The Starvel Hollow Tragedy · Chapter 9 (2/2)

“Never,” she answered promptly. “And even now when you suggest it I don’t see how it could have been. But, of course, it would explain a great deal. I confess I can hardly imagine Mr. Averill writing the note. He was a proud man and the request was not in accordance with my estimate of his character.”

“That is just what I wanted to get at,” French answered as he rose to take his leave.

What he had learned was extraordinarily satisfactory. It looked very much as though his theory about Roper was correct. The great snag in that theory had been Mrs. Palmer-Gore’s invitation, and now it was evident that Roper could have arranged for it to be given. Some remark of Mr. Averill’s had probably given the man Mrs. Palmer-Gore’s name, and by skilful questions he could have learned enough about her to enable him to construct his plot.

As French sat in the smoking room of his hotel, not far from the great west front of the minster, he suddenly saw a way by which he could establish the point. The letter Mrs. Palmer-Gore had received had stated that Ruth was longing to see the flower show. Was she? If she was, the letter might be genuine enough. If not, Averill could scarcely have written it, and if Averill had not written it no one but Roper could have done so.

It was with impatience at the slowness of the journey that French returned next morning to Thirsby to apply the final test. He was lucky enough to catch Ruth as she was going out and she took him into the drawing-room.

“I was talking to a friend of yours a little while ago, Miss Averill,” French said when they had exchanged a few remarks: “Mrs. Palmer-Gore, of York.”

“Oh yes?” Ruth answered, her face brightening up. “How is she? She was so kind to me, especially when the terrible news came. I can never forget her goodness.”

“I am sure of it. In the short time I was with her I thought she seemed most attractive. You went to York to see the flower show?”

Ruth smiled.

“That was the ostensible reason for her asking me. But, of course, show or no show, I should have been delighted to go.”

“I dare say; most people like to visit York. You hadn’t then been looking forward to the show?”

“I never even heard of it until Mrs. Palmer-Gore mentioned it in her letter. But naturally I was all the more pleased.”

“Naturally. You’re a skilful gardener, aren’t you, Miss Averill?”

She smiled again and shook her head.

“Oh, no! But I’m fond of it.”

French, in his turn, smiled his pleasant, kindly smile.

“Oh, come now, I’m sure you are not doing yourself justice. Mr. Averill thought a lot of your gardening, didn’t he?”

“My uncle? Oh, no. I don’t think he knew anything about it. You remember he was an invalid. He hadn’t been in the garden for years.”

“But do you mean that you never discussed gardening with him? I should have thought, for example, you would have talked to him of this York flower show.”

“But I thought I explained I didn’t know about that until Mrs. Palmer-Gore’s letter came, and after it came my uncle was too ill to speak about anything.”

Here was the proof French had hoped for!

With some difficulty keeping the satisfaction out of his voice, he continued his inquiries.

“Of course I remember you told me that. But I must get on to business. I’m sorry to have to trouble you again, Miss Averill, but there are one or two other questions I have thought of since our last meeting. Do you mind if I ask them now?”

“Of course not.”

French leaned forward and looked grave.

“I want to know what kind of terms Roper was on with his wife. You have seen them together a good deal. Can you tell me?”

Ruth’s face clouded.

“I hate to say anything when the two poor people are dead, but if I must tell the truth, I’m afraid they were not on good terms at all.”

“I can understand what you feel, but I assure you my questions are necessary. Now please tell me what exactly was the trouble between those two?”

“Well,” Ruth said slowly, and an expression almost of pain showed on her face, “they had, I think⁠—what is the phrase?⁠—incompatibility of temperament. Mrs. Roper had a very sharp tongue and she was always nagging at Roper. He used to answer her in a soft tone with the nastiest and most cutting remarks you ever heard. Oh, it was horrible! Roper really was not a nice man, though he was always kind enough to me.”

This was really all that French wanted, but he still persisted.

“Can you by any chance tell me⁠—I’m sorry for asking this question⁠—but can you tell me whether Roper was attached to any other woman? Or if you don’t know that, have you ever heard his wife mention another woman’s name in anger? Just try to think.”

“No, I never heard that.”

“Have you ever heard them quarrelling?”

“Once I did,” Ruth answered reluctantly. “It was dreadful! Roper said, ‘By ⸻,’ he used a terrible curse⁠—‘I’ll do you in some day if I swing for it!’ And then Mrs. Roper answered so mockingly and bitterly that I had to put my hands over my ears.”

“But she didn’t make any definite accusation?”

“No, but wasn’t it dreadful? The poor people to have felt like that to one another! It must have been a terrible existence for them.”

French agreed gravely as he thanked Ruth for her information, but inwardly he was chuckling with delight. He believed his theory was proved, and once it was established, his case was over. If the murderer lost his life in the fire Scotland Yard would no longer be interested in the affair and he, French, could go back to town with one more success added to the long list which already stood to his credit.

He returned to the Thirsdale Arms, and getting a fire lighted in his room, settled down to put on paper the data he had amassed.