“Miss Bonnet herself came and fetched me from the guest-house. I stayed with the child and with Sister Saint Ambrose until it was time for us to go to Vespers, and then Miss Bonnet kindly offered to stay with the child until it was time for us to begin the afternoon lessons.”
“But she didn’t stay with her, did she?”
“She was with her when we came back. She explained that she had been away for a time to give some extra coaching in gymnastics.”
“Yes, that seems to be true.”
“Do you believe, then—?” The nun looked surprised. Mrs. Bradley laughed.
“Mother Saint Francis told me, long ago, that Miss Bonnet was a liar,” she observed. “One more question: have you any reason to suspect that one of the gas fires in the guest-house consumed more gas than usual the week the child was found dead!”
“No, certainly not. There is only one gas fire in the guest-house, and that is the one you saw in the northern wall of the parlour, the small portable heater. You did see it, you remember?”
“Yes, of course. What other gas appliances are there, besides the geyser?”
“None at all. There are geysers in all three bathrooms.”
“Yes, I know. I have looked at them all. I will be frank with you, Mother Saint Jude. I have to find out whether it is possible that Ursula Doyle was murdered in some place other than the bathroom in which she was found.”
“And her body carried to the bathroom?”
“Yes. There is very little possibility of it, I am afraid, but, if it should turn out so, my problem, a pressing one, would be to discover the room where the murder took place.”
“There are two gas fires in the Orphanage.”
“In the Orphanage?”
Mother Jude smiled and shook her head.
“I agree with you,” she said. “It could not have been done at the Orphanage. The risk of discovery would have been too great. It would have been so much easier in the guest-house, too. Undoubtedly it was the parlour. Strange, though, that no one smelt gas.”
“We can’t be sure that nobody smelt gas,” said Mrs. Bradley. “Several people may not be telling the truth about that. Besides, the very strong smell of that creasote, you know!”
“It is dreadful,” said the nun. “Who would have thought of such a thing?”
“There are several people,” Mrs. Bradley replied. “There is Ulrica Doyle, for example. We can prove that she went into the church, but we cannot prove that she spent the whole of the afternoon school-time there; it covers the time for the murder, that couple of hours. Then there is Miss Bonnet: it is odd, you must admit, that her half- holiday from Kelsorrow School coincided with the death of the child, and that all the untoward incidents, such as the attacks on me and on Sister Bridget, occurred on the evenings or nights when Miss Bonnet had been on the premises.”
“Ulrica—I should be certain she did not do it. It is too wicked a thing for any young girl to have contemplated,” Mother Jude stoutly affirmed.
“The motive,” said Mrs. Bradley.
“You mean the money? I cannot believe she could be so dreadfully mercenary.”
“For herself, no. For the church—?”
“The end and the means,” said Mother Jude. She shook her head again, gently. “I do not believe it. You think she would commit a terrible sin in order to get money to give to the Church? No, no! It is wrong. You do not understand. I am sure you do not. With all your goodness, my friend, you are not a Catholic!”
“What about Miss Bonnet, then?”
“I do not know her. But what would be her reason? Why should she kill a child—and such a gentle, inoffensive child?”
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Bradley, nodding solemnly, “unless the child was a menace, in some way, to her. What do you say to Mrs. Maslin?”
“Well, that one!” said Mother Jude. Then, to Mrs. Bradley’s concealed amusement, she shut her lips tightly, flushed a little, and concluded: “I will not imagine it. No. It is not possible. Yet—she knows something! She is always hinting.”
“Well, somebody did it. I thought perhaps you might give me your opinion. What do you say to Mrs. Waterhouse?”
“But, again, why?”
“Well, she killed her husband. ‘’
Mother Jude smiled incredulously.
“Oh, but she did,” said Mrs. Bradley. “I agree, however, that it is not a very good reason for suspecting her of killing Ursula Doyle. Still, the fact remains that she is, perhaps, a little—hasty.”
“Do you know what I really believe?” said Mother Jude. Mrs. Bradley turned to find the blue eyes fully upon her. “I believe it was poor Sister Bridget. I have thought so from the first. Before the inquest I thought so, and now I am almost certain. There! I have told you at last!”
“Sister Bridget deliberately killed that child? I may tell you that it is extremely unlikely you are right.”
“Consider the facts,” said Mother Jude. ‘ ’We know that the child was killed by breathing unlighted gas. We
