Spotted Hemlock

Day. Only you’re supposed to get permission to use the cellar, because staff baggage and stuff is kept down there, and Palliser (she was in my group, so I knew her, in a way, the way you do know people in your group) hadn’t got permission and wasn’t going to ask for it.’

‘Did she say why?’

‘Yes, of course she did. She’d got some negatives of herself and her boy, taken on holiday. Nothing to do with college at all. She was rather a cagey, secretive sort of person, so I wasn’t surprised she wanted to develop them in secret. I mean, with the best will in the world, no doubt, the lecturers do take such a kindly interest in us and our men. Even those ghastly boys at Highpepper seem to give them a heart-throb if they think we’re interested. So I swopped with Palliser for the night, she to occupy my S.B. and me to occupy hers. It’s easy enough, as long as you sport your oak and nobody sees you. It’s often been done for one reason and another. Why, last year a girl named Desiree Something or other smuggled a boy in, and they occupied one of the double-bedded rooms in Paterson’s on a swap basis, and Paterson hadn’t a clue.’

Dame Beatrice, who had visualised something of this situation and who, privately, congratulated the young on their enterprise, thanked the student warmly. The case was taking shape at last. She returned to Miss McKay to take her leave and indicated that the police would require to have access to the cellars, probably on the following day.

chapter seventeen

The Gentlemen Raise Their Voices

‘Fritz, who was never taken by surprise by events of this kind, had time to fire before the birds were out of reach.’

Ibid.

« ^ »

There was one last port of call and Dame Beatrice, having telephoned the local police, made it before she returned to the village of Wandles Parva. She went to Highpepper Hall.

‘I want,’ she said to Mr Sellaclough, whom she found sipping his mid-morning glass of Madeira, ‘if I may, to interview those of your students who were responsible for introducing dead rats and rhubarb into the Calladale soil. Let me hasten to add that this is no punitive expedition. It is from the highest motives that I desire to possess this information.’

‘Take a glass of Madeira with me, and tell me more, Dame Beatrice. I have no doubt that the students responsible will give you every assistance in their power if the matter is one of importance.’

Dame Beatrice accepted the glass of Madeira and recounted as much of the story as was necessary for the object she had in view.

‘So, you see,’ she concluded, ‘it would help a good deal if I could establish, once and for all, that the Calladale horseman was not one of your students dressed up to alarm the young women. If it was not, then there is only one thing for me to think, and I have thought it already.’ She told the Principal what she thought had happened.

‘Good heavens!’ said Mr Sellaclough. ‘But what a bizarre notion! Why not a car?’

‘I have no doubt that a car was waiting, if what I suspect is true. The reasons for choosing to leave Calladale on horseback may have been to avoid making the noise a car would be bound to make and also because the ghostly hood and voluminous attire made an effective disguise. It would be too much to expect that you know of a heavy grey horse in the neighbourhood of Calladale? It had not occurred to me until very recently that the horse must be traced, but my latest researches have revealed that it is essential to find it.’

‘I’ll put it to the college at lunch about the rats and rhubarb, unless you’d care to address the gathering yourself. It might be quite a good idea if you did. I don’t suppose young men in the mass hold any terrors for you, do they?’

So the midday meal at Highpepper was enlivened by the presence at the staff table of a small, black-haired, very sharp-eyed old lady who was introduced by Mr Sellaclough as ‘that very distinguished psychiatrist and investigator of crime, Dame Beatrice Lestrange Bradley,’ and who rose to the sound of slightly ironical cheering.

‘I will not detain you for more than a moment, gentlemen,’ she said. ‘I am here to invite two of those who interred the rats and the rhubarb to dine with me in the private room of the hotel which I am led to believe you are accustomed to patronise in Garchester. Perhaps I might be permitted to have a word with my guests at the conclusion of the meal.’

‘In my study,’ said Mr Sellaclough. ‘And I am asked by Dame Beatrice to say that nothing in the nature of disciplinary action is contemplated. The matter under review is an exceptionally serious one, but has nothing to do (so far as we know) with the college.’

He took his guest straight to his sanctum and in a few minutes there came a tap at the door. Mr Sellaclough pressed his buzzer and Soames and Preddle came in.

‘I’ll leave you,’ he said. ‘Sit down, Mr Soames and Mr Preddle. Gentlemen, you may smoke.’

‘I know that your time is very fully occupied,’ said Dame Beatrice to the students, as soon as the door had closed behind their Principal, ‘so I will come straight to the point. Where did the rats come from?’

The two young men looked at one another. Then Soames replied that they had come from ‘an old rat-catcher chap named Benson.’ He added that he hoped the girls at Calladale had not been annoyed.

‘Where can I get hold of Benson?’

Preddle told her that, far from his time being fully occupied, he had little or nothing to do that afternoon and would escort her to Benson’s cottage if she would give him time to change. Beautifully dressed and carrying an impeccable hat, he returned in short order. Dame Beatrice found Mr Sellaclough, with Preddle’s help, thanked him for his co-operation and his hospitality and was introduced to Soames’ new car, a dashing sports affair in silver and bright blue.

Old Benson’s cottage proved to be about a mile from the front gates of Highpepper and to be picturesquely situated in front of a small wood. The old man was chopping some kindling, but looked up when the car braked