Water Weed, page 29
“Do go on, I’d like to hear what he thought.”
“Well then, it was his opinion that Mr. Hillier was taking a good deal too much whisky. There, miss, I hadn’t ought to have said it. For that matter, I must say for Mr. Hillier that he never showed it, in a manner of speaking. But Minton couldn’t help noticing that in the last month or so he was getting away with a rare amount of drink.”
“I understand. Well, to get back. What happened when you went up to your room?”
“Well, miss, it was soon after that that Minton tapped on my door to tell me what he’d just heard—that is about my lady and Mr. Hillier arguing like in the bedroom. My lady sounded so regularly upset he felt he must speak to someone about it.”
“One minute, Mrs. Hood. Was there any reason for Minton’s going to that part of the house just then?”
“Oh, certainly, miss. He’d been to take the whisky and a siphon up to Mr. Hillier’s room. Mr. Hillier’d asked for it two nights running.”
Virginia nodded, recalling that Glenn had not been able to sleep. . . . “Oh, and after that—?”
“We talked a bit, miss, gossiping I suppose you’d call it. I told him not to take notice of what didn’t concern him, and I happened to mention that I’d known my lady a good deal longer than he had, and that she was very excitable, but that it didn’t mean much.”
She spoke now with a certain reserve tinged with conscious loyalty, and the listener felt her unwillingness to dwell upon this part of the subject. However, Virginia wanted to pass on quickly to Minton’s own doings, which for the moment concerned her more than anything else.
“And then I suppose you went to bed?” she suggested tentatively.
This time there was a noticeable pause before the reply came, halting and uncertain.
“Why no, miss, not just then I didn’t.” She stopped, smoothing out the crease in her apron. “I can’t say whether it was Minton’s talking as he did that woke me up, as you might say, or what it was, but I seemed to feel all alert, not the least bit sleepy. I took down my hair and started brushing it, and then I came downstairs in my dressing-gown, as I’ve sometimes done, and I went all over this end of the house, in the kitchen, in the scullery, everywhere, making sure that the place was properly locked up and all.”
Virginia felt a slight surprise.
“Was there any particular reason for doing that? I thought Minton always attended to the locking up.”
“Yes, miss, that’s so. I hardly know why I did it. It was only a fancy as it turned out; but I’d a sort of idea after Minton left that I heard a noise down below, as if someone was moving about.”
In spite of herself, Virginia sat up straight, every faculty sharpened. Here at least was a hint of something unexpected. What did it mean?
CHAPTER XXXVI
She waited till she could command herself to speak with the necessary indifference before repeating quietly:
“Someone moving about? Where? On this floor, or the one above?”
She thought the housekeeper seemed slightly confused, but it was only a passing impression; almost at once the reply came with every evidence of openness.
“I couldn’t say, miss. It was just a general idea. I looked about on the floor above as well as down here. I went as far as the baize door, though not beyond it, and satisfied myself that I’d been mistaken. It was only my fancy. I made sure of that,” she added positively.
“Could it have been Minton moving about?” suggested Virginia, subduing her eagerness.
It was the woman’s turn to show surprise.
“Oh no, miss, he was in his room. He hadn’t quite shut his door, and I could see him through the crack, standing in front of the mirror. I recall it particularly, for as I came up again I called out to him. ‘I’m off this time,’ I said, like that.”
“But later than that,” pursued Virginia, tingling with excitement, “Minton went back to the main landing, didn’t he? I mean the time he heard Mrs. Fenmore crying as if she had hysterics.”
A pained look came over the sallow face.
“He did, miss. It was just curiosity, I suppose, for he had no business there. I heard him go, and I heard him come back.”
“About what time was that?”
“I should say about 12:30, miss, but I can’t be sure.”
With a tightness in her chest Virginia prepared her leading question. So much, she felt, might hang upon the answer.
“And how long was he gone that second time?”
“Oh, not above ten minutes, miss. Yes, just about ten minutes it must have been.”
Ten minutes. . . . It was not long, but it was amply sufficient. It was quite possible for him to have lied, there was no one to contradict him. He might have arrived on the scene just in time to catch the sound of the front door closing upon Glenn, whose bedroom door would in that case have been open, showing that he had gone. It was not likely that he could have hidden for long, if at all, in the bathroom as she had first supposed, but that was unimportant. In all probability he must have gone straight into Mrs. Fenmore’s room, using the bathroom as a passage, and accomplished his purpose speedily, returning at once as though nothing had happened.
All this passed rapidly through her mind before she inquired, intently watching her companion’s face:
“And during that ten minutes you are positive—quite positive—that you didn’t hear anything?”
She could not understand the quickness with which the housekeeper returned, “Absolutely positive, miss! As far as I could tell the whole house was as silent as the tomb—although I’m sure I was listening with all my ears.”
Knitting her brows, the girl leaned forward.
“Listening? What for? What did you expect to hear?”
It was as though she had thrown a dash of cold water between the woman’s eyes. She saw her start and catch her breath before replying.
“Nothing at all, miss. I only meant I was restless and keyed up. Once in a while I’m like that. I dare say it was on account of what Minton had told me. It seemed so unusual the young gentleman losing his temper when he’d always been on the best of terms with—with everyone, so to speak.”
It was a plausible explanation, and Virginia let it pass with a nod of understanding. She rose and slowly moved towards the door as if there were nothing further to discuss.
“It’s good of you to tell me all this, Mrs. Hood. I felt I wanted to get a clear idea of that evening, and you’ve given it to me.”
She stepped into the stone passage, and doing so came face to face with Minton himself. Her self-possession all but deserted her, so unexpected was the encounter. He wore his striped apron bound tightly about his portly middle, and in his hand was a pair of riding-boots, but at the moment he was standing motionless a few feet from the door with an air of listening. Had he heard her conversation? His full, light eyes rested upon her with a look of cold penetration which caused her a shiver of fear. In that glance she read reawakened interest, perhaps suspicion. She might be wrong, she hoped that she was; but as she bent her head and hurried past, her heart beat confusedly to think that he might have been there long enough to catch what she had been saying.
Wandering aimlessly across the grass, she took stock of her recent conversation. Little as she had learned, it was worth something to know that Minton had been absent from his room for ten minutes in the neighbourhood of 12:30. However, what concerned her at the moment was the impression that the housekeeper, for all her air of frankness, had not told her quite the whole truth. Had she really been listening for something? And if so, for what? Could it have been—the thought struck her like a thunderbolt—some sound connected with the crime itself?
“Oh, no, not that! It couldn’t possibly be that!”
The idea that Mrs. Hood herself might not be all that she seemed, might have acted as an accessory in the murder, was new and utterly shocking. Yet what could her involuntary admission purport? Was it beyond the realm of possibility for the woman to have been tempted by the legacy she presumably would inherit as an old and trusted servant, or that under cover of devotion she could have nurtured a secret hatred for her mistress? What if she and Minton had been in league with one another?
Revolted though she was, Virginia could not altogether put the notion from her. It fascinated and held her fancy to such an extent that she did not notice her surroundings till she found herself on the path that led into the wilderness she had explored the day before. Almost unseeingly she pushed aside the curtain of bamboos and stepped into the clearing beyond.
To her left lay the culvert bridging the ditch. She glanced at it idly, then, her eye caught by the worn surface of the earth beneath, stooped to examine it more closely. Inside the rough stone roof was covered with cobwebs which held enmeshed a few fragments of dead leaves—all, that is, except the middle portion, where a track was swept clean, as though a gardener’s brush had been at work, or else as if someone had crawled through. On a sudden whim she bent low and made her way on hands and knees, a distance of five feet or more, till she emerged on the other side, hot and red in the face. Straightening up, she found herself in the trough of the ha-ha, in full view of the house and lawn. She dusted her hands and climbed the narrow ladder embedded in the bricked side, as she did so hearing the sound of the lunch-gong. From the drawing-room window Pam approached with a letter in her hand.
“It’s for you,” she called out. “It has a business look.” Then as she reached Virginia’s side, she exclaimed, “Whatever have you been doing to yourself? You’ve got cobwebs clinging to your hair and a streak of black across your nose!”
“Have I? I don’t wonder,” laughed Virginia, and bending her head so that Pam could pick off the debris, she described her escapade.
“Oh, I see! That culvert was a favourite hiding-place of Henry’s and mine when we were little. We used to play games there, crouching under the bridge with spiders crawling all over us and we were nearly suffocated, thinking it was great fun to have Nannie shouting all over the place for us to come and bathe.”
Virginia was examining her letter, which she saw was from the solicitor. She waited till she had reached her room before tearing open the envelope, then eagerly scanned the following stiff enclosure:
MY DEAR MISS CAREW:
In regard to your inquiries as to Mr. Hillier’s health, I am happy to say that he is well on the road to recovery, and at my last interview with him seemed, I may state, as normal as he is likely to be under the present circumstances. I have written to your father to inform him that I have at last been able to obtain a somewhat more comprehensive and coherent statement than I had hitherto secured. Unfortunately, I cannot yet see that what he tells me is of a nature to throw much additional light on the case, but certainly his memory in respect to certain details is now slightly improved. I conveyed your messages to him, and extend to you on his behalf his appreciation and regards.
Yours truly,
JAMES CRAUFURD.
She read the letter again, while through her mind shot a dozen formless conjectures as to what was meant by the “somewhat more comprehensive and coherent statement.” She wondered if it related to the quarrel and to the unceremonious nature of Glenn’s leave-taking on the 17th. The lawyer’s qualifying note of pessimism warned her not to hope too much, yet was it not possible that what his client had disclosed might take on a different complexion if coupled with the news she had to relate? She would go to town to-morrow at latest, and have a talk with the little lawyer, confident that her information would make him open his eyes in amazement. . . .
A perfunctory knock at the door, and her hostess burst in upon her.
“Ginny! What do you think has happened? It’s abominable!”
She wheeled round to face the Pam she had first known belligerent, her face dark with rage. What had occurred to cause the abrupt change in her?
“I’m too furious for words! What do you think that pig of a Minton has done? He declares he’s going away, now, at once—leaving us in the lurch, just when there’s so much to do. Oh! I could horsewhip him!”
With the letter crushed in her hand, Virginia gave a gasp of dismay.
“Going?” she echoed sharply. “Why? Did he say?”
“No, not a word. He never gives a reason for anything, it’s just his nasty, independent way. Says he wants to be in town after to-day. It couldn’t have mattered to him to stay on another ten days. Did you ever hear such impertinence?”
Her thoughts in a turmoil, Virginia clutched wildly at her friend’s arm.
“Pam!” she cried excitedly, “don’t let him go! Don’t—” she stopped, realising her stupidity, but not before Pam, shaken out of her own annoyance had opened her eyes in astonishment.
“Don’t what?” she interrogated.
Virginia cast about for an explanation. She must not yet let the girl into the secret.
“What I mean is, don’t let him bully you like that. It’s only because he knows you’re young. Tell him plainly that he can’t leave without giving the proper notice. Show him your authority.”
“Oh, I did, you may be sure. I said I wouldn’t give him a character, that he must think it over and decide whether it was worth it to behave like that. I’ve given him till three o’clock to make up his mind, but I don’t think he’ll stay. He all but told me he didn’t care about the character. Impudent fool!”
So Minton was clearing off! He had heard what she was saying to Mrs. Hood and was determined to take no chances. No doubt he meant to disappear, to save his skin. As the certainty of this struck her, she knew she must not waste another minute before seeing Craufurd. Already it might be too late.
“Pam,” she demanded suddenly, “what’s the first train up to London? I’ve got to go up this afternoon as soon as possible. It’s important.” Then she thought of an excuse. “It’s something Glenn’s solicitor has written me,” she added, indicating the letter.
“Oh, I see! There’s the 2:20 from Leatherhead. But Thorne will drive you up.”
“No, thanks, I’d rather go by train. I’ll be back for dinner.”
Trembling with excitement, she put on her hat in readiness to depart when the second lunch was over. Throughout the hurried meal she studiously avoided any notice of the object of her suspicion, and so could not say if his face betrayed concern; yet once as he held the door open for her she fancied his eyes were upon her with a suggestion of the look she had caught in them this morning, and she was more than ever sure that his abrupt decision to go was the direct result of the alarm she had unwittingly given him.
CHAPTER XXXVII
Two hours later Virginia sat on the edge of a chair close to the shining expanse of mahogany, clasping her hands till the nails dug into her palms, and gazing in tortured suspense at the composed countenance of the lawyer opposite. Minutes had passed since she finished her breathless narrative and still he did not offer any comment, merely eyeing her attentively with his head bent and his immaculate finger-tips pressed lightly together.
“Well?” she burst out at last, “What do you think of it all?”
He stirred in his arm-chair and cleared his throat several times.
“I think,” he said with a pleasant and slightly pompous attempt at compliment which she scented in advance, “I think that you are an amazingly clever and ingenious young woman to have thought this all out and put it together as you have done. It does great credit to your imagination.”
She all but burst into tears. In the bitterness of her disappointment, she lowered her head, striving to control her quivering lips. Was this how he was going to take it? It was a second or two before she could command her voice to speak.
“Imagination?” she repeated constrainedly. “I’ve done nothing but put two and two together to make four. Anyone with common sense would have reached the same conclusion.”
Her sarcasm was met by a dignified shrug.
“Forgive me for saying it, Miss Carew, but it strikes me that you have put two and two together to make five.”
Justice told her that the reproof was merited, and instinct that she had offended him by her cutting speech.
“Then in your opinion the whole thing is only a—mare’s nest?” she suggested haltingly, a husky note in her voice.
The huskiness had its effect on him. Drawing his chair around so that the table was no longer between them, he leaned closer to her, softening visibly. She even suspected that he would have liked to take her hand and pat it in a fatherly way, but he contented his kindly impulses by blowing his nose on a very white handkerchief.
“Now, now, you mustn’t put words into my mouth. This theory you have outlined to me is certainly an exceedingly plausible one. You must not blame me if I cannot at once accept it, but be that as it may I promise you it shall have the fullest investigation. In any event, it comprises a pair of extraordinary coincidences, which at a time as grave as this—”
“A matter of life and death,” she put in, her voice sunk to a whisper.
“Yes, yes, exactly!” agreed Mr. Craufurd in haste, as though he would have preferred a euphemistic substitute for her crude phrase. “It may quite possibly be true that the gentleman you mention—this Major Falck—employed reprehensible methods towards influencing his wife to make a will in his favour—although we can secure no proof of it; but between an act of that character and murder is a long step, a very long step indeed. Then also, in regard to this butler you speak of—I am afraid that the type of criminal you take him to be is exceedingly rarely met with in England. I mean, of course, the man capable of committing a crime of such gravity for pecuniary gain.”
“It may be unusual,” urged Virginia, “but it could happen. Such things do happen.”
“Occasionally—yes.”
He settled back in his chair and smiled at her. His complacency drove her to desperation.
“But—but I hope you understand that this butler declares he is leaving at once. Mayn’t that mean that he intends to try to escape?”
