“The Warden’s secretary-Miss Parsons-lives at the Warden’s Lodgings. The Bursar’s and the Treasurer’s secretaries both live out, so they can be crossed off.”
“Miss Parsons been here long?”
“Four years.”
Harriet noted down the names of Mrs. Goodwin and Miss Parsons.
“I think,” she said, “for Mrs. Goodwin’s own sake we’d better have a second check on those newspapers. Not that it really matters; because, if the poison-pen knows that the papers are being checked, she won’t use those papers. And I suppose she must know, because of the care taken to collect them.”
“Very likely. That’s just the trouble, isn’t it?”
“How about people’s private newspapers?”
“Well, naturally, we couldn’t check them. We’ve kept an eye on the waste-paper baskets as well as we can. Nothing is ever destroyed, you know. It’s all thriftily collected in sacks and sent to the paper-makers or whoever it is that gives pence for old papers. The worthy Padgett is instructed to examine the sacks-but it’s a terrific job. And then, of course, since there are fires in all the rooms, why should anybody leave evidence in the W.P.B.?”
“How about the gowns that were burnt in the quad? That must have taken some doing. Surely more than one person would have been needed to work that.”
“We don’t know whether that was part of the same business or not. About ten or a dozen people had left their gowns in various places-as they do, you know-before Sunday supper. Some were in the Queen Elizabeth portico and some at the foot of the Hall stairs and so on. People bring them over and dump them, ready for evening Chapel.” (Harriet nodded; Sunday evening Chapel was held at a quarter to eight and was compulsory; being also a kind of College Meeting for the giving-out of notices.) “Well, when the bell started, these people couldn’t find their gowns and so couldn’t go in to Chapel. Everybody thought it was just a rag. But in the middle of the night somebody saw a blaze in the quad, and it turned out to be a merry little bonfire of bombazine. The gowns had all been soaked in petrol and they went up beautifully.”
“Where did the petrol come from?”
“It was a can Mullins keeps for his motor-cycle. You remember Mullins-the Jowett Lodge porter. His machine lies in a little outhouse in the Lodge garden. He didn’t lock it up-why should he? He does now, but that doesn’t help. Anybody could have gone and fetched it. He and his wife heard nothing, having retired to their virtuous rest. The bonfire happened bang in the middle of the Old Quad and burnt a nasty patch in the turf. Lots of people rushed out when the flare went up, and whoever did it probably mingled with the crowd. The victims were four M.A. gowns, two scholars’ gowns and the rest commoners’ gowns; but I don’t suppose there was any selection; they just happened to be lying about.”
“I wonder where they were put in the interval between supper and the bonfire. Anybody carrying a whole bunch of gowns round College would be a bit conspicuous.”
“No; it was at the end of November, and it would be pretty dark. They could easily have been bundled into a lecture room to be left till called for. There wasn’t a proper organized search over College, you see. The poor victims who were left gownless thought somebody was having a joke; they were very angry, but not very efficient. Most of them rushed round to accuse their friends.”
“Yes; I don’t suppose we can get much out of that episode at this time of day. Well-I suppose I’d better go and wash-and-brush-up for Hall.”
Hall was an embarrassed meal at the High Table. The conversation was valiantly kept to matters of academic and world interest. The undergraduates babbled noisily and cheerfully; the shadow that rested upon the college did not seem to have affected their spirits. Harriet’s eye roamed over them.
“Is that Miss Cattermole at the table on the right? In a green frock, with a badly made-up face?”
“That’s the young lady,” replied the Dean. “How did you know?”
“I remember seeing her at Gaudy. Where is the all-conquering Miss Flaxman?”
“I don’t see her. She may not be dining in Hall. Lots of them prefer to boil an egg in their rooms, so as to avoid the bother of changing. Slack little beasts. And that’s Miss Hudson, in a red jumper, at the middle table. Black hair and horn rims.”
“She looks quite normal.”
“So far as I know, she is. So far as I know, we all are.”
“I suppose,” said Miss Pyke, who had overheard the last remark, “even murderers look much like other people. Miss Vane. Or do you hold any opinions about the theories put forward by Lombroso? I understand that they are now to a considerable extent exploded.”
Harriet was quite thankful to be allowed to discuss murderers.
After Hall, Harriet felt herself rather at a loose end. She felt she ought to be doing something or interviewing somebody; but it was hard to know where to begin. The Dean had announced that she would be busy with some lists, but would be open to receive visitors later on. Miss Burrows the Librarian was to be engaged in putting the final touches to the Library before the Chancellor’s visit; she had been carting and arranging books the greater part of the day and had roped in a small band of students to assist her with the shelving of them. Various other dons mentioned that they had work to do; Harriet thought they seemed a little shy of one another’s company.
Catching hold of the Bursar, Harriet asked whether it was possible to get hold of a plan of the College and a list of the various rooms and their occupants. Miss Stevens offered to supply the list and said she thought there was a plan in the Treasurer’s office. She took Harriet across into the New Quad to get these things.
“I hope,” said the Bursar, ‘You will not pay too much attention to that unfortunate remark of Miss Burrows’ about the scouts. Nothing would please me more, personally, than to transfer all the maids to the Scouts’ Wing out of reach of suspicion, if that were practicable; but there is no room for them there. Certainly I do not mind giving you the names of those who sleep in College, and I agree, certainly, that precautions should be taken. But to my mind, the episode of Miss Lydgate’s proofs definitely rules out the scouts. Very few of them would be likely to know or care anything about proof sheets; nor would the idea of mutilating manuscripts be likely to come into their heads. Vulgar letters-yes, possibly. But damaging those proofs was an educated person’s crime. Don’t you think so?”
“I’d better not say what I think,” said Harriet.
“No; quite right. But I can say what I think. I wouldn’t say it to anybody but you. Still, I do not like this haste to make scapegoats of the scouts.”
“The thing that seems so extraordinary,” said Harriet, “is that Miss Lydgate, of all people, should have been chosen as a victim. How could anybody-particularly one of her own colleagues-have any grudge against her? Doesn’t it look rather as though the culprit knew nothing about the value of the proofs, and was merely making a random gesture of defiance to the world in general?”
“That’s possible, certainly. I must say, Miss Vane, that your evidence today has made matters very complicated. I would rather suspect the scouts than the S.C.R., I admit; but when these hasty accusations are made by the last person known to have been in the same room with the manuscript I can only say that-well, that it appears to me injudicious.”
Harriet said nothing to this. The Bursar, apparently feeling that she had gone a little too far, added:
“I have no suspicions of anybody. All I say is, that statements ought not to be made without proof.”
Harriet agreed, and, after marking off the relevant names upon the Bursar’s list, went to find the Treasurer.