Mrs. O’Hara came in in her fur coat with a small fleecy shawl over her head and Cathy behind her, a little exhausted ghost, bare-headed, her fine colourless hair all blown about. In spite of Susan’s shoes, which were a size too large for her, Milly, O’Hara moved with grace. She brought a social manner with her. As she came up to the writing-table, it became impossible to forget that the house, this very room, had been the heritage of her family for many generations. By the far door hung the portrait, a doubtful Lely, of the Millicent Bourne who had been one of Catherine of Braganza’s maids of honour. From over the mantelpiece she herself looked down from Lazlo’s canvas, young and lovely, with Laura at her side. She looked up at the picture for a moment, because she could never come into this room without that silent greeting for Laura. Then, as her eyes dropped, she seemed to become aware of something strange. She had been speaking, but no one else had spoken, until now as she moved towards a chair the Inspector said in a harsher tone than was usual with him,
“Mrs. O’Hara, I must ask you to leave us.” He turned to Cathy. “Please take your mother away.”
A look of gentle surprise crossed Milly O’Hara’s face. Having reached the chair, she seated herself, removed the shawl from her head, opened her fur coat, unwound a long grey chiffon scarf from about her neck, and said,
“But, Inspector, I have something to say. I have come here on purpose to say it.”
“You had really better go, Aunt Milly,” said Bill.
He and Susan were standing together now, and Susan’s hands were locked about his arm. Really Susan looked very pale—very pale indeed. Mrs. O’Hara shook her head slightly at Bill and turned graciously to the Inspector.
“I must apologize for interrupting you, but I really have something to say. Perhaps before we go any further you will tell me whether it is true that you are thinking of arresting someone.”
“Perfectly true,” said Inspector Lamb rather grimly.
“Then if that is the case, I am afraid I have no choice, because of course I couldn’t let you arrest an innocent person, whether it was Miss de Lisle or anyone else, much as I dislike the idea of the publicity involved—and really the press seem to me to go into the most unnecessary details nowadays, though of course it is all quite interesting if you can look at it from the standpoint of an outsider, which in this case I most unfortunately cannot do.”
Cathy said “Mummy!” in an agonized voice. She went down on her knees by the chair.
Mrs. O’Hara put out a hand and patted her.
“Now, darling, you mustn’t upset yourself. You wouldn’t want any innocent person to get into trouble, would you? And I am sure the Inspector will do all he can to keep your name out of it.” She smiled faintly at Lamb, who had turned a really alarming colour. He put a finger inside his collar as if to loosen it, replied to the smile with a portentous frown, and said with as much restraint as he could manage,
“What are you talking about, madam?”
Mrs. O’Hara’s eyes opened widely. She said in a tone of surprise,
“But, Inspector—I was talking about Mr. Dale—I thought we all were.”
He said firmly, “If you know anything about the murder of Mr. Dale, madam, I must ask you to say so plainly, and if you do not, I must ask you to leave us.”
“But, Inspector——”
“Mrs. O’Hara, do you, or do you not know anything about this murder?”
This time he got his plain answer. With her hands lightly folded in her lap and in a gently practical tone she replied,
“Of course I do—I was there.”
There was a moment of profound silence. Probably no one breathed. Looking round with a kind of pleased surprise, Mrs. O’Hara encountered the apoplectic stare of Inspector Lamb, Frank Abbott’s fixed pale gaze, Bill’s frozen incredulity, Susan’s horror, and the clouded anguish in Cathy’s eyes. Incredibly, she appeared gratified by the effect she had produced. She nodded slightly and said in a conversational tone,
“Perhaps I had better explain.”
Frank Abbott alone found voice.
“It might be a good plan,” he said, and heard his Inspector snort.
Mrs. O’Hara smiled upon him. He really had quite a look of the Francis Abbott with whom she had danced through that brief season before the war. She must remember to ask him if he was a relation. The smile was a gracious one. She said,
“The only reason I didn’t speak of it before was because of Cathy. So disagreeable for a young girl to have her name in the papers—though I must say a good many of them don’t seem to mind that nowadays.”
The Inspector broke in rather loudly.
“You say you were present when Mr. Dale was shot?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And you wish to make a statement?”
“I am quite willing to do so. You see, I couldn’t let an innocent person——”
“Quite so. Abbott!”
Addressed in this peremptory voice, Frank Abbott produced notebook and fountain pen. Mrs. O’Hara watched him with interest.
“I suppose I had better begin from the beginning?”
“If you will.”
She settled herself comfortably and smiled at Susan, then began.
“Of course, Inspector, you will understand that I don’t want what I am saying to get into the papers. Family matters—well, perhaps you have a family yourself. But so much has been in the papers already that perhaps it doesn’t matter, and I must just rely on you to do what you can. You see, when my niece told me that she had broken off her engagement to Mr. Carrick and was going to marry Mr. Dale, I saw at once that it wouldn’t do at all. She didn’t even pretend to be happy, and I could see that it would never do. I made up my mind that I must have a talk with Mr. Dale and tell him so, and as there is no time like the present, I thought I would just walk up through the garden. It was a very mild evening——”
“What evening are you referring to?”
“Oh, Monday—the day Mr. Dale was shot. That is what I am telling you about. I just went in to see if Cathy was asleep, and I thought she was. And then I went into Susan’s room, which is just opposite, to get some shoes because all mine are so thin. And it seems Cathy wasn’t asleep, because she saw me.”
Susan leaned forward.
“You took the shoes, Aunt Milly—you?”
“Oh, yes, my dear.”
Susan began to tremble.
“Did you take one of my handkerchiefs too?”
“I believe I did—Cathy says so. But I couldn’t find it afterwards, so I am afraid I must have dropped it.”
Susan leaned back hard against Bill’s arm.
“Fibs picked it up. He’s been trying to blackmail me. He picked it up by Mr. Dale’s body.”
“What’s this?” said Lamb. “Who’s Fibs?”
Susan said, “Mr. Phipson.”
“A very rude nickname,” said Mrs. O’Hara reprovingly. “But blackmail—oh, he really shouldn’t have done that!”
In a firm official voice Inspector Lamb said,
“Will you kindly proceed with your statement, madam.”
Mrs. O’Hara appeared to be slightly taken aback. She said,
“Yes, yes—oh, certainly. But I am afraid that just for the moment I am not quite sure.… Susan dear, where had I got to?”
Lamb answered before Susan could.
“You had taken a pair of shoes and a handkerchief belonging to Miss Lenox, and you were intending to walk up the garden and have a conversation with Mr. Dale upon the subject of his marriage to your niece. I shall be glad if you will proceed.”
“Yes, yes—of course—how stupid of me!” said Mrs. O’Hara with her faint gracious smile. “Cathy darling, I think it would be much better if you would have a chair and lean back. You know kneeling is apt to make you faint. Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Abbott. And now—let me see.… Oh, yes, I put on Susan’s shoes—terribly loose of course, but I managed quite well—I have them on now as you may have noticed. And th
en I put on my fur coat, and this cloud over my hair—my mother used to tell me they called them fascinators when she was a girl—and I came out through the French window in the drawing-room, because of course I didn’t want Susan or Bill to hear me.”
“Did you know where they were?”
“Well, I knew they would be in the dining-room or the kitchen, and of course I didn’t want them to know that I was going to see Mr. Dale.”
“Go on, madam.”
“Well, I managed quite nicely. Really it felt quite like old times walking up through the garden, and when I came to the terrace and saw that there was a light in the study——”
“How did you see it?”
“Well, I came up the steps at this corner, and looking along the side of the house, I could see that one of the windows in the bay was open and the curtain drawn back, so I knew that Mr. Dale must be there. I thought, why go round to the front door when he can let me in quite nicely and privately and we can have our talk without anyone knowing. There is such a terrible amount of gossip in a village, and I thought how much better it would be if no one were to know that I had come to see Mr. Dale.”
Frank Abbott’s head was bent over his notes. The light struck down upon his pale, sleek hair. Every other pair of eyes in the room was bent on Mrs. O’Hara’s face, which retained its habitual expression though warmed by an unusual flush. She continued without hurry or confusion.
“I intended to knock upon the glass door, but when I got there I found that it was ajar. As you can see, it opens outwards. I pulled it towards me, and was just going to draw the curtain back, when I heard voices and realized that Mr. Dale was not alone.” Mrs. O’Hara paused and looked from one to another. “I stood just where I was for a moment. Of course I had no idea that I might be overhearing a private conversation. I just felt that it was a little awkward, and I wanted a moment to make up my mind what I had better do next. I do hope, Inspector, that you won’t think that I had any idea of eavesdropping—such an unpleasant thing——”
“What did you hear?” said the Inspector.
Mrs. O’Hara’s flush deepened. It was very becoming.
“This is what I should so much have preferred not to repeat,” she said. “And I do hope, Inspector, that it will not be necessary for the press——”
“What did you hear, madam?”
Mrs. O’Hara resigned herself with a sigh.
“I heard my daughter’s name. Nothing else would have made me go on listening, but when you hear something like that about your own daughter——”
The Inspector jerked a handkerchief from his sleeve and passed it over an empurpled brow.
“Will you kindly state what you heard!”
Mrs. O’Hara looked at him with a faint surprise.
“Oh, yes. But I want you to understand what a shock it was. I really could hardly believe my ears, but he spoke so very distinctly——”
“Who spoke?” said the Inspector.
There was a hush in the room. Frank Abbott raised his head.
“Mr. Phipson.”
The name fell into the hush and broke it. The Inspector made a quick movement.
“What did he say?”
Mrs. O’Hara gave a little cough.
“I really couldn’t believe my ears——”
“What did he say?”
“He said—and, as I was telling you, I found it difficult to believe my own ears, only he spoke so very distinctly, though not in a very loud voice——”
“Mrs. O’Hara—what did he say?”
“He said, ‘I saw you put the pearls into Cathy’s bag’.”
CHAPTER XLII
Everyone except Frank Abbott made some sound or movement. Lamb said, “What!” Cathy drew in her breath in a sob. Bill Carrick said something short and sharp. Susan made no audible sound. A shudder swept her from head to foot. Frank Abbott’s eyes were upon her. He looked, and looked away. Then he wrote down what Mrs. O’Hara had said.
To everyone’s surprise Cathy spoke. She turned her eyes upon Inspector Lamb and spoke to him with the simplicity and earnestness of a child.
“That was how he got Susan to say she would marry him. He had the pearls out to show to the Veres and the Micklehams, and I had to put them away in the safe. Afterwards he said that some of them were gone. He sent for Susan and made her look in my bag, and the pearls were there. He said if Susan would marry him, he wouldn’t prosecute. But I wouldn’t have let her do it—I really wouldn’t. I was ill—but I wouldn’t have let her marry him.”
Old Lamb looked at her kindly. When he was not angry his voice could be soft. He said,
“That’s all right, Miss O’Hara—I’m sure you wouldn’t. And now I’d like your mother to go on.”
Mrs. O’Hara murmured “Cathy darling!” and proceeded.
“You can imagine what I felt like. I really couldn’t go away after that. But of course I didn’t want to stand in a draught, so I stepped inside and pulled the door to behind me—there is just room behind the curtain. Do you want me to tell you just what they said?”
“Yes, please. Who else was there?”
“Oh, Mr. Dale. And he said, ‘What are you talking about?’ And Mr. Phipson said, ‘You know very well what I am talking about. You put those pearls in Cathy’s bag on Saturday morning. She left the bag on a chair, and you put them in while she was over there at her table with her back to you.’ Mr. Dale said, ‘And where were you?’ Mr. Phipson said the far door was ajar. Mr. Dale said, ‘Eavesdropping, Monty?’ and Mr. Phipson said there wasn’t anything to hear, but he’d seen what he had seen, and perhaps Miss Susan Lenox would be interested. That was when Mr. Dale really got angry. He used the most dreadful language, and I hope you won’t expect me to repeat it, for I don’t think I could—such very odd words—it really didn’t sound at all nice.”
“I’m sure it didn’t,” said the Inspector heartily. “Will you please go on?”
Mrs. O’Hara went on.
“I felt very awkward indeed. It was most unpleasant. Mr. Dale said, ‘You little rat! Do you think you can blackmail me? I could have smashed you any time this year.’ I looked between the curtains—there was just a little space, you know—and Mr. Dale was in his chair and Mr. Phipson standing at the end of the writing-table on Mr. Dale’s right between him and the fire. Mr. Dale looked frightfully angry, and Mr. Phipson was shaking. Mr. Dale took some papers out of a drawer and banged them down in front of him and said, ‘It’s all here. Did you think you could steal from me without my finding you out? Robson’s contract’—I think it was Robson he said—‘you made two hundred out of that. And a hundred from Mather. And how much did you sell me for to Levinsky over the last consignment for Spain? If you’ve forgotten, you’ll find it all here. You’ve been selling me and double-crossing me for years, and now I’m going to smash you!’ He got up whilst he was speaking and went over to the fire. I thought he was going to ring the bell, and Mr. Phipson thought so too. He called out to Mr. Dale to wait, and he put his hand down and took something out of one of the drawers. It was that drawer on your right, Inspector—the second one from the top. I didn’t see which one it was at the time, but I did afterwards, because the drawer was open. And I didn’t see what he took out, but of course it was the pistol. And of course Mr. Dale didn’t see anything, because he had his back to him.”
“Go on, Mrs. O’Hara.”
“Mr. Dale turned round and came back again. I don’t think now that he really meant to ring the bell—I think he just meant to frighten Mr. Phipson. Well, he came back and sat down in his chair again, just where you are sitting, Inspector. Mr. Phipson had come round to this side of the table, because when Mr. Dale turned he had backed away from him as if he was afraid. Mr. Dale was sitting at the table with the papers in front of him, and Mr. Phipson was between him and me with his right hand in his pocket—and of course if I had known that he had a pistol——”
“You didn’t see the pistol, Mrs. O’Hara?”
�
��Not then, Inspector, or of course I should have thought it my duty to warn Mr. Dale.”
“Go on.”
“Mr. Dale said, ‘Well? Anything to say for yourself, rat?’—and of course that was a very offensive way of speaking. And Mr. Phipson said, ‘It’s all a dreadful mistake, and if you’ll listen to me, I can explain.’ Mr. Dale said, ‘Explain nix!’—at least that’s what I thought he said. And then he said, ‘You can make your explanations to the police. I’m ringing them up here and now.’ The telephone was on his right. He couldn’t reach it because his chair was pushed back from the table. I don’t know whether he really meant to telephone or not, but he turned that way and he began to get up, and Mr. Phipson shot him. He took his hand out of his pocket and ran in quite close and shot him.”
“You’ll swear to that?”
“Oh, yes, Inspector—I saw it. And of course it was a most terrible shock. Mr. Dale fell down out of his chair—he was just getting up, and he fell right down with a crash. I didn’t seem to be able to do anything except stand quite still. It was really quite a horrible experience, and I must say that Mr. Phipson’s behaviour shocked me very much. Such a quiet little man, and so obliging, but he really behaved in the most callous manner. He didn’t even feel Mr. Dale’s pulse. In fact he seemed to think only of himself. It shocked me dreadfully.”
“What did he do?”
“He took out his pocket handkerchief, and wiped the pistol with it, and put it down on the table.”
“Will you show me where?”
Mrs. O’Hara indicated a spot, and he nodded.
“Go on.”
“Then he grabbed up the papers and ran out of the room by the farther door.”
“And you, Mrs. O’Hara?”
She looked at him with some reproach.
“Well, naturally, I went to see if poor Mr. Dale was really dead, and of course I saw at once that he was—I was with a hospital, you know, in France during the war. So when I saw that there was nothing I could do I came away, because I naturally didn’t wish to have Cathy and Susan mixed up in such an unpleasant affair.”
Lamb looked at her sternly.
Who Pays the Piper? Page 22