The Girl in the Cellar (The Miss Silver Mysteries Book 32) Read online

She had just finished a letter in which she had poured out her thankfulness over the happy outcome of Josephine’s accident, when the telephone bell rang at her elbow. She picked it up, said ‘Miss Silver speaking,’ and heard a voice in reply.

  ‘Miss Silver, can you see me now? It’s rather important.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘I’m sorry – I ought to have begun with that. I’m Jim Fancourt. We met last year. I know Frank Abbott.’

  ‘Of course – I remember you very well. Are you in town?’

  ‘Yes. I wondered if I could come and see you now.’

  ‘Yes, do.’

  As she hung up she remembered Anne Fancourt and wondered.

  When twenty minutes later the bell rang, she had reviewed her interview with Anne, and whilst she abstained from linking her with Jim Fancourt who was Frank Abbott’s friend, she was nevertheless prepared for any eventuality.

  Jim Fancourt was ushered in upon a peaceful scene. The peacock-blue curtains were drawn across the windows. There was a pleasant little fire upon the hearth. Miss Silver had risen to greet him from a comfortable fireside chair. She wore a dark blue dress, and without her hat displayed a quantity of brown hair lightly tinged with grey and arranged after a fashion which reminded him vaguely of the family album which his grandfather had had lying on the big round table in the drawing-room.

  Miss Silver shook hands with him, pointed him to another fireside chair, and sat down. She was knitting what appeared to be a shawl in a pale shade of pink.

  He sat down, leaned forward, and said directly, ‘Miss Silver, do you mind if I ask you some questions? I know from Frank Abbott that you are absolutely to be relied upon.’

  Miss Silver looked up at him. She said, ‘Yes, Mr Fancourt.’

  He said at once, ‘I’ve been out in the Middle East. Part of the time I was where I wasn’t supposed to be. There was another man there called Borrowdale. I went there to meet him. He had his daughter with him. Borrowdale met with an accident – no proof as to whether it really was an accident or not – a loose stone on a hillside—’ He broke off and shrugged Borrowdale away. ‘Well, there you have it. He lived for twenty-four hours, and the one thing he wanted was to get his daughter away. She was there with him, and I think from what he said that her mother was Russian and he wasn’t too sure that the marriage would hold water when it came to a passport. He asked me to get her away, and I said I would do what I could. Well, he died. Then an American plane came down. I said the girl was my wife, and asked them to take her along and keep quiet about it. Well, they did. Meanwhile I’d finished my job, and I got over the border and took a plane home. I’d given the girl a letter to my relations at Haleycott. I have just come from there now. I expect you know why I wanted to see you.’

  Miss Silver had been knitting as he spoke. Now, without stopping, she said, ‘Yes, Mr Fancourt?’ in the tone which invites a continuance.

  He made a quick gesture with his hands.

  ‘Well, I’ve come here to ask you for every detail of your meeting with Anne.’

  Miss Silver took her time. She knitted a whole row before she answered him. Then she said, ‘You are asking me about my meeting with Anne Fancourt?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘She’s not Anne Fancourt – I know that. Since you’ve talked to her, you must know that she doesn’t say that she is Anne Fancourt, she only says she is Anne. I’d like to know what else she said.’

  Miss Silver was again silent for a moment. When she did speak it was with gravity and deliberation. She stopped knitting and rested her hands upon the half-completed pink shawl.

  ‘I caught my bus at 6.45. She was there already. I could not help noticing her. She had a shocked look.

  ‘When we reached Victoria I waited a little. I was concerned for her. She appeared to me to have sustained a shock. I wished to be sure that she knew where she was and what she was going to do. Almost at once I was sure that she did not know, and I ventured to speak to her. It at once became obvious that she did not know either where she was or where she was going. I took her to the refreshment-room and ordered tea. It was obvious that she had been gently reared. She was at the same time faint with hunger and carefully observant of the delicacies of her social behaviour. I formed the opinion that it was some time since she had tasted food, and I put her exhausted condition down to this fact.’

  ‘Why should she have been without food?’

  ‘I cannot tell you. She had with her a bag, black lined with grey and with a centre partition. There was a small purse high up on the right-hand side. It contained a little change, but in the inner compartment there was ten pounds in notes.’

  Jim Fancourt nodded.

  ‘I gave her ten pounds in English money,’ he said. ‘She hadn’t any bag when I saw her.’

  ‘Then she had bought one. It was quite new. There was a handkerchief in it, and a mirror. The handkerchief was also new. It had not been washed, and there was no name on it. She took out a letter. She read it and gave it to me to read. It was from Miss Fancourt, and it said that it was very difficult to know how to write, but that they had had your letter and would do what you asked and take her in. It went on to say that it was all very worrying, that your letter was very short and did not really tell them anything except that you had married her, and that she would be arriving. And it finished up by saying that it all seemed very strange but of course they would do what they could, and that they did not at all understand why you had not come over with her. When she gave me the letter she said, “I don’t know what it means.” When I said, “How did this reach you?” she said she did not know. I told her that she ought to go to the address at the head of the letter. I said she was expected, and that if she did not come, there would be anxiety. I added that she might wake up in the morning and find that everything was clear again. I have known of such cases. Am I to understand that her memory has not cleared up?’

  He said, ‘No, it hasn’t. She can’t remember who she is. She’s not the girl to whom Lilian wrote that letter. She’s not Anne Fancourt at all. I’ve never seen her until this afternoon, but the letter in her bag was Anne’s – I mean the girl I was looking for.’

  Tour wife?’

  ‘I don’t know if she was my wife or not. Borrowdale – her father – he made us promise – he was dying—’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘It all sounds positively lunatic now.’

  Miss Silver had picked up her knitting again. She said, ‘Things that sound very strange in one set of circumstances may appear perfectly reasonable in another.’

  He gave a short laugh.

  ‘You’ve said it! Well, an American plane came down – they’d got a hundred miles off their route. I told the pilot my wife had had a shock and I wanted to get her out of there. He was a light-hearted fellow, and they took her along. I had a bit of luck and got across – well, I won’t say where. When I got down to Haleycott, there was Anne, and she wasn’t the right Anne. I’d never seen her before in my life, and she’d lost her memory.’ He leaned forward and said, ‘How much did she tell you?’

  ‘What I have just told you.’

  He leaned back again.

  ‘She told me more than that. She said the first thing she remembered was being on some steps. She said it was all dark up to a point – quite, quite dark – and that she thought she was going to faint, so she sat down. She was on steps, and she was faint. She said she knew she was on the steps and that she had dropped her bag. It was on the steps beside her – she thought it was hers. She must have taken up the bag and opened it, because presently she had a torch. She switched it on and saw a girl lying on the floor at the bottom of the steps. I asked her, “How did you know she was dead? Did you kill her?” She said in a surprised sort of way, “Oh, no, I didn’t – I’m quite sure I didn’t! Why should I?” And then she said, as if it explained everything, “I couldn’t have done it – there wasn’t anything to do it with.”’ He broke off, looked at Miss Silver, and said, ‘It was very
convincing. I found I was believing her. It wasn’t what she said, it was something about her.’

  Miss Silver looked at him and smiled. She said, ‘I know.’

  He went on to tell her the rest of it.

  ‘She said the other girl had been shot from behind. She had been shot in the head. She was quite sure she was dead. And she was quite sure she hadn’t shot her. She said, “I couldn’t have done it – there wasn’t anything there to do it with.” She said she went down the steps, and the other girl was there, and she was dead.’ He stopped and ran his hands through his hair. ‘I’m telling it very badly. I don’t know – I can’t see how it hangs together. She said she went down the steps with the torch she took out of the bag, and there was this girl in the cellar, and she was quite dead. I don’t know whether it was Anne or not. It seems as if it must have been, but the only thing that makes it seem like that is the letter – Lilian’s letter to Anne. That’s really the only clue.’

  ‘And you haven’t seen it.’

  ‘No, I’ve only got your account of it.’ He gave a short impatient laugh. ‘It’s the sort of letter Lilian would write!’

  THIRTEEN

  JIM FANCOURT LEANED forward suddenly.

  ‘We’ll have to try and find the house.’

  Miss Silver looked at him.

  ‘I can’t see any other way,’ he said.

  ‘How do you propose to find it?’

  He began to speak, not as if he was talking to her, but rather as if he was thinking aloud.

  ‘If it’s an empty house it won’t be so difficult. To be used for a murder like that, the house would either be empty or the people would be away – or else they’d be the tenants, I don’t think that’s so very likely. No, I should think it lay between the first two – either a dead empty house, or one where the people are away. Yes, that’ll be it.’ He changed his tone and spoke directly to Miss Silver. ‘I’ve been down to the people Anne stayed with – or rather she didn’t stay with them. I didn’t like to send her straight to my aunts in case of their not being able to have her. They might have been away, or something like that. So I gave her the address of an old parlourmaid who lets rooms. She was to go there, forward my letter to Lilian, and wait for an answer. Well, she did that – at least she did part of it. She didn’t stay there. She must have posted my letter to Lilian, and she called for the answer. At least someone called for it on the morning of the day that you saw Anne in the bus. That Anne reached Haleycott the same evening. The real Anne was murdered between the time she fetched the letter and the time that the other Anne stumbled on her in the cellar of that house.’

  Miss Silver said, ‘Dear me!’ Then she said, ‘Do you think that it was the real Anne who fetched the letter?’

  ‘I don’t know. It might have been – it might not. Mrs Birdstock is short-sighted, and it was a dark morning. She says the lady rang the bell and said she was Mrs Fancourt. Was there a letter for her, please? She was expecting one. Mrs Birdstock says she did have a good look at her then, but she was standing with her back to the light and she couldn’t make much of it. She says she was young and quite pretty, and it never entered her head that there was anything wrong, so she gave her the letter. She says the young lady opened it and read it then and there, and when Mrs Birdstock asked her if there was anything she could do for her she just said no, thank you, she would be going straight down to Haleycott, and that was all. She went away with the letter which was found in Anne’s bag. And whether she was really Anne or not, no one knows. If she was, why didn’t she go straight to Mrs Birdstock and stay there until she heard from Lilian, which was what she had been told to do? She hadn’t done that, you know. You have to allow three days to get an answer to a letter from London. If she wrote to Haleycott one day, Lilian would get it the next day, and if she wrote at once in reply – well, you see how it goes.’

  Miss Silver said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then there’s another thing. The letter Lilian wrote was found in her bag. The girl who called on Mrs Birdstock hadn’t a bag at all. When she had read the letter she put it in the pocket of her coat. She hadn’t got a bag. Mrs Birdstock noticed that most particularly. She may not have been Anne at all. But if she wasn’t, who was she? Someone who was sent to get that letter? I don’t know, you don’t know, nobody knows. There’s no sense in it.’

  Miss Silver put the pink shawl into a knitting-bag which she had placed on the lower shelf of the table beside her. All her movements were without fuss or hurry. When she had disposed of the bag she said, ‘I will put on my hat and coat. We will see whether we can identify the house.’

  She came back into the room a few minutes later in the black coat and the fur tippet which Anne had described. She wore black thread gloves and a neat pair of black Oxford shoes, but instead of the hat with the red roses she was wearing a very similar shape with a bow of black ribbon on one side and a bunch of small mixed flowers upon the other.

  As they went on their way she was thinking intently of her interview with Anne. When she had entered the bus Anne was already sitting on the opposite side of it with a lost look which had immediately attracted her attention. She had no idea how long she had been sitting there. There was no means of knowing.

  They rode for one more street, and then Miss Silver got out. When Jim Fancourt had followed her, they were standing at the corner. She turned to him and said, ‘It may be this street. We have no means of knowing.’

  ‘She might have crossed over. The road we want may be on the other side.’

  Miss Silver shook her head.

  ‘I do not think it likely. She was not in a state to do anything except what was obvious. I think she would have reached the main road and got onto the first bus that came along. She was in a dazed condition and faint with hunger.’

  He said, ‘Why?’ his voice angry.

  ‘I do not know. It was certainly hours since she had eaten.’

  They began to walk down the street. They walked all down one side and up the other. There was no house to let or with the appearance of being unoccupied. It was the next turning which held out the first hope. Half-way down it there stood an unmistakably empty house. There was a board up which said ‘Briggs & Co.’ and the address on the board was round the corner on the main road.

  Miss Silver strolled on the opposite side whilst Jim Fancourt went for the key. He came back accompanied by a golden-haired young man with a ready tongue.

  ‘The late Miss Kentish’s house,’ he explained. ‘The family have left the furniture here for the time being. It is a most comfortable residence and has been well looked after. Very particular Miss Kentish was. How many bedrooms did you want, madam? Five or six? You would, I think, find the accommodation just what you require. Of course a house does not show at its best when it has been shut up for six months – you will quite appreciate that, I am sure.’ He put a key in the door, turned it, and the cold, still air of the house came to meet them.

  Jim Fancourt had cause to think of Miss Silver with gratitude. She was so perfectly at her ease. She produced a pencil and paper and took notes. She brimmed over with the right questions and took down the answers so readily supplied by the golden-haired young man.

  They went all over the house and found nothing at all until they came back to the empty echoing hall. There Miss Silver lingered.

  ‘The kitchen—’ she said. ‘The friend who told me about the house mentioned it particularly. I hope it is on the ground floor. I do not like basement kitchens at all, and I am afraid—’

  The young man broke in brightly.

  ‘Ah, madam, your views are exactly the same as those of the late Miss Kentish. She had a horror of a basement, and built out at the back.’

  He led the way. The kitchen was neat and spotless. Having viewed it and the scullery, they came back again to the hall. It was dark there. Jim Fancourt moved restlessly. The young man continued to speak of the convenience, the comfort, the good furnishing of the house. ‘I am sure you would find it just
what you want,’ he was saying, when Jim broke in.

  ‘I should like to see the cellar.’

  ‘Oh, of course – of course,’ said the young man. ‘But I’m afraid there is no lighting. Miss Kentish did not use it, so omitted to install the electric light.’

  He went past them and opened a door. It was not easily seen. There was a screen which had to be pushed away. A table stood close in to it. The young man from the office found himself tired, but he continued with his role of persevering politeness.

  ‘There is nothing here,’ he said, ‘but it would of course make a capital place for the storage of heavy luggage.’

  Jim said, ‘I should like to go down. I have a torch. There is no need for you to bother.’ He produced from his pocket a small but powerful torch and turned it on.

  Miss Silver stepped after him into the open door. The voice of the young man followed them as they descended the steps.

  ‘There is really nothing down there – nothing at all.’

  They took no notice of him. Miss Silver came down slowly. She had made no picture of what she expected to see. What she did see in the concentrated torch-light was a clean, bare floor at the foot of the steps. It was quite clean, quite bare.

  It was too clean, too bare.

  The house was clean. The bright young man had laid stress on that. A woman came once a week to open the windows and to dust. Miss Silver thought she must be a prodigy unique amongst charwomen if she descended into the cellar and extended her ministrations to its floor.

  The cellar was entirely empty except for two or three boards which leaned against the wall on the far side. Jim Fancourt stood in the middle of the bare floor space and shone his light upon it. There was a dead silence. Then he pushed the torch into Miss Silver’s hand and went to move the clutter of old boards against the wall. There was nothing behind them – no gap in the wall, no door. But on Miss Silver’s exclamation he turned round to her and saw that she was pointing. A small bright bead lay on the floor where the dust behind the boards had not been cleared. There was thick dust, and that small bright bead no larger than a pea. He stooped to pick it up and stood there, the bead in his hand and the light of the torch upon it.