“Then who did?”
“Someone who meant it to be found there.”
March sat back in his chair.
“There’s a perfectly clear case against Robbins, and you are trying to push it over.”
She coughed.
“I am giving you my own conclusions from the facts. Perhaps I should not do so. But look at the facts and draw your own conclusions. It is known before half past three that the rooms are to be searched-”
March interrupted her,
“You say that it was known, but there’s no proof that Robbins knew about the search as early as that. I saw Jerome Pilgrim, told him I wanted to have a search made, and got his permission. He asked to have his room done first, rang for Miss Elliot. I asked her to fetch Sergeant Abbott and Sergeant Smith, which she did. Do you know that she saw Robbins and told him there was to be a search?”
“No, it was Captain Pilgrim who told Robbins. They met in the hall when Miss Freyne arrived. Robbins came out to the kitchen and made an angry scene with his wife. She said he was dreadfully upset about the search and very angry with Captain Pilgrim for allowing it, because he said it was a disgrace to the house. She said he went on and on about it, and told her the police suspected him, and it was all her fault for talking on so about Mr. Henry.”
“But, my dear Miss Silver-”
“Wait a moment, Randall. Here you have his wife’s evidence that Robbins did know about the search and was very much upset about it, and that he knew he was suspected by the police. If he had known that Henry Clayton’s wallet was hidden in his chest of drawers, would he not have gone straight up to his room to remove it before the search could begin? Instead he goes out to the kitchen, where he stays for some time raging about the search and having words with his wife about her grief for Henry Clayton. Coming away from the kitchen, he meets Miss Columba, who takes him off to attend to the morning-room windows. Miss Freyne goes home, and Captain Pilgrim returns to his room. Robbins has allowed the search to go on for at least twenty minutes whilst he scolds his wife, and when he does go up it is not to his own room. Pray take particular note of this. He goes to Captain Pilgrim’s door, knocks on it, and is very insistent that he must see Mr. Jerome. Miss Day sends him away, and it is not until then that he goes up to his own room. Do you really believe that any man would behave like this if he knew that evidence which would hang him was concealed where the searchers were bound to find it?”
chapter 36
Randall March took a glancing look at Frank Abbott, fixed his eyes upon Miss Silver’s face, and dropped the last remnant of the official manner.
“Look here,” he said-“what is all this? Have you, or have you not, got anything up your sleeve? In a word, what are you getting at?”
His gaze was met by one of reproach.
“Really, Randall!”
He gave a short grim laugh.
“What’s the good of saying ‘Really!’? I asked you a question, and I’m waiting in a perfectly respectful but determined spirit for the answer. I want to know whether you’ve got something up your sleeve, because if you have, I think you really must tell me what it is. On your own showing, this affair has cost four lives already. Whilst I am not entirely prepared to subscribe to that, you must admit that the business is far too serious-and dangerous-to play about with. If you know anything that I don’t know, I must ask you to let me have it.”
She gave him her sudden and most charming smile. Frank Abbott had once remarked that it would melt an iceberg or pacify a hyena. She said,
“But of course-I would not dream of withholding information. I was about to tell you what I know, but I am afraid you may not think it of any great importance.”
“But you do?”
She allowed a considerable pause to elapse before she said,
“Important-unimportant? These are words, are they not? If you are piecing together a jig-saw puzzle, a small piece may be important, and a large one unimportant, to the design. It would all depend, would it not, upon the grouping of the other pieces?”
Frank thought, “She’s got something. I wonder what it is. It’s something he isn’t going to like-she’s breaking it gently.”
March was smiling.
“I won’t refuse the smallest contribution, I assure you.”
She sat up straight, her hands still folded in her lap, her manner grave and intent-the teacher who addresses a problem which the class is going to find difficult.
“I have two small pieces of information and one exhibit. You may perhaps remember that Maggie Pell, who is Gloria’s elder sister, was in service here at the time of Henry Clayton’s disappearance-” She paused, coughed, and repeated the words with a significant variation-“at the time of Henry Clayton’s murder. She went into the A.T.S., and at the moment she is here on leave. She came up to see Miss Columba after lunch today, and I took the opportunity of having a talk with her.”
“And what did you talk about?”
“It occurred to me that the person who stabbed Henry Clayton and afterwards concealed his body would scarcely have escaped without stains, perhaps very considerable stains, upon clothing which would have to be cleaned or destroyed. I thought that Maggie might remember the disappearance of a garment or garments, and that she would probably remember whether a parcel had been sent to the cleaners. I questioned her, and she had quite an interesting story to tell. That is to say, it interested me, and I think it ought to interest you. On the day following what we now know to have been the night of Henry Clayton’s murder Miss Janetta Pilgrim was about to partake of her usual early morning cup of cocoa, when not only the cup but the whole contents of the jug were tipped over, with the result that the purple dressing-gown in which she was wrapped became very badly stained. The cocoa was, as usual, brought to her bedside by Miss Day, who is in the habit of making it in the bathroom, where she has a spirit-lamp. Miss Day was herself wearing a handsomely embroidered Chinese coat which she sometimes used as a dressing-gown. This also suffered from the deluge of cocoa. Miss Janetta was very much put out, and accused Miss Day of having tipped it over, but Miss Day told Maggie that Miss Janetta had done it herself. Later that day Miss Janetta told her to make up a parcel for the cleaners. There were a couple of dresses, not stained but in need of freshening, and there was the purple dressing-gown with the cocoa-stains upon it. Maggie asked Miss Day whether she wished to include her Chinese coat in the parcel, but she was told that it had been put to soak at once and the worst of the stains were out, though Miss Day was afraid that it would never look quite the same again.”
When she stopped speaking there was a silence before March said,
“And what do you make of that?”
Miss Silver’s answer came quickly and firmly.
“That the garments of two people in the house were so deeply stained that one of them was sent to the cleaners and the other put to soak in water. That cocoa produces a stain which would more easily cover up and disguise a blood-stain than any thing else I can think of. That if there were bloodstains upon either of these garments, the tipping over of the cocoa provided a perfect excuse for sending one to be cleaned and soaking the other in water. That this adroit and ready use of a simple and domestic beverage argues no common degree of cleverness and resource. You were quite right, Randall, when you pointed to the danger of this affair.”
March looked at her.
“You are accusing Miss Janetta of murdering her nephew? Or Miss Day? Because a jug of cocoa is tipped over and two dressing-gowns are stained? It is fantastic!”