He nodded.
‘Well, she didn’t in this case. So there we are with the missing link we were talking about when I looked out of the window and saw Mabel and Lily on the step. As far as I remember, I was saying that the chances were about fifty-fifty as regards Nicholas Carey. He couldn’t prove that he didn’t come back and murder Mrs Graham, and we couldn’t prove that he did. Well, Mrs Traill’s evidence alters all that, doesn’t it? As reported by Lily and confirmed by herself, Mrs Traill states that she came out of 28 Hill Rise at twenty past eleven, walked approximately a hundred and twenty feet along the pavement until she was level with the gazebo, and then heard Mrs Graham call out, “How dare you, Nicholas Carey!” He is not going to find it easy to explain that away, is he? Miss Graham took her mother into the house at, shall we say, a quarter to eleven. She and Carey had an assignation for half past ten. They had to meet. Her mother had to get up, put something on, and come and find them. After which there had to be time for a row, persuasions, and getting Mrs Graham back into the house. Say a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes – but we should still be well this side of eleven o’clock. Carey says he went off at once, walked for a long time, and got back to Grove Hill House he can’t say when. Mrs Traill, who can’t have any axe to grind, is prepared to swear that she heard Mrs Graham call out to him in an angry voice at somewhere between twenty and twenty-five past eleven. So one of them is lying, and only Carey has a motive for that particular lie.’
Miss Silver gave a gentle cough.
‘I think that you are assuming more than is warranted by Mrs Traill’s statement. Mrs Traill heard a voice say, “How dare you, Nicholas Carey!” and in view of the other evidence we are, I suppose, justified in assuming that it was Mrs Graham who was speaking. The words are the same as those heard half an hour previously by Nurse Cotton. But whereas Nurse Cotton was able to identify the voice as that of Mrs Graham, Mrs Traill is in no position to do so. Still it is a fair assumption that the speaker was the same in both cases. What I do not feel we are entitled to assume is that the person she addressed was necessarily the same.’
‘She used his name!’
Miss Silver knitted briskly.
‘It was about half an hour since she had gone into the house, leaving Nicholas Carey in the gazebo. Miss Graham had put her to bed and retired to her own room, where, as she tells me, she fell instantly and deeply asleep. We do not know what it was that took Mrs Graham back to the gazebo. There must have been some evidence of an intruder – probably the flash of a torch. There seems to be no doubt that what she saw convinced her of Mr Carey’s continued presence in the garden, and she could place only one construction on it, that he was waiting there to see her daughter. Hurrying out, she reaches the gazebo, is aware of the intruder, and calls out, using the words overheard by Mrs Traill, “How dare you, Nicholas Carey!” But do you suppose that she really saw and recognized him? I think the most she would see would be an impression that there was someone moving there. I went up the garden last night just after eleven o’clock. The weather was very much the same as it was on Tuesday. There was no moon, and there are overhanging trees at the top of the garden. As I came up to the gazebo it was very dark indeed. The interior was like a black cave.’
He said,
‘There was a flashlight in the pocket of Mrs Graham’s coat.’
Miss Silver’s voice reproved him.
‘If she had been using it, it would not have been found in her pocket. It was probably her sense of hearing which told her there was someone in the gazebo, and I maintain there is no proof that it was Nicholas Carey.’
There was a pause before he said,
‘I shall have to go up and report to the Chief. I think he will say that the evidence must go to the Public Prosecutor. You are predisposed in Carey’s favour, but you don’t need me to tell you that Mrs Traill’s evidence looks bad for him. On the other hand no one will want to be in too much of a hurry. Those “Rolling Stone” articles of his made a big splash. But they are pretty tough, you know, and life in the sort of places they describe would be calculated to rub off some of the finer scruples. I think it might be just as well if you didn’t give Althea Graham too much encouragement to expect a happy ending.’
TWENTY-FIVE
FRANK ABBOTT HAD been gone about half an hour when a knock upon the front door took Miss Silver into the hall to open it. There was a young man standing in the porch with a bunch of pink carnations in his hand. He was good-looking in rather an obtrusive sort of way, and he had the air of being very well pleased with himself. He was in fact Mr Fred Worple, and he had called to see Miss Althea Graham. He imparted these facts in a negligent manner and advanced a step as if he had no doubt that he would be admitted.
Miss Silver stood where she was.
‘I am afraid Miss Graham is not able to see visitors.’
‘It’s been a shock,’ said Mr Worple. ‘Well, of course it would be, wouldn’t it? But not a bit of good shutting herself up, is it? She wants to see her friends and get brightened up a bit. You just go and ask her whether she won’t see me.’
Miss Silver looked at him in a thoughtful manner. Then she said,
‘Miss Graham is resting. You are a friend of the family?’
‘I’ll say I am – and a very good friend too. Come, it’ll do her good to see me.’
Miss Silver stepped back.
‘I am afraid that you will not be able to do that. But if you would care to come in for a moment…’ She led the way to the dining-room.
When the door was shut upon them she moved in the direction of the hearth and remained there standing.
‘Miss Graham has mentioned your name, Mr Worple. She tells me that you wish to settle in Grove Hill, and that you had made Mrs Graham an offer for this house.’
‘That’s right. And a very good offer it was. Here, are you a relation?’
It would be difficult to find anyone more competent than Miss Silver to check a tone of impertinent familiarity. It was, in fact, an art in which she might be said to excel. Chief Inspector Lamb himself, though never a willing offender, had been known to blench. Yet for the moment Mr Fred Worple was spared. She replied quietly,
‘I am staying with Miss Graham as a friend. Does Mrs Graham’s death alter your plans with regard to the house?’
He had followed her to the hearth and was now lounging against the mantelpiece, the pink carnations dangling from his hand.
‘Oh, well, I don’t know. As a matter of fact there was someone else after it, and I had rather given up the idea. Murder – well, it does rather put you off, doesn’t it? Of course it ought to bring down the price a good bit. I shouldn’t think the girl would want to stay on here – not after what has happened.’
‘I do not know at all what Miss Graham’s plans may be.’
Fred Worple laughed.
‘If she knows what’s good for her she’ll take what she can get for the place and clear out!’
The fire in the grate had been laid but not lighted. Miss Silver looked down in a thoughtful manner at the paper, the sticks, and the coal.
‘I suppose these houses are not very old?’ she said.
‘Oh, about fifty years or so. My old dad – stepfather he was really – he used to say he remembered all this part before it was built over. Part of the old Grove Hill Estate it was.’
‘There must have been quite a good view from the top of the garden then. I suppose that is why the summerhouse was built there. Miss Graham calls it a gazebo. She seems to think it might be older than the house.’
His foot slipped from the kerb.
‘Oh, I don’t know – I never took that much interest. I used to think I’d like to live in a house like this – used to pass it coming out this way and think, “Well, I’d like to live there,” the way kids do. But I’m not so sure now – not after what has happened. Not unless it was going for a song.’ He straightened up. ‘Look here, be a sport and tell Miss Graham I’m here. Tell her it’ll do her good to see someone who isn’t mixed up in all this, and say I brought her these flowers.’