Her lamentations continued.
“Miss Bellivant,” interrupted Miss Phipps, “have you missed any food from the College kitchens lately?”
Miss Bellivant, tear-stained and disheveled, gazed at her.
“Well, Miss Phipps, when you cater for three hundred boys three meals a day, it’s not easy to say whether any food’s missing or not,” she said. “I mean, what’s a bun or two among three hundred? But once or twice I have thought — but I couldn’t say for certain. But the ice cream! I’d made it striped in the College colors as a special treat—”
It was some minutes before Miss Phipps could detach herself. She went up to the room that had been assigned to her thoughtfully.
That evening Miss Phipps lectured to the boys on The History of the Modem Detective Novel. The lecture proved a huge success, and as Dr. and Mrs. Brooke and Miss Phipps sat together round the fire afterward, sipping coffee, the Headmaster’s manner was a good deal more cordial than it had been earlier in the day.
“You know Detective-Inspector Tarrant pretty well, I believe?” he said, passing Miss Phipps the sugar.
“Yes.”
“Did he happen to tell you that we recently consulted him at the College?”
“No, he did not,” said Miss Phipps.
“But you have helped him on some of his cases, haven’t you?”
“When he has asked me, I have offered one or two suggestions,” said Miss Phipps in her primmest tone.
“I perceive you are a woman of intelligence and discretion, Miss Phipps,” said the Headmaster, smiling.
Miss Phipps bowed her head in acknowledgment, curious to know what the Headmaster wished to confide to her.
“I should be very grateful for your advice,” Dr. Brooke went on. “We have had here lately — we have suffered — really if one could credit such nonsense, one might imagine a poltergeist has been at work here.”
“I had a case once, in your cathedral city of Starminster, in which an alleged poltergeist figured,” said Miss Phipps. “But of course the agency proved to be human — very human. But please go on.”
“We have had in Star Isle College during the last few weeks a series of curious happenings,” said Dr. Brooke, speaking in a quiet, precise way, as though teaching a class constitutional history. “To begin with, there were several thefts.”
“Of what?”
“Small sums of money. An odd feature of the thefts was this: the whole of the sum available was never taken. If it was money from the pocket of a boy’s coat, only one or two coins would be missing; if it was notes from a master’s wallet, again, some notes would always be left.”
“As if the thief hoped the theft might not be noticed,” said Miss Phipps thoughtfully.
“The same sort of thing happened with sweets and biscuits in the boys’ tuck-boxes and lockers,” continued the Headmaster. “It was then that I asked Inspector Tarrant’s advice. But he couldn’t attempt to find the thief, he said, unless I would give him freedom to tackle the boys openly. I was considering this, when the thefts ceased. Then odd things began to happen.”
“The replaced baby’s rattle, the upset reports, Crawford’s missing watch, the ruined ice cream, for example,” said Miss Phipps.
“Yes — and all the contents of our drama wardrobe wicker baskets tumbled about and creased,” added Mrs. Brooke.
“It is certainly difficult to reduce such varied incidents to any orderly motivation,” said Miss Phipps thoughtfully. “They appear to lack coherence.”
“There is no sense whatever in the incidents,” said the Headmaster warmly. “Stealing money and sweets is detestable, but at least it is understandable. But why upset poor old Pryce’s reports? Why ruin the ice cream? Why steal a watch you’d never dare to wear? Even supposing some items of the theatrical wardrobe have been removed, what could a boy do with period clothes?”
“And why pick up, then put back the baby’s rattle?” said Mrs. Brooke with a shiver.
“I own that perplexes me particularly,” said the Headmaster. “All the other incidents might be attributed to some form of malice — but to do any hanky-panky with a baby’s rattle seems — well, I confess I’m disturbed.”
“Yes, it is queer,” said Miss Phipps slowly. “To get to the truth in this affair, we must distinguish, I believe, between actions which accomplish their object, actions which failed or were left uncompleted, and actions which were merely incidental. Sometimes one can discover the motive for an action quite simply by considering its effect.”
“But what effect had the replacement of the rattle, in heaven’s name?” said the Headmaster impatiently.
“Ah, I think it didn’t have the desired effect,” mused Miss Phipps. “It was done too late — it was one of the failures.”
The Brookes gazed at her open-mouthed.
“Miss Phipps,” said the Headmaster at length, “you alarm me even more.”
“I think you have every right to be alarmed,” said Miss Phipps gravely. “I believe it would be well to summon Inspector Tarrant at once.”
“I’ll ring him up immediately,” said the Headmaster, starting toward the telephone.
The Brittlesea police station said that Inspector Tarrant was engaged in conference with the Governor of the County Gaol and could not be disturbed, but he would come out to Star Isle first thing next morning.
Miss Phipps wondered if that would not be too late...
First thing next morning, Miss Phipps was wakened by Mrs. Brooke, bearing a cup of tea in her hand and a look of disaster on her young face.
“The baby?” queried Miss Phipps in alarm, shooting upright. “Your husband?”
“No. Crawford.”
“You don’t mean his... er... being winded has taken a serious turn?”
“No. He was perfectly all right when Henry went over to see him late last night. No, it’s not that. He’s disappeared.”
“Disappeared? This is very serious indeed,” said Miss Phipps, throwing back the bedclothes. “What clothes has he disappeared in? He had pajamas and bedroom slippers and a dressing gown in the sanatorium, I suppose?”
“Yes. They’re all gone. But, oh, Miss Phipps,” said young Mrs. Brooke, weeping, “we’ve found them all on the beach just above high-water mark.”
“We must get Inspector Tarrant here at once,” said Miss Phipps. “I will dress instantly. How does your husband explain the matter?”
“He thinks Crawford must be responsible for all the strange things which have been happening this term—”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Miss Phipps with vigor.
“—the poor boy must have had a breakdown from overwork.”
“Do you mean you think he has drowned himself?”
“That seems most likely. Or, of course, he may just have decided to take a swim in the middle of the night, being nervously unbalanced.”
“Preposterous! A boy who is head prefect, to break one of the strictest rules of the school! I don’t believe it,” said Miss Phipps. “Besides, my dear, consider. Crawford was in Chapel when the baby’s rattle was replaced. He was on the football field when the refrigerator door was opened.”
“He could have done the other things,” said Mrs. Brooke doubtfully.
“Yes. But not the rattle or the fridge. A problem is not solved unless the solution fits all the conditions.”
Mrs. Brooke’s face cleared a little. “I do so hope you’re right,” she said. “It would be terrible to have to tell his parents he was a thief. They were so proud of him.”
“Let us hope they will continue to be,” said Miss Phipps, energetically donning her dressing gown. “The tide is pretty high, I see, but on the ebb.”