Kent nodded at a door to his left.
“He doesn’t look well.”
“Right. How’s the search?”
“Nothing yet. Or rather, a great deal. Those sand dunes are pretty popular evidently, by day and by night. But nothing obviously relevant.” I’ll have a look later,’ said Dalziel.
He went through to the next room where he found Landor leaning against a billiards table, sightlessly flicking a red between the opposite cushion and his hand.
“Hello, Principal. I asked for you in the college.”
“Superintendent. I had to come up here. They had taken her away. I was glad really, I would not have liked to see her. As it was, I had to come through here and be by myself for a moment. That poor girl! Why her? On top of all her other troubles… ” Dalziel interrupted in his turn.
“What other troubles?”
Landor looked surprised.
“Didn’t you know. Anita, Miss. Sewell, she’s at present in the middle of an appeal against dismissal from her college course. She has — had — made certain allegations against a member of my staff… “
“Oh, that. It’s that girl? That’s interesting.”
“Why? You can’t think there’s a connection? Oh, it’s vile!”
Landor turned away and with a single convulsive movement hurled the ball away from him down the table. Dalziel noted with interest that it went into the farthermost pocket without touching the side.
“What kind of girl was she?”
“I’m not sure. Who can tell these days? She seemed an amiable young thing, quiet, well-mannered, not one of our high-fliers academically, but intelligent. Then last Autumn term, there started a falling off in the quality of her work which soon reached serious proportions. I talked to her, of course. She appeared quite unchanged from the description I have just given you, agreed that there was cause for concern, could offer no explanation but gave assurances of renewed diligence, then went off and continued as before. We don’t work on exams alone here. Course assessment plays a very important part in all our courses and it was clear by the end of the Easter term that she was in desperate straits.”
“What did you do then?’ said Dalziel.
“I wrote to her in the vacation suggesting she came up early to have a talk with me. She didn’t reply. She didn’t come early. Indeed she didn’t turn up till almost a fortnight after the start of term. Her case was discussed at a meeting of the Academic Board. There was nothing else to do but ask her to go.” “High time from the sound of it,’ said Dalziel.
“We try to be humane,’ said Landor coldly.
“And then she appealed to the governors? And brought out this story about… whatsisname?”
“Fallowfield. That’s right. She alleged that her relationship with him was the major factor affecting her work.”
“Did he deny it?” “No,’ said Landor sadly. ‘ admitted freely that they had been lovers.”
“Is that unprofessional conduct?”
“In the eyes of some, yes. But not in any legalistic sense. Our humanity doesn’t stop at the students, Superintendent.”
“I’m glad to hear it. So?”
“She claimed also that they quarrelled, he wanted rid of her. And alleged that his assessment of her work in biology was unfairly weighted against her.” “I’m a bit thick,’ said Dalziel, scratching his pate as though to prove the point. ‘ couldn’t someone else just have a look at what she’d done?” “Of course,’ said Landor. ‘ has been done. It’s of a very low standard. But just as important in that course is practical work, laboratory work done under supervision, experiments, dissections, that kind of thing. It was here that Mr. Fallowfield was most critical. It was here the suggestion was made that he had allowed his personal involvement to outweigh his academic judgment.”
“Which could be serious for him? Real unprofessional conduct?” That’s true,’ said Landor. Suddenly he looked at Dalziel sharply. ‘ you can’t think… you’re not motive-hunting, Superintendent?”
“We’re always doing that,’ said Dalziel.
The door opened.
“Can you spare a moment, Super?’ said Kent.
Dalziel joined him in the other room.
“What is it?”
Triumphantly Kent held up a flimsy white brassiere.
“They’ve just found this. In some gorse bushes about two hundred yards from where they found the body.”
“So?’ said Dalziel.
Kent was a little nonplussed to find his own enthusiasm so little shared.
“Well, it might help to pin-point where the actual killing took place.”
“If it’s hers.”
“Oh,’ said Kent. ‘, of course. But it seems likely. It obviously hasn’t been lying long.” “No,’ said Dalziel, taking it from him. It was slightly damp from the dew. But the metal adjusting rings and fastening hooks were bright and shiny still.
“May I see?’ It was Landor, at the door. Dalziel looked at him in surprise, but held out the garment without demur. Landor took it between his thumb and index finger.
“No,’ he said. ‘ don’t think it’s hers.”
Kent opened his mouth and began to say something, but Dalziel silenced him with a glance.
“Now, why do you say that, sir?” “She, Miss. Sewell, was larger,’ he said, enunciating the last word with meticulous precision.
“I see. Well, thank you, Mr. Landor.”
He took the brassiere back and laid it on the table.
“Still, it will be interesting to find out who it does belong to,’ he said.
Franny Roote woke instantly as he always did, with no interim stage of gradual revival. It was late. He was already missing his only lecture of the morning. Not that it mattered. It was only people like Disney who moaned about absentees. In any case as President of the Student Union, his official duties often kept him otherwise engaged. He smiled.
This morning, he thought as he dressed, Miss. Cargo. About the art exhibition in the Union building. That would do. An attractive woman, Miss. Cargo. He must keep an eye on her.
Someone tried the handle of his door. It was, as always, locked.
“Who?’ he called.
“It’s me, Stuart. Open up, Franny.”
“Wait.”
He fastened a single button of his white silk shirt, leaving it open from the throat almost to the navel. There was a speck of dirt on his white tennis shoes which he flicked off before fastening them, making sure the laces were nowhere twisted.
A careful glance in the full-length mirror fixed behind his wardrobe door; he held his own gaze steadily for half a minute; the door handle was rattled impatiently, but he did not move.
“Franny! For Godsake!”
He closed the wardrobe door and turned the key in the main door to admit Cockshut.
“Nothing is worth hurrying for, Stuart, love,’ he said amiably.
“You moved as fast as anyone last night,’ snapped Stuart. ‘, haven’t you heard? About Anita? They’ve found her. Dead! Out in the dunes. Oh Christ, this is terrible.”
He sat on Franny’s bed and put his head between his hands. The other did not move but stood stock-still, a pale outline in the light of the single heavily-shaded lamp which was the room’s only source of illumination.
“Can’t you open these bloody curtains?’ said Cockshut finally. ”s the middle of the bloody afternoon.” “No,’ said Franny. ‘ is an ambience I wish to preserve here.
Besides, now it is fitting. Tell all you know.”
