The Fingerprint (The Miss Silver Mysteries Book 30)

by Patricia Wentworth

  ‘Then why did you?’

  ‘He made me.’

  ‘Why did you let him?’

  ‘I – I couldn’t help it.’

  He took both her hands and pulled her round to face him.

  ‘And now you’re not going to help talking to me! That is why we are here. Nobody’s going to come in and interrupt us, and if you were to scream for help until you hadn’t any more breath to scream with, no one would come. So just stop looking like a scared kitten. I am going to talk, and you are going to talk, and before we start I want to make it quite clear that lies are out.’

  Her eyes were like saucers.

  ‘Lies?’

  ‘Yes, darling. Fibs, falsehoods, tarradiddles, and what have you! They’re out, and the reason they’re out is that you can’t put them across. Not with me. Every time you’ve lied to me I’ve known about it. You can’t get away with it, so why bother? I’m an expert liar myself, and you won’t ever be able to take me in. It’s the same principle as set a thief to catch a thief. And that being that, darling, what about Sid Turner?’

  ‘S – S – Sid?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Yes, darling – Sid. The boy friend! That was the way he introduced himself, wasn’t it? Do you know, from what you have told me about Aunt Grace I shouldn’t have expected her to approve of him.’

  ‘She d-doesn’t.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. What does he do for a living?’

  ‘I d-don’t quite know.’

  Johnny Fabian laughed.

  ‘Don’t you ask no questions and you won’t be told no lies – that’s about the size of it, I should say! Always got plenty of money – better not ask where he gets it! Now to start with, he doesn’t always call himself Sid Turner, does he? That letter you dropped at the post office – that was to him, wasn’t it?’

  She raised brimming eyes to his face, and then quite suddenly she put up her hands and covered them.

  ‘Oh, Johnny—’

  ‘All right – that’s as good as a yes. It was to Sid. Now just carry your mind back to the day you wrote that letter and pretended to read it to me.’

  ‘I d-did read it to you.’

  ‘Not all of it, I think. And anyhow what you told me was that you were writing to Miss Ethel Brown who had been your schoolmistress. You told quite a lot of lies about that. First Miss Ethel Brown was your schoolmistress, and then you remembered that wouldn’t do because you went to the Grammar School. And then you said Miss Brown and her sister didn’t exactly keep a school – they had a few pupils, and you had promised to write and tell them how you were getting on at Field End. What you wrote in the part you read out to me was that Uncle Jonathan was so kind and he was going to leave you a lot of money in his will. I don’t know what was in the bits you didn’t read me, but what I do know is that none of it was written to Miss Ethel Brown. Because when you dropped the letter and I picked it up, it was addressed to Mr. E. C. Brown, 10, Marracott Street, Pigeon Hill, S.E. You Pretended that he was Miss Brown’s brother, and that she was staying with him. And you might as well have saved your breath. You were just making it up as you went along, and you couldn’t have been doing it worse. So now I’m going to have the truth. The letter was to Sid Turner, wasn’t it?’

  She gave a miserable little nod and two of the brimming drops ran down to the corners of her mouth.

  ‘Did he tell you to write and let him know if Jonathan had settled any money on you?’

  She nodded again.

  ‘Oh, yes, he d-did.’

  ‘And you always do everything he tells you? Nice obedient little girl, aren’t you! Come along – just what have you been up to with Sid?’

  Mirrie burst into tears.

  ‘Johnny, I haven’t – I didn’t – oh, Johnny!’

  He went on in the hard new voice which was making her cry.

  ‘It’s not the least use your crying. You’ve got to tell me just how far you’ve gone with him.’

  ‘Oh, Johnny, it was only to the pictures. Aunt Grace never let me go anywhere except to tea with girls she thought it was nice for me to know. I just went to the pictures with Sid, and told her I was with Hilda Lambton or Mary Dean. That’s all – it really is.’

  He was watching her, his eyes as hard as his voice.

  ‘He made love to you?’

  ‘Only a 1-little.’

  ‘And just what do you mean by that?’

  ‘Oh, Johnny—’

  ‘Out with it!’

  ‘T-treading on my foot and holding hands in the pictures, and k-kissing me good night. Oh, Johnny, I didn’t like it – I didn’t really!’

  He continued to hold her at arm’s length and to watch her. She couldn’t ever tell him about the time when Sid had really frightened her. And right on the top of her thinking about it Johnny was saying,

  ‘What did he do to scare you like this? You’re frightened to death of him, and I’m going to know why!’

  She couldn’t tell him why. It had frightened her too much – the little dark alley between the houses and no windows looking that way, and Sid with his knife out and the point sharp against her throat. If she moved, it would go right in and she would be dead. It tickled against her skin, and he was telling her what he would do to her if she split on him. ‘Near or far, I’d get at you and I’d do you in. You wouldn’t know when it was coming. You’d be walking along feeling safe, and all at once the knife would be in your back and you’d be dead. Dead girls tell no tales.’ That was what he had said. And then he had laughed and put the knife in his pocket and kissed her the way she didn’t like to be kissed, holding her right close up against him and almost stopping her breath. She could never tell Johnny about that. And it was all because she had asked a question. There had been a policeman shot and Sid had been going on about it, saying the police were too nosey by half and a good job if one of them got what was coming to him. There was a jeweller’s shop that had been broken into and she and Sid were larking – just a bit of a joke it was, him saying she was to give him a kiss, and her saying she wouldn’t and pushing him away, and just for fun she put her hand in his inside pocket. It was his wallet she meant to snatch, but her hand came back with a little parcel in it instead, and when he tried to get it away from her the paper tore and something fell down between them. Too dark for either of them to see where it was, but Mirrie found it. Her hand came right down on it when she stopped, and she didn’t need a light to tell her what it was. A ring with three big stones, and she slipped it on her finger and wished she could see what it looked like there. That was when she asked that question, pleased and laughing in the dark alley with the ring on her hand. And not thinking anything until the words were out, not thinking anything at all until she heard herself say, ‘Ooh – that’s a nice ring, and it fits me!’ And then she said, ‘Where did you get it, Sid, and is it for me?’ That was when he reached out and caught her in that hard grip and set the knife against her throat. She couldn’t ever tell Johnny about that.

  She leaned away from him as far as she could, and he saw the terror in her eyes. He couldn’t go on – not when she looked at him like that. He had always had a soft spot for anything that was frightened or hurt. He let go of Mirrie’s hands and pulled her into his arms.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that, silly little thing! I’m not going to hurt you, I’m going to look after you. I don’t care what anyone has made you do. Do you hear – I don’t care. If this chap has been frightening you, I’ll knock his block off. If he’s blackmailing you you’d better tell me all about it. If you’re in a jam we are in it together. And I’ll get you out – I promise I’ll get you out.’

  When he held her like that Mirrie felt it was really true. All the time she was remembering about Sid and the knife she had been getting colder and colder, and stiffer and stiffer. She couldn’t feel her feet and she couldn’t feel her hands. But now, with Johnny holding her close, the stiffness and the coldness were going out of her. She was warm again, and she was saf
e. Sid and the knife were a long way off. Johnny would keep her safe. She pressed her face down into the hollow of his shoulder and told him about the dark alley, and the ring, and the knife that had pricked her throat.

  THIRTY-TWO

  WHEN MISS SILVER got back to Field End she was in some doubt as to what she should do next. She was, as a rule, a person of quick decisions, but at this moment she was aware of two opposing impulses, and she felt obliged to give each of them her most serious attention before complying with either. On the one hand, she could not minimise the importance of what she had heard from Maggie Bell, and she felt that no time should be lost in passing this information on to Frank Abbott. On the other, it might be desirable for her to check over with Mirrie the two telephone conversations which Maggie had overheard. The third conversation, the one in which Jonathan Field had been a participant, must rest upon Maggie’s word alone, but the talk before the dance and the call made by Mirrie herself at a quarter past eight on Tuesday evening, might, and probably would, confirm the fact that the other person on the line was Sid Turner. If Mirrie were to be unexpectedly confronted with these two calls, Miss Silver did not believe that she would be able to persist in a denial of her part in them, or of Sid Turner’s identity. She had reached this point and had almost determined to seek an interview with Mirrie, when it became clear to her that she would not be justified in doing so. Frank Abbott was in charge of the case, and if Mirrie were to be questioned he had a right to be present.

  She knew that he intended to drop in for tea at Deepside with his cousin Cicely and her husband, and she felt reluctant to disturb this brief family reunion. She would not even have known about it if Monica Abbott had not mentioned that she and Colonel Abbott had been invited, yet the more she thought about the matter the greater was her sense of urgency. In the end she drew the study telephone towards her and asked for Deeping 3.

  It was Cicely’s voice which came to her along the wire.

  ‘Oh, Miss Silver, is it you?’

  ‘Yes, my dear.’

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  Miss Silver slipped into the schoolroom French which it was her custom to employ when she had anything of a delicate nature to communicate.

  ‘I think it will be better if we do not mention any names.’

  Cicely continued to use her mother tongue.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Is your cousin with you?’

  ‘Yes. You are not going to snatch him away, are you?’

  Miss Silver coughed in a slightly reproving manner. If Maggie Bell were listening she would certainly be able to put two and two together. She said in French,

  ‘Will you tell him that I should like to see him as soon as possible? That is all, my dear. Goodbye.’

  Out at Deepside Frank laughed, shrugged, and said he supposed he must go. Rabbits from hats were no novelty where Miss Silver was concerned. He had his tea and departed, wondering just what she had turned up this time.

  Miss Silver had also been having tea. It was rather an odd meal, with Johnny in high spirits, Mirrie happy and relaxed, Georgina very strained and pale, and Mrs. Fabian just her usual self. She said she couldn’t think what had come over Anthony.

  ‘So unlike him to go out for the whole day and not mention it to anyone. You are sure he didn’t say anything about it to you, Georgina?’

  ‘No, Cousin Anna, he didn’t.’

  Mrs. Fabian said,

  ‘Very strange indeed.’ She turned to Miss Silver. ‘He is usually so considerate. And of course it does make a difference about meals. One more or less is bound to make a difference. I can’t remember who it was who said, “Evil is wrought by want of thought as well as want of heart,” but I remember being made to write it out twenty times when I had forgotten to shut the conservatory door and a plant my father was very fond of got a chill in the night.’

  Johnny burst out laughing.

  ‘Darling, is one of us to have a chill because Anthony hasn’t said whether he will be in to Sunday supper?’

  Mrs. Fabian remained perfectly amiable.

  ‘It was just an illustration. So easy to forget things, and no use being sorry afterwards. I’m sure Anthony would never mean to upset Mrs. Stokes or any of us, but of course the Stokes go out on Sunday evening, so he won’t have. And if there isn’t quite enough to go round we can all take a little less.’

  Johnny blew her a kiss.

  ‘Mama, you surpass yourself! If you ever let Mrs. Stokes hear you say anything like that she’ll give notice on the spot. She produces oodles of food, and you ought to know it by now.’

  Mrs. Fabian looked a little bewildered.

  ‘Well, my dear, it must be very difficult to calculate, and I don’t know how she does it. I am sure I should be quite at a loss.’

  When Frank Abbott arrived he found Miss Silver on the look-out for him. She took him into the study and gave him a quiet and accurate account of her visit to Maggie Bell. When she had done, he said,

  ‘You thought she might have something to say?’

  ‘I remembered that when I was here before Mrs. Abbott told me Maggie listened in on the party line.’

  ‘Yes, of course – Monica makes rather a joke of it.’

  Miss Silver shook her head.

  ‘I have always thought that a mistake. A thing which is treated lightly comes to be overlooked. It occurred to me at once that Maggie might possess some important information.’

  He said, ‘I see—’ and then ‘Did she strike you as being reliable? You didn’t think she might be running a few odds and ends together and tacking them on to the murder?’

  ‘No. She certainly was not making anything up when she told me of Mirrie’s two conversations with this man. She likes Mirrie and admires her. Mrs. Bell had made and altered clothes for her. Maggie feels a friendly interest. She is a person who makes no attempt to hide her feelings. Her likes and dislikes lie on the surface and she is perfectly frank about them. She did not volunteer the information about Mirrie. Something slipped out, and when I guessed of whom she was speaking I was able to persuade her into telling me the rest.’

  He said abruptly,

  ‘Well, I happen to have a check on one of those conversations.’

  ‘On which one?’

  ‘The one before the dance. It’s quite a small thing, but it fits in. Cicely and I went in to supper at twelve o’clock. She had left her handkerchief in the study, and I went to get it. That glass door was ajar. I heard it knocking and pulled the curtain back. Mirrie was on the step coming in. She was in her thin white dance dress with nothing over it, and she was shaking with cold, and fright. She said she was hot and had gone out for a breath of air – which was a downright lie and a stupid one at that, but I suppose she couldn’t think of anything better. What I thought was that she had gone out with a lad who had made a pass at her and given her a fright, and I thought she was just the sort of little fool to let herself in for that kind of thing, and if she wanted to have a necking party, why not have it inside where it was warm? Anyhow I didn’t say any more and she didn’t say any more, and that was that.’

  Miss Silver looked at him in a thoughtful manner and said,

  ‘Maggie Bell’s account of the first telephone call is certainly corroborated. I think that there can be very little doubt that Mirrie had slipped out to meet Sid Turner. As to why she did not provide herself with a wrap of some kind it is idle to speculate. Girls are extremely averse from putting anything on over an evening dress. They will wear a fur coat all day, and when the temperature has fallen to well below freezing point they will put on a low-necked dress and go out upon a terrace, or into a garden.’

  Frank laughed.

  ‘Low-necked is definitely an understatement,’ he said. ‘Well, one of Mirrie’s conversations as reported by Maggie Bell has some support, I suggest that we ask her about the other, and if that is corroborated I think we may assume that Maggie is telling the truth about Turner’s third conversation, the one with
Jonathan Field. Would you like to go and collect the girl? It will probably frighten her less than if we send Stokes to say we want to see her.’

  THIRTY-THREE

  MIRRIE AND JOHNNY were in the morning-room engaged in the enthralling occupation of making lists of the furniture they would need for a hypothetical flat over an as yet non-existent garage. It was to have a bedroom, a sitting-room, a kitchen, and a bathroom, and they were looking things up in a pre-war Army and Navy Stores list which gave them a beautiful if illusory feeling that a very little money would go a very long way. Johnny did murmur something about furniture being four times as expensive as it used to be, but immediately spoiled the effect by adding,

  But of course these are the prices of new things, and what we had better go for is good second-hand stuff – much better made and much better value. And anyhow it’s only a game, because I haven’t found a garage yet, let alone a flat to go over it.’

  Mirrie gazed at him with admiration.

  ‘But you will. Oh, Johnny, I do think you are clever!’

  Johnny pushed the catalogue away.

  ‘I tell you what, if Georgina sells this place there’ll be a lot of things she won’t want to be bothered with. I don’t mind betting she would let us have enough to furnish our flat when we get it.’

  ‘Oh, Johnny, do you think she would?’

  Johnny nodded.

  ‘Sure of it. Georgina’s a most awfully good sort. And I’ll tell you something that will surprise you – I’ve never made love to her in my life. There she is, an out and out lovely, living in the same house and all, and she might just as well have been my sister. I expect that is what it amounted to – she felt like a sister.’

  Mirrie flicked her eyelashes up, and down again. It was an accomplishment to which she had given a good deal of time and attention, but the quiver in her voice was unrehearsed as she said,

  ‘Have you made love to a 1-lot of girls, Johnny?’

  He grinned cheerfully.

  ‘Dozens, darling – starting, if Mama is to be believed, when I was six years old. I came home from a Christmas party and told the family that I was going to marry a little girl with a coral necklace and yellow curls. We swapped sweets and she gave me a chocolate kiss, but I couldn’t remember her name, so it never came to anything.’