The Watersplash

Inside the lych gate something stirred. Someone went by. Standing rigidly controlled and still, Frank Abbott was aware that he was alone again. He had hardly dared to draw his natural breath, had hardly even dared to think, lest that someone should discern an alien presence. Now he leaned forward and saw the flicker of light blotted out by a moving shape. With every sense alert, he followed. Cold, damp ground under foot, the wet of it striking through a pair of socks that would probably never be quite the same again-light moving air that went by with a scatter of rain-the lulling flow of the stream -and two shadows ahead of him. There was one of them now, right down at the edge of the splash where the water took the flicker of the torch. The small, weak ray went out across the stream and swung back again, to go sliding to and fro upon wet grass and oozing clay. The second shadow was very close, and Frank no more than a yard behind. It had all been without any sound except the soft going of wind and water. But now there was a human sound, the sound of a voice kept low.

“A

The figure at the edge of the splash did not turn. The torch shook in her hand, the ray went wide. She said in a whispering way,

“What-is-it?”

“You ought not to be down here by the splash. Why do you come?”

This time Frank caught only the two words,

“William-drowned-”

Then the deep voice again,

“What do you know-about his being drowned? What did you see? What have you told?”

There was no audible answer this time, only a slow shaking of the head with its enveloping scarf.

“What did you see?”

The whisper came again.

“I-saw-”

There was movement then, sudden and violent, an upward swing and a sudden flailing blow. The figure at the edge of the splash fell forward. The torch hit the water and went out. Frank battled in the dark with a hard bony strength which was beyond anything he had expected. He shouted, and the plain-clothes man came ru

Frank Abbott emerged from the mêlée to find himself calling Miss Silver’s name.

“Where are you? Are you all right? For God’s sake!”

He groped where he had seen her fall, and heard a familiar and most welcome cough.

“I am rather wet, and I shall be glad of your hand. This clay is extremely slippery.”

He helped her to her feet, and stood there with his arm round her, breathing hard.

“I’ll never forgive myself!”

The water dripped from her skirts, but her voice was perfectly composed.

“My dear Frank, there is no need to distress yourself. I heard her arm go up, and I thought it best to drop forward into the water. I think you will find that the weapon was one of those heavy torches, in which case it should be somewhere about here, unless it has rolled. We need some light. Ah-I see Inspector Bury has a torch!”

He said,

“So have I, but I was in such a damned flap that I forgot it.”

He had never supposed that he would swear in front of Miss Silver and go unreproved, yet it happened. Her “My dear Frank!” breathed nothing but affection.

They moved on together to where Inspector Bury’s torch had been turned upon the dreadful draggled figure of Mildred Blake.

CHAPTER XLIII

No, my dear Frank, I am none the worse, I am thankful to say. Such a mild night, and the hot water supply at the Vicarage quite unusually good. I was able to have a most refreshing bath, and Mrs. Ball insisted upon my remaining in bed for breakfast this morning, though I assured her that it was quite u

He was looking at her with an expression which very few people had ever seen upon his face-moved, affectionate, concerned.

“I shan’t easily forgive myself.”

She returned his look with a very serious one.

“What else was there to do? Poor A

“You think she may have seen or heard something suspicious on the night that Jackson was drowned?”

“I do not think so. I had to consider it as a possible motive for her removal by A

He smiled.

“I’ve always said that you see right through us all and out at the other side. It is a solemn thought, and I give you fair warning that when I really have something to hide I shall start avoiding you like the plague. Well, you saw through A

She coughed in a gently hesitating ma

“It was when I was considering the possibility that Mr. Arnold Random was the murder. It was he who stood to lose if his brother had made a later will. It was he who was threatened with blackmail both by William Jackson and, indirectly, by Clarice Dean. It was he who more than anyone else could be said to have an interest in their deaths. And all that stood between him and the gravest suspicion was the alibi given him by Miss Mildred Blake. If she was speaking the truth, he could not have murdered William Jackson. If she was lying in order to provide him with an alibi, what was her motive for doing so? Local gossip had informed me that Mr. Arnold Random had at one time paid her some attentions which were expected to result in marriage. If I had had no personal acquaintance with Miss Blake I might have entertained the idea that she was actuated by this memory of a past romance, but after meeting her on a number of occasions I found myself quite unable to believe in any such thing. All the local talk-even Mrs. Ball’s not uncharitable comments-served to confirm my impression of her as a hard, self-centred, grasping person whose ruling passion was the love of money. There was even some faint indication of other possibilities. Mrs. Ball and the Vicar were in some concern over the accounts of the Boys’ Club. The late incumbent was a very old man. He and Miss Mildred ran all the funds. Ruth Ball appeared to be more distressed about the matter than would be warranted if it were merely the case of a nonogenarian’s lapse of memory.”