‘None that I ever heard. What makes you ask such a thing?’
‘I am still trying to account for the child’s death. It wasn’t accident. Gymnasium ropes don’t “wear through” in the manner suggested at the inquest. Besides, some odd things have happened since I went to Cartaret College, and if they are not connected, through Miss Murchan, with what happened here, I do not know how to account for them.’
She proceeded to give Miss Paldred details.
‘And you are sure the cook was murdered?’ asked Miss Paldred. ‘It doesn’t seem to me there was much to go on.’
‘Enough,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘She really would not have thrown her own corsets into the river and then thrown herself after them over the bridge, you know. She wouldn’t like to think of people finding her uncorseted body.’
‘Do people really consider such things at such a time, I wonder?’
‘Emphatically they do. Besides, to drown her in the Athelstan basement bathroom would have been so easy, under cover of the sound of the bath-water running out. If people thought anything of it, they would only think it was Miss Cartwright.’
‘What do you make of the ghost-noises, then?’
‘Two things. First, I think someone wanted to stampede the Athelstan students into panic, and secondly, I think they were made to bring to our notice the fact that some unauthorized person was on the premises. They were altogether interesting.’
‘But what could the cook have known, which made her dangerous, do you suppose?’
‘Beyond the feeling that it must have been something about Miss Murchan’s disappearance, one cannot tell at present. Ah, well, we shall live and learn, I hope. Oh, one more question. You said that Miss Paynter-Tree had been with you only five terms. How long had Miss Murchan been with you?’
‘Three years. Another reason I was sorry I felt obliged to make her Senior Assistant, of course.’
The child’s name had been Muriel Princep, and the maid who opened the door to Mrs Bradley said that Mrs Princep was at home.
Mrs Bradley, left in the hall whilst the girl went to speak to her mistress, gazed about her with polite curiosity. The house gave evidence that there was no lack of money on the part of the owners. It was handsomely furnished, warm, clean, polished and smelt unobtrusively of roast meat and furniture cream nicely intermingled.
Mrs Princep was a bony woman with haggard eyes. She looked sixty, but might have been younger. She greeted Mrs Bradley with a nervous smile.
‘I don’t think…?’ she said.
‘Quite so,’ Mrs Bradley replied. ‘It was thought that you would prefer me to call rather than a policeman.’
‘Norah!’ called Mrs Princep.
‘It’s of no use to order me out of your house,’ said Mrs Bradley, who had formed her plan of campaign. ‘I am sorry if I was abrupt, but I have very little time. It’s like this, Mrs Princep. You may or may not have heard of the strange and, so far, unaccountable disappearance of Miss Murchan, who used to teach at the school here. In association with the police, I am investigating the causes of that disappearance. Will you hear what I have to say?’
‘You’d better come into the drawing-room,’ said Mrs Princep. ‘Miss Murchan,’ she added, when they were seated and she had switched on an electric heater, ‘was suffering from a guilty conscience, I suppose. Some of those people didn’t tell the truth at the inquest.’
‘Not a guilty conscience; an overburdened one.’
‘You know about our trouble?’
‘Yes. I know your granddaughter died as the result of an accident in the school gymnasium. That is why I have come to you.’
‘I can tell you nothing about Miss Murchan. I had no idea she had disappeared, and I don’t care, anyway.’
‘No, but you can tell me something about your husband, if you will,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘Is he better now?’
‘I won’t have my husband reminded of the affair.’
‘I don’t want to have him reminded of it, any more than you do, but I would like to know the address of the hospital to which he was sent’
‘It was at a place in Berkshire called Millstones. I don’t know the exact address. I never went there.’
‘You didn’t go to visit him?’
‘No.’ She looked so uncompromisingly fierce, with her thin, pursed lips and large eyes lidded like those of an eagle or even (thought Mrs Bradley) a giant vulture, that it was not easy to know exactly how to continue the conversation.
‘I am glad to obtain that address,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘I want to confirm the impression of the police that your husband could have had nothing to do with Miss Murchan’s disappearance.’
‘I don’t see why the police should have any impression about it one way or the other, but, as a matter of fact, and to save you trouble, I can tell you that my husband came out of the mental hospital last June, on the tenth of the month. I don’t know when Miss Murchan disappeared, so I don’t know whether, if he’d wanted to have a hand in her disappearance, he could have done so.’
‘I see,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘You blame the school, Mrs Princep, I know, for what happened. Do you happen to know whether your husband particularly blamed Miss Murchan?’
‘I don’t think he did, but I do know Miss Murchan promised to tell us a piece of news about it. She said she knew, and she supposed we knew, who was responsible.’
‘But she didn’t give any name?’
‘We asked her — pressed her — but she declared it wasn’t necessary. She said we must know whom she meant, and that, if we agreed, she’d take her story to the police. She said they’d know what to do.’
‘Does that mean you refused to allow her to go to the police?’
‘Oh, no. And I think she did go. What we couldn’t understand was why she suddenly left the school.’
‘And Miss Paynter-Tree, too. Still, I suppose there was felt to be some responsibility there.’
‘Responsibility!’ said the woman, with extreme bitterness. ‘Well, you can use that word by all means. Anyhow, I know what I think.’
‘We are coming to something,’ thought Mrs Bradley. ‘What do you think, Mrs Princep?’ she inquired.
‘Why, that those responsible for bringing the poor child into the world took the liberty of putting her out of it.’
‘Oh?’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘And that means…?’
But Mrs Princep was not prepared to amplify her opinion. She closed her thin lips, and then suddenly opened them again to add, apparently irrelevantly, ‘I’ve been married three times, you know.’
‘What I don’t understand at all,’ said Mrs Bradley, perceiving that Mrs Princep was not prepared to volunteer any explanation of this last remark, ‘is how the child came to be in school so late. It was surely very unusual.’
‘Thinking as I do,’ said the grandmother, ‘I’m sure the poor mite was decoyed.’
‘By the murderer, you mean, if one accepts your opinion. An opinion, I may add, which I share and which the police are beginning to investigate.’
‘Are they? Are they really?’
‘So, you see, you can speak freely to me on the subject.’
‘Yes,’ said the woman, ‘I see that. My husband was very fond of the child,’ she added. ‘Of course, he never realized who she was.’
‘Are you sure of that? You mean she was the child of one of your sons or daughters, don’t you?’
‘Illegitimate,’ said Mrs Princep, tightening her lips more than ever. ‘I had a daughter by each of my previous marriages. The younger girl went wrong, and the other would have done, too, given half a chance. Of course I couldn’t have them in the house. My husband doesn’t even know I’ve got two daughters. I never told him. I’d been widowed for nearly ten years when he married me, and the girls had left home long before.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure he doesn’t know you have two daughters,’ thought Mrs Bradley. Aloud she asked: ‘Wasn’t the mother fond of the child? Was she willing for you to take it?’