Tom Brown's Body

'I agree that it is highly immoral to allow boys to perjure themselves,' said Mr Wyck. But on the last morning of term Mr Poundbury asked for an interview.

'Oh, dear!' said Mr Wyck resignedly. 'I suppose Poundbury has forgotten to send to the bank for his boys' journey money.'

'That has happened before,' said Mrs Wyck, when Mr Poundbury's messenger had returned to Mr Poundbury with the tidings that the Headmaster would see him at once. 'Since then, Christopher has always kept a sum in small notes and silver ready at the end of term.'

But Mr Poundbury had nothing to say about journey money. He came in great agitation to confess to serious crime. He was closeted with Mr Wyck for about twenty minutes, and then Mrs Bradley saw him ambling, with curiously uneven, uncertain, and uncoordinated steps across the Headmaster's lawn; he was staggering from side to side with a lolling kind of movement, as though his legs had no connexion with his body except for the irresponsible liaison afforded by his trousers.

She turned to Mrs Wyck and was about to speak when Mr Wyck came into the room. His expression was that of a person who has received incredible and dreadful tidings.

'Poundbury,' he announced, 'is responsible. I never really believed it, but there it is.'

'What?' his wife enquired. 'Has there been an accident?'

'There has been no accident,' Mr Wyck replied. 'All that I can think is that the man must be off his head.'

'Why, what has he done or left undone?' Mrs Wyck asked at once.

'He confesses that it was he who struck down his wife at the top of those steps,' said Mr Wyck. 'And, of course, that makes it clear to me that he, and he alone, is responsible for poor Conway's death.'

'Did he also confess to having taken the note?' asked Mrs Bradley. Mr Wyck shook his head.

'He did not mention a note. All he said was that the sight of her made him sick, and that, before he realized what he was doing, he had hit her on the head. He adds that immediately he had done it he ran back to the dressing-room to finish making-up Cooke.'

'Did he say what he hit her with?' was Gavin's first question.

'I did not think to ask. He was greatly agitated, naturally, and said that he had confessed so that nobody else should be blamed. He also said that his wife had forgiven him.'

'I'd better see him myself,' said Gavin. He came away from the interview convinced that the confession was bogus. 'I don't know what he thinks he's up to,' he remarked, 'but his whole story is a fabrication from beginning to end. He wants me to believe that he knows nothing about the second idol beyond what he was told at the time, that he hit his wife over the head with a tack hammer he had been using to repair a bit of the scenery, and that he quite forgot he'd done it until about two days ago. Does any of that make sense?'

'The first and last statements,' said Mrs Bradley, 'but not the middle one. He may not have known about the idol unless he was the idol, and, as he would have been under great emotional stress, he may have suffered since from temporary amnesia. It is the tack hammer which makes nonsense. According to the School doctor, and according to my own examination of the injury, Mrs Poundbury was struck by something with a much broader end than a tack hammer; something more like an Indian club or a fairly heavy bottle.'

'We haven't found anything yet,' said Gavin. 'I suppose whoever used the weapon managed to get rid of it at once. I hope we find it soon, though, for the sake of the fingerprints, if any. I had better see this boy Cooke.'

Cooke declared that Mr Poundbury had not left him in the middle of making him up. Moreover, on breaking-up morning, Mr Loveday came excitedly to the Headmaster, bearing an Indian club.

'Discovered in my furnace-hole,' he announced proudly. 'As the last object found there was the idol's head, I presume that this must be the weapon which struck down Mrs Poundbury.'

Gavin, ruefully surveying the exhibit, swore quietly to himself. Then, suddenly, his sombre gaze brightened. Mr Loveday had certainly imposed his fingerprints on any others which the club might bear, but there might still be a chance of showing that it was not only the weapon which had struck down Mrs Poundbury, but that with which Conway had been stunned.

*

Before this theory could be proved, Mrs Bradley went to visit Mrs Harries.

'Item,' said she, 'one toad. Item: one stolen cockerel.'

The blind witch, fastening brilliant eyes on her, nodded.

'He wanted paddock,' she mumbled.

'Who did?'

'Paddock lighted on your bed.'

'He did. Why?'

'Then he stole the cockerel. He said it would make bigger magic than mine. But I put the three curses on him, and paddock came home again. There he is, just behind you.'

Mrs Bradley turned round. There was a toad malignantly squatting in the middle of the bare stone floor. Mrs Bradley stooped and picked him up. He was real, she was glad to discover. He sat on her cold yellow hand, his throat pulsating and his heavy-lidded eyes as wise as Solomon's. Mrs Bradley touched the top of his head. Then she carried him into the garden and placed him very gently on a flower-bed.

When she returned to the kitchen a black cockerel was dangling head downwards from the door-handle. It had not been there when she went out, and she had not heard the old woman move.

She stroked the cockerel's feathers. They seemed soaking wet. She took away her hand. It was dry. Old Mother Harries chuckled grimly. Mrs Bradley took down the bird and laid it upon the kitchen table. She examined it very carefully. The cockerel had a bruised head and had been strangled. She looked up.

'How did you know?' she demanded. Mother Harries walked to the table, picked up the bird without fumbling, carried it over to the door and hung it up again.

'These things are told me,' she said. 'I know not how they come. He is dead. He had the potion of me. The other one had the wax and the sheep's heart and the black-headed pins. What are men to me? I am too old for love. Yet love is blind. Leave me. You know who he is. He will not escape you. There is love and there is love and there is love. His is love in the middle degree.'

'Yes, I know,' Mrs Bradley answered. She decided to try an experiment of her own. She took down the cockerel once more and laid it in the middle of the floor where the toad had been. 'Oh, look!' she suddenly cried. To her relief, the witch started back with a shriek of fear.

'By Lilith, daughter of Samael, be gone from me! Be gone! Go, screech owl! Go, contour in the form of an ass! Go, Lamia! Go, Queen of Devils! Go, go!'

Mrs Bradley grinned evilly.

'Evil word has banished evil sight. The cock has his head again, the paddock is to the garden gone, the dead man lies down speechless,' she pronounced with becoming solemnity. The old woman sank trembling into a chair.

'Who are you?' she demanded. 'Who is it that can make me see what none should see? Who told you that I told him what to do?'

19. Nymph Errant

*

Away, Hussy. Hang your Husband, and be dutiful.

IBID. (Act 1, Scene 10)

THE meeting of the governors produced no immediate repercussions. Mrs Bradley and Detective-Inspector Gavin were both present, and the former was the chief speaker and kept the governing body in their places by what Mr Wyck referred to later as 'the iron hand of the expert witness'. Mr Poundbury's unfortunate and ill-timed confession was not mentioned by anybody, and neither was Mr Loveday's discovery of the Indian club, for this object was suspect. Gavin, in fact, stated flatly to the Headmaster that he considered Mr Loveday over- zealous.

'I don't say he manufactures evidence to give himself a kick out of this case, but he certainly does make a