‘They know of his existence. I wrote to him, and, in his acknowledgment of my letter he said that he had put himself immediately in touch with them, informing them that he was married to the girl.’
‘At least that doesn’t sound like a guilty conscience,’ said Carey. Dame Beatrice caught Miss McKay’s sardonic eye.
‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’ said the Principal. ‘Two decades of working with students have taught me that a tender conscience is now the most striking anachronism in the world.’
Young Coles presented himself at the college that same evening. Miss McKay received him sympathetically.
‘I’ve been called to attend the inquest,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Is there anything you’d like me to say—or, perhaps, not to say—about Norah?’
‘The proceedings most likely will be adjourned after evidence of the cause of death and evidence of identification have been given,’ said Dame Beatrice.
‘Oh, yes, I see.’ He turned, tongue-tied, and fidgeted with the strap of his wristwatch.
‘And now,’ said Miss McKay, with practical kindness, ‘I am going to turn you on to Dame Beatrice. You may tell her everything you wish, including, I suppose, your reasons for marrying Miss Palliser before her college course was completed.’
‘Yes, there is that. It couldn’t have anything to do with what’s happened, though.’
‘Of course not. But it may help to ease your mind and something useful to the police enquiry may come of it.’
‘I can’t think—it doesn’t make sense!’ the boy blurted out. ‘Nobody could have—nobody could — ” He turned aside again and stared moodily out of the window. Dame Beatrice gave one glance at the Principal and nodded briskly. Miss McKay went out. Young Coles, master of himself once more, pulled forward an armchair.
‘No. You have that. I’m going to look out of the window while I talk,’ said the elderly lady. She turned her back on him and heard the slight creaking of the chair as he sat down. ‘How did you manage to persuade Miss Palliser to marry you before the end of her college course?’
‘Does it matter? Her death couldn’t have—I mean, there couldn’t be any connection.’
‘No jealous suitor? No possessive stepfather?’
‘Oh, you know about that old swine!’ Trained in assessing such matters, she detected relief in his tone.
‘Is he old?’
‘Actually, no, only in sin. He’s a good deal younger than the mother, as a matter of fact.’
‘What cause have you to dislike him?’
‘He gets under my skin.’
‘Nothing definite?’
‘He kicked me out of the house once—literally. That’s why’tye got married—just to show him.’
‘No, you don’t mean that. You mean you persuaded Miss Palliser to marry you to assuage your wounded feelings.’
‘Perhaps so.’ His voice had gone flat again. ‘Will you tell me a bit more about things? I’m pretty well in the dark. I don’t even know when and where she died.’
‘I can tell you approximately when, but where remains a mystery. She died between three and four weeks ago— probably even before she was reported missing. I am not in a position to be more explicit at the moment.’
‘Will you tell me where she was found?’
‘Yes, but you must try not to jump to any unwarrantable conclusions.’
‘That means you suspect those young devils at Highpepper!’
‘That is the unwarrantable conclusion which you must try to avoid. Your wife was found on the floor of a coach which acts as an original sort of inn-sign at a house called the Cloak and Dagger, not a hundred yards from the back gates of Highpepper Hall. I cannot avoid the thought that a student from that college would have gone further afield to dispose of a body.’
‘Probably couldn’t.’
‘There is that, of course. The inquest may make certain things clear which, at present, are extremely obscure. Now for one or two questions. Please answer me as accurately as you can. When did you last see your wife?’
‘The week before the beginning of term. She had a lot of preparation to do—holiday work for the lecturers—which she’d put off doing so that we could have as much time to ourselves as possible, so we came back from the seaside on the Saturday and term began on the following Tuesday week.’
‘How often have you communicated with her since you parted?’
‘Oh, a couple of times. We’ve never, either of us, been terribly good correspondents.’
‘Did anything happen during the holiday to cause you any uneasiness?’ She turned swiftly as she put this question. The young man flushed and looked down at his watch.
‘I—no, I don’t remember anything special.’
‘Please think hard.’ There was a long silence before Coles shook his head.
‘Everything was perfectly normal, as far as my recollection goes. We had a mild row on the first day, but that’s the usual thing when two people who are rather desperately keen on one another get together after a longish absence.’
Dame Beatrice nodded agreement.
‘Quite,’ she said. ‘And it was fun to make up the quarrel afterwards. Apart from the incident to which you have already referred, what reason had you to dislike your wife’s stepfather?’
‘He just simply gets under my skin. I can’t explain. Some people are like that.’
‘How long ago did you marry?’
‘Last March.’
‘Mrs Coles had then barely completed two terms of her college course?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I am not clear why you were in such a hurry.’
A slight smile changed the boy’s anxious expression.
‘There wasn’t the usual reason, if that’s what you mean,’ he assured her. Dame Beatrice nodded.
‘I could understand it if you had been able to live together,’ she said, ‘but as you were not able to do so, and as certain felicities of married life were barred to you until your wife’s college course was over, I do not see any advantage in your having entered the holy estate of matrimony so early.’ She looked him full in the eye. Coles shrugged. ‘I suppose I wanted to make sure of her,’ he said. Dame Beatrice accepted this explanation and pigeon-holed it for future reference. It suggested that the young husband might have had a rival, either real or imaginary, and, if real, some interesting possibilities might present themselves. The crime passionel, although rare, was not unknown in Britain, she reflected. There were, however, other possibilities.
‘I am going beyond my brief with my next question,’ she said, ‘but it is one the police may put.’
•Go ahead.’
‘Do you know whether your wife had insured her life?’
He looked startled.
‘Insured her life? I’m sure she hadn’t. I don’t see how she could have afforded to pay the premiums. She had no money except what her own father had left her, and that wasn’t much.’
‘Did her stepfather help to keep her?’
‘I don’t really know about him. I know her own father left a little bit and that her college fees were paid out of it. And she had quite a fair amount of money to spend.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, she always paid for her own holidays when we went away together, and often stood treat in restaurants. I used to do the actual paying, but she often handed me the money beforehand.’
‘But she never referred to any life insurance policy?’
‘Definitely not. Look here, can you think of anything else the police might ask me? I’ve had a pretty bad knock, and I’d like to be prepared. Are they—I know it sounds a bit odd, but, naturally, one’s read about these cases—are they likely to suspect me? Had I better get my alibi quite clear?’
‘You have an alibi, then?’