Mrs. Deacon looked uncertain, seemed about to speak, checked herself, and retreated. Just before the door closed upon her she remarked that Miss Mildred was turning out the kitchen cupboard. It was obvious that the prospect of seeing yesterday’s cake had been dimmed. Miss Ora made a small vexed sound, clutched fretfully at her shawl, and only began to brighten when it became apparent that, unlike Ruth Ball, Miss Silver was by no means averse from talking about the murders.
They had reached some interesting speculations as to the possibility of Annie knowing more about her husband’s death than she had hitherto been induced to divulge, when the door was first unlatched, and then pushed open by the thrust of a bony elbow. It was Miss Mildred, who had brought up the tea. And not even in a pot-just three cups, one of them chipped, with a drop or two of milk added to the pale brew, and no sugar. Instead of the cake so optimistically suggested there were two very plain biscuits on a cracked plate.
Miss Ora’s colour deepened. But this was no moment to quarrel with Mildred. She swallowed her annoyance and exclaimed,
“Do you know, Miss Silver says that poor Annie Jackson just can’t keep away from the splash-not even at night. You’d think she’d be frightened-wouldn’t you?”
Mildred Blake set down the tray. She stared at her sister across it.
“What has she got to be frightened about?”
The white curls were tossed. The blue ribbons fluttered.
“Well, really-when two people have been murdered there!”
Miss Mildred’s voice was coldly disapproving as she said,
“You are taking a good deal for granted, Ora.” She turned to Miss Silver. “My sister is prone to exaggeration. There is no proof that anyone has been murdered. William Jackson was drunk, and he fell into a pool and was drowned. No one had any reason for wanting to get rid of him-except his wife. Miss Dean was an excitable young woman, and she had been crossed in love. I find it much easier to believe that she took her own life than that anyone else should have had the slightest desire to do so.”
Miss Ora was now very much flushed.
“Really, Mildred-you might just as well say I tell lies! And you don’t know what Miss Silver has just been telling me about Annie Jackson. She goes down to the splash between half past nine and ten and stands there talking and muttering to herself-and why should she do that if she hasn’t got something on her mind? It’s my belief she went to meet poor William, and pushed him in, which wouldn’t have been hard to do if he was drunk. You know Mrs. Deacon always says it never did take much to go to his head. It would have been quite easy for Annie to have pushed him in, and it’s my belief it is just what she did. And Clarice Dean too. You see, if Clarice was hanging about there on the chance of meeting Edward Random, well, she might have seen more than she was meant to see on the night that William was drowned. And then Annie would have had a motive for pushing her in too. You can’t deny that.”
Mildred Blake said in a slow, cold voice,
“My dear Ora, you should write a novel. It would give you something to do.” She took up the third cup and sipped from it. “I prefer to leave these conjectures to the police. But Annie should really not be allowed to go down to the splash in the way you describe. It is most unsuitable. Mrs. Ball should look after her better.”
Miss Silver coughed in a deprecating manner.
“I think she does her best. But it is quite an obsession-she just slips out and goes down there. It does make one wonder whether she could have seen something on the night her husband was drowned. I have heard her say things that would seem to point that way. And she can not keep away from the splash.”
“Most unsuitable,” said Miss Mildred coldly. “And I should have thought Mrs. Ball would have expected her to stay in on a Friday night. She always offers quite elaborate refreshments. Most unnecessary and extravagant, as I have told her, but I believe they have money and can afford a rather pretentious standard.”
“I am quite looking forward to it,” said Miss Silver. “I hope you will be there.”
Miss Mildred shook her head.
“I do not often miss, but when my sister is without a nurse I do not care to leave her alone in the house. There is also a great deal extra to do, and I shall be glad to get to bed early.”
Miss Ora threw her a fleeting sideways look and sighed.
“I am a sad trouble,” she said.
As she emerged upon the street again Miss Silver looked at her watch. She had spent nearly three quarters of an hour beside Miss Ora’s couch, but there would still be time for one more call.
She walked on up the road and turned in at the south lodge.
Emmeline took her visitor into a room littered with cats. Amina and her kittens occupied a basket in front of the fire. Scheherazade and the ill-favoured Toby were sharing the window-seat, while Lucifer, black and beautiful, lay in an attitude of profound repose along the back of the sofa from which Emmeline has just risen. When Miss Silver sat down in the other corner he opened one tawny eye, let it rest upon her in a negligent manner, yawned slightly, and plunged again into slumber. A pleasant impression that the stranger was praising him for his beauty went with him into a delightful dream in which he stalked and caught enormous mice.
Beginning with her tribute to Lucifer, Miss Silver found herself launched upon a conversation during which Emmeline told her all about his ancestry.
“Of course, on Scheherazade’s side he is pure Persian with four champions in his pedigree, but I am afraid I shall not be able to show him as a Persian because I really can’t be sure about his father. Scheherazade always has such pretty kittens, only this time they were nice healthy little things but quite plain. There were four, another brother and two sisters, and I was able to find good homes for three of them. And then suddenly Lucifer began to turn into quite a beauty. It was really most extraordinary. I don’t think I have ever known a case quite like it.”
It was not until they had talked about cats for quite twenty minutes that Miss Silver found an opportunity of turning the conversation in the direction of Annie Jackson.
They were still talking about her, when the telephone-bell rang from the small back room, and a minute later Edward Random opened the door, began to speak, broke off to say how do you do to Miss Silver, and then went back to what he had been about to say.
“I’m going up to the Hall. Arnold wants to see me-I can’t think why. So if anyone asks for me, you can tell them where I am.”
“Anyone?” Emmeline looked at him in a puzzled manner.
Edward said grimly, “The police, darling,” and was gone.
Miss Silver went on talking about Annie Jackson.
CHAPTER XXXIX
Susan always looked back upon the really quite short time during which she and Arnold Random waited for Edward in the library as one of the most uncomfortable she had ever spent. As if it wasn’t enough to have her mind in a black turmoil about Edward being arrested and wondering whether the finding of this will was going to make things better for him or worse, but there was Arnold looking as if he had every crime in the Decalogue on his conscience and walking up and down the room like a panther in a cage! The state of her mind may be indicated by the fact that she was definitely conscious of being thankful that they were on the ground floor. If Arnold chose to plunge out of the end window, there would not be more than a matter of six inches between him and some nice soft garden mould. There didn’t seem to be anything else of a lethal nature he could do before Edward got here, but she found herself counting the lengthening minutes.
Edward walked in unheralded. He gave her a quick surprised glance as he came up to the table and said,