‘As far as I can remember they were both dozing. We had champagne for lunch and I suppose it made them sleepy.’
‘What effect does champagne have on you?’ asked the policeman, pencil in air.
‘None as far as I know. I don’t drink much at any time and when I do it’s usually wine, you know, at home.’
‘Well then, you were perfectly clear in the head and sitting with a book under a tree when you saw them crossing the creek. Now suppose you go on from there. Just try and remember any little detail even if it seems unimportant now. You understand of course this is an entirely voluntary statement on your part?’
‘I watched them crossing the creek . . .’ He swallowed and went on again in an almost inaudible voice. ‘They all did it differently.’
‘Speak up, please. How do you mean differently? Ropes? Vaulting poles?’
‘Heavens no! I only meant some of them were more agile, you know – more graceful.’
Bumpher, however, was not at this moment concerned with grace. The young man continued: ‘Anyway, as soon as we were out of earshot I got up and went over to speak to Albert who was washing some glasses at the creek. We had a bit of a talk – oh, perhaps ten minutes, and I said I would take a little stroll before it was time to go home.’
‘What time was it then?’
‘I didn’t look at my watch but I knew my uncle wanted to leave not later than four o’clock. I began walking towards the Hanging Rock. By the time it began to go uphill there was some bracken fern and bushes and the girls were already out of sight. I remember thinking the scrub looked pretty thick for girls to tackle in light summer dresses, and expected to see them coming down any minute. I sat down for a few minutes on a fallen tree. When Albert called out I came back to the pool immediately, mounted the Arab pony and rode home, most of the way behind my Uncle’s wagonette. I can’t think of anything else. Will that do?’
‘Nicely, thank you, Mr Fitzhubert. We may get you to help us again later.’ Michael groaned inwardly. The brief interview had been a fairly close imitation of a dentist’s drill boring into a sensitive cavity. ‘Only one more thing I’d like to check up on before we get it written down,’ the policeman was saying. ‘You mentioned seeing three girls crossing the creek. Is that correct?’
‘I’m sorry. You’re right of course, there were four girls.’
Bumpher’s pencil was hovering again. ‘What made you forget there were four of ’em, do you think?’
‘Because I forgot the little fat one, I suppose.’
‘So you looked pretty closely at the other three, did you?’
‘No I didn’t.’ (God help me it’s the truth. I only looked at her.) ‘I suppose you would have remembered if there was an elderly lady with them?’
Michael, looking irritated, said, ‘Of course I would. There was no one else. Only the four girls.’
While this was going on Albert at the Woodend police station was giving his statement to one Jim Grant – the young policeman who had been out to Appleyard College with Bumpher on Sunday morning. Unlike Michael, Albert, fairly well used to the twists and turns which a policeman can give to the most innocent remark, was rather enjoying himself, being officially acquainted with young Grant through the trifling matter of a Sunday cockfight.
‘I’ve told you, Jim,’ he was saying, ‘I only seen them sheilas the once.’ ‘I’ll trouble you not to call me Jim when I’m on duty,’ said the other, who had reached the perspiring stage of exasperation. ‘It don’t smell good in the Force. Now then. How many girls did you see crossing that creek?’ ‘All right Mr Bloody Grant. Four.’
‘There’s no call for swearing neither. I’m only performing my duty.’
‘I suppose you know,’ said the coachman, producing a small bag of caramels and ostentatiously sucking one in a hollow tooth, ‘that this is a statement what I give to the police free, gratis, and for nothing. I’m only doing it to oblige and don’t you forget it, Mr Grant.’
Jim resisted the peace offering of a caramel and continued. ‘What did you do after Mr Fitzhubert started to walk towards the Rock?’
‘The Colonel wakes up and starts hollering it’s time to go home and I goes after Mr Michael and blow me if he isn’t sitting down on a log and the sheilas out of sight.’
‘About how far from the pool would this log be?’
‘Look, Jim, you know as well as I do. The bloody police and everyone else know the exact spot. I showed it to Mr Bumpher himself last Sunday.’
‘All right, I’m only ascertaining the facts – go on.’
‘Anyway, Michael gets on that Arab pony what his Uncle lets him ride and rides home to Lake View.’
‘The little beaut! I’ll say some people are lucky! Gee, Albert, you couldn’t get the Hon. Who’s This to give me a loan of it to show at Gisborne? Nothing to beat that pony for fifty miles round here. Mind you, I wouldn’t be wanting the saddle and bridle . . . just the mount for the afternoon. The Colonel knows I haven’t bad hands on a horse.’
‘If you think I’ve come all the way down here from Lake View to scrounge a ride on the Arab for you . . .’ said Albert, rising. ‘No more questions? Then I’ll be off. Ta-ta.’
‘Hi, wait a moment. There is one more,’ cried Jim, making a pass at the other’s coat tails. ‘When Mr Fitzhubert mounted this pony of his you say he rode home to Lake View with the wagonette? Did you actually see him all the way?’
‘I haven’t got eyes in the back of me bloody head. He rode behind us some of the way so as we wouldn’t get his dust and some of the way he was ahead, according to the road. I didn’t take that much notice except that we all arrived at the front gates of Lake View at the same time.’
‘What time was that, do you think?’
‘Round about half past seven it must have been. I remember Cook had my dinner waiting in the oven.’
‘Thank you, Mr Crundall.’ The young policeman closed his notebook with some formality. ‘This interview will be written out in full and shown to you later for your approval. You may go now.’ The permission was superfluous. Albert was already slipping the bridle over the head of a strawberry cob tethered in a patch of clover on the opposite side of the road.
For three consecutive mornings the Australian public had been devouring, along with its bacon and eggs, the luscious details of the College Mystery as it was now known to the Press. Although no further information had been unearthed and nothing resembling a clue, so that the situation remained unchanged since the girls and their governess had been reported missing by Ben Hussey late on Saturday night, the public must be fed. To this end, some additional spice had been added to Wednesday’s columns’ photographs of the Hon. Michael’s ancestral home, Haddingham Hall (inset of sisters playing with spaniel on the terrace) and of course Irma Leopold’s beauty and reputed millions on coming of age. Bumpher, however, was far from satisfied with all this. After consultation with his friend, Detective Lugg, based at Russell Street, he had decided to make yet another attempt to extract something in the way of concrete evidence from the schoolgirl Edith Horton. Accordingly, at eight o’clock on the morning of Wednesday the eighteenth, another glorious day lightened by a gay little breeze, he had arrived at Appleyard College in a buggy and pair, with young Jim in attendance, for the purpose of driving Edith Horton and the French Governess to the Picnic Grounds at Hanging Rock.
Mrs Appleyard, although the arrangement smacked vaguely of frivolity, could hardly object. The police, said Bumpher, were doing their utmost to clear up the mystery and in his opinion and that of Detective Lugg, it was essential that Edith as a key witness should be confronted with the actual scene as a spur to memory. The Headmistress, aware of Edith’s limited intelligence and unlimited obstinacy, plus a possible mild concussion, thought the expedition a waste of time and said so to Bumpher, who bluntly disagreed. Despite a rather unprepossessing manner, Bumpher was no fool at his job and had a great deal of experience in the way different people react under police questioning. He told her: ‘All of us trying to make this girl remember may have got her more bamboozled than ever. I’ve known people with shocking memories turn into quite useful witnesses once they get back to where they started, so to speak. We’ll try and take it easy this time . . .’ And so, with a relaxing atmosphere in mind, the Constable had allowed himself to enjoy the drive with Mademoiselle sitting up beside him smart and pretty in a shady hat, and had even shouted her a brandy and soda and Edith and young Jim a lemonade, while they were changing horses at the hotel in Woodend.