Текст книги "Time for Silence"

Автор книги: Philippa Carr

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

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IT WAS LIKE A bewildering dream. There were people…doctor…police…and others.

What had happened, they wanted to know. Why were we there?

“I was to meet her here,” I told them. “It was half past two. We thought she was late. We went into the house. We thought she would come….”

Someone took me home. My father came soon after. They must have sent for him.

I was lying on my bed and he was sitting beside me. The doctor had given me a sedative. He said I needed it.

So I lay there with my hazy thoughts, and I could think of nothing but Annabelinda…lying dead in that empty house.

Later there were questions. Two men had come to see me. My father explained. “They are from the police. You see, you were the who one found her…you and the house agent. The general opinion seems to be that it was some madman. Someone sheltering in the house perhaps, who did not want to be disturbed.”

“But other people must have looked at it. And how did she get in? The house agent had the key.”

“We don’t know yet,” said my father. “However, you’ll have to talk to the police. I don’t suppose they will be here long.”

“We are sorry to disturb you, Miss Greenham,” said one of them. “Just a few questions. Mrs. Merrivale was a great friend of yours, wasn’t she?”

“Oh, yes. Our families have been close all our lives.”

“And you were going to look over the house with her?”

“Yes.”

“She did not arrive at the appointed time of two-thirty.”

“That is so. I cannot understand how she got into the house. The agent was to have let us in with the key.”

“He it was who took you in.”

“Yes. We thought we might as well go in. We left the door open so that when she came she would see we were there.”

“Do you know any reason why she should have arrived before the appointed time?”

“No. And I still can’t imagine how she got into the house.”

“She was let in by someone. Possibly the murderer.”

“You mean…the murderer was in the house?”

“It may have been a trap. As a matter of fact, there was a broken window which had not been noticed before. It could have been that someone was in the house waiting for her…someone who let her in and posed as the house agent. Did Mrs. Merrivale not say anything to you about the appointment’s having been changed to an earlier time?”

“No. If she had, I should have been there earlier.”

“Naturally. Well, I don’t think there is anything further at the moment, Miss Greenham.”

I was glad when they went.

My father came into the room. He was very disturbed.

“It is so mysterious,” he said. “Poor girl! What a dreadful end…and she so young.”

“She was happy. She thought she was going to have a baby.”

“How tragic!”

“And Marcus?”

“He’s having a bad time. He’s had a grueling by the police. Heaven knows what this will do to his career.”

“Do you mean they suspect him?”

“In cases like this, the husband is always the first suspect.”

“But they were so happy together.”

“That won’t stop suspicion. Oh, Lucinda, I wish you were not involved in this!”

I felt sick and bemused.

My father said that the doctor’s opinion was that, as I had had a terrible shock, I should rest for a while in my room.

How could I rest? I could only think of Annabelinda entering that house…that strange, eerie, empty house, as it had become in my imagination, and meeting her assassin.

I wished I had been with her. How was I to know that she was going to be early? Why had she? Why had she told me to meet her there at two-thirty? What had made her go early? She must have had some message. And why? Because someone was lying in wait for her…to kill her.

The answer to that question was not long delayed. Mrs. Kelloway, Annabelinda’s housekeeper, was able to supply vital information.

Someone had called at the house during the day Annabelinda had met her death. He had seemed in a great hurry and said he came from Messrs. Partington & Pike about the house in Beconsdale Square. He had waited at the door and asked if Mrs. Kelloway would take a message to Mrs. Merrivale.

Mrs. Kelloway had invited him in, an offer which he declined.

“Excuse me,” he had said very politely. “But I am pressed for time.” He spoke in a funny way, she said. “Not quite natural. It might have been from another part of the country,” but it was not familiar to her. He had insisted on waiting at the door until she took the message, which was could Mrs. Merrivale be at the house half an hour earlier, at two o’clock. He had a quick call to make and he was going straight there. He had got a little hung up with his appointments and he was afraid he would not be able to spend as much time with Mrs. Merrivale as he would have liked to if she could not meet him at the earlier time. He just wanted to know if she could oblige.

“Mrs. Merrivale was at the top of the stairs when I called to her, and I told her what he had said. She said she’d be there. He said he was grateful, then he hurried off before she could get down the stairs. Mrs. Merrivale said there wasn’t time to let Miss Greenham know, but it would be all right. She would already be there when Miss Greenham arrived.”

Mrs. Kelloway had assumed great importance. She was proving of inestimable value to the police. She was the only one who had seen the man who had most likely murdered Annabelinda.

The house agents quickly confirmed that Mr. Partington was the man in charge of that particular house, that he was the only one from the firm who had arranged to meet Mrs. Merrivale and that the appointment was for two-thirty.

When pressed for a description of the man, Mrs. Kelloway again proved her worth. She could not say what age he was. He had a beard that covered over half of his face. He seemed young in a way, but the beard gave him a middle-aged look. But there was one important clue. He was holding some papers in his hand and as he was talking to her he dropped them.

She stooped to pick them up and so did he, and as he did so, she saw the fingers on his hand very clearly. There was something odd about them…something different. One of his fingers looked what she called “a bit funny.” It seemed as though part of one of them was missing.

How grateful they were to Mrs. Kelloway! She had become a celebrity overnight.

Soon the press was interviewing her. We had headlines: “Who Is the Mystery Man in the Case of the Empty House Murder?” “Police Seeking Man with Maimed Hand.”

“If Mrs. Kelloway was right about the deformed hand, it should make the search for the murderer easier,” said my father. “But why…why lure her there…to be killed? For what reason? Can you think of any, Lucinda? You knew her well.”

I wondered. I felt I could not uncover her devious past. I seemed to sense her beside me, begging me not to.

Suppose the story of her misdemeanor was brought to light now? What good could it do? Poor Marcus…and his proud family! They were suffering enough already.

What good would it do to tell?

Those were strange days. It was as though a pall hung over us. Aunt Belinda and Uncle Robert came to London. They were very subdued and sad; I had never seen Aunt Belinda like that before. Sir Robert looked bewildered. He loved his children dearly. I wished Robert would come home.

Sir Robert had aged in a few weeks, but it was Aunt Belinda who surprised me. My mother was very gentle with her and they spent a great deal of time together.

Annabelinda was never out of my thoughts. She had lived dangerously, of course, and these were dangerous times. But who could have wanted to lure her to an empty house to kill her?

I was in a dilemma. I could not get out of my mind that Annabelinda had been deeply worried just before her death. I had never seen her like that before. Of course, she had been terrified that Carl would insist on seeing her and possibly try to break up her marriage, but that was no reason for killing her.

I wondered whether I should tell my father or mother and ask advice. I had promised Annabelinda that I would tell no one. How could I break my word now?

I would lie awake at night…wondering.

I had thought that my mother should know who Edward’s parents were. After all, she was his guardian. I tried to convince myself that Annabelinda’s involvement with Carl had nothing whatever to do with her death. But why?

The days passed. We heard that the police were continuing with their inquiries. Mrs. Kelloway was questioned once more, but she had told all she knew. And the mysterious man with the beard and the maimed hand had not materialized.

I think they had begun to wonder whether he existed outside Mrs. Kelloway’s imagination. There was no doubt that she had enjoyed her temporary importance.

I saw Marcus alone when he came to the house to see my father, who was not just then at home.

There was a certain embarrassment between us.

“Oh, Marcus,” I said. “I am so deeply sorry. This is all quite terrible.”

He nodded. He had changed. He must have loved her dearly, I thought. This was more dreadful for him than for any of us. And if there really was to have been a child, it would be a double tragedy.

“How could it have happened, Lucinda?” he said. “You were in her confidence more than anyone else.”

I shook my head. “It is what they are trying to find out.”

“To what purpose? It won’t bring her back.” He looked at me ruefully. “They suspected me.”

“Not now…only just at first.”

“That’s so. I was with people all that day, so they had to eliminate me. Rather reluctantly though.”

“I’m relieved about that. It must have been dreadful for you.”

“Yes, it was.”

I thought of his family. How distressed they would be! They must never know that Edward was Annabelinda’s child. Nor must Marcus. He himself had had a secret family life, but he was arranging that in a manner which was presumably satisfactory to all concerned.

“Lucinda,” he said. “Let us meet sometime. This will all be cleared up one day.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

I was glad when my father came home.

So thus we continued, and the mystery of Annabelinda’s death seemed as far from being solved as it ever had.

Sometimes I walked along Beconsdale Road to the Square. I walked past the gate where I had stood with Mr. Partington and waited for Annabelinda. I glanced at the house. It certainly looked eerie. The shrubs were more overgrown than they had been. The place looked desolate, a house where a murder had taken place—a brutal, unexplained murder of a beautiful young woman by a man with a maimed hand.

Then one day we had a visitor.

When I came into the drawing room I saw him sitting there. I could not believe it. I had not seen him since before the war.

Jean Pascal Bourdon rose as I entered and, advancing toward me, took both my hands in his.

“Lucinda! Why, you are a young lady now…and a beautiful one at that!” He drew me to him and kissed me on both cheeks.

“I have wondered about you,” I stammered. “How…how did you get here?”

“With some difficulty…as was to be expected in wartime. But here I am and it is good to see you. These are terrible times.”

I nodded in agreement.

“This is a great blow. My granddaughter…such a beautiful, vital girl…”

I thought immediately of the adroit way in which he had extricated Annabelinda from her trouble.

“Is the Princesse with you?” I asked.

“Oh, no…no. It was not easy to get here. I have come alone.”

“And she is well?”

“As well as anyone can be in these circumstances. It is not a thing we like…to have an enemy on our land.”

“I understand the situation is getting better.”

“Perhaps. But until we have driven the lot of them out of our country we shall not be content.”

“You came because you have heard of Annabelinda?”

“I heard…yes. It is one reason why I have come. I wish to see your father. It may be that what I have to tell him may be of some importance.”

“He will be here soon.”

“Then we shall talk.”

“What happened to Madame Rochère?”

“Madame Rochère! That great spirit! She stayed as long as she dared. She would have dared further, but she is no fool. Indeed, she is one of the shrewdest ladies I know. There came a time for leaving. She is with us near Bordeaux.”

“And how do you manage there?”

He shrugged his shoulders and lifted his hands in a despairing gesture. “It is not good. But our day will come.”

“And the school?”

“The school became the enemy’s headquarters, I believe.”

“Will it ever be a school again?”

“Indeed it will. But not in your time, chérie. By that time you will have left your school days long behind.”

When my father arrived, he was delighted to see Jean Pascal.

“I heard you were coming,” he said.

“Ah. The news travels.”

“You did not tell me,” I said. “I should have been so glad to hear it.”

“Thank you,” said Jean Pascal, with a little bow. He has not changed at all, I thought.

“You must dine with us,” said my father. “And we will talk later. Is that in order? Or would you prefer to talk first?”

“I think it would be delightful to sit at the dinner table in a civilized manner. We have had the enemy at our gates for so long. The peace of this place is too enticing for me to resist. Let us eat and chat of happier times than those which have recently befallen us.”

So we dined together—just the three of us. Jean Pascal talked of the life in France—the dangers, the uncertainties—and the difficulties of getting to England. It was all of immense interest, but I had the impression that both he and my father were biding time before they discussed the really important matters that were the reason for his visit.

As soon as the meal was over, my father said, “I think we should go to my study.”

Jean Pascal nodded, and my father looked at me and then questioningly at Jean Pascal.

Jean Pascal said, “I think it is necessary that Mademoiselle Lucinda share our talk. I think she already knows more than you realize.”

My father looked surprised and I was overcome with a feverish desire to know the real reason for Jean Pascal’s visit.

When we arrived at the study and entered it, my father locked the door.

“Yes,” said Jean Pascal. “This must be very secret.”

“I guess,” said my father, “that you are very deep in things over there?”

“Ah, mon cher, there is a great deal going on. Do not think we calmly accept them on our soil. We are working against them all the time. And with some success, I may tell you. It is because of our discoveries that I am now in England. There are certain people here who we are very anxious to bring to their deserts.”

He took a large envelope out of his pocket and from it took a picture, which he put on the table.

“Do you know this man?” he asked my father.

I gasped, for I was looking at a picture of Carl Zimmerman.

I said his name aloud.

“No, no,” said Jean Pascal. “This man is Heinrich von Durrenstein. He is one of the best and most experienced spies the Germans have.”

“Carl Zimmerman!” said my father. “He was with the Swiss Embassy before the war broke out.”

“Certainly he was here in the Swiss Embassy. He did some very good work there. Not so good for the allies, of course. You know him then, Lucinda?”

“Yes. I first met him here in this house. He said he had lost his way.”

I told them how I had seen him outside the cubbyhole.

“I remember,” said my father. “We thought there had been a robbery. Papers were disturbed. That was before I had any suspicions of the real motive. He made it appear like a robbery. The jewelry we thought had been stolen was later found. It is all coming back to me.”

Jean Pascal nodded slowly; he turned to me. “And you saw him next…?”

“In the gardens of La Pinière.”

“He did a good job there. He reconnoitered, found all the weak spots in the surrounding country and arranged for the German army’s headquarters at the school.” He looked at me. “I think, Lucinda, your father has to know. He has to see the whole picture clearly. This is too important a matter for us to hide anything.”

He looked at my father and went on. “He managed to seduce my granddaughter at the same time as he was working so assiduously for his country.”

My father was aghast.

“There was a child,” said Jean Pascal calmly. “I arranged for the birth and for the child to be cared for afterward. His foster-parents were killed during the bombardment of Mons and Lucinda stepped in. She rescued the child and brought him here.”

“Edward!” said my father. “And you…Lucinda…?”

“Lucinda was noble. Lucinda was wonderful,” said Jean Pascal. “She brought my great-grandson out of danger. She knew who he was, you see. She was in my confidence. She had to be, because of the way everything had worked out. With the help of Marcus Merrivale, she brought him out of France.”

“This is fantastic,” said my father. “I can’t believe it.”

“Strange things happen…particularly in wartime…and all this brings us to where we stand today. Now, Lucinda, I want you to tell me exactly what happened when you made your journey across France. You acquired a nursemaid for the child, did you not?”

I told him how we had met Andrée and her brother, and how Andrée had accompanied us to England and had become Edward’s nurse.

He sat there nodding, and then he took more pictures from the envelope, which he was still holding. There were six in all and he showed us one of them. It was of Andrée.

I looked at it in amazement. Jean Pascal smiled at me. “This is Elsa Heine. At least I think that is the name to which she has most claim. She works in close contact with von Durrenstein.”

“It’s Andrée!” I cried. “Now I am sure that I saw Carl Zimmerman in the forest with her. She convinced me that he was a stranger asking the way. Edward had said that a man talked to them in the forest, and when I mentioned this to Andrée, she said—rather coyly—that it was Tom Gilroy, one of the men from the hospital who was interested in her. It all seemed plausible enough at the time.”

“They are clever, these people,” said Jean Pascal. “So adaptable. They have to carry out their duties with efficiency. They can become nursemaids or gardeners…whatever the occasion warrants.”

“But…Edward is so fond of her.”

“Of course. She is an excellent nursemaid, and a very clever young woman into the bargain. Let us think about her. She has frequently been in this house since you came back from France. What luck for her that you brought her in! It was what was intended, of course.”

“Her brother…”

“More of him later. Let us consider your Andrée first.”

“I knew someone was getting into my room,” said my father. “We could not understand it. Mrs. Cherry was the only one with the key, until Lucinda had it.”

“The problem of a key to these people is quite a simple one. Clever Andrée would have managed to get a copy of that key very quickly. She would find some means of stealing it…long enough for her to do what she wanted. It explains how information leaked out. She had been systematically passing on what she was getting from this house.”

“How could we have been so stupid!” cried my father. “It is all so obvious.”

“Everything is obvious when one is aware of it,” said Jean Pascal. “So…we have the spy in the house. That was all arranged by the clever group. They worked well together. Now, my granddaughter’s death. It is involved in this, I am sure. Lucinda, my dear, you knew Annabelinda as well as anyone. Did she confide in you?”

“Yes, she did to a certain extent.”

“Then perhaps you can throw some light on this. The man she had known as Carl Zimmerman has returned to London. Did he try to see her, do you know?”

“Yes, and he wanted to see her again. She told me that he had threatened to tell her husband if she did not continue their affair.”

“The persistent lover! It is hard to believe von Durrenstein was that. The only thing he is ardent about is his work. He could not be so proficient at it if he allowed himself other interests. We have to look at it this way. Why did he come to see Annabelinda again? He was ardently in love with her? He had heard about the child and wanted to see him? That makes me smile. No. He came for a purpose. This could be useful. A husband in the War Office. Close friendship with this house. They already had Andrée installed here. But they could do with another to work for them. I’ll guess that he blackmailed Annabelinda, threatening her that if she did not help him in his work, which she was qualified to do because of her connections, he would expose her to her husband. Go on from there, please, Lucinda.”

I told them how uneasy she had been. “She was really distrait,” I said. “I have never seen her like that before…except on one occasion. I remember, we were in the garden and she was not well. She wanted to go and lie down. I said I would stay with her, but she did not want that. So she went into the house. She was most insistent that she should be left alone.”

“For how long?” asked Jean Pascal.

“It must have been about three-quarters of an hour.”

“Long enough to go to the study and get something from the bureau.”

“She could have taken that information about Folkestone,” said my father.

“Von Durrenstein would have given her the key and the nursemaid kept the coast clear while she did the job,” said Jean Pascal.

“But why make her do it when Andrée could have done it so easily?” I asked.

“Probably to test her. To give her an easy task, and once she had committed this, she could not turn back.”

“But that was what she planned to do when she realized the enormity of what she had done. She was very upset about the explosion at Folkestone, and she said she was going to confess everything to Marcus.”

“And do you think she told von Durrenstein that she was going to do this?”

“Yes. She was plucking up her courage to. She said she was going to choose the right moment.”

“If she told von Durrenstein that, she was signing her own death warrant.”

“And she was killed by these people, because of this…?”

“It may well be. She was going to confess ‘at the right moment.’ She would tell him about the stolen document she had passed to von Durrenstein. Her husband was at the War Office. The entire network of spies could be betrayed. Our service would have been alerted. For a long time they have been trying to rout out von Durrenstein and his gang.” He was thoughtful for a moment. Then he went on. “These little facts we have pieced together are why I am here in England. When I heard that my granddaughter had been murdered, I wondered why. I was all impatience to come here and find out. You see, there was this unfortunate connection with von Durrenstein. When all is said and done, this man is the father of my great-grandson.”

“You think it was this gang who lured Annabelinda to her death?”

“I think it is a possibility. The bogus nursemaid would know of the house she proposed to visit. She would know that she was going to meet the house agent there. One might ask, Why did they need such a complicated setup? Why not just climb into her room one night and strangle her? Why go to all the trouble of going to an empty house? There was a great deal at stake. The murder of the poor unfortunate girl was of no great significance to them. She was someone who got in the way, who could have been a danger, and they could not afford dangers. They just brushed her aside in the manner which seemed less hazardous to their organization. The nursemaid knew of all the arrangements. The empty house must have seemed the best spot. The murderer could have been a tramp…a robber…anyone, and he could make his escape with ease. That is how I see it. Von Durrenstein was not going to be seen near the scene of the crime, for he had already had some communication with the victim. Although the meeting had been secret, someone might have seen them together. One never knows what investigations are going to reveal. So it was better for him to be as far removed as possible. I have read all about the case, of course. I know of the bogus house agent who called and was seen by the housekeeper…Mrs. Kelloway, I believe.”

“Yes, that is right.”

Jean Pascal turned back to the envelope and drew out a picture. There was something familiar about the face.

“This is Hans Reichter, one of their cleverest. He is a very worthy member of this nest of spies.”

“Surely I have seen him somewhere?” I said.

“Oh, yes, you have. It was when you were traveling across France and he joined you with Elsa, who was his sister for that occasion.”

“I can’t believe it. How we were duped! The car broke down. He fixed it…and then Andrée came with us and he went to Paris.”

“All neatly arranged, no doubt. Elsa wanted to get to England. It would not have been very easy for her. But there you were, in the company of a high-ranking officer of the British army. They knew who you were, Lucinda.” Jean Pascal turned to my father. “Your work, mon cher, has not gone unnoticed. To get into your house was Elsa’s project. And how well she managed it.”

“With our foolish help.”

“Oh, come! You must not say that. You were in ignorance. How could you have been otherwise? You have contributed to my knowledge, as I now have to yours, and we can help each other in tracking down these people and putting them where they belong.”

I was looking at the picture, remembering it all, seeing him walking across the dining room, joining us at our table after his “sister’s” dramatic exit. All lies! How could we have been so easily deluded?

“The man Mrs. Kelloway saw had a beard,” I said.

“It is not difficult to grow a beard,” commented Jean Pascal.

I was thinking of the scene at the table. I saw the man sitting there. There was something wrong with his hands. He had lost part of his little finger. I could hear his words, “I was playing with fireworks.”

It was all beginning to fit. Jean Pascal might not have discovered the entire truth, but he was somewhere near it.

“That young man,” I said. “There was something about his hands.”

“It is a distinguishing feature which has helped us considerably.”

“It was quick of Mrs. Kelloway to notice,” said my father. “It was a vital clue…and seized upon.”

“It is strange how a little carelessness can bring disaster, after all the careful planning that went into it,” Jean Pascal said.

“Yes,” said my father. “He dropped the house agent’s brochure, which he had carefully obtained to increase his credibility, and in picking it up, showed his hand to the housekeeper…and so he was identified.”

“Do you think he was the murderer?” I asked.

“Undoubtedly. He is known as a killer. He would have broken a window, got into the house and been waiting there when my poor Annabelinda arrived. He would have let her in and chatted about the house for a moment. She had seen him before, it is true, on that journey through France, but his beard would have been sufficient to disguise him for that brief period.”

“I can’t bear to think of her walking into that house,” I said.

“Poor child. She was little more. I shall not rest until she is avenged. Now…no sign must be given of anything we have talked of. I shall have the woman watched, and in time she will lead us to the others. She is only a small fish. It is von Durrenstein whom we want. We are well on the track. She will be watched night and day, and before long there will be results. It is of the greatest importance that they shall not be aware that we know who they are. You must not betray, by a look or an inflection of your voice, that anything is different.”

“I hate to think of her looking after Edward,” I said.

“Have no fear. She will look after the child. There is nothing to be gained by not doing so. It might be that she is genuinely fond of him.”

“He certainly is of her.”

“There you are. Looking after the child is all in her line of duty. How much her feelings are involved we do not know, but the boy is no threat to what she would consider her real work, therefore she will care for him. Every movement she makes will be watched, and I doubt not that before long we shall have this group where we want them.”

“The police will be eager to arrest the man who killed Annabelinda.”

“It may well be that he is wanted in other connections. We shall see. But rest assured, they will pay for their sins.”

We went on talking, going over everything we had discussed. It was late when we retired to bed—but not to sleep. I could only go over everything that had been said that night with a feeling of incredulity. But the more I pondered about it, the more it seemed to me that there was much truth there among the conjectures.

The days that followed were tense. I did not see Jean Pascal during that time. I fancied he thought it wiser to keep away. I tried not to show any difference in my attitude toward Andrée, as Jean Pascal had warned me emphatically about this. It was not easy. Andrée had become a different person in my eyes. I could not help marveling at Edward’s love for her, but he had known her almost all his life. It was hard for me to accept the fact that indirectly she could have had a hand in his mother’s murder.

What a web of intrigue we had stumbled into, and largely because of Annabelinda’s lighthearted dalliance with a man who was spying for his country.

I knew that we could not go on as though everything were normal. Something had to happen soon.

It did. One day Andrée went out alone and did not come back.

There was great consternation in the house. At first Mrs. Cherry was quite indignant. The nurse had no right to stay away so long. She was lucky to have so much free time. She would soon discover that if she took a place somewhere else. But when evening came and she had not returned, Mrs. Cherry changed her attitude. She began to wonder whether Andrée had been murdered. When there was one murder connected with the house, you began to think there might be another. “We’re living in shocking times, Miss Lucinda. And where could she have got to?”

I spoke to my father.

“We must do something about Andrée,” I said. “They will start a rumor and it will spread in no time. We’ll have to think of something.”

My father agreed. “I’ll take up the matter,” he said. “By the way, we’ve got them all. Von Durrenstein himself. It’s our best bit of luck for a long time. They were in a house in Battersea, having some sort of conference. She led us right to them.”

“That was what was hoped would happen.”