St. Peter's Finger

had stolen the picture, the probability was that she couldn’t even have seen it.”

“How extraordinary!”

“Indeed it was. Of course, she had no idea that he was an expert. She knew him only as the chairman of her rowing club, not as an expert in pictures. Actually he happens to be a dealer.”

“Whose were the pictures, then?”

“They were the property of the school at which she taught, and were kept in the Governors’ Room, as it was called, on the second floor. This room was sometimes used, apart from meetings of the Governors, but when it was, two of the pictures whose subject-matter was thought unsuitable for children—rather peculiar and horrid martyrdoms, I believe—were carefully covered up. The others were left on view, and were familiar, probably to the staff of the school. But the hidden pictures, one of which she described, were not. When the room was not in use it was always kept locked because the pictures were valuable. Of course, it was recognised that she might have seen the pictures at some time, but the chairman, who was anxious, naturally, to get them back, had enquiries made, and very soon they were recovered.”

“What excuse did she offer?”

“None.”

“What reason, then, for having stolen them?”

“She said she must have been mad.”

“It is possible that she was right, and that it was a temporary mental aberration. How valuable were the pictures?”

“Christie’s valued them at sixty thousand pounds. They would have been worth a great deal more than that if two of them had not been suspected of being contemporary copies.”

“Contemporary copies?”

“That isn’t as unusual a happening as one might think. These pictures were painted for churches, and an interesting rendering of—you must remember—a traditional happening, might well be copied half a dozen times.”

“To Miss Bonnet, I suppose, sixty thousand pounds would be a great deal of money.”

“She wouldn’t have got a quarter of that from a receiver.”

“Not if the receiver had a market? There are plenty of wealthy people, especially in America, with collectors’ mania, I believe.”

“Oh, I see… a ready market. Anyhow, it all came out, and the pictures were returned undamaged. She had cut them out of their frames with a very sharp penknife, and had hidden them under the carpet in her room.”

“Ah, yes. Where does she live?”

“In lodgings. The address is Nineteen, Hiversand Bay Road, Kelsorrow—quite near this school.”

“Was she in lodgings when she taught at her last school?”

“Yes, she was. Her landlady turned her out as soon as the pictures were found. Gave her an hour to pack and take herself off. People are terribly heartless.”

“Yes, aren’t they?” said Mrs. Bradley; but she spoke absentmindedly, her eyes on the clock on the desk.

“How do you know her landlady turned her out?” she asked, comparing her watch with the clock.

“She told me, but not the reason. That I guessed. That clock is ten minutes fast. I must put it right.”

“And I,” said Mrs. Bradley, “must be off. You did not, of course, see Miss Bonnet at any time on that Monday, the day that the child was found dead? She was engaged to teach at the convent that morning, I believe?”

“Oh, yes, I saw her. She turned up here at about a quarter to one, to ask whether, as there was a holiday, I wanted her to do extra coaching.”

“She came here, then, immediately she had finished her morning’s work at St. Peter’s School?”

“Yes, she must have done. She drives most recklessly.”

“How long did she stay?”

“I cannot tell you. She was in here less than five minutes. I thought it rather nice of her to come. There was no reason why she should.”

“She went back to St. Peter’s and gave the orphans some netball.”

“Yes, she would do a thing like that. She’s a very good-natured sort of girl, in a coarse, hearty sort of way, and tremendously keen on games.”

“But didn’t she come again in the afternoon?”

“Not to my knowledge. Besides, there was nobody here except the caretaker and his wife. It was a holiday, you see.” So Mrs. Bradley applied to the school caretaker for information as soon as she had left the headmistress.

“Miss Bonnet, mam? Turned up at a quarter to one, when all the girls had gone home, and might have stopped the time it would take her to smoke a cigarette, I should think. I couldn’t say exactly to the minute, but she certainly wasn’t here long. Left again before one o’clock, I reckon, because I was out there doing a bit of repairs to the bicycle shed when she came, and hadn’t, I’m sure, done fifteen minutes at the job before she went. Her little car stood in the drive where I could see it, and she drove off very fast, like she always do—have a smash-up one of these days, I shouldn’t wonder—and I got on doing the job till four o’clock. Chucked her cigarette-end down, I remember, on to a heap of shavings.”

“And nobody else came here?”

“Nobody else that I know of, and that’s as good as saying that nobody came.”