The Attic Murder - S. Fowler Wright (ebook reader computer TXT) 📗
- Author: S. Fowler Wright
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But, as he looked at her, he did not feel it to be a plan to which she would be likely to conform in a docile way. He had sufficient detachment of mind to see it as an idea which would not have come to him in more normal circumstances But the instinct to confide in those around him, to gain allies if he could, which had taken him down to Mrs. Benson’s kitchen the night before, urged him again, and in greater confidence than he had then felt. And he saw that his decision must be promptly made, or the opportunity might be gone. The meal was done. Any moment she might rise and disappear for ever out of his life.
“Miss Jones,” he asked, with a nervousness in his voice she had not noticed before, “have you anything very urgent to do this morning?”
She looked a natural surprise, but answered simply: No. Why do you want to know?”
“I wondered whether I might ask you to do something for me. Of course, I’d pay for your time.” He added, as though in self-defence: “It was you saying you were looking out for a job that put it into my mind.”
“So I am. It depends upon what it is that you want me to do.”
“It’s only to go to the bank for me, but there’s something that I should have to explain first.”
“I don’t see why I should refuse that. But I’m an utter stranger to you. I think I ought to explain too. I’m out of work, and my money’s just about gone. Mr. Rabone might happen to tell you that… So,” she concluded with a smile, “you mustn’t tempt me too far.”
“I shouldn’t worry much about that… Could you believe that anyone could be convicted of a very serious crime, and not be guilty at all?”
“Yes, I could believe that; though I don’t think it often happens… But don’t you think you’d better ring the bell first — it’s the one on the left, the other’s a dud — and let Mrs. Benson clear away before you tell me what you want me to do?… I’ve got a few things to see to upstairs before I could go out.”
With these words, Miss Jones rose and left the room. He saw the wisdom of deferring the tale he had to tell until their landlady should have cleared away, and withdrawn from the scene. He recognized the easy efficiency with which Miss Jones handled the situation, and the difficulty of reconciling this character with the words and tone which he had heard through the attic door recurred to his mind.
Who could this Rabone be, and why, though he appeared to be one whom she both feared and disliked, should she have confided to him that her money was nearly gone? He felt an active dislike for the man with whose razor he had made acquaintance, though he knew him only as a heavy step on the stair. If the girl were being persecuted or molested by him, the law was surely equal to her protection! Single girls should be secure in their lodgings from molestation by fellow-boarders of habits and manners as execrable as he had doubt that those of Mr. Rabone would prove to be… The law? He saw that it was not a drama in which he could be cast for a leading part.
IT was half an hour later when Miss Jones re-entered the room. She did not come near the fire, but sat down at the farther side of the table, as though desiring that a formal distance should be maintained. “I’ve been thinking over,” she began, “what you said, and I thought at first I’d rather you didn’t tell me more than was necessary for what you want me to do, because we’re really strangers to one another, and mayn’t meet again, for all we know, after today. But I’ve thought since that you ought to be the best judge, as you know what it is, and I don’t; and the more I know the less likely I shall be to put my foot in it, so I’ll just leave it to you.”
“I’ve been thinking it over too,” he replied, “and it’s clear to me that I can’t ask you to do anything till I’ve fully explained. Apart from other reasons, it wouldn’t be fair to you. And if — anything — were to happen, I should like to feel that there’s someone who knows what the truth is.”
“Very well,” she said. “Fire away. Anyhow, I shouldn’t want to go out in this rain. It seems to be getting worse all the time.” She sat with her elbows on the table, and her chin in her hands, as she listened to the tale that he had to tell.
“I suppose,” he said, as it concluded, “it makes me sound rather a fool. It’s just a question of fool or knave, and the less there is of the one, the more the other comes up. The jury must have seen that, and they may have thought I’d tried to make myself out a bigger fool than anyone was likely to be.
“But you can see that there were some things that I couldn’t tell. I should think that that often happens, and people have to let things that they did sound worse than they really were.”
“Yes,” she answered, “perhaps it may. But I should think the jury were rather fools too.”
The remark, noncommittal as it was, gave him a new confidence, with the conviction that she believed his tale. He added: “You see I hadn’t even meant to use any name but my own. It wouldn’t have come into my mind. I only went there at all because Bob Powell said that if we didn’t finish up with a night-club it wouldn’t be worth calling a night at all. But then, when we got in, he said that there were some people there who didn’t know him by sight, but would know his name, and be certain to tell his wife, and he called himself something that I forget, and introduced me as Harold Vaughan… And I don’t know whether Tony ever doubted that it was my own name, though that’s hard to say. But I feel sure that August didn’t, and it was for her sake that I kept in with the gang.
“And what part she had in it herself I don’t know even now, but I’m glad she didn’t get hauled into the dock, though I can’t say that I ever want to see her again. But it s a fact that till I was arrested I’d never guessed what the game was.
“It sounds silly now, but if I’d met Tony it would be easier to understand. he could talk the leg off a chair in his plausible smiling way… And not guessing anything must have made me twice the value to him… But I couldn’t say how I met him, and came to be using another name, without it all coming out who I really was, beside giving Bob Powell away.”
“Yes,” she answered doubtfully. “I think I see how you felt, though it doesn’t sound much of a reason when you look at what a mess you’re in now. And the fact that they couldn’t find out who you were, that you had no background that they could check up — the judge would know that, even though it mightn’t be allowed to come to the jury’s ears — would prejudice everyone against you, and make it seem certain that you were one of the gang… But the question is what do you want me to do now?”
“I’ve got money in my own bank, which I’m bound to get hold of. I thought, to begin with, I might give you a note to the bank, asking for a cheque-book. They’d know my signature, and wouldn’t be likely to ask any questions about that. It wouldn’t be exactly like drawing money, and even that they’d have no right to raise any difficulty about.”
“No. Not exactly the same. But I suppose you’d want me to draw the money out a few hours later?”
The tone was noncommittal, if nothing worse. He became aware that he might have to face refusal of his request. But he could not deny that his programme would involve a second call at the bank, and one that should be made very promptly after the first. He said: “You see, I haven’t got a penny till I can get a cheque cashed. And I don’t want to stay here longer than I’m obliged.”
She turned the conversation to ask “Any special reason for that? You don’t think anyone saw you come in?”
“No. It’s a different reason.” He hesitated a moment. Was he being as utter a fool as Tony Welch had made him before? But he had the sense to see that he had gone too far for a safe retreat: that to give her a doubt as to whether he were being entirely frank would be worse than to have said nothing at all. After that momentary hesitation, he narrated the conversation that he had overheard the evening before.
“It does make it a bit awkward,” she said thoughtfully. “I was going to suggest that you might stay here safely for a few days, if you could keep out of Mr. Rabone’s way, and in that time I might get you the money by other means, if you’d trust me enough for that. I don’t know much about how soon they offer rewards for escaped prisoners, nor whether they do it at all, but I shouldn’t think there’d be any rush to begin. But if the woman next door’s got the idea, she’s more likely to talk than not, and — well, it’s not raining much now, so if you’ll write the note while I’m upstairs, I’ll get ready to go.” He had to ask for further assistance, having neither paper nor pen, but she was soon ready, and armed with a note from Francis Hammerton, headed with his private address, and requesting his bankers to provide him with a book containing twenty-four uncrossed cheques, and to charge it to his account.
“If I’m not back,” she said, “in the next hour, you’ll know that something’s happened at the bank which makes me think it’s not safe. In that case, you must trust me to come back, or find some other means of letting you know, as soon as I safely can.”
“But,” he protested, with the fuller realization of what he was asking her to risk and do which her words brought, “I couldn’t ask you to do that. How would you — - ?”
She interrupted him to reply: “I only said if. I don’t expect there’ll be any trouble at all. I just wanted you to understand that if I’m not back in an hour it won’t mean that I’m forging cheques all over the place. I expect the bank will hand it out without giving me more than a look. Why shouldn’t they? There doesn’t seem to be anyone but this Bob Powell you mention who could connect you with your real name, and you’d have heard before now if he’d let that out, and in a different way.”
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