In the evening he and Archie came to supper. They brought their supper with them because Margaret said she hadn’t any. Archie brought sardines and bananas, and Charles brought all sorts of exciting things-lots more than we could eat, so Margaret and I are eating them up-they are frightfully good. He brought chocolates too-really thrilling ones. I think I really do like Charles best. But I like Archie too. After supper Mr. Pelham came in. He is Margaret’s stepfather, and I’m not sure whether I ought to have said what his name was, so don’t tell anyone and tear my letter up, because I sort of promised Margaret I wouldn’t say anyone’s name. But I think she’s a bit of a fuss, don’t you? It isn’t as if you’d be seeing Egbert-is it? Margaret’s stepfather is frightfully nice. They all call him Freddy. He said I could too. I’ve never called such an old person by their Christian name before, so I didn’t do it at first-not till he seemed quite hurt and said didn’t I like him. So of course I said I did, and then I called him Freddy, only I got most frightfully red when I did it, and they all laughed, and Freddy said he felt most frightfully flattered, and he said might he have the pleasure of taking me to a matinee, and what would I like to see, and could I come on Wednesday? But I said couldn’t it be Saturday so Margaret could come too? And he said “All right,” and he asked Charles to come, and Charles said he would. He didn’t like it when Freddy asked me, nor did Margaret. I don’t know why they didn’t. Archie couldn’t come because he was playing a football match. Charles says he is very good at it.
I mustn’t write any more, because I shall use all Margaret’s paper, and I’ve only got a shilling to buy any more. When you’ve only got a shilling, there are hundreds of things you want to buy.
MARGOT
CHAPTER XXIII
Charles went back to Miss Silver next day.
“Do you know anything of one Ambrose Kimberley?” he inquired.
Miss Silver dropped a stitch and picked it up again before she answered.
“I know the name.” Then, before Charles could say anything more, she spoke briskly: “There are some things I want to tell you, Mr. Moray. I should have telephoned to you if you hadn’t come in.”
“Go on,” said Charles.
She took up the brown exercise-book.
“We’ll take Jaffray first. He came back on Sunday. I haven’t been able to trace the car yet.”
“Or the owner?”
“Or the owner.” She tapped the page with a knitting-needle. “So much for Jaffray. I really wanted to see you about William Cole. I have found out who he is.”
“Is he someone?”
“He is Leonard Morrison.”
Charles looked blank.
“I’m afraid that conveys nothing to me.”
“Nonsense!” said Miss Silver. “Six years ago-the Thale-Morrison case-you must remember it.”
Charles began to remember.
“You don’t mean to say that William-”
“Is Morrison? Yes, I do. He’d have got a life sentence if it had not been for his youth. He was, I think, only just eighteen, and the Court took it into account.”
Charles began to remember the case-a horrible one.
“Yes,” said Miss Silver. She nodded, as if in answer to something which he had not said. “Yes, a most coldblooded, dangerous young man and an astonishingly good actor. All through the trial he was acting, and the Court pronounced sentence on a dull backward lout of a lad. They never had a glimpse of the real Leonard Morrison.”
Miss Silver fixed a direct look upon Charles Moray.
“Mr. Moray, I want to ask you very seriously what you’re going to do.”
“I don’t know,” said Charles.
“How long are you going to wait before you call in the police?”
“I don’t propose to call in the police.”
Miss Silver sighed gently.
“You will have to call them in in the end. How far are you going to let things go before you take a step which you ought to have taken at the very beginning?”
Charles set his jaw.
“Do you think they would have believed me if I had gone to them?”
“I don’t know.”
“I do. They would have said I was drunk, and I should have been told in quite polite officialese to go home and boil my head. Come, Miss Silver! Did you believe my story yourself?”
Miss Silver closed the exercise-book and sat back in her chair.
“Since you ask me, Mr. Moray, I was inclined to think you had been dining a little too well. You did not appear to me to be suffering from hallucinations. No, I must confess I thought you had been-shall I say-celebrating your return.”
“And you still think so?”
“No,” said Miss Silver.
“Well?”
“I believe that you stumbled upon a very dangerous set of people engaged in a criminal conspiracy. I believe Miss Standing to be in serious danger, and I ask you again-how far are you going to let matters go?” She coughed very gently and added, “You will not be able to screen Miss Langton indefinitely.”
Charles was stabbed by a most acute and poignant fear. He mastered his voice and said coolly,
“What do you mean?”
Miss Silver shook her head.
“Now, Mr. Moray, what is the use of our pretending any longer? I am going to lay my cards on the table, and you would be very well advised to do the same. I know perfectly well that Miss Standing has been staying with Miss Langton since Friday night. She left home at about six o’clock on Friday, and Miss Langton brought her back to her flat in a taxi at a quarter to eleven. I don’t know what happened in the interval. Naturally, you do.”
“Do I?”
“Oh, I think so. You helped Miss Langton to get Miss Standing upstairs-she was exhausted and hysterical.”
“She had had a fright,” said Charles, “nothing serious.”
“I’m glad to know that. I don’t ask you why you were not frank with me about Miss Standing’s whereabouts.” She coughed again. “I don’t ask you, because I know.”
“Well,” said Charles pleasantly, “what do you know? Or shall I say, what do you think you know?”
Miss Silver took up her knitting. She had arrived at the toe of the little white bootee.
“I will tell you what I think. You stumbled upon a conspiracy. You saw a number of people whom you did not recognize. They were men. Well, I think, Mr. Moray, that you saw another person whom you did recognize. I think this person was a woman-I think it was Miss Langton.”
“What a remarkably vivid imagination you have, Miss Silver!” said Charles.
Miss Silver counted her stitches-three-four-five-six- seven. After a moment’s pause she spoke again:
“I think so because I cannot account otherwise for your allowing Miss Standing to run so many risks. She should be under police protection. You know that, I think.”
“She’s under Miss Langton’s protection, and mine.”
Miss Silver looked at him sorrowfully.
“You have confidence in Miss Langton’s protection?”
“Complete confidence. Besides, they don’t know where she is.”
“I’m afraid they do.”
Charles was really startled.
“What makes you think so?”
“You mentioned a name when you came in, Mr. Moray- you asked me if I knew anything about Ambrose Kimberley. Why did you ask me that?”
There was a silence. Miss Silver broke it.
“Pray, Mr. Moray, be frank with me,” she said. “In a matter as serious as this, I must warn you that concealment is a very dangerous policy for yourself, for Miss Standing, and, in the long run, for Miss Langton too.” She coughed in her gentle ineffective way. “I will tell you about Ambrose Kimberley. I spoke of him yesterday; but not, I think, by name.”
“Yesterday?”
“I told you that William Cole had been for three months with Mrs. James Barnard, and when you asked me whether there had been any trouble in the family during that time, I mentioned that a nephew of Mr. Barnard’s had left the country in disgrace.”
“What about it?”