“That’s not what I meant,” said Miss Yale. She got up and went out of the room, returning in a few minutes to say in a firm, repressive voice, “Kathleen awaits your pleasure, Dame Beatrice.”
Dame Beatrice thanked her and glanced at Laura, who rose and went with her to Jones’s quarters. They found a frightened, sulky child waiting on the landing.
“I’m not going in there,” she said flatly.
“How uncompromising you sound,” said Dame Beatrice lightly. “Very well. Would you have the same objection to entering Mr. James’s room? We can go there, if you prefer it.”
“Oh, all right, then,” said the girl. “After all, Jonah isn’t here now.” She opened the door to Jones’s sitting-room and went in. “You won’t pin anything on me, you know,” she said. “You’re wasting your time.”
“Ah, well, it, like my money, is my own,” said Dame Beatrice mildly, “Do sit down. May I call you Kathleen? This, as I expect you know, is James’s mother.” Laura, who had closed the door, sat down at the escritoire, took out a pencil and provided herself with a sheet of paper.
“Everything you say will be taken down in writing and may be given in evidence,” said the girl bitterly.
“Dear me! I didn’t know you had ever been in the hands of the police,” said Dame Beatrice.
“Ought to have been. Shop-lifting. They didn’t press the charges.”
“Your mother had an account at the shop in question, of course, and she corroborated your explanation that you had been shopping on the strength of it, I suppose.”
The girl looked startled at first by this display of omniscience. Then she said, “Didn’t want a fuss. Bad for her image. You got that from Gassie, I suppose.”
“From some notes he lent me, yes. And now let me suggest that we get down to business. The sooner it’s over, the sooner to sleep, don’t you think? Will you tell me all about the kidnapping and incarceration of Mr. Jones?”
“I suppose the police told you about that! Well, they’ve spoken to me. They’ve seen all six of us. I’m not saying any more to anybody. I don’t know what happened to Jonah and I couldn’t care less, and none of us knows anything about it.”
“Convince me of that,” said Dame Beatrice. “No,” she went on quickly, “swearing at me won’t help. I’m prepared to believe your story. That is, I am prepared to believe as much of it as you are prepared to tell me. I know it won’t be the whole truth, but I think that the part you are going to tell me will be the truth. Up to a point, you see, you have nothing to hide. After that point I will tell the rest of the story to you, if you like. Come, now, what do you say?”
“Look,” said the girl uneasily, “how much do you know?”
“That I am not disposed to tell you at present, any more than you are disposed to pay me the same compliment, so that is fair enough. Here goes, then. I know that six of you, yourself and five young men, arranged and conspired together to kidnap Mr. Jones and shut him up in a cellar. Taking advantage of the fact that all the rest of the staff were occupied, some with a film show, some on a cross-country run, and so on, you followed Mr. Jones to his lock-up garage, took him prisoner and incarcerated him. You left food with him and planned to release him on Thursday night or last Friday morning.”
“Yes, but he wasn’t there.”
“No, he was dead by then. What is more, you knew he was dead. I will go even further. You even knew that he was to be buried in the long-jump pit.”
“No! No, we didn’t! We thought somebody else—one of the staff—had let him out. We didn’t know he was dead!”
“Then why did you hold a council, the six of you, and, in a panic, decide to tell Mr. Henry that you had kidnapped and imprisoned him? It was quite unnecessary, if you really thought he had been freed. Can you not see that?”
The girl was silent. Dame Beatrice waited. At last Kathleen muttered, “I don’t know. He—Jonah—he wasn’t at lunch, so I suppose that’s why.”
“I don’t think that will do, you know,” Dame Beatrice said gently. “Mr. Jones was often absent from lunch. He used to drive into the village or the town and obtain lunch and a drink at a public house. There was no secret about this, was there?”
“I suppose there was not.”
“I know there was not. So why should the six of you have decided to own up to the kidnapping unless you knew perfectly well what had happened to Mr. Jones?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, in that case, perhaps I had better tell you.”
“No! I don’t want to hear! I won’t listen!” Kathleen got up, rushed to the door, flung it open, and ran.
“Want me to chase after her?” asked Laura.
“No, no. She will keep, as the police would say.”
Laura went over and closed the door which the girl had left wide open.
“You’ve scared her stiff,” she remarked, resuming her seat. “I’ll transcribe my shorthand, shall I?”
“By all means. Meanwhile, I think I would like a word with Mr. Medlar.”
“They don’t run to an inter-com. system here. I’ll go and page him for you.”
“We will both go, then. The notes can wait.”
“Are you going to voice your suspicions to him?” Laura gathered up her shorthand notes and pushed them into her handbag.
“I think not, but that depends upon how our conversation goes. Let us try the senior common room. He may still be there.”
The senior common room, however, was deserted except for a maid who was gathering up empty coffee cups.
“Mr. Medlar, madam,” she said, “I expect he’s in his office. He usually works there of an evening. I have orders to take his whisky and soda in there at half-past ten.”
“Ah, then,” said Dame Beatrice to Laura, “we must not disturb him.” They returned to Dame Beatrice’s room to find Hamish loitering outside the door.
“Hullo,” he said. “I knocked, but you weren’t there, so I thought I’d hang about. I didn’t think you’d be long, as you could hardly be with Gassie.”
“Why not? We went along to see him, as a matter of fact,” said Laura.
“To find out, rather, whether it was possible to see him,” amended Dame Beatrice. “We found that it was not. He had retired to his office to work.”
“He’d retired to his office to go into a huddle with Henry, Miss Yale and the girl Kathleen,” said Hamish. “She came to the senior common room in no end of a taking. What have you been a-doin’ to her? She was racked with sobs and, from what I could interpret, was demanding your head on a charger. Gassie then called a council of war and led the weeping Niobe off to his den, followed by his faithful henchmen.”
“Why the support?” asked Laura.
“He never sees the women students in his office or his sitting-room unless Miss Yale is there. It’s like in a police station, where they always have a woman P.C. in the room, I believe, when they’re questioning a female suspect. It looks more official and averts disadvantageous comment. Besides, the women students don’t give a fig for Gassie, but they’re terrified of old Nokomis. Why Henry was hauled in I don’t know.”
“Well,” said Dame Beatrice, “I thought I had upset the girl, but I hardly expected that she would go to these lengths.”
“I thought I’d made it clear in my letters that they always run to Gassie if they have any complaints.”
“I did not know that it included complaints about casual visitors. By the way, do you remember talking over with me the suggestion that you should take up a temporary appointment here?”
“Yes, of course. You told me that Medlar had once been second master at Isingtower School. I mentioned it to him on my first day here. He didn’t seem altogether overjoyed to think that I knew. Instead of discussing it in a cosy manner, he jettisoned the subject with some abruptness, I thought. Wasn’t he a success at Isingtower?”