“I see.” The Mother Prioress nodded. “That presumably was the source of the family income?”
“Yes, marm. You didn’t know?”
“Not personally. My predecessor might have been told by Sister Anne. I do not think,” she added gently, “that it would have concerned us in any way.”
“Yes,” interrupted Sister Gertrude unexpectedly. “Yes, it would, Mother.”
Suddenly finding herself the object of every eye in the Parlour, Sister Gertrude blushed and lowered her head.
“Pray explain, Sister.”
“This potential that you are talking about was some money that Sister Anne was to come into, wasn’t it?”
Sloan nodded.
“Well, she knew about it. She told Sister Damien that the Convent would have it one day and then we could have our cloister.”
There was silence.
Sister Gertrude looked from Inspector Sloan to Father Benedict MacAuley and back again. “I don’t know if there would have been enough for a cloister or not,” she said nervously, “but Sister Damien thought so, and so did Sister Anne.”
“I think,” said the Mother Prioress heavily, “that we had better see Sister Damien and Sister Michael now.”
Sister Damien came first. Tall, thin and stiff-looking even in the soft folds of her habit, she swept the assembled company with a swift look and bowed to the Mother Prioress.
“The inspector has some questions for you, Sister. Pray answer them to the best of your recollection.”
Sister Damien turned an expectant glance to Sloan.
“I want you to take your mind back to the events of Wednesday evening,” he began easily. “Supper, for instance—what did you have?”
“Steak and kidney pie, and bread and butter pudding. The reading was of the martyrdom of Saint Denise.”
“And Sister Anne sat next to you?”
“Naturally.”
“Did you speak to her then?”
“Talking at meals is not permitted.”
There was an irritating glint of self-righteousness in her eye that Sloan would dearly love to have squashed. Instead he said, “When did you see her again?”
“Not until Vespers.”
“What about Recreation?”
“I didn’t see her then. I was talking to Sister Jerome about some lettering ink for prayer cards. We are,” she added insufferably, “permitted to move about at Recreation.”
“When did you go into the Chapel?”
“About a quarter past eight.”
“Was Sister Anne there then?”
“No. She came much later. I thought she was going to be late.”
“But she wasn’t?”
“No, not quite.”
“Did you speak to her?” asked Sloan—and wished he hadn’t.
“Speaking in Chapel is not permitted,” said Sister Damien inevitably.
“Did you notice anything about her particularly?”
“No, Inspector, but we practise custody of the eyes.”
“Custody of the eyes?”
The Mother Prioress leaned forward. “You could call it the opposite of observation. It is the only way to acquire the true concentration of the religious.”
Sloan took a deep breath. Custody of the eyes didn’t help him one little bit. “I see.”
“There was just one thing, Inspector…”
“Well?”
“I think she may have been starting a cold. She did blow her nose several times.”
“About the cloister…”
An entirely different sort of gleam came into Sister Damien’s eye. She smoothed away an invisible crease in her gown.
“Yes, Inspector, we shall be able to have that now. Sister Anne said that when she was dead we should have enough money to have our cloister. She told me so several times. And there would be some for the missions, too. She took a great interest in missionary work.”
“Did she tell you where the money was to come from?” asked Sloan.
“No. Just that it would be going back to those from whom it had been taken.” Sister Damien seemed able to invest every remark she made with sanctimoniousness. “And that then restitution would have been made.”
Sister Michael was fat and breathless and older. She did not hear at all well. Panting a little she agreed that Sister Anne had been very nearly late. The last in the Chapel, she thought. She hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary but then she never did. She was a little deaf, you see, and had to concentrate hard on the service to make up for it.
But Sister Anne was there?
Sister Michael looked blank and panted a little more. One service was very like the next, Inspector, but she thought she would have remembered if Sister Anne hadn’t been there, if he knew what she meant.
But she had just told him that Sister Anne was late.
Yes, well, Sister Damien had reminded her about that this morning.
What about yesterday morning when Sister Anne definitely wasn’t there. Had she noticed then?
Well, actually, no. She wasn’t ever very good in the mornings. It took her a little while to get going if he knew what she meant. Deafness, though she knew these minor disabilities were sent purely to test the weak on earth and were as nothing compared with the sufferings of saints and martyrs, was in fact very trying and led to a feeling of cut-offness. Of course, in some ways it made it easier to be properly recollected, if he knew what she meant.
He didn’t. He gave up.
10
« ^ »
Harold Cartwright received them in his bedroom at The Bull. He appeared to have been working hard. The table was strewn with papers and there were more on the bed. There was a live tape recorder on the dressing- table and he was talking into it when the two policemen arrived. He switched it off immediately.
“Sit down, gentlemen.” He cleared two chairs. “It’s not very comfortable but it’s the best Cullingoak has to offer. I don’t think they have many visitors at The Bull.”
“Thank you, sir.” Sloan took out a notebook. “We’re just checking up on a matter of timing and would like to run through your movements on Wednesday again.”
Cartwright looked at him sharply. “As I told you before, I drove myself down here from London…”
“When exactly did you leave?”
“I don’t know exactly. About half past four. I wanted to miss the rush-hour traffic.”
“Can anyone confirm the time you left?”
“I expect so,” he said impatiently. “My secretary, for one. And my deputy director. I was in conference most of the afternoon and left as soon as I’d cleared up the matters arising from it. Is it important?”
“And how long did it take you to arrive here?” He grimaced. “Longer than I thought it would. Several hundred other motorists had the same idea about leaving London before the rush hour. I drove into The Bull yard a few
