The Girl In The Cellar by Patricia Wentworth Read Free Book Online Page B

had slipped on the kerb just opposite their house and contracted so badly bruised an ankle that for three days there had been doubts as to whether it had not been broken. This was now happily a thing of the past. The Morrison affair was practically done with, and there was nothing to prevent Miss Silver from giving her full attention to a new appeal for her help.
    She had just finished a letter in which she had poured out her thankfulness over the happy outcome of Josephine’s accident, when the telephone bell rang at her elbow. She picked it up, said ‘Miss Silver speaking,’ and heard a voice in reply.
    ‘Miss Silver, can you see me now? It’s rather important.’
    ‘Who is it?’
    ‘I’m sorry—I ought to have begun with that. I’m Jim Fancourt. We met last year. I know Frank Abbott.’
    ‘Of course—I remember you very well. Are you in town?’
    ‘Yes. I wondered if I could come and see you now.’
    ‘Yes, do.’
    As she hung up she remembered Anne Fancourt and wondered.
    When twenty minutes later the bell rang, she had reviewed her interview with Anne, and whilst she abstained from linking her with Jim Fancourt who was Frank Abbott’s friend, she was nevertheless prepared for any eventuality.
    Jim Fancourt was ushered in upon a peaceful scene. The peacock-blue curtains were drawn across the windows. There was a pleasant little fire upon the hearth. Miss Silver had risen to greet him from a comfortable fireside chair. She wore a dark blue dress, and without her hat displayed a quantity of brown hair lightly tinged with grey and arranged after a fashion which reminded him vaguely of the family album which his grandfather had had lying on the big round table in the drawing-room.
    Miss Silver shook hands with him, pointed him to another fireside chair, and sat down. She was knitting what appeared to be a shawl in a pale shade of pink.
    He sat down, leaned forward, and said directly, ‘Miss Silver, do you mind if I ask you some questions? I know from Frank Abbott that you are absolutely to be relied upon.’
    Miss Silver looked up at him. She said, ‘Yes, Mr Fancourt.’
    He said at once, ‘I’ve been out in the Middle East. Part of the time I was where I wasn’t supposed to be. There was another man there called Borrowdale. I went there to meet him. He had his daughter with him. Borrowdale met with an accident—no proof as to whether it really was an accident or not—a loose stone on a hillside—’ He broke off and shrugged Borrowdale away. ‘Well, there you have it. He lived for twenty-four hours, and the one thing he wanted was to get his daughter away. She was there with him, and I think from what he said that her mother was Russian and he wasn’t too sure that the marriage would hold water when it came to a passport. He asked me to get her away, and I said I would do what I could. Well, he died. Then an American plane came down. I said the girl was my wife, and asked them to take her along and keep quiet about it. Well, they did. Meanwhile I’d finished my job, and I got over the border and took a plane home. I’d given the girl a letter to my relations at Haleycott. I have just come from there now. I expect you know why I wanted to see you.’
    Miss Silver had been knitting as he spoke. Now, without stopping, she said, ‘Yes, Mr Fancourt?’ in the tone which invites a continuance.
    He made a quick gesture with his hands.
    ‘Well, I’ve come here to ask you for every detail of your meeting with Anne.’
    Miss Silver took her time. She knitted a whole row before she answered him. Then she said, ‘You are asking me about my meeting with Anne Fancourt?’
    He shook his head.
    ‘She’s not Anne Fancourt—I know that. Since you’ve talked to her, you must know that she doesn’t say that she is Anne Fancourt, she only says she is Anne. I’d like to know what else she said. ’
    Miss Silver was again silent for a moment. When she did speak it was with gravity and deliberation. She stopped