“Well!” said the Warden. Before he could add to this exclamation a servant came to tell him that he was wanted on the telephone. Nobody spoke while he was gone. Barry took out a packet of cigarettes, looked at it and put it away again. Martin whistled a doleful little melody. Hamish looked across at his mother and raised his eyebrows. She grimaced and nodded. Dame Beatrice remained seated, straight-backed and inscrutable, an idol carved out of old ivory. Miss Yale got up suddenly and went out of the room. Time passed and the ticking of the clock could be heard like the pulse of a heart-beat.
Gascoigne returned before the silence became too oppressive.
“All is well, so far as my javelin is concerned,” he said. “I was right in assuming that the stains are nothing more than red paint. I must, of course, find out the identity of the mischievous person who purloined it from my collection, and I may have a clue to his identity when the inspector returns. The police found a piece of writing in the cubicle. It ran…” his smile became benevolent… “ ‘Gassie’s secret weapon.’ I doubt, though, whether I shall find it in my heart to be too hard on the culprit. It must be a great relief to us all to be able to write my javelin off as a misconceived jest. All the same, we are still faced with the fact of poor Davy’s death and of his most unseemly burial. The police, needless to say, are to come again to harass us. By the most fortunate chance, we have with us this afternoon someone of vast experience and, I am sure, of faultless tact”—he bowed to the settee—“who will consent, I hope, to assist us in finding the unfortunate youth who, I am sure, accidentally wounded poor Davy to death and then tried—and how uncouthly, poor boy!—to hide what he had done. Once we know his identity the inquest on Davy will be a mere formality, so I know you will all place any knowledge or suspicion you have of the culprit’s identity at the disposal of Dame Beatrice, so that she may clear the matter up for us and allow the College to resume what is popularly known as normal working.”
He beamed upon the assembled staff. Dame Beatrice put an end to his expectations.
“I cannot undertake to find the criminal,” she said, emphasizing a word which nobody, so far, had used, “before the inquest is over and the verdict has been given, unless, of course, the proceedings should be adjourned.”
“You will not attempt to find the culprit until after the inquest?” asked Gascoigne, mingling incredulity with the disappointment in his tone.
“It is doubtful whether I
“Anything, anything! Anything which will help to clear up this dreadful matter.”
“I wonder, then, since you are so good, whether I might begin with you yourself.” She glanced around the assembly. “You would prefer to answer my questions in private, I think.”
“No, no, not at all. I should prefer my staff to hear anything I have to say, although I fear there is little I can tell you.”
“I believe that Mr. Jones was a relative of your own.”
“Oh, yes, yes, indeed. Only by marriage, of course, but in that way we were related. He was my deceased wife’s brother.”
“When did he join your staff?”
“Four years ago last March.”
“Did he obtain the post by merit or because of the relationship?”
Gascoigne displayed horrified disapproval of this question, but decided to answer it in the same dispassionate tone as that of his inquisitor.
“Both,” he said. “He was a competent instructor, but I must admit that he was preferred to other candidates for the post because—well, for my dear wife’s sake—I felt that I owed him a living.”
“Very naturally, I suppose. Did the appointment cause any surprise or ill-feeling?”
“Well, it is strange that you should ask that. I had intended the gymnastics post to go to one of our old students. In fact I had half-promised it to him, and I know he was bitterly disappointed when I gave it to Davy. Fortunately another post, that of swimming coach, fell vacant, so I gave this fellow the job. Unfortunately he turned out to be something of a sadist. The students resented his methods and in the end they beat him up so severely that he had to go to hospital. James now holds the post and I wish he could be persuaded to stay with us. Now, Dame Beatrice, is there any way in which I can further assist you?”
“If I am to talk to some of the students, it would be helpful if you could suggest which of them you would like me to examine.”
“Ah, yes, of course.” He went over to a filing-cabinet. “I keep a reasonably detailed note of the reasons for students coming here and my own reasons for accepting them. If you would care to glance through these,” he handed her a fat folder, “I think you will get some idea of which cases would most interest you.”
Miss Yale, who had returned while this conversation was going on, now remarked, in a most emphatic tone, “I’ve got something important to say, I’ve been checking the equipment. That’s to say, I’ve been inspecting the cupboard where the javelins are kept. There’s one I think you’d better look at, Gassie.”
“Not blood-stained?” asked Gascoigne, alarmed.
“No, but you had better come and see it. Henry, you, too.”
Without being invited, Dame Beatrice and Laura added themselves to the party and the five of them crossed the field to the changing-rooms. Miss Yale unlocked the door, led the way past the cupboards and lockers, through an arch and so into a room where the apparatus was kept. Here she unlocked a cupboard whose doors were of steel. There were a dozen javelins neatly stacked on grooved shelves, four javelins to each shelf. Miss Yale waved a large hand and stood back.
“Take a look, Gassie,” she said.
“You know the stock and I do not,” said Gascoigne to Henry. “What is Miss Yale telling us?” Henry cast an eye over the javelins and took up one of the implements by the cord-bound grip. He weighted it with bent elbow and shook it a little, then he held its point towards Miss Yale.
“This the one you mean?” he asked.
“Yes, of course. You can see why, can’t you? As soon as Gassie mentioned red paint I thought of red
