Miss Silver gave a meditative cough.
‘I believe he may have wished to dig in the garden,’ she said.
THIRTY-SEVEN
IT TOOK QUITE a lot to startle Frank Abbott, but at this he pulled himself up in his chair and said,
‘What?’
Miss Silver reproved him with a glance and repeated her remark.
‘I believe he may have wished to dig in the garden.’
‘My dear ma’am!’
‘Or in the gazebo. Yes, I think it would probably be in the gazebo.’
She laid down the almost completed vest and took out of her knitting-bag that copy of the Rev. Thomas Jenkinson’s book which had engaged her interest. There was a neat white marker between the pages, so that it opened readily at the chapter on Grove Hill. She handed the volume to Frank, directing his attention to the paragraph which dealt with the Gordon Riots. Reading on, he would come naturally to the passage which had been marked by a faint underlining. Whilst his attention was engaged with the narrative she returned to her knitting and remained in silence. She could have guessed the moment when he reached the description of the unfortunate Mr Warren’s last moments. At the report of the Physician who was Mr D – L -’s brother his colourless eyebrows rose, but he read on to the end without speaking. Then, and not till then, he said across the open page, and quoting from it,
‘ “The dying man constantly muttered to himself some such phrase as, ‘The gold is safe,’ or, ‘I have saved the gold.’ ” This, I suppose, is the nub of the whole thing, the gold being presumably the gold Plate which is mentioned as being of great value. All very interesting, my dear ma’am, but highly speculative. Where did you come across this book?’
‘Althea Graham told me that her father had been much interested in the early history of Grove Hill. She spoke of some connexion with the Gordon Riots and told me her father’s books were in the attic, and that an account of the Riots was to be found in one of them. When I had a little time on my hands I looked for the volume and found it.’
‘That accounts for your being informed about the last moments of the unfortunate Mr Warren. But how do you suggest that Blount and Worple got to know about them?’
‘My dear Frank, Mr Worple was the stepson of the late Mr Martin whose own son, the present Mr Martin, is the leading house-agent in Grove Hill. In a conversation I had with him this morning he told me that his grandfather had founded the firm, and that his father had been much interested in local history and had possessed a copy of Mr Jenkinson’s book. Since this was the case, Mr Worple would have had access to it. This passage might well catch his imagination. Just what brought it to the forefront of his mind we have no means of knowing, nor just why he should have passed on his thoughts and speculations on the subject to Mr Blount, but…’
Frank Abbott threw the book down open on to the dining-table.
‘You know, I’m not at all sure you haven’t got something there. At least you may have one bit and I’ve got another. You didn’t ask me what Blount’s job was, apart from associating with crooks and keeping a second-hand shop, but it may have a considerable bearing.’
‘He had a job?’
‘A more or less hereditary one.’
‘My dear Frank!’
‘Well, his mother came from a Sussex village, a little place called Cleat. Apparently Blount used to spend a lot of time down there with his grandfather, who was the last of a highly respected line of – what do you think? I give you three guesses.’
She smiled.
‘I think you had better tell me.’
He said,
‘Dowsers. And I won’t insult you by asking whether that means anything to you or not.’
She said sedately,
‘Water diviners, are they not?’
He nodded.
‘Grandfather Pardue was highly skilled at the job. He operated all over Sussex. If your well went dry you asked him to come and find you another. Or if you wanted to build, he could tell you if there was likely to be a water supply on the spot. Quite a famous old boy in his way, and he taught his grandson. We got all this from the Sussex locals. They say Blount lapped it up and is almost as good as the old man was. He charges quite a tidy fee, and he still gets called in.’
Miss Silver said in a thoughtful tone,
‘It used to be considered a mere country superstition. I believe a forked stick is employed, preferably hazel. It is supposed to dip when it is held over ground which covers water.’
‘It is not only supposed to – it does. My cousin Charles Montague had an ancestral mansion which he turned over to the National Trust. He kept a few acres to build a cottage on, and water being essential, a dowser was called in. He asked me if I’d like to come down and watch the performance, and I did. The chap walked round for about twenty minutes, and there was nothing doing. Then we went to another place, and the rod started to twitch. The chap went on walking and holding it out in front of him, and presently it began to dip and twist until it was all he could do to hold it. He told them where to dig, and they found a first-class spring about a hundred feet down.’
Miss Silver’s ‘Yes’ had a questioning note in it. She added,
‘Pray proceed.’
‘Water isn’t the only thing a good diviner can find.’
‘I believe not.’
‘There is an idea that metals can also be located. Blount’s grandfather was called in by the local police after the Mickleham robbery in 1922. A good deal of valuable plate was taken, and there was an idea that the thieves had buried it. The old boy found it and got a handsome reward. But whether he did it with his divining rod, or because he knew something that the police didn’t, don’t ask me to say. Villagers often know a lot more than they ever spill.’
Miss Silver folded her hands upon Tina’s pink vest.
‘I do not suppose Mr Blount to have been looking for water in Mrs Graham’s back garden, but he might have wished to confirm a theory that Mr Warren’s gold plate had been concealed under, or in the neighbourhood of, the gazebo. I do not know whether you noticed the reference in Mr Jenkinson’s account to a young woman who was present during Mr Warren’s last moments, and who must therefore have heard his references to having saved the gold. I would like you to return to the passage.’
Frank ran his eye down the page until he reached ‘a young woman afterwards married in Yorkshire ’. Continuing from there, he read aloud. ‘ “This person, Mrs M – n, after an absence of many years has now returned and is a parishioner of my own. On referring to her for corroboration of Mr D – L -’s story, he being now deceased, she confirmed it in every particular, even to repeating some of the words let fall by Mr Warren when he lay a-dying. These I do not feel should be set down in print, lest they should give rise to false hopes or to the cupidity of unprincipled persons.” ’
Having reached the end of the passage, he looked up and said,
‘Mrs M – n?’
‘If you will turn the book to the light you will see that the intervening letters have been pencilled in.’
He did so, and exclaimed,
‘What do you make of it? Looks like Martin to me.’
Miss Silver said,
‘During my conversation with Mr Martin this morning he mentioned that his father’s grandmother had been employed in some capacity at Grove Hill House at the time of its being burned down by the rioters. He said his father could remember her telling him about the mob breaking in and Mr Warren losing his life. Do you not think she may have told him rather more than that, and that the story may have caught his stepson’s fancy? Something of the kind, I think, must have occurred in order to bring Mr Worple and Mr Blount upon the scene. Mr Worple has this story of buried treasure. Mr Blount is believed to be able to locate the presence of metal underground. It would be a reason for their association, would it not? But Mr Blount endeavours to steal a march upon his partner. He gets here first and makes an offer for the house. But Mr Worple follows him. There was probably an angry scene, and for a time they bid against each other, but in the end they decide to join forces again. Mr Worple withdraws from the bidding, and at this juncture Mrs Graham is murdered.’