“She was thirty-one years, ten months,” he said. “She was precisely twenty years younger than me to the day.”
Alderman Kealey. unsurprised by the gratuitous information, returned to his listener.
“She was thirty-one. No, we don’t know yet how she died. No one knows. We are awaiting the post mortem report Yes, Chief Superintendent Dalgliesh. He’s here now but he’s too busy to talk. I hope to issue a Press statement this evening. We ought to have the autopsy report by then. No, there’s no reason to suspect murder. The Chief Constable has called in the Yard as a precautionary measure. No, as far as we’re aware, the two deaths aren’t connected in any way. Very sad. Yes, very. If you care to telephone about six I may have some more information. Ml we know at present is that Nurse Fallon was found dead in her bed this morning shortly after seven. It could very well have been a heart attack. She was just recovering from flu. No, there wasn’t a note. Nothing like that.”
He listened for a moment then again placed his hand over the mouthpiece and turned to Grout.
“They’re asking about relatives. What do we know about them7”
“She hadn’t any. Fallon was an orphan.” Again it was Mr. Courtney-Briggs who replied.
Alderman Kealey passed on this information and replaced the receiver. Smiling grimly he gave Dalgliesh a look of mingled self-satisfaction and warning. Dalgliesh was interested to hear that the Yard had been called in as a precautionary measure. It was a new conception of the flying squad’s responsibilities and one which he felt was unlikely to deceive the local Press boys, still less the London reporters who would soon be on the scent He wondered how the hospital was going to cope with the publicity. Alderman Kealey was going to need some advice if the inquiry were not to be hampered. But there was plenty of time for that. Now all he wanted was to get rid of them, to get started with the investigation. These social preliminaries were always a time-consuming nuisance. And soon there would be a Matron to propitiate, to consult, possibly even to antagonize. From the Group Secretary’s unwillingness to move a step without her consent, it looked as if she were a strong personality. He didn’t relish the prospect of making it clear to her, tactfully, that there would be room for only one strong personality in this investigation.
Mr. Courtney-Briggs, who had been standing at the window, staring out at the storm-wrecked garden, turned, shook himself free of his preoccupations and said:
“I’m afraid I can’t spare any more time now. I have a patient to see in the private wing and then a ward round. I was due to lecture to the students here later this morning but that’ll have to be cancelled now. You’ll let me know, Kealey, if there’s anything I can do.”
He ignored Dalgliesh. The impression given, and no doubt intended, was that he was a busy man who had already wasted too much time on a triviality. Dalgliesh resisted the temptation to delay him. Agreeable as it would be to tame Mr. Courtney-Brigg’s arrogance, it was an indulgence which he couldn’t afford at present There were more pressing matters.
It was then that they heard the sound of a car. Mr. Courtney-Briggs returned to the window and looked out but did not speak. The rest of the little group stiffened and turned as if pulled by a common force to face the door. A car door slammed. Then there was silence for a few seconds followed by the clip of hurried footsteps on a tessellated floor. The door opened and Matron came in.
Dalgliesh’s first impression was of a highly individual yet casual elegance and a confidence that was almost palpable. He saw a tall slender woman, hatless, with pale honey-gold skin and hair of almost the same color, drawn back from a high forehead and swathed into an intricate coil at the nape of her neck. She was wearing a gray tweed coat with a bright green scarf knotted at her neck and carrying a black handbag and a small traveling case. She came into the room quietly and, placing her case on the table, drew off her gloves and surveyed the little party silently. Almost instinctively, as if watching a witness, Dalgliesh noticed her hands. The fingers were very white, long and tapering but with unusually bony joints. The nails were clipped short On the third finger of the right hand an immense sapphire ring in an ornate setting gleamed against the knuckle. He wondered irrelevantly whether she took it off when she was on duty and, if so, how she forced it over those nodular joints.
Mr. Courtney-Briggs, after a brief, “Good morning, Matron,” made his way to the door and stood there like a bored guest, demonstrating his anxiety to make a quick get-away. But the others crowded around her. There was an immediate sense of relief. Muttered introductions were made.
“Good morning, Superintendent.” Her voice was deep, a little husky, a voice as individual as herself. She seemed hardly aware of him, yet he was conscious of a swift appraisal from the green exophthalmic eyes. Her handshake was firm and cool, but so momentary that it seemed a fleeting meeting of palms, nothing more.
The Vice-Chairman said: “The police will want a room. We thought perhaps Miss Rolfe’s office?”
“Too small, I think, and not private enough, so close to the main hall. It would be better if Mr. Dalgliesh bad the use of the visitors’ sitting-room on the first floor and the cloakroom next door to it. The room has a key. There’s a desk with lock-able drawers in the general office and that can be moved up. That way the police will get some privacy and there’ll be a minimum of interference with the work of the school”
There was a murmur of assent. The men looked relieved. The Matron said to Dalgliesh: “Will you need a bedroom? Do you want to sleep in the hospital?”
“That won’t be necessary. We shall be staying in the town. But I would prefer to work from here. We shall probably be here late every night so that it would be helpful if we could have keys.”
“For how long?” asked the Vice-Chairman suddenly. It was on the face of it, a stupid question, but Dalgliesh noticed that all their faces turned to him as if it were one he could be expected to answer. He knew his reputation for speed. Did they perhaps know it too?
“About a week,” he said. Even if the case dragged on for longer, he would learn all he needed from Nightingale House and its occupants within seven days. If Nurse Fallon had been murdered-and he believed she had-the circle of suspects would be small. If the case didn’t break within a week it might never break. He thought there was a small sigh of relief.
Matron said: “Where is she?”
They took the body to the mortuary, Matron.“
“I didn’t mean Fallon. Where is Nurse Dakers? I understood it was she who found the body.”
Alderman Kealey replied. “She’s being nursed in the private ward. She was pretty shaken up so we asked Dr. Snelling to take a look at her. He’s given her a sedative and Sister Brumfett’s looking after her.”
He added: “Sister Brumfett was a little concerned about her. On top of that she’s got rather a sick ward. Otherwise she would have met you at the airport. We all felt rather badly about your arriving with no one to meet you, but the best thing seemed to be to telephone a message for you, asking you to ring us here as soon as you landed. Sister Brumfett thought that the shock would be less if you learnt it in that way. On the other hand it seemed wrong not to have someone there. I wanted to send Grout but…”
The husky voice broke in with its quiet reproof: “I should have thought that sparing me shock was the least of your worries.”‘ She turned to Dalgliesh:
“I shall be in my sitting-room here on the third floor in about forty-five minutes’ time. If it’s convenient for you, I should be glad to have a word with you then.”
Dalgliesh, resisting the impulse to reply with a docile, “Yes, Matron,” said that it would. Miss Taylor turned to Alderman Kealey.