Latter End

by Patricia Wentworth

  Lamb, reflecting that someone had missed the chance of spanking her when young, thumped the table with a formidable hand, and rapped out,

  “Please pay attention, Mrs. Marsh! Sergeant Abbott isn’t here to look at you-he’s here to take down what you say, so I’ll be obliged if you’ll give your mind to it.”

  He received a languishing gaze and a giggle.

  “You haven’t asked me anything yet-have you?”

  “You needn’t trouble about that-I’m going to. Now, Mrs. Marsh, you’ll be so kind as to give me your whole attention. About a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes ago you were in the kitchen talking to Polly Pell-”

  Gladys pouted her scarlet lips.

  “That’s right-we were having an elevens. Anything wrong about it?”

  She didn’t get any answer to that. Lamb looked at her as stolidly as if she had been a rag doll. He said,

  “Your conversation was overheard.”

  Gladys raised her plucked eyebrows and said in a genteel voice,

  “Reelly? I don’t know how people can lower themselves to listen at doors-do you? It isn’t what I’d call naice myself.”

  This was too much for Lamb. His eyes bolted perceptibly, and his voice rasped as he said,

  “That’s quite enough of that! You were heard to say that you knew more about Mrs. Latter’s death than you had disclosed to the police. You said you could put a rope round the neck of someone in this house and you were going to do it, but you were holding back what you knew because you wanted to make a splash.”

  The blue eyes ceased to languish. They showed a calculating gleam.

  “You don’t say!”

  “Will you explain what you meant?”

  “Well-I dunno-”

  “I think you’d better. Ever heard of an accessory in a murder case? It means someone who knows something about the murder, either before or afterwards-a person who participates by advice, command, or concealment.” He repeated the last two words in a slow, weighty tone-“Or concealment, Mrs. Marsh. And an accessory can be put in the dock and tried with the principal.” His manner changed suddenly. “But there-I expect you were just doing a bit of boasting, trying to impress that girl Polly. If you really knew anything, a smart girl like you wouldn’t be getting herself into trouble keeping it back. You’d look a lot better in the witness-box than you would in the dock-but I needn’t tell you that. Come now, out with it! You were just boasting, weren’t you?”

  She tossed her head.

  “It’s a free country, isn’t it? I can say what I like!”

  He kept his easy manner.

  “You said you could put a rope round somebody’s neck. You can’t say that sort of thing in the middle of a murder case and not be asked what you mean by it. Now-did you mean anything, or didn’t you? If you did, you can only tell it once, you know. No good saving it up to make a splash like you said and finding you’ve landed yourself up to your neck in trouble.” He let her have a moment, and then came back at her with a point-blank, “Have you got anything, or haven’t you?”

  She gave him a bright, bold stare.

  “Well then, I have.”

  “All right, let’s have it.”

  Frank Abbott pulled a block towards him and took up his pencil. Gladys watched him out of the corners of her eyes. He was going to take down what she said in shorthand. Then he would type it out, and they would ask her to sign it like they did before. She didn’t care-she might as well tell it now as later. She didn’t want to get into trouble with the police-they could make it ever so nasty for you if you got on the wrong side of them. Good-looking chap that Sergeant Abbott-looked cold enough to freeze you, but you couldn’t always tell by looks-she wouldn’t mind having a date with him. He must be bored stiff at the Bull… She recrossed her legs, hitching her skirt a little higher. A good thing she’d got those new long stockings. Mrs. Latter hadn’t liked the colour and she’d passed them on. Funny to think of her being gone and the stockings still here. A feeling of sincere regret that the source of so many favours should have been removed gave impetus to her decision. She tossed back her mane of hair and said,

  “I dunno who heard me talking to Polly, but I don’t need to take any of it back. I know what I heard and I know what I saw, and I know what I think about it. But I didn’t know at the time, so there’s nothing for me to get into trouble about.”

  The Chief Inspector was bluff.

  “You won’t get into trouble if you haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “Me?” She swept her lashes up, and down again-an accomplishment very carefully practised before her looking-glass. “I’m a good girl, I am-anyone’ll tell you that.”

  Lamb controlled himself with difficulty.

  “Well now, suppose you tell us what you heard and saw.”

  “I’m going to. It was on the Tuesday evening-”

  “You mean Tuesday this week?”

  “Yes, last Tuesday-the day after there was that turn-up in Mr. Antony’s room, and the day before Mrs. Latter was poisoned.”

  “All right, go on.”

  “Mrs. Latter stayed in her room most of the day. Mr. Latter was out pretty nearly all day. I didn’t know he was in until I come out of Mrs. Latter’s room about seven o’clock and I heard him in Miss Mercer’s bedroom-”

  “What’s that?”

  Gladys looked through her lashes.

  “He was in Miss Mercer’s bedroom on the other side of the landing. The door wasn’t fastened.”

  “You listened?”

  She tossed her head.

  “Seemed funny to me. I thought Mrs. Latter might like to know. Seemed he’d made a lot of fuss about her being in Mr. Antony’s room, and here he was, in with Miss Mercer. Seemed funny to me.”

  Lamb stared at her.

  “There’s quite a difference between twelve o’clock at night and seven o’clock in the evening, isn’t there? Well, you listened-”

  “I thought Mrs. Latter would like to know what they were saying. Ooh-I did get a start!”

  “Why?”

  “Mr. Latter was crying-he was reelly-down on his knees with his head in Miss Mercer’s lap.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I looked round the door. They was a great deal too taken up with themselves to notice if I’d come right into the room, but I just took a look and back again, and there was Miss Mercer in the little low easy chair, and Mr. Latter down on his knees with his head in her lap, and her stroking his hair and saying, ‘My poor Jimmy!’ ” Gladys sniffed virtuously. “And I thought to myself, ‘How’s that for goings on!’ ”

  Miss Silver looked across her clicking needles and said in a repressive voice,

  “You are doubtless aware, Chief Inspector, that Mr. Latter and Miss Mercer were brought up together like brother and sister.”

  He said, “Yes, yes,” and put up a hand for silence. “Go on, Mrs. Marsh.”

  “He went on crying for a bit, just like a big baby. And then he said all of a sudden, ‘I’ve got to sleep. I’ll go mad if I don’t-or I’ll do something I’ll be sorry for. You’ve got to give me something to make me sleep. What have you got?’ I took another look round the door, and he’d gone over to the medicine-cupboard she had in her room-the police took it away, but it used to hang right over the middle of the bookcase. He’d got the door open, and I saw him take a bottle out and look at it.”

  “What kind of a bottle?”

  “One of those flat ones with a screw top. He said, ‘This’ll make me sleep,’ and Miss Mercer come up to him and took it away. She said, ‘Oh, no-that’s morphia. You mustn’t have that-it’s dangerous.’ And he said, ‘As long as I sleep, I don’t care if I never wake up again.’ ”

  “Sure he said that?”

  She nodded.

  “Of course I’m sure! I heard it, didn’t I?”

  “Go on.”

  “Miss Mercer put the bottle back. She said something about it oughtn’t to be where it was. Seemed she thou
ght she’d put it away out of sight. She took out another bottle and tipped something out into her hand. She gave it to Mr. Latter and said, ‘Take these when you go to bed. They won’t do you any harm.’ And he said, ‘All the harm’s done, Min.’ And I come away, because it looked like he was getting ready to go.”

  Miss Silver gave a short dry cough. She addressed Gladys Marsh.

  “Mrs. Latter came down to the evening meal, I believe.”

  Without troubling to look at her Gladys said,

  “Yes, she did.”

  “Did you go back into her room to help her dress?”

  “What if I did?”

  “Nothing at all, Mrs. Marsh-I should merely like to know.”

  Gladys was inspecting a row of scarlet fingernails. With scant attention and no attempt at politeness, she said languidly,

  “Well then, I did.”

  “And did you acquaint her with what you had overheard?”

  Gladys threw up her head with a jerk and enquired of the Chief Inspector,

  “Look here-who’s she anyway? I don’t have to answer her, do I?”

  His voice was grim as he told her,

  “You don’t have to answer anyone-not till you come before the Coroner. But if you haven’t done anything wrong, what’s your objection? It’s a simple question enough. Perhaps you’ll answer me if I put it to you. Did you tell Mrs. Latter what you had overheard?”

  She rolled her eyes at him.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you did.”

  “Clever-aren’t you?”

  He went on as if she had not spoken.

  “But I’d like to hear whether you did or not. Come along- out with it!”

  Her hair had fallen forward again. She tossed it back.

  “Well, of course I did! That’s what I listened for, wasn’t it?”

  Lamb said,

  “That’s what you said. So you told Mrs. Latter there was a bottle of morphia tablets in Miss Mercer’s room-you did mention that?”

  Gladys looked sulky.

  “I told her what I heard and saw, same as I told you.”

  “You mentioned the morphia?”

  “I don’t know what you’re getting at. Of course I did!”

  Lamb was silent for a moment. Then he said,

  “Sure you’ve told us all you heard and saw?”

  “Isn’t it enough for you?”

  “I’m asking you whether you’ve told us all you heard and saw.”

  “I saw Mr. Latter with the morphia bottle in his hand, and I heard Miss Mercer tell him the stuff was dangerous. That’s something, isn’t it?”

  He said, “Yes-that’s something.”

  CHAPTER 30

  All right,” said Lamb-“you can go. Sergeant Abbott will type out your statement and you can sign it presently. It may be important, or it may not-it depends on what other people have to say. You’ve done right in making it, but I’m warning you to keep your mouth shut, or you may find you’re in trouble. You mustn’t go about saying you can put ropes round people’s necks, you know.”

  Gladys tipped her chair back and got up. As she passed Frank Abbott she contrived to brush against him. She seemed to stumble. Her hand caught at his shoulder, and a long flop of yellow hair fell down and tickled his cheek. He became disgustedly aware that it wanted washing. Something in his expression, something in the way he handed her off, brought the blood to her cheeks. She gave him a stabbing look and rounded on Lamb.

  “I’m to hold my tongue, am I? So you can hush it up, I wouldn’t wonder! If it had been me, there wouldn’t have been any hushing up! But because it’s Mr. Latter of Latter End nobody’s to let on he poisoned his wife! And I’ll tell you all something-Mrs. Latter was a very good friend to me, and you can’t shut my mouth! I’ve got my rights like other people!” She reached the door, jerked it open, and turned on the threshold to deliver a final volley. “My tongue’s my own and I’ll say what I like with it-so there!”

  The door banged. The Chief Inspector pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. Frank Abbott took out an immaculate handkerchief and wiped his cheek. Miss Silver continued to knit.

  Lamb spoke first. He said,

  “There’s times when it cramps you, being a police officer- there’s no doubt about that.”

  Frank crumpled the handkerchief and put it back in his pocket.

  “A few branding-irons and things, Chief? You know, somehow I don’t feel you’d really be at home in a torture chamber.”

  Lamb fixed him with an awful eye, and then relaxed.

  “What she wants is a good smacking,” he said. “Pity somebody didn’t do it for her when she was a kid.”

  Miss Silver coughed.

  “An exceedingly badly brought up young woman. As Lord Tennyson so truly says, ‘The tongue is a fire.’ But she will make a good witness, Chief Inspector.”

  He slewed round in his chair.

  “In what way?”

  Derek’s sock revolved briskly.

  “She is intelligent and, I think, accurate. Perhaps sharp would be a better word than intelligent. When you very kindly afforded me the opportunity of reading the statements which have been made, I was a good deal struck by her account of the scene in Mr. Antony Latter’s room on the Monday night. It was clear, vivid, and so accurate that neither Mr. Antony nor Mr. Jimmy Latter have challenged it in any respect. This argues a gift of aural memory which is not very common. In listening to her just now, I was confirmed in my opinion. Her evidence was, of course, tinged with spite, but it was presented very clearly, and the essential points were stressed. I should be very much surprised if her account of what took place in Miss Mercer’s room is not perfectly correct.”

  Frank Abbott was looking at her with a good deal of attention. The Chief Inspector let his hand fall heavily upon his knee.

  “Looks bad for your client, Miss Silver. She’ll go into the box and swear he knew where he could lay his hands on a dangerous dose of morphia. I agree she’ll make a good show there-always provided there aren’t too many women on the jury-the way she rolls her eyes won’t do her any good with them. No-it doesn’t look too good for Mr. Jimmy Latter.”

  Miss Silver coughed.

  “You are not, I suppose, overlooking the fact that Gladys Marsh will also have to swear that Mrs. Latter knew where she could lay her hands upon that morphia?”

  Lamb frowned. He drew his fingers up into a bunch, and then suddenly spread them out again as if he were letting something go. He said in a bluff voice,

  “One for you, and one for me-is that it?”

  Miss Silver’s needles clicked. She said primly,

  “The implication that we are taking sides is not one which I can accept, either for myself or for you, Chief Inspector.”

  He said, “Well, well-” and turned to Frank Abbott. “We’d better be getting a move on. Tell Miss Mercer I want to ask her a few questions.”

  Whilst they were waiting he picked up a stick of sealing-wax and began to fidget with it. When presently it snapped in his hand he turned to Miss Silver with an abrupt movement and said,

  “You’re a very obstinate woman, you know.”

  She allowed her eyes to meet his with a faint smile in them.

  “I hope not.”

  “No good hoping.”

  “Obstinacy is an impediment to the free exercise of thought. It paralyses the intelligence. Conclusions based upon preconceived ideas are valueless. It is only the open mind that really thinks. I endeavour to keep my mind open.”

  He turned back to the sealing-wax, picked up the two bits, frowned at his own attempt to make the broken ends fit, glanced suddenly over his shoulder, and said,

  “Look here, have you got anything up your sleeve?”

  “Nothing whatever, I assure you.”

  “You haven’t got the murderer there by any chance?”

  “No, indeed.”

  He threw down the sealing-wax and turned to face her.

  “I
f it comes to a trial, defence will be suicide. The way things are shaping, it lies between the husband and wife. They both knew about the morphia. Either he gave it to her, or she took it herself. You’ve read all the statements, and you’ve been mixing with the family in a way the police don’t get a chance of doing. You’ve talked with them, I don’t doubt, and you’ve formed an opinion of Mrs. Latter from what they’ve said. I don’t suppose it’s very different from the opinion I’ve formed myself. Without any beating about the bush- are you going to tell me you think it’s at all likely that she committed suicide?”

  “Likely? No. But unlikely things do happen, Chief Inspector.”

  “Are you going to tell me that in your opinion she did commit suicide?”

  She said, “No-” in a very thoughtful tone. And then, “Pray do not misunderstand me. I have at this time no opinion to offer-I have an open mind. I agree with you that Mrs. Latter does not sound at all the sort of person who would be likely to commit suicide, and I agree that if she had been going to do so she would have been much more likely to take the morphia after she had gone to bed. But, as I said, unlikely things do happen, especially when people have suffered a shock or some violent mental disturbance. We really do not know much about Mrs. Latter’s state of mind. Externally she was a hard, spoiled woman with a habit of getting her own way, but we do not know what was going on underneath. It has been rather stressed that her feeling for Mr. Antony was of a wilful and casual nature, and that in her pursuit of him she was actuated by anger against her husband and a desire to punish him. Mr. Antony specially stressed this point of view. It is, of course, quite natural that he should do so. He is very much attached to his cousin, and he desires to minimize the importance of what took place on Monday night by representing it as a sudden angry whim. But it is quite possible that Mrs. Latter’s feeling for him may have been of a much more serious character. She was a woman who was not accustomed to being crossed. Suppose her to have been actuated by one of those dangerous passions which so often precipitate a tragedy-suppose her to have become aware that she has a rival in Miss Vane. This would be a very formidable combination. What happens? She is not only refused, but the refusal occurs in her husband’s presence, and in circumstances calculated to give a very violent shock to her self-respect. I remember many years ago being very much impressed by the statement that crimes of violence by women are apt to follow directly upon some sudden lowering of their self-respect.”