“Yes, I see. Well, Mr. Pomfret I am not anxious to get either you or Miss Cattermole into a row-”

“I knew you were a sport!” cried Mr. Pomfret.

(“Don’t shout)-but this sort of thing cannot go on. There must be no more late parties and no more climbing over walls. You understand. Not with anybody. It’s not fair. If I go to the Dean with this story, nothing much will happen to you, but Miss Cattermole will be lucky if she’s not sent down. For God’s sake, stop being an ass. There are much better ways of enjoying Oxford than fooling round at midnight with the women students.”

“I know there are. I think it’s all rather rot, really.”

“Then why do it?”

“I don’t know. Why does one do idiotic things?”

“Why?” said Harriet. They were passing the end of the Chapel, and Harriet stood still to give emphasis to what she was saying. “I’ll tell you why, Mr. Pomfret. Because you haven’t the guts to say No when somebody asks you to be a sport. That tom-fool word has got more people in trouble than all the rest of the dictionary put together. If it’s sporting to encourage girls to break rules and drink more than they can carry and get themselves into a mess on your account, then I’d stop being a sport and try being a gentleman.”

“Oh, I say,” said Mr. Pomfret, hurt.

“I mean it,” said Harriet.

“Well, I see your point,” said Mr. Pomfret, shifting his feet uneasily. “I’ll do my best about it. You’ve been dashed spor-I mean you’ve behaved like a perfect gentleman about all this-” he grinned-“and I’ll try to-good Lord! here’s somebody coming.”

A quick patter of slippered feet along the passage between the Hall and Queen Elizabeth was approaching rapidly.

On an impulse, Harriet stepped back and pushed open the Chapel door.

“Get in,” she said.

Mr. Pomfret slipped hastily in behind her. Harriet shut the door on him and stood quietly in front of it. The footsteps came nearer, came opposite the porch and stopped suddenly. The night-walker uttered a little squeak.

“Ooh!”

“What is it?” said Harriet.

“Oh miss it’s you! You gave me such a start. Did you see anything?”

“See what? Who is it, by the way?”

“Emily, miss-I sleep in the New Quad, miss, and I woke up, and I made sure I heard a man’s voice in the quadrangle, and I looked out and there he was miss, as plain as plain, coming this way with one of the young ladies. So I slipped on my slippers, miss…”

“Damn!” said Harriet to herself. Better tell part of the truth, though.

“It’s all right, Emily. It was a friend of mine. He came in with me and wanted very much to see the New Quad by moonlight. So we just walked across and back again.”

(A poor excuse, but probably less suspicious than a flat denial.)

“Oh, I see, miss. I beg your pardon. But I get that nervous, with one thing and another. And it’s unusual, if you’ll excuse me saying so, miss…”

“Yes, very,” said Harriet, strolling gently away in the direction of the New Quad, so that the scout was bound to follow her. “It was stupid of me not to think that it might disturb people. I’ll mention it to the Dean in the morning. You did quite right to come down.”

“Well, miss, of course I didn’t know who it was. And the Dean is so particular. And with all these queer things happening…”

“Yes, absolutely. Of course. I’m really very sorry to have been so thoughtless. The gentleman has gone now, so you won’t get woken up again.”

Emily seemed doubtful. She was one of those people who never feel they have said a thing till they have said it three times over. She paused at the foot of her staircase to say everything again. Harriet listened impatiently, thinking of Mr. Pomfret, fuming in the Chapel. At last she got rid of the scout and turned back.

Complicated, thought Harriet; silly situation, like a farce. Emily thinks she’s caught a student: I think I’ve caught a poltergeist. We catch each other. Young Pomfret parked in the Chapel. He thinks I’m kindly shielding him and Cattermole. Having carefully hidden Pomfret, I have to admit he was there. But if Emily had been the Poltergeist-and perhaps she is-then I couldn’t have had Pomfret helping to chase her. This kind of sleuthing is very confusion-making.

She pushed open the Chapel door. The porch was empty.

“Damn!” said Harriet, irreverently. “The idiot’s gone. Perhaps he’s gone inside, though.”

She looked in through the inner door and was relieved to see a dark figure faintly outlined against the pale oak of the stalls. Then, with a sudden, violent shock, she became aware of a second dark figure, poised strangely, it seemed, in midair.

“Hullo!” said Harriet. In the thin light of the South windows she saw the flash of a white shirt-front as Mr. Pomfret turned. “It’s only me. What’s that?”

She took a torch from her handbag and recklessly switched it on. The beam snowed a dismal shape dangling from the canopy above the stalls. It was winging a little to and fro and turning slowly as it swung. Harriet darted forward.

“Morbid kind of imagination these girls have got, haven’t they?” said Mr. Pomfret.

Harriet contemplated the M.A. cap and gown, arranged over a dress and bolster hitched by a thin cord to one of the terminals with which the architect had decorated the canopies.

“Bread-knife stuck through the tummy, too,” pursued Mr. Pomfret. “Gave me quite a turn, as my aunt would say. Did you catch the young woman-?”

“No. Was she in here?”

“Oh, definitely,” said Mr. Pomfret. “Thought I’d retreat a bit further, you know. So in I came. Then I saw that. So I came along to investigate and heard somebody scrambling out by the other door-over there.”

He pointed vaguely towards the north side of the building, where a door led into the vestry. Harriet hastened to look. The door was open, and the outer vestry door, though shut, had been unlocked from within. She peered out. All was quiet.

“Bother them and their rags,” said Harriet, returning. “No, I didn’t meet the lady. She must have got away while I was taking Emily back to the New Quad. Just my luck!” She muttered the last exclamation under her breath. It was really sickening to have had the Poltergeist under her hand like that, and to have been distracted by Emily. She went up to the dummy again, and saw that a paper was pinned to its middle by the bread-knife.

“Quotation from the classics,” said Mr. Pomfret, easily. “Looks as though somebody had a grouse against your dons.”

“Silly young fools!” said Harriet. “Very convincing bit of work, though, come to look at it. If we hadn’t found it first, it would have created quite a sensation when we all filed into prayers. A little investigation is indicated. Well, now, it’s time you went quietly home and were gated for the good of your soul.”

She led him down to the postern and let him out.

“By the way, Mr. Pomfret, I’d be obliged if you didn’t mention this rag to anybody. It’s not in the best of taste. One good turn deserves another.”

“Just as you say,” replied Mr. Pomfret. “And, look here-may I push round tomorrow-at least, it’s this morning, isn’t it?-and make inquiries and all that? Only proper, you know. When shall you be in? Please!”

“No visitors in the morning,” said Harriet, promptly. “I don’t know what I shall be doing in the afternoon. But you can always ask at the Lodge.”

“Oh, I may? That’s top-hole. I’ll call-and if you’re not there I’ll leave a note. I mean, you must come round and have tea or a cocktail or something. And I do honestly promise it shan’t happen again, if I can help it.”

“All right. By the way-what time did Miss Cattermole arrive at your friend’s place?”

“Oh-about half-past nine, I think. Couldn’t be sure. Why?”

“I only wondered whether her initials were in the porter’s book. But I’ll see to it. Goodnight.”

“Good-night,” said Mr. Pomfret, “and thanks frightfully.”