want to know; he was at Dr Greeby's lecture. That is so, is it not, Mr Radcott?'
'Well, no, not exactly, sir,' replied Radcott, with some embarrassment. 'I should have been, but, by a regrettable accident, I cut--that is to say, I was on the river, sir, and didn't get back in time.'
'Very vexatious,' said Professor Staines, while the Superintendent merely observed:
'Any witness to your being on the river, sir?'
'None,' replied Radcott. 'I was alone in a canoe, up a backwater--earnestly studying Aristotle. But I really didn't murder the Master. His lectures were--if I may say so--dull, but not to that point exasperating.'
'That is a very impudent observation, Mr Radcott,' said the Professor severely, 'and in execrable taste.'
The Superintendent, murmuring something about routine, took down in a note-book the alleged times of Mr Radcott's departure and return, and then said:
'I don't think I need detain any of you gentlemen further. If we want to see you again, Mr Temple, we will let you know.'
'Certainly, certainly. I shall just have a sandwich at the cafe and return to the Bodleian. As for the lady, I can only repeat that she sat at my table from about half-past nine till just before ten, and returned again at ten- thirty. Very restless and disturbing. I do wish, Dr Moyle, that some arrangement could be made to give me that table to myself, or that I could be given a place apart in the library. Ladies are always restless and disturbing. She was still there when I left, but I very much hope she has now gone for good. You are sure you don't want to lock me up now? I am quite at your service.'
'Not just yet, sir. You will hear from us presently.'
'Thank you, thank you. I should like to finish my chapter. For the present, then, I will wish you good- day.'
The little bent figure wandered away, and the Superintendent touched his head significantly.
'Poor gentleman! Quite harmless, of course. I needn't ask you, Dr Moyle, where he was at the time?'
'Oh, he was in his usual corner of Duke Humphrey's Library. He admits it, you see, when he is asked. In any case, I know definitely that he was there this morning, because he took out a Phi book, and of course had to apply personally to me for it. He asked for it at 9.30 and returned it at 12.15. As regards the lady, I think I have seen her before. One of the older school of learned ladies, I fancy. If she is an outside reader, I must have her name and address somewhere, but she may, of course, be a member of the University. I fear I could not undertake to know them all by sight. But I will inquire. It is, in fact, quite possible that she is still in the library, and, if not, Franklin may know when she went and who she is. I will look into the matter immediately. I need not say, professor, how deeply I deplore this lamentable affair. Poor dear Greeby! Such a loss to classical scholarship!'
At this point, Radcott gently drew Mr Egg away. A few yards farther down the cloisters, they turned into another and rather wider passage, which brought them out into the Inner Quadrangle, one side of which was occupied by the chapel. Mounting three dark flights of stone steps on the opposite side, they reached Radcott's rooms, where the undergraduate thrust his new acquaintance into an arm-chair, and, producing some bottles of beer from beneath the window-seat, besought him to make himself at home.
'Well,' he observed presently, 'you've had a fairly lively introduction to Oxford life--one murder and one madman. Poor old Temple. Quite one of our prize exhibits. Used to be a Fellow here, donkey's years ago. There was some fuss, and he disappeared for a time. Then he turned up again, ten years since, perfectly potty; took lodging in Holywell, and has haunted the Bodder and the police-station alternately ever since. Fine Greek scholar he is, too. Quite reasonable, except on the one point. I hope old Moyle finds his mysterious lady, though it's nonsense to pretend that they keep tabs on all the people who use the library. You've only got to walk in firmly, as if the place belonged to you, and, if you're challenged, say in a loud, injured tone that you've been a reader for years. If you borrow a gown, they won't even challenge you.'
'Is that so, really?' said Mr Egg.
'Prove it, if you like. Take my gown, toddle across to the Bodder, march straight in past the showcases and through the little wicket marked 'Readers Only', into Duke Humphrey's Library; do what you like, short of stealing the books or setting fire to the place--and if anybody says anything to you, I'll order six dozen of anything you like. That's fair, isn't it?'
Mr Egg accepted this offer with alacrity, and in a few moments, arrayed in a scholar's gown, was climbing the stair that leads to England's most famous library. With a slight tremor, he pushed open the swinging glass door and plunged into the hallowed atmosphere of mouldering leather that distinguishes such temples of learning.
Just inside, he came upon Dr Moyle in conversation with the doorkeeper. Mr Egg, bending nonchalantly to examine an illegible manuscript in a showcase, had little difficulty in hearing what they said, since like all official attendants upon reading-rooms, they took no trouble to lower their voices.
'I know the lady, Dr Moyle. That is to say, she has been here several times lately. She usually wears an M.A. gown. I saw her here this morning, but I didn't notice when she left. I don't think I ever heard her name, but seeing that she was a senior member of the University--'
Mr Egg waited to hear no more. An idea was burgeoning in his mind. He walked away, courageously pushed open the Readers' Wicket, and stalked down the solemn medieval length of Duke Humphrey's Library. In the remotest and darkest bay, he observed Mr Temple, who, having apparently had his sandwich and forgotten about the murder, sat alone, writing busily, amid a pile of repellent volumes, with a large attache-case full of papers open before him.
Leaning over the table, Mr Egg addressed him in an urgent whisper:
'Excuse me, sir. The police Superintendent asked me to say that they think they have found the lady, and would be glad if you would kindly step down at once and identify her.'
'The lady?' Mr Temple looked up vaguely. 'Oh, yes--the lady. To be sure. Immediately? That is not very convenient. Is it so very urgent?'
'They said particularly to lose no time, sir,' said Mr Egg.
Mr Temple muttered something, rose, seemed to hesitate whether to clear up his papers or not, and finally shovelled them all into the bulging attache-case, which he locked upon them.
'Let me carry this for you, sir,' said Monty, seizing it promptly and shepherding Mr Temple briskly out. 'They're still in the cloisters, I think, but the Super said, would you kindly wait a few moments for him in the porter's lodge. Here we are.'
He handed Mr Temple and his attache-case over to the care of the porter, who looked a little surprised at seeing Mr Egg in academic dress, but, on hearing the Superintendent's name, said nothing. Mr Egg hastened through quad and cloisters and mounted Mr Radcott's staircase at a run.
'Excuse me, sir,' he demanded breathlessly, of that young gentleman, 'but what is a Phi book?'
'A Phi book,' replied Radcott, in some surprise, 'is a book deemed by Bodley's Librarian to be of an indelicate nature, and catalogued accordingly, by some dead-and-gone humorist, under the Greek letter phi. Why the question?'
'Well,' said Mr Egg, 'it just occurred to me how simple it would be for anybody to walk into the Bodleian, disguise himself in a retired corner--say in Duke Humphrey's Library--walk out, commit a murder, return, change back to his own clothes and walk out. Nobody would stop a person from coming in again, if he--or she--had previously been seen to go out--especially if the disguise had been in the library before. Just a change of clothes and an M.A. gown would be enough.'
'What in the world are you getting at?'
'This lady, who was in the cloisters at the time of the murder. Mr Temple says she was sitting at his table. But isn't it funny that Mr Temple should have drawn special attention to himself by asking for a Phi book, today of all days? If he was once a Fellow of the college, he'd know which way Dr Greeby would go after his lecture; and he may have had a grudge against him on account of that old trouble, whatever it was. He'd know about the niche in the wall, too. And he's got an attache-case with him that might easily hold a lady's hat and a skirt long enough to hide his trousers. And why is he wearing a top-coat on such a hot day, if not to conceal the upper portion of his garments? Not that it's any business of mine--but--well, I just took the liberty of asking myself. And I've got him out there, with his case, and the porter keeping an eye on him.'
Thus Mr Egg, rather breathlessly. Radcott gaped at him.
'Temple? My dear man, you're as potty as he is. Why, he's always confessing--he confessed to this--you can't possibly suppose--'
