Miss Silver had a new grey stocking on her needles. Johnny’s three pairs had been completed, and this was the first of Derek’s. She was knitting in her usual smooth and rapid manner, her hands low in her lap, and her attention apparently entirely given to Ione.
“Miss Muir, I do not think that you have told me everything.”
“What do you mean, Miss Silver?”
She received the smile with which Miss Silver had been wont to encourage the backward pupil.
“It is something about that poor girl Margot Trent, is it not?”
Ione said, “Oh-”
“There were parts of your narrative where it was obvious to me that something had been omitted. Later you showed signs of discomfort when, in a quite unembarrassing connection, you were obliged to mention the girl’s name. If the subject of Margot Trent’s death was mentioned in the conversation which you heard between Mr. Trent and Miss Delauny, it might be of great importance. Will you not tell me whether it did so occur?”
Ione was pale. All along it had seemed to her that she must keep this one thing back. Whatever Geoffrey had done, he was Allegra’s husband. What touched him would touch her. But now, with Miss Silver’s level gaze upon her, it came to her that she couldn’t hold anything back. If Geoffrey was guilty of Margot’s death, then might he not have been guilty, through his agent, of the Wraydon attempt, and might he not even now be planning something against herself, or even against Allegra? She said in a distressed voice,
“You mustn’t make too much of it. It’s all just hearsay, and Jacqueline was behaving as if she were off her balance.”
“It was something Miss Delauny said?”
“Yes. It was just after what she said about his never getting the Ladies’ House, not if he did his damnedest. And then she said, ‘You’ve done quite a lot already, haven’t you? Do you ever dream about Margot and that crazy rope you told her she could take? I didn’t think you would go as far as that, you know.’ ”
Miss Silver’s needles clicked. Derek’s grey stocking revolved.
“And what did Mr. Trent say?”
“He said she was mad. And she said oh, no, she wasn’t. ‘You told her she could take the rope, and that is that!’ And then she went on-”
Ione’s voice faltered and broke off.
“Yes-you had better tell me.”
“Jacqueline Delauny said, ‘You will have to shut Flaxman’s mouth, but nobody will ever hear anything about it from me! Unless you were to do something stupid like trying to send me away!’ ”
It was as she repeated the words that it came to Ione how impossible they made things look for Geoffrey Trent. She should have shut her mouth on them and kept it shut. But if they meant something as bad as all that, to what might she then be exposing herself-Allegra? With that shuddering thought she passed the point at which the mind can be brought to bear clearly and definitely upon its object. She heard Miss Silver say in her kindest voice,
“Believe me, my dear, the truth is always best.”
Ione drew in her breath sharply.
“You really think so?”
“I am quite sure of it. Let us take your own case. As you spoke to me you became afraid of the words you were repeating. They placed vividly before you the possibility that your brother-in-law had contrived the death of his unfortunate ward, and that being blackmailed by Flaxman, he had intervened to silence him. This upset you so much that you began to regret what you had just told me.”
She saw through you just as if you were made of glass. It was no good trying to keep anything back-
Miss Silver went on speaking.
“If it is true that Mr. Trent has committed these two crimes, you are yourself in considerable danger. He knows that you have overheard his conversation with Miss Delauny. He is therefore aware that you heard her accuse him of being a party to Margot’s death. He would also know that you had heard the allusion to Flaxman and the necessity of stopping his mouth. He already has a financial interest in your death. Would it not be strongly reinforced by all this? You must remember that with each successful killing the murderer becomes more inflated with his own self-importance and more certain of his own ability to flout the law. In the end he thinks himself infallible, and so perhaps makes a false step. But in the meanwhile how much suffering may be caused, how much irreparable damage may be done!”
“Miss Silver-”
“One moment, Miss Muir. I do not say that Mr. Trent is guilty of these or of any other crimes. If he were, the bringing of the truth to light would still be the best course, for him as well as for others, since the longer a sinner remains undetected the more terrible will be the reckoning. But assuming that he is not guilty. Circumstances may look very black against an innocent man, you know, and if he is innocent, it is only the truth that can prove him so.”
She quoted from an older poet than her usual favourite Lord Tennyson:
“Trust thou in him and let thy ghost thee lead,
And Truth shall thee deliver, it is no drede.”
Ione said, “Yes.” Her deep, beautiful voice was firm again.
Miss Silver looked at her kindly.
“There are certain facts which must be the foundation of all our reasoning. Margot Trent is dead, and Flaxman’s mouth has been closed. We have to ask ourselves very seriously who benefits by these two events.”
CHAPTER 30
The Chief Constable of the county looked testily at Superintendent Cole and Inspector Grayson. He rapped with his fingers upon the edge of the writing-table and demanded,
“What do you suppose anyone can do with a story like that?”
He was a small man with a lively blue eye and what had been a tendency to red in the hair now going grey. All his movements were quick, and so was his temper.
The Superintendent on the contrary was a large, affable man with a fatherly manner, slow to take offence and always ready to pour oil upon the official waters should they require it. He and Inspector Grayson-smart, intelligent, and for the moment respectfully silent-were on the other side of the table.
The Superintendent said in his comfortable voice,
“Well, sir-”
Colonel Marsden snapped at him.
“What’s there well about it? Perhaps you can tell me that! First you put up a damned good case, and then you come along and try and knock it down again! And what have you got to knock it down with? A lot of gossip and hearsay-word-spinning!”
“Well, sir-”
Colonel Marsden thumped the table.
“I tell you it isn’t well! It’s a damned mess! Now there was a perfectly good case against that fellow Humphreys-don’t know what you want with a better one! He finds Flaxman in his daughter’s room getting on for ten o’clock at night, orders him off the premises, fires a charge of shot at him, and beats his daughter. Whole affair witnessed and testified to by next door neighbour. Corpse of Flaxman subsequently found on waste piece of ground not a hundred yards away. Been stabbed. Pruning-knife, corresponding to stab wound, in Humphreys’ possession. Beautiful case without a hole in it. And then you come along and say Tom Humphreys didn’t do it, because his father says so!”