“Very well. Lord Peter then made a very remarkable proposition. He asked whether I would allow him to interrogate this person privately, in the hope of surprising her into some admission. He said that if this bluff, as he called it, came off, the culprit could then make her confession to me and be suffered to depart quietly, or be dealt with medically, as we might decide was advisable. If, however, it did not come off and the person denied everything, we might be placed in a very disagreeable position. I replied that I quite saw that and could not possibly consent to have such methods used upon anybody in this College. To which he replied that that was exactly what he had expected me to say.
“I then asked him what evidence, if any, he had against this person. He said that all his evidence was circumstantial; that he hoped to have more of it in the course of the next few days, but that in default of a fresh outbreak and the capture of the culprit red-handed, he doubted whether any direct evidence could be produced at this stage. I inquired whether there was any reason why we should not at least wait for the production of the additional evidence.”
Dr. Baring paused and looked keenly at Harriet.
“He replied that there was only one reason, and that was that the culprit, instead of becoming more cautious, might throw caution to the winds and proceed to direct violence. ‘In which case,’ he said, ‘we should very likely catch her, but only at the cost of somebody’s death or serious injury.’ I asked what persons were threatened with death or injury. He said the most probable victims were-yourself, Miss de Vine and another person whom he could not name, but whose existence, he said, he deduced. He also surprised me by saying that an abortive attack had already been made upon you. Is that true?”
“I shouldn’t have put it as strongly as that,” said Harriet. She briefly outlined the story of the telephone call. At the name of Miss Hillyard, the Warden looked up:
“Do I understand that you entertain a definite suspicion of Miss Hillyard?”
“If I did,” said Harriet, cautiously, “I shouldn’t be the only person to do so. But I’m bound to say that she doesn’t seem to fit in at all with the line of Lord Peter’s inquiries, so far as I am acquainted with them.”
“I am glad to hear you say that,” replied Dr. Baring. “Representations have been made to me which-in default of evidence-I have been very unwilling to listen to.”
So Dr. Baring had kept abreast of the feeling in the S.C.R. Miss Allison and Mrs. Goodwin had probably been talking. Well!
“In the end,” pursued the Warden, “I informed Lord Peter that I thought it would be better to wait for the further evidence. But that decision must, of course, be subject to the willingness of yourself and Miss de Vine to face the risks involved. The willingness of the unknown third party cannot, naturally, be ascertained.”
“I don’t in the least mind what risks I take,” said Harriet. “But Miss de Vine ought to be warned, I suppose.”
“That is what I said. Lord Peter agreed.”
So, thought Harriet, something has decided him to acquit Miss de Vine. I’m glad. Unless this is a Machiavellian ruse to throw her off her guard. “Have you said anything to Miss de Vine, Warden?”
“Miss de Vine is in Town, and will not return till tomorrow evening. I propose to speak to her then.”
So there was nothing to do but to wait. And in the meantime, Harriet became aware of a curious change in the atmosphere of the Senior Common Room. It was as though they had lost sight of their mutual distrust and their general apprehensions and had drawn together like spectators at the ringside to watch another kind of conflict, in which she was one of the principals. The curious tension thus produced was scarcely relieved by the Dean’s announcement to a few select spirits that in her opinion, Flaxman’s young man had given her the chuck and serve her right; to which Miss Flaxman’s tutor sourly replied that she wished people wouldn’t have these upheavals in the Summer Term, but that, fortunately, Miss Flaxman didn’t take her final Schools till next year. This prompted Harriet to ask Miss Shaw how Miss Newland was getting on. It appeared that Miss Newland was doing well, having completely got over the shock of her immersion in the Cherwell, so that her chances for a First looked pretty good.
“Splendid!” said Harriet. “I’ve ear-marked my winnings already. By the way, Miss Hillyard, how is our young friend Cattermole?”
It seemed to her that the room waited breathlessly for the answer. Miss Hillyard replied, rather shortly, that Miss Cattermole seemed to have recovered such form as she had ever possessed, thanks, as she understood, from the young woman herself, to Miss Vane’s good advice. She added that it was very kind of Harriet, amid her many preoccupations, to interest herself in the History students. Harriet made some vague reply and the room, as it seemed to her, breathed again.
Later in the day, Harriet took an outrigger on the river with the Dean, and, rather to her surprise, observed Miss Cattermole and Mr. Pomfret sharing a punt. She had received the “penitent letter” from Mr. Pomfret, and waved a cheerful hand as the boats passed, in token of peace restored. If she had known that Mr. Pomfret and Miss Cattermole had found a bond of sympathy in devotion to herself, she might have speculated on what may happen to rejected lovers who confide their troubles to willing ears; but this did not occur to her, because she was wondering what, exactly, had happened that morning at the Mitre; and her thoughts had strayed away into the Botanical Gardens before the Dean pointed out, rather sharply, that she was setting a very irregular and leisurely stroke.
It was Miss Shaw who innocently precipitated a flare-up.
“That’s a very handsome scarf,” she said to Miss Hillyard. The dons were assembling, as usual, for Hall, outside the S.C.R.; but the evening was dull and chilly and a thick silk scarf was a grateful addition to evening dress. “Yes,” said Miss Hillyard. “Unfortunately it isn’t mine. Some careless person left it in the Fellows’ Garden last night and I rescued it. I brought it along to be identified-but I’m ready to admit that I can do with it this evening.”
“I don’t know whose it can be,” said Miss Lydgate. She fingered it admiringly. “It looks more like a man’s scarf,” she added. Harriet, who had not been paying much attention, turned round, conscience-stricken.
“Good lord!” she said, “that’s mine. At least, it’s Peter’s. I couldn’t think where I’d left it.” It was, in fact, the very scarf that had been used for a strangling demonstration on the Friday, and been brought back to Shrewsbury by accident together with the chessmen and the dog-collar. Miss Hillyard turned brick red and snatched it off as though it were choking her.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Vane,” she said, holding it out.
“It’s all right. I don’t want it now. But I’m glad to know where it is. I’d have got into trouble if I’d lost it.”
“Will you kindly take your property,” said Miss Hillyard.
Harriet, who was already wearing a scarf of her own, said:
“Thank you. But are you sure you won’t-”
“I will not,” said Miss Hillyard, dropping the scarf angrily on the steps.
“Dear me!” said the Dean, picking it up. “Nobody seems to want this nice scarf. I shall borrow it. I call it a nasty, chilly evening, and I don’t know why we can’t all go inside.”
She twisted the scarf comfortably round her neck and, the Warden mercifully arriving at that moment, they went in to dinner.
At a quarter to ten, Harriet, after an hour or so spent with Miss Lydgate on her proofs-now actually nearing the stage when they might really be sent to the printer-crossed the Old Quad to Tudor Building. On the steps, just coming out, she met Miss Hillyard.