Mr. Brading's Collection

by Patricia Wentworth

  ‘I know. I’m not arguing about that. I’m only telling you what I thought at the time, because that’s what made me go and look down over the stairs.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I saw Hester Constantine—’

  ‘My poor child! You must still have been dreaming! No wonder you said it was a frightening dream!’

  ‘Charles, I’m serious.’

  ‘You really mean you saw Hester Constantine come from the annexe?’

  ‘I don’t know whether she came from the annexe, or whether James Moberly did — they might have been in the study. It must have been he who turned the light on and off — unless you can possibly imagine it was Lewis.’

  ‘Honi soit qui mal y pense — I can’t. Hester Constantine! I think not!’

  ‘Then it was James Moberly. She looked quite different, poor thing — all lighted up and happy. And she had one of Myra's shawls, a bright embroidered thing. She — Charles, you can’t mistake it when anyone looks like that. It’s — it’s frightfully pathetic — those two poor things. Myra says Lewis has always treated him like dirt and he couldn’t call his soul his own. She didn’t see that Hester couldn’t either. If they sort of clung on to one another and tried to get a little happiness—’ She put out her hands to him. ‘Charles, don’t you see how — how savage it would be if we were to throw them to the police?’

  He said, ‘Poor old James!’ And then, ‘We won’t throw him to the police if we can help it. But I think we’ll have to have a show-down. There’s more to it than you know, and if James has been snapping lights on and off, and letting people into the annexe at night — to say nothing of drugging his employer — well, I think he’ll just have to explain what it was all about, and he can begin by explaining privately to Miss Silver and me.’

  Stacy said, ‘I feel awful.’

  He took her hands, held them for a moment lightly and let them go again.

  ‘Nice womanly sentiment, darling. But I’m not prepared to be led away with gyves upon my wrists because of being too delicate to ask James a few straight questions.’

  Stacy’s mind swung back. She had said, ‘Nonsense!’ to Lilias, and she felt like saying ‘Nonsense!’ again, but there was the cold breath of fear blowing. She didn’t know how serious he was, but if he was serious at all—

  Charles said, ‘I don’t actually want to be arrested for murder if I can help it.’ Then, before she could say anything, ‘Being a little morbid, aren’t we? How did the visit to Lilias go off?’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘As bad as that! My poor sweet, I thought you looked a bit jaded!’

  TWENTY-TWO

  AT ABOUT THE same time that Charles and Stacy were talking at Saltings Randal March got out of his car, walked into the hall at Warne House, and enquired for Miss Maud Silver. Edna Snagge thought him a very good-looking man. She could admire Charles Forrest with his dark ugly charm, and she could admire as different a type as Randal March with his fair hair burned brown, his steady blue eyes, his look of health. She thought Miss Silver no end lucky to have the two of them coming to see her one after the other and nothing to bring them so far as she knew. She went to find her, and received a gracious word of explanation.

  ‘Mr. March? Oh, yes — certainly. He is an old pupil of mine. So kind and attentive of him to call.’

  Edna said, ‘I’ve put him in the little writing-room. You won’t be disturbed there.’

  She received a beaming smile.

  The little writing-room was on the shady side of the house. On cold, dull days it had been stigmatised as a gloomy hole. On a hot evening like this it had its points, but it was never a popular resort. Miss Silver reflected that their conversation was not likely to be interrupted.

  She found the Chief Constable standing with his back to a funerary mantelpiece carried out in black marble. The clock matched it, but was relieved by little gold turrets. A shadowy engraving of what was probably some famous battle picture was hardly to be distinguished from the surrounding wallpaper.

  Greetings of the most affectionate nature passed, to be followed by enquiries for his mother — ‘I was so concerned to hear about her having had a cold’ — and about his sisters, Margaret and Isobel.

  Difficult as it was to believe it now, Randal March had been a delicate little boy, and it was for this reason that he had shared his sisters’ schoolroom. He had also been very much spoilt. Having successfully routed two governesses, he had regarded Miss Silver’s arrival as the provision of more cannon-fodder. The local doctor had opined that it would do him harm to be thwarted. Miss Silver, after listening sympathetically to all Mrs. March had to say, dismissed it from her mind and proceeded to establish the cheerful discipline which she was accustomed to maintain in her schoolroom. Randal found his energies provided with a more interesting outlet than naughtiness. He conceived a high respect for his teacher which remained in full force down to the present moment. For her part, though she had never allowed herself to have favourites and was always scrupulous in her enquiries for his sisters, it was an unadmitted fact that her affectionate feeling for Randal was of a more spontaneous character.

  Preliminaries over, she seated herself, took out her knitting, and revealed the inch-wide strip of soft pale pink wool which indicated that a baby’s vest was in process of construction.

  Randal March sat down opposite to her and said, ‘Well?’

  She gave a little cough.

  ‘Well, Randal?’

  ‘All right, I’ll deal. I’d like to see Brading’s letter.’

  She produced it — from the knitting-bag, a circumstance which struck him as characteristic.

  Leaning forward to take it from her, he scanned the few lines:

  ‘DEAR MADAM,

  I am writing to ask you to reconsider your decision. There have been developments. The matter is confidential, and I do not wish to go to the police — at present. This is a pleasant country club. I have reserved a room for you, and must beg you to come down immediately. You may name your own fee. If you will ring me up and let me know by what train you will be arriving, I will see that you are met at Ledstow.

  Yours truly,

  LEWIS BRADING.’

  March looked up and said,

  ‘What did he mean by developments?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  He sat frowning at the letter for a moment. Then he said,

  ‘You only saw him once?’

  ‘That is all.’

  ‘Will you tell me what he said?’

  She was knitting rapidly. The strip of pale pink wool revolved. There was a moment before she answered him.

  ‘Yes, I think I must.’

  With the verbal accuracy which he knew was to be trusted she gave him Lewis Brading’s words and her own. When she had finished he said coolly,

  ‘Well, he seems to have asked for it. You know, this looks very bad for Moberly. It fits in too. Look here, perhaps you’d like to take some notes. Here’s a timetable of what happened yesterday up to the shooting.’ He reached sideways to pick up pencil and paper from the small writing-table at his elbow.

  The knitting was laid down, the pencil poised. He produced a sheaf of papers from the case beside him, detached one of them, and said,

  ‘Here we are. Brading took the nine-thirty bus to Ledlington. At ten-fifteen he went into the Southern Bank, asked to see the manager, and signed a will-form which was duly witnessed by him and a clerk. He said something about asking for congratulations before long. A lady called Maida Robinson says he had asked her to marry him on the previous evening.’

  Miss Silver inclined her head.

  ‘Major Forrest has told me about Mrs. Robinson. He has also given me a timetable showing Mr. Brading’s visitors during yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘Well, that clears the ground — I need only give you the morning. Brading got back here at eleven-thirty. He went to his study — you’ve seen it, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘
He was there for about half an hour. James Moberly was with him. One of the waiters overheard part of their conversation. He dresses it up — says he was taking Brading some letters which had come in by the second post and couldn’t make up his mind whether to go in or not, because they were quarrelling. Of course there isn’t the slightest doubt that he heard the raised voices and listened deliberately. He may even have loosened the catch a bit — it slips rather easily. Anyhow, he’s prepared to swear that he heard Moberly say, “I can’t and won’t stand it any longer.” He says Brading laughed in a nasty way and said, “I’m afraid you’ll have to.” Moberly said, “I won’t, and that’s flat!” Brading laughed again and asked him what he was going to do about it, and Moberly said, “You’ll see.” After which this man, Owen, appears to have thought he had stood there long enough, so he knocked and went in. He says Brading was sitting at the table and Moberly was standing looking out of the window. Moberly admits there was a disagreement.’ March put down the paper from which he had been reading and took up another. ‘Here’s his statement — all very watered down and innocuous, as you will see. He says:

  ‘“I was in the study at eleven-thirty when Mr. Brading came in. I took the opportunity of telling him that I would like to resign my post. This was not on account of any personal disagreement or any dissatisfaction on either side, but because I found my health was suffering from having to live under the unnatural conditions which he considered necessary. A good deal of my work has to be done in the annexe, and I have to sleep there. The absence of air and light were affecting my health. Mr. Brading was angry and said he would not let me go. What Owen says he overheard is substantially correct, but we were not quarrelling. He was annoyed at my giving notice, and I was sticking to my point. At five minutes to twelve Mr. Brading went over to the annexe. I let a minute or two go by, and then I followed him. I had my own key, so I was able to let myself in. I could hear his voice coming from his bedroom. He was telephoning, so I stayed where I was — that is, in the passage from which his bedroom and the laboratory open. I kept at the far end of the passage, so I did not hear what was said. When he rang off I was going to go to him, but he asked for another number. I could not distinguish what number it was, only the tone of the voice. I thought it sounded as if he was angry. Just at the end of the call I heard him say, “You’d better.” Those words were said most emphatically. Then he rang off, and I went to him and told him that I could not withdraw my notice, but that I would of course remain until he was suited. I then returned to the study, and from there went in to lunch. When he had finished his own lunch he came over to my table and stopped for a moment to say that I might have the afternoon off, as he would not be wanting me.’

  March looked up for a moment.

  ‘They apparently had all their meals over here in the club. I asked him if they usually ate at separate tables, and he said yes, their hours were different and they both preferred to be independent. I may say that the staff confirm this. Well, I’ll go on now. There isn’t much more.’

  He went back to James Moberly’s statement.

  ‘“I left the dining-room a little later and went over to my room in the annexe to fetch a book. The steel door was locked as usual, and I used my key to open it. When I came back to the club a few minutes later I made sure that it was shut behind me, as I always do. It locks itself when it is shut, and I am quite sure that I left it locked. I went to the study and spent the afternoon there reading. I heard the clock strike three. About ten minutes later Miss Constantine opened the door. When she saw that I was alone she came in. We sat there talking until Major Forrest gave the alarm. We were together the whole time. Neither of us left the room.”’

  Miss Silver said,

  ‘The study window looks towards the annexe. Did you enquire whether Mr. Moberly was in a position to see the glass passage, and whether he noticed any of Mr. Brading’s visitors?’

  ‘Yes, I asked him that, but it doesn’t get us any further. He says people were coming and going, but he was reading and didn’t take any particular notice. The only person he saw was Major Constable. He says he heard someone running, looked up, and saw him in the glass passage. He was running from the annexe, and he had something white in his hand.’

  Miss Silver was knitting briskly.

  ‘Was Mrs. Robinson’s bag white?’

  ‘Yes — a big white plastic affair. She had her bathing things in it. I think it’s quite clear that Constable was coming back from fetching it when Moberly saw him. You say Forrest gave you all those comings and goings?’

  ‘Yes, he was most helpful.’

  ‘Well, Moberly says he didn’t see anyone else until Miss Constantine came in, and after that they were talking.’

  ‘What does Miss Constantine say?’

  ‘That she was with her mother until three o’clock, went to her room to tidy, came downstairs as Lilias Grey left the club, went along to the study, and spent the time there talking to Moberly, just as he says.’

  Miss Silver’s needles clicked.

  ‘When I asked Major Forrest if they were friends he replied that he did not think Miss Constantine “ran to friends much”. The study was Mr. Brading’s room. Unless she had previous knowledge, she could not have expected to find Mr. Moberly there alone. Did she know that he would be there alone? Was her visit to him, or was she looking for Mr. Brading? It was his study.’

  March made an impatient movement.

  ‘Does it matter?’

  She looked at him mildly.

  ‘It might, Randal.’

  ‘They both say that they were together between three-ten and three-thirty. It is, of course, possible that one or both of them are not telling the truth. In fact I’ll go so far as to say that things don’t look too good for Moberly. In which case Miss Constantine may be lying to protect him, or she may simply have been muddled about the times. She impressed me as rather a vague sort of person.’

  Miss Silver said in a considering voice,

  ‘That would not be so easy. The time of Miss Grey’s departure is fixed by Miss Snagge in the office, also the time of Major Forrest’s arrival ten minutes later. It would be difficult for Miss Constantine to be muddled as to whether Mr. Moberly was in the study when she got there and for the next ten minutes. You are, I suppose, drawing my attention to the fact that it was during this time that Mr. Moberly would have had the opportunity of going over to the annexe to shoot Mr. Brading?’

  March nodded.

  ‘According to Miss Grey, Brading was alive at three-ten. According to Forrest, he was dead at three-twenty. According to Miss Constantine and James Moberly, they were together in the study during the intervening ten minutes. According to Edna Snagge, no one came through the hall. Since you always know everything, I suppose you know that the only other room opening on to that short length of passage, the billiard-room, was locked up all day.’

  Miss Silver said,

  ‘Yes — Major Forrest very kindly verified that.’

  ‘Miss Peto, the manageress, says there is only one key, and she had it. The room keys are not interchangeable. I’ve had them all tried, and there isn’t one that fits the billiard-room door. So we get this situation. Lewis Brading is alive at three-ten, and dead at three-twenty. In that intervening time one of six people killed him — Miss Grey, James Moberly, Miss Constantine, Charles Forrest, Edna Snagge, or Brading himself. Some of these are too improbable to be considered at all seriously. I’ll take Brading himself first. The death was meant to look like suicide, but Crisp was suspicious from the beginning — Inspector Crisp from Ledlington — you’ll remember him at the Catherine-Wheel, I expect. He’s as sharp as a terrier after rats, and as soon as they got the fingerprints on the revolver he said they were all wrong. It’s the most difficult thing in the world to get a natural print from a dead hand. The murderer had had a try, and he hadn’t brought it off.’

  Miss Silver said, ‘Dear me!’

  March gave his half laugh.

  ‘Dear
me it is. And that rules out Lewis Brading. Now we’ll take one of the improbables. Edna Snagge. All the times depend on her observation and statement. She could have walked down the passage, and provided the steel door was left open by Miss Grey, she could have entered the annexe, gone through to the laboratory, and shot Lewis Brading. Only there’s no earthly reason why she should. I don’t really think we need consider her. She is a perfectly good, respectable girl on the brink of becoming engaged to a perfectly good, respectable young man. She wasn’t a legatee under Brading’s will, and she had no more to do with him than with anyone else about the place. In fact she had no conceivable motive and I only mentioned her because it was physically possible for her to have done it.’

  Miss Silver’s needles clicked.

  ‘Quite so.’

  ‘Then we have Miss Grey, who also seems to have no motive. We have been in communication with Brading’s solicitors, and she had no interest under his will. Charles Forrest’s mother adopted her at a time when she had no children of her own. Brading’s mother was a Forrest, so I suppose she ranks as a cousin, but you know how those sort of things work out. She and Brading have lived practically next door to each other for about thirty years in one of those semi-detached relationships in which there is neither intimacy nor disagreement — perhaps never enough intimacy to lead to disagreement. One sees the sort of thing every day. They’ve always known each other, and never cared enough to quarrel.’

  Miss Silver said,

  ‘An excellent description.’

  He smiled.

  ‘Praise from Sir Hubert Stanley! Well, so much for Miss Grey.’ He leaned forward, a slight change in his manner, and said, ‘Then there’s Forrest. Crisp is rather hot on Forrest. Very zealous fellow Crisp. He points out that Forrest has a most indubitable motive. The Forrest finances have been as embarrassed as those of most other landed proprietors. Charles has managed to keep his head above water and pay his rates by cutting his house up into flats and letting it piecemeal. Brading’s father made a pile in commerce. Some of it’s locked up in the Collection, but there’s quite a lot left, and under the original will Charles Forrest scoops the lot. Brading’s projected marriage and Brading’s new will would undoubtedly be a nasty jar. Crisp points out the obvious with a good deal of triumph — Brading was shot as soon as he became engaged to be married and altered his will. And the new will was destroyed. He thinks that conclusive. I don’t go so far as that, but — well, there are some suspicious circumstances. And then, out of the blue, comes this business of Moberly’s past. That gives him a motive too. Crisp won’t like it of course — the money motive is such an obvious and easy one.’