MARCH GOT DOWN to the net results of his interviews after lunch. Miss Silver in the convenient small chair which left her elbows free—arms can be very hampering when you are knitting—Frank Abbott posed negligently on the arm of one of the big leather-covered chairs and looking as if he had never done anything in his life except exist beautifully in a workless world, an appearance to which a pile of very neat typescript at March’s right hand gave the lie.
‘Well, Abbott, I’ve been over all the notes you took, and I don’t know what you think, but it looks like Robbins to me.’
Frank nodded.
‘We could do with some more evidence.’
‘Oh, yes. But I don’t see where we’re going to get it. However, I’d like to run through all the other possibilities. We may turn something up that way. Something may have struck you or Miss Silver.’
She was finishing the right sleeve of Ethel Burkett’s jumper. Her attention appeared to be wholly engaged by the ribbing at the wrist. March experienced a slight feeling of impatience. He was taking her into the fullest confidence, letting her in where he could without any complaint from her about having left her out, and he thought a little response would not be out of place. There was no sign of it. She might have been in the next room. She might never have heard of Henry Clayton. She might have been in Timbuctoo. He didn’t go quite as far as to wish her there, but he was well on the way to it. He picked up a sheet of foolscap covered with his own writing.
‘I’ll lead off with Robbins—just a close summary. I think there’s no doubt he suspected Clayton of having seduced his daughter. She may have told him so before she died, or it may have been just suspicion. Miss Freyne’s evidence is important on this point. She says Mr. Pilgrim told her that he was afraid Henry Clayton was responsible, and said that Robbins had told him so. Well, there’s the motive. By all accounts he had been very hard hit, wouldn’t have the girl’s name mentioned, wouldn’t have her and the child buried down here—Mrs. Robbins seems to have felt this very much—wouldn’t even give out the fact that she was dead. All this is evidence that he was very deeply and to some extent abnormally affected. Then, a month after the daughter’s tragic death with her child in an air raid, Henry Clayton comes down here to marry another woman. That strengthens the motive very considerably, I think. As to opportunity—well, Robbins had it if anyone did. His account of what happened after half past ten that night is corroborated at one point, and one only. Henry Clayton did leave the house. Miss Freyne saw him emerge into the street and come towards her. She says he was half way between the door of the glazed passage and the gate to the stable yard when she turned away from the window. That distance is some ten to fifteen yards—I’d allow a margin because he was coming directly towards her and it was moonlight, both disturbing factors. In any case the distance was such that Robbins could either have called to him from the entrance to the glazed passage or run after him. Whichever it was, it is, I think, quite certain that Clayton returned to the house. What excuse Robbins used, we can’t tell, but Clayton undoubtedly turned round and came back. Robbins may have had the dagger ready. He may have stabbed him at once in the passage or in the hall, or he may have got him into the dining-room or into the passage where the lift is on some pretext or other. We’ll never know about that unless he tells us. If he had it all planned, he would of course get him as far as he could. But there may not have been any premeditation—he may just have felt that he had got to have it out with him about his daughter. Clayton’s going off like that to see Miss Freyne might have been the last straw. If Robbins suddenly taxed him with having ruined his daughter, that would have turned Clayton back all right. And he wouldn’t want anyone listening in. There was the dining-room all handy, and on the opposite side of the house from Mr. Pilgrim’s room and his aunts. And once they were in the dining-room all those daggers were very handy too. I think it happened that way.’
Frank ran a hand back over his immaculate hair.
‘That’s a point, about the position of the rooms, but it would apply to other people besides Robbins. I’m not disagreeing, you know. If the murder was premeditated, the dining-room would have been chosen anyhow, on account of having a door through into the stone passage just opposite that lift. If it wasn’t premeditated, it was still the best room to have a quarrel in. You see, the room Judy Elliot is in overhead was empty. Henry was in the room Miss Silver has now. Then comes another empty room and Lona Day’s. Jerome’s room looks the other way, and isn’t over the dining-room at all. Lona is the only one who could possibly have heard anything, and it’s most unlikely she would, because all these walls and floors are very solid and thick.’
March nodded.
‘Well, there we are. That’s the case against Robbins as far as Henry Clayton goes. Passing to Mr. Pilgrim’s death—I’ve seen the groom William, and he says there was a thorn under the saddle, and it was a long black thorn from a tree hanging over the stable yard. But there’s no real proof, and never will be, that the death was not accidental. If it wasn’t, Robbins could have done it, just as anyone else in the house could have done it. Motive—Mr. Pilgrim was about to sell the house. If it was sold, the cellars would be cleared out and Clayton’s body discovered. The person who killed him couldn’t afford to let that happen.’
Frank Abbott said, ‘Quite.’ Miss Silver did not lift her eyes from her knitting.
March frowned and went on.
‘We come to Roger Pilgrim’s death. If he was murdered, the same motive would apply. Without the discovery of Clayton’s body, any coroner’s jury would bring in a verdict of accident, with a feeling at the back of their minds that it was probably suicide, but kinder to the family not to say so.’
Frank Abbott gave a short laugh.
‘Who says we’re not a sentimental nation?’
Miss Silver gave a slight reproving cough.
‘Reluctance to inflict unnecessary pain can hardly be considered reprehensible.’
March went on.
‘The discovery of Clayton’s body makes it a good deal more likely that Roger was murdered, because except for the death of Mr. Pilgrim, who really could not have had any motive for murdering his nephew, the household here was the same as at the time of Clayton’s disappearance. And that means that there was probably someone amongst them who had already done one murder and had an extremely strong motive for covering it up by committing another. Now see how this applies to Roger’s death. Miss Elliot saw Robbins go up the back stair at some time after six but before a quarter to seven. She thinks it was before half past six, but she isn’t sure. She saw him go up, but she didn’t see him come down. Robbins says it was only just after six, he wasn’t in his room five minutes, and he came down by the stair in the other wing—which seems odd, because it’s right out of his way on the other side of the house. He says Miss Freyne and Roger were together in the attic room when he came down. Miss Freyne says she left at six-fifteen. Well, there you are—he could very easily have waited to see her go, and then have gone in and pushed Roger out over that low sill. He had just seen him from his own room, right up there in the window. If he wanted to bump him off he couldn’t have had a better opportunity. It all rather piles up against Robbins, you know. Take the fall of the ceiling. It would be the easiest thing in the world for him to pour water down on to it from the floor above—he and his wife had the whole place to themselves up there. And the business of the fire. It was he who took the tray of drinks along to the room which was burned out. Roger says the drink was doped. I gather that Jerome has sleeping tablets knocking about. It wouldn’t be difficult for Robbins to get hold of one or two, and it would be the easiest thing in the world for him to come back, set light to the papers, and lock the door. That cross passage which runs in between the burned-out room and the lift is his own lawful direct way from the kitchen to the dining-room—he’d every right in the world to be going to and fro along it.’ He put down the paper he was holding and took up another.
Miss Silver had begun to cast off. Frank Abbott said, ‘Well, that’s Robbins. What about the others?’