Justin shut the study door.
“Darling, you’re gibbering. Who or what is Winter?”
Dorinda gazed at him with widened eyes.
“He’s Mr. Porlock’s solicitor. The Scotland Yard policeman got him down-he arrived about eleven o’clock-”
He interrupted her.
“I wasn’t really asking for a biography.”
“Justin, it’s too dreadful. They rang up and said would I come over, because he’d brought down Mr. Porlock’s will. Only of course it isn’t Mr. Porlock-it’s Uncle Glen, and he’s left everything to me.”
Justin whistled. Then he said,
“Not really!”
Dorinda nodded.
“Frightful-isn’t it?”
Justin looked at her curiously.
“What makes you say that?”
She had turned quite pale.
“Justin, I can’t take it. He usedn’t to have any money. I’m sure he made it some wicked way.”
“Blackmail, my dear-just a little simple, innocent blackmail.”
“Oh, how-” She hesitated for a word, and came out with a childish ‘beastly!’ “I’m glad I said at once I didn’t want it.”
“You said that?”
“Yes, I did-to the policemen, and to Mr. Winter. I said I couldn’t imagine why he’d thought of leaving it to me. And Mr. Winter said-he’s a little grey man, very respectable, and industrious like an ant, only of course ants aren’t grey, but you know what I mean-he twiddled his pince-nez, and he said his client had informed him that he had no relatives, but that he would like to benefit a niece of his late wife’s-said he had lost touch with her, but he remembered her as a pleasant little girl. I suppose I ought to feel grateful, but when I think how he did his best to get me put in prison for shoplifting-well, I can’t. He did, you know. The big policeman said so.”
Justin was looking serious.
“What are you going to do?”
She said, “I don’t know. I had to wait and see you. Mr. Winter says it will make everything a lot easier if he and I prove the will-we’re executors. If I don’t, the money will just go to the Crown, and there doesn’t seem to be any point about that. He says it will be better to prove it, and then, if he’s taken money from people, I can give it back. That bit isn’t what he said-it’s what I thought of myself. And then if there was anything over I could give it to something-for children perhaps. So I thought it would be better to let him get on with the will.”
“Had he much to leave? What does it amount to?”
“He isn’t sure. He knows there’s about five thousand pounds -he doesn’t know whether there’s anything more or not. Justin-they want me to come here.”
“Why?”
“They say it would be easier. You see, I’m one of the executors. In a way, it’s my house. There’s no one here to give any orders. Mr. Winter would like me to be here because, he says, we are responsible for the house and furniture-Uncle Glen had it on a year’s lease. And the police say it would make it easier for them.”
Justin said quickly,
“These people in the house-they’re a queer crowd, and one of them’s a murderer. I don’t want you here.”
“I don’t particularly want to come, but of course I see their point.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I wouldn’t come here unless I could have Miss Silver.”
“Miss Silver?”
“I told you last night I wished she was here. If you were here, and she was here, I wouldn’t mind being here too.”
“What about Mrs. Oakley?”
“That’s the extraordinary thing. The police came up and saw her after breakfast. She made me stay in the room. She’s dreadfully unhappy and dreadfully frightened. I can’t tell you about it, but if I was here I might be able to help a little. I mean, there might be things amongst Uncle Glen’s papers-that’s what she’s afraid of. And you see, if I’m an executor I should have the right to go through them with Mr. Winter and, I suppose, the police. And of course I would do my best for her, poor thing. She hasn’t any brains, but she does love her husband and Marty, and she’s sick with fright at the idea of losing them.”
Justin looked at her straight and said,
“Did she kill Porlock?”
Dorinda’s eyes became quite round.
“Oh-she wouldn’t!”
He said, “I don’t know about that.”
Chapter XXVIII
Miss Maud Silver arrived at tea-time in the black cloth coat, the elderly fur tippet, and the black felt hat with its purple starfish in front and its niggle of purple and black ruching behind. Having partaken of what she described as a most refreshing cup of tea, she was conducted to her room, where she removed her outer garments and had a conversation with Dorinda.
“It’s very good of you to come.”
Miss Silver smiled.
“It is certainly more suitable that I should be here with you than that you should be here alone… My room is next to yours? That is nice, very nice indeed. And now, Miss Brown, tell me just what happened on Saturday night.”
When Dorinda had finished Miss Silver coughed and said, “Very clear, very succinct.” She looked at the watch she wore pinned on the left-hand side of her bodice. “And now I think I will go down. Sergeant Abbott said he would be here by five o’clock, and it is just on the hour.”
Sergeant Abbott was punctual. He rang the front door bell as they came down the stairs, greeted Miss Silver a good deal more like a nephew than a policeman, and carried her off to the study, leaving Dorinda conscious for the first time that he was not only a very personable young man but quite human.
Inside the study he was less like a policeman than ever. He put an affectionate arm round Miss Silver as he guided her to a comfortable chair, after which he took an informal seat on the arm of another.
“It’s a good thing you rang me up,” he said. “The Chief was hopping mad at first, but I’ve got him soothed. The fact is, there are just about half a dozen people up to their necks in this case- and when I say up to their necks I mean up to their necks. And any blighted one of them could have knifed Gregory Porlock- and had every reason to.”
Miss Silver said, “Dear me!” She had brought down a flowery chintz knitting-bag, the gift of her niece Ethel. She opened it now and took out a half-made infant’s vest in the pale pink wool which she had bought on the occasion of her visit to the De Luxe Stores. The four needles clicked. The vest revolved without detracting in any way from the attention with which she was regarding Frank.
He nodded.
“As you say-‘Dear me!’ it is. One might almost call it the theme-song. I take it you know more or less what happened on Saturday night?”
“Miss Brown has given me a commendably clear account.”
“Would you like to read the statements first? They won’t take you very long. The Chief let me bring them, after blowing off the customary steam.”
Miss Silver laid down her knitting and perused the typewritten sheets in a silence which he did not attempt to interrupt. When she looked up from the last word he had another sheaf to offer her.
“These are my notes of the various interviews. There’s quite a lot of information in them.”
She read these too.
“It all fits very well into the framework given me by Miss Brown.”
“Yes, she’s got a head on her shoulders, and in spite of being the late unlamented’s sole legatee she is one of the few people who isn’t a suspect. Now for the ones who are. I’ve tabulated them for you, and you’ll see how nice and simple it all is. Here we go.”
He handed her some more of his neat typing and leaned over her shoulder to read aloud, with occasional excursions in the nature of comment or explanation.
“1. Leonard Carroll. Cabaret artist. Clever, slick, thoroughly unreliable.”
Miss Silver coughed gently.
“I have met him.”
“In fact you have him taped! Well, he had a very compelling motive. Porlock was blackmailing him. Their conversation was overheard by Pearson-you know about him. He was here to try and get something on Porlock because Porlock was blackmailing a client of his firm. The Chief knows him, and says he’s all right. He was doing all the listening at doors he could, and as he said himself, a butler really has excellent opportunities. Well, Pearson heard Porlock talking to Carroll. He told him he had evidence that he had given information to the enemy when he was out at the front with a concert-party in ’forty-five. Carroll went right off the deep end-very much rattled, very abusive. You’ve had that-it’s in my notes. An hour or two later Porlock is knifed. Now if you look at this plan of the hall you can see where everyone was when Justin Leigh turned on the lights. It’s his plan, and nobody disputes it. Gregory Porlock’s body was lying with the feet a couple of yards from the newel-post at the bottom of the stairs. He had gone over there from the group about the hearth, and just before the lights went out he had turned round and was coming back. That is to say, at the time he was stabbed he was facing the hearth and had his back to the staircase and the drawing-room door. If you look at the plan you will see that Carroll was on the stairs, third step from the top, and Tote was in the drawing-room doorway. Now, taking Carroll as the murderer, the theory is that on his way up to wash after impersonating the devil in his charade he left a spot of luminous paint on Porlock’s back as he passed, and subsequently turned out the hall lights from the top of the stairs. He then slid down the banisters, stabbed Porlock right in the middle of the bright spot, and got back upstairs a couple of steps at a time. It could have been done. There were no fingerprints on the dagger. He may have worn a glove, or he may have taken a moment to wipe it clean.”