The Gazebo

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by Patricia Wentworth


  ‘She knew…’

  He let go of her suddenly and stood back. Perhaps he was afraid of what his strong hands might do. He couldn’t kill her here in Miss Madison’s Pink Room. He walked away, getting as far from her as he could before he turned and said,

  ‘You said I called out. Was that true?’

  ‘Yes, Sid. You were dreaming.’

  ‘Did I just call out, or did I say something?’

  ‘You – called – out.’

  He made a step towards her.

  ‘If you lie to me, I’ll slit your throat!’

  ‘No, no, I won’t – I’ll tell you.’

  ‘What did I say?’

  He wouldn’t stop asking her until she told him. There was no strength in her to hold anything back. She told him what he had said. As soon as the words were out of her mouth she knew what she had done. She tried to undo it.

  ‘She didn’t – hear what you said. She only heard you call out. Nobody heard what you said – except me.’

  He repeated the words quite smoothly and quietly,

  ‘Nobody heard except you? But you heard me – or you say you did. How many people have you gone blabbing to?’

  ‘No one – no one.’

  He said,

  ‘And you’d better not! D’you hear? And now you’d better get busy and pack! We’re off just as soon as we can be ready!’

  ‘Where – where are we going?’

  He said, ‘You’ll know when you get there!’ and began to take his things out of the chest of drawers and throw them into a suitcase.

  THIRTY-SIX

  MISS SILVER LAID her hands down for a moment upon her knitting.

  ‘I believe I have told you everything that passed between us. I should like to know what you think about it.’

  Frank Abbott did not reply immediately. He looked at her, neat and earnest, with the half-finished vest in her lap. He knew from experience that the description of her interview with Mrs Blount would have been a most carefully accurate one. Just what it all amounted to was another matter. He said so, adding,

  ‘There might be quite a simple explanation, you know.’

  ‘Yes, Frank?’

  ‘Mrs Blount may be off her head.’

  She picked up her knitting again.

  ‘That was not my impression.’

  ‘It would cover your account of her behaviour.’

  She coughed gently.

  ‘No account of anyone’s behaviour can convey more than a bare outline. Mrs Blount was very much afraid.’

  ‘She might be afraid and yet have no cause for it.’

  ‘In my opinion she was suffering from shock.’

  ‘Well, you saw her, and I didn’t. But, you know, it sounds a good deal like persecution mania. That “Perhaps he will kill me – I don’t know. If he thinks I heard what he was saying. I think he will” – it sounds rather that way, you know.’

  Miss Silver shook her head.

  ‘It sounded to me as if the poor woman had overheard something which had terrified her into a breakdown. Her husband had talked in his sleep. She did not tell me what he said, and I could not press her, but it had thrown her into a condition of shock in which all the natural restraints had ceased to operate and she talked out what was on her mind. I feel sure that only a great shock would have put her into the state she was in when I met her. The Blounts are staying at a guest house half way up the hill. Whatever it was that had shocked her probably happened at some time during the night, since she spoke of her husband having talked in his sleep. I think that she herself had not slept again, and that she had eaten nothing. I think she had come out because she could no longer stay in the house. When I spoke to her she was standing aimlessly at the next bus stop with, I believe, no idea of what she would do next. I am particularly glad that you have called, because I felt that I should see you without delay. I believe that Mrs Blount may be in serious danger.’

  Twenty-four hours ago he might have laughed at her. Now he was conscious of no desire to take the case of Mrs Blount too lightly. He said,

  ‘You know, you asked if we could dig up something about Blount and Worple…’

  She raised her eyes to his and said, ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, there isn’t very much for you, but there is something. If Worple isn’t the rose, he’s been near it. In other words, if he isn’t a proved criminal, he’s been mixed up with people who are. He is full of money at the moment, his own account being that he had a lucky win on an outsider – no details given as to when, where, or how. He fancies himself as a ladies’ man. He calls himself a commission agent, and he’s got a tongue as long as your arm.’

  Miss Silver’s glance reproved this metaphor.

  ‘And Mr Blount?’

  ‘Oh, Blount has rather a respectable background. His father had a second-hand shop in the Edgware Road. Blount himself is supposed to have been a bit of a rolling stone. Then he came in for the business and settled down. Mrs Blount had some money of her own. Her people didn’t want her to marry him. There was a family quarrel, and they don’t speak. The parents are dead, and the brothers and sisters didn’t like the money going out of the family. She was middle-aged, and they thought they could count on it staying put. There’s been some talk about Blount. He’s away a good bit, and when he’s back she goes about looking frightened. Worple and Blount have been pretty thick for a year or two. That is the lay-out. Nothing much to go on, nothing you can take hold of. I should say offhand that both Worple and Blount are fairly shady characters. For some reason or other there is an impression that Blount is a bad man to cross. He was married before, and his wife fell under a train. It might have been an accident, it might have been suicide. He was supposed to have been miles away when it happened.’

  ‘Supposed, Frank?’

  He said,

  ‘I gather that the present Mrs Blount’s family have made slanderous insinuations, but the general opinion is that whatever happened or didn’t happen, nobody was going to catch Blount out.’

  ‘Rather a strange attitude if there was nothing against his character before the accident occurred. Did he come into money from his wife?’

  Frank cocked an eyebrow.

  ‘That, my dear ma’am, is one of the things which started people talking.’

  ‘One of the things, Frank?’

  His light, cool gaze rested upon her.

  ‘There seems to have been an idea that the Blount family was rather too prone to accidents.’

  ‘There were others?’

  ‘Blount’s father broke his neck falling down an appropriately antique flight of stairs in his secondhand shop one dark night. He was alone in the house, and when they found him in the morning he was dead. His son had gone down into Sussex on a job.’

  ‘Then why was there any talk about it?’

  ‘Oh, just their nasty minds, I expect. He really did go down into Sussex, and he really did have a job there, but as some of the nasty-minded pointed out, he had a motorbike and he could have come back, done what he had planned to do, and returned to finish his job in Sussex. It’s just one of those things. If he had wanted to do it, I suppose it could have been done. He came into a paying business and the old man’s savings.’

  Miss Silver said gravely,

  ‘Two accidents, and both of them profitable to Mr Blount. Do you really think that the present Mrs Blount may not have good reason to be afraid? She too has money of her own. Last night he talked in his sleep. It was what she heard him say that had induced the state of shock in which I found her. It must have been something of a very serious nature. Nothing less would account for her condition. In my own mind I feel very little doubt that it was something which would connect him with the murder of Mrs Graham.’

  ‘My dear ma’am!’

  She looked at him steadily.

  ‘I do not need you to tell me that there is no evidence of such a connexion. Mrs Blount would not be available as a witness, and in any case I do not imagine that word
s uttered by a sleeping man would be admissible in a court of law. But consider for a moment Mr Blount’s character and behaviour. His father and his first wife both meet with accidents from which he profits. He marries a second woman with money of her own, brings her here, and begins to bid for Mrs Graham’s house. Then Mr Worple turns up. They bid one against the other until they have reached the extravagant price of seven thousand pounds, at which point Mr Worple withdraws his pretensions to the house but continues to pay marked and unwelcome attentions to Miss Graham. I do not know how you would interpret the situation up to this point, but in the light of what you have just told me about a previous intimacy between Mr Blount and Mr Worple it seems to me probable that, whatever their object in acquiring The Lodge, they had come to the conclusion that partnership might prove more profitable than rivalry.’

  He was looking at her with great attention.

  ‘Whatever their object might be in acquiring The Lodge – what exactly do you mean by that?’

  ‘I am unable to believe in the motive put forward by either of them. Mr Blount is not the man to spend a large sum of money in order to gratify a whim of his wife’s. Nor does Mr Worple seem to me to have shown so much attachment to his family and his early surroundings as to make it at all credible that he should wish to sacrifice a large sum of money in order to acquire a totally unsuitable house.’

  ‘And you think that he has now agreed to share The Lodge with Mr and Mrs Blount?’

  She looked down thoughtfully at the small pink vest and measured it against her hand.

  ‘No – that is not what I think. I do not believe that either Mr Blount or Mr Worple has any intention of residing at The Lodge.’

  ‘They were prepared to spend seven thousand pounds on a house without any intention of living it!’

  ‘If Mr Blount was prepared to pay seven thousand pounds for The Lodge, it was because he expected to make a handsome profit. If he and Mr Worple have come to some agreement, the purchase price would be shared between them, but the profit would also have to be shared. Since their rivalry has been eliminated, they will naturally not expect the price to be so high. Only this morning Mr Martin the house-agent intimated that the circumstances of Mrs Graham’s death must seriously affect the value of the property.’

  ‘Well, it would, wouldn’t it? But let us come back to the point. How do you suppose Mr Blount expects to turn a handsome profit upon an ordinary suburban house for which he was willing to pay seven thousand pounds? And he does seem to have been willing to pay that when he and Worple were still bidding each other up. The profit couldn’t possibly come from a re-sale, you know. What do you suppose he was after?’

  Miss Silver gave a meditative cough.

  ‘I believe he may have wished to dig in the garden,’ she said.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  IT TOOK QUITE a lot to startle Frank Abbott, but at this he pulled himself up in his chair and said,

  ‘What?’

  Miss Silver reproved him with a glance and repeated her remark.

  ‘I believe he may have wished to dig in the garden.’

  ‘My dear ma’am!’

  ‘Or in the gazebo. Yes, I think it would probably be in the gazebo.’

  She laid down the almost completed vest and took out of her knitting-bag that copy of the Rev. Thomas Jenkinson’s book which had engaged her interest. There was a neat white marker between the pages, so that it opened readily at the chapter on Grove Hill. She handed the volume to Frank, directing his attention to the paragraph which dealt with the Gordon Riots. Reading on, he would come naturally to the passage which had been marked by a faint underlining. Whilst his attention was engaged with the narrative she returned to her knitting and remained in silence. She could have guessed the moment when he reached the description of the unfortunate Mr Warren’s last moments. At the report of the Physician who was Mr D – L -’s brother his colourless eyebrows rose, but he read on to the end without speaking. Then, and not till then, he said across the open page, and quoting from it,

  ‘ “The dying man constantly muttered to himself some such phrase as, ‘The gold is safe,’ or, ‘I have saved the gold.’ ” This, I suppose, is the nub of the whole thing, the gold being presumably the gold Plate which is mentioned as being of great value. All very interesting, my dear ma’am, but highly speculative. Where did you come across this book?’

  ‘Althea Graham told me that her father had been much interested in the early history of Grove Hill. She spoke of some connexion with the Gordon Riots and told me her father’s books were in the attic, and that an account of the Riots was to be found in one of them. When I had a little time on my hands I looked for the volume and found it.’

  ‘That accounts for your being informed about the last moments of the unfortunate Mr Warren. But how do you suggest that Blount and Worple got to know about them?’

  ‘My dear Frank, Mr Worple was the stepson of the late Mr Martin whose own son, the present Mr Martin, is the leading house-agent in Grove Hill. In a conversation I had with him this morning he told me that his grandfather had founded the firm, and that his father had been much interested in local history and had possessed a copy of Mr Jenkinson’s book. Since this was the case, Mr Worple would have had access to it. This passage might well catch his imagination. Just what brought it to the forefront of his mind we have no means of knowing, nor just why he should have passed on his thoughts and speculations on the subject to Mr Blount, but…’

  Frank Abbott threw the book down open on to the dining-table.

  ‘You know, I’m not at all sure you haven’t got something there. At least you may have one bit and I’ve got another. You didn’t ask me what Blount’s job was, apart from associating with crooks and keeping a second-hand shop, but it may have a considerable bearing.’

  ‘He had a job?’

  ‘A more or less hereditary one.’

  ‘My dear Frank!’

  ‘Well, his mother came from a Sussex village, a little place called Cleat. Apparently Blount used to spend a lot of time down there with his grandfather, who was the last of a highly respected line of – what do you think? I give you three guesses.’

  She smiled.

  ‘I think you had better tell me.’

  He said,

  ‘Dowsers. And I won’t insult you by asking whether that means anything to you or not.’

  She said sedately,

  ‘Water diviners, are they not?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Grandfather Pardue was highly skilled at the job. He operated all over Sussex. If your well went dry you asked him to come and find you another. Or if you wanted to build, he could tell you if there was likely to be a water supply on the spot. Quite a famous old boy in his way, and he taught his grandson. We got all this from the Sussex locals. They say Blount lapped it up and is almost as good as the old man was. He charges quite a tidy fee, and he still gets called in.’

  Miss Silver said in a thoughtful tone,

  ‘It used to be considered a mere country superstition. I believe a forked stick is employed, preferably hazel. It is supposed to dip when it is held over ground which covers water.’

  ‘It is not only supposed to – it does. My cousin Charles Montague had an ancestral mansion which he turned over to the National Trust. He kept a few acres to build a cottage on, and water being essential, a dowser was called in. He asked me if I’d like to come down and watch the performance, and I did. The chap walked round for about twenty minutes, and there was nothing doing. Then we went to another place, and the rod started to twitch. The chap went on walking and holding it out in front of him, and presently it began to dip and twist until it was all he could do to hold it. He told them where to dig, and they found a first-class spring about a hundred feet down.’

  Miss Silver’s ‘Yes’ had a questioning note in it. She added,

  ‘Pray proceed.’

  ‘Water isn’t the only thing a good diviner can find.’

  ‘I believe not.’ />
  ‘There is an idea that metals can also be located. Blount’s grandfather was called in by the local police after the Mickleham robbery in 1922. A good deal of valuable plate was taken, and there was an idea that the thieves had buried it. The old boy found it and got a handsome reward. But whether he did it with his divining rod, or because he knew something that the police didn’t, don’t ask me to say. Villagers often know a lot more than they ever spill.’

  Miss Silver folded her hands upon Tina’s pink vest.

  ‘I do not suppose Mr Blount to have been looking for water in Mrs Graham’s back garden, but he might have wished to confirm a theory that Mr Warren’s gold plate had been concealed under, or in the neighbourhood of, the gazebo. I do not know whether you noticed the reference in Mr Jenkinson’s account to a young woman who was present during Mr Warren’s last moments, and who must therefore have heard his references to having saved the gold. I would like you to return to the passage.’

  Frank ran his eye down the page until he reached ‘a young woman afterwards married in Yorkshire ’. Continuing from there, he read aloud. ‘ “This person, Mrs M – n, after an absence of many years has now returned and is a parishioner of my own. On referring to her for corroboration of Mr D – L -’s story, he being now deceased, she confirmed it in every particular, even to repeating some of the words let fall by Mr Warren when he lay a-dying. These I do not feel should be set down in print, lest they should give rise to false hopes or to the cupidity of unprincipled persons.” ’

  Having reached the end of the passage, he looked up and said,

  ‘Mrs M – n?’

  ‘If you will turn the book to the light you will see that the intervening letters have been pencilled in.’

  He did so, and exclaimed,

  ‘What do you make of it? Looks like Martin to me.’

  Miss Silver said,

  ‘During my conversation with Mr Martin this morning he mentioned that his father’s grandmother had been employed in some capacity at Grove Hill House at the time of its being burned down by the rioters. He said his father could remember her telling him about the mob breaking in and Mr Warren losing his life. Do you not think she may have told him rather more than that, and that the story may have caught his stepson’s fancy? Something of the kind, I think, must have occurred in order to bring Mr Worple and Mr Blount upon the scene. Mr Worple has this story of buried treasure. Mr Blount is believed to be able to locate the presence of metal underground. It would be a reason for their association, would it not? But Mr Blount endeavours to steal a march upon his partner. He gets here first and makes an offer for the house. But Mr Worple follows him. There was probably an angry scene, and for a time they bid against each other, but in the end they decide to join forces again. Mr Worple withdraws from the bidding, and at this juncture Mrs Graham is murdered.’

 

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