“Any quarrel with her?”
“Not that I can remember. Nothing to quarrel about.”
“Not a little matter of blackmail?”
Cyril looked horrified.
“Do you mind saying that again?”
“I said blackmail,” said March, watching him.
He saw quite a good reproduction of the stock hero-falsely-accused situation. The slight start, the widened eyes, the squared shoulders, the look of noble scorn-they were all there. He had a feeling that Cyril ought to have been able to make a living on the stage. The tone in which he exclaimed “Blackmail!” was really pretty good.
“That is what I said.”
“But I don’t know what you mean. You can’t suppose-”
“I am afraid I do. Miss Adrian received two letters and a telephone call referring to certain incidents and suggesting that she should pay fifty pounds to prevent her fiancé being informed about them. One of the letters began, ‘F. Brand might prove a firebrand if Fred knew all.’ ”
Cyril raised his eyebrows.
“Poor girl-how very horrid for her.”
“That was the first letter. Then there was a telephone conversation, asking to have fifty pounds in one-pound notes sent to Mr. Friend, 24 Blakeston Road, S.E., and adding, ‘You’ll be sorry if you don’t.’ Miss Adrian lost her temper and told you to go to hell. After which she received another letter, which said, ‘Nasty temper. If you do that again, Fred will know all. What about the middle of last June?’ ”
He met the stare of affronted innocence.
“Look here, what is all this? Where are these letters? If you say I wrote them, I think I’ve got a right to have them shown to me, so that you can compare them with my writing.”
That was the snag-they hadn’t got the letters.
March said firmly, “Miss Adrian was convinced that the letters came from you. One of the incidents referred to was known only to yourself and Felix Brand.”
“Oh, well, everyone knew he would do anything to stop her marrying Mount.”
“So you knew that she was going to marry Mount?”
“Everyone knew she was thinking about it. Everyone knew that Brand was crazy with jealousy.”
March said, “I think you know a good bit yourself, Mr. Felton. But perhaps you don’t know that Helen Adrian informed Miss Silver that you were blackmailing her, that she had made up her mind to leave Cove House on Friday morning and return to town, and that she intended before she left to have an interview with you and offer you ten pounds down. If you boggled at taking it, she intended to threaten you with the police.”
Cyril stared at him.
“This is terrible!”
“It may be-for you. This conversation took place with Miss Silver at the picnic on Thursday evening, just before half past six. Since everybody’s movements have been checked, we know that Miss Adrian did not have that interview with you before half past ten, when the parties in both houses separated for the night. But Miss Adrian had expressed her intention of having that interview. That she had an appointment with someone on the lower terrace between twelve and two that night is certain. You cannot be surprised if we draw the natural inference that the appointment was with you.”
He was dreadfully pale, his hands shook. All pretence at indifference was gone. He stammered out,
“No-no-you’ve got it all wrong. I wouldn’t meet her in the night-why should I? If she wanted to talk to me she could have done it in the train-we were going to travel up together-I had my audition.”
“You say you had arranged to travel up together in the morning?”
“Yes, we had. That is, she asked me at the picnic. She knew I had this audition, and she said she was off in the morning, and why not travel up together. She said she’d got something to talk to me about. But I give you my word I didn’t know she’d got this blackmail idea in her head. Look here, Mr. March, anyone will tell you what sort of terms we were on at the picnic. She was as friendly as possible-anyone will tell you she was. As a matter of fact, she was too friendly for my wife. Ina didn’t like it. She moped like anything-sat by herself and hardly spoke a word. Anyone will tell you that too. Now if she really thought I was blackmailing her, Helen wouldn’t have been like that-I mean, would she? I mean, she couldn’t really have thought I’d do that kind of thing-and if she did, I hadn’t the slightest idea of it. She said she wanted to talk to me, and why not travel up together, and I said, ‘Righty ho.’ And I give you my word that was absolutely all.”
When they had let him go Crisp said with gloom, “If he thought all that up on the spur of the moment he’s a lot cleverer than you’d take him for.”
Chapter 31
Miss Silver was in her bedroom when Eliza came up to say that the Chief Constable would be glad to see her if she could spare the time.
As she crossed the landing with her knitting-bag on her arm, Cyril Felton was coming up from the hall. They passed near the top of the stair, and as she continued on her way she heard him go across to his wife’s room and knock on the door. Since she was now out of sight, she remained as she was for a moment, and heard him say insistently,
“Ina-for God’s sake let me in! I’ve got to speak to you.”
After a lagging pause the key was turned. The door opened and shut again.
Miss Silver went on her way to the study, where Randal March was waiting. He wore a look which she was able to interpret as one of concern. When she was settled in the chair which she preferred, a low armless affair which very closely resembled one of those in her own flat, he said,
“I thought I’d like to tell you the latest. Not that there’s much to tell.” With which preliminary he gave her the substance of his interview with Cyril Felton. “And I’d like to know how he strikes you, if you think you have had time to form an opinion.”
Miss Silver was knitting in a leisurely manner. She said,
“He is most at ease when he is playing a part. I do not believe that this is anything new. If he can see himself in any role he plays it with facility. For the rest, he is an idle, pleasure-loving young man who would, I think, always do the easiest thing. I cannot believe that he would plan a murder, but he might, as you suggest, have given Miss Adrian a push, after which, I agree, the rest might have followed. He could have brought the raincoat down and hung up the scarf in the hall again.”
March said, “Yes.”
After a short pause she coughed.
“It might be helpful at this juncture to consider very carefully the whole question of motive. It seems to me that we have to decide to what class of motive this murder was due. Was it a crime of passion and jealousy, or a crime committed for the sake of money? In the case of Cyril Felton it would fall into the latter category, but the motive is a very weak one. She may have threatened to go to the police, but I think he knew her well enough to feel sure that she would not do so unless he drove her to it. She meant to offer him ten pounds, and was quite sure that he would take it. There was no need for him to do murder. Do you agree?”
“Yes, I do.”
“In Felix Brand’s case the motive would, of course, be the passionate jealousy which he was not attempting to disguise. He could have killed Miss Adrian, but he could not have taken the raincoat or put back the scarf.”
“No.”
“But, Randal, there are a number of other people in the two houses. I think that most of them have some kind of motive, and that an examination of those motives might be of use. I do not wish you to understand that I suspect anyone in particular, but I think we shall find that most of them had a reason for wishing that Miss Adrian was out of the way. There is, for instance, Penny Halliday.”
“My dear Miss Silver!”
She continued placidly.
“A motive for murder does not imply that murder would be committed. Penny had a very strong motive. Mr. Felix Brand was being subjected to an influence which was having a disastrous effect upon his character, his health, and his career. But she had no access to Miss Brand’s raincoat, and she could not have replaced the scarf.”