“Odd, though, madam, to pick the very night. And, after all, a good many people at the convent knew you were staying here, didn’t they?”
“Quite true, George; so they did.”
“Do you suppose it might be useful to prosecute an enquiry at the convent, madam?”
“No, George, I don’t think so. The children don’t seem to give one another away, and I can’t believe, somehow, that the nuns have designs upon my life.”
“Religion goes very odd at times, madam.”
“Don’t I know it, George! By the way, I had an interesting thought last night. There’s one nun that I don’t know at all. I’ve seen her but never spoken to her—the history teacher, Mother Lazarus.”
“Would that be the lady like a wax candle, madam?”
“An apt description. How do you know her, George?”
“Well, madam, it was taking a good bit of liberty on my part, and I meant to let you know, but it slipped my mind.”
“George, this is most intriguing! Don’t tell me you’ve been taking the nuns for joy-rides in my car!”
“Well, it almost amounted to that, madam, really, I must confess. They wanted to catch up an expedition to a castle, madam, several miles away, and a museum. This Mother Saint Lazarus was supposed to be in charge of the party—a historical outing, madam, for some of the children—and one of the young ladies was always sick when she travelled by train. Well, it seems she’s the star history pupil, and had to see this castle and museum if it killed her. So they wondered if they could hire a car off the landlord. Well, he couldn’t oblige, his two being in commission moving young pigs, so, before I thought, I had offered, and off we went.”
“So Mother Lazarus came here! And who was the child?”
“Well, madam, as it happens, it was the very same young lady I drove to Wandles with Sir Ferdinand.”
“Ulrica Doyle? That’s interesting. And which day, George, was this?”
“It would have been last Thursday morning, madam.”
“But the fourth form don’t have history on a Thursday.”
“I couldn’t speak as to that, madam, but Thursday is the cheap day’s outing from the halt here.”
“Oh, that explains it, then. Naturally they would want to do the outing at the cheapest possible rate. What was Mother Lazarus going to do if she could not hire a car?”
“I could not say, I’m sure, madam. She seemed greatly relieved at my offer, and said that the rest of the party had gone on with Mother Saint Gregory and Mother Saint Francis, madam.”
“Oh, Mother Saint Francis was there! That explains, then, why Mother Saint Lazarus could leave her major charge to accompany a solitary girl. I suppose there was another nun with her?”
“Yes; an elderly lady by the name of Mother Saint Bartholomew, whom I recollect having seen in Restoration Comedy, madam, before she took the veil.”
“Good heavens, George! I shouldn’t have thought you were old enough to have been taking an interest in Restoration Comedy when Mother Bartholomew was still on the stage. At any rate, thank you very much for your information. Again you have assisted materially in the enquiry.”
“May I be privileged to know in what way, madam?”
“I expected another attempt on my life on Thursday, George, that’s all. By driving those three, the two nuns and the girl, to their castle and museum, you’ve probably—I should say certainly—saved me from attack. Somebody saw the car go out, I expect, and probably thought I was in it.”
chapter 21
girls
john wilson: To a Sleeping Child.
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But the last thing we want,” said Mother Saint Francis, “is a lot of gossip going on among the girls.”
Mrs. Bradley agreed, but added that she supposed there was bound to be a certain amount of gossip, and that she thought her plan would lead to less of it, possibly, than might more secret measures. So the school, first thing on Monday morning, was surprised to have a little old woman with snapping black eyes and a terrifying, beautiful voice, step on to the platform beside Mother Francis, immediately prayers were over, and demand the writer of anonymous letters.
“Come here to me at once,” she said. There was a movement of the ranks, and out stepped Nancy Ryan.
“Come along,” said Mrs. Bradley, motioning her on to the platform. The child was so terrified that she added: “You have nobody but me to account to for your actions. I am Mother Saint Francis’ delegate.”
This did little to reassure Nancy, who stood, white-faced, and saw her surroundings through a mist, whilst her heart thumped horribly and she felt sure that if she were asked to say a single word she would be sick.
