“You know, I almost think we’ll have to put him in the clear,” said Laura to Dame Beatrice. “All the same,” she added to Julian, “everybody wishes you hadn’t thought up that beastly second pageant. It played right into the murderer’s hands. You and your Hangman’s Oak!”
“I was thinking more of the Druids than of the hangman, please, when I suggested the dancing round the oak, and, do you know, some of my revered colleagues on the Council now want to chop the tree down. I can see their point of view, but I think it would be rather a pity.”
“Yes, it is not as though poor Mr Gordon was killed by being hanged on the tree,” said Dame Beatrice, “or that he committed suicide by hanging himself from its branches.”
“I’m glad you don’t agree with the suicide verdict,” said Julian. “I don’t, either. I’m sure he wasn’t the type. I read about the inquest in the local paper. It was very fully reported, and I noted particularly that there were two distinct lines of markings on Gordon’s neck.”
“Yes, I noted the same point. It was suggested that the deceased had made two attempts to hang himself. I wish I had been able to see the body,” said Dame Beatrice. “However, through the good offices of Laura’s husband, I hope to obtain permission to study the photographs.”
“What do you think happened, Dame Beatrice?”
“I feel certain that Mr Gordon was garrotted, although not with an iron collar, which seems to have been the Spanish custom, and afterwards hanged from the Druid’s Oak by the murderer.”
“Wouldn’t the marks made by the garrotting look different from those made by the hanging? I thought doctors could detect that sort of thing.”
“Quite so, but that point was covered by the suggestion that the deceased had made two attempts at suicide. And now I shall be grateful if you will introduce me, next Sunday morning, to the gentleman who impersonates sunbeams.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Sunday School Point of View
“The records of nonconformity in Brentford are extremely meagre, and devoid of historic interest. There is, indeed, a long-standing tradition which associates the name of John Bunyan with the religious activities of the town…but there seems to be no reliable evidence to support this tradition.”
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The hall in which the Sunday School was held was considerably larger than the chapel in whose grounds it stood. This (explained Julian, who was escorting Dame Beatrice) was so that it could be let for lectures, bingo sessions, whist drives and dances, to the financial advantage of the trustees, who thus were not obliged to put their hands into their own pockets as often or as deeply as in the years before the hall was erected. (One of the brethren who had been wrong-headed and sinful enough to send up what proved to be a winning Treble Chance had salved what remained of his conscience by donating five thousand pounds of his prize money towards building the hall, so that bingo and so forth could be played there. That bingo is also a game of chance most fortunately occurred to nobody).
The Sunday School was run on sober Edwardian lines. Each child was provided with a stout card ruled out in fifty-two small squares. A table near the door supported a large register and the elbows of two young men. The young men were armed with pencil-sized rubber stamps, one of which bore a star, the other a zero. If a child arrived early or just on time, its card received a star; if late, it was still credited, but only with a zero. In order to be eligible to attend the annual Sunday School treat, it was requisite and necessary that a total of thirty stars or the equivalent in stars and zeros (a zero counted as half a star) should be stamped on the card and entered in the register.
“The mathematics of the thing are elementary, of course,” said young Mr Perse, explaining the system, “but I suppose the general idea is to favour punctuality, and not a bad idea, either, when you come to think of it. More frustration, bad language and ill-temper are caused by people keeping other people waiting than by almost anything else on earth. My own love-life is frequently springing a leak because I will not be kept hanging about for girls with whom I’ve made a firm date. Mind you, Dame Beatrice, I am a reasonable man, and I’m prepared to concede ten minutes. Nevertheless, ten minutes is my limit. If the party of the second part hasn’t turned up by then, she’s had it, and can jolly well buy her own fish and chips.”
“Excellent,” said Dame Beatrice. “I think the proceedings are about to begin. Are we to be favoured with sunbeams, do you suppose?”
It turned out that they were not to be so indulged. A hymn, a too-lengthy extempore prayer, a reminder that the Missionary Society was (as usual) short of funds, a scraping of chairs as each Sunday School class grouped itself round its teacher, an outbreak of Bedlam as the lessons commenced, and the Sunday School settled down to what appeared to be normal routine.
The secretary, who was still acting also as superintendent, came to the bench at the end of the hall where Julian and Dame Beatrice were seated. Julian performed the introductions and added that Dame Beatrice would like to ask a few questions about “poor Luton’s work for the Sunday School.”
“Yes, well—would it be too chilly for you if we went out into the porch? It’s difficult to talk in here with so much noise.” In the porch the secretary added, “What aspect of Luton’s work were you thinking of? He was very active in all branches, and, of course, a worker in our wider field.”
“You mean he worked for the chapel as well as for the Sunday School?”
“Oh, yes, and for the Youth Club, too. He was a very active worker, very active indeed. He used to do a good deal of social work, in addition.”
“Ah, yes, social work,” said Dame Beatrice. “What did that entail?”
“Well, mostly it was fallen women. He was extremely earnest and very sympathetic. On one occasion we had trouble in persuading him that it wasn’t in her best interests for him to marry one of them. One of our Girls’ Friendly girls, unfortunately. When Luton found out about it, he went to the man and put it to him, but the man refused to have anything more to do with the girl. He said there was no proof that he was the father and that he denied he was. Luton got very upset, especially when the man told him to marry the girl himself if he felt so strongly about it.”
“And Mr Luton was prepared to do so? How long ago was this?”
“Oh, when he was a very much younger man. At one of the Wednesday meetings for men, he asked for guidance, and, of course, it is our custom to ask aloud for guidance, so that matters can be discussed, if necessary, by everyone present.”
“And the meeting persuaded Mr Luton that…”
“Well, it was throwing himself to the dogs, as it were. I took it on myself to point out that people not knowing him as well as some of us did, might regard it as a sign of his own guilt if he married the girl. Moreover, as the husband of a fallen woman, we could hardly allow him to continue as Sunday School superintendent. It wouldn’t have been seemly.”
“Oh, would it not?” asked Dame Beatrice.
“Oh, no. You see, there’s the saying about no smoke without fire. They gossip, you know—even the best and most upright—and where there’s gossip, well, I hardly need to tell you that scandal is never far behind.”
“Only too true, I am afraid, but could gossip in the town really harm the chapel or the Sunday School?”