The Greatest Murder Mysteries - Dorothy Fielding Collection. Dorothy Fielding

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СКАЧАТЬ low whispers late that night. I suppose you were one of them."

      "Humph! Have you a maid who might have been in here Saturday afternoon while you were absent? We are trying to find out if Mr. Eames had any acquaintances who visited him that last day."

      "I have no maid." Miss Leslie spoke somewhat brusquely, and turned again to her writing as a sign that the interview was over,—which was a mistake.

      Pointer returned to No. 14—until the inquest, which had been fixed for Tuesday, the room was being kept by the police—and entered a few notes. Then he rang for the Boots, a thick-set young man with a humorous mouth and an intelligent eye. Pointer offered him a cigar and a match.

      "Look here, Seward, between ourselves, who looks after the young lady in No. 12, Miss Leslie? She must have some sort of a maid surely."

      The Boots lit his cigar appreciatively.

      "Well, I don't want to get anyone into trouble, I don't, and of course I don't know anything about it"—he paused dramatically, but the police-officer said nothing—"and the housekeeper she really doesn't know anything about it; but I have heard the other girls say that Maggie earns a good many half-crowns from the lady for doing odd bits of mending and hooking her in her dresses, and then waiting up for her and hooking her out of them. But I don't want to get the girl into trouble, and the housekeeper has put her foot down more than once about the maids waiting on the ladies."

      "You won't get her into any trouble;" and when the Boots had gone Pointer rang for Maggie the chambermaid.

      "Look here, Maggie, you were the greatest help yesterday, and now I'm trying to find out more about Saturday afternoon itself. I can promise you that anything you say to me won't get to the housekeeper's ears; but were you ironing all Saturday afternoon? Come, now, I know that you do act as maid to Miss Leslie."

      "Oh! she promised me not to tell—" began Maggie in a frightened voice.

      "Weren't you part of the time in No. 12? It's your duty to speak up, you know, and I've told you that it shan't get you into any trouble."

      She hesitated, then she began to cry.

      "Oh, I know I ought to've told. I would have—I would have, reely, only for that dragon. You see, sir, I got the housekeeper to let me off part of the ironing on Saturday because of a headache, but after I'd laid down a bit it passed off, and I remembered a dress Miss Leslie particular wanted mended. So I didn't see why I shouldn't do it instead. What I mean to say, sewing isn't like ironing, is it, sir?"

      Pointer said it sounded to him like a totally distinct form of occupation.

      Maggie dried her eyes and began to recover her aplomb.

      "What time did you go to Miss Leslie's room?"

      He saw her eyes waver, and steadied her with, "It won't go any further, you know."

      "Well, it was about ten past three, as near as might be, I suppose."

      From her half-sheepish tone he guessed that the lying-down had been more mental than physical.

      "And you were in the room till six?"

      "Well-l, about that." She gave her head a little toss. "I can't think how you nosed it out." Then her tone melted: "But there, I've wanted to tell you about it, only I didn't dare. What I mean is, if the housekeeper knew of my arrangement with Miss Leslie—" She paused.

      "Tell me what you heard or saw on Saturday." His tone invited confidences.

      "Well, I only heard Mr. Eames moving about, and then I heard the clink of a glass on the marble wash-stand. I knew what that was—he was taking his tonic as I'd seen him do in the morning the day before. Very regular in his habits he was—the poor young gentleman."

      Pointer leant forward in his chair. "Maggie, shut your eyes and think yourself back again in Miss Leslie's room. Don't forget anything, however trifling: it might be of the greatest help in getting at Mr. Eames' friends. Just shut your eyes and live Saturday afternoon over again out loud. You've just heard the clink of Mr. Eames' tumbler on the washstand—"

      His rapt attention stimulated the girl. She, too, sat forward on her seat, shut her eyes, and locked her fingers.

      "—then I heard him give a sort of exclamation, or more like a choke—I mean to say, it sounded like a bit of both"—she was evidently trying to live the hours over again—"and then I heard him drop into his armchair; it creaked as though he had fairly fallen into it. After that I heard nothing more for a long while. You know how hard it rained day before yesterday, and what a noise it made coming down, then I wasn't paying any attention—I mean to say I little thought—"

      "You heard him drop into his chair"—Pointer's voice was almost hypnotic—"and next—?"

      "Nothing for a long while. Then I heard his door shut. Ah, thinks I to myself, he's gone downstairs as usual at four-thirty to the lounge for his tea—tea is included in the board here, you know, sir,—but it must have been him back after 'phoning to the office. Anyhow, I heard him lock his door, and then moving about, opening and shutting drawers very quickly and softly. Like this"—she jumped up and began to open and shut the table-drawer, with quite a pause between—"packing, I'm sure, sir, which shows that he did mean to go into the country—"

      "Never mind what it shows. Sit down and shut your eyes again. You heard him opening and shutting drawers—"

      "Oh, yes, and I heard him moving about, too, but so light! I couldn't hear any footsteps, only all the floors here creak fearful. Then"—she went quite pale and fixed a genuinely horrified stare on the Chief Inspector—"I heard him pull the wardrobe out from the wall. I listened to that, of course, sir, for that did catch my ear—what I mean to say, the furniture being my lookout, so to speak, I noticed the way he tugged it. That'll mark the carpet, I thought to myself. Little did I—"

      "After the pulling out of the wardrobe, what then?" Pointer's voice was intentionally matter-of-fact.

      "Well"—she seemed puzzled as to how to put her recollection into words—"it sounded just as though he dragged the armchair about the room, but so—so—as if it were so heavy, scraping and creaking, and then—then"—her eyes dilated—"I heard the most awful sounds of the chair straining and—and a sort of knocking sound, and yet sort of dragging—oh, sir, I suppose he had just stopped his packing and taken the poison then, and what I heard was his death agonies—if only I'd known, I might have run for a doctor!"

      "No, no, Maggie, no one could have helped him. He had taken too much poison."

      "And to think I wondered what larks he was up to in there! Then all got quieter, though I could still hear sort of rustling sounds—what I mean to say, creepy sort of noises, so quiet-like; and then I heard him shove the wardrobe back against the wall, scraping it more than ever, and that's what I don't understand. How could he do that after taking the poison and all?"

      "He may have felt better for a little while," suggested the man from Scotland Yard.

      "Well, I know I very nearly went in to speak about his hauling the furniture about like that. I should have, only I was supposed to be lying down. Then I heard the French window opened. I suppose, as you say, sir, he felt a bit better and stood there for a breath of air, but the rain was coming down so just then that I couldn't be sure what I heard. I had the blind down, it had come over so dark, and was working СКАЧАТЬ