The Listening Eye

by Patricia Wentworth

She had just made up her mind that to hurry to the house was the only possible course for her to follow, when the hand which she was holding stirred faintly and a pair of blue eyes blinked up at her from the pale face. It was obvious that at first they did not see her. They had the look with which a very young infant gazes at what it cannot understand. They shut, and opened again, and this time they saw. The hand which lay in hers closed and clung. Miss Silver said in her kindest voice,

  “You will be all right now.”

  The eyes shut again. A few moments passed before they opened. Minnie Jones said,

  “I fell-”

  “Did you hurt yourself?”

  The reply came in a faint wondering tone.

  “I-don’t-think so-” Then after a pause, “It was-a long way. I was-so tired-”

  It was some time before Miss Silver felt it prudent to ask a question.

  “Were you on your way to the house?”

  The head was feebly shaken.

  “No-I was coming away-” The eyes filled with tears. “I can’t go back there-I can’t-”

  Miss Silver said very gently indeed, “Why can you not go back?”

  When Minnie Jones began to think about it afterwards she was both surprised and shocked. That she should tell a stranger about coming to see Moira Herne and being treated in the way in which she had been treated was a thing that she would never be able to understand. But at the time it seemed the most natural thing in the world. She had come from unkindness, and she had met with kindness. She had been cold, and lost, and dreadfully alone. Her very heart had been cold. The kindness warmed her, and she wasn’t alone any more. She said,

  “I came to see Arthur’s girl. I’m his aunt-Minnie Jones. He told me about her. He said they were going to be married, only her father hadn’t given his consent. She has been married before. But it was the money, you see-there was such a lot of money. Young people oughtn’t to think so much about money, but they do. Arthur said they would have to have her father’s consent. And he left her letters with me, to keep them safe because he hadn’t anywhere to lock them up, and it wouldn’t do for anyone to see them.” She struggled to raise herself a little and to feel for her handkerchief. When Miss Silver had found it for her she went on. “Arthur talked about her a lot. He was very proud of her being fond of him, and he said her father would come round. I thought she would be at the funeral, but she wasn’t. Mr. Bellingdon came, but not Moira. And I thought it would be because she was too upset, so I came down this afternoon to see her and to bring her the letters. I go out sewing in the mornings, so I couldn’t get away by an earlier train. My friend didn’t want me to come, but I thought ‘She’s Arthur’s girl, and we can be sorry together and comfort each other’.” The tears ran down her face, and she said, “I didn’t know what she was like.”

  “You saw her?”

  “Yes, I saw her. I oughtn’t to have come. She thought I wanted money for the letters, and she talked about the police. She didn’t love Arthur. She only thought about getting her letters back, and the photographs.

  “There were photographs?”

  Minnie closed her eyes as if it would help her to shut out what she had seen. She said, “Yes,” in a whispering voice. And then, “They were in a separate envelope-stuck down. Arthur had written ‘Private’ on it, and ‘Keep Safely’. I wasn’t going to look at anything, but I thought I ought to open the envelope-I wish I hadn’t. One of the photographs fell out on to the floor between us-we couldn’t help seeing it. All I wanted to do after that was to get away. She was wicked, and she had made Arthur wicked too.”

  Miss Silver sat there. She would have to return to the house, but it did not seem possible to take this poor thing back there. It was after six o’clock. She would have to get Annabel Scott to help her. If Minnie Jones was well enough to travel, Annabel could drive her to Ledlington and see her on to a train, but she could not believe that it would be right for her to travel alone. She said, “Are you far from your home?” and was relieved to learn that Miss Jones resided in one of the nearer London suburbs. She said tentatively,

  “You spoke of a friend-”

  Minnie was sitting up now. She responded with more strength in her voice.

  “Oh, yes-Mrs. Williams-she lives with me. And she will be ever so worried if I miss my train. Oh dear, I shall never catch it! It was the six-twenty.”

  Miss Silver looked at her watch.

  “I am afraid it has gone, but there will be another in a little under an hour. That will give you time to have some refreshment, and if there is any way of letting your friend know, perhaps she could meet you at the other end.”

  A little colour came back into Minnie’s face.

  “Oh, that would be nice!”

  “Are you on the telephone?”

  Minnie shook her head.

  “Oh, no. But Mr. Pegler would take a message. He’s Florrie’s brother-in-law and ever so kind.”

  Miss Silver never forgot a name. This was an uncommon one, and she had heard it before. She repeated it with a question in her voice.

  “Mr. Pegler?”

  Minnie nodded.

  “He lives just round the corner. The people in the house are relations. It’s a grocery business, so they have the telephone, and if they’re out he answers it. And Saturday evenings they go to the pictures, and Mr. Pegler comes round to Florrie and me, only tonight he said he thought he’d stay at home because of me coming back tired and wanting to rest. He’s ever so considerate.”

  A grocery business-the Masters gallery-there might be a link between them, or there might not. Pegler was certainly an uncommon name. Miss Silver remarked upon this fact.

  “That is a name one does not often hear. I believe I have only once come across it before. A friend mentioned it to me then in connection with a picture gallery.”

  Minnie brightened.

  “The Masters gallery. That would be our Mr. Pegler-he’s worked for them for years.”

  Miss Silver proceeded with caution.

  “My friend was a deaf lady-a Miss Paine. She had learned to do lip-reading, and she told me Mr. Pegler was very much interested, as he had a little grand-daughter who was deaf.”

  Minnie had begun to look a great deal more like herself. She said in quite an animated voice,

  “Oh, yes-little Doris. She’s a sweet little thing. Miss Paine told him all about how to get her taught, and he was ever so grateful. You know, she was run over the other day, poor thing. Mr. Pegler was quite upset about it, and about having the police in at the gallery asking him about the lip-reading. Seems a funny sort of thing for them to want to know about, and of course he couldn’t tell them anything. He couldn’t make it out at all, he said. Miss Paine came in to see the pictures on account of her portrait being there, and when she’d gone away there was a gentleman came from the other end of the gallery, and he got asking Mr. Pegler all sorts of questions about Miss Paine and her portrait. And when Mr. Pegler told him about how deaf she was but that no one would know it on account of her doing this lip-reading, well, he said you would hardly credit how interested the gentleman was. And what was so funny was that the police were just as interested as the gentleman. It was after poor Miss Paine had had the accident, and they wanted to know about the lip-reading, and about the gentleman that was interested in it. But of course Mr. Pegler couldn’t tell them anything more about that-” She paused, and added, “Not then.”

  All the time that she had been speaking the scene in the morning-room at Merefields had been getting fainter in her mind, the way a dream gets fainter when you wake up and get out of bed and wash, and dress, and do your hair. Miss Silver, observing this, was beginning to feel a good deal happier about her travelling alone. She felt able to give more of her attention to the fact that Mr. Pegler’s name had cropped up in rather a surprising manner, and less to the question of whether Miss Jones was likely to be overtaken by a second attack of faintness. She was still a little divided in her mind when Minnie concluded with
the words “Not then.” If they meant anything at all, they meant that although Mr. Pegler had found himself unable to give the police any information about the gentleman in the gallery, he had subsequently become possessed of some such information. It seemed imperative to discover what this might be. Whatever thoughts she may have had about Miss Jones’s train and the advisability of allowing her to continue to sit upon the ground, which at this time of year could hardly fail to be damp, were dismissed. She repeated Minnie’s last words with a strong note of enquiry.

  “Not then, Miss Jones? Do you mean-”

  Minnie Jones nodded.

  “I don’t suppose I should have known anything about it, only I was with him. I had been round to the shop for some potatoes- we had run right out-and Mr. Pegler walked back with me. He’s always so kind like that. Well, just as we came to the corner on the High Street, there was a man standing-right under the street-lamp. Two men there were really, waiting to go across the road and talking to each other. We didn’t have to cross, and after we’d gone by Mr. Pegler said, ‘See that gentleman, Min? That’s the one I told you about that was looking at that Miss Paine’s portrait and was so interested when I told him about her lip-reading. The police wanted to know about him, though I’m sure I don’t know why-you remember?’ So I said I did, and he said, ‘Funny seeing him again.’ And it was, wasn’t it?”

  “Miss Jones, what did he look like?” Minnie stopped to think. Then she said in a hesitating voice,

  “Well, I don’t know. He was pretty much like anyone else, if you know what I mean. He’d a drab coat on and one of those soft hats, and-well, he was pretty much like anyone else.”

  “But Mr. Pegler recognized him?”

  “Oh, yes he did. He’s got a wonderful eye for a face-never forgets one, he says. Now, if it had been the other gentleman, I don’t say I wouldn’t have remembered him myself, but Mr. Pegler’s one-” she shook her head-“I don’t suppose I’d know him if I saw him again this minute.”

  Miss Silver was not interested in the other gentleman. She said,

  “Was Mr. Pegler going to tell the police that he had seen this gentleman again?”

  “Oh, no, he wouldn’t do that. It was just the lip-reading they were interested in, not anything else.”

  Miss Silver let that pass. It would be for the police to pick up this thread, and they could be safely left to do so. Changing the subject, she imparted her immediate plans to Miss Jones.

  “If you would rather not come back to the house-”

  Minnie became alarmingly pale.

  “Oh, no-I couldn’t do that-”

  “Then will you just sit here quietly whilst I go and fetch someone who will drive you to the station. I will accompany you and see you off, and I will ring up Mr. Pegler and ask him to meet you. Do you feel quite able for that?”

  Minnie Jones said, “Oh, yes,” and then, “How kind you are.”

  Chapter 19

  WHEN Miss Silver had left her to go up to the house Minnie Jones did what she could to tidy herself. She regretted the piece of looking-glass which had once had a place in her bag, but which had met the fate which waits on pocket-mirrors quite a number of years ago. A vague impression that it was unlucky to break a looking-glass had always prevented her from replacing anything so likely to get broken again, but she had a comb in her bag, and she could make sure that her hair was neat without looking at it. She dusted her hat with her handkerchief and put it on again. The ground was not damp enough to have stained her coat, for which she was grateful. There were some specks of what looked like bark and a withered leaf or two adhering to the black stuff. When she had brushed them off she considered that she had done as much as she could.

  She felt weak, but not ill. Miss Silver had been so very kind, and she was going to be driven to the station. She would not have to go back to the house, and she would not have to see Moira Herne again. She wouldn’t have to see her, and she must try-oh, yes, she must try very hard not to think about her.

  The trouble about that kind of resolution is that it is apt to defeat its own ends. If you have to make a strong effort not to think about someone, it means that they are there, stuck fast in your mind like a thorn that has run in so far that you can’t see it. You only know that it is there because it hurts.

  Minnie had got to her feet. She moved now, taking the small path which led back to the drive.

  She did not have to wait very long. Miss Silver had been fortunate in finding Annabel Scott alone. A very few words were enough to explain the predicament and enlist her help. Annabel ran up to her room for a coat, and coming back with the least possible delay, suggested that they should walk round to the garage together and avoid comment by starting from there. As the car turned into the drive she laughed and said,

  “We shan’t have very much time to make ourselves beautiful for dinner! Lucius always pretends that he despises make-up, so he ought to be pleased. Actually, he likes it all right if it’s done well. The art of concealing that there’s any art to conceal!”

  They picked up Minnie Jones and ran out along Cranberry Lane on to the high road. Minnie, on the back seat with Miss Silver, found herself definitely assuaged. Mrs. Scott was being ever so kind. She had pressed her hand and said, “We were all so sorry about Arthur,” and it was said the way you say things when you really mean them. Miss Silver slipped a hand inside her arm and said she thought there would be time for her to have a cup of tea and something to eat at the station. A cup of tea would be lovely. Everyone was being so kind.

  It was when they were coming down the incline to the station yard that something happened. Miss Silver said, “Here we are,” and Minnie leaned forward to look out of the window. The down train had just come in, and passengers who had arrived by it were emerging. Minnie would not have expected to know any of them, but a good deal to her surprise she was aware of a face that she had seen before. She said, “Oh!” and when Miss Silver asked her whether there was anything the matter something seemed to push the words right out of her mouth. She didn’t know why, but that was the way it seemed. She said,

  “That gentleman coming out now-that’s the one that was with the gentleman Mr. Pegler recognized.”

  Annabel was backing into a parking-place. Minnie Jones continued to point. The man who had come out of the station continued to walk up the incline. Miss Silver said firmly,

  “Do you mean that this is the gentleman who talked with Mr. Pegler in the gallery?”

  Minnie didn’t mean anything of the sort. She hastened to make it perfectly clear that she didn’t.

  “Oh, no, this was the other one we saw last night in the Emden Road. I said I’d know him again-you remember I did.”

  Annabel, taking her hands from the wheel, looked where they were looking.

  “Someone you know?” she said, “What-not that man!”

  Minnie nodded.

  “Oh, yes, that’s him. I said I’d know him.”

  Annabel began to say something and stopped. Miss Silver touched her on the shoulder.

  “Mrs. Scott, do you know who it is?”

  The answer had a laughing inflection.

  “Rather better than I want to.”

  Miss Silver spoke low and insistently.

  “Who is it?”

  And Annabel Scott said,

  “It’s Arnold Bray.”

  Chapter 20

  SALLY FOSTER was engaged in wondering why she had been such a blithering fool as to come down to Merefields. If she hadn’t been very nicely brought up she would have used a worse word. Early association with a great-aunt whom she had really loved with all her heart was still a handicap when it came to availing herself of a free modern idiom. Well, here she was at Merefields-here they all were, Wilfrid, David, Moira, and herself, with Clay Masterson breezing in when he felt like it. Like Wilfrid and David, he had no time for anyone but Moira. Nobody had time for Sally Foster, nobody wanted her. Nobody would have turned their head or taken the slightest notice if she
had dropped down dead at their feet or just melted into the surrounding air.

  The question as to why she had been asked had resolved itself when Lucius Bellingdon displayed a passionate interest in her last interview with Paulina Paine. He wanted to know all about it, and she really hadn’t got anything to tell him. Paulina had come in on the Monday evening just as she and David were going out, and she had stopped them and talked to David about his cousins the Charles Morays. She asked David for their telephone number, and they had gone up to Sally’s room, all three of them, and David had put through the call. What Paulina wanted was Miss Maud Silver’s address, and David had taken it down for her. And that was simply and absolutely All.

  After Lucius had done a bit of cross-examination and had become convinced that it really was all, he had only too obviously lost interest and gone back to concentrating upon Annabel Scott, with occasional time off for interviews with Miss Silver and, or, the police.

  Naturally, by this time there wasn’t much about Miss Silver’s position that Sally didn’t know. What she had not been able to guess for herself she had wormed out of David Moray. And it had got her exactly nowhere at all. The week-end was still a total loss. Sally gritted her teeth and meditated getting someone to send her a telegram, or to ring her up and say she was urgently wanted in town. She had got as far as sitting down to write to Jessica Meredith, when she remembered that Jessica was being bridesmaid at a cousin’s wedding in Wales. On this she decided that she had better dress for dinner. A glance in the mirror brought it home to her that she must do what she could about her face. Sometimes the harder you tried the less effect it seemed to have. Of course nobody could pretend that yellow walnut made a becoming frame for a looking-glass. All the furniture in this room was constructed of yellow walnut, and the walls were covered with a yellow paper which had bunches of daffodils on it. It was a north room, and in theory all this yellow was supposed to make it look as if it faced south. In practice, Sally decided that all it did was to make her look yellow too. The really awful thing was that she had brought a new dress down with her and the very minute she put it on she knew that it wasn’t going to do. Not here, not now. Because it was almost exactly like the wallpaper, only the yellow bunches on an ivory ground were primroses instead of daffodils. She had loved it in the shop, and she had loved it when she put it on at home. It had thrown up the chestnut in her hair and made her eyes look warm, it had flattered her skin. It didn’t do any of these things now.