‘It’s known to exist,’ admitted her captive. ‘But, look here, we weren’t – we weren’t calling on anybody or anything of that kind, you know, if you know what I mean.’
‘I hope not,’ said Harriet.
‘No, we were all on our own,’ explained the young man eagerly. ‘Nobody else involved. Good Heavens, no. And, look here, I’ve bust my ankle and we shall be gated anyhow, and, dear, kind lady—’
At this moment, a loud groan resounded from within the College wall. The young man’s face became filled with agonised alarm.
‘What’s that?’ asked Harriet.
‘I really couldn’t say,’ said the young man.
The groan was repeated. Harriet grasped the undergraduate tightly by the arm and led him along to the postern.
‘But look here,’ said the gentleman, limping dolefully beside her, ‘you mustn’t – please don’t think—’
‘I’m going to see what’s the matter,’ said Harriet.
She unlocked the postern, drew her captive in with her, and relocked the gate. Under the wall, just beneath the spot where the young man had been perched, lay a huddled figure, which was apparently suffering acute internal agonies of some kind.
‘Look here,’ said the young man, abandoning all pretence. ‘I’m most frightfully sorry about this. I’m afraid we were a bit thoughtless. I mean, we didn’t notice. I mean , I’m afraid she isn’t very well, and we didn’t notice how it was, you know.’
‘The girl’s drunk,’ said Harriet, uncompromisingly.
She had, in the bad old days, seen too many young poets similarly afflicted to make any mistake about the symptoms.
‘Well. I’m afraid – yes, that’s about it,’ said the young man. ‘Rogers will mix ’em so strong. But look here, honestly, there’s no harm done, and I mean—’
‘H’m!’ said Harriet. ‘Well, don’t shout. That house is the Warden’s Lodgings.’
‘Hell!’ said the young man, for the second time. ‘I say – are you going to be sporting?’
‘That depends,’ said Harriet. ‘As a matter of fact, you’ve been extraordinarily lucky. I’m not one of the dons. I’m only staying in College. So I’m a free agent.’
‘Bless you!’ exclaimed the young man, fervently.
‘Don’t be in a hurry. You’ll have to tell me about this. Who’s the girl, by the way?’
The patient here gave another groan.
‘Oh, dear!’ said the undergraduate.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Harriet. ‘She’ll be sick in a minute.’ She walked over and inspected the sufferer. ‘It’s all right. You can preserve a gentlemanly reticence. I know her. Her name’s Cattermole. What’s yours?’
‘My name’s Pomfret – of Queen’s.’
‘Ah!’ said Harriet.
‘We threw a party round in my friend’s rooms,’ explained Mr. Pomfret. ‘At least, it started as a meeting, but it ended as a party. Nothing wrong whatever. Miss Cattermole came along for a joke. All clean fun. Only there were a lot of us, and what with one thing and another we had a few too many, and then we found Miss Cattermole was rather under the weather. So we got her collected up, and Rogers and I—’
‘Yes, I see,’ said Harriet. ‘Not very creditable, was it?’
‘No, it’s rotten,’ admitted Mr. Pomfret.
‘Had she got leave to attend the meeting? And late leave?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Mr. Pomfret, disturbed. ‘I’m afraid – look here! It’s all rather tiresome. I mean, she doesn’t belong to the Society—’
‘What Society?’
‘The Society that was meeting. I think she pushed in for a joke.’
‘Gate-crashed you? H’m. That probably means no late leave.’
‘Sounds serious,’ said Mr. Pomfret.
‘It’s serious for her,’ said Harriet. ‘You’ll get off with a fine or a gating, I suppose; but we have to be more particular. It’s a nasty-minded world, and our rules have to remember that fact.’
‘I know,’ said Mr. Pomfret. ‘As a matter of fact we were dashed worried. We had a devil of a job getting her along,’ he burst out confidentially. ‘Fortunately it was only from this end of Long Wall. Phew!’
He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
‘Anyhow,’ he went on, ‘I’m thankful you aren’t a don.’
‘That’s all very well,’ said Harriet austerely; ‘but I’m a Senior Member of College and I must feel responsibility. This isn’t the kind of thing one wants.’
She turned a cold glance on the unfortunate Miss Cattermole, to whom the worst was happening.
‘I’m sure we didn’t want it,’ said Mr. Pomfret, averting his eyes; ‘but what could we do? It’s no good trying to corrupt your porter,’ he added ingenuously; ‘it’s been tried.’
‘Indeed?’ said Harriet. ‘No; you wouldn’t get much change out of Padgett. Was anybody else there from Shrewsbury?’
‘Yes – Miss Flaxman and Miss Blake. But they had ordinary leave to come and went off at about eleven. So they’re all right.’
‘They ought to have taken Miss Cattermole with them.’
‘Of course,’ said Mr. Pomfret. He loked gloomier than ever. Obviously, thought Harriet, Miss Flaxman would not mind at all if Miss Cattermole got into trouble. Miss Blake’s motives were more obscure; but she was probably only weak-minded. Harriet was fired with a quite unscrupulous determination that Miss Cattermole should not get into trouble if she could prevent it. She went across to the limp form and hauled it to its feet. Miss Cattermole groaned dismally. ‘She’ll do now,’ said Harriet. ‘I wonder where the little fool’s room is. Do you know?’
‘Well, as a matter of fact, I do,’ replied Mr. Pomfret. ‘Sounds bad, but there – people do show people their rooms, you know, all regulations notwithstanding and all that. It’s somewhere over there, through that archway.’
He waved a vague hand towards the New Quad at the other end of nowhere.
‘Heavens!’ said Harriet, ‘it would be. I’m afraid you’ll have to give me a hand with her. She’s a bit too much for me, and she can’t stay here in the damp. If anybody sees us, you’ll have to go through with it. How’s the ankle?’
‘Better, thanks,’ said Mr. Pomfret. ‘I think I can make shift to stagger a bit. I say, you’re being very decent.’
‘Get on with the job,’ said Harriet, grimly, ‘and don’t waste time on speeches.’
Miss Cattermole was a thickly-built young woman, and no inconsiderable weight. She had also reached the stage of complete inertia. For Harriet, hampered by high-heeled shoes, and for Mr. Pomfret, afflicted with a game ankle, the progress across the quads was anything but triumphal. It was also rather noisy, what with the squeak of stone and gravel under their feet, and the grunts and shufflings of the limp figure between them. At every moment, Harriet expected to hear a window thrust up, or to see the shape of an agitated don come rushing out to demand some explanation of Mr. Pomfret’s presence at that early hour of the morning. It was with very great relief that she at last found the right doorway and propelled Miss Cattermole’s helpless form through it.
‘What next?’ inquired Mr. Pomfret in a hoarse whisper.
‘I must let you out. I don’t know where her room is, but I can’t have you wandering all over College. Wait a minute. We’ll deposit her in the nearest bathroom. Here you are. Round the corner. Easy does it.’
Mr. Pomfret again bent obligingly to the task.
‘There!’ said Harriet. She laid Miss Cattermole on her back on the bathroom floor, took the key from the lock and came out, securing the door behind her. ‘She must stay there for the moment. Now we’ll get rid of you. I don’t think anybody saw us. If we’re met on the way back, you were at Mrs. Heman’s dance and saw me home. Get that? It’s not very convincing, because you ought not to have done any such thing, but it’s better than the truth.’
‘I only wish I had been at Mrs. Heman’s dance,’ said the grateful Mr. Pomfret. ‘I’d
have danced every dance with you and all the extras. Do you mind telling me who you are?’
‘My name’s Vane. And you’d better not start being enthusiastic too soon. I’m not considering your welfare particularly. Do you know Miss Cattermole well?’
‘Rather well. Oh, yes. Naturally. I mean, we know some of the same people and that sort of thing. As a matter of fact, she used to be engaged to an old schoolfellow of mine – New College man – only that fell through and all that. No affair of mine; but you know how it is. One knows people and one kind of goes on knowing them. And there you are.’
‘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 around 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 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 mid-air.
‘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 showed a dismal shape dangling from the canopy above the stalls. It was swinging 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 on 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 farther, 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.
‘Quotations 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 to-morrow – 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 s
hall 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. Good-night.’
‘Good-night,’ said Mr. Pomfret, ‘and thanks frightfully.’
Harriet locked the postern behind him and returned across the quadrangle, feeling that, out of all this absurd tiresomeness, something had been most definitely gained. The dummy could scarcely have been put in position before 9.30; so that Miss Cattermole, through sheer folly, had contrived to give herself a cast-iron alibi. Harriet was so grateful to her for advancing the inquiry by even this small step that she determined the girl should, if possible, be let off the consequences of her escapade.
This reminded her that Miss Cattermole still lay on the bathroom floor, waiting to be dealt with. It would be awkward if she had come to her senses in the interval and started to make a noise. But on reaching the New Quad and unlocking the door, Harriet found her prisoner in the somnolent stage of her rake’s progress. A little research along the corridors revealed that Miss Cattermole slept on the first floor. Harriet opened the door of the room, and as she did so the door next it opened also, and a head popped out.
‘Is that you, Cattermole?’ whispered the head. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ It popped in again.
Harriet recognised the girl who had gone up and spoken to Miss Cattermole after the Opening of the Library. She went to her door, which bore the name of ‘C. I. Briggs,’ and knocked gently. The head reappeared.
‘Were you expecting to see Miss Cattermole come in?’
‘Well,’ said Miss Briggs. ‘I heard somebody at her door – oh! it’s Miss Vane, isn’t it?’
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