Mr. Brading's Collection

by Patricia Wentworth

  Miss Silver said,

  ‘Pray sit down, Mr. Moberly. You must, I am sure, be even more anxious than we are to have this distressing affair cleared up. I believe that you may be able to help us, and the Chief Constable is very kindly allowing me to put some questions to you in his presence.’

  James Moberly said nothing. There was a chair on the far side of the table. He sat down upon it without relaxing those taut muscles or appearing to afford himself any ease. With a slight preliminary cough Miss Silver addressed him.

  ‘Will you take your mind back to Friday morning, Mr. Moberly. Mr. Brading had been out, and he had returned. Just before twelve you were having an interview with him in the study.’

  He said in a dry, stiff voice,

  ‘I have made a statement about that interview. I haven’t got anything to add to it.’

  She continued to smile in an encouraging manner.

  ‘I shall not ask you to do so. Your conversation with Mr. Brading was interrupted by a knock on the door. A waiter of the name of Owen came in, bringing some letters which had arrived by the second post. Mr. Brading took the letters, and the waiter retired. Did you happen to notice what letters there were?’

  ‘Not at the time. I had my back to the room.’

  ‘But you did notice them afterwards?’

  ‘Yes. Mr. Brading was at his table. I turned round and came back. The letters were lying there. There were two of them. One looked like a local bill, and the other was from Mrs. Robinson.’ He spoke in short jerky sentences, his voice under constraint.

  March said, ‘Sure about that? You knew her writing?’

  ‘Yes — it is very distinctive.’

  ‘Did you see Mr. Brading open the letters?’

  ‘No. He referred to the conversation we had been having about my wanting to leave. He said, “I don’t want to hear any more about it. The matter is closed.” Then he picked up Mrs. Robinson’s letter and went over to the annexe.’

  Miss Silver said,

  ‘You followed him, did you not? How much time had elapsed before you did so?’

  ‘Between five and ten minutes. I could not accept what he said. I could not accept that the matter was closed. I went after him to tell him so, but that of course I would remain for a reasonable time until he was suited.’

  ‘Did you in fact tell him these things?’

  He hesitated. The nervous strain under which he was labouring became more apparent. He said at last,

  ‘I had no opportunity.’

  ‘You say in your statement that he was telephoning when you came into the annexe — he was using the instrument in his bedroom and the door was open. You say that you retired to the end of the passage beyond the laboratory door in order to avoid overhearing his conversation. Why did you not simply enter the laboratory?’

  Moberly’s eyes went past her. He said,

  ‘I don’t know.’

  She laid down her knitting for a moment and leaned towards him, her hands on the pale pink wool.

  ‘Mr. Moberly, I am going to beg you to be frank. In your statement you say that Mr. Brading made two calls, that the tone of his voice was angry, and that only two words reached you. They were, “You’d better!” Pray consider whether the time has not come when you should tell us what you really heard.’

  ‘Miss Silver—’ His voice broke off on something like a groan.

  She gave him another of those encouraging smiles.

  ‘The truth is always best, Mr. Moberly. I know that you heard more than you have admitted.’

  He said, ‘Yes,’ still in that groaning voice. And then, ‘What was I to do? I knew that I was suspected — he had taken care of that. He used to tell me to pray for his long life, because his death would ruin me whatever way it came. I thought, “The less I say, the better for me. It will only look as if I was trying to put the blame on someone else.” And I did not like her very much. Everyone knew that.’

  March said, ‘Miss Grey?’

  James Moberly shook his head.

  ‘Oh, no. That was later. When I first went in he was talking to Mrs. Robinson.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘He used her name.’ The strain had gone out of his voice. It was just tired and toneless.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘It was the first thing I heard — “My dear Maida!” I went away down the passage. I didn’t wish to overhear. But then I stopped. It was his voice that stopped me, because he was speaking to Mrs. Robinson, but his voice—’

  He had been sitting forward, shoulders hunched, hands between his knees. Now he straightened a little and looked at them. It was a look full of remembered pain. He repeated the last two words.

  ‘His voice — that’s what stopped me. He was speaking to her the way he used to speak to me when he wanted to — remind me — to hurt. It was the way he had been speaking to me in the study when I told him that I wanted to leave.’ A kind of shudder ran over him, his eyes went blank. He said half under his breath, ‘He knew how to hurt.’

  Miss Silver said,

  ‘Yes, there was a love of cruelty.’

  He turned to her with a startled expression.

  ‘He liked hurting people — he liked hurting me. It made him feel what a lot of power he had. He liked that. But he was in love with Mrs. Robinson. When I heard him speak to her like that I was afraid. I wondered what had happened. I listened — it doesn’t sound nice, but that’s what I did — I stood there and I listened.’

  March said, ‘What did you hear?’

  ‘I told you. He said, “My dear Maida!” in that voice. Then there was a break — she was saying something. And he said, “That is most interesting. Do you expect me to believe it? You can come down here this afternoon and say it all over again. Then you can judge for yourself just how much ice it cuts.” Then he laughed and said, “My dear Maida!” again, the same as before — “My dear Maida! You put those two letters in the wrong envelopes, and there’s an end of it! Your “Dear Poppy” may be interested in what you wrote to me, but I assure you it’s nothing to the interest I feel in what you said to her. Perhaps you have forgotten the terms in which you were pleased to describe me. You can revive my memory when I return you the letter this afternoon. I should also like to show you the will I signed this morning. I should like you to watch its obsequies. There’s many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip, isn’t there?” Then he rang off and gave Miss Grey’s number. I went farther off down the passage. I didn’t want to hear what he said to her — I’m not an eavesdropper. All I did hear was that his voice went on being angry, and once he said, “You’d better!” That’s all I heard.’

  March said, ‘Are you prepared to write all that down and sign it?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I have done so. I wrote it down on Friday night whilst it was all fresh in my mind. My wife has the paper. I gave it her to keep in case—’

  ‘Then it did occur to you that this was evidence of the first importance?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I don’t know. I wanted to safeguard myself. I didn’t want to accuse anyone else. I was afraid of what might have happened when Mr. Brading and Mrs. Robinson met. But then Miss Grey said that he was alive when she left him at ten minutes past three.’

  March looked at him hard.

  ‘She doesn’t say that now. She says she found him dead.’

  James Moberly stared back at him for a moment. Then he gave a groan and put his head in his hands.

  March said, ‘I’d like to have that statement, Moberly.’

  When he had gone out March turned to Miss Silver. She sat there knitting, the second pink vest almost finished. She might have had no more on her mind than the impending baby and its outfit. He contemplated the clicking needles, the small busy hands, the unruffled demeanour. He may have been recalling how she knitted her way through the case of the Poisoned Caterpillars in which she had saved his life, or that much more recent case in which his own deepest feelings had been invo
lved, and from which he had emerged with a wife. He may have been thinking merely of the case in hand. He said,

  ‘Well, it looks as if that ace of yours has taken the trick. We’ll have to have Constable and Mrs. Robinson here and put them through it. If she did it, he must have been in it up to the neck.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Randal. It must have been very carefully planned.’

  ‘Do you think Maida Robinson did the shooting?’

  ‘I fear so. I fear that she came here meaning to do it. Mr. Brading intended to show her the will he had made in her favour and to destroy it in front of her eyes. She came here determined to prevent his doing so. She had Major Forrest’s revolver in that large white bag under her bathing-dress. Mr. Brading meant to punish her. He meant her to read the will before he destroyed it. It would be quite easy for her to come up beside him and lean forward to look at it. He would suspect nothing. His mind was full of the desire to punish and humiliate her. She shot him like that, dropped the revolver on the floor, took his own revolver out of the drawer, put it in her bag, and came away, leaving the bag behind her. Her part is done as far as the annexe is concerned. She comes through the glass passage into the hall, exclaims that she has left her bag, and sends Major Constable back for it. Now observe, Randal. I told you that the murderer had been hurried. Major Constable has to be very quick indeed. You must remember his training in the Commandos. He has it all planned, all timed, but all must be done at lightning speed. I feel sure that he would not trust Mrs. Robinson to remove her own fingerprints, or to place Mr. Brading’s upon the revolver. It is there that hurry betrays him — those fingerprints are not quite right. He has to be absolutely certain that Mrs. Robinson has left nothing that will compromise her. He would have to wipe her fingerprints from the drawer as well as from the revolver and substitute Mr. Brading’s. And in the middle of all that Mrs. Robinson rings through from the office, and he has to answer her and provide a man’s voice which will pass with Miss Snagge for Mr. Brading’s. You will remember that she heard no words, only a man’s voice answering Mrs. Robinson. I feel sure that that scene must have been very carefully timed and rehearsed. The telephone receiver here was probably protected by a handkerchief — it must bear Mr. Brading’s fingerprints and no others. And with all this, Major Constable must be absent for no longer than was necessary to fetch Mrs. Robinson’s bag and perhaps say a few polite words. The margin for safety was an extremely narrow one, and every second’s delay would cut it down. A very bold and carefully premeditated crime.’

  March said, ‘An extraordinarily cold-blooded one.’

  She said, ‘Yes. Crimes perpetrated for money are usually cold-blooded. There is an element of deliberate choice which is absent from the crime of passion.’

  He said, ‘But Constable — what brings him into it? They were the barest acquaintances.’

  Miss Silver said,

  ‘Do you believe that? I find myself unable to do so. You will remember that I have not seen either of them, but from what I have been able to gather, there was — I hardly know how to put it — an effect of intimacy — perhaps suggestion would be a better word. Major Forrest remarked to me that his friend had “fallen hard” for Mrs. Robinson. Stacy Mainwaring said they seemed like old friends. Mrs. Constantine concluded quite bluntly that they were having an affair. I think you will find that there is some link, some previous contact. That sort of thing is very hard to disguise, and it must be remembered that the absolute necessity for disguising it arose quite unexpectedly and with great suddenness. They have not appeared together anywhere since Mr. Brading’s death.’

  March said, ‘I’d forgotten you hadn’t seen them. She is — rather beautiful. It’s hard to believe—’

  She looked at him with a faint pitying smile.

  ‘Oh, my dear Randal!’ she said.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  STACY HAD BEEN SITTING in the farthest corner of the hall when Charles went by to the annexe. She could not bear to be upstairs or in any of the rooms in case— Thought stopped there, because what lay beyond was too frightening. She couldn’t give it words.

  She held up a paper, and hoped that the people who came and went would think that she was looking at it. She saw Charles go by without looking to left or right. He was alone, and she took what comfort she could from that.

  After a moment she got up with the paper in her hand and came to where she could see the length of passage between the billiard-room and the study, and the door leading to the glass passage beyond. At the far end she could see Charles just going into the annexe. That meant that they had sent for him again. If there was no one in the study, she could wait there until he came back and find out what was happening. You could see the whole of the glass passage from the study window, so she would know when he was coming back, and if he was alone, she could find out what was happening.

  She went quickly to the study door and opened it upon an empty room, the writing-table stripped and tidy, the chairs in order, the window wide to the summer evening air. She stood there looking out, waiting for Charles to come back. The time dragged. There seemed to be no end to its slow passage.

  When he came at last he was, as he had gone, alone, his face frowning and intent. She ran to the door and opened it. And then he was coming through out of the glass passage, and she couldn’t get her voice above a whisper to call to him.

  ‘Charles —’

  The sound seemed to fail. She couldn’t think that it had reached him, but he saw her, leaning against the jamb in her white dress. He said her name, took her back into the study, and shut the door.

  She found a small choked voice.

  ‘What’s happening?’

  His arm was round her shoulders.

  ‘No gyves on the wrists for the moment. No one quite so hot on arresting me as they were an hour ago. Even Crisp appears to have other interests. But it mayn’t last. Let’s make the most of it and go and have some food. It must be after seven.’

  Stacy took no notice. She had turned to face him. She pulled at his coat.

  ‘What’s happening? You’re not telling me. I must know.’

  He stood frowning down, a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Lilias has made a statement. She says he was dead when she got there at three o’clock.’

  The colour rushed into Stacy’s face.

  ‘That lets you out!’

  ‘If they believe her.’

  ‘Don’t they?’

  ‘I wouldn’t like to bank on it. I don’t know whether I believe her myself. That’s the trouble — she’s such a damned liar.’

  ‘Is she?’

  He could only just hear the words.

  ‘Oh, from the nursery. Didn’t you know?’

  All her bright colour ebbed. Her hand fell from his coat. She said,

  ‘No — you never told me.’

  He was watching her closely.

  ‘Why should I tell you?’

  There was no answer. Her eyes were dark and startled.

  He said again, ‘Why should I tell you? Would it have made a difference if I had?’

  ‘Charles—’

  ‘All right — I’m going to tell you now. It wasn’t the sort of thing one wanted to talk about. I don’t know how many people have guessed, or known. We’ve always put our heads in the sand and hoped for the best. And everyone loved my mother — her friends stood by her. Some people do stand by their — friends.’

  It was like a knife going through her when he said that. And that was just what he meant it to be, because she hadn’t stood by him, she had panicked and run away. Whatever she said or did, that was something he couldn’t forget. She didn’t say anything.

  He went on.

  ‘You know Lilias was adopted. My mother wanted a child — they’d been married some time. She saw Lilias and fell in love with her — she was a very pretty child. Then three years later I came along. I expect that’s what started the rot. You see, she had been the centre of attention, and then all at once she wa
sn’t. She was the adopted child, and I was the real one. It wasn’t that my mother changed towards her — she didn’t. At least, not any more than any mother changes when she has two children instead of one. But the situation changes. The first child isn’t the only one any more — it has to share. Well, that’s always been the bother with Lilias — she wants the centre of the stage, she wants the limelight, she doesn’t know how to share. When she couldn’t have what she wanted she tried to grab it. She started showing off to get noticed—it’s a thing lots of children do. My mother tried to check it, but it got worse. There were one or two very bad patches. She told lies, and she took things. She was going through a plain stage and she wasn’t getting much notice. Then in her teens she got very pretty again and it stopped. We thought it was going to be all right. Then she had an engagement that went wrong, and another — rather stupid affairs — and it all started again. I think it helped to kill my mother. Then there was the war. Lilias went into the hospital at Ledlington, and then to a convalescent home for officers. She dramatized it all a lot and got no end of a kick out of it. Then the war came to an end and everything was deadly flat again. And that’s where we were three years ago. I hoped when I married — but it didn’t turn out that way.’

  All this time his hand was on her shoulder. Now it became a grip under which she couldn’t move. Holding her like that, he said harshly,

  ‘Just what lies did she tell you about me?’

  ‘Lilias?’

  ‘Yes, Lilias. You were very quick to believe her, weren’t you? Well, now we’re going to have a show-down. What did she say to make you go off as if I’d got the plague?’