A Javelin for Jonah

A woman might use a dagger, but to stick a pig—well, it isn’t women’s work, say what you like. But, going back a bit, I don’t see why it shouldn’t have been an accident. Accidents do happen. One of the spectators at the sports last year was nearly killed by a hammer-thrower, and we’ve had quite a few near-misses with the discus at one time and another. All the same, though—”

“What?” asked Lesley, looking anxious.

“Whoever did it buried the body. Surely, if it had been merely an accident, the person responsible would have come charging into the senior common room for help?”

“In any normal institution, yes, but supposing you’d already got something on your conscience? Some of the men-students have rather impressive records, haven’t they?”

“Somebody did it by accident and simply panicked. Is that your idea?”

“That’s what I’m going to think, and I advise you to do the same. It’s the hell of a nuisance that those two women had to turn up this afternoon.”

“Why? The sooner Dame Beatrice can find out what really happened, whether Jonah was killed by accident or design, the sooner we can all forget about it and resume normal working.”

“Much better if Gassie had decided to tell the tale to the authorities about a fatal accident which occurred at normal athletics practice, but that’s impossible now.”

“He’d have had to find a scapegoat, even at that, though,” said Miss Yale, “and who’s going to own up to killing, however accidentally, an unpopular blackguard like Jonah? But why don’t you want a proper enquiry made? You haven’t got anything to hide, I hope?”

“No more than you have,” said Lesley spitefully. “I shouldn’t think any of the staff (except the blameless James) want the police poking a nose into their affairs.”

“You may be right, but there are degrees of guilt, I suppose.”

“And what, exactly, do you mean by that?” Lesley’s hard stare had turned into a glare of hatred.

“I’ll spell it out for you, although I’m sure there’s no real need,” said Miss Yale calmly, “by asking you a question. Why did you take a job here?”

“Because I had the necessary qualifications and because the pay was good.”

“Oh, yeah? And what about Sealcombe?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Hatred was replaced by alarm in Lesley’s lustrous eyes.

“You do, you know—or shall I tell you?” asked Miss Yale.

“If it comes to that, why did you take a job here?”

“Same sort of reason.”

“Does Gassie know about us?”

“I daresay he does. We’re not the only ones who were glad of the chance to find a hiding-place. We’re here because he can trust us.”

“You mean he deliberately employs people who… ?”

“Of course, we’ve still got to be first-class at our job. That goes without saying. Given that, however—yes, I think Gassie does deliberately employ us, as you put it. Gives him a fellow-feeling with us, I suppose.”

“Do you mean that Gassie himself is…”

“Officially, no. Unofficially, there was a lot of local stink about the death of his wife. Anyway, watch your step with this Bradley woman. It might be as well not to tell her too many lies. From all I’ve ever heard, she’s got second sight where liars are concerned.”

“Thank you, I’m sure,” said Lesley bitterly.

Henry and Dame Beatrice found Gascoigne Medlar in conference with Barry, Lesley and Miss Yale, for the conversation between the two women had been interrupted by a summons from the Warden.

“So you may go ahead with the new landing-areas for jump and pole,” he was saying, “but please impress upon the students that they are very expensive items and must be treated with the greatest respect.”

“I’m glad the landing-stuff for the high jump has come,” said Miss Yale. “I’ve a girl who will attempt the Fosbury Flop.”

“I’ve got a lad who will do it, too,” said Barry. “Now that Colin’s sunk for the long-jump I can do with a good high-jump man, and if we have the landing-area our pole-vault may return to popularity.”

“Well,” said Gascoigne, beaming upon his chief-of-staff, “you have Henry to thank for getting you the apparatus so quickly. Did you wish to see me in private, Dame Beatrice?”

“Far from it, my dear Warden,” she replied. “We—Mr. Henry and I—have just received some disquieting news from a Mr. Kirk concerning my godson, Hamish Gavin. As I am convinced that the youth (although he is lying about Hamish) does have some knowledge of how Mr. Jones came to his death (or, more likely, to his burial), I should wish you to confront him and question him, if you will be so good.”

“Kirk?” said the Warden. “Oh, yes, I know him. Not one of our most lovable characters, I’m afraid. What has he been saying about James?”

“We would prefer that you heard it from his own lips, and that we were not present. I refuse to allow him to say that he was intimidated,” said Henry.

“Ah, yes. I wonder, Barry, whether you will be good enough to chase the boy up and bring him over here?”

“Certainly,” said Barry, smiling. “Coming, Lesley?”