‘We may or may not have saved Marie-Jeanne,’ she said, when Laura, who had been riding, came down to a late breakfast after a bath and a change of clothes, ‘but the death is announced of the senior French mistress. The murder follows the pattern of the others, and the notice on the body, affixed this time by means of an old-fashioned hatpin, reads: Cathari 1207.’
‘And this is the woman who took Karen Schumann’s place at the school,’ said Laura. ‘Oh, Lord!’
(3)
The name of the senior French mistress was Mrs Castle. Soon after the death of Karen Schumann the two young teachers who had lodged at the same house decided to change their digs. For no reason which they could explain except to one another, they disliked the thought of remaining in rooms which still seemed connected with a girl who had been murdered.
Mrs Castle was recently widowed and had been glad to obtain Karen’s vacant post, and it was at her suggestion, because she needed help in paying off the mortgage on a new house, that the two young women should live in with her, share and share alike with regard to food, with the other household necessities and the charwoman’s pay, and that they should pay a reasonable rent for their rooms. They were glad to agree, and moved in three weeks before Whitsun, for the headmaster had not been able to find a replacement for Karen Schumann until the beginning of the summer term.
The arrangement worked well. The two girls were each able to have a bed-sitter, there was a common dining-room and Mrs Castle had her own quarters. These consisted of a lounge on the ground floor and the smallest of the three bedrooms. Hers was a modern house, well-appointed and intelligently equipped, and the younger women were more than satisfied with their change of domicile. Christian names, Chris and Terry, (the girls), Thea, (Mrs Castle), were exchanged and used, and all went swimmingly.
In the evenings, after an early supper which the three took turns at cooking, a good deal of school shop was discussed and there was marking and preparation to be done. Chris was the junior history teacher, Terry took R.K. and some of the lower-school French. Thus there was a tie-up with both Mrs Castle and James. The young teachers sometimes went out with their friends from the Art School staff at week-ends, and on Sundays Mrs Castle usually went over to see her parents who lived in Romsey.
These and subsequent facts about the life lived by the three women were elicited later by the police. Meanwhile the days passed and the Whitsun holiday approached. The two girls were to spend Whit Monday with Terry’s brother and his wife, who kept a small launch down at Hamworthy. They were to go across to Brownsea Island in it and then perhaps follow the Wareham Channel up to the quay at the town and have tea there before returning to moorings. Mrs Castle was to spend the whole of the week-end, from the Saturday morning until the Tuesday afternoon, with her parents.
As it happened, neither of these plans worked out. Mrs Castle learned that her parents were going for the week-end to her late husband’s people who lived in the Midlands. They wanted her to go with them, but she saw little point (she told the others) in spending the short week-end break in a manufacturing town, so she telephoned her mother more or less to that effect, and promised to visit her parents the week-end after their return.
Upon this, Terry felt impelled to invite her to join the boating party, saying that there was plenty of room in the launch for another person, and that she was certain her brother would not mind. This might or might not have been true, but it was never put to the test since, over the school telephone during the school dinner hour, came a message from the brother’s wife to say that the launch was out of commission, and that the couple had changed their plans accordingly, and had arranged to spend the Whitsun week-end in Paris.
‘I do think they might have let me know sooner,’ grumbled Terry to the other two that evening. ‘Now everything’s gone phut. What shall we do instead?’
‘I suppose I’d better join my parents after all,’ said Mrs Castle. ‘I haven’t any excuse not to, have I? Oh, dear! I really don’t want to trail up to Stafford for the week-end, and my in-laws will be there. I suppose they mean well, but they’ll do nothing but talk about Stephen and the old days, and that’s an awful bore.’
‘Well, need you go?’ asked Terry. ‘You don’t have to tell them the boat-trip is off. Let’s all think of something quickly. Come on, Chris! Ideas?’
‘London?’
‘That would do for Monday, I suppose, although we’re going on Saturday, don’t forget.’
‘Oh, I don’t call that going to London!’
‘What do you think, Thea?’ asked Terry.
‘A Bank Holiday in Town?’ Mrs Castle sounded doubtful.
‘Not London, then. Think again, Chris,’ said Terry.
‘Well, we could still go to Brownsea. There are public launches from Poole quay.’
‘Squashed in among the proletariat?’ demanded Terry. ‘What a revolting idea!’
‘You’re very difficult to please. What about a picnic in the New Forest, then?’
This was acceptable to the others, a route was agreed on and picnic viands purchased and put into the refrigerator on Friday evening ready for Monday’s outing.
‘What made them put off their picnic until the Monday? What happened in London on Saturday afternoon, and what did they do on Sunday?’ asked Dame Beatrice, when she received these details from Detective-Inspector Maisry.
‘Ah, that’s the interesting part of the story,’ he replied. ‘On Whit Saturday and Whit Monday, as you may know, the British Games are held at the White City stadium. Well, the physical education staff at the school had arranged to take a motor-coach party of boys and girls to London on
