Tom Brown's Body

she would mention it, though. Perhaps the little boy Ingpen told somebody about it. And yet . . .' She looked perplexed. The Headmaster looked thoroughly worried.

'Is there likely to be another attempt?' he asked. Mrs Bradley shook her head.

'Who can tell? It depends upon how much nerve the murderer has, and whether Mrs Poundbury recognized him,' she said.

Mrs Poundbury had been found at the foot of a short flight of stone steps leading from the east end of the dressing-room corridor to the open air. Her skull was fractured, but she had a reasonable chance of recovery.

However, the nature of her accident or the details of the murderous attack – whichever it should turn out 'to be – could not be gathered until she recovered consciousness. Mrs Bradley had made her own views clear. The note had gone, and Mrs Poundbury, in Mrs Bradley's experienced view, was far too intelligent to have destroyed it. It had not been shown to Detective-Inspector Gavin, for Mrs Bradley had asked him point-blank about it as soon as she knew of Mrs Poundbury's injuries.

'I've seen no note,' he said. 'Pity she didn't hand it over to you. It would have saved her this knock on the head. She never got that from falling down steps, did she?'

'No, she did not,' Mrs Bradley replied; for she had made a point of examining Mrs Poundbury. 'The contusions from the fall are clear enough, and the knock on the head was not one of them.'

'I wonder how soon we'll be able to get her to talk to us?'

'Not for two or three days.'

'Too bad. Still, it can't be helped. I wonder what the youngsters can tell us?'

'A good deal that is strange, but not much that's helpful,' prophesied Mrs Bradley. 'We must let them get over the shock before we question them further, I fancy.'

'A bit garbled, arc they?'

'Their stories are curious and interesting. You are having Mrs Poundbury closely guarded, I presume?'

'Yes. Nobody will get at her now. But I doubt whether she'll be able to name her assailant, and, if the note has gone, and the attacker has got what he wants, she's probably safe enough, as long as the thug can be sure she didn't recognize him.'

'Whom do you suspect?' enquired Gavin.

'Mr Pearson is the obvious suspect, of course. It leaps to the eye,' said Mrs Bradley. 'However, there are other possibilities. We must investigate them one by one. All the same, I have made cautious enquiries, and Mr Pearson left his seat at the concert before the performance began, and did not return until the second interval.'

'Rather a long time to be out. I should think he'd have an alibi, you know.'

'Well, we shall see,' said Mrs Bradley.

17. 'A Peep Behind the Scenes'

*

By these Questions something seems to have ruffled you. Are any of us suspected?

IBID (Act 2, Scene 2)

'WELL,' said Issacher, when he had been told by Detective-Inspector Gavin to sit down, 'you saw our play. You know the plot of it. We three sailors and our leader, the Toff, are supposed to have taken the ruby eye from a Hindu god in a temple. The three priests of the temple follow us to England. We rent a disused pub, lie in wait for them there, and murder them one by one. We know there are only three of these priests, so, when it's all over, we celebrate. Then the nervous one – that's me – is sent out to get some water to put on top of the whisky. I am supposed to see the image itself which has come all the way from India to avenge the three priests and get back the ruby eye. Then we are all called out, one by one.'

'Very well and concisely stated,' said Mrs Bradley, as Issacher paused. 'And then . . .?'

'And then,' said Issacher, 'there were two of them, you know – two idols. I looked for Salisbury, who was taking the part of our idol, and there he was, and then I saw behind him sort of lurking in the shadows, the other idol. Of course I see now it was somebody playing the fool, but at the time I was scared out of my life. This other idol – well, Salisbury looked as beastly as we could manage – a huge green mask and popping-out eyes and a great, lolling, red tongue – but this other idol, well, it was tall, you know, and it had eyes that blinked at you. I just bolted back on to the stage and babbled. I don't know what I said. Then young Ingpen began yelling, I believe, and Mr Poundbury drew down the curtain, and hustled us all off the stage on the O.P. side, and then we heard that Mrs Poundbury had fallen and hurt her head. I wondered if she'd seen it, too, and perhaps fainted or something. It was enough to make anybody faint.'

'And that is all you can tell us?' asked Gavin, writing it down.

'That's all. I didn't see anything more. Don't you think,' he added, turning to Mrs Bradley, 'that perhaps Mrs Poundbury saw it, too, and ran away, and fainted, and that's how she came to tumble down the steps?'

'An intelligent suggestion,' said Mrs Bradley, before Gavin could speak. 'Thank you, Mr Issacher.'

'Now, I want you to be very careful how you answer this,' said Gavin, looking evenly at the boy. 'Did this second idol remind you of anybody you know? Thinking it over now, in cold blood, I mean.'

'No. I didn't look at it long enough. Besides, it was tall – above human height, I mean.'

'What did you think when you saw it?'

'I – well, it sounds pretty feeble, but –' He hesitated, and then rushed at it. 'It's sheer punk, I know, but I suppose I thought it was the – well, the real idol, you know, and that somehow we'd conjured it up. It sounds awful rot now, but when I'm in a part I really feel like the person I'm meant to be, and Smithers didn't expect to find the idol outside the back door of the pub, so I used to try and forget that Salisbury was out there. Well, then, when I saw this other thing – behind Salisbury –' He looked anxiously at Mrs Bradley.

'Yes?'

'Well, it was rather, sort of, well, it must have been a very prepared sort of joke, if you know what I mean.'

'Mr Issacher,' said Mrs Bradley suddenly, 'have you ever seen a mask such as is used by Tibetan devil- dancers?'

'Oh, yes, and it wasn't like that. That's what Salisbury's mask was like. Mr Pearson, the woodwork master, young Ingpen's uncle, made it for us.'

Mrs Bradley said no more, and, at a nod from Gavin, the boy went out. Mr Wyck, who was present, by invitation of the detective-inspector, whilst the interrogation was being carried out, rang a bell, and in came little Ingpen. The child looked pale and tired. Mrs Bradley deduced correctly that the bump on his head was hurting him, and that it was past his bedtime. She also realized that he dreaded the thought of going to bed that night.

'Ah, Ingpen,' said Mr Wyck, 'your matron thinks you had better have a quiet room and one companion to- night, owing to the bump on your head. You will be sleeping' – he paused impressively – 'next door to me.'

'Oh, sir! Oh, thank you, sir!' exclaimed Ingpen, who, so far, had had no cause to fear grown-up people, and who was, as a matter of fact, enormously relieved and not at all taken aback at the thought of spending the night in the proximity of the Headmaster.

'You must be quiet and go to sleep,' pronounced Mr Wyck, 'and you may choose your own companion provided that he also is quiet and goes to sleep. I will make arrangements for you to be taken to your House and back. Now, before you go, is there anything you would like to tell us, my boy?'

'Please, sir,' said Ingpen, 'where did it go?'

'Where did what go?' Mr Wyck enquired.

'The – the thing,' said Ingpen. 'I was watching the stage, and Issacher went into the wings, and I heard him shout out, and then he ran back on to the stage, and I thought how well he was doing