Anna, Where Are You?

by Patricia Wentworth

  However that may be, the man, with his suit-case in his hand, walked some ten feet along the pavement and got into the waiting car. The engine was running and they got off without any delay. It was not until an hour later that the car was found abandoned seven miles away in one of the lanes near Ledstow. But nobody had seen a spectacular blonde, and nobody had seen a bandaged man.

  CHAPTER XIX

  Miss Silver, having alighted from her bus, walked back along the approach to the station. Since all her fellow-passengers had also got down, she was by no means the only person who was doing so. One or two of the people who had been in the bus had gone into the station, but for the most part they were making for the High Street and the Market Square.

  The station stands a little below the by-pass. She was about half way up the slope when she noticed the man with the bandaged head. Since he had not been one of the passengers in the bus he must have come out of the station, and since the County Hospital is very conveniently situated not more than a few hundred yards to the right, it was quite natural to suppose that he might be making his way in that direction. She had the habit of noticing anything at all out of the usual. The man excited her commiseration. It was his head that was bandaged, but he had also a pronounced limp, and he leaned upon a stick as he walked. A loose raincoat seemed to weigh him down and he was further burdened by a suit-case. Despite his feeble appearance he passed her and went on up the rise. By the time she reached the by-pass he had crossed it. And then her attention was diverted, because a car drew up a few paces away and Frank Abbott hailed her.

  When she was in the front seat beside him and the door was shut, he said,

  “I didn’t get out-just in case. That being the Deep End bus, I thought we’d better be on the safe side. There might be someone who saw me when I came down before, and we don’t exactly want to advertise the connection with the police. What I thought we might do was drive out to a new road-house they’ve started between this and Ledstow. It caters for courting couples, I am told, and is full of discreet corners and lights turned low. It’s not likely to be crowded so early as this.”

  They slipped smoothly out along the by-pass. They did not therefore hear the shots which killed the bank manager and his clerk.

  To Miss Silver’s “I am very glad to see you, Frank,” he replied,

  “And I to see you-I haven’t been easy. And now what have you got to tell me?”

  “Not very much, I am afraid. Mrs. Craddock is delicate and overworked. The children have been mismanaged and neglected, but they are beginning to respond to more sensible treatment. I do not, therefore, feel that I am wasting my time.”

  The road being open and empty, he was able to throw her a look of mingled affection and protest.

  “And so you are settling down as a nursery governess!”

  Miss Silver smiled.

  “Not entirely. I hope to persuade Mrs. Craddock to send Jennifer and Maurice to boarding schools. It would be better for them in every way. But that is not what you want to hear about. You know, of course, that Thomasina Elliot is here.”

  “I did my best to stop her. Fine eyes, but a stubborn temper. I have decided to let her marry Peter Brandon.”

  “I was at first considerably disturbed by her arrival, but she is very conveniently placed for hearing any talk there has been about Miss Ball. The Miss Tremletts delight in talk of every kind.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Has there been any talk about Miss Ball? And when you say talk, do you mean what usually goes by that name?”

  “I think so. There was a man whom she used to slip out to meet in the evenings. Mrs. Craddock informed me that she had seen them together and was not at all happy about it. And Miss Elliot tells me that each of the Miss Tremletts had also seen them.”

  She proceeded to describe the three incidents as they had been conveyed to her by Mrs. Craddock and by Thomasina, ending up with a description of the paper found in Anna Ball’s handbag.

  “I do not know how it strikes you, but the impression I received was that Miss Ball in writing down these variants of Sandrow was either trying to recall a name imperfectly remembered, or to decide upon an alias for someone whose real name it was desirable to conceal.”

  He nodded.

  “I expect you are right. So there was a man after all-I ought to have been able to bank on it. When a girl goes missing there always is. And the people who ought to know better come in flocks and tell us that Mary, or Doris, or Elsie never had a boy friend in her life. It looks as if we’ve been had for mugs.”

  “My dear Frank!” Miss Silver’s tone reproved him.

  “Let us say we have been misled. Well, that rather lets the Colony out, doesn’t it? She went out meeting Mr. Sandrow at nights, and she left the Craddocks in a hurry before her month was up. It doesn’t look to me as if there was much mystery about it, you know. Lonely girl with an inferiority complex meets beguiling stranger and goes off with him. I think we may rely upon it that his intentions were strictly dishonourable, because if they had married she would have tumbled over herself to let Thomasina know.”

  Miss Silver did not answer immediately. Then she said,

  “It might be so. But there are two points which are not explained. In the first place, there is a singular combination of secrecy and frankness. She conceals her meetings with this man at one moment and obtrudes them at another. She slips out after dark without saying anything, but she allows Miss Gwyneth Tremlett to see her driving with him in Ledlington by daylight.”

  “Well, Anna couldn’t have known that she would run into Miss Gwyneth.”

  “My dear Frank! I can assure you that if one of the Miss Tremletts goes into Dedham or Ledlington, everyone in the Colony will know by what bus she goes in, and by what bus she intends to return.”

  “Oh, it’s that way, is it?”

  “Indeed it is. They delight in imparting information about everything they do. I have no doubt at all that Anna Ball was aware that Miss Gwyneth would be waiting for her bus at the time she drove by with Mr. Sandrow.”

  “You think she wanted to be seen with him?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Why?”

  “I do not know. That is my first point-Mr. Sandrow is first concealed, and then obtruded. And one of the things that is obtruded is his name. She gave it to Mrs. Craddock and she gave it to Miss Elaine, and she gave it without solicitation or pressure. It looks as if she wished the name to be known. But nothing more. In each case a most natural enquiry is checked by downright rudeness. And now for my second point. If, as you conjecture, she left the Craddocks to join a lover, why was she overcome by distress?”

  “Distress?”

  “You told me so yourself. When you came down to make enquiries the Miss Tremletts and Miranda informed you that they had seen Miss Ball drive away with Mr. Craddock. She was wearing a red hat which the Craddocks had given her. The station-master at Dedham, where she took a ticket for London -”

  “Yes, I remember-he said Craddock saw her off-a dark young woman in a red hat. And a bit about her being a good deal upset, and Mr. Craddock telling him she had been having trouble with her nerves and they were glad to be rid of her.”

  “Yes. Do you remember he said that she was crying?”

  “I don’t know-I think I got that impression. Let me see… No, I don’t seem to get farther than ‘a good bit upset.’ What is the point?”

  Miss Silver said slowly, “If she was crying she would probably have had her handkerchief up to her face. ‘A good deal upset’ and Mr. Craddock’s explanation about nerves does to my mind suggest tears and a necessity to account for them. If she was really crying, what was the reason for those tears? But suppose she was not crying at all. Suppose they were only a pretext for the handkerchief.”

  Frank whistled. “You mean?”

  “I have wondered whether it was Anna Ball who got into the London train that day.”

  Frank Abbott swerved to avoid a motor-b
icycle emerging with great suddenness from a particularly narrow lane. After a moment he said,

  “What makes you think it wasn’t?”

  Miss Silver coughed.

  “I do not go as far as that. I merely wonder whether the young woman who got into that train was really Anna Ball.”

  “And what has set you wondering?”

  “The red hat.”

  He repeated the words in a tone of surprise.

  “The red hat!”

  “Yes. From the first I have thought a good deal about that red hat. Anna Ball was not satisfied with the Craddocks, nor they with her. She was slipping out at night to meet a man about whom she told them nothing but his bare name. She had been extremely rude to Mrs. Craddock, her demeamour was reserved and sullen. Why should they go out of their way to give her a red hat? There might, of course, be other reasons, but there is one which has kept on coming into my mind. If for some reason it was desired to create the impression that Miss Ball had gone away by train when she had in fact not gone away at all, or not gone away in that manner and at that time, then the red hat would be of great assistance in producing that impression. When the Miss Tremletts say that they saw Mr. Craddock go by with Anna Ball-when Miranda and Mr. Remington corroborate this-what do you suppose these four people did actually see? They would hear the car coming, and they would look to see who was in it. They would see Mr. Craddock and a girl in a red hat. I doubt very much if they would see more than that. They would all know about the gift of the hat. Do you suppose it would occur to them that the person wearing it was not Miss Ball? If a deliberate deception had been planned, it would be easy enough for the person who was wearing the hat to turn towards Mr. Craddock as if talking to him, in which case all that would be seen by the Miss Tremletts, or by Miranda and Mr. Remington, would be a passing impression of dark hair under a red hat. As to the stationmaster at Dedham, it is most improbable that he knew Anna Ball by sight, but just in case there should be anyone in the station who had seen her at Deep End the girl in the red hat is upset. She uses her handkerchief to dab her eyes and, incidentally, to hide her face. Mr. Craddock impresses it on the stationmaster that Miss Ball has been having trouble with her nerves, and that they are glad to be getting rid of her. This would serve the double purpose of focussing the stationmaster’s attention upon the fact that Anna Ball had left Deep End and returned to London, whilst at the same time accounting for the fact that she avoided observation and kept her handkerchief up to her face.”

  Frank Abbott turned a quizzical eye upon his Miss Silver.

  “We do not really know that she did either.”

  Her reply was in her mildest manner.

  “I believe, my dear Frank, that I prefaced my remarks by the word ‘If.’ ‘If for some reason it was desired to create an impression that Miss Ball had left by train for London -if a deliberate deception had been planned.’ I certainly did not commit myself to the opinion that this had been the case. I merely wished to point out that had there been such a desire and such a plan, there would not have been any great difficulty in carrying it out.”

  “Why should there have been a plan of that kind? To put it bluntly, why should Mr. Craddock desire to make away with Miss Ball? You see, this theory of yours would implicate him up to the hilt. The Miss Tremletts, Miranda, and Augustus Remington and the stationmaster are one thing-Craddock is quite another. Whoever was deceived, he couldn’t have been. If the girl he saw off at Dedham wasn’t Anna Ball, he must have known that she wasn’t.”

  “Certainly he must have known it.”

  “Well then, we’re back at the question of motive. Why the play-acting? Why any of it?”

  “Yes-that is what I have been asking myself. And more particularly, why the gift of the red hat? I do not say there is not a satisfactory answer to these questions, but up to now none has presented itself.”

  Frank Abbott said with half a laugh,

  “The best answer would come from the girl herself. Pity she hasn’t been traced.”

  Miss Silver answered him gravely.

  “And that takes us back to the point from which we started. Where is Anna Ball?”

  CHAPTER XX

  As they turned in at the road-house, a small car passed them, heading for Ledstow. There were two people in it. Frank Abbott noticed a couple of the figures on the number-plate. Miss Silver was aware that the driver was a woman. There was no reason why either of them should have noticed more than that. It was only a good deal later when the car had been found deserted in Miller’s Lane that they realized it was the Ledlington bank murderer and his accomplice who had passed them. The car was going very fast indeed.

  Inside the café they drank tea and went on talking. The place, as Frank Abbott had said, was well adapted for private conversation. There were nooks, there were alcoves, there were comfortable chairs, and discreetly shaded lights. Having listened to all that Miss Silver had to tell him, he had a contribution of his own to make.

  “You haven’t asked me how I come to be here.”

  Miss Silver smiled.

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  “Yes, I am. Do you remember my talking to you about a bank robbery at Enderby Green a month ago?”

  “A very shocking affair. The bank manager was shot dead. But there was a clerk-I hope he recovered.”

  Frank nodded.

  “He was lucky-the bullet just missed everything that mattered. I think I told you he had been rather clever. He was making entries in red ink at the time, and he managed to get some of it on to a bundle of notes they made him hand over. Well, of course everyone has been warned to look out for those notes. The murderer naturally wouldn’t try to pass anything that was badly marked, but what the clerk did was to get a finger in the ink and smear the edge of the packet. If the colour didn’t run in beyond the edge, it might have been just possible to shave it off, so all banks were told to be on the look out for this. Well, two notes have turned up this week. A young chap called Wayne in the County Bank here spotted them. It was bright of him, because the shaving had been very carefully done. I can’t say I’d have noticed it myself if I hadn’t been on the look out for it, but under a magnifying glass you can see that the edge has been tampered with, and there is even a trace of the red ink. The Chief sent me down, and we’ve been in a huddle over it most of the morning.”

  “And have you been able to trace the notes?”

  “Up to a point, yes. Or at any rate one of them. They were paid in separately, and when this fellow Wayne noticed one of them he reported it to the manager and they went through all the lot and found another. Only of course by that time no one could say where it had come from, so except as an indication that someone in the district is passing these notes, the second one is a wash-out.”

  “And the first?”

  “Well, that was paid in by a Miss Weekes who has a fancy-work shop at Dedham. Jackson and I went over to see her about it. She hasn’t any regular day for banking her takings, because she has relations in Ledlington and when she comes over she likes to spend the day with them, so it’s a matter of mutual convenience. There’s a friend who looks after the shop when she isn’t there.”

  Miss Silver smiled.

  “Fancy-work shops are often run in quite an easy-going way. It is considered a refined occupation by those who have had no business training.”

  He laughed. “Miss Weekes is nothing if not refined. I think you’ve met her?”

  “She has wool of a very good quality. I bought some two days ago.”

  “And you paid-how?”

  She said soberly,

  “With a pound note. My dear Frank, you are not going to tell me-”

  “I don’t know-I wish I did. Miss Weekes banked four pound notes yesterday. Of those four she herself took three-one from you. She described you as the lady who is staying at Deepe House, and added that you did a lot of knitting.”

  “Oh, yes, I was recommended to go to her by Mr. Hawkes, the postman. She is,
I believe, a connection of his.”

  His very fair eyebrows rose.

  “Whoever it was who said that one half of the world doesn’t know how the other half lives obviously had no experience of an English village. Talk about the fierce light that beats upon a throne-it simply isn’t in it with the light that beats on rural England.”

  Miss Silver coughed.

  “I have often thought so. But let us return to Miss Weekes and the four pound notes. One of them came from me. What about the others?”

  “She says Mr. Augustus Remington came in for embroidery silks. He is a frequent customer and she knows him well. He came in the same day that you did. His bill amounted to thirty-two and sixpence, and he paid it with a pound note, a ten shilling note, and a half-crown. Later on in the afternoon Miss Gwyneth Tremlett came in for canvas and raffia. She also paid with a pound note. So there are three of them accounted for. But no one seems to know anything about number four. Miss Weekes became quite tearful over it and said her friend must have taken it on Tuesday morning whilst she was out doing the shopping. The friend’s name is Hill, and she is a dreep. She has nervous prostration if more than two people come into the shop together. On Tuesday morning there was apparently an avalanche of six, and she became completely disorganized. By the time Jackson and I had finished with her the only thing she was sure about was that she had put all the money in the till, and if there was an extra pound note there someone must have given it to her, but if it was her last dying breath she couldn’t say more than that, and if we were going to take her to prison, she was ready to go, and all she wanted was to be allowed to die quietly of the disgrace and not have to face the neighbours. You know the kind of thing.”

  “It is extremely difficult to deal with.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. Jackson says he has an aunt like it, and there’s nothing you can do. As he put it, by the time they’ve finished working themselves up they don’t know black from white, nor chalk from cheese. So there we are-one pound note from you, one from Augustus Remington, one from Miss Gwyneth, and one from wherever you please. Where did yours come from?”