most justifiably, that it is a dirty bird that fouls its own nest.’ She watched, with bright black eyes, the Principal’s mental struggle, and then continued: ‘Or I might say that I have a theory that none of the students anywhere, in any Hall, is responsible.’
‘That brings us to the servants,’ said the Principal, in a tone of relief. ‘Or to the Staff,’ said Mrs Bradley, with a loud chuckle. ‘Or even to someone outside the College altogether,’ she concluded kindly.
‘Yes, but — ’ said the Principal.
‘I know. We have no proof, and we can do no good by formulating theories which at present are incapable of proof.’
‘At any rate we can change the locks at Athelstan,’ said the Principal. ‘That should prevent any unauthorized person from breaking in. I am rather inclined to your idea that it must be someone from outside. All our students come with such very good records.’
Mrs Bradley sighed inwardly. There was nothing, naturally, the Principal would have liked better than to believe that the culprit would be found outside the College, but she felt compelled to point out that she had presented other theories.
‘The Staff? Oh, nonsense, Mrs Bradley,’ said the Principal. ’The servants, if you like!’
Mrs Bradley pointed out that the servants came with even better records than the majority of the students. She added, to the mystification of the Principal, that she did not want the locks on the doors at Athelstan to be changed.
‘I don’t quite see your point, but I must agree, I suppose,’ said the Principal. ‘It is a very unfortunate occurrence, but if you don’t suspect your own students I can’t see why you are determined to appear to lay the blame on them. At least, that is the interpretation which will be put on it by the College. Why are you?’
‘Because the hunt is up,’ Mrs Bradley replied, ‘and although it is not yet well-nigh day, I do begin to see my way a little more clearly in the matter of Miss Murchan’s disappearance.’
‘I don’t really see that destructive ragging can have much to do with poor Miss Murchan, and I am seriously concerned about this clothes’ slashing. But, still, we cannot expect you to take breaches of the College peace as seriously as we do ourselves, I suppose,’ said the Principal. ’But if you have already come to some conclusions about poor Miss Murchan, that is most satisfactory.’
‘Conclusions is not perhaps the best term,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘But I am at the point of having thought out one or two questions which I ought to ask you. It appears that Miss Murchan can hardly have been spirited away from the end of term dance without her knowledge and consent. It also appears that if she had a companion when she left the College, that companion must have been a woman, at any rate in the immediate environs of the building.’
‘It is very easy to get into and out of the grounds on such a night,’ remarked Miss du Mugne. ‘A great many of the visitors come by car and motor-cycle, owing to the distance from the station, and so the gates are left open until half-past eleven, half an hour after the official ending of the dance.’
‘Do you know that they were closed at half-past eleven that night?’
‘Oh, yes. In view of the unusual nature of the proceedings, Charles, the garage-and-groundsman, has orders to make sure that all except the Staff cars are off the premises by that time, and then he brings me the keys. It is the only occasion, I may say, on which we lock the main gate. Charles made his report as usual. Further, he declares that no car left before eleven, and Miss Murchan, of course, was not seen, so far as can be discovered, after half- past ten, when she went off to tidy her hair.’
‘Thank you. I suppose there were some women visitors?’
‘Oh, yes, quite a number. We can scarcely restrict the students in their choice, and some who have no men friends invite sisters or old school-fellows. Each student is allowed one guest, for whom a fee of two shillings is payable to cover the cost of supper, printing of programmes, decoration of the hall, a little extra remuneration to the servants, and so forth.’
‘Do the Staff invite visitors?’
‘Yes, sometimes. Miss Topas invited a famous novelist who was very charming, but who contrived—by what means I do not know —to become somewhat inebriated during the course of the evening, and Miss Harbottle invited her cousin, a Mr Tallboy, who is a professor of chemistry at Wattsdown. A great many of the students’ visitors came from Wattsdown, too. It is the large training college for men which you see from the train as you come through from Moors Cross.’
‘Did any of the. Staff invite women friends?’
‘No one. Miss Fishlock invited her old father. He is nearly eighty, and does so love to come. We give him a seat on the platform, out of harm’s way, and the students take him in to supper. He is the most delightful old man, and always looks forward to “the party” as he calls it.’
‘Miss Murchan, then, had no visitors?’
‘No. Neither year she was here did she invite anyone. In fact, she seemed rather a friendless woman. I can’t think why. She got on very nicely with everybody here.’
‘Was she a timid woman?’ asked Mrs Bradley.
‘Timid?’ The adjective appeared to puzzle the Principal. ’In what way timid?’
‘Not in any particular way. Generally speaking.’
‘Well, she was, perhaps, somewhat deprecating in her attitude.’
‘How often did she receive letters?’
‘Really, I have no idea. Her letters would have been sent direct to Athelstan Hall. I should have no means of knowing anything about them.’
‘Thank you. Who else is new to the College besides myself and Miss Cloud this term?’
‘Nobody. Miss Topas came at the beginning of the summer term, but everybody else has been here for at least four years. We had a good many changes between 1924 and 1931, but everybody has settled down nicely now, except for one or two marriages or appointments to Principalities.’
