“The Head quite expects that you will go home,” Hampstead replied. “In fact, he told me to take you. This is a frightful business, Alceste. I’ve seen her…” He paused and fidgeted with the hat he was holding. “Do you think it could be suicide? She was sitting on a chair in the water-lobby, on this side of the building, and her head was in a bowl of water.”
Alceste said:
“I don’t believe she would have committed suicide. I know my own sex thoroughly, and Miss Ferris wasn’t the type. Probably religious, too. I should think she must have fainted. The child said Miss Ferris was ‘dabbing her face.’ I never for one moment… But it’s queer. Has the doctor arrived yet, do you think?”
“I don’t know. Shall I go and see?”
“No. I’ll go. Poor woman. It will be a nuisance for the school. It’s certain to get into the papers. I don’t believe, after all, we’d better go. We shall probably be in the way.”
Together they went to the class-room which had been used as the men-principals’ dressing-room. It was empty, except for the Headmaster. The body had been taken into the laboratory, he told them, and the doctor had made a preliminary examination, sufficient to be certain that the cause of death was drowning.
“There will have to be an inquest, of course,” said Mr. Cliffordson. “The doctor is going to give orders for the body to be removed. What an awful business it is! One doesn’t want to be unfeeling, but I do wish it had happened anywhere but in school. I can’t think what possessed her, can you? Or could it have been an accident? The light has gone wrong in there, too. We had to get candles from the stock cupboard. I must communicate at once with her relatives, I suppose. Oh, well, don’t worry. As long as it isn’t one of the children, it isn’t as bad as it might be. Good night to you both. Don’t worry. Poor woman. Oh dear, oh dear!” ii
The verdict which concluded the inquest upon Calma Ferris was “Suicide while of unsound mind”: this in the face of all that the dead woman’s acquaintances could say on the subject of her apparent freedom from worry and ill-health. The Headmaster, still looking old and worn, called a staff meeting at ten o’clock on the following morning. The staff, nervously silent, guessing the subject of the meeting, came in in ones and twos, and seated themselves. When they were all present Mr. Cliffordson addressed them. His tones were dry and formal.
“I have been in consultation with the governing body of the school,” he said, “and it seemed to all of us that for the sake of the boys and girls it would be wiser to appoint immediately a successor to Miss Ferris. I have been fortunate enough to secure the services of an able and distinguished lady whose qualifications happen to be a good deal higher than those required for the post, but who is anxious to obtain a first-hand impression of a coeducational day-school of an advanced modern type. She will accordingly be appointed for the remainder of this term, while the governors and I are deciding upon a candidate for permanent appointment. I should be glad if you would all take pains to welcome the lady. She is elderly, and probably…”—he smiled, and for a moment looked himself again, the lines washed from his forehead, and his eyes candid and kind—“has pronounced views which some of you may find irritating. However, I think you’ll like her. Her name”—he consulted a paper before him on the big desk—“is Bradley. Mrs. Beatrice Adele Lestrange Bradley. She will commence her duties on Monday at nine.”
There was a stunned silence. Then Mr. Browning said blankly:
“But—you don’t mean—not
“Why not?” said Mr. Cliffordson coldly. The staff, taking its cue, rose and filed out, but the Headmaster motioned Browning to remain. When the others had gone and the door was shut, Mr. Cliffordson said:
“Mrs. Bradley is coming here to make a study of the school. She is writing a psychological treatise on adolescence, and wishes to make first-hand observations in boys’, girls’, and mixed schools. You understand?”
“I understand,” said young Mr. Browning, meeting the Headmaster’s eye, “that you think Miss Ferris was murdered, and, in view of the fact that the verdict of the coroner’s jury was one of suicide, I don’t consider you are being fair to us, Headmaster, in getting Mrs. Bradley here like this. I wish to tender my resignation.”
“And I refuse to accept it,” said Mr. Cliffordson firmly. He changed his tone.
“My dear boy,” he said, “pause and consider. I do believe Miss Ferris was murdered, but I don’t want the school turned upside down. Mrs. Bradley will decide, quietly, whether I am justified in my conclusions, and then, if I am, some action must be taken. That is all. Last night I was convinced that poor Miss Ferris had drowned herself. Later, I discovered that the waste-pipe was completely stopped up with clay. That struck me as curious. I must beg of you not to communicate these tidings to your colleagues. I hope that I am wrong. Things are quite bad enough. But there are facts which cannot be ignored, and I must face them.”
“Well, Headmaster, I won’t say a word, of course,” said Browning, mollified by the Headmaster’s attitude. “But if you imagine I’m the only one to smell a rat, I think you’ll find you’re wrong. Everyone has heard of Mrs. Bradley. She’s news, as they say in journalistic circles, and…”
“Enough, my boy,” said Mr. Cliffordson. “I have your assurance, then?”
“Oh, I won’t say anything about it,” said the young man. But to himself he said, as he walked back to his room: “I wonder who the devil he suspects? Smith, I expect. That clay in the waste-pipe came out of the Art Room, for a certainty, and she ruined his Psyche. But how on earth did he persuade her to go into the lobby in the first place? And the electric light! Someone had tampered with it so that she would not be found very quickly. Dirty work at the cross-roads, undoubtedly!”
He was so interested that he forbore to remark on a pitched battle that was being waged by the male members of Form Lower Four when he got back to the room they were in, and merely invited them, in magisterial tones, to get to their places and find page twenty-three. But his mind was not on his work, and at least nine boys and quite seventeen girls did their homework openly during what was left of the English period, while their teacher sat and brooded, and the rest of the form passed notes, flicked ink-soaked blotting-paper pellets or played noughts and crosses. At eleven o’clock Mr. Browning dismissed them, and at two minutes past eleven he was being asked in the men’s common-room to bet on which of his colleagues were suspected of the murder. The Headmaster’s ruse of passing Mrs. Bradley off as a member of the staff appeared to have failed completely.
The women’s common-room did not bet on the identity of the murderer, but among some members of the staff, consternation held sway. Miss Freely voiced the general view by observing with a shudder, after Mrs. Bradley’s advent had been discussed by seven people, all talking at once:
“Well, there’s one thing I’m quite sure of! I’m not going to stay a minute after school hours, to please anybody. I’m not going to run any risks! Have any of you heard of hoodoo? Thank goodness it’s only a few weeks until the end of the term!”
At the end of a twelve-minutes’ break the staff had to return to their classes, so that several interrupted conversations had to be resumed at lunch. It was the custom for at least three-quarters of the school to stay for
