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I didn’t think it would come off a second time,” said Sloan modestly.
The superintendent grunted. He didn’t usually reckon to come in to the station on a Sunday morning, but then his Criminal Investigation Department didn’t arrest a double murderer every day of the week. Sloan, Perkins, Gelden and Crosby were all present—and looking regrettably pleased with themselves.
“No snags at all?” asked Leeyes.
“Worked like a charm,” said Sloan cheerfully. “He was quite taken in by Sergeant Perkins. So was I, sir. Anyone would have been.”
“Would they indeed?” said Leeyes. “Sergeant Perkins makes a good nun, does she?”
Sergeant Perkins flushed. “That headdress thing…”
“Coif,” supplied Sloan, now the expert.
“Coif is about the most uncomfortable thing I’ve ever worn.”
“You didn’t wear her hair shirt then,” said Leeyes acidly.
“No, sir. On the other hand, sir, you can’t blame Ranby for making a mistake that first time. You can’t see a nun’s face unless you get a straightforward front view, you know, and I don’t suppose he wanted to do that anyway.”
“Don’t forget either, sir,” put in Sloan, “that nuns don’t age as quickly as we do. I don’t know why. But Sister Anne looked the sort of age he expected Sister Lucy to look by now.”
“And,” went on Sergeant Perkins, “it’s about the darkest corridor I’ve ever been in.”
“That’s their subconscious harking back to candle-power,” said Sloan
Leeyes ignored this. “So Ranby killed Sister Anne on Wednesday in error?”
“Pure and simple case of mistaken identity, sir. It all fits. He was out to kill Sister Lucy, the Bursar and Procuratrix, who always wears that great big heavy bunch of keys hanging from her girdle. Always.”
“Except on Wednesday evenings?”
“No, just this one Wednesday so that Sister Anne could look out some gifts to send to the Missions in time for Christmas. I gather in the ordinary way she would have come with her, but she was busy on Wednesday evening.”
“What’s she got to be busy about?”
Sloan didn’t know. He didn’t think he would ever know what made them busy in a Convent. “Anyway, sir, she handed over her badge of office—a very conspicuous one—to Sister Anne, and so Ranby thinks it’s her. He picks up the orb on the newel post…”
“He knew all about that, did he?”
“Oh, yes, sir, from Celia Faine. He hits Sister Anne very hard indeed on the back of the head and puts it back. Not even bothering to wipe it very clean. If it’s found it’s a pointer to an inside job, isn’t it?”
“It wasn’t found,” pointed out the superintendent unkindly. “Not until someone laid it out on a plate for you.”
“No, sir,” said Sloan. “On the other hand it didn’t mislead us about its being an inside job either, did it? And then, sir,” he went on hurriedly, not liking the superintendent’s expression, “he bundles the body into the broom cupboard and takes the glasses off. It’s quite dark in there too and so he still doesn’t know he’s nobbled the wrong horse.”
“And then what?”
“He goes back to the Institute for supper.”
“He does what?”
“Goes back to the Institute for supper.”
“Who threw her down the stairs then?”
“He did.”
“When?”
“After supper.”
“Why?”
“Delay her being found, upset the timing, make us think she’d fallen—that sort of thing. Implicating Tewn, too, if necessary. It wouldn’t have been any bother to drag her along the corridor and shove her down the steps as he was there anyway.”
“How do you mean he was there anyway?”
“He came back after his own supper at the Institute,” said Sloan, “to attend Vespers. He didn’t want her found before the boys got to the Convent. He hadn’t an alibi for a quarter to seven or thereabouts when he killed her, but if she was thought to be alive at nine when they went off to bed it would throw a spanner in the calculations.”
“Are you trying to tell me, Sloan—not very clearly if I may say so—that Ranby came twice to the Convent on Wednesday night?”
“Yes, sir, I am. He came to the service that they have just before their supper as an ordinary worshipper— Benediction I think it’s called—and probably waited behind, afterwards. The nuns all go into the refectory at a quarter past six for their supper and he goes along the corridor, opens the cellar door, nips down for the habit, puts it on and comes back up into that corridor. Then comes the tricky bit. He has to wait for Sister Lucy to come along. He takes the orb down.”
“Didn’t anyone notice it had gone?”
“I doubt if they’d have missed anything, not even the kitchen stove, until the time came to use it. No, I think he just stood inside the broom cupboard until he saw her come along.”
“She’d have to be alone,” objected Leeyes doubtfully-
“Yes, she would, but don’t forget that after supper they have their recreation. They’re allowed to potter about a little at will. It was the only chance he took really—her not happening to come his way. But if she didn’t he could always go looking for her.”
“In the Convent?”
“It’s not difficult to pass as a nun if you’re in the habit. He’s fair-skinned anyway, they can’t see his hair, he’s got his own black shoes and socks on, trousers wouldn’t show and believe you me, sir, nuns are the least observant crowd of witnesses it has been my unfortunate lot to encounter. They seem to think it’s a sin to notice anything. And the light’s so bad you never get a really clear view of anything after daylight. Ranby never saw Sister Anne’s face sufficiently well at any time to know it wasn’t Sister Lucy. There’s no light to speak of in the corridor itself, and he wouldn’t dare shine a torch. That would be asking for trouble.”
“So he kills Sister Anne, goes back to the Institute for supper…”
“That’s right, sir. They would notice if he weren’t there anyway, but particularly at the Institute supper.”
“Why?”
“There are fourteen resident staff all told, including Ranby, so if one is missing there are—”
“I can do
“Yes, sir.” Sloan coughed. “As soon as the supper at the Institute was finished I reckon he came back, put on the habit and Sister Anne’s glasses. He only had to be last in to the Chapel to know which was her stall.” He took a breath. “And he was—Sister Damien said so. Then he waits until the nuns have gone to bed, drags the body to the top of the cellar steps, throws it down, leaves the habit ready for Tewn, puts the glasses in his pocket, and goes back to his quarters in the Institute. I expect he rang for the maid to take away his coffee cup or sent for one of the staff or students— something like that to imply that he’d been there all the time. Nobody’s likely to ask him any questions though, because he thought there was nothing to connect him with the Convent at all.”
“But there was?”
“There must have been something or he wouldn’t have had to kill Tewn.”
“Ah, Tewn. I was forgetting Tewn.” The superintendent never forgot anything.
“I think Tewn had to die because he saw something which connected Ranby with the Convent.”
“What?”
Sloan tapped his notebook. “I’m not absolutely certain but I think I can guess.”
“Well?”
