by Bruce, Leo
“As you know, we shoot six arrows each at the target and when all five of us have shot we walk down together and recover them. This is exciting—you go forward to count your score. You will find that people who have just shot and are walking towards their targets seldom take their eyes from these.
“For several days I was prepared. That is to say I took one of the concealed points and had seven arrows instead of six. But there was always someone standing about watching. However, that afternoon there were just the five of us. People had been about—even Sconer came out that afternoon—but just before four o’clock, before Mayring came down from the cricket field, conditions were ideal. I fired my six arrows, then pretended to be tying my shoelace while the others walked forward towards the target. I took my seventh arrow…”
“A broadhead?” asked Carolus.
“No. No. The arrow we use on the range. I couldn’t have been accurate with a broadhead. Its altogether different. I turned round to face the house, and shot. I was aiming at the heart but I have a tendency to shoot high. My arrow pierced Sime’s throat. He must have died immediately.”
“Suppose you had missed?” said Carolus.
“Suppose I had.”
“You would have been seen.”
“No. As I explained…”
Carolus interrupted harshly.
“Not by Matron. But by Sime himself. Didn’t you think of that?”
“He was probably asleep,” said Duckmore. “He used to sleep in the afternoon.”
“But how did you know that? Had you done anything to ensure that he would be asleep?”
Duckmore looked rather baffled.
“No,” he said. “I was quite sure of myself. And as you know, I didn’t miss.” He went on hurriedly. “I didn’t wait to see then, of course. I hurried after the others and caught them up about halfway down the range. We were all chattering about our scores.”
“Who were the five?” asked Carolus.
“Mollie Westerly, Stanley, Bill and Stella Ferris and myself.”
“Where was Kneller?”
“He’d gone to his cottage for a few minutes. He was worried about his wife. When we came back to the shooting line Mayring was there, just down from the cricket field. He wanted to shoot so I told him to take my place, and they started again.
“I walked away quite casually. As I crossed to the house I saw Kneller coming back from his cottage. Then I went into the staff block. I looked into the common-room but no one was there. Then I tapped on Sime’s door.”
“Why did you do that?”
Again Duckmore looked confused.
“I don’t quite know,” he said. “Habit perhaps.”
“Did you know you had hit him?”
“Oh yes.”
“You could see from where you shot?”
“Yes, I..
“You were quite sure?”
“Yes, but of course I couldn’t be certain that he was dead. Anyway, I tapped and naturally there was no answer. I slowly pushed the door open. Then I was nearly sick. Well, you saw him. He was dead and there was a great deal of blood. I did not go near him but quickly closed the door and went to my own room. Then I was sick.”
Parker nodded sympathetically.
“It was a beastly sight,” he said.
“I realized that I must pull myself together,” went on Duckmore. “I was supposed to be on duty in the dining-room for the boys’ tea. I had a wash and hurried along but the boys had been in for several minutes and Matron was there. She said something about my being late but I didn’t take much notice. I was thinking of what I had seen in Sime’s room.
“Then suddenly, after the boys came out of the dining-room, something in me seemed to snap altogether and I knew I had to get away. I did not think where or how—just to get out of the school. I took nothing with me—I really didn’t know quite what I was doing. I kept seeing Sime. I had no plan. I remember rushing down the drive and out into the road. Then I met you, Deene.”
“Yet almost the first words you said to me were that you had not killed Sime,” said Carolus.
“Were they? I don’t remember. I was in a terrible state. I wasn’t going to admit it. I expect I said it was an accident. I’d always hoped it would be taken for an accident.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t know what I was saying. But I’ve told you the truth now.”
“Why?” asked Carolus.
“I wanted to get it off my chest. 1 couldn’t go on like this. If you had seen him!”
“Why did you tell us? Instead of the police?”
“Oh, I’m going to tell the police.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Why not tonight? It’s not eleven o’clock yet.”
“No. No. I want time to think. You see, Sturgess Rimmer is coming tomorrow. I want to tell him first and ask him what I should do.”
“What can you do, but tell the truth?”
“I know. I know. But I want to talk it over with him. He’s a very understanding man.”
“So you propose to go through tomorrow, taking your classes and behaving as usual before confessing to murder?”
“It sounds awful when you put it like that, but I’ve gone so far. This has been on my mind ever since it happened. One more day…”
“It’s not for me to say anything about it,” said Carolus. “But a confession of murder is surely not something to put off, is it?”
“I will go tomorrow,” said Duckmore, “as soon as the Bishop has gone.”
“I think you should go tonight. Or early tomorrow morning.”
Duckmore stared at him.
“Is anyone else suspected?” he asked in a horrified voice.
“By the police? I have no means of knowing.”
“How can they be? No one else could have done it.”
“You mean, no one else is as good a shot as you?”
“No. Not for a shot like that.”
Carolus spoke very slowly and carefully.
“Look, Duckmore,” he said. “I want to take you back to that afternoon for a moment.”
“Please don’t.”
“It’s rather necessary you know. For other people’s sake. You remember turning round to shoot that seventh arrow?”
“Yes. Yes.”
“What did you see when you turned? Through Sime’s window, I mean. You were some forty yards away.”
“Forty-five. I had reckoned it exactly. To get my range. I saw him”
“You saw Sime? Distinctly? Try to remember.”
“I saw the outline. It was all I needed.”
“The outline of what?”
“The bed. Sime.”
“Could you see his face?”
“Yes. Well … I could see where it was.”
“If it had been someone else sitting up in that bed—would you have known?”
“But I knew it was him.”
“Exactly. You shot at an outline. Could you see where your arrow struck?”
“I knew I had hit him.”
“Did you? Then? You knew afterwards, of course, because you went into his room. But at the time?”
“I thought I had.”
“That’s better.”
“But I had. We all know that.”
“You go to the police tomorrow, Duckmore. Whatever anyone tells you. Go to the police”
A very obstinate look came into Duckmore’s face.
“Not till the afternoon,” he said, “when I’ve seen Sturgess Rimmer.”
“I can’t say any more then. But I warn you, you’re delaying something you ought not to delay, and it may have serious consequences.”
Carolus stood up.
“I’m going to bed,” he said and nodding to the two men, left them together.
Chapter Sixteen
Though St. Asprey’s School had passed through many strange events that term, the next twenty-four hours, the hours before the Inquest, were certainly the most curi
ous period of time in its history, a history, no one could help feeing, which was rapidly coming to a close.
The boys seemed to remain totally unaware that a climax impended and one would have said they had already forgotten Sime. At breakfast they bombarded Carolus with questions and during the morning classes of a sort continued. Mrs. Sconer was absent from breakfast and this seemed to put Matron on her mettle. From her table she could observe most people in the room and like those of the Last Duchess, her looks went everywhere.
It was during the Break that Carolus received a summons. A small breathless boy came to him and said—“Please sir, Mrs. Sconer wants to speak to you.”
“Thank you for bringing the message,” said Carolus, who was glancing at The Times crossword.
“Please sir, she said at once,” said the small boy. “She said in the rose garden,” he added.
Tribal junketers, 5 letters. Too easy. Kurds. Statue of A.E.W. 5 hyphen 5. What was the matter with the setter today? He was giving it away. Stone Mason, of course.
“Please sir, are you going?” asked the small boy, awed by Carolus’s bravado.
From childhood Carolus could hear echoes of the laws of courtesy—never keep a lady waiting.
“Yes,” he said smiling to the small messenger. “I’m going now.”
He found Mrs. Sconer deftly applying a pair of secateurs to errant growths.
“Good morning, Mr. Deene,” she said graciously. “I wanted to see you. The Inquest is tomorrow.”
“Yes,” said Carolus.
“Everything depends on the verdict.”
“You mean, the school,” said Carolus rather crossly.
“Everything,” repeated Mrs. Sconer in the voice of Lady Macbeth. “What will that Verdict be?”
“Murder, of course,” said Carolus. “I’ve told you all along.”
“You are not disposed to modify your opinion?”
“No.”
“In spite of your stay among us? I thought that as you became acquainted with our small happy community, you would see how impossible it was that anyone here should wish ill to another. At least,” added Mrs. Sconer more realistically if less explicitly, “at least not to that extent.”
“You take a rather rosy view, don’t you? It seems to me that anyone might have murdered Sime from sheer distaste. And almost everyone had other motives.”
“You are very bitter. You make me regret that I sup ported your stay here when my husband felt it could serve no further purpose.”
“Oh well. I shan’t be here much longer.”
“I think I ought to tell you that my husband has appealed to Mr. Gorringer to use his influence. He really thinks that your pessimistic outlook threatens the future of St. Asprey’s.”
Carolus laughed.
“That will tickle Gorringer. He’ll be over here as fast as a borrowed car can bring him.”
“Exactly,” said Mrs. Sconer. “He arrives this evening. He feels that in view of your insistence on the idea of a murder having taken place he should see you before the Inquest.”
“No harm in that. Anything else you wanted to see me about? I ought to get across to my class.”
“My husband will understand your absence since you are with me,” promised Mrs. Sconer grandly. “And there is something else I wish to tell you.”
“Good. Nice piece of evidence?”
“A very curious circumstance which I have not mentioned till now because I have only just realized that it may be…”
“A clue? Then let’s hear it.”
“It is something that happened on the afternoon of … the fatal accident. Someone entered our bedroom.”
“Would that be unusual?”
“Unprecedented. Mrs. Skippett does the room in the morning and after that only I and very occasionally my husband go … goes … go in.”
“I see. How do you know of this intrusion?”
“I went up myself after seeing you in the drawing-room. I found one drawer in my husband’s chest-of-drawers not properly shut.”
“But surely you can’t feel so sure of Mrs. Skippett’s efficiency that you can assume an intrusion by someone else?”
“It is not only that. I opened the drawer and found it disarranged. My husband has a very orderly mind and keeps everything in perfect order. The drawer was in chaos. What is more, a pair of gloves was missing.”
For the first time Carolus seemed a little impressed. “How can you be sure of that?” he asked.
“I had checked the contents that very morning.”
“Why?”
“I am sorry to say that I had lost confidence in the honesty of Mrs. Skippett. Matron had informed me…”
“Yes, yes. I see. Then why do you not suspect Mrs. Skippett of taking the gloves?”
“Because she had finished on this floor before I made my examination. The gloves were removed during the afternoon while she was doing the hall downstairs. She would never have risked a return to it. She would have had to pass Matron’s door.”
“I see your point. But someone risked it.”
“So it appears. The gloves at all events were removed and the drawer left untidy. My husband tells me that he certainly never came upstairs that afternoon.”
“That’s very interesting. I take it the staff don’t leave their clothes at the school during the holidays?”
“Certainly not. They require them, of course. Nor should I encourage anything of the sort.”
“So that during the summer term none of them would be likely to have brought gloves?”
“Most improbable. You think one of the assistant masters actually entered my bedroom that afternoon and appropriated a pair of my husband’s gloves?”
“Looks like it, doesn’t it?”
There was a fighting glint in Mrs. Sconer’s eye.
“I can scarcely believe it!” she said.
“Whoever it was must have had urgent need of a pair of gloves,” said Carolus casually.
“You understate it. Not once, since St. Asprey’s opened…”
“But then you haven’t had a murder before, have you? The only surprising thing about it seems that the person was not observed.”
“You mean by Matron? But Mr. Deene, even Matron hasn’t got eyes in the back of her head.”
“No? We all have our little limitations, don’t we? I must go back to my class.”
Before lunch Carolus had an awkward scene with Duckmore. It was raining and unable to escape into the open air, during the twenty minutes between the end of classes and lunch, Carolus found himself trapped by Duckmore in a corridor. He had the feeling that Duckmore was designedly waiting for him there. Certainly he was pale and wretched-looking and his movements were spasmodic and uncertain. There was something almost pleading in his manner.
“I am going,” he said.
Carolus, somewhat baffled by the situation of a man who had confessed to murder overnight conducting classes of small boys in the morning, made no reply but nodded in what he hoped was an understanding way.
“The Bishop is coming at four,” Duckmore added, a sentence which might have been amusingly enigmatic if Carolus had not known the circumstances.
“I shall go as soon as he leaves. You can take me if you like.” He spoke as though he had to answer to Carolus for any delay or doubt about his reporting to the police.
“I will,” said Carolus. “About five?”
He found the whole conversation somewhat macabre.
“Yes. Yes. After the Bishop has gone. He won’t stay more than half an hour. Terribly busy man.” He turned to admonish two small boys. “Nichols! Stop ragging Winn! You’ll make him blub again.” Then to Carolus, “Fiends, aren’t they? Yes, I’ll go with you. You can hand me over yourself. It will be a relief, really.”
At lunchtime everything was done to make it seem an everyday occasion. Matron re-appeared, Duckmore sat surrounded by the Junior boys at his table and was audibly discussing cricket, Mrs. Sconer smiled graciously on the
scene. An uninformed visitor could never have guessed that the school had been the scene of a desperate murder and that one of the assistant masters was about to confess to it.
Afterwards Carolus found himself alone in the common-room with Parker. The Oldest Assistant seemed very calm.
“What did you think of our friend last night?” he asked, as he lit his pipe.
“I think he should tell the police what he told us.”
“Yes. One can’t help feeling sorry for him, though. A man who is being consistently blackmailed is under great provocation.”
“To murder? I can’t agree. He has other remedies. Sime was not a very clever blackmailer.”
“I suppose not. But he seems to have been clever enough for Duckmore.”
“Duckmore was not the only person at the school he was blackmailing.”
“He wasn’t?”
“No. He knew about Sally O’Maverick.”
“Sally? What about her?”
Carolus knew that he was about to shatter an illusion.
“She underwent an operation,” he said gently.
“You mean?”
“Abortion.”
“Good God!”
“Someone here arranged it and paid for it. Sime knew that. That was his second line of blackmail.”
“What a bastard!” said Parker.
“Sime, you mean? Yes, he was.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“Oh yes. I’ve seen Sally O’Maverick’s aunt, Mrs. Ricks.”
“And you know who it was?”
“Yes.”
“So someone else had a motive for murdering Sime besides Duckmore.”
“Quite a number of people.”
“I suppose it will all come out at the Inquest tomorrow?”
“Most of it, anyway. One must never under-estimate the police. If I could find Mrs. Ricks, so could they.”
“I see what you mean. So the school is finished?”
“Not necessarily, I should have thought, but I’m not really competent to judge. I know how you feel about the school, Parker, but for me, you must know, it is of quite secondary importance. I’m concerned with the fact that a man has been murdered.”
“I know,” said Parker sadly. “I don’t expect anyone else to feel as I do. A little private profit-making concern—but I’ve given more than twenty years of my life to it. I see your point about murder. But do you see mine?”