by J F Straker
James looked puzzled; almost, she thought, disappointed. Then he laughed.
‘A trifle impetuous, Colin, don’t you think?’ He was the old James again, bantering, cynical. ‘It should take him far — the farther the better, from my point of view. I only regret your foolish determination to accompany him. And now I must away to my chores. Forgive the rather sickly sentiment that escaped me a moment ago. Definitely a lapse — I can’t think what came over me.’
He strolled airily from the classroom. Anne gazed after him blankly, her mouth agape. What an extraordinary performance, she thought. And why the sudden drop in temperature? She had said nothing to offend him — unless it were that the very name of Colin offended him. If that were so it was well that Colin was leaving before the skirmish developed into a major war.
She went upstairs to finish her packing. When that was done, and when dinner came and went and still there was no sign of Colin, self-reproach changed to annoyance. It was unfair of him to stay away so long because of a few angry but justifiable words, to leave her unprotected against possible insults from the staff; he knew how they resented her decision to leave with him the next day. And if he could so neglect her now, how would he behave when they were married?
Filled with self-pity, she sat in the common room with Diana, reading little of the novel in her lap, but brooding over the reproaches she would heap on him when he did eventually return.
At nine-thirty Diana shut her own book with a snap and stood up. ‘I’m off to bed,’ she declared. ‘Coming?’
‘Not just yet.’
‘You might as well. I don’t suppose Colin will be back for hours. He is probably delaying his return on purpose to make you wait up for him.’
‘I have no intention of waiting up for him,’ lied Anne, her manner distant. ‘I merely want to finish my book.’
‘Well, unless you turn over the pages considerably faster than you have done up to now you won’t finish it this side of Christmas,’ Diana said, and left her.
By ten o’clock Anne had had enough. It was eerie sitting there alone, believing as she did that a murderer was at large in the school; if there was to be another victim she made a sitting target. Let Colin come home and find her gone to bed. It might teach him to think more of her and less of himself in the future.
Outside the common room she met one of the maids with a glass of milk in her hand. ‘Is that for Mr Russell, Doris?’ she asked.
‘Yes, miss. I was just taking it up to his room.’
‘I’ll take it. I’m going up now.’
She put the milk on Colin’s dressing-table. A large framed photograph of herself confronted her, and she tiptoed from the room with a slightly guilty feeling. As she passed the matron’s open door she saw Diana and Miss Webber talking together. She bade them goodnight and went to her room, prepared to toss and turn in her bed until she heard Colin’s footsteps on the stairs.
She fell asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.
***
It was nearly eleven-thirty that night when Mr Latimer was disturbed by a knock on the study door. ‘Sorry to disturb you at this hour, sir,’ said Colin, ‘but something very serious has occurred. Would you mind coming up to my room?’
This extraordinary request caused the eyebrows to lift abruptly. The look on Mr Latimer’s face indicated a belief that his visitor had either taken leave of his senses or indulged too freely in alcohol.
‘I am becoming tired of your eccentric behaviour, Russell,’ he said sternly. ‘This is going too far. What is more, I understand that you have expressed the intention, despite your promise to do nothing without first consulting me, of making a report to the police.’
‘Yes. I did mean to inform you, sir; but you weren’t in to lunch, and this afternoon I had to go out. And now this has happened.’
‘What has?’
‘If you’ll come upstairs I’ll show you.’
Slowly and deliberately, a look of acute annoyance on his lean face, the headmaster rose and stalked out of the room, leaving Colin to follow. Outside the young man’s bedroom he stopped.
‘Well? What now?’
Colin pushed open the door and pointed. ‘There you are, sir,’ he said. ‘Over there by the bed.’
Mr Latimer’s gaze followed the pointing finger to where the school cat lay outstretched on the floor.
‘If you are allergic to cats I will remove it for you,’ he said, as one humouring a lunatic. ‘But I fail to see —’
‘That cat’s dead, sir.’
‘Oh! I’m sorry — I believe my wife was attached to it. But was it really necessary to bring me up here to look at it?’
‘It was poisoned,’ said Colin. ‘Somehow or other it got into my room and drank from that glass of milk on my dressing-table. That’s what killed it. And but for the cat I’d have drunk the milk myself.’
Mr Latimer sucked in his breath noisily.
‘What are you inferring, Russell?’ he asked quietly.
‘Isn’t it obvious, sir? Someone doped the milk in a deliberate attempt to poison me. If the cat hadn’t sampled it first I’d be a dead man by now.’
7 - The Swollen Door
Colin sat on the edge of his bed and watched the police at work. Mr Latimer must have telephoned them at a very early hour that morning, for it was not yet eight-thirty and already the room seemed to overflow with policemen. So far they had asked him only the minimum of questions. He wondered when the real business of the day would begin.
The old man had taken it remarkably well, he thought, as he fumbled with his tie (the mirror was hidden from him by policemen). No fuss, extremely dignified. ‘I will inform the police myself,’ Latimer had said, sniffing at the milk. ‘But tomorrow morning, not tonight. I can see no point in disturbing the school at this late hour, and the — ah — culprit will, I presume, still be among us. You agree?’ Colin had agreed, and Latimer had walked sedately from the room, pausing at the door to say, in a completely detached tone, ‘Under the circumstances it might be better if you and Miss Connaught did not leave tomorrow, Russell. I have no doubt the police will require your presence here. But your notice for the end of term will, of course, still stand.’
He’s an unfriendly, remote old devil, Colin thought, as he heaved himself off the bed. He may even be a murderer. But at least he has dignity, a poised presence that we lesser mortals cannot reach.
He was too late to see the small boy who had watched, fascinated, from the corridor. But Robert Cramp’s eager eyes had missed nothing — until a sudden move towards the door by one of the policemen had sent him scurrying downstairs before the heavy hand of the law could descend upon him.
‘Pass it down!’ Cramp whispered hoarsely to his neighbours at the breakfast table. ‘Mr Russell’s been murdered! His room is absolutely full of policemen, and I heard them talking about poison. They were taking fingerprints, too, and photographs.’ His voice cracked in excitement as he added with a shudder, ‘Mr Russell’s legs were hanging over the edge of the bed. I saw them — it was horrible.’
As the information passed rapidly from boy to boy and from table to table all eyes turned in swift succession to the empty chair normally occupied by Colin. The noisy chatter sank to a hissing whisper, and Smelton, aware of the change, looked up from his porridge and glared suspiciously round the room. But no mischief seemed to be afoot, and, after barking at one or two boys to sit more squarely on their chairs, he continued with his breakfast. Neither he nor the rest of the staff had as yet been told of the attempted poisoning.
The subdued hum grew louder as excitement and conjecture replaced the awe induced by the first shock of Cramp’s startling news.
‘I bet Miss Connaught will be sorry,’ said Oakes. ‘She’s sweet on him. I saw them kissing once.’
‘Soppy things,’ commented a youthful misogynist; and added, as though following his train of thought to its inevitable conclusion, ‘P’raps he committed suicide.’
‘Not i
f the police were taking fingerprints. They only do that when you’ve been murdered.’
‘Hurray! No more Maths!’ exclaimed Dicken, suddenly awake to the personal angle. ‘How smashing!’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Fellowes. ‘We’ll just have a new Maths master, that’s all. I’d much rather have Mr Russell. He was jolly decent. And he was absolutely wizard at games.’
‘I bet he hasn’t really been murdered,’ said Rodgers. ‘I bet you a million pounds Cramp was having us on.’
There were no takers.
‘He saw Mr Russell’s legs hanging over the bed,’ Dicken reminded them; ‘so he jolly well must have been. And there wouldn’t be policemen in his room if nothing had happened.’
‘P’raps they weren’t Mr Russell’s legs,’ Oakes said. ‘P’raps he lured someone else into his room and then poisoned him.’
‘Who?’
‘Not the Stinker, worse luck,’ said Fellowes, glancing resentfully at Smelton. It seemed to him in extremely bad taste that, with first J.C. and then Russell coming to an untimely end, the senior master still managed to survive. ‘But the Mule hasn’t come in to breakfast yet.’
Only among this small group was scepticism expressed. Elsewhere Cramp’s news was accepted as gospel; and while speculation on the murderer’s identity and on the possible consequences to themselves of his crime comprised the general reaction, there were those who looked fearfully about them and lost interest in their food. Astonishment was therefore tempered with relief when Colin walked into the room, unscathed and unfettered, and sat down to eat his breakfast.
The meal over, there was a rush of boys to his side.
‘Sir! Sir! Cramp said there were policemen in your room. He said you’d been murdered.’
‘Did you believe him?’ asked Colin.
‘I didn’t,’ said Rodgers. ‘I knew he was having us on. He ought to be jolly well bashed.’
Robert Cramp, small but agile, was in the forefront of the press. ‘But there were policemen, sir,’ he protested earnestly. ‘I saw them. I saw your legs too.’
‘That settles it then. I must have been murdered if you saw my legs.’
‘No, but please, sir, what happened? Why were the policemen in your room?’
Colin pushed his chair back against the besieging bodies and stood up. ‘Out of here, all of you,’ he ordered. ‘You ought to be in your classrooms. Go on, clear off. I’m not answering any more questions.’
To Anne this was the first intimation that anything untoward had occurred. Grasping Colin’s arm, she hurried him away from the excited boys to the seclusion of the common room, and demanded to be told the news.
The previous day’s quarrel was forgotten by both. As Colin told her of the poisoned milk Anne clung to him in terror.
‘Oh, Colin!’ she exclaimed, bursting into tears. ‘If it hadn’t been for the cat you might be dead!’
Awkwardly he tried to console her.
‘It doesn’t necessarily follow, darling. Even if I had remembered to drink the damned stuff — and I often don’t — I might not have liked the taste. Anyway, I’m alive. So why worry?’
But she refused to be so easily comforted. Remembrance of their quarrel returned, and it occurred to her that but for her stupid bad temper he might not have been exposed to danger. He would have come home earlier, Doris might ...
She stopped crying and, holding him at arm’s length, looked up at him in sudden horror.
‘Colin! I put the milk in your room myself!’
He laughed. ‘You did, eh? I suppose you didn’t add a dash of cyanide to improve the flavour?’
Instantly he regretted this remark, resulting as it did in tearful reproaches and a further paroxysm of grief. He was relieved when the entry of Smelton and Diana caused Anne to dry her eyes and attempt to repair the damage to her complexion.
‘I hear someone tried to do you a bit of no good,’ said Diana. ‘You’re getting quite unpopular around these parts, aren’t you? Just as well for you that you’re leaving today.’
‘I’m not. I’m staying till the end of term.’
Diana did not seem surprised. ‘You’ll have to watch your diet, my lad, if you hope to survive that long. Any idea who pepped up your nightcap?’
‘None at all.’
‘Whoever it was, he had the right idea,’ growled Smelton.
***
‘An admirably detailed statement, Mr Russell,’ said the Inspector. ‘I congratulate you.’
Colin leaned back in the armchair and tried not to look as pleased with himself as he felt. He had lavished much loving care on his report, detailing the various points, distinguishing fact from fancy, trying to make the police view the case through his own eyes; it was gratifying to be told that his work had been well done. Nothing had been omitted, he thought. Even the fire at the cottage and his subsequent talk with Mr Bain had been included. As he had told the Inspector, there was no reason to suppose a connection between the fire and J.C.’s death. But it had happened, and it was unusual; and he therefore considered it worthy of mention.
Inspector Pitt, after his few words of praise, fell silent, occasionally rattling the end of a pencil between his teeth as he gazed thoughtfully at Colin. He was tall and thin and solemn-looking, with greying hair and an unhealthy, sallow complexion. Only his eyes gave him distinction; there was in them a youthful alertness that belied his age.
The stare became embarrassing, and Colin looked down at his wrist-watch. Five-past ten. He had already missed one lesson, and seemed well on the way to missing another. He wondered why that should concern him, seeing that he was under notice to leave and had not, he thought, been considerately treated by head or staff. But it did concern him, and he shifted restlessly in his chair, hoping by movement to bring the Inspector out of his trance.
The action succeeded.
‘I want to be quite certain on one point, Mr Russell,’ said Pitt. ‘Am I to understand that the rather startling announcement that you made to the staff before lunch yesterday was not founded on fact? You don’t know who murdered Mr Connaught, you don’t even know that he was murdered? Yes, yes — I know you think he was,’ he said hastily, as Colin opened his mouth to protest. ‘We’ll go into that later. The point is, you deliberately deceived them, eh? Threw them a bait, as it were.’
‘That’s right. I was hoping to put the wind up them.’
‘Risky, wasn’t it? It never occurred to you that if there did happen to be a murderer in your audience he might be tempted to dispose of you before you unmasked him?’
‘No, I can’t say it did. I just hoped to panic someone into giving himself away. It was a sort of final gamble before I left.’
‘Before you left?’ As Colin flushed the Inspector nodded shrewdly. ‘Sacked, eh? The headmaster didn’t share your views on Mr Connaught’s death, I presume.’
‘No, he didn’t.’ Colin was annoyed with himself at having given away this piece of information. ‘He thought I was churning up scandal to no purpose.’
‘I don’t entirely blame him.’ Pitt smiled slightly. ‘A bit thin in parts, isn’t it?’
‘I didn’t think so. I think so even less now.’
The Inspector nodded. ‘Yes, I can understand that,’ he said. ‘Now, about this glass of milk. You didn’t suspect it might be poisoned? You weren’t trying it out on the cat first?’
‘Of course not.’
‘And you think the poison was added by someone who wanted to prevent your telling the police what you knew about Mr Connaught’s death?’
‘Obviously. What other reason could there be?’
‘You’re the best judge of that, sir,’ Pitt said drily. ‘Any idea who the someone was?’
‘No.’
‘Do you always drink a glass of milk at night?’
‘I have it. I don’t always drink it.’
‘Do you take it up with you?’
‘No. Doris, the maid, puts it in my room. It’s always there when I go up to
bed.’
‘And everyone knows it’s there, I suppose?’
‘I suppose so. The staff treat it as a joke (or did — they’re not given to joking with me now); fatuous remarks about the weaning of babies formed the substance of their humour. Incidentally, I suppose I should tell you that last night it was Miss Connaught, not the maid, who put the milk in my room. She happened to meet Doris on her way up. But don’t start connecting her with the poison, Inspector. Miss Connaught and I are engaged.’
The Inspector made no comment, but the pencil rattled faster. ‘You made this announcement of yours just before lunch, Mr Russell; and immediately after lunch you cleared off for the rest of the day. You didn’t give yourself much opportunity to observe reactions, did you? Wouldn’t you have done better to stay here?’
‘I don’t think so. I expected the reactions to be immediate, you see; but, apart from causing quite a lot of surprise and annoyance all round, my bombshell didn’t seem to have much effect.’
‘That must have been rather discouraging for you.’
‘It was, rather. Then I thought, well, the chap may be a good actor, but he can’t know I’m bluffing. Ten to one he’ll decide to do a fade-out before the day is over.’ Colin grinned. ‘I didn’t anticipate he’d try to fade me out instead.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘To Wisselbury. A friend of mine is on the staff of the college there; I hoped she might be able to wangle a job for Miss Connaught and myself. It’s co-educational — one of these progressive schools.’
‘Any luck?’
‘I don’t know yet.’ Emboldened by the other’s apparently non-professional interest in his fortunes, Colin said, ‘If you need any outside help, Inspector, I hope you’ll call on me. After all, I more or less started this business, if you see what I mean.’
‘You nearly provided the finale as well,’ was Pitt’s comment. ‘All right, sir, we’ll bear you in mind.’