He said with a faintly sardonic inflection,
“You think of everything, don’t you?” And then, “Perhaps you can tell me why anyone should want to disable or kill Miss Cunningham.”
She said very gravely indeed,
“What was the motive for the removal of Maggie Bell and of Miss Holiday? Miss Cunningham knows too much. I believe that to be the explanation in all these cases. Each of them had, or stumbled upon, a piece of knowledge which was dangerous to someone else. It is possible, perhaps even probable in the cases of Maggie Bell and Miss Holiday, that they were not aware, or at any rate not fully aware, of the implications of what they knew. In each case swift and ruthless action was taken to ensure silence. In the case of Miss Cunningham, she was one of the last people to see Miss Holiday alive. She met her coming away from Crewe House on Sunday evening, and she had a few words with her. She did not respond when I asked her what Miss Holiday had said, but passed the question off with a vague repetitive phrase. I did not say more at the time-she was having tea with Mrs. Merridew-but I feel that she should be pressed upon the subject.”
“But, my dear ma’am, she has been pressed. Didn’t I tell you?”
“I think not, Frank.”
He said in an apologetic tone,
“I’ve been run off my feet. But here it is. Denning has been combing the place for anyone who might have met or seen Miss Holiday after she left Crewe House. Well, he turned up a girl called Mary Tufton who was bicycling back to Melbury after a visit to some people on a farm the other side of Hazel Green. She says that somewhere about half past five she saw Miss Cunningham near the drive of Crewe House. She knows her quite well by sight, because Mrs. Tufton used to do a little odd dressmaking for her. Anyhow, she says a woman in a raincoat came out of the gate at Crewe House and Miss Cunningham stopped and spoke to her. One of them dropped what looked like a letter and Miss Cunningham picked it up. The other woman had her handkerchief out and was blowing her nose. She saw all this as she came up to them-there’s a long straight piece of road there, as you know-and as she went by, Miss Cunningham turned in at the drive and the other woman went on in the direction of the village. Mary says it all passed in no time at all. They met, Miss Cunningham picked up the letter, and went on. Denning asked Miss Cunningham about it, and she said yes, that was just what happened. Miss Holiday dropped a letter when she used her handkerchief, and she picked it up again. She had just stopped to have a word with her. And as the letter was open and had been addressed to Miss Crewe, she offered to take it up to Crewe House.”
“She did not say what the word was about?”
He laughed.
“I don’t suppose it was about anything. Denning did his job all right, you know. He asked her if Miss Holiday seemed to be upset about anything, and she said oh no, she was just as usual. By the way, he went on and saw the cook at Crewe House- what’s her name, Mrs. Bolder-and she said the same. I gather he came away rather the worse for wear. She wanted to know what he thought she would be doing upsetting anyone. Umbrage was taken, and he wasn’t sorry to get away from her. A lady with a tongue!”
Miss Silver was not knitting at quite her usual speed. After a moment she said,
“Thank you, Frank. I cannot say that I am satisfied. If Miss Holiday was murdered, there must have been a motive for her murder. Someone who was in contact with her must have decided that she had become, or was becoming, dangerous and must be got rid of. It seems as if the danger may have arisen suddenly. In which case every contact with her during those last few hours of her life must be regarded as important and very carefully considered. Miss Cunningham may be aware of something which she has not seen fit to pass on to the police.”
“You are suggesting that Miss Holiday had acquired some dangerous knowledge, and that she may have indicated as much to Miss Cunningham, or that she may have been thought to have done so. Well, then, what about Mrs. Maple and Mrs. Selby? Don’t forget they saw her too, and that in the case of Mrs. Selby there was every opportunity for confidences.”
Miss Silver inclined her head.
“Quite so. But I think Mrs. Maple is negligible. The contact between her and Miss Holiday was brief, and any confidence very unlikely when it would have to be shouted into the ear of so deaf a person.”
“What about Mrs. Selby-a very likely candidate? Nobody seems to have tried to get her out of the way.”
Miss Silver put her head a little on one side in the manner which always reminded him of a bird and said,
“I find the immunity of Mrs. Selby very interesting, my dear Frank.”
CHAPTER 26
Rosamond and Jenny had finished their tea. Jenny had already plunged back into her Gloria Gilmore, which was now at the very peak of sentiment and romance. Rosamond, for the moment unoccupied, lay back in her chair and considered with surprise her own reluctance to pick up the tray and get on with the business of taking it through to the pantry and washing up. After meaning to stay awake the night before, she had slept so deeply and heavily that it did not seem as if she was really awake even now. Her thoughts moved slowly and with an effort, and her body would not have moved at all if she had not pushed it.
The sound of Lydia Crewe’s bell brought her to her feet with an effort. Jenny frowned, jerked impatiently, and said, “Blast!”
“Jenny!”
Jenny made an impish face.
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if it just happened when you said it? Ping!-and no more bell! I think I’d blast Aunt Lydia too whilst I was about it.”
“Jenny-please!”
Jenny giggled.
“Oh, go along! I’ll say something much worse than that if it goes on ringing.”
Rosamond went into the crowded room with an intensification of the feeling it always gave her. There were so many things- the air was so hot and heavy that it was like moving against a sluggish tide. Her limbs were heavy too, and for a moment her head swam.
Lydia Crewe sat in her upright chair. Her grey features were composed. An old purple wrap flowed round her to her feet. The stones in her rings glittered under the chandelier. Every light was on.
“What is it, Aunt Lydia?”
Lydia Crewe said in her harsh voice,
“Come in and sit down. I want to talk to you.”
Rosamond felt a stirring of alarm. You didn’t talk to Aunt Lydia. She interrogated you, and she laid down the law. There was a cold remembrance of an interview when everyone thought that Jenny was going to die, and of another when the pattern of their life here was laid down and she had to receive it with what gratitude she could muster. She heard Lydia Crewe say, “I want to talk to you about Jenny,” and the room was suddenly full of fear.
“Yes, Aunt Lydia?”
“She is a great deal better. In fact, to all intents and purposes I think we may say that she is well. We have now to consider what the next step should be.”
“Yes-” The word came heavy and halting. She had not meant to let it stand alone, but Lydia Crewe did not wait for her to add anything to the one lame word. She went on in her decided way.