Adders on the Heath

'Why?' Dame Beatrice enquired. The Headmaster waved his hand.

'Hewers of wood and drawers of water,' he said vaguely. 'And by Gunga Din I mean the average boy. Not that there is, of course, an average boy, I suppose, but it's astonishing and enlightening and also rather depressing, to realise how very much alike they all are. I remember my relief, in young manhood, when I realised that my sins were shared by every young man in the world. Bad for the ego, but a solace to the conscience.'

'To the conscience?' Dame Beatrice enquired. 'I wish I knew what the difference is between conscience and the fear of the law. There are the saints, of course, and one hesitates to condemn them for wrongheadedness.' She paused. The Headmaster said he felt that, in the majority of cases, if there were no retribution there would be a great deal more crime. By this he did not refer to the hanging of murderers. There was, in his opinion, no need to be barbarous, and, that, in any case, murder was not always a crime, although it might be so described by those brought up in the generation which had anticipated his own.

They got on in capital fashion and drank sherry together, the Headmaster explaining that he kept port and sherry to offer to H.M. Inspectors of Schools. He had taken the very first opportunity of opening his school to the Ministry. Parents liked to think that Dotheboys Hall was out of date and that each child was bedded in a hygienic dormitory and was entitled to its quota of cubic feet of air in the classroom.

'Talking of space, as represented by the cubic feet to which you refer,' said Dame Beatrice, 'your chemistry classes appear to be particularly lucky.'

'Oh, the science lab., yes. Good set-up there. I rather pride myself on it. We have to move with the times. We even have a model launching station.'

'And a poisons cupboard, I believe.'

'Every amenity, dear lady.' He smiled, but looked a trifle anxious.

Dame Beatrice thanked him for showing her round the school, referred to Stevens with warmth, and began to take her leave. The poisons were in the school chemistry laboratory, and she had seen them. This did not add up to much, in her opinion. Even less than before did she believe that Richardson had guilty knowledge of the two murders.

There was one person whom, so far, she had not encountered, but whom she was determined to meet and question. The simple thing to do was to ask the Headmaster outright whether she might interview the youth. This plan she abandoned in favour of asking the school caretaker where she might find the lab. boy.

'Him?' said the caretaker. 'He'll be in the caff. Nothing much doing for him at the school till they get a new science master.'

'But the Headmaster keeps him on?'

'Might get a science master any time.'

'And lab. boys are not very easy to come by, I suppose. What is this one like?'

'Proper little 'Itler.'

'Really? I wonder what you mean by that?'

'Punch-drunk with power.'

'Ah, yes, I see. He feels that in his hands he holds the lives of all in the school, both Staff and boys.'

'Something of that sort.'

'I really do understand. It is not an uncommon feeling, especially when one has access to deadly poisons. What is his name?'

"Ere, I never said nothing about poisons,' said the caretaker. 'Anyway, name of Borgia-or so 'e claims.'

The cafe, indicated with a certain amount of reluctance by the caretaker, proved to be a respectable shop which sold cakes and ice-cream and where coffee and soft drinks were dispensed in a room which opened off the back of the premises.

The interior gave promise of the same quietness. Dame Beatrice, guided by a kindly girl who wore a black frock and a small blue apron, took a seat and ordered coffee and biscuits. She also asked whether the waitress knew a Mr Borgia.

'Borgia?' repeated the girl. She smiled. 'I think it's just his nonsense, madam. There he is, at that table over there, with his girl friend. Ask me, his name's Smith, Jones or Brown-something more like that.'

'Or, of course, Robinson,' said Dame Beatrice absently. 'I should very much like to meet him.'

'Well, he wouldn't be everybody's fancy, madam, being, in my opinion, a nasty bumbacious piece of work, but his girl friend has got to get back to the shop in ten minutes, so he'll be on his own after that. He'll likely sit on in here, smoking his fags. He generally does. Got nothing much else to do until they get a new science master up at the private school, so he told me.'

'I wonder whether you would be kind enough to give him this note?' said Dame Beatrice, scribbling it as she spoke. 'You may read it, if you wish to do so.'

She sipped the execrable brew which the cafe had provided and watched the waitress deliver the written message. The young man, a black-haired, pale-faced, rather spotty individual in a shiny and tight-fitting bright blue suit, looked across at her, made a remark to his girl friend, who giggled, and then hitched his chair round so that his back was towards Dame Beatrice.

She waited, drinking, in the meanwhile, what she could of the hell-brew. This involved taking the smallest possible sips of it and she soon signalled the waitress to take the rest away.

'It's horrible stuff, madam,' said the waitress, sympathetically, 'but we can't make it no better at the price. Ah, there she goes.'

This last remark was a species of obituary on Borgia's girl friend, who rose from his table, slapped him lightly on the top of his brilliantined head and strolled with swinging hips out of the cafe. Borgia sped her with a slightly vulgar pleasantry and then came across to Dame Beatrice.

'So what?' he asked.

'Sit down,' said Dame Beatrice. 'I fear that I cannot recommend the coffee. Did you have any?'

'Me? No. A cuppa does me.' He looked at her suspiciously. 'Not as I need one now,' he added. 'Anyway, I don't take nothing from dames.'

'I am sure you do not. No really manly young man would.'

'What do you want with me, anyway?' Borgia demanded, highly suspicious of the compliment.

'Tales out of school.'

'How much?'

'Tell me all about hydrocyanic acid.'

'Eh? Why?'

'Because I represent the Home Office.'

'What's that?'

'Ultimately it is the authority which decides whether murderers shall be hanged.'

'Oh, I see. And you represents 'em, does you?' His voice was contemptuous. Dame Beatrice leered at him and answered him blandly.

'From the psychiatric angle, yes. Now, look here, my poor young man, for your own sake you would be well advised to answer my questions.'

'And for why?'

'Two people have been poisoned, the one by hydrocyanic acid and the other by potassium cyanide. So far as we have been able to discover, you are one of the few people connected with the case who had access to both these poisons.'

'Wodger mean, connected with the case? I don't know nothing about it!'

'Come now,' said Dame Beatrice persuasively, 'you cannot deny that both substances are to be found in the school laboratory in which you work.'

'Did work.'

'I accept that amendment. You knew that they were there, and I have it upon evidence that you have been known to boast that you could kill the whole school, if you wished to do so.'

'It was only a bit of a joke.' He was on the defensive at last.

'So I suppose, but it may help you to avoid being suspected of two dastardly murders if you will help me in my enquiries.'

''Ow?'

'By telling me who, besides yourself and the science master, could have known that the poisons were there.'

'Why, anybody could of knowed-anybody at the school, that is.'

'Yes, but who, in particular, comes into your mind? You realise that one of the two murdered men may have had one particular connection with the school?'