The Brading Collection (19 page)

Lilias Grey pulled back the curtains from her sitting-room windows. The sun was off them now, and there was the beginning of a breeze from the sea. The day really had been stiflingly hot, but in the next hour or two the air would freshen. She went over to the door and opened it to make a draught in the room. It was a grievance that her flat opened directly from the sitting-room upon the corridor. In his downstairs flat Charles had a nice little lobby entrance. She had not seen, and never would see, why she could not have one too. Facts adduced by Mr. Adams, the architect, made no difference to this point of view. It was, and remained, a grievance. On a hot day like this, of course, there was a certain advantage in being able to achieve a through draught.

She came back from the door to stand by the window again. It had been such a very long day. Charles had not been to see her. She felt angry and resentful because he had not been. She had seen him for a moment in the hall on his way out to lunch with Major Constable, and that was all. She wouldn’t have seen him then if she hadn’t heard Major Constable go down and followed him, because of course she guessed at once that Charles would be taking him out to lunch. She felt a grievance about that. Charles hadn’t asked her to come too.

She would have said no of course. If anyone saw her, they might think it strange so soon after Lewis’s death. Oh, no, she wouldn’t have gone, but she would like to have been asked. No one would think anything of Charles and Jack Constable having lunch together in Ledbury—even nowadays men were much freer than women—but it would not be prudent for her to be seen at an hotel or a restaurant until the funeral was over. She would have to go to the funeral of course. However hot it was, she would have to wear her black coat and skirt, because she had nothing else that would be suitable. Fortunately, it wasn’t very thick, but it was wool—and in this weather! But she would have to wear it—and at the inquest too.

All the time these thoughts were going through her mind they were getting nearer to the inquest. She would have to go to it, and be sworn, and give her evidence. When she got to this point everything in her shook and was confused. That was what frightened her about the inquest. She would have to stand up in that sort of box with a ledge in front of it and read the oath from the printed card they gave you and give her evidence. The room would be crowded, and everyone would be looking at her. The black coat and skirt was becoming. It threw up her fair hair. She could wear the little black hat which hardly hid it at all—just that flattering tilt over the eyes, and the scrap of veil to soften the brim. She had a comforting picture of herself standing there, rather pathetically slim and fair, doing her best to be brave. Then the shaking and the fear came back. Suppose this horrid frightened feeling came over her when she was giving her evidence and she got confused and didn’t know what to say. It had all been such a horrid shock. And no one came near her. Charles didn’t come near her.

She stared out of the window. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, or a shadow on the sea.

Someone was coming up the stairs—a man. Charles? Major Constable? The sound came in through the open door. She turned round and went to it, and saw Inspector Crisp step up on to the landing.

In the annexe the stage was set when Crisp brought her in. The glass passage was like a furnace, just as it had been on that dreadful Friday afternoon. To step from all that heat and glare into the room which Lewis Brading had designed for his Collection was to lose a good ten degrees of heat and to drop into what seemed for the moment to be darkness. Only one light burned high up, and the black-hung walls muffled it. Lilias Grey caught her breath, checked, felt Crisp’s touch on her arm, and went on again. He said, “This way, Miss Grey,” and they came into the lighted passage beyond.

The door of the laboratory was ajar. Crisp opened it and stood aside for her to enter. All the laboratory lights were on. The room seemed dazzlingly bright, like a room in a hospital—white walls and ceiling, and a chill upon the air.

She turned to the right as she came in, and saw the Chief Constable facing her across Lewis’s table a dozen feet away. He was sitting where Lewis had sat. Away on his left there was a little dowdy woman with some pale pink knitting in her lap. That would be Charles’s private detective. Somehow the sight of her, sitting there looking so exactly like somebody’s governess, was a relief. The cold, fluttering sensation which had been making her feel quite sick began to subside. It was tiresome to be dragged down here on a hot evening, and with no reason given except that the police wished to check up on some of the statements which had been made. But there was nothing to be frightened about. Her nerves were just playing her tricks, and no wonder after the shock she had had. It was all just a routine matter, as commonplace and ordinary as the dowdy little governess person sitting there knitting up pale pink wool.

March said, “Come in, Miss Grey. There are just a few questions I must ask you. Crisp, will you be ready to take notes?”

The fluttered feeling returned. Very foolish of course—just her nerves. Randal March was a goodlooking man. He had been Superintendent at Ledlington before he became Chief Constable. He looked like a country gentleman—big, fair, becomingly bronzed.

The Inspector had settled himself and taken out a notebook. It was these formalities which made you feel nervous. And no need for them that she could see. Why couldn’t Mr. March just call on her in her own drawing-room? So much more suitable. He said quite politely, but in what she could only call an official voice,

“Now, Miss Grey, I have your statement here. I am sorry to trouble you, but it will help us if you will just run through the whole thing again. By the way, I don’t know if you have met Miss Silver. She is a private enquiry agent. Mr. Brading approached her in the first instance, and she is now representing Major Forrest. If you have no objection, I should like her to be present.”

“No—no—of course—I mean, I don’t mind at all. Charles told me.”

“Then if you don’t mind, Miss Grey, I should like you to go back to the door and come in again. I want you to imagine that I am Mr. Brading sitting here. And then I want you to do and say what you did and said on Friday afternoon.”

Miss Silver had thought Miss Grey very pale when she came in. She became perceptibly paler now.

“Oh, I couldn’t—I don’t really think—”

“I would like you to try, Miss Grey. If what you say in your statement is correct, I do not quite see why you should make any objection.”

She put her handkerchief to her lips. Behind the linen screen she moistened them.

“I’ll do what I can—”

She went to the door, still holding the handkerchief. As she turned to repeat her entry, March stopped her.

“Had you a handkerchief in your hand?”

“No—no—oh, no.”

“We will try to be as exact as possible, so will you put it away. You had that bag?”

“Oh, yes.”

“In your left hand?”

“Under my arm.”

“Well then, you came in. What did you do?”

She tried to remember what she had said in the statement. The words were there, written down, but between those words and her recollection of them there rose the picture that was never far from her mind. Her lips were so dry that she had to moisten them again. She didn’t know what to say—but she must say something, or they would think—they would think—

She came half way to the table and stammered,

“I don’t know—you’re making me nervous. I suppose I said, ‘How do you do?’ ”

“And Brading?”

“I suppose he did too.”

“And then? What did you do?”

“I can’t remember every single thing.”

“Just do your best. Show me what you did next.”

She came the rest of the way, nervous, hesitating, her eyes on March. When she reached the table she stood there. Her hand came out and closed on the table edge.

Crisp looked at her sharply. He had been thinking all this a piece of tomfoolery, but now he wasn’t so sure. He had an accurate mind, and he remembered her statement. It said that she came in and sat down to the table and talked to Mr. Brading about a bit of business, which is what she would have done if she had had a bit of business to talk about. Well, now she had been asked to show just what she did, and she hadn’t so much as looked round to see if there was a chair, she just came up to the table and held on to it.

The Chief Constable said,

“You were touching the table like that?”

She let go of it in a hurry.

“No—no—I don’t think so.”

“Well, try and stick to just what you did on Friday. Did you stand like you’re doing now?”

A feeling of panic came to her. She tried to remember just what she had said… Something about talking to Lewis—sitting down and talking to him. She said as quickly as she could get it out,

“No, no, I sat down.”

“Where?”

There had been a chair. Every time she shut her eyes she could see the table, and Lewis. There had been a chair—a little to the right of where she was standing now. She moved a hand and said,

“There.”

At a look from the Chief Constable Crisp got up and set a chair where she was pointing. She was very glad to sit down.

March said,

“And then?”

“We began to talk about business. I had come to ask him about investing some money.”

That was what she had said in her statement. She was doing all right now. If she stuck to that, they couldn’t trap her. She had only got to say that bit about a mortgage falling in, and wanting Lewis to advise her about investing the money. She began to say it.

When she was about half way through she saw that Miss Silver was looking at her. Such an odd look. Not unkind, not exactly stern. More as if she was sorry about something. Her voice began to falter.

“He said—to put it—into government—securities—”

“And then?”

“That was—all. I mean—of course—we talked about it a little—”

“What did you say?”

“Oh, just—what did he think would be best—that sort of thing.”

“And what did he say?”

“To put it—into—government securities—”

“That was all he said?”

She felt relief. They were coming to the end. She had got through. She said,

“Oh, yes.”

“Nothing about the Marziali brooch?”

She gazed at him with dilated eyes. Her tongue crept out and touched her lips.

“I don’t know—what you mean—”

“Don’t you, Miss Grey?”

She shook her head.

Miss Silver put down her knitting and came over to her. She had a glass of water in her hand.

“I think you had better drink this, Miss Grey.”

The water was held to her lips. She drank. Some of it spilled. She drank again. Miss Silver set the glass down on the table and said in a kind, firm voice,

“Now you must listen to the Chief Constable.”

March said,

“On Thursday evening you were present with a number of other people in the outer room of the annexe when Brading showed his Collection. The Marziali brooch is listed as part of it. It has five large brilliants, and it is of considerable value. Mrs. Constantine deposes that she saw you take it and put it away in your bag. What have you to say to that?”

“Oh—it isn’t true—” She reached for the water, gulped a mouthful, and almost dropped the glass upon the table.

March continued in an even voice,

“Mrs. Constantine says she waited till everyone was gone and informed Brading of what she had seen. She says, Miss Grey, that he did not appear to be surprised, but stated that he would deal with the matter. He telephoned to you, did he not, just before lunch on Friday?”

She said in a choking voice,

“It was about the investments—about my coming down to see him—”

“Now, Miss Grey—you need not answer unless you wish to. I have to tell you that anything you say may be taken down and used in evidence. And I must tell you that this statement of Mrs. Constantine’s and your own attitude bring you under very strong suspicion in regard to Mr. Brading’s murder. He had reason to believe that you had stolen a valuable brooch. He had sent for you in order to deal with the matter. You came, and you saw him. You brought back the brooch, because it was found in this drawer, which was standing open. If he threatened you with exposure, you had a strong motive. The weapon with which he was shot was brought from Saltings. The weapon which was in his drawer was taken back to Saltings—”

She cried out, “Stop—stop! I didn’t!” She clutched Miss Silver’s arm in a bruising grip. “Don’t let him! Make him stop! I didn’t!”

Miss Silver detached the clinging hands in a perfectly kind but firm manner. For his part, Randal March, who had sometimes wished her away, was at this moment quite unfeignedly glad of her presence. Hysterical women were the devil.

Miss Silver said in her voice of authority,

“Pray calm yourself, Miss Grey.”

“But I didn’t—I didn’t touch him—or the revolver! I couldn’t! Things like that frighten me to death! Oh, you don’t think I shot him! Mr. March, you can’t—you can’t think I shot him!”

He made no reply. Miss Silver said,

“Miss Grey, you must please control yourself. If you are innocent you have nothing to fear. If you wish to make any explanation—”

“He won’t listen to me! No one will listen! You won’t believe me! Oh, can’t you make him listen!” She was sobbing in a helpless, terrified manner.

Miss Silver put a hand on her shoulder.

“Anything you have to say will be listened to. You will not be compelled to speak, or pressed to do so, but you are perfectly at liberty to make a statement. Inspector Crisp will write down what you say. Afterwards it will be read over to you, and you may sign it if you are willing to do so. No pressure of any kind will be put upon you. Now just take another drink of water, and make up your mind if there is anything you wish to say.”

Lilias put out a shaking hand for the glass, drank between sobbing breaths, and set the glass down again. Some of the water had spilled and was running down her chin. She dabbed at it with her handkerchief and said,