herself into the parts rather too vigorously to be wholly convincing. Her Desdemona to my Othello is something I am never likely to forget.’
‘An impetuous woman, would you say?’
‘Let me put it this way,’ said Mr Morris, ‘had Shakespeare written the play as Mrs Wilt interpreted it, Othello would have been the one to be strangled.’
‘I see, sir,’ said the Sergeant. ‘Then I take it she didn’t like black men.’
‘I have no idea what she thought about the racial issue.’ said Mr Morris, ‘I am talking of her physical strength.’
‘A powerful woman, sir?’
‘Very.’ said Mr Morris with feelings.
Sergeant Yates looked puzzled. ‘It seems strange a woman like that allowing herself to be murdered by Mr Wilt without putting up more of a struggle,’ he said thoughtfully.
‘It seems incredible to me,’ Mr Morris agreed, ‘and what is more it indicates a degree of fanatical courage in Henry that his behaviour in this department never led me to suspect. I can only suppose he was insane at the time.’
Sergeant Yates seized on the point. ‘Then it is your considered opinion that he was not in his right mind when he killed his wife?’
‘Right mind? I can think of nothing rightminded about killing your wife and dumping her body…’
‘I meant sir,’ said the Sergeant, ‘that you think Mr Wilt is a lunatic.’
Mr Morris hesitated. There were a good many members of his department whom he would have classified as mentally unbalanced but he hardly liked to advertise the fact. On the other hand it might help poor Wilt.
‘Yes. I suppose so.’ he said finally for at heart he was a kindly man. ‘Quite mad. Between ourselves, Sergeant, anyone who is prepared to teach the sort of bloodyminded young thugs we get can’t be entirely sane. And only last week Wilt got into an altercation with one of the Printers and was punched in the face. I think that may have had something to do with his subsequent behaviour. I trust you will treat what I say in the strictest confidence. I wouldn’t want…’
‘Quite so, sir,’ said Sergeant Yates. ‘Well, I needn’t detain you any longer.’
He returned to the Police Station and reported his findings to Inspector Flint.
‘Nutty as a fruitcake,’ he announced. ‘That’s his opinion. He’s quite positive about it.’
‘In that case he had no right to employ the sod,’ said Flint. ‘He should have sacked the brute.’
‘Sacked him? From the Tech? You know they can’t sack teachers. You’ve got to do something really drastic before they give you the boot.’
‘Like murdering three people, I suppose. Well as far as I’m concerned they can have the little bastard back.’
‘You mean he’s still holding out?’
‘Holding out? He’s counterattacking. He’s reduced me to a nervous wreck and now Bolton says he wants to be relieved. Can’t stand the strain any longer.’
Sergeant Yates scratched his head. ‘Beats me how he does it,’ he said. ‘Anyone would think he was innocent. I wonder when he’ll start asking for a lawyer.’
‘Never,’ said Flint. ‘What does he need a lawyer for? If I had a lawyer in there handing out advice I’d have got the truth out of Wilt hours ago.’
As night fell over Eel Sretch the wind increased to Gale Force Eight. Rain hammered on the cabin roof, waves slapped against the hull and the cabin cruiser, listing to starboard, settled more firmly into the mud. Inside the cabin the air was thick with smoke and bad
