss Fell’s stepfather, who was then Rector of Bourne, with the particulars.’
Lamb pursed up his mouth and whistled.
‘Well!’ he said. Then with an abrupt movement he turned to the door again. ‘Oh, come along, Frank – come along before she tells us anything more! I’ve got as much as I can get through with for today.’
CHAPTER THIRTY
WHILST THIS CONVERSATION was going on Miss Sophy had slipped into a gentle refreshing sleep in the drawing-room. Though she never admitted to an afternoon nap, and would not on any account have put up her feet, she had no objection to supporting them on a foot-stool, or to leaning back against a number of comfortably piled cushions and closing her eyes. Garth Albany on one side of her and Janice upon the other became aware that they no longer had her attention. Her white woolly curls rested becomingly against a blue silk cushion, her breath came evenly and without sound from the slightly parted lips, her plump hands were folded in a purple lap. To all intents and purposes they were alone.
If Janice could have been anywhere else she would have been glad. Or would she? She didn’t know. Ever since that walk on Sunday she didn’t know what she wanted. Down deep in a hidden corner something wept and refused to be comforted. Because Garth had been going to make love to her and she had stopped him, and now she wouldn’t have anything to remember. He would go away, and it might be years before he came back again. He might go abroad, he might be killed, and she would have nothing, nothing to remember. He might have said, ‘I love you,’ he would certainly have kissed her. Even if it had meant nothing to him, it would have been something to treasure up and remember when he was gone. But she had chosen her pride instead. She was finding it icy comfort.
She looked at him across Miss Sophy’s plump bolster of a shoulder, tightly upholstered in plum-coloured cashmere, and found him unbearably dear. The way his hair grew, the line of cheek and jaw, and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled-
They crinkled now. He said in a laughing voice, ‘Stock situation from a farce! The chaperone is asleep. What do we do about it?’
Her heart gave a little jerk. Her lips trembled into a smile. She said ‘Ssh!’
Garth laughed again.
‘Oh, no – I don’t think so. My stage direction says, “Crosses R.” ’ Getting up as he spoke, he came round the sofa and sat down on the arm of her chair. ‘You needn’t worry, you know – she won’t wake. Family trait – once I’m off, I’m off – it takes a bomb to wake me.’
‘But you’re not any relation – she’s a step. You can’t inherit something from your grandfather’s step-daughter.’
His arm stretched lazily across the back of the chair behind her shoulders.
‘I didn’t say it was inherited. There are such things as acquired characteristics. Anyhow the point is, she’s good for at least half an hour, and – wilful waste makes woeful want. I suppose you wouldn’t like to be kissed?’
He saw the colour leap like a flame in either cheek and flicker out. When she slowly turned her head and looked at him she was so pale that he was startled. She moved colourless lips to say ‘Yes.’ Instead he put his hand upon her shoulder.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’
He gave her a little shake.
‘My child, this was a farce. You’re playing tragedy – “Unhand me villain – I have taken poison”. What’s the matter?’
‘I’m not very good at farce.’
He looked at her with laughing eyes.
‘I’m not at all set on it myself. Let’s make it drawing-room comedy – the great proposal scene. I come of rich but honest parents. I know all about you, and you know more than any other girl does about me. Life’s highly uncertain for both of us. As someone once wrote, “Gather ye roses while ye may”. What about it?’
Her lips were stiff. She forced them to a smile.
‘I don’t know my part, Garth.’
His hand came up on the far side, taking her by the elbow, turning her a little.
‘There’s always the prompter. If it’s a very modern play, you say casually, “All right, I don’t mind if I do.” But if it’s one of those romantic period pieces, it would be, “Oh, Garth – this is so sudden!” ’
She managed to go on smiling.
‘It is rather, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose it is. It’s funny the way things are. I’ve always been fond of you. You were such an odd little thing – I was very fond of you. And then I went away and forgot all about you, but when I saw you come in at the inquest I felt just as if I hadn’t ever been away at all. It’s difficult to explain, but it felt good – it felt quite extraordinarily good. I – Jan, I’m really trying to tell you something.’