The Chinese Shawl

by Patricia Wentworth

  “You’re sure it was downstairs?”

  Miss Silver became a little distant.

  “I am not sure about anything, Mr. Desborough. I think we had better investigate.”

  They came down the stairs and into the hall. In Miss Silver’s mind the purpose of turning to the right and proceeding in the direction of the dining-room, morning-room, and study had been clearly formed, but as her foot took the last step down, this purpose dissolved. Her ear had caught the sound of a voice which she knew very well. The sound came from the left-hand side of the hall, from Tanis Lyle’s sitting-room, the door of which showed a crack of light.

  She immediately touched Carey on the arm and put a finger to her lips. They stood for a moment, listening intently. Then, quite noiselessly, Miss Silver led the way to the door and, coming to it, pushed gently against it with her hand until the crack of light had become a six-inch band. In the brief preceding moment she heard Lucy Adams say,

  “Of course she did not mean to kill Tanis. It was a most unfortunate accident. She meant to kill you.”

  CHAPTER 43

  CAREY DESBOROUGH HEARD the words with stupefaction. They seemed to be part of a conversation carried on without any particular emphasis. Miss Adams had uttered them in very much the same manner in which she might have commented on a mistake about the ration-books or the changing of a novel at the library. There had been a mistake. A person unnamed hadn’t really meant to kill Tanis Lyle. She had meant to kill someone else. He looked round the edge of the door and saw that this someone else was Laura, sitting stiffly upright on the wide green couch, her face as white as death, her black hair falling on her neck, her eyes wide and staring.

  Miss Silver’s small, firm hand closed on his arm. He looked round and saw her, finger at lip, sternly forbidding sound or movement. He turned back again. They stayed like that, listening intently.

  Lucy Adams went on talking.

  “That was quite natural of course. She hated you before you were born, and she has gone on hating you ever since. You ought never to have been born at all. I suppose you realize that your mother stole Oliver away from us. She had no right to him—he was ours. He would have been here now—living here, going in and out every day—if it hadn’t been for Lilian. And she couldn’t even keep what she had stolen. She let him die. He wouldn’t have died if he had stayed here—we should have seen to that. So really, you see, she killed him, stealing him away like that. And so it was quite a just thing that you should die—quite, quite just. Agnes used to think about these things, and when she knew you were going to come and stay here she thought about them a lot more. But she didn’t quite know what to do about it, because it isn’t really at all easy to kill someone without being found out. You have to be very clever and think it all out, and then you have to be very quick to take an opportunity if it comes your way. Agnes was very clever and very quick. When Mr. Hazelton came here and made that fuss and shot off his pistol, she saw at once that that was her opportunity, because if anyone was shot after that, people would think he had done it—especially if you were shot with his pistol. Tanis told us all where she had put it, you remember, after she took it away from him. But she wasn’t speaking the truth when she said he still had the other pistol—the other one of the pair—because she had it herself, upstairs in one of her drawers. I expect she wanted everyone to think that she was still in danger, and how brave she was. Tanis was like that.”

  Laura had stopped thinking about the door. Her eyes were on Lucy Adams’s face. It looked just as usual. She might have been talking about the weather or the black-out. The foolish rambling voice went on, a little sharpened by her dislike of Laura. But then Laura had always known that Cousin Lucy disliked her. Always? How silly! But it seemed like that. It seemed like years, and years, and years since she had come into this house.

  On one side of a curtain in her mind Laura had these thoughts. On the other side of it she listened to Lucy Adams, who had never stopped talking.

  “Now I will tell you about Thursday night. You would like to know what happened, wouldn’t you, and it will all be in the family—you won’t tell anyone.” She repeated the last words with a curious tittering laugh. “You won’t tell anyone—oh, no, you won’t tell anyone. Well, I must tell you what happened. Agnes went up to her room, but she could not sleep because the wind was so high. I never can sleep myself when the wind is high—I told the police superintendent so. It gets on one’s nerves, and then one cannot rest. It got on Agnes’s nerves, and presently she opened her door to come out and walk about the house. She often does that at night when she cannot sleep, but nobody is supposed to know.”

  Carey turned an astounded look upon Miss Silver. She nodded briefly, and he turned back again. Lucy Adams was saying,

  “When she came out she saw someone just going round the corner at the other end of the passage. She couldn’t really see who it was, and she thought she would like to find out, because people ought not to be walking about the house at that time of night—I am sure you will agree about that. Of course we all know now that it was Tanis who was going downstairs, but when Agnes got to the top of the stairs and looked down into the hall she thought it was you.”

  Laura opened her lips to speak, but no sound came. They were too dry and stiff.

  Miss Adams nodded.

  “That is what she thought, and it was a perfectly natural mistake for her to make. The light in the hall is not at all adequate. I have often told Agnes so—now perhaps she will believe me. And you had been wearing a black dress. Very misleading of you—I suppose you did it on purpose. Agnes could not be expected to know that Tanis had changed out of her white dress and put on a black coat and black pyjamas. She saw someone in black, and she thought that it was you. You are about the same height as Tanis, and your hair is the same colour. Black hair runs in the family. Agnes has it, and so had Oliver, but I take after my father. He had auburn hair, but ginger whiskers. Ladies, fortunately, do not have whiskers. Agnes was really not at all to blame—anyone might have made the same mistake—because in addition to the black coat and the similarity in the colour of the hair, Tanis had picked up the shawl which you had carelessly left hanging on the banisters and put it on. I suppose she felt cold. It was that Chinese shawl with the flowers and butterflies—a ridiculous thing for a young girl to wear, but you evidently thought that it became you.”

  Laura made a faint movement with her hand. It was as if she was trying to push something away. Carey moved too, but Miss Silver’s grasp tightened sharply upon his arm and he stood still again. Lucy Adams said,

  “You can see how perfectly natural it was that Agnes should mistake Tanis for you. I do not see how she could be blamed in the least. She saw someone dressed in black and wearing that very noticeable shawl, and of course she thought that it was you. When she saw you go into Tanis’s sitting-room she naturally wanted to know what you were doing there, and about half way down the stairs she remembered about the pistol and thought how easy it would be to shoot you, and how certain everyone would be that Jeffrey Hazelton had come back and done it. So she came to the sitting-room door and opened it. She remembered about all the things in the detective stories—you know she is very fond of reading them—so she took care to take hold of the handle through a fold of her dressing-gown. That is why there were only Dean’s fingerprints on it. When she came into the sitting-room it was empty, but the door was open into the octagon room and she could hear you opening the outside door. Of course it was really Tanis, but she thought it was you. She was remembering the pistol all the time, and she was remembering Oliver and Lilian, and that you had no right ever to have been born, and so of course you hadn’t any right to be alive. And if that wasn’t enough, there you were, setting yourself up, making difficulties about selling the Priory, and if Agnes had died, we should all have been turned out, and we shouldn’t have had anywhere to go, because I haven’t any money of my own. Agnes thought about all these things, and she took hold of the drawer wher
e the pistol was and pulled it open with the fold of her dressing-gown round her hand, just as she had done with the door. But she couldn’t do that with the pistol because of putting up the safety-catch and pulling the trigger. So she took it in her bare hand and went as far as the door into the octagon room. The wind was blowing in, and the outside door was open. She saw you standing in the open doorway. She was quite sure that it was you, because the light from the sitting-room struck on the coloured embroidery of the shawl. You were holding it round you because of the cold. She pulled the trigger, and you fell down the steps onto the grass. Only it wasn’t you, it was Tanis, because she cried out, and the moment Agnes heard her voice she knew that she had made a mistake. Most regrettable of course, but I do not really see how anyone could blame her—I am sure you agree about that. She fully intended to kill you, and it was not her fault if she failed.”

  Miss Adams paused for a moment, as if she expected Laura to make some comment. When none was forthcoming, she continued her narrative.

  “Agnes was naturally very much disappointed and upset. She took Tanis’s torch, which was lying on the sofa, and went down the steps just to make sure, and unfortunately there was no doubt about it. Really a terrible accident. She had shot Tanis, and Tanis was dead. Mercifully, nobody had heard the shot, and she kept her head. It occurred to her at once that the shawl must be removed and destroyed. No one would suspect her of shooting Tanis, but she might be suspected of shooting you, and if the shawl were left on the body, someone might guess that she had shot Tanis by mistake. So she took it off and burned it in the drawing-room fire, which was still quite nice and hot. It was very clever and resourceful of her, wasn’t it? And she remembered to come back here and wipe the pistol and put it back in the drawer, and to wipe the inside handle of the door, because she had inadvertently touched it when she went out with the shawl. And she wiped the torch too, and slipped it into the back of the drawer, because she thought it just as well that it shouldn’t be noticed. And then she went back to bed, but she didn’t really sleep very well.”

  Words had been forming themselves in Laura’s mind— “How—do—you—know?” They said themselves over and over, coming out of the dark places of thought and swelling up into sound—louder—louder—louder.

  “How—do—you—know?”

  She did not know that the words had forced themselves between her rigid lips, and that they had reached Lucy Adams, until she saw a look of triumph on the pale, plump face.

  “I am just going to tell you about that, but you must not be impatient. Agnes has no secrets from me—you ought to know that. She didn’t give up her idea of killing you—oh, dear me, no! She had it all very cleverly planned. You remember about the other pistol—the one which Tanis told us was still in Jeffrey Hazelton’s possession. Well, Agnes knew where it was. She knew that Tanis had it, so she removed it. Shall I tell you where it was when the house was being searched for your shawl? It was hung in a shoe-bag round Agnes’s waist under her petticoat. Wasn’t that clever? And tonight she meant to kill you. She was going to shoot you from quite, quite close, and leave the pistol in your hand, and then everyone would think that you had killed Tanis and Florrie, and committed suicide. Of course you don’t know about Florrie, but she was blackmailing Agnes, so she had to be got out of the way. Agnes thought it all out. She would dispose of Florrie, and then get you to come down here by a clever trick—a clever, clever trick. It is a very good room for a crime because there are so many doors—two here, and four in the octagon room if you count the lift—so that even if the shot were heard, one could always get away. Very well thought out—isn’t it? And we need not talk about Agnes any more, because that was only part of the trick. Did you think I had really sent for the doctor? Why, that was the trick, Laura—that was the clever trick! That was the trick to get you downstairs. And it wasn’t Agnes who thought of it, any more than it was Agnes who did all the things I have been telling you. It was I who did them all—I—I—I! And now I am going to shoot you, Laura.”

  When Lucy Adams said the word “trick” for the first time, two things happened simultaneously. Miss Silver’s hand dropped from the arm she was holding, and Carey Desborough pushed open the door and stepped inside the room. He did not know whether Laura saw him or not. Her eyes were fixed and staring.

  Miss Adams certainly neither saw nor heard. Her mind had no room for anything beyond its crazy purpose. As she said “And now I am going to shoot you,” she reached for the pocket of her red flannel dressing-gown and Carey Desborough’s two hands came down over her shoulders and took her by the wrists.

  Laura saw that, and then she saw nothing at all. The room was full of a confusion of noise and mist which swirled about her and would not let her see, or hear, or know. When it cleared, Carey was standing in front of Cousin Lucy’s chair, and she was standing too. He was holding her by the wrists. Miss Silver was at the telephone table. She was saying, “Yes, please ask the Superintendent to come up at once. It is very urgent indeed. Will you tell him so from me. Miss Silver.... Yes, that is the name—Miss Maud Silver.” There was a click as she replaced the receiver.

  Laura gazed at the scene. There was a pistol lying on the floor, almost at her feet. It was quite unbelievable. A pistol—and Cousin Lucy had been going to shoot her. How can you believe a thing like that?

  As Miss Silver came over and picked the pistol up, Lucy Adams said in an offended voice,

  “Let go of my hands at once, Carey! You are really behaving very strangely indeed. Anyone would think that you had gone quite out of your mind.”

  CHAPTER 44

  “WHEN DID YOU begin to suspect her?” said Randal March.

  Miss Silver’s hands were busy with her knitting. A small pale blue jacket was taking shape between the clicking needles. A fire burned brightly on the study hearth. A grey January sky obscured the low winter sun.

  Miss Silver said,

  “I cannot say, Randal. I could not accept either of the Madisons or any of the other suspects as providing a solution. There was an element of coolness and calculation which seemed incompatible with the theory that this was a crime of passion or jealousy. I did not think that Mr. Madison, or Mr. Maxwell, or Mr. Desborough would have shot a woman in the back. It seemed to me quite incredible that they should have done so. You will remember my insistence upon the significance of the Chinese shawl. The threads from its fringe which were found entangled in Tanis’s ring had to be explained. There were two possible explanations. Either Laura was wearing the shawl and there had been such a violent scene between them that the threads had been dragged out, or Tanis herself had been wearing the shawl when she was shot. I considered the first explanation extremely unlikely. You yourself suggested the second, my dear Randal, when you observed that Tanis might have felt chilly and have picked up the shawl on her way to the sitting-room. This theory was rendered likely by the destruction of the shawl. If Laura had been wearing it, it might have become stained, supposing she had descended the steps and bent over the body, but it would not in this case have been necessary to burn it. Every woman is aware that bloodstains come out very easily if the fabric is at once squeezed out in cold water. There was a bathroom next to Laura’s room. She could have removed the stains and dried the shawl at the electric fire in her bedroom. The person who was cool enough to wipe off all betraying fingerprints would have been aware that the disappearance of the shawl could not possibly pass unnoticed. Its destruction must therefore have been an absolute necessity. A reason for this necessity presented itself immediately. A bloodstain can be removed, but a bullet-hole can neither be removed nor explained away. I became convinced that Tanis had been shot whilst wearing the shawl, and that the murderer had had the strongest possible reasons for removing and destroying it. At first I could not see why it should have been removed at all. If Tanis was wearing the shawl, and if she had been found in the morning still clutching it about her, there would have been no question of Laura being suspected, and therefore no reas
on why she or Mr. Desborough should have removed it. Still less was there a reason why anyone else should have done so. Yet someone had done so, and I became convinced that the reason for the destruction of the shawl would give us the motive for the murder.

  “I became more and more convinced that Tanis had been wearing the shawl. Consider how natural it was that she should pick it up as she went through the hall. It hung on the newel-post, a beautiful and conspicuous object. It was a cold night, and she was about to open an outside door and stand there waiting for Mr. Madison. Those closely woven oriental silks are warm. I was sure that she had picked it up and put it on. The murderer could have had only one reason for removing it—that it would endanger him unless he did remove it. It was not until late on Saturday night that I could see what this danger might be. If the murderer had seen Tanis cross the hall wearing the Chinese shawl he might have taken her for Laura Fane, and if it was Laura who was aimed at, the motive for the murder—and the possible suspects—had to be reconsidered. Tanis Lyle had many enemies. There were so many motives, so many suspects, that in her case it was difficult to select the most likely of them. But in Laura’s case there was only one possible motive, an old grudge brooded over for more than twenty years, and only three possible suspects—Agnes Fane, her maid Perry, and Lucy Adams. I considered each of them in turn, and became convinced that it was Lucy who had shot Tanis.”

  Randal March said, “Why?”

  Miss Silver coughed.

  “I am sure you know the answer to that, my dear Randal. Agnes has remarkable eyesight, and so has Perry. But Lucy is shortsighted. She has worn glasses from a child. I think only a shortsighted person could have made the mistake that she did actually make.”

  March said, “I don’t know. The height, the colour of the hair were the same. And with that noticeable Chinese shawl—”