you mind if he is present?”
“Not at all, marm. I have left the police surgeon in the cellar. In the meantime, perhaps you would tell us a little about the… Sister Anne.”
Sloan wouldn’t have chosen the Convent Parlour for an interview with anyone. It was the reverse of cosy. The Reverend Mother and Sister Lucy disposed themselves on hard, stiff-backed chairs and offered two others to the two policemen. Father MacAuley was settled in the only one that looked remotely comfortable. Sloan noticed that it was the policemen who were in the light, the Reverend Mother who was in the shadow, from the window. Vague thoughts about the Inquisition flitted through his mind and were gone again. The room was bare, as the entrance hall had been bare, the floor of highly polished wood. In most rooms there was enough to give a good policeman an idea of the type of person he was interviewing—age, sex, standards, status. Here there was nothing at all. The over-riding impression was still beeswax.
The Reverend Mother folded her hands together in her lap and said quietly, “The name of Sister Anne was Josephine Mary Cartwright. That is all that I can tell you about her life before she came to the Convent. We have a Mother House, you understand, in London, and our records are kept there. I would have to telephone there, for her last address and date of profession. I’m sorry—that seems very little…”
Sister Lucy lifted her head slightly and said to the Reverend Mother: “She was English.”
“As opposed to what?” asked Sloan quickly.
“Irish or French.”
“Frequently opposed to both,” said the Reverend Mother unexpectedly. “When all else is submerged, that sort of nationality remains. It is a curious feature of Convent life.”
“Indeed? Now we had a message this morning…”
“That would be from Dr. Carret. He is so kind to us always. We sent for him at once.”
“When would that have been, marm?”
“After Office this morning. We didn’t know about last night.”
“What about last night?”
“That she might have been lying there since then.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Dr. Carret, Inspector. He said that was what had probably happened.”
“I see. But you didn’t miss her?”
“Not until this morning.”
“When?”
“The Caller, Sister Gertrude, found her cell empty this morning. She thought first of all that she had merely risen early, but as she was not at breakfast either she mentioned it to the Infirmarium.”
“Then what happened?”
“After Office the Sister Infirmarium went to her cell to see if she was unwell.”
“And?”
“She reported to me that her cell was empty.”
“Had her bed been slept in?”
“I do not think Sister Infirmarium would have been in a position to know that. All the beds are made by the Sisters themselves…”
“It might have been warm.” Sloan shifted his weight on the hard chair. “You can usually tell with your hand even if the bed has been aired—especially in winter.”
The Mother Superior’s manner stiffened perceptibly. “I do not suppose such a procedure occurred to Sister Infirmarium.”
“Of course not,” appeased Sloan hastily. Did he imagine the priest’s sympathetic glance? For all he knew “bed” might be a taboo word in this Convent— in any Convent. Probably was. He took refuge in a formula. “I should like to see Sister Inf… Infirmarium presently. And this Sister Peter.”
“Ah, yes, Sister Peter.” The Reverend Mother’s eyes rested reflectively on the inspector. “The blood seems to have appeared on her thumb before Mass, and some of it was transferred to the Gradual during the service…”
“You left it?” interrupted Sloan.
“Yes, Inspector,” she said gently, “we left it for you.”
“What did you do when you were told about the blood and that Sister Anne was missing?”
“I asked Sister Lucy here to help look for her.”
“Just Sister Lucy?”
“At first. A Convent is a busy place, Inspector.”
“Yes, marm, I’m sure”—untruthfully.
“When their search failed to reveal her in any of the places where she might have been expected to have been taken ill, I asked other Sisters to go over the house and grounds very carefully.”
“I see.”
“This is a big house and it took some time, but, as you know, Sister St. Bernard opened the cellar door and put the light on… you will want to see her, too, I take it?”
“Yes, please, marm.”
“We telephoned Dr. Carret and he came at once. It was he who was so insistent on our leaving her lying on that cold floor.”
“Very right, marm.” He answered the unspoken reproach as best he could. “I’m afraid this will be a police matter until we find out exactly what happened. Tell me, marm, at what time would everyone have gone to bed last night?”
At the boarding school it had been “lights out.”
“Nine o’clock.”
“And after that no one would have gone into anyone else’s bedroom…”
“No one is allowed in anyone else’s cell at any time except the Caller, who is Sister Gertrude, the Infirmarium and myself.”
“I see. Presumably no one checks that the Sisters are in their cells?”
“No.”
This was not, after all, a boarding school.
“I am seeking, marm, to establish when Sister Anne was last seen alive.”
“At Vespers at half past eight.”
“By whom?”
“Sister Michael and Sister Damien. Their stalls are on either side of Sister Anne’s.”
“And you can tell me of nothing that might have caused Sister Anne to leave her cell last night?”
“Nothing. In fact, it is forbidden.”
That, decided Sloan, settled that. For the time being.
“I see, marm, thank you.” He stood up. “Now, if you would be so kind as to get in touch with your—er —head office…”
“Inspector…”
“Yes, marm?” Sloan was ready with a handful of routine phrases about inquests, post-mortems and the like.
The Mother Prioress’s rosary clinked. “It is one of the privileges of Convent life that strangers do not perform the Last Office. We always do that for our own Sisters ourselves.”
It was something that he had never considered.
4
« ^ »
The cellar was quite crowded by the time Sloan and Crosby got back there. Two police photographers had joined the unmerry throng and were heaving heavy cameras about. Dr. Dabbe was still contemplating the body from all angles. The two Sisters were still praying —and the photographers didn’t like it.
“Hey, Inspector,” whispered one of them. “Call your dogs off, can’t you? Giving us the creeps kneeling there.
