March shook his head.
“Albert-surely Albert-”
Crisp stared.
“Well, that’s his name, I suppose. Everyone calls him Al.”
“I should be surprised if Miss Silver did. So she asks about the missing Albert, does she? Well, what about him?”
Crisp frowned.
“I made sure we’d have picked him up by now. Nobody seems to have seen him since he walked out of Ledlington station and said he wasn’t coming back. That would be about seven-thirty Sunday morning. Of course there wouldn’t be a lot about- people lie in Sundays. What I can’t make out is why she thinks it matters. He couldn’t have been mixed up in the murder, and that’s flat.”
“Ask her.”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Ask her why she thinks it matters. If she keeps wanting to know about him she’ll have a reason, and it will be a good one. On the whole, I think we’d better find him.”
If it had been anyone but the Chief Constable, Crisp would have let fly. He restrained himself with an effort which brought the dark blood to his face and said with some emphasis,
“Look here, sir, he couldn’t have had anything to do with it. He was out of the Catherine-Wheel by half past ten. We don’t have to rely on Castell for that, because Captain Taverner watched him go. He was drunk, walking unsteadily, and singing bits of a song he’d been trying to sing earlier on in the lounge. Irish, I believe it is. Something about a girl called Eileen. It’s in the statements.”
“Eileen alannah-yes.”
“That was just before half past ten. The Wiltons, where he lodged, say he was in before half past eleven. He made a shocking noise, singing this same song and stumbling on the stair. Mr. Wilton was fed up and told him he could clear out in the morning, and he went down and locked the door and took away the key so as Miller couldn’t get away without paying his bill. There’s St. James’ church at the bottom of the street, and the chimes went for half past eleven as he was locking the door. Luke White was found dead a little before one. We had the telephone message at one a.m. The blood was still wet when we got there. The medical evidence is that he must certainly have been alive at half past ten. Dr. Crewe saw him at a quarter to two, and said he’d been dead something under an hour. Well, Al Miller couldn’t have done it. Now could he?”
“Unless he got out of a window and went back to the Catherine-Wheel. I suppose he could have done that.”
“I put it to the Wiltons was there any way he could have got out of the house and back again, and they said they could swear to it he didn’t. Seems his room was right over theirs, and he kept them awake the best part of the night-in and out of bed, to and fro in the room, groaning and carrying on. Now they’re very respectable people, and they were properly worked up about it. Mrs. Wilton says she heard twelve o’clock strike, and one, and two, before she could get any sleep. They’re properly worked up about Al Miller, and no reason to clear him, but as she says, right’s right, and she’s ready to swear he didn’t leave the house all night. As you know, he was there all right in the morning. Paid his bill at the bedroom door and got the key to let himself out. It’s my idea Miller walked out in a huff. He’d been on the edge of it for weeks. Well, he’s gone, and he won’t turn up again until he wants to. If he’s heard about the murder, that would be another reason for keeping out of the way. People disappear without half his reasons. He can’t have had anything to do with murdering Luke White. And what Miss Silver wants, going on about it like she does, is more than I can say. Just waste of time, sir, if you ask me.”
Randal March hadn’t asked him. He said in his pleasant voice, “All the same, you know, Crisp, I think we’d better find him.”
CHAPTER 30
Miss Silver sat in a corner of the lounge, to all appearance quite taken up with her knitting. Not very far away from her Marian Thorpe-Ennington engaged in conversation with Mildred Taverner. Occasional words and phrases were sufficiently audible to make it clear that she was imparting another instalment of that fascinating serial, her life story. Such phrases as, “The very first time he saw me… swore, actually swore, that he would jump out of the aeroplane,” and, most surprising of all, “blood on the diamond wreath, and blood on the floor.”
Mildred Taverner was undoubtedly fascinated. Her Venetian beads clashed against her gold chain as she shuddered, her pale eyes remained fixed upon Lady Marian’s beautiful face, her pale lips parted upon a hardly intermittent “Oh!”
Miss Silver continued to knit in a very thoughtful manner. When the door was presently opened and Frank Abbott looked in she rose, picked up her knitting-bag, and advanced towards him.
“If you can spare the time, I should be glad of a few moments, Inspector.”
He held open the door into Castell’s office.
“I shall be delighted.”
When he had shut it behind them she went across to the window and stood there looking at the room. There did not appear to be very much to look at, and with what there was she must by this time have surely been familiar, yet she continued to gaze in a rather abstracted manner until Frank Abbott said,
“I ought to know by now when you’ve got something up your sleeve. What is it?”
“My dear Frank!”
He returned her reproving glance with a smile.
“Come-out with it!”
She shook her head very slightly, came over to the low chair which she had occupied before, turned it round to the fire, and having seated herself, took up her knitting, observing,
“There is really a good deal that I would like to say, and if you can spare the time I should like to say it now.”
He pulled up another chair and stretched out his feet to the comfortable blaze.
“ ‘Time spared is time saved,’ as the proverb says-and as you know, I am very much at your service.”
Miss Silver’s eyes dwelt upon him indulgently, her voice only mildly critical as she said,
“I do not recall any such proverb.”
“Perhaps not. It’s an impromptu contribution of my own. After all, they have to be started by someone. I dedicate it-without permission-to you.”
“My dear Frank, when will you learn not to talk so much nonsense?”
His hands were deep in his pockets. He looked at her lazily through his fair lashes.
“I don’t know. But I’m finished for now. What did you want to talk to me about?”
Her needles clicked briskly.
“Our own particular connection with this case, and to what extent it is linked with the murder of Luke White.”
“Interesting thesis. Go on.”
She gave a slight cough.
“We came down here to investigate certain vague rumours with regard to the Catherine-Wheel. These involved the possibility that it was being used as a place of call by smugglers, by persons engaged in the illicit drug trade, or by jewel thieves. Chief Inspector Lamb pointed out that this family reunion organized by Mr. Jacob Taverner might be intended to cover some special activity connected with one of these illegal pursuits. As you know, a murder took place during the night following our arrival. It is of course possible, in theory, that the murder has no connection with these illegal practices-in fact they have not yet been proved to exist. The whole matter has advanced very little from its original realm of suspicion and conjecture. In spite of which I must tell you that I am quite unable to dissociate the murder of Luke White from what I may perhaps term our case.”
Frank nodded.
“That means that you reject the case against John Higgins. His motive would be a strictly private one-jealousy over Eily Fogarty.”
She inclined her head.
“It was not John Higgins who murdered Luke White.”
The light eyebrows were raised.