“The fact that Albert Miller should have such a perfect alibi and then disappear completely. It struck me as so extremely odd that I was unable to believe it had no bearing upon the murder. Yesterday evening I saw Albert Miller’s landlady and discovered the following facts. There was no light in the passage or on the stairs on Saturday night when her lodger came in, and both were still dark when he left in the morning. Mr. Wilton spoke to him at the bedroom door, but he was dazzled by the beam of a small torch which, as Mrs. Wilton put it, ‘that Albert kept flickering across his face.’ Mr. Wilton identified the man with the torch as Albert Miller because they were expecting Albert Miller and he was singing a song which they associated with Albert. I myself and everyone in the hotel had heard Albert singing snatches of this song, the well known Irish air ‘Eileen alannah.’ ”
March said,
“Albert Miller may not have been seen by the Wiltons, but he was seen at Ledlington station.”
Miss Silver coughed.
“In what circumstances? From what Inspector Crisp said, the man supposed to be Albert Miller arrived at Ledlington station soon after seven o’clock, when it would still be dark. He was wearing Albert Miller’s clothes, and had all the appearance of a person who has been drinking heavily and is not yet sober. He did not go on duty, but shouted out that he had had enough of his job and of Ledlington, and that he was not coming back. If this man was really Albert Miller, why did he go near the station at all? Why did he not simply leave the Wiltons’ house and disappear? But if he was Luke White, his appearance at the station was part of the plan to make it quite clear that Albert Miller had disappeared of his own free will.”
Frank Abbott said,
“If there was a plan to murder Albert Miller and cover it up in the way you suggest, Luke White would have to disappear- permanently. Well, there might be quite good reasons for that. Things were getting a bit hot for him at this end. He may have thought he’d be safer in France. I’ve always thought that if there was any funny business going on here, any backstairs traffic in dope and diamonds, that Luke would be in it up to his eyes.”
March turned in his chair.
“If the dead man was Luke, Albert Miller couldn’t have killed him. But the alibi works both ways. If it was Albert who was murdered, you can’t pin it on Luke. Whichever of them it was who was keeping Mrs. Wilton awake by tossing and turning overhead whilst she heard the church clock strike twelve, and one, and two, he wasn’t murdering the other somewhere between half past twelve and half past one at the Catherine-Wheel.” He turned back to Miss Silver. “This is a very interesting theory, you know, but where is the motive? If the murdered man was Luke White, there is a very strong jealousy motive both for John Higgins and for Florence Duke, and the bare possibility of a blow struck in self-defence by the girl Eily. But what motive would there be for the murder of Albert Miller?”
“A very strong one, Randal. I cannot offer any proof of it, but I suspect that he was engaged in a highly dangerous attempt at blackmail. He threw out hints to Mrs. Wilton that he might soon be rich. I think he knew too much, and was attempting to use his knowledge.”
“What could he have known?”
“My dear Randal, from first to last in the case there has cropped up the question of a secret passage or a secret room. That it was not the passage between the cellars and the shore is proved by the fact that Mr. Jacob Taverner not only knew all about this passage but was quite willing to display it to his guests and to the police, whereas he continually plied the Taverner cousins with carefully contrived questions as to what they might have heard from the grandparents with whom each had been rather closely associated. These questions strongly suggest a second passage, or perhaps merely a secret chamber, the existence of which was known to Mr. Jacob Taverner, but of whose whereabouts he was ignorant. I have thought all along that this second passage might prove to be of immense importance in the case. I think most of the Taverner cousins know something about it. Florence Duke may have passed her knowledge on to her husband, and so may Annie Castell. If these two men were making money out of their knowledge, and Albert Miller was using what he knew to blackmail them, you have a motive which would account for the events of the last few days.”
There was a hint of humour in March’s eyes, but he said quite gravely,
“Since you know everything, are you going to tell us who killed Al Miller?”
Miss Silver shook her head.
“I am afraid I do not know.”
Frank Abbott allowed himself a short laugh.
“Not Castell?”
“Possibly. But there was more than one person concerned. I am quite sure that the murder was not committed where the body was found. Albert Miller was more than half drunk when I saw him in the lounge. He became very noisy, and was hustled through into this room by Luke White and Castell. I do not think he ever left it alive. It would have been easy to complete the process of making him drunk, to give him a wound on the back of the hand corresponding to that which Luke White had received when he tried to kiss Eily and she picked up Jane Heron’s scissors to defend herself, and then, when the right time had arrived, to inflict the fatal stab and convey the body to the hall. As I have said before, I think that two people must have been involved in this. There is no one in the house of sufficiently powerful physique to make sure of moving a dead body from this room to the hall without noise.”
Randal March said,
“I agree to that. But all the rest is, if you will let me say so- well, pure hypothesis.”
Miss Silver smiled.
“I only ask that you should put it to the test. I suggest that Mrs. Wilton should be approached. She was a friend of Mrs. Miller’s, and must therefore have known Albert from a child. She might be aware of some distinguishing mark. Then, as to the scene of the murder, the carpet may provide you with evidence.”
She put little Josephine’s dress into her workbag and rose to her feet.
“I feel sure that I can leave the matter in your hands. But with regard to Florence Duke there is a point which deserves your attention. If she committed suicide shortly after I had seen her lock herself in her room, can you tell me why she did not just walk to the edge of the cliff behind the house and throw herself over? The tide was high and she would have fallen into the water. Do you think it possible that any woman would climb in the dark to the top of the cliff and throw herself down upon rocks?”
“She might not have known-”
“My dear Randal, we had all been out walking along those cliffs. There had been talk about the tides. It had been mentioned that those rocks were only covered by a spring tide. I think it an incredible place for a suicide. But if it was murder, there would be a strong reason for choosing it. It would be necessary that Florence Duke’s body should be found, because it was intended that she should appear to have killed herself out of remorse for the murder of her husband. There must be immediate proof that she was dead. She could not just disappear. There are very strong currents here, I believe, and a body might be carried out to sea and never washed up.”
Frank Abbott said in his most casual voice,
“Well, about the only thing you haven’t told us is how Florence was spirited out of her locked room. Crisp made a point there, you know. She walked along the passage on her stocking feet, as he said, probably carrying her shoes. Why?”
Miss Silver looked at him gravely and compassionately.
“I think, Frank, that the poor woman went to meet her husband, and that this time Luke White will have no alibi.”
CHAPTER 37
The Thorpe-Enningtons departed to town for the day, Freddy to his business meeting, Lady Marian to a fitting, a hairdresser, a lunch engagement. It was understood that they would return in the evening-“Though I am sure I don’t know what we can do, and as far as the inquests go, I’m thankful to say we didn’t see anything. But of course we shouldn’t like to feel we were running away, should we, Freddy my sweet?” Freddy having made so
me mournfully inarticulate response, they got into their expensive car and slid away in the direction of London with Marian Thorpe-Ennington at the wheel.
Geoffrey Taverner had gone off in his small cheap car an hour earlier. As he explained to Inspector Crisp, he could do a day’s business and be back by seven o’clock-“Quite a number of contacts to make in the Lenton direction, so I shan’t be far away.” Jacob Taverner gave the Thorpe-Enningtons half an hour’s start, after which he also took the London road. Miss Silver wondered if he was really fit to drive.
Randal March and Inspector Crisp departed somewhat later, leaving Inspector Abbott and a young man called Willis, who was a plain-clothes detective, shut up in Castell’s office.
Miss Silver, after a few words with Jane Heron, descended to the lounge, where she cast on the requisite number of stitches for a pair of bright blue knickers to match little Josephine’s woolly frock. She had chosen a chair quite close to where Mildred Taverner sat nervously turning the pages of an old Picture Post. After looking at her sideways once or twice Miss Taverner edged her chair a little nearer.
“Oh, Miss Silver, when do you think we shall get away?”
She got a kind reassuring smile.
“I am afraid it is impossible to say.”
Mildred’s hand went up to her blue Venetian beads.
“It’s all so dreadful, isn’t it? Having to pass that poor thing’s door every time I go up to my room. Do you believe in haunted houses and ghosts-” She broke off with a little gasp.
Miss Silver knitted placidly.
“What makes you ask that, Miss Taverner?”
Mildred Taverner shuddered.
“I was thinking how dreadful it would be if the door were to swing open when I was going past-her door, I mean-and something-were to come out.”
Miss Silver counted briskly.
“Sixteen-eighteen-twenty-twenty-four-yes, I think that will be about right. No, I think you should put aside these unhealthy fancies. There is nothing in the least supernatural about what has been happening in this house. Now I wonder whether you can tell me whether Mr. and Mrs. Castell are occupying the bedroom which used to belong to your greatgrandfather old Jeremiah Taverner and his wife. Family tradition is an interesting thing, and it occurred to me-”
“Oh, yes-” Mildred Taverner was quite brightly interested-“it’s the same room. The landlord has always slept there. The windows look out in front, and when the coaches came down from London the postillions used to blow their horns at the top of the hill so that he could hear them and be ready to come down. My grandfather said he could remember hearing the horns, though of course his window looked the other way. He and his brother Jeremiah, and Mark, and Luke, they all slept in the corner room. Eily has it now. It looks out at the back, and you can see the sea from the window, but he said he could hear the horns quite late at night. Of course travelling by coach was really quite over, because the railway had been built, but they had these coach parties just the same. People used to come from quite a long way off-and gentlemen riding, and in their dogcarts and all. I think, from what he said, there was a lot of gambling and high play. You know, one doesn’t like to say it, but I can’t help feeling that it wasn’t really a very respectable house. My grandfather didn’t say so of course. He left home when he was quite young, and he had the highest-oh, the very highest character himself. But I think a lot of people in those old times weren’t exactly what we would call respectable now, and I can’t help thinking that Jacob Taverner is making a mistake in trying to rake things up. Geoffrey doesn’t like it, and-and I don’t either.” She gazed at Miss Silver from under damp pink eyelids. “I mean, we’re all respectable now, so why not leave it alone?”
Miss Silver coughed, and opined that there were incidents in the histories of most families which might very well be forgotten.
Mildred Taverner said, “Oh, yes!”
It was shortly after this that Frank Abbott walked through the lounge. Since he could have left the office without doing so, Miss Silver’s eyes followed him. As he went out into the hall he turned and gave her a brief nod before he closed the door. Mildred Taverner was well away with the story of a haunted house in Hampstead. Having received Frank’s nod, Miss Silver gave this narrative all the attention she could spare.
At a quarter to one John Higgins arrived. The news of Florence Duke’s death had reached him, and he announced that he had come to take Eily away. He could not, of course, have chosen a more tactless moment. Lunch was imminent, Annie Castell was up to her eyes, and Eily and Jane were laying the table.
John said, “I’m sorry, Aunt Annie,” and walked through the kitchen, passing Castell as if he wasn’t there. He pushed the baize door and went through, letting it fall back in the angry landlord’s face.
Eily looked up as he came round the varnished screen at the dining-room door. He didn’t see Jane Heron-he didn’t see anyone but Eily. He had just one thing to say, and he said it.
“I’ve come to fetch you away.”
Eily flared up. It is wonderful what a little anger will do for a failing courage. Ever since the horrid moment when they had all stood looking into an empty room and seen that Florence Duke wasn’t there Eily had had a little clear picture in her mind. It was the picture of herself running down the road to Cliff-running like the wind, beating on John Higgins’ door, and throwing herself into his open arms. This picture was at once a source of alarm and of solace. A source of alarm because it admitted to some dreadful danger from which she could only save herself by headlong flight. A solace because it pointed the way to safety. And now here was John in the middle of their all being busy over lunch, talking to her as short and sharp as if she was something he could order about. Well, what would any girl feel like? Fear ceased to operate, because of course, with John here, there wasn’t anything to be afraid about. Anger took its place. Her dark blue eyes gave him a spirited denial. She said,
“I won’t go!”
“Eily!”
Eily stamped her foot.
“I’m in the middle of getting lunch!”
“I’ll wait for you.”
“Now, look here, John-”
“Eily-”
The foot stamped again.
“I’m not leaving Aunt Annie, and that’s flat!”
And with that Castell came round the screen, magnificent in dignity and control-no gesticulation, no spluttering rage. He was the respectable host, under his own respectable roof. It had been hard of achievement, but he had achieved it. Self-satisfaction exuded from every pore. He took a striking pose and pointed to the door.
“You will leave. At once. We do not desire your presence. We do not invite it. I will not serve you. If you were not the nephew of my wife Annie, I would have more to say. I control myself. I do not say it. I say only this-‘Go-and immediately!’ ”
John didn’t even look at him. He went up to Eily and took her hand.
“Come away with me, my dear. This is a bad house. Come away out of it.”
She jerked her hand from his. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, but a host of little things held her back. Uncle- she’d always been afraid of him, she didn’t quite know why- lunch to serve-Aunt Annie and the washing-up- She jerked her hand away.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, John, get along out of here and let me get on with my work!”
He stood for a moment, and then turned and went out without another word. The minute he was gone Eily had that picture in her mind again, small and bright like something seen through a peephole-the road to Cliff and herself running down it. But this time John was there too, walking away ahead of her and never turning back, and run as she would she couldn’t catch up with him. She came back with a start to Castell’s hand on her shoulder.
“Come, come, come-get on with your work! You did that very well, but there’s no time to stand here dreaming.”
Jane Heron ran after John Higgins and came up with him by the baize door. Her breath hurried and her colo
ur came and went, not because she had run that little way, but because she had a sense of urgency and she couldn’t find the right words. She caught at his sleeve, and he turned and looked at her with grave blue eyes. Under the gravity there was distress.
Jane knew right away that it was not for himself, but for Eily. She said,
“Don’t worry about her-I’m with her nearly all the time. Miss Silver asked me-”
“Why?”
“She said Eily had had a shock and had better not be left by herself. She slept with me last night. She told Miss Silver she wouldn’t, but she did after all, and I’ll get her to do it again.”
He said, “There’s a lot of badness in this house. It isn’t fit for her.”
Jane nodded.
“I’ll talk to her. She just doesn’t want to be rushed, and she’s fond of Cousin Annie. Don’t worry. I’ll see she’s all right.”
CHAPTER 38
Miss Silver spent the greater part of the afternoon in the lounge teaching Mildred Taverner to knit. In reply to the complaint that she knew it was very stupid but she never could help dropping her stitches Miss Silver instructed her firmly that if the needles were held in the continental manner, it was practically impossible for this to happen. She was not a quick learner, and the effort involved so engaged her attention that she had none to spare for what her preceptress had previously described as unhealthy fancies, and was able to partake of her tea with a very good appetite.
The evening dusk closed down. After some windy days there was a light mist and a mild, still air. The tide was coming up and could be heard lapping against the cove behind the hotel. There was sand there between the rocks-quite a wide half-moon of it when the sea was out. In summer the bathing would be pleasant and safe.
Jeremy and Jane went out after tea and walked up and down watching the tide come in and the last light fade. Eily would be washing up the tea-things in the pantry with Annie Castell. It couldn’t be selfish to snatch half an hour for themselves.
The Catherine Wheel Page 24