'And you call her a friend?'
I had to smile. 'Yes, I suppose I do. Not that she expected me to do anything with it— she made it quite clear that she did not mind if I sat on it. It's waited almost nineteen hundred years, after all. What's another fifty? She just wanted me to appreciate it and to keep it safe. That in and of itself seems enough of a problem, at the moment,' I added to myself, but he picked it up immediately.
'So you think that your manuscript might be at the bottom of it after all? That someone is trying to get his hands on it?'
'I can easily envisage any number of people who might want to possess such a thing, but at this point, Chief Inspector Lestrade, I am keeping a very open mind,' I said firmly. That kept him silent until we entered the village and asked directions of a woman pushing a pram.
NINE
The house to which we were eventually directed was a small two-storey brick building with a front garden composed of weeds and unpruned roses, a broken front step, and sagging lace curtains at the windows. The bell seemed not to work, but loud knocks brought a shuffling in the hallway and an eye under the door chain.
'Who is that?' The accents were those of Miss Ruskin, but the voice was weak and sounded old.
'Pardon me, I'm looking for Miss Erica Ruskin.'
'There's been no Miss Erica Ruskin for nearly forty years, young man. What do you want?'
Lestrade was not daunted.
'I am Chief Inspector Lestrade from Scotland Yard. I'd like to speak with the sister of Miss Dorothy Ruskin, and I was given this address.'
Silence fell. The faded blue eye travelled over us, and then the gap narrowed, the chain was slipped, and the door opened.
Dorothy Ruskin had been short, but she would have towered above her sister in both stature and personality. This woman barely cleared five feet, and though she had her sister's erect spine, there was none of her authority and purpose. For an instant, the ghost of Dorothy Ruskin looked at me from the eyelids and nose before me; then it faded and there was only a stranger.
'I am Mrs Erica Rogers, Chief Inspector. Dorothy's sister. Is she in some sort of trouble?'
'May we come in, Mrs Rogers? This is Miss Russell, my assistant.' We had agreed that I would take notes and use my eyes, as his 'assistant.'
'Come in?' She examined us suspiciously head to toe, and I smothered an impulse to check my buttons and pat my hairpins. However, we apparently met her standards and were admitted. 'I suppose you can come in. In there, the first door.'
The door opened into a small, crowded sitting room, thick with gewgaws and whatnots, sepia photographs, reproductions of popular trite Victorian paintings, porcelain figurines, and souvenirs of Brighton and Blackpool. The air was musty and stale, dim despite the window, and the once good Chinese carpet was worn thin and colourless. There was little dust, and the windows were clean, and it could not have been further from the dirty, mad, and infinitely appealing dwelling inhabited by the sister in distant Palestine.
Mrs Rogers followed us into the room and retrieved a knitting project from one of the pair of heavy leather armchairs, their arms and headrests draped incongruously with delicate lace antimacassers, that occupied either side of the tiny fireplace. She waved Lestrade into the other chair, then looked somewhat helplessly about, as if expecting a third armchair to materialise. I solved her dilemma by moving to a hard wooden stool that sat next to the window, out of her line of sight if she faced Lestrade, and took out my notebook with an air of efficiency. I uncapped my pen and prepared to take my unintelligible notes, the perfect silent partner. Mrs Rogers sank into her chair and looked expectant. Lestrade cleared his throat.
'Mrs Rogers,' he began, 'I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news for you concerning your sister. She was killed in London on Wednesday night, by an automobile. She had no identification on her, and it took us some time to determine her identity and to find your address.'
To my astonishment, she did not react at all, other than a slight tensing of the fingers on her knitting. As if reminded of what her hands held, she withdrew a needle from the ball, pulled loose some yarn, and began absently to knit.
'Thank you for telling me, Chief Inspector,' she said calmly.
Lestrade shot a startled glance at me and leant forward slightly in his chair.
'Mrs Rogers, did you hear me?'
'Yes, of course I heard you. I may be falling prey to the infirmities of age, but hardness of hearing is not one of them. You said that my sister was hit by an automobile on Wednesday night. I knew she was dead. I did not know how she died. Thank you for telling me.' She looked up then from her work, though the rhythm of the needles remained unchanged. 'Will you arrange to have the body sent here for the funeral? I'm afraid I don't know how that should be done.'
'Mrs Rogers—' Lestrade stopped. I reflected that it was probably quite rare for his face to be given the opportunity to form an expression of complete incredulity, if only for an instant. She faced him calmly. 'Mrs Rogers, how did you know your sister was dead?'
'I knew. I woke up shortly after midnight, and I knew she was dead. I felt her go.'
After a long moment, Lestrade snapped his mouth shut and sat back into his chair. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. 'Mrs Rogers, there is some indication that your sister's death may not have been an accident.'
I had my head bent over the notebook, but I watched her hands and the muscles of her face as my pen scratched over the paper. Her fingers faltered for a moment, then resumed their odd, disembodied movements. She said nothing.
'There are certain indications that someone wanted something that was in your sister's possession, Mrs Rogers. Have you any idea what that might have been?'
The old lips twitched and again Dorothy Ruskin passed through the face.
'No, Chief Inspector, I have no idea. I have had little contact with my sister for many years now, and I would have no way of knowing what of her possessions would interest another person.'
'I understand that she was here several days ago. Did she say anything to you that might have referred to it, comments about something of value, for example, or a trip to a bank vault?'
'No.'
'Did she receive any letters or visitors while she was here?'
'There was a letter from London, a Colonel something. She was planning to meet with him in order to discuss her proposals for an archaeological project, after returning from a meeting with Mr and Mrs Sherlock Holmes in Sussex. Dorothy was—' She stopped suddenly and drew a sharp breath, then whirled to look at me, accusation and— was it fear?— on her old face. 'Russell? That's the name that was on a telegram she had.'
'Yes, Mrs Rogers,' I said, watching her politely. 'I am assisting Chief Inspector Lestrade. He also thought my presence might be of use to you, that you perhaps would like to know how your sister had spent her last day.'
Her eyes held mine for a long moment, then turned to Lestrade, and finally went back to her hands, which then resumed their work. Her mouth twitched angrily.
'Spying on me, that's what you were doing. Sneaking in here pretending to be sympathetic and asking questions.'
'Why should we want to spy on you?' I asked innocently. Her fingers paused, and she went on as if I had not spoken.
'I don't know what Dorothy was doing there in the Holy Land. She never told me, just went off and left me to care for Mama, never a thought for helping out. I am sorry she's dead, but I'm not surprised, and I can't say I'll miss her all that much.' She came to the end of the row, jabbed her needle into the ball of yarn, and pushed herself up from the chair. 'Now, if it's all the same to you, I have to be checking up on my mother and getting her something to eat. Thank you for coming. I'm not on the telephone, but you know where to reach me when you want to send the body here.'
The body.
'Mrs Rogers, I'm sorry, but I must ask you a few questions.' She stayed on her feet, so Lestrade was forced reluctantly to stand, as well. I remained where I was. 'About the two men who came here on the Wednesday.
