Harriet saw nothing of all this. She spent the whole interval, after the decorators had done their part, in the Library, watching the movements of everyone who came in or out, and seeing that they left nothing undesirable behind them. Apparently, however, the College Poltergeist had shot its bolt. A cold lunch was brought up to the self-appointed invigilator. A napkin covered it; but nothing lurked beneath its folds beyond a plate of ham sandwiches and other such harmless matter. Harriet recognized the scout.
“It’s Annie, isn’t it? Are you on the kitchen staff now?”
“No, madam. I wait upon the Hall and Senior Common Room.”
“How are your little girls getting on? I think Miss Lydgate said you had two little girls?”
“Yes, madam. How kind of you to ask.” Annie’s face beamed with pleasure. “They’re splendid. Oxford suits them, after living in a manufacturing town, where we were before. Are you fond of children, madam?”
“Oh, yes,” said Harriet. Actually, she did not care much about children-but one can scarcely say so, bluntly, to those possessed of these blessings. “You ought to be married and have some of your own, madam. There! I oughtn’t to have said that-it’s not my place. But it seems to me a dreadful thing to see all these unmarried ladies living together. It isn’t natural, is it?”
“Well, Annie, it’s all according to taste. And one has to wait for the right person to come along.”
“That’s very true, madam.” Harriet suddenly recollected that Annie’s husband had been queer, or committed suicide, or something unfortunate, and wondered whether her commonplace had been a tactful one. But Annie seemed quite pleased with it. She smiled again; she had large, light blue eyes, and Harriet thought she must have been a good-looking woman before she got so thin and worried-looking. “I’m sure I hope he’ll come along for you-or perhaps you are engaged to be married?”
Harriet frowned. She had no particular liking for the question, and did not want to discuss her private affairs with the college servants. But there seemed to be no impertinent intention behind the inquiry, so she answered Pleasantly, “Not just yet; but you never know. How do you like the new Library?”
“It’s a very handsome room, isn’t it madam? But it seems a great shame to keep up this big place just for women to study books in. I can’t see what girls want with books. Books won’t teach them to be good wives.”
“What dreadful opinions!” said Harriet. “Whatever made you take a job in a women’s college, Annie?”
The scout’s face clouded. “Well, madam, I’ve had my misfortunes. I was glad to take what I could get.”
“Yes, of course; I was only joking. Do you like the work?”
“It’s quite all right. But some of these clever ladies are a bit queer, don’t you think, madam? Funny, I mean. No heart in them.”
Harriet remembered that there had been misunderstandings with Miss Hillyard.
“Oh, no,” she said briskly. “Of course they are very busy people, and haven’t much time for outside interests. But they are all very kind.”
“Yes, madam; I’m sure they mean to be. But I always think of what it says in the Bible, about ‘much learning hath made thee mad.’ It isn’t a right thing.”
Harriet looked up sharply and caught an odd look in the scout’s eyes. “What do you mean by that, Annie?”
“Nothing at all, madam. Only funny things go on sometimes, but of course, being a visitor, you wouldn’t know, and it’s not my place to mention them-being only a servant, nowadays.”
“I certainly,” said Harriet, rather alarmed, “wouldn’t mention anything of the kind you suggest to outside people or visitors. If you have any complaint to make, you should speak to the Bursar, or the Warden.”
“I haven’t any complaint, madam. But you may have heard about rude words being written up on the walls, and about the things that were burnt in the Quad-why, there was a bit in the papers about that. Well, you’ll find, madam they all happened since a certain person came into the college.”
“What person?” said Harriet sternly.
“One of these learned ladies, madam. Well, perhaps I’d better not say anything more about that. You write detective books, don’t you, madam? Well you’ll find something in that lady’s past, you may be sure of it. At least that’s what a good many people are saying. And it isn’t a nice thing for anybody to be in the same place with a woman like that.”
“I feel quite sure you must be mistaken, Annie; I should be very careful how you spread about a tale of that kind. You’d better run along back to the Hall, now; I expect they’ll be needing you.”
So that was what the servants were saying. Miss de Vine, of course; she was the “learned lady” whose arrival had coincided with the beginning of the disturbances-coincided more exactly than Annie could know, unless she too had seen that drawing in the quad at the Gaudy. A curious woman, Miss de Vine, and undoubtedly with a varied experience behind those disconcerting eyes. But Harriet was inclined to like her, and she certainly did not look mad in the way that the “Poison-Pen” was mad; though it would not be surprising to learn that she had a streak of fanaticism somewhere. What, by the way, had she been doing the previous night? She had rooms at the moment in Queen Elizabeth; there was probably little likelihood of proving an alibi for her now. Miss de Vine-well! she would have to be put on the same footing as everybody else.
The opening of the Library took place without a hitch. The Chancellor unlocked the main door with the plated key, unaware that the same key had opened it, under curious circumstances, the night before. Harriet watched, carefully the faces of the assembled dons and scouts; none of them showed any sign of surprise, anger or disappointment at the decorous appearance of the Library. Miss Hudson was present looking cheerfully unconcerned; Miss Cattermole, too, was there. She looked as though she had been crying; and Harriet noticed that she stood in a corner by herself and talked to nobody until, at the conclusion of the ceremony, a dark girl in spectacles made her way through the crowd to her and they walked away together.
Later in the day, Harriet went to the Warden to make her promised report. She pointed out the difficulty of dealing with an outbreak like that of the previous night single-handed. A careful patrol of the quads and passages by a number of helpers would probably have resulted in the capture of the culprit; and the whole of the suspects could in any case have been checked up at an early moment. She strongly advised enlisting some women from Miss Climpson’s Agency, the nature of which she explained.
“I see the point,” replied the Warden; “but I find that at least two members of the Senior Common Room feel very strong objections to that course of action.”
“I know,” said Harriet. “Miss Allison and Miss Barton. Why?”
“I think, too,” pursued the Warden, without answering this question, “that the matter presents certain difficulties. What would the students think of these strangers prowling about the college at night? They will wonder why police duties cannot be undertaken by ourselves, and we can hardly inform them that we ourselves are particularly under suspicion. And to perform such duties as you suggest, properly, quite a large number would be required-if all the strategic points are to be held. Then these persons would be quite ignorant of the conditions of college life, and might easily make unfortunate mistakes by following and questioning the wrong people. I do not see how we could avoid a very unpleasant scandal and some complaints.”
“I see all that. Warden. But all the same, that is the quickest solution.”
The Warden bent her head over a handsome piece of tapestry-work on which she was engaged. “I cannot feel it to be very desirable. I know you will say that the whole situation is undesirable. I quite agree with you.” She looked up. “I suppose, Miss Vane, you could not yourself spare the time to assist us?”