The Fingerprint (The Miss Silver Mysteries Book 30)

by Patricia Wentworth

  Miss Silver’s knock was a most welcome sound. She brought two magazines and three picture papers from Georgina and a book from Mrs. Abbott, who had had it given to her for Christmas and thought Maggie might like to look at it. It was called Dress Through The Ages and there were a great many pictures, so Maggie thought she would. Meanwhile she set herself to make the most of her visitor. Miss Silver had been at the funeral, she had lunched at the Abbotts’, and she was actually staying at Field End, all of which combined to make her a most desirable source of information.

  Miss Silver was so amiable in her response that they were soon launched upon one of those long, comfortable conversations which cover a great deal of ground and are trammelled by no special rules. At first the questions were mostly Maggie’s, and the replies, nicely calculated to maintain the interest of the proceedings whilst adding very little to what had already appeared in the Press, were Miss Silver’s. It thrilled Maggie Bell to be told what Miss Georgina and Miss Mirrie had worn at the funeral – everything new, the both of them.

  ‘And time some of the ladies did the same, if you ask me. There’s Mrs. Fabian – you wouldn’t credit it, but that black costume of hers, well, it’s one she had when Mr. Fabian died twenty years ago! That’s what Mum says, and she ought to know, she’s had it in I don’t know how often, letting it out when Mrs. Fabian puts on and taking it in when she goes down again, to say nothing of lifting the hem when skirts go up and dropping it again when they come down. And last time she had it in, she took and told her straight, Mum did. “Mrs. Fabian,” she said, “it isn’t worth what I’ll have to charge you for the alterations, and that’s the fact,” she said.’

  When the murder had been discussed and the enthralling subject of clothes exhausted, the conversation, guided by Miss Silver, began to concern itself with the disadvantages of a party line.

  ‘I am sure, with so much going on and so many police calls, you must find it very disturbing. There is that peculiar tinkle every time anyone is rung up, is there not? And of course there is always the possibility that the call is for oneself. It must be a great help to Mrs. Bell to have you here to attend to all that sort of thing.’

  Falling comfortably into Miss Silver’s assumption that a tinkle could be readily confused with a ring, Maggie said in a long-suffering tone that it was ever such a nuisance, but of course she had to do what she could to help poor Mum, or she’d never be able to get on with her work.

  These preliminaries over, Miss Silver coughed and said,

  ‘I suppose you would not happen to remember whether you were much disturbed on Tuesday evening? But no – it’s so many days ago now, and even at the time I do not suppose you would have noticed anything.’

  Maggie bridled. She was the noticing sort and nobody was going to tell her she wasn’t. And as to not remembering, there wasn’t one single thing that happened in Deeping or round about that didn’t stay just as sharp and clear in her mind as when it happened. She said as much, and was rewarded by Miss Silver’s declaring that it was a gift.

  ‘Do you really mean to say that you could remember whether anyone rang up Field End on the Tuesday evening?’

  Maggie nodded, her sharp little face intent.

  ‘Miss Cicely did for one.’

  ‘Do you remember what time that was?’

  ‘It was eight minutes to ten. Miss Cicely wanted some pattern or other, and Miss Georgina said to come over and get it any time in the morning – only come the morning I don’t suppose either of them thought about it because of Mr. Field being murdered on the Tuesday night.’

  ‘And was that the only call for Field End on Tuesday evening?’

  ‘Ten o’clock Mum started getting me to bed. The bell went twice, but we didn’t take any notice. My back was bad and Mum was having a job to get me moved. She brings the phone over nights once I’m in bed. Sometimes it rings and sometimes it doesn’t. When it does as likely as not it’s someone ill and ringing up the doctor from the call-box at the corner, and if it’s one of my bad nights I don’t always bother.’

  Miss Silver looked at her compassionately.

  ‘Was Tuesday one of your bad nights?’

  Maggie screwed up her face.

  ‘Well, it was. Mum sleeps in the next room. I don’t call her unless I’ve got to – you can’t work all day and not get your rest at night. The phone’s kind of company.’

  ‘Did anyone ring up Field End after you were in bed?’

  ‘Well, they did.’

  ‘Do you know who it was?’

  Maggie shook her head.

  ‘Not but what I’d heard him before.’

  ‘You mean you knew the voice?’

  ‘I’d heard it before – not to know who it was though.’

  Miss Silver sat there pleasant and composed. No one would have known that Maggie’s answers were of any special interest or importance. To Maggie herself they were just a part of the nice interesting conversation she was having with Mrs. Abbott’s little visiting lady. It was always nice to have someone fresh to talk to, and it wasn’t everyone who listened to what you had to say as if they appreciated it. Miss Silver listened, and Miss Silver said,

  ‘It was a man’s voice? Do you know to whom he was speaking?’

  ‘Oh, it was to Mr. Field.’

  ‘I suppose you do not remember what they were talking about?’

  ‘Of course I remember – as far as it went.’

  ‘How do you mean, Miss Bell?’

  It enchanted Maggie to be called Miss Bell. When you never go out and you live in a village where everyone has known you since you were a baby, it isn’t a thing that very often happens to you. She became as anxious to speak as Miss Silver was to hear. Someone who really listened, someone who called her Miss Bell. A flow of words set in.

  ‘Well, you see, it was like this. There I was in my bed, and not so bad as long as I didn’t try and move, and there was the phone and I couldn’t reach it without I did move. So first I thought I wouldn’t, and then I thought I would, and by the time I got hold of the receiver there was Mr. Field saying, “Rather a late hour to suggest a meeting, isn’t it?”‘

  ‘And what did the caller say?’

  ‘Oh, he said he’d had trouble with his car or he’d have been down earlier – had to stop at a garage and have something done. And then he went on to say it was the best he could do – he was bound to push on to London because of having to take the first plane in the morning. “So it’s now or never,” he said. “And the chance of a lifetime.” And then Mr. Field said, “All right, come round on to the terrace behind the house and I’ll let you in. You’ll see the light.”’

  There was a momentary pause before Miss Silver said,

  ‘Miss Bell, did it not occur to you that the police should be informed about this call?’

  Maggie sniffed.

  ‘They’ve their own ways of finding out, haven’t they?’

  ‘They were aware that a call had been put through to Field End at half past ten, but the operator was unable to tell them any more than that.’

  ‘It wasn’t any business of mine – not if no one troubled to ask me!’

  Miss Silver became aware that Maggie was not one of those who can be prompted to further confidences by severity. She said in her mildest voice,

  ‘You are being most helpful. I am sure you can see that what you have just told me might be very important. When you heard next day of Mr. Field’s murder it must have occurred to you that the person who made that appointment on the telephone was most probably the murderer.’

  Maggie said, ‘Oooh!’ drawing the vowel out very long indeed.

  ‘You are a great deal too intelligent not to have seen the connection and to have drawn your own conclusions.’

  Maggie was twisting her handkerchief into a rope.

  ‘Well, I did think—’

  Miss Silver gave her an encouraging smile.

  ‘Of course you did. Now you said that you thought you had heard this man’s
voice before.’

  ‘I didn’t think nothing about it! I knew right away I’d heard it. And that’s why I thought I’d keep quiet, because I thought if it was someone that was friendly with the family there couldn’t be anything to tell, and anyway least said soonest mended.’

  ‘You knew the voice because you had heard it before? On the line to Field End?’

  Maggie nodded, made a grimace as if the movement hurt her, and said,

  ‘I’d heard it all right, and I’d know it again if I heard it again.’

  ‘Miss Bell, when did you hear it before?’

  There was no hesitation this time. Words came trippingly.

  ‘Fortnight ago, the Saturday they gave that dance for Miss Georgina and Miss Mirrie – that’s when I heard it.’

  ‘At what time?’

  ‘Ten minutes past seven, because she was in the middle of her dressing and she run over to Miss Georgina’s sitting-room to take the call.’

  ‘Who did, Miss Bell – who took the call? Miss Georgina?’

  ‘Well then, she didn’t. He wasn’t Miss Georgina’s sort – anyone could tell that.’

  ‘Was it Miss Mirrie?’

  Maggie had coloured right up. The flush made her features look very sharp and thin. She hadn’t meant to give Miss Mirrie away, not if it was ever so. That bit about her having run over to take the call in Miss Georgina’s sitting-room had just slipped out and no harm meant. But now that it was out she couldn’t take it back. Not that she had said the name, but name or no name you couldn’t miss that it was bound to be Miss Mirrie, with her room just over the way from Miss Georgina’s.

  Miss Silver had missed nothing.

  ‘It was Miss Mirrie who took the call on the night of the dance?’

  ‘Well, then, it was.’

  Miss Silver smiled.

  ‘Miss Mirrie is a very pretty girl. It would not surprise me to hear that a good many young men would be glad if she rang them up.’

  Maggie nodded.

  ‘They say she’s going steady with Mr. Johnny. But this one that was ringing her up before the dance – bit of a jealous one I should say he was. He’d got to see her. Right up on his high horse he was about it. He would come down on his motorbike and he’d be out on the terrace just before twelve, and she was to come out and see him. She said something about showing him her dress – ever so pretty it was, all white frills. And he come in as sharp as sharp and said dresses weren’t nothing to him, but he’d got to see her and tell her about new arrangements for where to write. Said the old ones weren’t safe any more, and nor was the phone, and she wasn’t to ring him up on any account or there’d be trouble. And he rung off without giving her time to say anything.’

  ‘You are sure it was Miss Mirrie he was speaking to?’

  ‘Oh, yes, there was several times she tried to get a word in and he wouldn’t let her. Right away at the beginning he said he didn’t want anything out of her, only to listen to what he’d got to say and do like he told her.’ Maggie tossed her head. ‘Well, I know what I’d have said to him, talking like that! But all she did was to say, “Oh!” and shut up like he told her.’

  ‘You are sure about its being the same voice that was speaking to Mr. Field on Tuesday night?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to say, because of Miss Mirrie, but I’m sure all right.’

  There was a vexed sound in Maggie’s voice. She lay immovable on her sofa, but Miss Silver was aware of a withdrawal. She said,

  ‘Was that the only time you heard Miss Mirrie talking to this man?’

  Maggie did not stop to think. She saw what she thought was a way out and she made a dash for it. She tossed her head again and said,

  ‘Why, she couldn’t get a word in edgeways, which isn’t what I’d call talking to anyone!’

  Miss Silver ignored the sharpness of her tone.

  ‘No, you made it quite clear that it was this man who was doing the talking. What I am asking you now is whether there was any other occasion when you heard the same voice speaking, either to Miss Mirrie or to anyone else.’

  Maggie waited a second too long before she came back with ‘It wouldn’t be my business if I had!’

  Miss Silver looked at her kindly.

  ‘You do not wish to do Miss Mirrie any harm. But you may be helping her, you know. If this man has been frightening her into meeting him or giving him information she may need to be protected from him. She is a very young girl and she has no father or mother. I think there is something you have not told me, and I would like you to do so. If this man is a murderer, do you not think that Miss Mirrie may be in need of protection? I would ask you very seriously indeed to tell me what you know.’

  There was a moment of indecision. Then Maggie said,

  ‘She rang him up.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Quarter past eight Tuesday evening. And it’s no use your asking me what number, because I didn’t get on in time to hear it. First thing I did hear was him scolding her for ringing up. “And no names,” he says, “or it’ll be the worse for you.” Proper bullying way he’d got with him, and not what I’d have put up with if I’d been her. And she says oh don’t – she’d only got a minute because of their all being in the drawing-room having coffee. And then a bit about her uncle having got back from London and telling her he’d made a new will and signed it and all and he was treating her just like she was his daughter. Ever so pleased she was, and no wonder.’

  ‘What did the man say to that?’

  ‘Oh, he said it was a bit of all right, and he’d got a friend at court that had okayed it or he might have thought it was just a bit too good to be true. Miss Mirrie asked him what he meant, and he said he’d got ways of finding out what he wanted to know and she wasn’t to trouble her head, he could look after them both. And she’d better be getting back to the drawing-room, or someone would be wondering where she was.’

  Miss Silver said in her most serious tone,

  ‘Miss Bell, are you quite, quite sure that the man who spoke to Miss Mirrie before the dance was the man whom she rang up on Tuesday evening at a quarter past eight, and who rang up Mr. Field and made an appointment with him later on the same night?’

  Maggie stared.

  ‘It was the same voice. I could swear to that.’

  Miss Silver said,

  ‘You may have to.’

  THIRTY-ONE

  JOHNNY FABIAN DROVE Mirrie up on to the common and off the road along a sandy track that didn’t lead anywhere. Such a long time ago that most people had forgotten all about it a man called Sefton had tried to build a house there. The land being common land, he wasn’t allowed to get very far with it, and when he finally threw the whole thing up in disgust and went away, people from all the neighbouring villages came along and cleared the site. There really wasn’t much to take away – a few preliminary loads of bricks, a broken-down wheelbarrow, and a pile of gravel. It didn’t take long for the common to come back to its own with a crop of loosestrife, and later on with seedlings of gorse, heather and birch. Today the only indication that there had even been an invading house lay in the track which had led up to it, the rather more luxuriant growth which had followed the digging of the site, and the name of Sefton’s Folly.

  Johnny flogged his car to the end of the track and drew up there, remarking that Sefton would have had a fine view if he had been allowed to finish his house. He told Mirrie the story, and she said it would have been very lonely up here without another house anywhere in sight.

  Johnny laughed.

  ‘Some people like being all alone on the top of the world.’

  ‘I don’t. I’d hate it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I like people.’

  He laughed again.

  ‘Rows and rows of them – all in little houses exactly alike, with an aspidistra in the window?’

  Mirrie gazed at him.

  ‘Aunt Grace has an aspidistra. She is very proud of it. I had to sponge the leaves.’

>   ‘And you loved it passionately?’

  ‘I didn’t! I hated it!’

  ‘Darling, what a good thing! Because, easy as I shall be to live with, on that point my mind is made up, my foot is down, and my will is law. I won’t share a flat with an aspidistra!’

  She went off into a peal of laughter.

  ‘Oh, Johnny, you are funny!’

  They were not looking at the view selected by Mr. Sefton. The common stood high and there was quite a wide prospect. The bells of Deeping church came up into the silence in a very pleasing manner, and the cloud which was later on to break in rain still lay crouched upon the horizon, leaving the sky agreeably dappled with blue and grey. The air was mild and the two front windows of the car stood open to it.

  Mirrie and Johnny looked at each other. She wasn’t wearing her new black suit but the grey tweed skirt and white wool jumper, with an old nondescript top coat of Georgina’s which Johnny had fished out of the cupboard under the stairs. She was bare-headed with a black and white scarf about her neck. If country clothes were not very exciting they were certainly comfortable and warm. She also thought that she looked quite nice in them. Johnny thought so too. He kissed her several times before he said,

  ‘Darling, this is not why I brought you here.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘Definitely not. The reason we are here is because I want to talk to you, and this is the sort of place where nobody is likely to butt in.’

  ‘What do you want to talk about?’

  ‘You – me – Sid Turner.’

  She winced away from the mention of Sid’s name.

  ‘I don’t want to. Johnny, I don’t.’

  ‘Sorry, darling, but I do. If you didn’t want people to talk about Sid you oughtn’t to have asked him to the funeral.’

  ‘Johnny, I didn’t – I wouldn’t! He just came.’

  ‘And you just took him off into the morning-room.’

  ‘I didn’t! It was he who took me. I didn’t want to talk to him.’