Mark well what I do say!
Her lips were red, her eyes were brown,
And her hair was black and it hung right down …
I’ll go no more a-roving with you, fair maid.’
(1)
Dame Beatrice briefed her son, Sir Ferdinand Lestrange, Q.C., for the defence in case Otto should be brought to trial. He did not expect to obtain an acquittal, he told his mother. He did not think there was the slightest chance of one, for the prosecution had a strong case. However, he thought he might be able to confuse the issue sufficiently to cause the jury to disagree, and so get the trial – if it came to that – referred to the next sessions.
‘You never know, with juries,’ he said. ‘Ten to one they couldn’t care less if a man with a foreign name murders a girl with a foreign name. On the other hand, the English always fall over backwards to protect other nationals, so we must wait and see what happens.’
‘You yourself believe that Otto Schumann is guilty, then?’ Dame Beatrice asked.
Ferdinand smiled.
‘I am a cautious man, as you know,’ he replied, ‘but if I were prosecuting I would back myself to secure a conviction. The evidence is all there. A record of violence, although, I admit, he has never been gaoled for it, (and, of course, the prosecution couldn’t use it), a whirlwind love affair (if you call it that) with this nymph, a quarrel about money and a pregnancy. What more could you ask for?’
‘And, of course, her Tutor at the College was forthright on the subject of Machrado’s dilettante attitude towards attendance at lectures, and this, I thought, you might be able to use to great advantage,’ said Laura.
‘Not altogether with the Tutor’s approval, I imagine. She will not intend to indicate what I hope to persuade the jury that she does indicate – namely, that the girl was a thoroughly bad lot and cut lectures wholesale so that she could pick up men. As for Schumann’s acts of violence, well, if I had been prosecuting I should make sure the jury “heard about them”, if you know what I mean. After all, objections may be sustained, but, all the same, the objectionable statement has been made, and, however much the jury may be told to disregard it, in actual fact it’s very difficult for them to put it out of their minds. However, I’m not prosecuting.’
Gavin laughed.
‘How to win your cases without actually cheating!’ he said. ‘I wish you luck, but my chaps are pretty thorough and are convinced they’ve got the man who killed Maria Machrado.’
‘Phillips still doesn’t think so,’ said Laura.
(2)
Edward James set down an armful of exercise books on the Common Room window-ledge, walked across the room and began to tidy his locker. He had never been a popular member of the staff at the Old Bridge Comprehensive School, and after some awkwardly-expressed condolences on the death of his fiancée the others had left him more solitary than ever. It was not with any intention of being unkind or heartless that this attitude was maintained, but simply that the murder of one of their number had shocked them very deeply and had set apart the person most nearly affected by it.
James was not, and never had been, actively disliked, but he was an enigma, a self-centred, silent, pre-occupied man intent only upon his own advancement. It was known that almost all his free time was spent upon study and research for his doctorate, but, as he had no close friends, nobody knew what progress he made or how high his hopes were of success.
He was a capable teacher in the sense that boys and girls did the work he set and gave him their attention in class partly because his exposition was clear and sound and his preparation of his lessons was thorough, and partly because, in their hearts, they were rather in awe of the solitary man, but his nickname was Sunny Jim which, to those versed in the ironic overtones of the young, was comment enough on what they thought of him. He took part in no out-of-school activities on the plea of having no time to spare for these, but his real reason was that he did not care for young people, had no sympathy with their adolescent strivings and ideals, and merely regarded them as being useful to him since, without them, he would have been obliged to find some other way of earning a living. As it was, the short school day (since he saw no reason to add to it voluntarily) and the long school holidays suited his ambitious purpose and caused him to be contented with his lot, if not enthralled by it.
He was not alone in the Common Room. With him were the Miss Tompkins and the Miss O’Reilly with whom his fiancée had shared a flat. Miss Tompkins had a free period; Miss O’Reilly was on visiting rounds to extort subscriptions from her colleagues for a wedding present for a member of staff who was getting married during the Easter holidays. Her mission (although, according to the time-table, she should have been in class) was excusable on two counts. One was that to ask for subscriptions in the Common Room during break or in the dinner-hour would be embarrassing if the giftee happened to be present, and the other was that subscriptions, even at the minimal half-a-crown a head, were undoubtedly unpopular, and a united body of opinion could, and probably would, veto altogether the proposed giving of a wedding-present or else whittle the subscription down to a heartbreaking bob a nob. In front of an eager, lynx-eyed, lip-reading class, however, the dunned were helpless and usually paid up without demur.
‘Well, I’ve seen everybody except you two and the Lord of Titipu,’ announced Miss O’Reilly, referring in this facetious way to her headmaster, who was somewhat of a martinet, ‘so half-a-crown each, please.’
‘I’d make it
