CHAPTER 22

They went into the dining-room for tea. As they crossed the hall, Scilla Repton came out of her sitting-room. The word which Lady Mallett had employed to describe her immediately sprang to Miss Silver’s mind-bright. In contrast with the black, grey, and drab of all the other female garments present Mrs. Repton’s appearance might even have been stigmatized as garish. She wore a skirt of an imitation tartan in which the predominant colours were scarlet, yellow and green. Her shoes were red, and her pale shining hair hung down over a jumper of emerald wool. Perhaps it was all these colours which gave her a curiously hard look. It occurred to Miss Silver that without her make-up she might have been pale. She spoke to one or two people, and as she entered the dining-room she came face-to-face with Maggie Repton. Miss Silver, a little behind her, had a most vivid impression of Miss Maggie’s recoil. She not only stopped, but she stepped back and put up a shaking hand as if to ward off any contact. For a moment her face was contorted. It was as if she had suddenly seen something that shocked her. Afterwards, when Miss Repton had given her evidence, Miss Silver knew what it was that she had seen-Roger’s unfaithful wife who was leaving him, the woman who had broken off Valentine’s marriage. She had shrunk away from the sight and felt the room go round with her.

The hand that steadied her was Miss Silver’s. She found herself guided to a chair, and was glad to sink down upon it. A voice that was as kind as it was firm advised her to bend forward.

“If you will drop the handkerchief you are holding and stoop to pick it up, no one will notice anything. Just stay here, and I will bring you a cup of tea.”

During the general movement in the direction of the long table at which tea was being served the incident had passed unnoticed. When Miss Silver returned with a cup in either hand Miss Maggie had recovered sufficiently to thank her.

“How very kind of you. I really don’t know what came over me. You are staying with Renie Wayne, are you not? I think I saw you with her on Wednesday at that unfortunate rehearsal.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Then you will understand that we have had a great deal to trouble us this week. I haven’t been able to sleep. I am afraid I am not as strong as I should like to be.”

Nothing could have exceeded Miss Silver’s sympathetic attention.

“Why do you not just slip away and lie down for a little? Your niece could look after the Work Party, and I am sure that everyone would understand.”

Miss Maggie had got no farther than, “You are very kind-” when Mettie Eccles emerged from the crowd about the tea-table and came towards them. She held a large cup in one hand and a plate with sandwiches and cake upon it in the other. She paused to say briefly,

“I’ll take these in to Roger. Florrie tells me he is in the study. It’s too much to expect him to join such a mob of women for tea.”

“My dear Mettie!”

Mettie Eccles gave a short laugh.

“Well, we are a mob, aren’t we? Men prefer women one at a time, my dear.”

She went on her way, and presently came back again, her face cold and shut down. Miss Maggie made a small vexed sound.

“There-I knew he wouldn’t like it-her taking him in his tea, you know. I’m sure she meant it so very kindly, but I think he would rather she had let it alone. I am afraid she may have noticed that he wasn’t pleased, and it has hurt her feelings. She is a cousin, you know, though rather a distant one, and we have known her always. Dear me, how good you are to me! I am really feeling quite revived. Do you think I could just sit here quietly with you for a little longer? I am finding it so restful. Or do you think it would be remarked?”

Miss Silver smiled benignly.

“What could anyone say or think, except that you were most kindly entertaining a stranger?”

Later on when the tea interval was nearly over Miss Eccles passed them again. She said in a determined voice, “I am going to see whether Roger will have another cup,” and went on and out of the door.

The room had been emptying. Ladies who were going to handle light-coloured needlework made their way to the downstairs cloakroom to wash their hands. Scilla Repton had disappeared. There were not more than half a dozen people left in the dining-room. About as many more were crossing the hall, amongst them Miss Maggie and Miss Silver, when the study door was wrenched open. Mettie Eccles stood on the threshold. She held onto the jamb and her face was ghastly. Her lips moved, but for once she had no words. Then, as Miss Silver went quickly towards her, the words came-

“He’s dead-Roger is dead!”

CHAPTER 23

The sound trembled and died. It is to be doubted whether anyone who was more than a few feet away could have heard it. But it had reached Mettie Eccles herself. The hand that had clutched at the jamb went up to her throat. She turned back into the room. Miss Silver, following her, saw that Roger Repton had fallen forward across his desk. His hands were clenched and his face was hidden. The cup of tea which Miss Eccles had brought him had been overturned. The plate with its sandwiches and slice of sodden cake was awash. To the right of the table there was a miniature decanter. It was empty, with the stopper beside it. A broken tumbler lay in a scatter of glass. There was a cut on Colonel Repton’s clenched right hand, but no blood flowed from it. With one side of her orderly mind Miss Silver took note of all these things. With another and wholly womanly part she felt a deep compassion for Mettie Eccles, who knelt by the dead man, saying his name over and over in a tone of agonized protest.

“No-no-no, Roger! Oh, Roger, no!”

A fire burned on the hearth, the room was full of tobacco smoke. On that warm, still air there floated a smell of almonds. It was not the first time that Miss Silver had encountered it in a criminal case. She had knelt over the body of a woman poisoned by cyanide, and been aware of it. When she laid her steady fingers upon Roger Repton’s wrist she did not expect to find a living pulse. There was none.

As she stood there, a few people had begun to cluster round the door and to look in. Scilla Repton pushed through them.

Walking up to the table, she said abruptly,

“What is going on? Is Roger ill?”

Miss Silver lifted her hand from the dead wrist and turned to meet her.

“Mrs. Repton-I’m afraid-”

Mettie Eccles got to her feet.

“You needn’t be,” she said. “And you needn’t trouble to break it to her, because she knows.”

Scilla’s delicate make-up appeared suddenly ghastly as the natural colour beneath it drained away, leaving her face like a mask with vermilion lips. She said, “What do you mean?” and Mettie Eccles told her.

“You know very well that Roger is dead, because you killed him.”

Lady Mallett had loomed up beside them. She put a hand on Mettie’s arm and said in a horrified voice,

“You can’t say things like that-oh, my dear Mettie, you can’t-”

The hand was shaken off. Those very bright blue eyes blazed at her. Mettie said loudly,

“I shall tell the truth, and no one is going to stop me! She never cared for him, and now she has killed him! Do you suppose I am going to hold my tongue? She is an adulteress, and he found her out! He was sending her away, and he was going to divorce her! So she has killed him!”

Miss Silver said in her quiet voice,

“Lady Mallett, the police must be notified. No one else should come in. I think the door should be locked. Perhaps you will kindly see to it. Mrs. Repton-”

Scilla Repton turned on her.

“Who do you think you are-giving orders in my house! Who does Mettie Eccles think she is-talking like that! Everyone knows she’s been off the deep end about Roger for years and he wouldn’t look at her! A damned interfering old maid with a finger in everybody’s pie! I’ll have the law on her- that’s what I’ll do! You heard what she said, and I’ll make her pay through the nose for saying it!”