Within five minutes both Jake and Brenda had had enough "breakfast", he not wanting much, she not allowed much. They soon ferreted out the committee-room, which might well have once been the office of the chief administrator of the nursing home, though most likely not designed by him: it was low-ceilinged and, even on a morning like this, dark enough to need artificial light. A minor obstacle to the natural sort was afforded by the panel of stained glass that took up the top third of what there was of a window. Although several degrees below the ones at Comyns it was the only thing in the entire place, large or small, inside or out, that might stick in the mind for ten seconds after the eye had passed over it. Human figures were represented but making out who they were, if anybody in particular, wasn't easy, at least to Jake.
Rosenberg and Ed, who was wearing sunglasses of the deepest dye, sat together behind a table with a telephone on it and enough in the way of notebooks and pens to establish them in a business-conducting posture. Ivor was in attendance, also, unexpectedly, Geoffrey. As he took one of the identical straight-backed chairs with dark-green seats, Jake asked if there was any news of Kelly.
"Not yet," said Rosenberg. "There won't be for hours."
"Have her parents been informed?"
This time Ed answered. "She has no parents. Not in any real sense. Her father died of drink and her step-father, who lives with her mother in Belfast, won't have her in their home after she tried to burn it down the second time."
"Everybody please understand that's confidential," said Rosenberg.
"The only person to inform," Ed went on, "is her landlady in Hampstead, and that can certainly wait until we know more."
Jake nodded his head. He looked at the stained-glass panel. It was divided vertically into three scenes: a kneeling girl above whom a heavily robed male figure was raising a sword, the same figure with lowered sword contemplating a quadruped about the sire of a large dog, and the girl from the first scene accompanied by someone of uncertain sex carrying a curved wand and directing her towards a classical portico. He knew the subject but couldn't place it.
"We asked you to stop by," Ed was saying, "to let you know we decided on a cover-story for Kelly. Suicide, even a fake one, well, it depresses a lot of people, just the thought of it, and we want the folks to get on with their work without being bothered. Frank and I have staked a lot on this Workshop and we want it to be a success. So we pass it around that Kelly's suffering from an acute allergy that needs hospital attention but isn't dangerous."
"With a very high fever as the main symptom," put in Rosenberg.
"She woke up, knew she was sick, found Frank, he got her back to bed to wait for the ambulance. Long as we all tell the same tale if we're asked we'll be okay." Ed gave a quiet reflective laugh. "Isn't it great? Allergy. They'll swallow anything. And I go for that, it solves our Kelly problem nice and neat."
The last phrase made Jake speak more sharply than he had intended. "I take it you have been in touch with the hospital?"
"Like Frank said, Jake, they won't know anything for a long time."
"You mean you haven't rung them up."
"That's what I mean, Jake."
"Well I suggest you ring them now. They'll know whether she's alive or dead, I imagine.
"If she was dead we'd know soon enough."
"Quite possibly. All the same I'd like to be told one way or the other."
"Anybody else like to be told?" asked Ed, looking round the room.
Brenda didn't speak. Geoffrey had obviously seen through the cunning attempt to betray him into indiscretion, and likewise kept quiet. Ivor said he'd like to be told.
"All right." Ed looked through a ring-spine notebook, drew the telephone towards him and began to dial. While he was doing so he said without looking round, "Ivor, go tell the folks we'll be starting late, like fifteen minutes. We're having .... administrative problems. That'll hold "em..... Good morning, I'm inquiring after a Miss Gambeson, a Miss Janet Gambeson who was admitted as a casualty around five o'clock this morning..... No, I'm afraid I don't." He turned towards Jake. "Her name isn't Kelly. I doubt that it's Janet either. Or Gambeson. Not that it matters worth a damn what she calls herself..... Yes?..... Thank you." He rang off. "She's still unconscious. Just like we said."
Ivor had come back in time to hear this. "Well, that's something."
After a pause, Ed said pleasantly, "That's all we need you for, Brenda, but we'd like Jake to stay." When she looked inquiring, he added, "There's a little bit of digging we'd like to do about Kelly."
"I wouldn't mind staying for that too, unless you...."
"No no, fine, you stay if you want, you'll probably be able to help. Now Frank, do you want to carry the ball for a bit?"
"Thank you, Ed." Rosenberg did want to. He didn't actually grasp the lapels of his unsightly cream-coloured linen jacket, but his tone made up for that. "Now as some of you may know, when a person of this kind enters a suicidal situation there are two main aims or objectives. One is to arouse attention and concern, the so-called cry for help. The other objective is to carry out an act of revenge on some other person, usually for a sexual or family reason, to make that other person feel guilty, anxious and so on. An invariable accompanying feature is that the subject takes very careful precautions against dying. If that does happen, it's an accident. Something has gone wrong—the person in the next room doesn't smell the gas, the rope round the neck doesn't break."
Jake had now identified the subject of the window. The curved wand was a bow, its bearer was Artemis, the portico was that of her temple at Tauris, the girl was Iphigenia, daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra, and the beast was the deer supernaturally substituted for her by Artemis to forestall her sacrifice at Aulis. Shockingly rendered, but then. For a moment he felt pleased with himself.
"Now I strongly suspect," continued Rosenberg, sounding very Irish for some reason, "that that was what happened in this case, but I don't know what went wrong. If that second person, the one on whom an act of revenge was intended, if he exists, who is he? He might be somebody we don't know of, somebody who was supposed to telephone at midnight, say, but telephones are too unreliable and I just don't believe it. Since this happened here, I strongly suspect that the second person—if he exists—is also here. Here in this room. I've .... eliminated Lionel."
"I'm your man," said Jake at once. "She asked me to come and see her some time after midnight to be shown what she called a kind of letter. Which it was in a sense. I talked it over with my wife and decided it would be safer not to go."
There was silence. Ivor looked incredulous, Geoffrey puzzled for once in his life. Brenda glanced at Jake and gave him an approving nod and smile. Ed did the same in his thank-Christ-quite-different manner and said,
"Good, Jake. Excellent. I hope you're not feeling bad about it? We all understand why you didn't go along. None of us would have—I hope. You were absolutely right not to."
"How can you say that after what's happened? 'Of course' I'm feeling bad about it."