A Javelin for Jonah

referred to expulsions from school for taking or being in possession of drugs. Before that, the reasons varied and some of the offences seemed trivial. She did, however, read carefully the notes which referred to violence, but these were few and the reasons, if Gascoigne had understood the evidence and reported it faithfully, seemed, if not adequate, at least self-explanatory.

She and Laura were given seats at the high table for dinner; the conversation was nothing more than small-talk and not until the end of the meal was anything said about the purpose of Dame Beatrice’s staying in the College. It was Gascoigne himself who introduced the subject a little later in the evening.

“I suppose,” he said, taking a seat beside her when they repaired to the senior common room for coffee, “it is unrealistic to imagine that you have come to any conclusions so far?”

“I have come to one,” she replied. “It depends upon the fact that a small number of students, including a young woman, were responsible for locking Mr. Jones in a cellar which houses the plant for the central heating.”

“Oh, Henry has all that in hand. I believe he has admonished the culprits. He gave me their names, but I cannot think that they know anything about poor Davy’s death.”

“Probably not. All the same, I think I had better have a first-hand account of the matter from the young woman concerned. She is somewhere in the house itself, I assume, so it will be easier to contact her than to send over to the halls of residence for one of the young men who were involved.”

“I will find out from Miss Yale where she is domiciled. At the moment I expect she is in the women’s junior common room.” He crossed over to where Miss Yale was talking to Laura. “Dame Beatrice would like to talk to Kathleen,” he said. “Do you think you could find her and send her to what was Davy’s sitting-room?”

Miss Yale looked across at Dame Beatrice with no very friendly or approving gaze.

“I suppose so,” she said. “Not that Kathleen is going to care much about Jonah’s quarters as a rendez- vous.”

“Death comes to us all,” pronounced Gascoigne piously. “I don’t suppose poor Davy haunts the place.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Miss Yale. She got up and went out of the room, returning in a few minutes to say in a firm, repressive voice, “Kathleen awaits your pleasure, Dame Beatrice.”

Dame Beatrice thanked her and glanced at Laura, who rose and went with her to Jones’s quarters. They found a frightened, sulky child waiting on the landing.

“I’m not going in there,” she said flatly.

“How uncompromising you sound,” said Dame Beatrice lightly. “Very well. Would you have the same objection to entering Mr. James’s room? We can go there, if you prefer it.”

“Oh, all right, then,” said the girl. “After all, Jonah isn’t here now.” She opened the door to Jones’s sitting-room and went in. “You won’t pin anything on me, you know,” she said. “You’re wasting your time.”

“Ah, well, it, like my money, is my own,” said Dame Beatrice mildly, “Do sit down. May I call you Kathleen? This, as I expect you know, is James’s mother.” Laura, who had closed the door, sat down at the escritoire, took out a pencil and provided herself with a sheet of paper.

“Everything you say will be taken down in writing and may be given in evidence,” said the girl bitterly.

“Dear me! I didn’t know you had ever been in the hands of the police,” said Dame Beatrice.

“Ought to have been. Shop-lifting. They didn’t press the charges.”

“Your mother had an account at the shop in question, of course, and she corroborated your explanation that you had been shopping on the strength of it, I suppose.”

The girl looked startled at first by this display of omniscience. Then she said, “Didn’t want a fuss. Bad for her image. You got that from Gassie, I suppose.”

“From some notes he lent me, yes. And now let me suggest that we get down to business. The sooner it’s over, the sooner to sleep, don’t you think? Will you tell me all about the kidnapping and incarceration of Mr. Jones?”

“I suppose the police told you about that! Well, they’ve spoken to me. They’ve seen all six of us. I’m not saying any more to anybody. I don’t know what happened to Jonah and I couldn’t care less, and none of us knows anything about it.”

“Convince me of that,” said Dame Beatrice. “No,” she went on quickly, “swearing at me won’t help. I’m prepared to believe your story. That is, I am prepared to believe as much of it as you are prepared to tell me. I know it won’t be the whole truth, but I think that the part you are going to tell me will be the truth. Up to a point, you see, you have nothing to hide. After that point I will tell the rest of the story to you, if you like. Come, now, what do you say?”

“Look,” said the girl uneasily, “how much do you know?”

“That I am not disposed to tell you at present, any more than you are disposed to pay me the same compliment, so that is fair enough. Here goes, then. I know that six of you, yourself and five young men, arranged and conspired together to kidnap Mr. Jones and shut him up in a cellar. Taking advantage of the fact that all the rest of the staff were occupied, some with a film show, some on a cross-country run, and so on, you followed Mr. Jones to his lock-up garage, took him prisoner and incarcerated him. You left food with him and planned to release him on Thursday night or last Friday morning.”

“Yes, but he wasn’t there.”

“No, he was dead by then. What is more, you knew he was dead. I will go even further. You even knew that he was to be buried in the long-jump pit.”

“No! No, we didn’t! We thought somebody else—one of the staff—had let him out. We didn’t know he was dead!”

“Then why did you hold a council, the six of you, and, in a panic, decide to tell Mr. Henry that you had kidnapped and imprisoned him? It was quite unnecessary, if you really thought he had been freed. Can you not see that?”