Miss Silver coughed mildly.
“Since that is the case, perhaps you will tell me a little more. You must have had some idea that I should be able to help you, or you would not have come. I think you would do well to make up your mind to be frank with regard to the blackmailing attempt to which you have referred.”
The blue eyes dwelt on her in an appraising fashion.
“Well-I don’t know. I suppose it would all be-quite in confidence? My friend said I could rely on that.”
Miss Silver drew herself up a little. The distance between her and Miss Adrian appeared to have widened. She spoke across it.
“Certainly you may rely upon that.”
“Oh, well, one has to be sure.”
Miss Silver was knitting at a high rate of speed.
“If you cannot make up your mind to trust me, I can be of no possible assistance to you.” She had recourse to a Victorian poet whom she revered. “ ‘Trust me not at all or all in all,’ as the late Lord Tennyson says.”
Helen Adrian stared. She really was a scream! The thought drifted away. Something else took its place-an odd touch of fear-the underlying pressure of necessity.
Miss Silver looked at her very steadily and said,
“It is for you to choose, Miss Adrian.”
Helen Adrian made her choice. She had been leaning a little forward. Now she sat back.
“Well, I suppose you’re right. Not that there’s anything very much to tell-it’s just the use that might be made of it. I expect you know my name. Most people do now, and I’ve worked pretty hard for it. Perhaps you have heard me sing?”
“No, I have not had that pleasure.”
“Well, I did a good bit with concert parties at the end of the war-and of course broadcasting. I’ve had offers to go on the stage-musicals and revues-but-well, the fact is, I’m not much good at the acting part of it. There-you said to be frank, and if that isn’t frank, I don’t know what is.”
Miss Silver coughed.
“You are doubtless wise to confine yourself to what you are sure of doing well.”
Miss Adrian nodded in a casual manner.
“Yes-there’s that. And then-you wouldn’t think it to look at me, but I’m not out of the way strong. I get cold rather easily. I was near having pneumonia in the autumn, and they say I’ve got to be careful-I’ve had to rest my voice as it is. So now we come to what’s really at the bottom of the whole thing. I’ve had to think very seriously of whether it wouldn’t be better to play safe. At the best of it, my sort of voice doesn’t go on for ever, and why should I knock myself up travelling all over the place in goodness knows what sort of weather, when I could make a comfortable marriage, and have my own car, and nothing to worry about for the rest of my life?”
Miss Silver knitted thoughtfully.
“You have the opportunity of making such a marriage?”
Helen Adrian laughed a little scornfully.
“Any time the last two years. He’s a big business man up in the north. He heard me sing and went in off the deep end. Any amount of money, and I’ve only got to say yes. Well, ever since I was ill I’ve been thinking about it. Chances like that don’t go begging-if you don’t pick them up, somebody else will. So I made up my mind I would. And that’s where the blackmail comes in.”
Miss Silver’s needles clicked, the grey stocking revolved. Helen Adrian leaned forward and opened her bag. She extracted from it a rather creased envelope which she passed across to Miss Silver, who put down her knitting and opened it. There was a half sheet of cheap white notepaper inside. On it was printed in rough capitals:
WHAT ABOUT BRIGHTON LAST MAY?
WOULDN’T MOUNT LIKE TO KNOW!
“That’s the man I’m thinking of marrying-Fred Mount.”
Miss Silver read aloud with a touch of primness in her voice,
“What about Brighton last May?”
Helen Adrian’s colour had risen a little. It did not amount to a blush, but the tint in her cheeks was certainly deeper. She said quickly,
“There wasn’t anything in it at all. I was singing at a concert, and naturally my accompanist went down with me.”
“A man?”
“Of course-Felix Brand. He’s a marvellous accompanist, and such a good contrast-the dark tragic type. It all helps, you know-throws me up.”
“Did you stay at the same hotel?”
“A friend asked me to stay. Look here, I’ll tell you the whole thing. There wasn’t anything in it, but it could be made to look funny. My friend asked us to stay, and when we got there one of her children was ill at school and she was just off. What were we to do?”
“What did you do?”
“We stayed for the week-end. What else was there to do? The place was packed. I couldn’t put Felix out into the street.”
“Is this young man, your accompanist, in love with you?”
“What do you think! He’s crazy about me. That’s what makes it awkward.” She took another letter out of her bag and tossed it over. “Here’s number two.”
In the same scrawled capitals Miss Silver read:
F. BRAND MIGHT PROVE A FIREBRAND IF FRED KNEW ALL. IF YOU WANT THE WEDDING BELLS TO RING YOU HAD BETTER COME TO TERMS. WHAT ABOUT MAY LAST YEAR?
She said, “Dear me!”
Miss Adrian nodded.
“That was only the beginning. A day or two later I was rung up on the telephone. It was from a call-box-you can always tell-and someone said, ‘You’ve had my two letters about F. Brand and F. Mount. If you want those wedding-bells to ring you’ll have to shut my mouth. I want fifty pounds down, and you can buy your wedding-dress. One pound notes, please, and you’ll put them in an envelope and address them to Mr. Friend, 24 Blakeston Road, S.E. You’ll be sorry if you don’t.’ I said, ‘What’s the good of talking to me like that? Once I was fool enough to pay you, what’s going to stop you going right on?’ He said, ‘What indeed! Fred has got a lot of money, hasn’t he? You’re not going to tell me you won’t be able to get some of it out of him once you’re safely married!’”
Miss Silver coughed.
“And what did you say to that?”
“I lost my temper,” said Miss Adrian frankly. “I said, ‘Go to hell!’ and hung up.”
“And then?”
“There was an ‘And then’ all right. Here it is.”
Another of those sheets of writing-paper came out of the bag. The capitals said:
NASTY TEMPER. IF YOU DO THAT AGAIN FRED WILL KNOW ALL. WHAT ABOUT THE MIDDLE OF LAST JUNE?
Helen Adrian stared defiantly across the table.
“That’s as far as we’ve got.”
“When did this come?”
“This morning. That’s when I rang you up.”
Miss Silver continued to knit.
“Miss Adrian, do you know who is blackmailing you?”
“How should I?”
“I cannot tell you that. The address would, of course, be an accommodation address. If you went to the police, they would advise you to send a letter as requested. They would then watch the place and endeavour to trap the blackmailer.”
“I won’t go to the police.”
Miss Silver looked at her shrewdly.
“I think you may have some idea of the blackmailer’s identity. Did you, for instance, recognize the voice which spoke to you on the telephone.”
“No. He was making it all squeaky-like a Punch and Judy show.”
“It was a man?”
“Oh, yes.”
Helen Adrian said,
“Well, there was someone down at Brighton last year-we were in a concert party together a couple of years ago. He was doing a sketch with Althea Paine. He was rotten, but she’d got a crush on him. Women fell for him-he was that sort. Cyril Felton is the name. It was just the sort of thing he might do. Of course-” The words came out in a hesitating manner.
Miss Silver said,
“I think you have someone else in mind, Miss Adrian.”