Anna, Where Are You? (14 page)

Well, at any rate Jackson had finished with the pound note and was now very politely inviting the company to explain individually just what each of them was doing between the .hours of two and seven on the previous afternoon. No one making any demur, he proceeded to go round the circle clockwise.

“Miss—er—Miranda?”

She shook back her mass of dark red hair.

“Miranda,” she said deeply. “Neither Miss nor Mrs.—just Miranda.”

Inspector Jackson thought this was as odd a lot of people as he had ever come across. He avoided the issue.

“Just so. Perhaps you would not mind telling me what you were doing yesterday atternoon.”

“I don’t mind in the least—why should I? I went for a walk up over the common. I can’t say exactly when I started, or when I got back, but I had to turn on the lights when I came in, so I suppose it was about four o’clock.”

“Mr. Remington?”

Augustus heaved a sigh of utter boredom.

“My dear man, how repetitive! Haven’t we had all this before?… No? Well, I suppose I must take your word for it. These sordid journeys—a bus always seems to me to be one of the lower mechanical organisms! I do hope you don’t expect me to remember every time I go to Dedham or to Ledlington… Oh, just yesterday afternoon? Well, I will do what I can.” He turned to Miranda. “I suppose I did go into Ledlington yesterday afternoon?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Augustus! You know perfectly well you did. I saw you start, and you came back on the five o’clock bus with Gwyneth.”

“Ah, yes—my quest! It was successful. I found the exquisite shade which had eluded me for so long. But these things have no relation to time or space—I am sure you will understand that.”

He gazed earnestly at Jackson, who said bluntly,

“What bus did you go in by?”

“Would it have been the one-forty?” He once more appealed to Miranda.

She nodded curtly.

“If you caught it. I saw you start. I didn’t see you get on the bus, but you had plenty of time.”

He gave a sigh—of relief this time.

“There you are, Inspector! She always knows everything.”

Jackson went on grimly, but as might have been expected, Mr. Remington’s account of how he spent the afternoon was vague in the extreme. He had walked about and looked at the old houses. He had fulfilled his quest. He had seen Peveril Craddock’s car parked in the Market Square. Oh, no, he had no idea what time that was. He had had a cup of coffee in one of the shops, but he couldn’t say which. He had wandered into a picture shop and spent some time there looking at the work of a young artist who had evolved an entirely new technique—“Not yet fully developed of course, Inspector, but showing a definite aspiration towards the super-sensible.”

Inspector Jackson turned with relief to Mr. John Robinson.

“And you, sir?”

John Robinson sounded amused. He spoke with an intensification of his country drawl.

“I’m afraid I must plead guilty to having been in Ledlington too. But I didn’t take the bus. I used my bicycle, and—I’m afraid I can’t be very accurate about departure and arrival. I went out after my midday meal—but then I just have it when I’m hungry. And I didn’t intend to go into Ledlington at all—it was just a sudden whim. I meant to go up into the Rowbury Woods, but there was someone shooting there, so I turned off, and when I found I was getting near Ledlington I thought I might as well fetch up there.”

“Can you fix the time at all?”

“I suppose it was round about three. I can’t swear to it—my mind was rather taken up.”

“Round about three. And what did you do then, Mr. Robinson?”

“I dropped into the Museum and had a look round there. I’m interested in birds, you know, and they have the Hedlow collection.”

“How long do you suppose you stayed there?”

“Ah,” said John Robinson—“there you have me! I’m afraid I have no idea. Time, you know—very variable, as Remington says.” His words took on an imitative inflection. “ ‘Long lines of cliff, breaking, have left a chasm, and in the chasm are foam and yellow sands,’ as the poet remarks. You will, of course, see the application.” His eye went round the circle with a mocking gleam. “Museums do rather have that effect, you know—like some of the older Clubs—one passes into a trancelike state practically indistinguishable from death. The danger is that one might just be picked up and buried before one knew what was happening. I hope they would do it handsomely. ‘And the little port had seldom seen a costlier funeral.’ You will naturally recognize the quotation. One of Tennyson’s major lapses. I shouldn’t like anyone to think it was mine.”

Knowing his Miss Silver’s reverence for the great Victorian poet, Frank Abbott expected, and looked for, some mark of disapproval. What he saw was simply a frown, a frown of peculiar intensity. Mr. John Robinson sustained it. It was Miss Silver who looked away.

Inspector Jackson continued his interrogation.

Miss Gwyneth was able to give a most meticulous account of her blameless afternoon’s shopping. Miss Elaine had remained at home, where, after a brief rest, she had devoted herself to entertaining her young friend Miss Elliot.

Miss Silver stated that she had gone into Ledlington by the bus which arrived there just before three, had met an old friend with whom she spent the afternoon, and returned to Deeping by the bus which left at five. She was asked no further questions.

Mr. Craddock had awaited his turn in dignified silence. Asked now to give an account of his movements, he complied in the grand manner.

“I drove into Ledlington. I did not look at my watch, so I cannot give you the exact time. I was immersed in my literary labours, and did not join the family for lunch—when this happens Mrs. Craddock brings me a tray. When I had completed the passage upon which I was engaged I felt the need of some fresh air. I drove over to Ledlington and parked in the Market Square. I then walked about the town and made a few purchases —stamps at the post office, papers at the station—things like that. After which I picked up my car again and came home.”

Pressed by Jackson, he appeared to be quite as unable as Augustus Remington and John Robinson to fix the time either of his arrival or departure. The only thing he appeared to be sure about was that he had reached home before lighting-up time.

“I really have no more than that to say,” he concluded. “I might ask, and I think with justice, why we should be singled out for questioning in this manner. I do not mind saying that I resent it very strongly, not only on my own account, but on behalf of the Colony. I must tell you that we are well aware of our rights. We were under no obligation to submit to being interrogated in this manner. But we are law-abiding citizens, and we have nothing to hide.”

How much longer he might have continued to deliver himself of these rolling periods cannot be determined, because it was at this moment that Mr. John Robinson laughed. It appeared to be one of those spontaneous outbursts, a very natural, hearty, and uncontrollable laugh. He just threw back his head and let it go.

Emily Craddock was quite differently affected. She straightened up, looked round her in a terrified manner, and slipped down out of her chair in a dead faint.

As always, Miss Silver proved herself to be extremely competent. She superintended the removal of Emily to the schoolroom sofa, and sent Jennifer to make her a good cup of tea. She had not been very long at Deep End before discovering that Mrs. Craddock maintained in secret a small store of what she called real tea. When Mr. Craddock was absent they would enjoy it together, at first with apologies on Mrs. Craddock’s side, but after the first time or two in a pleasant matter-of-course kind of way. Placing a very decided emphasis on the word good, Miss Silver was assured that Jennifer would not brew her mother’s cup of tea from the wrong canister. She kept everyone out of the schoolroom, and was presently rewarded by some gasping sighs and a rush of tears.

“I am so sorry—to have been so foolish—”

Miss Silver was brisk and reassuring.

“You are overdone, and it was something of an ordeal. But it is over. You have nothing to be afraid of.”

“You—don’t—know—”

The words came so painfully that Miss Silver could not be certain of them, yet she remained under the very decided impression that they had been spoken. She laid a kind, firm hand on Emily Craddock’s shoulder.

“Pray do not be so troubled and anxious. I believe that all will be well. Jennifer is bringing you some tea, and she will stay with you. Are you warm enough, or shall I pull the rug a little higher?”

By the time that there was a knock on the door and an enquiry from a young constable as to whether Miss Silver could come and speak to the Inspectors she was able to give an affirmative reply. Two cups of tea and a lightly boiled egg had been partaken of, the egg being Jennifer’s idea. “You didn’t eat a crumb of breakfast,” she said in a scolding tone, adding darkly, “I saw you.” After which Miss Silver felt quite happy about leaving her in charge.

She found the two Inspectors alone in the study. A chair had been placed in readiness for her. When she had seated herself, Frank Abbott said,

“Well, how did it all strike you? Did that faint mean anything, or didn’t it?”

She took a moment before she replied in a noncommittal voice,

“Mrs. Craddock is in poor heath. She ate no breakfast.”

“And that was all?”

“No, I do not think it was all.”

“It came very pat after Craddock said that they had nothing to hide.”

Miss Silver coughed.

“I do not think that too much stress should be placed upon that.”

His shoulder lifted in the slightest of shrugs. If they had been alone, he might have taxed her with having something up her sleeve. If she had, it would stay there until she was ready to produce it. He said,

“Well, well—” And then, “Any sinister reflections upon the Miss Tremletts?”

“I do not think so.”

He laughed.

“We had them in one at a time—more to give you a smokescreen than for any other reason. Jackson agrees that they have probably never had a stain upon their characters. Plenty to say for themselves, and an earnest desire to be helpful. They would still be here if we hadn’t pushed them off. What did you make of Miranda and her wisp of whimsy? She just sticks to what she said about going for a walk. Remington embroiders on his theme-song. He is much too ethereal a being to concern himself with such earthy matters as where he went, and what he did, and how long it took.”

Inspector Jackson said,

“We ought to be able to check up on him—he’s noticeable enough.”

Miss Silver turned to him with a bright birdlike movement.

“But he was not dressed like that yesterday. He was wearing a dark suit with a navy blue raincoat over it. He had, it is true, one of those rather open shirts, but there was a muffler in the pocket of his coat—he may have been wearing it in the town. He was bare-headed, and of course that very light hair would be noticeable, but there could have been a cap in his pocket too.”

Jackson stared.

“You saw him?”

“We came back together in the five o’clock bus.”

He said, “Well, that fixes something. I know the picture-shop he mentioned—Jarrows. It’s new, and a bit highbrow. They ought to remember him there. Not that he or any of these people are actually under suspicion, you must know, but that pound note poor Wayne spotted—well, there was a definite connection with the Colony, and the Chief Constable thought we had better follow it up, especially in the light of this business yesterday.”

“A most shocking affair, Inspector. And I think I may have some information for you. Of course I only know what I have seen in the papers.”

“Well, I don’t suppose any of us knows much more than that. What is your information?”

“I believe that I may have seen the murderer. My bus was early. Since I was meeting Inspector Abbott at three o’clock, I consulted my watch. It was just seven minutes to three. I was walking slowly up the Station Approach, when a man passed me. His head was extensively bandaged, he walked with a stick, and he was carrying a small suit-case. Since he was not one of the passengers on the bus, he must have emerged from the railway station. Seeing his bandaged condition, it occurred to me that he might be on his way to the hospital. But this was not the case. Inspector Abbott was early for our appointment. As I got into his car, and before we had driven away, I noticed that the bandaged man had crossed the road and was taking the turning which leads into the High Street. I am well acquainted with Ledlington, and at the pace he was going he could certainly have arrived at the County Bank just before three.”

Both the Inspectors were looking at her with the extreme of interest. Frank Abbott said,

“It was certainly the murderer—there isn’t a doubt about that.” His notebook came out. “Now everything you can give us—every detail. Height?”

She paused for a moment, calling up a picture of that limping figure.

“I suppose I should have to say medium. He walked with a stick, he limped. That might take off from a man’s height, but by creating the impression that he was stooping it might also give one the idea that he was taller than he appeared to be. And he was wearing a loose light raincoat, one of those mass-produced drab garments worn by every second man at this time of year. They are very disguising to the figure. A thin man may look larger, or a spreading figure a good deal slighter than it actually is. There is no doubt that the bandages were part of a calculated disguise, and they could have been fastened together so as to enable them to be put on and off like a cap. I think we may assume that the effect of the limp and of the loose raincoat was also very carefully calculated.”

Inspector Jackson was dark and serious. If his mind did not move quite as quickly as Frank Abbott’s, it was both intelligent and thorough. He said,

“Yes, that’s right. He would have put on the bandages in the station—maybe the raincoat too. The two-fortyfive was just in, and there would be far too many people coming and going for anyone to notice whether a bandaged man went into a waiting room. They would see him come out, but no one would connect him with quite a different looking person who went in, and by the time he did come out there wouldn’t be so many people to see him, because the crowd would have cleared. There’s no doubt at all that it was all very carefully thought out.”

Frank Abbott nodded.

“Very slick timing,” he said. He turned to Miss Silver. “Look here, let’s go on with this question of size. Just for the sake of comparison, and without any invidious implications and so forth, how would any of the people here fit in? Try for a mind’s-eye picture of any one of them in the bandages and the raincoat, plus limp and stick.”

Miss Silver’s hands were demurely folded in her lap. She had been looking down at them. She now lifted her eyes and said,

“Either you or Inspector Jackson would be out of the question. You are both too tall. You, I think, are six foot, and he must be a little more. So much height could not be disguised by a limp.”

Under a surface twinge of amusement Frank applauded her just and temperate mind. If she was to fit caps, there should be no exceptions. He said in a meditative voice,

“Craddock isn’t so tall. Above five-foot-ten?”

“I think not quite as much. He is one of those people who look taller than they really are. Those loose blouses give height and width, and the sandals which he affects have those thick wedge soles. And then there is all that hair,”

“You don’t mean—”

She said, with composure,

“You must not read any special meaning into my words. I am merely answering your question to the best of my ability. I had better continue. Elaine Tremlett certainly did not leave Deep End, and neither she nor Miss Gwyneth could pass as a man. Quite a small man looks tall in women’s clothes, and a woman dressed as a man appears to lose height. Miss Gwyneth is definitely not tall enough to have passed as the man I saw. Miranda, on the other hand, must be about five-foot-eight. Her immense mop of hair, its noticeable colour, and the flowing garments which she affects make her look even taller, but I think that my estimate of her height is correct. Then there is Mr. Remington. His fragility makes him appear smaller than he really is. His neck is so very thin, and those open shirts display it. His face, very delicately modelled, and that fine hair of his, all add to this effect. He too wears sandals, but instead of having the new wedge soles they are of the old-fashioned flat kind.”

Both the Inspectors were looking at her with attention. Jackson appeared somewhat startled. Frank Abbott said,

“In other words, if you built up his head with bandages and put him into shoes which would give him another inch, his five-foot-five or six would become five-foot-seven or eight, and he might be a possible candidate. His shoulders would have to be built out a bit too, I should say, but of course that could be done.” He stopped and broke into a laugh. “I’m afraid my mind boggles at the idea of Augustus playing with any weapon more lethal than an embroidery-needle!”

Miss Silver’s glance reproved him.

“I must remind you that the question which I am endeavouring to answer referred only to size.”

He had reverted to gravity.

“You are perfectly right. How does Mr. John Robinson fit in? He’s medium enough—I should put him at five-foot-eight or nine. The bandages would cover up his beard. And that goes for Craddock too. A bearded man has just got to do something about it if he wants to go murdering people. Can you make a picture of Robinson plus bandages and minus beard, and say how it strikes you?”

She appeared to consider this, but not for longer than a moment.

“In point of size there is nothing against it. Mr. Robinson is neither tall nor short. He wears loose and baggy clothes, but I have the impression that he is of a very average figure.”

Frank said quickly,

“Did you notice the man’s hands?”

“They were gloved. I have no impression as to their size. I saw the gloves—old loose washleather ones. I associated them vaguely with his injuries, and looked away. I am sorry not to be more exact, but motives of delicacy forbid more than a passing glance at someone who is suffering from any physical disability.”

As Inspector Jackson said afterwards, “Well, if that’s what she can do with a casual glance, I don’t know that I would care to be what you might call put under the microscope.” At the time he merely pushed back his chair and got up.

“Well, I’ll just have a word with Mr. Craddock. We’d better have the number of his car. By the way, it seems he doesn’t keep it up at the regular garage where the Miss Tremletts live, though there’s plenty of room there. Can you tell us anything about that, Miss Silver?”

“I can give you the explanation that was given to me. Mr. Craddock has his study in the main block of the house, which is quite shut off from this wing, since a good deal of it is not considered safe. His work demands privacy and quiet. I understand that he is engaged in the study of planetary influences upon plant and animal life, and this necessitates many vigils on the lonely commons and in the woods in which this neighbourhood abounds, though I believe he sometimes goes quite far afield. In order not to disturb the Miss Tremletts, he has had one of the damaged rooms in the main block roughly adapted to serve as a garage. It used, I believe, to be a garden-room, and it is conveniently placed with regard to the north drive, which goes off in an opposite direction to that by which you came in. He can thus come and go at all hours of the day or night without disturbing anyone.”

“And without anyone knowing whether he’s in or out. Very convenient indeed.” Inspector Jackson’s tone was rather marked.

He moved in the direction of the door, and then back again. “This man Craddock, Miss Silver—you’ve been living in the house with him. You’ve had opportunities we haven’t got, and can’t get. You see him when he isn’t putting up a show—trying to impress. Well, how does he strike you? Is he just a windbag, or is there something there? I’ve met his kind before. Sometimes they’ve got everything in the shop window, and sometimes they haven’t.”

Miss Silver’s small, neat features had assumed a very serious look, her voice when she spoke had a very serious tone.

“You say, Inspector, that I am in a position to judge of Mr. Craddock when he is not putting up a show or trying to impress. I doubt very much whether there is anyone who is in such a position.”

Frank Abbott put in, “You mean you think he’s acting all the time?”

“To a very great extent. A picture is being presented. It is possible that he believes in it himself. I am not sure upon this point. He receives a great deal of quite fulsome adulation from the Miss Tremletts. The lady who calls herself Miranda appears to admire him and to have come here on his account. Mr. Remington is, I think, rather jealous of him, but that is in itself a tribute. His wife, who speaks of him always as Mr. Craddock, appears to be in a state of trembling awe. I have never heard her use his Christian name. Their rooms are at opposite ends of this wing. Jennifer, who is the eldest of the three children—she is nearly thirteen—used, I am told, to adore her step-father. She now hates and fears him. She is a sensitive girl, and she is in a highly nervous state. The other two are robust little boys, and I do not think they have very much feeling for him one way or another. He talks a good deal about self-expression, but if the children get in his way he can be severe. He is greedy about his food, intolerant of opposition, and continually finds fault with Mrs. Craddock.”