“What time does Miss de Vine get back tonight? Do you know, Nellie?”
“I think she gets in by the 9:39, miss.”
Harriet nodded, took a book from the shelves at random, and went to sit on the steps of the loggia, where there was a deck-chair. The morning, she told herself, was getting on. If Peter had to get to his destination by 11:30, it was time he went. She vividly remembered waiting in a nursing-home while a friend underwent an operation; there had been a smell of ether, and in the waiting-room, a large black Wedgwood jar, filled with delphiniums. She read a page without knowing what was in it, and looked up at an approaching footstep into the face of Miss Hillyard.
“Lord Peter,” said Miss Hillyard, without preface, “asked me to give you this address. He was obliged to leave quickly to keep his appointment.” Harriet took the paper and said, “Thank you.”
Miss Hillyard went on resolutely: “When I spoke to you last night I was under a misapprehension. I had not fully realized the difficulty of your position. I am afraid I have unwittingly made it harder for you, and I apologize.”
“That’s all right,” said Harriet, taking refuge in formula. “I am sorry too. I was rather upset last night and said a great deal more than I should. This wretched business has made everything so uncomfortable.”
“Indeed it has,” said Miss Hillyard, in a more natural voice. “We are all feeling rather overwrought. I wish we could get at the truth of it. I understand that you now accept my account of my movements last night.”
“Absolutely. It was inexcusable of me not to have verified my data.”
“Appearances can be very misleading,” said Miss Hillyard.
There was a pause.
“Well,” said Harriet at last, “I hope we may forget all this.” She knew as she spoke that one thing at least had been said which could never be forgotten: she would have given a great deal to recall it.
“I shall do my best,” replied Miss Hillyard. “Perhaps I am too much inclined to judge harshly of matters outside my experience.”
“It is very kind of you to say that,” said Harriet. Please believe that I don’t take a very self-satisfied view of myself either.”
“Very likely not. I have noticed that the people who get opportunities always seem to choose the wrong ones. But it’s no affair of mine. Good morning.”
She went as abruptly as she had come. Harriet glanced at the book on her knee and discovered that she was reading The Anatomy of Melancholy. “Fleat Heraclitus an rideat Democritus? in attempting to speak of these Symptoms, shall I laugh with Democritus or weep with Heraclitus? they are so ridiculous and absurd on the one side, so lamentable and tragical on the other.”
Harriet got the car out in the afternoon and took Miss Lydgate and the Dean for a picnic in the neighbourhood of Hinksey. When she got back, in time for supper, she found an urgent message at the Lodge, asking her to ring up Lord Saint-George at the House as soon as she got back. His voice, when he answered the call, sounded agitated.
“Oh, look here! I can’t get hold of Uncle Peter-he’s vanished again, curse him! I say, I saw your ghost this afternoon, and I do think you ought to be careful.”
“Where did you see her? When?”
“About half-past two-walking over Magdalen Bridge in broad daylight. I’d been lunching with some chaps out Iffley way, and we were just pulling over to put one of ’em down at Magdalen, when I spotted her. She was walking along, muttering to herself, and looking awfully queer. Sort of clutching with her hands and rolling her eyes about. She spotted me, too. Couldn’t mistake her. A friend of mine was driving and I tried to catch his attention, but he was pulling round behind a bus and I couldn’t make him understand. Anyhow, when we stopped at Magdalen gate, I hopped out and ran back, but I couldn’t find her anywhere. Seemed to have faded out. I bet she knew I was on to her and made tracks. I was scared. Thought she looked up to anything. So I rang up your place and found you were out and then I rang up the Mitre and that wasn’t any good either, so I’ve been sitting here all evening in a devil of a stew. First I thought I’d leave a note, and then I thought I’d better tell you myself. Rather devoted of me, don’t you think? I cut a supper-party so as not to miss you.”
“That was frightfully kind of you,” said Harriet. “What was the ghost dressed in?”
“Oh-one of those sort of dark-blue frocks with spriggy bits on it and a hat with a brim. Sort of thing most of your dons wear in the afternoon. Neat, not gaudy. Not smart. Just ordinary. It was the eyes I recognized. Made me feel all goose flesh. Honest. That woman’s not safe, I’ll swear she isn’t.” “It’s very good of you to warn me,” said Harriet again. “I’ll try and find out who it could have been. And I’ll take precautions.”
“Please do,” said Lord Saint-George. “I mean, Uncle Peter’s getting the wind up horribly. Gone clean off his oats. Of course I know he’s a fidgety old ass and I’ve been doing my best to soothe the troubled beast and all that, but I’m beginning to think he’s got some excuse. For goodness’ sake, Aunt Harriet, do something about it. I can’t afford to have a valuable uncle destroyed under my eyes. He’s getting like the Lord of Burleigh, you know-walking up and pacing down and so on-and the responsibility is very wearing.”
“I’ll tell you what,” said Harriet. “You’d better come and dine in College tomorrow and see if you can spot the lady. It’s no good this evening, because so many people don’t turn up to Sunday supper.”
“Right-ho!” said the viscount. “That’s a dashed good idea. I’d get a dashed good birthday-present out of Uncle Peter if I solved his problem for him. So long and take care of yourself.”
“I ought to have thought of that before,” said Harriet, retailing this piece of news to the Dean; “but I never imagined he’d recognize the woman like that after only seeing her once.”
The Dean, to whom the whole story of Lord Saint-George’s ghostly encounter had come as a novelty, was inclined to be sceptical. “Personally, I wouldn’t undertake to identify anybody after one glimpse in the dark-and I certainly wouldn’t trust a young harum-scarum like that. The only person here I know of with a navy sprigged foulard is Miss Lydgate, and I absolutely refuse to believe that! But ask the young man to dinner by all means. I’m all for excitement, and he’s even more ornamental than the other one.”
It was borne in upon Harriet that things were coming to a crisis. “Take precautions.” A nice fool she would look, going about with a dog-collar round her neck. Nor would it be any defence against pokers and such things… The wind must be in the south-west, for the heavy boom of Tom tolling his hundred-and-one came clearly to her ears as she crossed the Old Quad.
“Not later than half-past nine,” Miss Ward had said. If the peril had ceased to walk by night, it was still abroad of an evening.
She went upstairs and locked the door of her room before opening a drawer and taking out the heavy strap of brass and leather. There was something about the description of that woman walking wild-eyed over Magdalen Bridge and “clutching with her hands” that was very unpleasant to think of. She could feel Peter’s grip on her throat now like a band of iron, and could hear him saying serenely, like a textbook: