Miss Silver Deals With Death

by Patricia Wentworth

  “Now, Miss Underwood-if you will just answer a few questions. Did you know Miss Roland?”

  “I knew her to say good-morning to when we met in the lift or on the stairs.”

  “No more than that?”

  “No.”

  “But you were in this flat yesterday morning.”

  A very faint tinge of colour stained the pale cheeks. She said,

  “Yes, I had come up to the opposite flat to get something for Mrs. Spooner, and Miss Roland asked me in.”

  “It was the first time you had been here?”

  “Yes.”

  “You had some conversation with Miss Roland?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was the conversation a friendly one?”

  That faint flush had gone again. She was dreadfully pale as she said,

  “I hardly knew her. We were not friends.”

  Lamb’s small, shrewd eyes looked straight into hers.

  “Miss Underwood, I must tell you that your conversation with Miss Roland was overheard. It was not a friendly one-was it?”

  “No-” The word was barely audible.

  Lamb sat back in his chair and said in a kind, easy voice,

  “Well now, I want you to look round the room and tell me whether there’s anything here that you recognise. That photograph on the mantelpiece for instance-do you recognise that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you recognise it when you came into the flat yesterday morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you tell me who it is?”

  “It’s Giles Armitage-Major Armitage.”

  “And you are engaged to him?”

  “Yes.”

  Every single one of those monosyllables was like a drop of blood dripping from her heart, draining her strength and her courage away. The voice that sounded kind but was quite unrelenting went on.

  “It must have been a shock to you to see your fiancé’s photograph on Miss Roland’s mantelpiece.”

  Meade sat up straight. If she couldn’t fight for herself she could fight for Giles. She said in a much stronger voice,

  “Oh, no, it wasn’t a shock at all. You see, I hadn’t known Major Armitage very long. We met in America. Of course he must have had heaps of friends before he met me.”

  Was that the right thing to say? She didn’t know. Perhaps it was, perhaps it wasn’t.

  Lamb said gravely, “Is it true that Miss Roland claimed to be Mrs. Armitage?”

  Meade sat silent. It was so dreadful to hear it like that. She heard Lamb repeat his question, “Is it true?” and in a faltering, stumbling way she forced herself to words.

  “She said-her name-was Armitage-”

  “And did you believe her?”

  “I didn’t know-what to believe-”

  “Did you say, ‘But he doesn’t love you’?”

  Meade couldn’t answer that. She fixed piteous eyes on the Inspector’s face and very slightly moved her head in assent. When she saw him frown she looked away. She wasn’t to know that old Lamb had a soft spot in his heart for a girl in trouble. He had three girls of his own, one in the A.T.S., one in the W.A.A.F.S., and one in the W.R.N.S., and they did what they liked with him. He said rather gruffly,

  “Well now, Miss Underwood, did you see Major Armitage after all this took place?”

  Meade nodded again.

  “Can you tell me what time that was?”

  “A little after six o’clock. He had been at the War Office all day.”

  “And you told him about your interview with Miss Roland?”

  It was quite dreadful. He meant to go on asking question after question until he knew just what she had said to Giles and Giles had said to her. If she said “Yes”, she might be harming Giles, and if she said “No”, he wouldn’t believe her-nobody would.

  “What did he say when you told him, Miss Underwood?”

  That was easier. She relaxed a little.

  “He said it was a plant.”

  “He was angry?”

  “Anyone would be.”

  “Just so. Did he suggest going up to see Miss Roland? Did he in fact go and see her?”

  Meade’s gaze widened. What could she say? She said nothing.

  Lamb went on speaking.

  “He went up to see her, didn’t he? What time was that?”

  Meade said, “Half past six.”

  “And he came down again?”

  “It was ten minutes to seven.”

  “You were watching the clock for him?… Well, I expect you were. What did he say when he came back?”

  Meade roused herself.

  “He said he must get into touch with his solicitor at once. He had lost his memory-did they tell you that? He can’t remember things that have happened in the last eighteen months-it’s all a kind of fog. Carola Roland knew that, and we were both quite sure that she was trying it on.”

  “She didn’t produce any documentary evidence? Come, Miss Underwood, I think she did. I think she showed you this letter. I am quite sure that she must have shown it to Major Armitage.”

  He lifted a paper on his right and took from under it the sheet which Carola Roland’s hand had held up for Meade to read- long white fingers, scarlet nails, and a diamond ring with one clear shining stone-Giles’ writing in a furious slope across the page: “My dear Carola… four hundred a year… a perfect legal right to the name of Armitage…” She looked at it until it seemed to float away from her and disappear into a mist.

  Behind her the door was opened with energy and Giles walked into the room.

  CHAPTER 24

  Sergeant Abbott came in behind him. There was a slip of paper in his hand. He came over to the Inspector, laid it down in front of him, and stood away again. Lamb, whose frowning gaze had been fixed upon the abrupt and unauthorized intruder, was saying in the measured voice of the man who knows that his authority is not his own but is very sure that it will back him up,

  “Major Armitage?”

  Giles, with a hand on Meade’s shoulder, finished what he was saying to her-something like “It’s all right, darling”-but the voice had been pitched for her ear and no one could have sworn to the words. He straightened himself now and came up to the table, his face set and rather pale under the tan.

  “I beg your pardon, Inspector. I have only just heard. It’s a horrid business.”

  Lamb said, “Yes”-a single ponderous word. And then, “Will you sit down. I should very much like to talk to you, Major Armitage.”

  Giles sat down.

  Frank Abbott found a chair and his notebook. Lamb dropped his eyes to the sheet which had been laid before him. The ball had been set rolling now. Where was it going to stop?

  When the pause had lasted long enough to be left, Lamb looked up and spoke.

  “I must begin by telling you, Major Armitage, that a conversation which took place yesterday morning in this room between Miss Underwood and Miss Roland was overheard. I suppose Miss Underwood told you about that conversation. She has in fact admitted that she did so, and that you then came up here to see Miss Roland. You confirm this?”

  “Certainly.”

  He looked at Meade when he spoke, and looked away again. She was quite dreadfully pale. Her eyes were fixed. Her whole face was fixed.

  “That was at half past six yesterday evening. Mrs. Underwood’s maid agrees with Miss Underwood about this.” He glanced fleetingly at the paper before him. “She was watching the clock because she wanted to go out and meet her young man, which she did as soon as you were gone. Is that right, Miss Underwood?”

  Meade said, “Yes.”

  The word barely carried. What were they doing to Giles? What had she done to him? What had he done to himself? What was happening to them all? It wasn’t true-it couldn’t possibly be true. She held on to that.

  Lamb was speaking again.

  “Now, Major Armitage-would you care to tell us about this conversation you had with Miss Roland? Was it a friendly one?”
<
br />   He got a faint grim smile.

  “What do you expect me to say to that? We were not on friendly terms.”

  “Did you quarrel?”

  The smile went. The grimness was intensified.

  “I don’t think you could call it a quarrel.”

  The Inspector held out the letter which he had already shown to Meade.

  “You are wondering how much I know-aren’t you? Well, I don’t mind telling you. This letter was found on Miss Roland’s body. She had already shown it to Miss Underwood. I imagine that she showed it to you.”

  Giles nodded.

  “Yes-she did.”

  “To substantiate a claim that she was your wife?”

  “Not quite that.” He reached over to touch Meade on the arm and say, “It’s all right, darling-don’t look like that.”

  Lamb was frowning over the letter.

  “Is this your writing?”

  “Certainly it is. I wrote the letter, and as you will have read for yourself, I offered Carola an allowance on condition that she dropped the name of Armitage to which she had a legal right. The letter is more than a year old. To the best of my recollection it was written in August ’40.”

  “The thirteenth of August.”

  “Yes, that would be it. If I hadn’t been suffering from loss of memory I could have explained the whole thing right away.” He gave a short laugh. “In point of fact, if it hadn’t been for that, the thing would never have come up at all. It was a pure try-on. She wanted to score me off, and she took a chance that I wouldn’t remember.”

  Meade was looking at him now. They were all looking at him. Lamb said quietly,

  “And can you remember, Major Armitage?”

  He gave a most emphatic nod.

  “Yes, I can. It would have saved a lot of trouble if I could have done it before, but I suppose it was really the shock of this business that brought my memory back. They all said a shock might do it, and by gum it did. Not at the time, you know, but afterwards. I went to bed and I went to sleep, and I woke up just short of midnight with everything as clear as daylight. I rang Miss Underwood up then and told her not to worry.”

  Colour came to Meade’s cheeks. She said,

  “Oh, yes-he did!”

  Frank Abbott cocked a quizzical, cold eye. What was the chap handing them? The shock-what shock? The shock of murdering Carola Roland?

  Lamb put the question in his slow, heavy voice.

  “What shock do you refer to, Major Armitage? Miss Roland’s death?”

  The fair brows drew together with a jerk. They were oddly light against the brown skin. The blue eyes brightened, angrily, warily.

  “No, of course not! I didn’t know she was dead.”

  “What shock were you referring to then?”

  Giles gave that short laugh again.

  “The shock of having a perfectly strange young woman trying to make me believe I’d married her in a fit of temporary insanity or something. And now perhaps you’ll let me explain who she was, and how I came to write that letter.”

  Frank Abbott bent to his notes. Well, well, well!’ Nice chap- impetuous chap. Wonder if he came back and did her in before he remembered whatever it was he did remember. She was getting between him and his girl. Murders have been done for less than that. And he’d had a crump on the head… He heard Giles Armitage say in a quiet, level voice,

  “She was my brother’s widow.”

  Meade said, “Oh!” Everything in her relaxed-the tight straining muscles, the tight straining thoughts. A kind of happy weakness came over her. She leaned back as far as she could against the chromium tubes and shut her eyes. Warm drops welled up behind her lashes and rolled down slowly one by one until her face was wet. She let them fall. It didn’t matter at all-nothing mattered. She heard Lamb say something, but the words didn’t reach her. Then Giles again:

  “Yes, my brother Jack’s widow. He was killed at Dunkirk. He had married her in the previous March-March 17th 1940, at the Marylebone register office. But I didn’t know anything about it till after he was killed-no one did. I was at Dunkirk myself, but I was lucky. After I got home Carola came to see me. She plonked her marriage certificate down in front of me and said what was I going to do about it. Jack hadn’t left her a sou-he hadn’t anything to leave. He was only twenty-one when he was killed, and all he’d ever had was an allowance from me. It was a good allowance, because I always thought it was unfair that I should have all the money. Jack was eight years younger, and I inherited from my father under an old will made before my brother was born. He must have meant to alter it, but he crashed in the hunting-field when Jack was only six months old. I always meant to square things up, but I wasn’t prepared to hand over to Carola. That’s where I piled up the grudge she was trying to pay off. Finally I wrote the letter you’ve got there, and she agreed to my terms.”

  “May I ask why you wanted her to drop the name of Armitage?”

  There was no answer for a moment. Then Giles said,

  “I had my reasons. It’s nothing to do with this case.”

  “I’m sorry, Major Armitage, but it might be. You must see that Miss Roland’s character might have quite a lot to do with her being murdered.”

  He got a shrug of the shoulders.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to find that out for yourself. I can’t help you.”

  There was a pause. Then Lamb said pleasantly,

  “Well, Major Armitage, I won’t press you. But I’m sure you will want to give us any help you can. You were here for about twenty minutes, and you have said that there was nothing that you could call a quarrel. Did you have a drink with Miss Roland?”

  Giles stared.

  “Certainly not.”

  “Were there drinks in the room?”

  “I didn’t notice any.”

  Lamb turned in his chair. He indicated a stool set before the hearth between two chairs in blue and grey brocade, a spindly thing with twisted chromium legs and a silver leather top.

  “If there had been a tray on that stool, you would have noticed it?”

  “I might have-yes, as a matter of fact I should. I went over to the mantelpiece and picked up that photograph. If the stool had been where it is now it would have been in the way. It wasn’t there.”

  “You went over to the mantelpiece to look at the photograph. Did you touch it?”

  “Yes, I picked it up. It must be the one I gave my brother. I certainly never gave one to Carola.”

  “Did you notice anything else on the mantelpiece-anything that isn’t there now?”

  Giles looked. Except for his photograph the silver shelf was empty. His eyes narrowed for an instant. Then he said,

  “There was some kind of a statuette-a girl dancing. It isn’t there now.”

  Lamb said drily,

  “No, it isn’t there now. Did you take it in your hand or touch it at all?”

  Giles looked surprised.

  “Oh, no.”

  The Inspector turned back to the table.

  “I suppose you will have no objection to letting us have your fingerprints? Just routine procedure. We would like to eliminate the prints of anyone whom we know to have been in this room.”

  Giles gave that slight grim smile. He got up, came over to the table, and held out his hands.

  “Here you are! A little crude though, isn’t it? I thought one was handed a letter to look at after cross-examination had produced the right degree of clamminess.”

  Lamb allowed himself to smile. He had good teeth.

  “Thank you, Major Armitage, we haven’t always time to go round about when there’s a short, straight way. And now, just to finish up. You left Miss Underwood at about ten minutes to seven. Do you mind telling me what you did after that?”

  “Not at all. I went back to my rooms in Jermyn Street and tried to get a line on my solicitor, who was out of town. I got an address, but when I got on to it he had left. They said he’d be in office by ten o’clock this morning,
so I decided to see him then. I went over to the club to have something to eat, and then I went out for a walk.”

  There was a flicker behind Frank Abbott’s light eyelashes. The chap was either a damned fool, or else he was innocent. He didn’t look like a fool, but of course you never could tell. He didn’t look like a murderer either-but then murderers didn’t- not unless they were crazy. This chap wasn’t crazy-just impetuous, and mortal fond of that little white-faced girl. Well, he’d just made them a present of a nice long walk in the dark which might very well have brought him back to Putney in time to do Carola Roland in. He made a note of this, and Lamb put the question.

  “Did your walk by any chance bring you out in this direction?”

  Giles stared, said “No”, and then suddenly stiffened. The word conveys a little too much. Only very sharp eyes would have noticed that the muscle between cheek and jaw had tautened. Frank Abbott’s eyes were very sharp indeed. He thought, “He’s just tumbled to the fact that he’s made a damaging admission. Good control-his hand didn’t move. I wonder if he did come back.”

  Lamb said affably, “Thank you, Major Armitage-we needn’t keep you or Miss Underwood any longer.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Mrs. Smollett went downstairs in a very glorified state. She met Mr. Willard coming up. He looked as if he had been up all night, and he looked as if he had been drinking-two things so extraordinary in so proper a gentleman that Mrs. Smollett, who had usually no difficulty in believing anything about anyone, really did feel some difficulty about stretching her mind to take them in.

  As she passed through the hall, Miss Crane popped out of No. 1 with an alacrity which suggested that she had been on the look-out and had no intention of letting a possible source of information pass her by.

  “Oh, Mrs. Smollett, do come in for a minute! Such an unpleasant experience! How did you get on? I thought perhaps a cup of tea-and perhaps a dash of brandy in it just to steady your nerves-”

  Mrs. Smollett responded graciously. She wasn’t making herself cheap. She had become an important personage and she knew it. Reporters would question her, her photograph would be in all the papers, but she had no objection to a rehearsal. Miss Crane was an audience. Hot tea and brandy were a lure. She pressed a hand to a massive side and said the spasms were something cruel and she didn’t mind if she did.