‘Well, ma’am, if we’d known from the first that it was murder — although, of course, we had our suspicions of that — the Detective-Superintendent would have taken over the case from the beginning, but we thought this man had simply absconded with the money, so I can’t grumble. I’ve had quite an interesting time.’
‘What happened at the inquest?’
‘Just routine, ma’am, and an adjournment. The county pathologist couldn’t find out exactly how the murder had been committed owing to the length of time the body had been underground. There were details of putrefaction, ravages by maggots and all the other nasty things which take away the dignity of death. What we do know is that there had been a knock on the head, but we don’t know yet what the murder weapon was. There’s only one thing I’m certain about in my own mind. Whether the Buxtons have any knowledge of it or not, Pythias was killed in their house. I’m as certain of that as I am of my own identity.’
‘So when you mentioned a political murder, you did not really see it as that.’
‘Certainly not at first. I reckoned it was a straightforward mugging until we found where the body was buried.’
‘Mrs Buxton knew Mr Pythias had the journey money on him,’ said Margaret Wirrell. ‘She admitted as much to me when I went round there at the very beginning of this dreadful business before any idea of murder had entered anybody’s mind.’
‘Well, I had better not keep the headmaster waiting,’ said Laura, as Mr Ronsonby came to the door and opened it. Routh, postponing his departure, allowed Laura and Margaret to precede him into the headmaster’s sanctum and said, ‘It seems we are entertaining angels unaware, sir. It turns out that Mrs Gavin is the wife of an Assistant Commissioner at New Scotland Yard.’
‘Dear me! Then why does she wish to enrol a boy at my school? Is he to act as copper’s nark?’ asked Mr Ronsonby, smiling at Laura. ‘I remember a most interesting detective story by Cyril Hare — Judge Gordon Clark, you know, Mrs Gavin — in which the vicar’s wife insisted upon inserting herself into the police force in just that capacity.’
‘I’m afraid,’ said Laura, taking the armchair he offered her, ‘there isn’t any boy. I had to think up a plausible reason for getting into the school to see you, that’s all. I certainly didn’t expect to run into Mr Routh as well. That
11
Concerning Chickens
« ^ »
So there we were,’ said Laura, on her return to the Stone House, ‘all cosy and relaxed in the headmaster’s den and, thanks to Detective-Inspector Routh, with me the belle of the ball. He was present at a police jamboree which Gavin and I attended some time back and he recognised me and sort of guaranteed my
‘I have been thinking about your visit to Mrs Buxton. You said you did not get on with her very well,’ said Dame Beatrice.
‘I didn’t. I checked her advertisement in the local paper — they had a copy in the reading room at the public library — and it stated plainly and clearly that the room the Buxtons had to spare would be let to a suitable tenant on a week-to-week basis, but, when I entered into negotiations with the woman, she wanted me to sign a three- year lease.’
‘Her tactful way of pointing out that she did not want you as a tenant?’
‘Obviously. For one thing, she prefers men lodgers. All the tenants are men. They are given their breakfasts, four cooked suppers a week at which everybody sits down, and individual high teas are provided on Fridays for anybody who says he will be in. No visitors are allowed, not even for a cup of tea. It all sounded very much regimented to me.’
‘Not for a household of men. The male sex goes out of the home for its pleasures, even if it is married. I do not suppose Mrs Buxton’s lodgers find her rules restricting. Was the house well kept?’
‘Oh, yes, it was neat, orderly and very clean.’
‘Were you shown Mr Pythias’s room?’
‘I was. It’s a good room on the ground floor, but it does have that awful great daub painted on one wall. I gained nothing from being shown it. The real fun was when I went round to the school.’
‘Ah, yes, the caretaker and the chickens, you said. Does he keep chickens?’
‘No. The boys do. The school, it appears, branches out in all directions when it comes to out-of-school activities, and the chickens are presided over by the younger boys. Well, the caretaker came to report that it was thought a fox had got one of the birds. The tally was minus one hen and there were feathers blowing about on the school field.’
‘Did the caretaker break into the headmaster’s conference merely to report on a missing hen?’
‘Yes, because it seems that he has a guilty conscience about
‘You fascinate me. Proceed.’
‘Well, he came in, as I said, to report that one of the school chickens was missing and that there were feathers here and there about the school field. It appears that the chickens function in the corner of it furthest from the caretaker’s cottage, so that the cackling doesn’t disturb him, but if the boys who are on the rota for holiday feeding and egg collecting don’t turn up for any reason, the caretaker’s wife does the needful feeding and is rewarded by being allowed to keep the eggs. It is known that one of the back gardens of the houses which border the school field on two sides harbours a vixen and her cubs, and the caretaker came to report that he thought the missing hen was in her den.’
