“To take down all that is said.”
“Verbatim?”
“If your shorthand will stand the strain.”
“What do you think you pay me for?”
“Chiefly for the pleasure of your society.”
The town was not a large one, and the hospital was a bungalow-type building standing in pleasant, tree- planted grounds. Dame Beatrice was expected (the result of an official telephone call from the inspector) and was greeted by the matron in a spacious vestibule just inside the front door.
“Yes, Colin Dawson is getting on very nicely,” she said, in response to an enquiry from Dame Beatrice. “We think he may be able to try out his crutches next week. Did you wish to see him?”
“No, I think not. You have been told, Matron, that I am assisting the police, have you not?”
“Oh, certainly.”
“I wonder how many people you can identify in this photograph?”
George, who had carried it in, unwrapped the parcel. He returned to the car with the wrappings while Laura and Dame Beatrice held up the large, heavy frame for inspection.
“Let us go into my office,” said the matron, “then we can put it down on a table while I study it. I really need my glasses.”
She did not take long to make up her mind. “This man,” she said, pointing to one of the two faces in the picture which were unfamiliar to Dame Beatrice and Laura, “was a patient here fairly recently. We understood that he had been in a fight with some ruffians. His injuries were extensive but fortunately not serious.”
“Did he have any visitors while he was here?”
“Yes, several, including his uncle, and twice he was visited by this man.” She indicated another figure in the photograph. “He also—this man—came to see Colin Dawson two or three times and seemed very distressed by Colin’s accident, for which he blamed himself bitterly, saying that if he had not taken an entirely unnecessary holiday the accident would never have happened.”
“You cannot possibly remember the date of his first visit to Colin, I suppose?”
“Not to a day, but it was very soon after Colin was admitted, I do remember that much. Colin’s mother came the same day, so the ward sister kept this man outside until the mother left, as we did not want too many visitors at one time while the poor boy was still in a state of shock.”
“And the man came again after that, you say?”
“Oh, yes, more than once, I believe. The ward sister would know more about it than I do. You would like to have a word with her, would you?”
“Very much indeed.”
The ward sister was no more certain of definite dates than the matron had been. She picked out the same two men from the photograph and then put a finger on Gascoigne.
“Only once,” she said, “but he came and brought flowers and some beautiful hot-house grapes.”
“How long ago?” asked Dame Beatrice.
“Oh, right at the beginning, before anybody else at all— any other of Colin’s visitors, I mean, including his mother and this other man.”
“Thank you, Sister.” Dame Beatrice took farewell of the matron and returned to the car with Laura, who was carrying the photograph.
“Did you get what you wanted?” Laura asked.
“Yes, I did.”
“Anything the lawyers can tell the jury?”
“No, child.”
“So, really, we’re no farther on.”
“You are wrong. The case may well be solved and the murderer may even confess.”
“Why may he?”
“Because he is what the inspector called him, an intelligent amateur. He will be too intelligent not to recognize the justice of my findings, and too much of an amateur to realize that I have no proof of what I say. I cannot prove that he had the new head put on the javelin, and I cannot prove that he was the man who used the javelin to kill Mr. Jones. I cannot prove that Kirk was blackmailing him, unless he himself chooses to admit it. I cannot even prove that he was the man who so foolishly went to the forge.”
“Well, honestly, I think he’ll be a fool if he confesses.”
“He
“I take it that one of the faces we didn’t recognize was that of Jones,” said Laura. “The other one, I suppose, must have left the college before we were dragged into all this.”
“One of Colin’s visitors was certainly Barry,” said Dame Beatrice.
“Oh, but we knew that, didn’t we?” said Laura, looking puzzled.
