“I don’t know,” said Harriet, confused. “I asked kindly after the children and spoke to Beatie-good heavens, yes, Beatie!-when I met them. And I remember once agreeing politely with Annie that marriage might be a good thing if one could find the right person.”
“That was politic if unprincipled. And how about the attentive Mr. Jones of Jesus? If you will bring young men into the College at night and hide them in the Chapel-”
“Good gracious!” exclaimed Miss Pyke.
“-you must be expected to be thought a womanly woman. However; that is of no great importance. I fear the illusion was destroyed when you publicly informed me that personal attachments must come second to public duties.”
“But,” said Miss Edwards, impatiently, “what happened to Arthur Robinson?”
“He was married to a woman called Charlotte Ann Clarke, who had been his landlady’s daughter. His first child, born eight years ago, was called Beatrice. After the trouble at York, he changed his name to Wilson and took a post as junior master in a small preparatory school, where they didn’t mind taking a man who had been deprived of his M.A., so long as he was cheap. His second daughter, born shortly afterwards, was named Carola. I’m afraid the Wilsons didn’t find life too easy. He lost his first job-drink was the reason, I’m afraid-took another-got into trouble again and three years ago blew his brains out. There were some photographs in the local paper. Here they are, you see. A fair, handsome man of about thirty-eight-irresolute, attractive, something of my nephew’s type. And here is the photograph of the widow.”
“You are right,” said the Warden. “That is Annie Wilson.”
“Yes. If you read the report of the inquest, you will see that he left a letter, saying that he had been hounded to death-rather a rambling letter, containing a Latin quotation, which the coroner obligingly translated.”
“Good gracious!” said Miss Pyke. “Tristius haud illis monstrum-?”
“Ita. A man wrote that after all, you see; so Miss Hillyard was so far right. Annie Wilson, being obliged to do something to support her children and herself, went into service.”
“I had very good references with her,” said the Bursar.
“No doubt; why not? She must somehow have kept track of Miss de Vine’s movements; and when the appointment was announced last Christmas, she applied for a job here. She probably knew that, as an unfortunate widow with two small children, she would receive kindly consideration-”
“What did I tell you?” cried Miss Hillyard. “I always said that this ridiculous sentimentality about married women would be the ruin of all discipline in this College. Their minds are not, and cannot be, on their work.”
“Oh, dear!” said Miss Lydgate. “Poor soul brooding over that grievance in this really unbalanced way! If only we had known, we could surely have done something to make her see the thing in a more rational light. Did it never occur to you, Miss de Vine, to inquire what happened to this unhappy man Robinson?”
“I am afraid it did not.”
“Why should you?” demanded Miss Hillyard.
The noise in the coal-cellar had ceased within the last few minutes. As though the silence had roused a train of association in her mind. Miss Chilperic turned to Peter and said, hesitatingly:
“If poor Annie really did all these dreadful things, how did she get shut up in the coal-hole?”
“Ah!” said Peter. “That coal-hole very nearly shook my faith in my theory; especially as I didn’t get the report from my research staff till yesterday. But when you come to think of it, what else could she do? She laid a plot to attack Miss de Vine on her return from Town-the scouts probably knew which train she was coming by.”
“Nellie knew,” said Harriet.
“Then she could have told Annie. By an extraordinary piece of good fortune, the attack was delivered-not against Miss de Vine, who would have been taken unawares and whose heart is not strong, but against a younger and stronger woman, who was, up to the certain point, prepared to meet it. Even so, it was serious enough, and might easily have proved fatal. I find it difficult to forgive myself for not having spoken earlier-with or without proof-and put the suspect under observation.”
“Oh, nonsense!” said Harriet, quickly. “If you had, she might have chucked the whole thing for the rest of the term, and we should still not know anything definite. I wasn’t much hurt.”
“No. But it might not have been you. I knew you were ready to take the risk; but I had no right to expose Miss de Vine.”
“It seems to me,” said Miss de Vine, “that the risk was rightly and properly mine.”
“The worst responsibility rests on me,” said the Warden. “I should have telephoned the warning to you before you left Town.”
“Whosever fault it was,” said Peter, “it was Miss Vane who was attacked. Instead of a nice, quiet throttling, there was a nasty fall and a lot of blood, some of which, no doubt, got on to the assailant’s hands and dress. She was in an awkward position. She had got the wrong person, she was bloodstained and dishevelled, and Miss de Vine or somebody else might arrive at any moment. Even if she ran quickly back to her own room, she might be seen-her uniform was stained-and when the body was found (alive or dead) she would be a marked woman. Her only possible chance was to stage an attack on herself. She went out through the back of the Loggia, threw herself into the coal-cellar, locked the door on herself and proceeded to cover up Miss Vane’s bloodstains with her own. By the way, Miss Vane, if you remembered anything of your lesson, you must have marked her wrists for her.”
“I’ll swear I did,” said Harriet.
“But any amount of bruising may be caused by trying to scramble through a ventilator. Well. The evidence, you see, is still circumstantial-even though my nephew is prepared to identify the woman he saw crossing Magdalen Bridge on Wednesday with the woman he met in the garden. One can catch a Headington bus from the other side of Magdalen Bridge. Meanwhile, you heard this fellow in the cellarage? If I am not mistaken, somebody is arriving with something like direct proof.”
A heavy step in the passage was followed by a knock on the door; and Padgett followed the knock almost before he was told to come in. His clothes bore traces of coal-dust, though some hasty washing had evidently been done to his hands and face.
“Excuse me, madam Warden, miss,” said Padgett. “Here you are, Major. Right down at the bottom of the ’eap. ’Ad to shift the whole lot, I had.” He laid a large key on the table.
“Have you tried it in the cellar-door?”
“Yes, sir. But there wasn’t no need. ’Ere’s my label on it. ‘Coal-cellar’ see?”
“Easy to lock yourself in and hide the key. Thank you, Padgett.”
“One moment, Padgett,” said the Warden. “I want to see Annie Wilson. Will you please find her and bring her here.”
“Better not,” said Wimsey, in a low tone.
“I certainly shall,” said the Warden, sharply. “You have made a public accusation against this unfortunate woman and it is only right that she should be given an opportunity to answer it. Bring her here at once, Padgett.” Peter’s hands made a last eloquent gesture of resignation as Padgett went out.
“I think it is very necessary,” said the Bursar, “that this matter should be cleared up completely and at once.”
“Do you realty think it wise, Warden?” asked the Dean.
“Nobody shall be accused in this College,” said the Warden “without a hearing. Your arguments, Lord Peter, appear to be most convincing; but the evidence may bear some other interpretation. Annie Wilson is, no doubt, Charlotte Ann Robinson; but it does not follow that she is the author of the disturbances. I admit that appearances are against her, but there may be falsification or coincidence. The key, for example, may have been put into the coal-cellar at any time within the last three days.”