The Clock Strikes Twelve (21 page)

Downstairs in the study Frank Ambrose said in a tired voice,

“Oh, yes, I came back. I don’t mind telling you about it—I suppose it was bound to come out.”

He sat where Mark Paradine had sat, in a chair drawn up to the short side of the writing-table. Miss Silver faced him across its length, placidly knitting. Bent over the blotting-pad, Superintendent Vyner was taking notes. On the opposite side Colonel Bostock sat frowning, and wishing that he hadn’t known all these people for donkey’s years. Dashed awkward situation—dashed awkward case.

It was Miss Silver who coughed and said,

“I think it would be as well, Mr. Ambrose.”

Frank Ambrose squared his shoulders. He looked like a man who hasn’t much left to come and go upon. His big frame was kept upright only with an effort. His large impassive face sagged with fatigue. The fair skin looked grey. He said,

“It is really very simple, but because of my stepfather’s death all the natural, simple things which happen in a family have become suspicious. So you see, I can tell you what happened, but I can’t make you believe it. There is nothing to corroborate my statement. There is only my own unsupported story. I came back because I was greatly disturbed and distressed by what my step-father had said at dinner. The more I thought about it, the more I felt that I couldn’t just leave it at that. I made up my mind to go back and talk the whole thing over with him. If you ask anyone who knew us both they will tell you that we were on very intimate terms. In some ways he treated me as a son, in others as a friend. I mean that he would discuss things with me. That’s why I came back. He had a strong, sarcastic temper. I didn’t want him to do anything that would make a permanent breach in the family.”

“How did he take your coming back?” said Colonel Bostock.

Frank Ambrose was silent for a moment. Then he said,

“We talked. I was with him for about twenty minutes. Then I went away.”

Vyner looked up and said,

“Did he tell you that Mr. Wray’s blue-prints were missing?”

There was again that moment of silence. Then Frank Ambrose said,

“Yes.”

“Did he tell you who had taken them?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”

“You can, of course, refuse to answer any questions now, but you may be asked them in another place, when you will be on your oath.”

“Of course I realize that. I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything more at present.”

When the door had shut behind him Miss Silver said “Dear me!” Colonel Bostock blew his nose loudly.

“Well, what do you make of that? He knows something.”

Vyner was shutting his notebook.

“There isn’t much doubt about that.”

“Looks as if he hasn’t slept for a week. By the way,”—the Chief Constable turned to Miss Silver— “his wife’s out of it—that girl Irene. Glad about that. Nasty thing for a young woman, murder. Not at all the thing. Vyner’ll tell you.”

The Superintendent turned his pleasant blue eyes upon Miss Silver.

“I had some enquiries made at Dr. Horton’s house. The two maids share an attic room to the front. Well, one of them says she looked out somewhere after eleven and she saw Mrs. Ambrose walking up and down like she said she did. You will remember that it was bright moonlight until the rain came on at twelve. She is quite sure about its being Mrs. Ambrose. She made a joke of it to the other girl. It seems she was always ringing Dr. Horton up about the children, and this was the girl who would take the messages, so they made quite a joke of it, and looked out several times to see if she was still there. They were up late because the other girl was going to her sister’s wedding next day and she was finishing her dress. They say Mrs. Ambrose was still there at ten minutes to twelve. I think that’s good enough.”

Miss Silver nodded.

“Oh, yes.” Over the clicking needles she looked brightly at the two men. “I think we may say that most of the time between a quarter to ten and midnight is now accounted for. It might be helpful to have a time-table before us. Perhaps the Superintendent will be kind enough to take one down—

9:45—Departure of Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose, Miss Ambrose, and Miss Pennington.

9:50 or so—Departure of Mr. Mark Paradine and Mr. Richard.

9:52 or 53—Mr. Pearson to the study to say goodnight, followed immediately by Lane, who saw him both enter and leave.

A few minutes later—Mr. Wray to the study to say goodnight. His visit was very brief. Coming out, he found Mr. Pearson waiting for him. They proceeded to Mr. Wray’s room, which they reached before ten o’clock.

10:10—Mrs. Wray to the study to talk to her uncle.

10:30—Mr. Ambrose knocks on the study door and is admitted—Mrs. Wray having gone out by way of the unused bedroom next door.

10:50—Mr. Ambrose leaves.

11:00—Mr. Mark Paradine to the study.

11:30—Mr. Mark Paradine leaves. Mr. Wray and Mr. Pearson come down to the dining-room to have a drink. Mr. Wray hears the front door close. He also hears a door shut upstairs on the corridor occupied by Miss Paradine and Mrs. Wray.

11:53—Mr. Wray and Mr. Pearson return upstairs. They separate immediately. Mr. Wray goes to have a bath.

Superintendent Vyner stopped writing and looked up with an extremely startled expression on his face.

“Did you say 11:53, Miss Silver?”

Little Roger’s dark grey leggings revolved beneath the busy needles.

“That is what I said, Superintendent.”

Vyner’s eyes remained fixed upon her face.

“Mr. Wray and Mr. Pearson have both stated that it was eight minutes past twelve by the clock in Mr. Wray’s room when they came upstairs.”

Miss Silver coughed,

“The clock had been tampered with.”

“God bless my soul!” said Colonel Bostock.

Miss Silver continued to knit.

“Mr. Pearson’s alibi naturally attracted my attention. It was, if I may put it in that way, so very determined. On the other hand, he made no secret of the fact that it had been carefully arranged. If you will refer to his statement you will see that he says quite plainly, ‘After the accusation made by Mr. Paradine against a member of his family whom he did not name, I could not afford to have it supposed by anyone that it might be aimed at me. I therefore waited for Mr. Wray and took care to remain in his company until well after midnight—Mr. Paradine having stated that he would sit up in the study until twelve o’clock. It was just on ten past when Mr. Wray and I separated at the door of his room.’ ”

Vyner had been flicking over pages. He nodded.

“Word-perfect, Miss Silver.”

She inclined her head.

“You see he is quite frank, and that what he says is reasonable. He is not liked by the rest of the family. The cousinship is a distant one, and as far as any familiarity is concerned is more or less in abeyance. It is only the younger members of the family whom he addresses by their Christian names. It is Miss Paradine—Mr. Ambrose—Miss Ambrose. Everyone would have been relieved if he had been the culprit. The desire for an alibi might therefore be natural and innocent. On the other hand it might not. If he had a motive for killing his employer, this innocent-seeming alibi might be very useful indeed. No motive has up to the present come to light, but if such a motive should be discovered, then the following points will be of interest.” She unrolled some more of the dark grey wool, turned her knitting, and continued. “The first point is this. If you will turn again to Mr. Pearson’s statement you will see he says that Lane was in the study when he went in to bid Mr. Paradine goodnight. In Lane’s statement there is what reads like a corroboration of this, but it is not quite accurate. Mr. Wray, Mrs. Wray, Mr. Ambrose, and Mr. Mark were all greeted by Mr. Paradine with the same half sarcastic, half jocular remark, ‘Have you come to confess?’ I wished to know whether Mr. Pearson had been greeted in the same way. If he had, and if there were anything serious on his conscience, the question might very well have convinced him that his fault was known, and he may then have planned Mr. Paradine’s death. All this, of course, depends on whether he had some serious dereliction to conceal. On questioning Lane I discovered that he was not actually in the study when Mr. Pearson entered it. He was coming through the swing door with a tray, when Mr. Pearson, who had approached from the other end of the passage, passed before him into the study. He heard Mr. Paradine say, ‘Hullo, Albert— have you come to confess?’ ”

“God bless my soul!”

Miss Silver’s needles clicked.

“It is not necessary to labour this point. We do not know whether Mr. Pearson had anything on his conscience or not. He had no time to answer Mr. Paradine, because Lane came into the room, and though he was called back for a moment as Lane was leaving again, he was out in the passage before the swing door had closed. I really do not wish to put too much stress on this small point, but I think it may have to be considered later on.”

Vyner said, “The point being, why did Mr. Pearson say that Lane was already in the room when he came in?”

“Yes.”

“It might be just part of his being nervous about his reputation.”

“That had not escaped me, Superintendent.” She coughed and continued. “We now come to the second point. If Mr. Pearson’s alibi was a false one, the clock in Mr. Wray’s room must have been tampered with. I tried to think when it might have been done. Not before dinner, because there was no indication then that the room would be occupied, or that Mr. Paradine would make the accusation which he did, in fact, make after dinner. Not between the time the accusation was made and a quarter to ten, because Mr. Pearson was in company with the rest of the party during that time. The first opportunity would occur between the time when Lane saw him leave the study after saying goodnight to Mr. Paradine and the time, a few minutes later, when Mr. Wray found him waiting in the passage. He would have had time in the interval to run up the back stairs and alter the clock in Mr. Wray’s room.”

Colonel Bostock gave an expostulatory grunt.

“What the fellow might have done isn’t evidence, madam!”

Miss Silver met his frown with undisturbed placidity. She hastened to agree with him.

“Precisely. There was no evidence. I am merely telling you what led me to enquire whether any evidence existed. I went to my room last night at a quarter to ten. A few minutes later the young under housemaid, Polly Parsons, came in to turn down the bed. On thinking this over it occurred to me that she might, whilst performing the same office on Thursday night, have noticed the clock in Mr. Wray’s room. I found an opportunity of questioning her just before lunch to-day, and this is what she told me. She had been helping with the washing-up on Thursday night because of the party, but when Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose went away at a quarter to ten Louisa sent her up to turn down the two gentlemen’s beds and put a couple of hot-water bottles in Mr. Wray’s because there hadn’t been time to air it. She came up the back stairs on the kitchen side of the house and along past Mrs. Wray’s and Miss Paradine’s rooms, and she saw Mr. Pearson come out of Mr. Wray’s room and run along the passage towards the back stairs on that side. She said she wondered what he was doing in Mr. Wray’s room. She went in and turned down the bed and put in the hot-water bottles, and just as she was straightening up she saw the clock on the mantelpiece, and she thought, ‘Well, it is late!’ because the hands were standing at ten minutes past ten. Then she went across the passage into Mr. Pearson’s room, and the clock there made it five minutes to. She thought how angry Mr. Paradine would be, because all the clocks had to be just so, and she says she went down into the kitchen and talked about it to the other girl, Gladys, and to Louisa.”

Colonel Bostock pursed up his lips and whistled.

Vyner said, “One of the first things we did was to check up on the clocks. The one in Mr. Wray’s room was right to the tick on the Friday morning—but of course it would be.”

Miss Silver nodded.

“Mr. Pearson would have set the hands back again whilst Mr. Wray was in the bathroom. He strikes me as a very thorough young man.” She paused, gave her slight cough, and continued. “There is just one other point. Mr. Wray says that he and Mr. Pearson came down to the dining-room for a drink soon after half past eleven. When I asked him if he could not be a little more exact he said oh, yes, he looked at the clock, saw that the hands were standing at sixteen or seventeen minutes to twelve, and proposed that they should go down to the dining-room. As they came into the hall, he heard the front door close. But Mr. Mark Paradine says he left the house at half past eleven, and it was he who shut that door. There would be a definite discrepancy if it were not that we now know that the clock in Mr. Wray’s room was a quarter of an hour fast. This discrepancy corroborates Polly’s story.”

Colonel Bostock whistled again. Vyner said,

“There is a clock in the hall, and one in the dining-room. Wouldn’t Mr. Wray have been likely to notice the discrepancy himself?”

Miss Silver shook her head.

“I think not. The hall has only one very dim light, and as to the dining-room, Mr. Pearson could have provided against any danger of the clock on the mantelpiece being noticed by only switching on the light over the sideboard. This would appear quite natural, as the drinks were there. In any case I do not think that Mr. Wray was in a very observant frame of mind. He had just met his wife again after a year’s estrangement, and his thoughts were very much taken up with his own affairs.”

Vyner nodded.

“That’s true enough. Well, Miss Silver, Mr. Harrison will be here any moment now.” His eyes were most intelligently bright. “We’ll have to get along with opening that safe. Are you thinking that we may come across a motive for Mr. Pearson there?”

Miss Silver looked prim.

“I would not like to say that, Superintendent.”

Mr. Harrison arrived very punctually at half past two. At a quarter to three precisely he opened James Paradine’s safe. The original intention had been that Mark and Richard Paradine should be present, but in view of recent developments it was decided that as many of the family as were in the house should be invited to attend. Miss Silver was there, and so was an inconspicuous Mr. Jones, sent up by Birleton’s leading firm of valuers. Miss Paradine raised her eyes at him and, leaning towards Mark, enquired in a low voice whether he was Mr. Harrison’s clerk. On receiving a negative reply she appeared faintly surprised, but asked no further.

Mr. Harrison, having opened the safe, stepped back and made way for Superintendent Vyner, who proceeded to lift out and lay upon the writing-table the faded red leather cases which Mr. Paradine had handled on the night of his death. He took hold of them with a carefully gloved hand, and as he set each one down he touched the spring and threw back the lid.

“We’ll just check up on these before we go any further, Mr. Harrison.”

Mr. Harrison produced a list and read from it:—

“Diamond tiara—valued three years ago, £4,000.

Diamond solitaire earrings—ditto £1,000.

Solitaire diamond ring—£500.

Diamond cluster ring—£200.

Diamond marquise ring—£150.

Diamond half-hoop ring—£200.

Pair diamond bracelets—£1,000.

Corsage ornament—£2,000.

Diamond bar brooch—£100.

Diamond sunburst—£400.

Diamond butterfly—£150.

Diamond trefoil brooch—£200.”

“All present and correct,” said Vyner. He glanced over his shoulder in a casual manner. “Mr. Jones, will you be so good—”

Everyone had been looking at the diamonds. Grace Paradine had not seen them for twenty years. Strange to think of them shut up like that in the dark, keeping their beauty and their brilliance as they had kept their value. Clara’s diamonds—the thought went through her mind slightingly. She had never really liked Clara. They took Frank Ambrose back to the last time he had seen his mother wear them. She had looked ill and frail. Over their glitter her eyes had been tired, and faded, and kind. Richard, Lydia, Phyllida, and Elliot Wray had never seen them before except in the portrait above the mantelpiece. Mark had both seen and handled them. His look passed over them without interest. He was wishing only that all this formal business should be over, for then he would know whether they were going to arrest him or not. The diamonds had for him at the moment about as much allure as chips of gravel. Albert Pearson, who might have been supposed to take a professional interest, appeared almost as indifferent. And yet that was perhaps not quite the right word. Hesitating on the outskirts of the group about the table, he seemed to experience some embarrassment at being there at all. As a relation he would hardly have a claim. As James Paradine’s secretary then? But he was not being called upon for any professional duty. He blinked once or twice behind his thick lenses and pushed sweating hands deep into his pockets.

Mr. Jones said “Allow me—” and stepped past him.

Sitting primly upright at the far side of the table, Miss Silver watched him come. She was not knitting. Her hands rested in her lap. Her eyes were bright and very intent. They watched Mr. Jones—a little man, fair-skinned and indeterminate, with old-fashioned pince-nez sitting rather crooked, and a set of gleaming artificial teeth which imparted a slight lisp to his speech. He came right up to the table, bent over the cases, looking into each with an effect of painstaking scrutiny, and said in his gentle, lisping voice,

“You are aware, I suppose, Mr. Paradine, that some of these stones are copies?”

Shocked into immediate interest, Mark straightened up, came forward a step, and standing level with Mr. Jones and the Superintendent, said in a startled tone,

“What do you mean?”

Mr. Jones picked up a pen from the table, held it poised, and used the nib as a pointer. It hovered above the trefoil brooch.

“That is a copy—very good paste. So is the butterfly—and the bar brooch. So are the stones in these solitaire earrings and the solitaire ring. The large centre stone in the corsage ornament has also been replaced by paste.”

Mark said, “What!” And then, “Are you sure?”

Mr. Jones showed his gleaming dentures in a slight pitying smile.

“There is no doubt of it at all, Mr. Paradine.”

Silence descended on the room. Superintendent Vyner’s eyes turned towards Miss Silver. As plainly as if he had spoken, they said, “Well, there’s your motive.”

Miss Silver coughed, and, as if by one consent, they both looked at Albert Pearson. It was not only his hands that were sweating now. His forehead glistened. Even to the most casual eye he was ill, and ill at ease.

Vyner turned to Mr. Jones.

“The rest of the stones all right?”

Mr. Jones produced a pocket magnifying glass and brought it to bear upon each piece of jewelry in turn. The process appeared to be interminable. But in time all things come to an end. The magnifying glass went back into a deep breast pocket. Mr. Jones lisped his assurances, and was encouraged to depart. The door shutting behind him sounded to Albert Pearson like the crack of doom. His heart beat with sickening heavy thumps. His hair was clammy on his brow. Through the mist which clouded his glasses he was aware that everyone had turned in his direction. It was like the worst kind of nightmare. He heard Superintendent Vyner addressing him by name.

“Will you come up to the table, Mr. Pearson. I should like to ask you one or two questions. At the same time it is my duty to warn you that what you say may be taken down and used in evidence against you.”

He came forward, stumbled upon a chair, and finding himself seated, began mechanically to polish his misted glasses. When he put them on again there was a smart young constable with a notebook almost at his elbow and everyone was looking at him—everyone except Phyllida, who looked as if she was going to cry. Of the others, Miss Paradine wore the kind of expression with which she might have dismissed a dishonest kitchenmaid. It was too much de-haut-en-bas to be vindictive, but it held a very definite trace of satisfaction. He was not only outside the family circle now, he was judged and damned before ever a word was spoken. As he sat there he could feel the ring of circumstance closing in to damn him. He was to be what he had always known they would make him if they could—the scape-goat. Well, he’d got his alibi—let them see if they could break it. He’d been one too many for them there. He squared his shoulders, leaned forward with his arms upon the table, and said,

“I’m perfectly willing to answer any question you like.”

They were all looking at him. The Superintendent and Mark standing together over the laid-out cases where the diamonds caught the light. Lydia Pennington on Mark’s other side, moving closer, slipping her hand inside his elbow. Elliot Wray with an arm round Phyllida, who was shaking—and what had she got to shake about, damn her? Against the mantelpiece, directly under his mother’s portrait, Frank Ambrose staring gloomily, not so much at him as past him down the room. Across the corner from the Superintendent, at the end of the table, Miss Silver, dumpy and dowdy, with her ridiculous bog-oak brooch and the small bright eyes which looked you through and through. Across the other corner from her, Mr. Harrison, grave and shocked. Beyond him Miss Paradine, Richard, and right at his elbow here, the young constable with the notebook.

Albert Pearson set his mind, set that rather heavy jaw, met all those shocked, accusing looks, and said stubbornly,

“Well—what about it?”