'Actually, I think I know what it was.'
I looked at him with respect.
'That's good work, Superintendent.'
'Well, you see, Mr. Burton, I know something that you don't. On the afternoon that Mrs. Symmington committed suicide both maids were supposed to be out. It was their day out. But actually Agnes came back to the house.'
'You know that?'
'Yes. Agnes has a boyfriend – young Rendell from the fish shop. Wednesday is early closing and he comes along to meet Agnes and they go for a walk, or to the pictures if it's wet. That Wednesday they had a row practically as soon as they met. Our letter writer had been active, suggesting that Agnes had other fish to fry, and young Fred Rendell was all worked up. They quarreled violently and Agnes bolted back home and said she wasn't coming out unless Fred said he was sorry.'
'Well?'
'Well, Mr. Burton, the kitchen faces the back of the house, but the pantry looks out where we are looking now. There's only one entrance gate. You come through it and either up to the front door, or else along the path at the side of the house to the back door.'
He paused.
'Now I'll tell you something: That letter that came to Mrs. Symmington that afternoon didn't come by post. It had a used stamp affixed to it, and the postmark faked quite convincingly in lamp black, so that it would seem to have been delivered by the postman with the afternoon letters. But actually it had not been through the post. You see what that means?'
'It means,' I said slowly, 'that it was left by hand, pushed through the letter box some time before the afternoon post was delivered, so that it should be among the other letters.'
'Exactly. The afternoon post comes around about a quarter to four. My theory is this: The girl was in the pantry looking through the window (it's masked by shrubs but you can see through them quite well) watching out for her young man to turn up and apologise.'
I said, 'And she saw whoever it was delivered that note?'
'That's my guess, Mr. Burton. I may be wrong, of course.'
'I don't think you are… It's simple and convincing – and it means that Agnes knew who the anonymous letter writer was.'
Chapter 5
'Yes.' Nash said. 'Agnes knew who wrote those letters.'
'But then why didn't she -?' I paused, frowning.
Nash said quickly, 'As I see it, the girl didn't realize what she had seen. Not at first. Somebody had left a letter at the house, yes – but that somebody was nobody she would dream of connecting with the anonymous letters. It was somebody, from that point of view, quite above suspicion.
'But the more she thought about it, the more uneasy she grew. Ought she, perhaps, to tell someone about it? In her perplexity she thinks of Miss Barton's Partridge who, I gather, is a somewhat dominant personality and whose judgement Agnes would accept unhesitatingly. She decides to ask Partridge what she ought to do.'
'Yes,' I said thoughtfully. 'It fits well enough. And somehow or other, Poison Pen found out. How did she find out, Superintendent?'
'You're not used to living in the country, Mr. Burton. It's a kind of miracle how things get around. First of all there's the telephone call. Who overheard it on your end?'
I reflected.
'I took the call originally. I called up to Partridge.'
'Mentioning the girl's name?'
'Yes – yes, I did.'
'Did anyone overhear you?'
'My sister or Miss Griffith might have done so.'
'Ah, Miss Griffith. What was she doing up there?'
I explained.
'Was she going back to the village?'
'She was going to Mr. Pye first.'
Superintendent Nash sighed. 'That's two ways it could have gone all over the place.'
I was incredulous. 'Do you mean that either Miss Griffith or Mr. Pye would bother to repeat a meaningless little bit of information like that?'
'Anything's news in a place like this. You'd be surprised. If the dressmaker's mother has got a bad corn everybody hears about it! And then there is this end. Miss Holland, Rose – they could have heard what Agnes said. And there's Fred Rendell. It may have got around through him that Agnes went back to the house that afternoon.'
I gave a slight shiver. I was looking out of the window. In front of me was a neat square of grass and a path and the low prim gate.
Someone had opened the gate, had walked very correctly and quietly up to the house, and had pushed a letter through the letter box. I saw, hazily, in my mind's eye, that vague woman's shape. The face was blank – but it must be a face that I knew…
Superintendent Nash was saying:
'All the same, this narrows things down. That's always the way we get 'em in the end. Steady, patient elimination. There aren't so very many people it could be now.'
'You mean -?'
'It knocks out any women clerks who were at their work all the afternoon. It knocks out the schoolmistress. She was teaching. And the district nurse. I know where she was yesterday. Not that I ever thought it was any of them, but now we're sure. You see, Mr. Burton, we've got two definite times now on which to concentrate – yesterday afternoon, and the week before. On the day of Mrs. Symmington's death from, say, a quarter past three (the earliest possible time at which Agnes could have been back in the house after her quarrel) and four o'clock when the post must have come (but I can get that fixed more accurately with the postman). And yesterday from ten minutes to three (when Miss Megan Hunter left the house) until half past three or more probably a quarter past three as Agnes hadn't begun to change.'
'What do you think happened yesterday?'
Nash made a grimace.
'What do I think? I think a certain lady walked up to the front door and rang the bell, quite calm and smiling, the afternoon caller… Maybe she asked for Miss Holland, or for Miss Megan, or perhaps she had brought a parcel. Anyway Agnes turns around to get a salver for cards, or to take the parcel in, and our ladylike caller bats her on the back of her unsuspecting head.'
'What with?'
Nash said, 'The ladies around here usually carry large sizes in handbags. No saying what mightn't be inside it.'
'And then stabs her through the back of the neck and bundles her into the cupboard? Wouldn't that be a hefty job for a woman?'
Superintendent Nash looked at me with rather a queer expression. 'The woman we're after isn't normal – not by a long way – and that type of mental instability goes with surprising strength. Agnes wasn't a big girl!' He paused and then asked, 'What made Miss Megan Hunter think of looking in that cupboard?'
'Sheer instinct,' I said.
Then I asked, 'Why drag her out of the way? What was the point?'
'The longer it was before the body was found, the more difficult it would be to fix the time of death accurately. If Miss Holland, for instance, fell over the body as soon as she came in, a doctor might be able to fix it
