'But the Headmaster keeps him on?'
'Might get a science master any time.'
'And lab. boys are not very easy to come by, I suppose. What is this one like?'
'Proper little 'Itler.'
'Really? I wonder what you mean by that?'
'Punch-drunk with power.'
'Ah, yes, I see. He feels that in his hands he holds the lives of all in the school, both Staff and boys.'
'Something of that sort.'
'I really do understand. It is not an uncommon feeling, especially when one has access to deadly poisons. What is his name?'
'Ere, I never said nothing about poisons,' said the caretaker. 'Anyway, name of Borgia-or so 'e claims.'
The cafe, indicated with a certain amount of reluctance by the caretaker, proved to be a respectable shop which sold cakes and ice-cream and where coffee and soft drinks were dispensed in a room which opened off the back of the premises.
The interior gave promise of the same quietness. Dame Beatrice, guided by a kindly girl who wore a black frock and a small blue apron, took a seat and ordered coffee and biscuits. She also asked whether the waitress knew a Mr Borgia.
'Borgia?' repeated the girl. She smiled. 'I think it's just his nonsense, madam. There he is, at that table over there, with his girl friend. Ask
'Or, of course, Robinson,' said Dame Beatrice absently. 'I should very much like to meet him.'
'Well, he wouldn't be everybody's fancy, madam, being, in my opinion, a nasty bumbacious piece of work, but his girl friend has got to get back to the shop in ten minutes, so he'll be on his own after that. He'll likely sit on in here, smoking his fags. He generally does. Got nothing much else to do until they get a new science master up at the private school, so he told me.'
'I wonder whether you would be kind enough to give him this note?' said Dame Beatrice, scribbling it as she spoke. 'You may read it, if you wish to do so.'
She sipped the execrable brew which the cafe had provided and watched the waitress deliver the written message. The young man, a black-haired, pale-faced, rather spotty individual in a shiny and tight-fitting bright blue suit, looked across at her, made a remark to his girl friend, who giggled, and then hitched his chair round so that his back was towards Dame Beatrice.
She waited, drinking, in the meanwhile, what she could of the hell-brew. This involved taking the smallest possible sips of it and she soon signalled the waitress to take the rest away.
'It's horrible stuff, madam,' said the waitress, sympathetically, 'but we can't make it no better at the price. Ah, there she goes.'
This last remark was a species of obituary on Borgia's girl friend, who rose from his table, slapped him lightly on the top of his brilliantined head and strolled with swinging hips out of the cafe. Borgia sped her with a slightly vulgar pleasantry and then came across to Dame Beatrice.
'So what?' he asked.
'Sit down,' said Dame Beatrice. 'I fear that I cannot recommend the coffee. Did you have any?'
'Me? No. A cuppa does me.' He looked at her suspiciously. 'Not as I need one now,' he added. 'Anyway, I don't take nothing from dames.'
'I am sure you do not. No really manly young man would.'
'What do you want with me, anyway?' Borgia demanded, highly suspicious of the compliment.
'Tales out of school.'
'
'Tell me all about hydrocyanic acid.'
'Eh? Why?'
'Because I represent the Home Office.'
'What's that?'
'Ultimately it is the authority which decides whether murderers shall be hanged.'
'Oh, I see. And you represents 'em, does you?' His voice was contemptuous. Dame Beatrice leered at him and answered him blandly.
'From the psychiatric angle, yes. Now, look here, my poor young man, for your own sake you would be well advised to answer my questions.'
'And for why?'
'Two people have been poisoned, the one by hydrocyanic acid and the other by potassium cyanide. So far as we have been able to discover, you are one of the few people connected with the case who had access to both these poisons.'
'Wodger mean, connected with the case? I don't know nothing about it!'
