When she went back into the drawing room Miss Allison was more able to understand why the notion of murder had occurred to young Mr. Harte. A certain atmosphere of drama seemed to have spread over the room. To this the Clement Kanes were largely contributing, Clement by gazing hungrily at his wife whenever opportunity offered, Rosemary by looking stormier than ever and casting into the pool of conversation remarks calculated to convince the company that her marriage was on the verge of shipwreck. These were met by a high-nosed stare from Agatha Mansell and several downright snubs from old Mrs. Kane; but Betty Pemble, who found Rosemary "interesting", soon moved across to a chair by her side and began to talk to her. The interchange was curious and unsatisfactory, for Rosemary, who despised as suburban any woman who not only lived upon amicable terms with her husband but presented him with two healthy children into the bargain, looked upon Betty with contempt, while Betty massacred Rosemary's narrated spiritual reactions by capping them with similar ones of her own.
"I feel stifled in Portlaw," announced Rosemary in unencouraging response to an encomium bestowed by Mrs. Pemble on the invigorating properties of the air. "It's as though I couldn't breathe."
"I know exactly what you mean," agreed Betty. "I felt the same when we were living in a flat in town. It was simply tiny—literally you couldn't move in it—and I used to say to Clive that I felt absolutely cooped up."
"I don't think actual space matters so much as room for one's Essential Ego to expand," said Rosemary a trifle loftily.
"Yes, I do utterly agree with you there," replied Betty. "Atmosphere means a most frightful lot to me too. I mean, I'm awfully sensitive to beauty—and, funnily enough, both my children are, too, even Peter, who's only three and a half. I mean, if a picture is out of the straight, I simply can't rest until I've put it right. It seems to kind of hurt me."
"I'm afraid," said Rosemary, with a faint, superior smile, "that I shouldn't even notice a crooked picture."
"Yes, I'm frightfully absentminded too. I seem to go into a sort of dream, and I forget simply everything. I often think that's where my Jennifer gets it from—it's quite extraordinary the way that child daydreams! I mean, everybody says so, it isn't only just me. The children absolutely love coming down to stay with Granny and Grandpa by the sea. They simply live on the sands. Of course it's just coming home to me, and Clive feels exactly the same, really far more so than with his own people. It's quite a joke in the family!"
Rosemary looked fairly disgusted by this sample of the humour prevalent in the Mansell household and said in a voice of suppressed passion: "How odd that you should be glad to come here while I would give my soul to get away! The sameness! . . . Doesn't it get on your nerves? But perhaps you don't suffer from your nerves as I do."
It was not to be expected that Betty Pemble would allow so insulting a suggestion to pass unchallenged, and she replied warmly that, as a matter of fact, she was One Mass of Nerves. "I simply never talk about myself, because I think people who tell you about their ailments are absolutely awful; but actually I'm not frightfully strong. I get the most terrible nervous headaches for one thing. I mean, I could scream with the pain often and often. I think it's from being terribly highly strung. Both my children are exactly like me too. Frightfully sensitive and easily upset. They kind of feel things inside, the same way that I do, and bottle it up."
Her mother, who happened to overhear this remark, said robustly: "Nonsense! You spoil them, my dear child; that's all the trouble."
Mrs. Pemble turned quite pink at this and at once joined issue with her parent, declaring that Agatha just didn't understand, and that everyone said she managed her children better than anyone else. As Mrs. Mansell appeared to be unconvinced by this universal testimonial, Betty at once appealed to Clive to support her, interrupting him in the middle of a discussion with Jim Kane on the probable outcome of the Surrey vs. Gloucester Match. By the time Mrs. Mansell's stricture had been repeated to him, and various incidents illustrative of Betty's skill in handling her progeny recalled to his mind, Joe Mansell, Mrs. Kane and Clement had all become involved in the discussion, Joe advancing as his contribution to it that he liked to see kids enjoying themselves; Clement, with a meaning glance at his wife, deploring his own lack of children; and Mrs. Kane stating that in her young days children never had any nerves at all.
This was an observation calculated to rouse the ire of the most good-tempered mother, and when it was promptly seconded by Mrs. Mansell, Betty Pemble, reinforcing her own arguments by the pronouncements of a host of sages somewhat vaguely referred to by her under the general title of People, set about the formidable task of convincing two stalwarts of the Victorian age that they did not understand children's little minds.
While this battle raged, Rosemary relapsed into brooding silence, Jim Kane seized the opportunity to engage Miss Allison in conversation, and Joe Mansell moved across the room to where Silas was sitting and suggested that they might have a word together.
Silas Kane said: "Why, certainly, Joe!" in his slow, courteous way and got up out of his chair. "We shall be quite private in my study."
Joe Mansell followed his host to this apartment, a severe room looking out onto the shrubbery at the side of the house, and remarked that having Betty and the children staying at the Cedars brought quite a lot of life into the place.
"Ah!" said Silas. "And are they with you for long?"
"Oh, about a month, I expect. Betty likes the children to have a thorough change, you know. Not but what they tell me it's very healthy at Golders Greenvery. Still, it's not like the sea. Between ourselves, it's a fortunate thing that we're able to have them, for things aren't too good on the Stock Exchange at the moment. The wife and I suspect Clive's finding things a bit tight—just a bit tight."
"Ah, I dare say!" said Silas, sorrowfully surveying a post-war world. "The times are very unsettled."
"Yes," agreed Joe. "No stability, wherever you look. But that's not what I want to talk to you about." He tipped the long ash of his cigar into the empty grate and cleared his throat. "I don't know whether you've thought any more about Roberts' proposition?"
An inflexible expression came into Silas' chilly grey eyes. He fixed them on his partner's face and replied: "No. I am of the opinion that this is not the moment to be launching out into speculative ventures."
"I think myself there are excellent prospects. Expansion, Silas! One's got to move with the times, and there's no doubt—in my opinion not the slightest doubt—that if we decide to push our nets in Australia it will not be many years before we shall be amply repaid for the initial capital outlay."
"Yes?" said Silas, putting his fingertips together. "You may be right, Joe, but I cannot say that Roberts' scheme attracts me."
"Clement is in favour of it," offered Joe Mansell.
"Possibly," said Silas rather ironically. "But I'm thinking that it is not Clement who would have to bear the brunt of that capital outlay you mentioned. I'm sorry to go against you, Joe, but I don't see my way."
Joe Mansell looked at him resentfully, thinking that it was easy for an old bachelor with no one dependent on him to sit tight on his moneybags and say that it was not the time to be launching out into speculative ventures. He was mean; that was what was wrong with Silas. Always had been, and his father and grandfather before him. Not but what old Matthew Kane had never been afraid to spend money if he saw a good return, judging from the fortune he'd left. He'd made money hand over fist, had Matthew, the founder of the business.
It made Joe Mansell feel more resentful than ever when he looked about him, as now, at the evidence of Kane wealth and thought of the Kane holding in the business, comparing it with his own share. And now, when there was a chance to expand, he'd have to watch some other firm seize the opportunity, just because Silas was too conservative to consider new ideas and too well off to think it worth while tapping a fresh market. He'd listen to all the arguments with that damned polite smile of his; he'd agree that there might be something in the scheme; he'd say it was very interesting, no doubt; but when you got down to brass tacks with him, and it came to talking of the capital he'd have to advance to start the show, you'd find yourself up against a brick wall.
But Silas, watching Joe with veiled eyes, was thinking that it had always been the same tale with him.
He'd no judgment: he rushed into things. It was just like him to allow himself to be talked over by a plausible fellow with an American accent. He was lavish with other men's money, was Joe. Clement, too, of whom he'd thought better, lacked judgment. All he cared for was to make more money to spend on that flimsy wife of his. Well, those weren't the methods by which the firm had been built up. He said as much, but with his usual civility.
"One must move with the times," Joe repeated. "I believe you'd get a good return on your money."
"Perhaps, perhaps," Silas agreed. "But I'm not as young as I was. I doubt whether I should live to enjoy any return."
Now he's getting on to his weak heart , thought Joe. It's my belief he'll live for ever.
"Well, I won't disguise from you, Silas, that I'm strongly in favour of the plan—strongly in favour of it! As a matter of fact, things aren't too easy for me about now, what with reduced dividends and having to help Clive tide over a bad patch. Not to mention Paul's troubles."
"Indeed! I'm sorry to hear that," Silas said, wondering what concern of his were Joe's bad investments, or Joe's son-in-law's financial embarrassments, or the alimony his son's wife had to be paid.
"I wish you could see your way to it."
"Yes, I wish I could, since you're so much in favour of it," said Silas.
That was the sort of remark that made one want to brain Silas. Joe Mansell controlled his temper with an effort and heaved himself up out of his chair. "Well, I hope you'll think it over carefully before you finally turn it down," he said. "Roberts gets back from London tonight and will be wanting your decision. Paul's in favour of it, too, you know; and though I say it of my own son, I'm bound to admit he's got a shrewd head on his shoulders. He was sorry, by the way, not to be able to be here tonight."
"Indeed yes, we were sorry too," said Silas mendaciously.
He disliked Paul Mansell, whose shrewdness verged on sharpness, and who had been divorced from his wife. A flashy fellow, with his oiled hair, and his waisted coats, and his habit of running after Patricia Allison. No doubt he saw himself managing the Australian side of the business. A nice thing that would be!
They went back to the drawing room. Old Mrs. Kane was looking tired; her face had set into deeply carved lines, and she was making no effort to attend to any of the conversations in progress about her. Agatha Mansell, finding her monosyllabic, had transferred her attention to Rosemary and was lecturing her in a kind, authoritative way on the many improving pursuits she might with profit engage upon. When her husband preceded Silas into the room she looked across at him with a question in her eyes and, upon his slightly shaking his head, got up, announcing that it was growing late.
With the Mansells went Clive and Betty Pemble, to be followed in a few minutes by the Clement Kanes, Clement having lingered to ask Silas what his decision was on the Australian project. Upon hearing that his cousin disliked it, he said in a dispirited tone: "You may be right. All the same, we might have seen big profits. It's a pity Mansell isn't in a position to advance the necessary capital himself."
"I fancy you would none of you be so anxious to risk your own money," replied Silas dryly.
Clement flushed. "I don't think there would be much risk. However, you've a perfect right to refuse, if you feel like that about it. Come, Rosemary; are you ready?"
Silas escorted them to the front door. Emily roused herself and addressed Jim abruptly: "There's a nasty fog outside. You'd better stay the night."
He shook his head. "Thanks, Aunt, but I must get back. It isn't thick enough to worry me. Besides, I shall leave it behind me."
"Don't tell me!" said Emily snappishly. She added: "High time that child was in bed."
Young Mr. Harte was affronted but stood in too much awe of Emily to expostulate. He was indeed experiencing considerable difficulty in keeping his eyes open.
"Good Lord, yes!" said Jim, becoming aware of his relative's presence. "You'd better go up, Timothy."
Mr. Harte said with dignity, and in muted tones, that it was unnecessary for Jim to stick his oar in. He cherished in his bosom a considerable affection for his stepbrother and passionately admired his athletic prowess. He quoted him upon all occasions and acquired reflected glory from retailing his exploits upon the Rugger field or the race track, but would have thought it unseemly to give Jim any cause to suspect this veneration. So when Jim, bidding him farewell, said: "I'm coming down next week," he betrayed no flattering pleasure at these welcome tidings but merely replied that he would try and bear up till then.
Silas came back into the room as Jim was saying good-bye to his great-aunt. He wore the satisfied expression of a man who has sped the last of his guests, and remarked that he fancied the party had gone off very well.
"H'm!" said Emily. She looked at him under her brows. "Joe tried to get you to advance money for his harebrained scheme. I hope you sent him off with a flea in his ear. Such nonsense!"
"I'm afraid Joe and I don't see eye to eye over it," Silas answered. "You off, my boy?"
"He'd better stay the night. There's a fog."
"Why, certainly!" Silas agreed. "But it's only a bit of a mist, Mother. Nothing to alarm anyone. I shall take my usual walk."
"You still stick to that, sir?" Jim said, smiling.
"If I didn't I should not enjoy a wink of sleep all night," replied Silas. "Wet or fine, I must have my stroll before going to bed."
"Fiddle!" said Emily in an exasperated voice. "If you didn't think you had insomnia you'd sleep the clock round! I don't have insomnia: why should you?"
"Indeed, I wish I knew," said Silas.
"One of these days you'll catch your death of cold. Don't say I didn't warn you! Miss Allison, be kind enough to ring the bell! I'm tired."
Jim Kane lingered until the business of assisting Emily into the carrying chair was accomplished and contrived, while the butler and footman were bearing her up the shallow staircase, to exchange a few final words with Miss Allison. Then he sallied forth to brave the dangers of the sea fret, and Miss Allison, holding Emily's ebony cane, the rug which she used to cover her knees, and her handbag, went sedately upstairs in the wake of the carrying chair.
Emily Kane, with her companion and her maid, occupied a suite of rooms in the west wing of the house.
Miss Allison followed her there, arriving in time to see Ogle, her maid, helping her to an armchair in her bedroom.
She laid down her various burdens and would have left Emily in Ogle's jealous charge had not Emily said: "Don't go! What did that hussy say to you in the conservatory?"
"Nothing much," replied Patricia. "I've heard it all before, anyway."
"She'll run off with that Dermott yet," prophesied Emily. "Good riddance to bad rubbish is what I say! Not that I want a scandal in the family. We'll leave that to the Mansells. Them and their precious son! You take my advice and send him to the right-about."
"I will," promised Patricia.
Emily began to sip the glass of Horlick's Malted Milk which Ogle had put into her hand. "If my son would take something hot going to bed it would do him more good than trapesing about on the cliffs at this hour of night," she remarked. "Fresh air indeed! There's a great deal of nonsense talked about fresh air these days. I've no patience with it. Why he doesn't catch his death of cold I don't know."
"I expect he's hardened to all weathers by this time," said Patricia consolingly.
"That remains to be seen. He's as pigheaded as his father was. Never knew a Kane who wasn't. Jim's as bad as the rest of them, I warn you— Here, take this away!"
Ogle relieved her of her empty glass and went out with it. Emily said: "I've had a very dull evening. Don't you start being discreet with me, young woman! That hussy's working up for mischief, or I don't know the signs. What's the matter with her?"
"Well, as far as I can gather, she wants more money. On account of her Russian blood."
Mrs. Kane stared for a moment and then gave a cackle of laughter. "She does, eh? It would do her more good to have a few children, and you may tell her I said so."
Patricia laughed. "I expect you will tell her so yourself, Mrs. Kane."
Ogle came back into the room and began to make ostentatious play with a dressing gown. Patricia bade her employer good-night and went away to her own bedroom.
Mr. James Kane's proposal kept her mind occupied for quite some time but did not trouble her dreams.
She slept as soundly as ever and did not wake until the housemaid entered the room at a quarter to eight with her early-morning tea.
"If you please, miss, Pritchard would like a word with you," said this damsel, evidently thinking the request an odd one.
Miss Allison blinked and said sleepily: "Pritchard wants a word with me? What on earth for?"
"I don't know, miss. He didn't say, but he looks ever so queer," replied Doris eagerly.
Miss Allison sat up. "Is he ill?"
"Oh no, I don't think so, miss! He never said he was ill, but I'm sure there's something wrong. It struck both Mallard and I he looked queer."
It seemed to Miss Allison that there must be something very wrong indeed to make Pritchard, who was almost the perfect butler, request an interview with her before ever she was out of bed. She got up and slid her feet into her slippers. "All right, I'll see him at once. Ask him to come upstairs, will you?"
"He is upstairs, miss," said Doris. "He's waiting on the landing."
Miss Allison put on her dressing gown and sallied forth on to the passage. Pritchard was standing at the head of the staircase. Miss Allison would not have described his appearance as queer, but he certainly looked rather worried. At sight of her he apologised for disturbing her at an unreasonable hour and said in a lowered voice: "I wouldn't have troubled you, miss, if I had not thought the matter serious—not to say disturbing. The master, miss, is not in his room, and his bed has not been slept in."
Miss Allison stared at him rather blankly. Various explanations chased one another through her head, only to be dismissed as inadequate. She said mechanically: "Are you sure?"
"You may see for yourself, miss," replied Pritchard, leading the way to Silas Kane's room.
The sight of the bedclothes turned neatly back, the uncrushed pillow, the pyjamas laid out, was oddly frightening. There could be no doubt that Silas had not slept in his bed. Miss Allison pulled herself together and said briskly: "Have you sent out to search the grounds? Mr. Kane went for his usual walk last night, I know. He may have had a heart attack."
"Yes, miss, I thought of that at once. There's no sign of him been seen yet, but I've sent Edwards and Pullman along the cliff walk. I believe the master generally went that way. I thought it best to tell you at once, on account of the mistress."
"Quite right. There's no need to say anything to alarm Mrs. Kane until we know more. Did you see Mr. Kane go out last night?"
"Not precisely, miss. I saw him when Mr. James left, and I understood from him that he meant to take his usual walk. I happened to mention the fact of there being a considerable sea fret, but the master made nothing of it. You know his way, miss. He told me I need not wait up, and I consequently went up to bed and thus did not actually see him leave the house."
Miss Allison nodded and went back onto the landing.
Her appearance there coincided with the opening of Timothy Harte's bedroom door. Timothy stuck a tousled head out and desired to be told what all the row was about.
Miss Allison allowed this grossly unfair description of her quiet colloquy with the butler to pass unchallenged and merely said that nothing was up. Timothy looked severely from her to Pritchard and said with a marked nasal intonation: "Say, sister, get wise to this! You can't put nothin' across on me!"
"Say, brother," retorted Miss Allison, not to be outdone, "let me advise you to scram!"
Timothy grinned and, apparently construing this request as an invitation, came out onto the landing. "I thought you looked as though you might be sporting," he remarked. "Honestly, what is up?"
Pritchard gave a warning cough, but Miss Allison judged it wisest to admit Mr. Harte into their confidence.
"We don't quite know, but we're afraid Mr. Kane may have been taken ill on his walk last night or have met with some accident. He doesn't seem to have come home."
Timothy's eyes grew round, but the most partial of observers could scarcely have supposed his expression to denote anything but profound relish of these disturbing tidings. "I say!" he gasped. "I jolly well told you so! I bet I had a kind of instinct about it!"
"Don't be so absurd!" said Miss Allison rather irritably. "How could you have had an instinct, as you call it, that Mr. Kane would have a heart attack? Besides, you never told me anything of the kind."
"Yes, I did!" said Timothy. "At least, not about a heart attack. But I distinctly remember saying that I shouldn't be a bit surprised if someone was murdered here in the night. Actually, I never thought about it being Uncle Silas, but I probably had a sort of premonition all the same."
The butler looked outraged and startled, but Miss Allison, unimpressed, said: "If that's your idea of a joke, it's a bad one. There's no question of murder, but we are rather worried about your uncle, and that kind of suggestion isn't in the best of good taste."
"Sorry," said Timothy. "As a matter of fact, he isn't my uncle, though. Actually he isn't any relation at all."
"Well, you go and get dressed," replied Miss Allison. "Then you can help look for him."
It seemed good to Timothy to follow this advice. He said: "Sure thing!" and disappeared into his room again.
"I'll do the same," said Miss Allison. "You've warned Ogle not to say anything to Mrs. Kane, I hope? Not that I think she would."
"The female staff knows nothing as yet, miss. I thought it best to speak to you first."
"Don't tell them anything, then, till we know just what's happened. I'll be down in a few minutes."
She dressed in haste but was beaten in the race by Mr. Harte, who was downstairs ten minutes ahead of her, having decided that excessive ablutions in a moment of stress would be frivolous.
He did not await her arrival but went out at once to take part in the search for his host. Just as Miss Allison reached the hall he came into the house with a very white face and said jerkily: "I've met them. I say, it's pretty ghastly, Miss Allison. He's dead."
She did not say anything for a moment. Silas Kane's death was a possibility she had already realised; the news of it merely confirmed her fear.
"They're bringing him up to the house," said Timothy. "Honestly, I didn't think anything like this would happen, Miss Allison."
"No. Of course not." She turned as Pritchard came into the hall from the servants' wing and said as quietly as she could: "Master Timothy has told me, Pritchard. How did it happen? Have you any idea?"
The butler looked very much shaken. "They found him at the foot of the cliff, miss. Just where the path runs along the edge. He must have missed his way in the fog. You'll excuse me, miss, but I'm a bit upset. I do not know when I have been so upset. To think of us lying in our beds with the poor master smashed up like that on those wicked rocks! Not that one could have done anything. If only he hadn't gone out! That's what I keep on saying to myself, over and over. It'll just about kill the mistress, this will."
Miss Allison returned a mechanical answer. She did not think that Mrs. Kane was of the weak stuff to be killed by shock, or even by grief, but the task of breaking the news of Silas' death to her was not one to which she looked forward. After a moment's reflection she decided to postpone it until Emily had had her breakfast and with this end in view went off in search of Ogle.
It was a point of honour with Ogle always to disagree with Miss Allison, of whom she was profoundly jealous, but her adoration of Emily made her on this occasion acquiesce in Patricia's decision. In acquiescing, however, she took the opportunity to tell Patricia that she knew Emily far better than anyone else did and could assure the anxious that Emily would bear up under this shock as well as she had borne up under all the other shocks incident in a long life.
She was right. When Miss Allison, standing beside Emily's bed, said: "I have some very bad news for you, Mrs. Kane," Emily looked her over piercingly and rapped out: "Well, don't beat about the bush! What is it?"
Patricia told her. Emily made no outcry, shed no tear. Only her face seemed to set more rigidly, and her eyes to become fixed upon some object beyond Patricia's vision. Her thin hands, their fingers bent with gout, lay motionless upon the quilt; she did not speak for some moments, but at last she brought her gaze to bear upon Miss Allison's face and said harshly: "What are you waiting for? Is there anything else?"
"No, Mrs. Kane. Would you like me to go away?"
Emily smiled wryly. "I suppose you want to stroke my hand and tell me to have a good cry?"
"No, I don't," replied Patricia frankly. "It is my business to do exactly what you wish. Only you must tell me what that is, because I've never faced this situation before, and I don't know what to do."
"Good girl!" approved Emily. "I dare say you think I'm a heartless old woman, eh? When you reach my age you'll know that death doesn't mean so much as you think it does now. Go downstairs and make yourself useful." She paused, and for the first time Patricia saw a twinge of some emotion contract her features. "Clement," she said. "Yes. Clement."
Miss Allison nodded. "Of course. I'll ring him up immediately."
Emily looked at her with rather a curious expression in her face. "He'll come here," she said. "He and that wife of his."
"You need not see either of them, Mrs. Kane."
Emily was shaken with sudden anger: "You little fool, I shall have Clement here for the rest of my life!"
"I hadn't thought of that," admitted Patricia. "Still, if you can't bear the idea of living in the same house with him, you could always have a house of your own, couldn't you?"
Emily's eyes narrowed. "You think I'm going to be turned out of the house that has been mine for over sixty years, do you? Well, I'm not! When I leave it, it will be in my coffin, that I promise you!"
Miss Allison, from what she knew of Clement Kane, thought it extremely unlikely that he would make the least attempt to dislodge his great-aunt, but she wisely refrained from saying this and instead went away to inform him of the tragedy.
She found Timothy downstairs, awaiting her, Silas' death had shocked him into a silence which had lasted throughout breakfast, but he seemed now to be restored to his normal self, though he apparently thought it proper to speak in lowered tones. While Patricia talked to Clement Kane on the telephone he stood watching her with a portentous frown on his brow, and as she put down the receiver he said in a voice fraught with suspicion: "I say, Miss Allison, will there be an inquest?"
"I suppose so," replied Patricia.
"Ah!" said Timothy with deep meaning. "Well, do you know what I think?"
"Yes," said Patricia.
"What, then?" demanded Timothy, put out.
"You have a sort of instinct that Mr. Kane was murdered," said Patricia calmly.
Timothy was disconcerted and said rather lamely: "Well, I have. What's more, I bet I'm right. Don't you think I'm probably right? Honestly, Miss Allison, don't you?"
"No," said Patricia. "And if I were you, I wouldn't talk about it any more. It sounds silly."
This damping rejoinder offended Timothy so much that he walked away, informing a Jacobean chair that some people (unspecified) didn't seem to be able to see what was under their noses and would look pretty silly themselves when the truth was discovered.