Mr. Brading's Collection

by Patricia Wentworth

  Stacy was wondering why on earth Lilias should have thought of consulting Lewis Brading. He was not the sort of person to invite that kind of thing, especially from an adopted relation whom he didn’t very much like. She didn’t put this into words, but she went quite near to it by saying,

  ‘Why didn’t you consult Charles?’

  Lilias made a jerky gesture. She said quickly,

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t — not about money.’

  Stacy felt the colour rise and burn in her cheeks. It was just as if she had taken an incautious step and felt the ground give way and the smell of burning come up through the broken crust. She hadn’t meant — she hadn’t ever meant to touch that ground again. The burning came up into her face.

  Lilias leaned forward and said in a low, horrified voice,

  ‘I’m so frightened—’

  Stacy’s nails dug into her palm.

  ‘Why?’

  Lilias began to tremble.

  Stacy said, ‘Why?’ again. She had drunk two cups of tea but her lips were dry and parched.

  The big blue eyes between the darkened lashes stared into hers. Lilias said,

  ‘About Charles.’

  ‘Why?’ She didn’t seem to be able to get past that word.

  The blue eyes were afraid. You could see the fear brimming up in them, brimming over. Words came in a whisper.

  ‘If he did it—’

  Something right down inside Stacy said, ‘Nonsense!’ It was a very comforting reaction. She tried what it would be like if she said it aloud. Her voice came out firm and strong, and it sounded good.

  ‘Nonsense!’

  Lilias shuddered. She went on in that silly creepy whisper.

  ‘Oh, Stacy, I’m so frightened. That’s why I had to see you — only when you came it didn’t seem as if I could talk about it. But I must talk to someone. I shall go mad if I don’t.

  Stacy was being surprised by her own feelings. The thing that had said ‘Nonsense!’ went on saying it. She looked at Lilias, and felt a lot older and more competent than the Stacy of three years ago. She thought, quite dispassionately, that one of those old-fashioned bedroom jugs full of cold water tipped right over the fair hair, the eyelashes, the make-up, and all the rest of it would probably be a good plan. Lilias was making her own flesh creep — perhaps. She wasn’t going to make Stacy’s flesh creep any more. Three years ago, yes, but not today. Not any more. She sat up straight and said in the coolest voice she could manage,

  ‘You really are talking nonsense, Lilias. I think you’d better stop.’

  Lilias shut her eyes. The long dark lashes were wet. She said in an exhausted voice,

  ‘It’s only to you — I must talk to someone — it doesn’t matter if it’s only to you.’

  It was no use thinking of tipping jugs of water over people if there weren’t jugs of water to tip.

  She did the best she could with her voice,

  ‘What is all this? If you’ve got anything to say, go on and say it!’

  The lashes flew up.

  ‘Oh, Stacy — I didn’t think—’

  ‘You’d better. It doesn’t do to say that sort of thing — to anyone.’

  ‘I wouldn’t to anyone else. It’s just — Charles. He’s everything to me, you know — he always has been. It doesn’t matter what he’s done, he's everything.’

  Stacy said, ‘Lilias—’

  ‘I must talk to someone — isn’t it better that I should talk to you? Because even now — even now you wouldn’t want to do him any harm.’

  Stacy said, ‘No — I wouldn’t want to do him any harm.’

  ‘Then let me talk to you. I didn’t sleep last night. I could only go on thinking, “Suppose it was Charles — or suppose they think it was.”’

  ‘Why?’

  With a rush of nervous energy, Lilias told her why.

  ‘Don’t you see— you usen’t to be stupid — I came away at ten minutes past three, and Lewis was alive. He was sitting at his table and he was alive. Charles came only ten minutes later, and he says he found him dead. If Lewis didn’t kill himself, who killed him? Charles says that the police don’t believe it was suicide. I don’t understand all the reasons why, but they don’t believe it. Then who killed him? And why? There wasn’t anything stolen, or any attempt made to break into the strong-room — besides, who would in the middle of the afternoon, with people coming and going all the time? I left at ten past, Charles came at twenty past — there simply wasn’t time. And if he wasn’t killed for that wretched Collection, why was he killed?’

  Stacy put up a hand. It was curious to feel how cold it was as she lifted it.

  ‘Look here, Lilias — stop! You can’t have it both ways. You started off by saying you always thought something dreadful would happen — because of the Collection. And now you say nobody tried to steal anything, and they wouldn’t in the middle of the afternoon anyhow. Then you finish up with, “If he wasn't killed for that wretched Collection, why was he killed?” You’re arguing from both ends and getting a head-on collision in the middle. You’d better make up your mind which way you do want to have it and stick to that.’

  Lilias beat her hands together.

  ‘It’s not like that at all! Of course that’s what we must say — the bit about the Collection, I mean. We must all say it, and stick to it. That someone was hiding, and went in when the door was open. Maida and Jack Constable must have left it open — they must. And we must say that a thief got in and hid, and shot Lewis, and then hid again when Charles came.’ Her eyes widened and stared. ‘Oh — it might have happened like that, mightn’t it? If we go on saying so — hard—’

  ‘Then why don’t you? You started off that way, and then you swung right over and said nobody would try to steal the Collection in the middle of the afternoon. Why did you say that?’

  Lilias’ eyes brimmed over.

  ‘Because it’s true — because I was just talking to you. The first bit was only — only what we’ve all got to say because of Charles. Lewis wasn’t killed for the Collection.’

  ‘Do you know why he was killed?’

  ‘Anyone will know if they stop to think. He was going to marry Maida. He had made a will in her favour - on one of those stupid will-forms. I tell you I saw it when I was there — it was lying there on the table. He saw me looking at it, and he said in his most disagreeable voice, “You seem interested. That’s my new will. I’m afraid Charles won’t like it.”’

  ‘Did he tell you he was going to marry Maida, and what was in the will?’

  ‘Of course he did — and in the most horrid sneering way! That’s why I didn’t stay. Don’t you see what must have happened? If he spoke to Charles like that — and he would — well, there was the revolver in the drawer.’

  ‘You knew where it was?’

  ‘Everyone knew where it was. Lewis wanted everyone to know — he used to leave that drawer open on purpose. Now don’t you see how it must have happened? Charles saw the will — and the revolver—’

  Stacy said, ‘I think you’re talking nonsense.’

  Lilias had colour enough now. It came up bright under the rouge and drowned it. Her eyes shone. She said in a high, clear voice.

  ‘Then who burned the will? It didn’t matter to anyone but Charles, but it mattered to him. Why should anyone else burn it?’

  ‘Was it burned?’

  ‘Of course it was! Didn’t Charles tell you that?’

  ‘I haven’t seen him. He hasn’t told me anything.’

  ‘He wouldn’t tell you that — he wouldn’t tell anyone. The police told me. The will was all burned to ashes on a metal tray. They wanted to know if I’d seen it — whether it was burned when I was there. And it wasn’t — it wasn’t. Who burned it?’

  Stacy said soberly,

  ‘I don’t know. But I do know that you’re talking nonsense, and if you care for Charles you’ll stop. I suppose you don’t want to put ideas into people’s heads?’

  All the colour a
nd fire went out of Lilias. With a quick nervous shudder she twisted round, laid her arms across the back of the chair, and bent her head upon them. Her shoulders heaved. A difficult, slow sobbing began.

  It might be well over eighty in the shade, but Stacy had never felt colder. Some of the cold was fear. She banged the door on that with the blessed word, ‘Nonsense!’ Some of it was anger — there is a cold anger more potent than the hot. Some of it was just a chill revulsion from all this hysteria. After a moment or two she said,

  ‘For God’s sake pull yourself together! If you have any real feeling for Charles you will.’

  Lilias continued to sob, but she managed to find words as well. Nothing would ever prevent Lilias from finding words.

  ‘I’d do anything for Charles — you know that. I wouldn’t hurt him for the world. Haven’t I helped to cover everything up all these years? Oh, you don’t know what it’s been like, or you wouldn’t be so unkind!’

  This was the sort of thing which could go on for ever. Theme with variations — and the variations were infinite. When it had all got a little past endurance Stacy went through to the bathroom and came back with a dry towel, and a wet facecloth. Lilias was induced to sit up and dab her eyes in a delicate, half-hearted manner. The ravages were not so very dreadful, and it sufficed. The sobbing died down to a catch in the breath, and the tumbled words gave way to a sighing,

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry — but you understand, don’t you? I couldn’t bear it alone any more, and you’re safe. Oh, I must go and tidy up!’

  Stacy had perforce to wait. Her ‘I’ll go now’ was waved away with an ‘I won’t be a moment’.

  The moment lengthened to a good many minutes before Lilias came back, a little pale, a little sad, but quite under control. She told Stacy that she had done her good.

  ‘One exaggerates things, sitting here all alone with nothing to do but think. You won’t speak of it to anyone — you won’t tell Charles?’

  ‘I’m not very likely to be seeing him.’

  Lilias sighed quite gently.

  ‘You might. He goes to the club quite a lot.’

  The cold anger in Stacy looked round the door behind which she had shut it in.

  ‘And I should be likely to walk up to him and say, “Lilias has just been telling me she thinks you shot Lewis and burned his will”!’

  The blue eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Oh, Stacy!’

  Stacy pushed the anger back and shut the door on it again. She had had all the scenes she could stand. The one remaining thing to do was to get away. She said,

  ‘Sorry, Lilias, but you did rather ask for it. I’m not the one who's been saying things, you know. Good-bye.’

  TWENTY-ONE

  STACY CAME DOWN into the hall. Well, it was over. And it had been her own fault for coming. She needn’t have come. She had just let Saltings draw her like a magnet, and she deserved every bit of what she had got. It was over now, and she needn’t think about it again. A horrid niggling whisper said, ‘You’re going to have to think about it quite a lot.’

  She came out on to the steps, and felt the sun. It was still very hot. She stood for a moment wondering if she would put up Myra Constantine’s umbrella. She didn’t like the glare, but she was still cold inside. As she hesitated, a car turned in at the gate and came up between the trees. Her heart jumped. Charles was the last person on earth she wanted to see. Or was he?

  Before she could make up her mind he was out of the car and running up the steps. No smile, no greeting, nothing but a hand on her arm and a quick, ‘I hoped I’d catch you.’

  ‘I’m just going.’

  ‘You can’t. I want to talk to you. Come along — you haven’t seen my flat. I’ve got the billiard-room, the butler’s pantry, and some of the things house-agents call offices — all very commodious. Adams did a very good job of work, I think. Come along!’

  She was being taken through the hall again. Charles opened a door, they went in, and it shut behind them. She had no time to consider the competency of Mr. Adams. There was a sort of lobby, a bit of passage, another door, and a section of the billiard-room with two windows to the garden. It wasn’t until they were there that she managed to say,

  ‘I really ought to go back.’

  Charles said, ‘No.’ He walked to the window and looked out. As he stood there with his back to her, Stacy was aware of currents, feelings, emotions. She had a panic-stricken desire to run away, but her legs wouldn’t move. Her tongue wouldn’t move either. She just stood.

  Then the moment passed. Charles turned round and said,

  ‘This is all rather a mess. I’m sorry you’ve been let in for it, but there it is.’

  Legs and tongue became normal again. It was a great relief. She said,

  ‘If there’s anything I can do—’

  Charles had his frowning look. Not the kind he had when he was angry, but the kind that meant he was thinking. He said,

  ‘Well, there is. You saw the woman who was with me when I came into the club just as you were starting out?’

  ‘The little governessy person?’

  ‘Yes. Don’t laugh. She’s a private detective. Sit down, and I’ll tell you. Lewis went to see her a fortnight ago.’

  As they sat down side by side upon the sofa, Stacy was aware that she couldn’t have stood for another minute. Her head felt quite empty.

  She said, ‘Lewis—’ and stuck.

  Charles said, ‘I know — it’s incredible, and she’s incredible. But it’s happened — she’s happened. Lewis went to see her because he was uneasy. He wanted her to come down. She didn’t like him, and she wouldn’t. This morning she got a letter from him saying there had been a development, and asking her all over again. She put down the letter, took up her morning paper, and read the headlines. Meanwhile I had a letter from Lewis too. It was in the top drawer of his desk. It said Miss Silver was to be called if anything happened.’

  ‘Charles!’

  He nodded.

  ‘He was uneasy — he had his presentiments? I don’t know, you don’t know, nobody knows. He had heard about Miss Silver from Randal March who is our Chief Constable. She used to be his governess.’

  ‘That’s what she looks like.’

  ‘I know. But she impressed Lewis. She does impress one — somehow. She showed me his letter, and, believe it or not, she had impressed him to such an extent that he told her she could name her own fee. How’s that?’

  Stacy’s face expressed the incredulity he expected.

  ‘Lewis said that?’

  ‘He did.’

  The fact that Lewis Brading had seldom been known to spend a penny upon any object not connected with his Collection rose imposingly between them. There was a pause while they contemplated it. Then Charles said,

  ‘So you see! And there’s something about her. After giving her tea and taking her over the annexe I’m rather sitting at her feet myself. Now what I’m leading up to is this. I want you to tell her what you told me — about waking up and hearing things in the night.’

  Stacy looked horrified.

  ‘Charles, I couldn’t!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it couldn’t have anything to do with Lewis being shot.’

  ‘Why couldn’t it? It’s just what he told Miss Silver when he went to see her. He said he slept — too heavily — and woke with the feeling that there had been someone in the annexe — all vague like that, but he thought he had been drugged. It fits in.’

  Stacy’s horrified look had changed to one of distress. She said,

  ‘Yes, but — Charles, I think it’s something quite different. There’s something I can’t tell you. I don’t think it would be fair.’

  ‘All right, darling, go on being beautifully, perfectly fair. Fais ce que doit, advienne que pourra, and all the rest of it. Let the murderer get away with it because you couldn’t possibly repeat something you weren’t supposed to know! You’ll come to see me in the condemned cell, won’t you
? Or don’t divorced wives count? We shall have to find out.’

  ‘Don’t!’

  He raised his eyebrows.

  ‘I’d much rather not have to. But there it is — if you’ve overlooked the fact that I’m the natural, first-class, A1 suspect, the police haven’t. They’re only in the early stages at the moment, and they’re being quite polite, but they think I did it. So if you know anything, and don’t particularly want to score me off—’

  She said, ‘Charles—’ in an agitated voice.

  His manner changed.

  ‘Here’s something Miss Silver said. It struck me rather. She said that most people have something to hide. And that when it came to a murder case, it wasn’t only the murderer who was trying to cover up. Well, you can see for yourself how that complicates things. If there’s something you know — something you didn’t tell me—’

  ‘It hadn’t happened then. Look here, I’ll tell you what it was, then you’ll see for yourself it couldn’t have anything to do with Lewis being shot.’

  ‘Yes, you’d better tell me.’

  She sat up straight in the sofa corner with her hands in her lap. No rings on them. She had taken off her wedding ring. His glance just flicked the bare third finger. She said rather quick and low,

  ‘Yes, I’ll tell you. It was quite a different sort of thing. I found out what it was after I’d spoken to you. I heard the sound again — at least I woke up out of rather a frightening dream — I think it waked me. I got up and looked out of the window. The light came on outside in the glass passage. It wasn’t on when I woke up, then it came on — suddenly. I thought someone — Charles, it sounds like nonsense, but all along, both times, I thought someone had come from the annexe into the house.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘The light can only be turned on and off from the annexe.’