“We can’t be sure that nobody smelt gas,” said Mrs. Bradley. “Several people may not be telling the truth about that. Besides, the very strong smell of that creasote, you know!”
“It is dreadful,” said the nun. “Who would have thought of such a thing?”
“There are several people,” Mrs. Bradley replied. “There is Ulrica Doyle, for example. We can prove that she went into the church, but we cannot prove that she spent the whole of the afternoon school-time there; it covers the time for the murder, that couple of hours. Then there is Miss Bonnet: it is odd, you must admit, that her half-holiday from Kelsorrow School coincided with the death of the child, and that all the untoward incidents, such as the attacks on me and on Sister Bridget, occurred on the evenings or nights when Miss Bonnet had been on the premises.”
“Ulrica—I should be certain she did not do it. It is too wicked a thing for any young girl to have contemplated,” Mother Jude stoutly affirmed.
“The motive,” said Mrs. Bradley.
“You mean the money? I cannot believe she could be so dreadfully mercenary.”
“For herself, no. For the church—?”
“The end and the means,” said Mother Jude. She shook her head again, gently. “I do not believe it. You think she would commit a terrible sin in order to get money to give to the Church? No, no! It is wrong. You do not understand. I am sure you do not. With all your goodness, my friend, you are not a Catholic!”
“What about Miss Bonnet, then?”
“I do not know her. But what would be her reason? Why should she kill a child—and such a gentle, inoffensive child?”
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Bradley, nodding solemnly, “unless the child was a menace, in some way, to her. What do you say to Mrs. Maslin?”
“Well, that one!” said Mother Jude. Then, to Mrs. Bradley’s concealed amusement, she shut her lips tightly, flushed a little, and concluded: “I will not imagine it. No. It is not possible. Yet—she knows something! She is always hinting.”
“Well, somebody did it. I thought perhaps you might give me your opinion. What do you say to Mrs. Waterhouse?”
“But, again, why?”
“Well, she killed her husband. ‘’
Mother Jude smiled incredulously.
“Oh, but she did,” said Mrs. Bradley. “I agree, however, that it is not a very good reason for suspecting her of killing Ursula Doyle. Still, the fact remains that she is, perhaps, a little—hasty.”
“Do you know what I really believe?” said Mother Jude. Mrs. Bradley turned to find the blue eyes fully upon her. “I believe it was poor Sister Bridget. I have thought so from the first. Before the inquest I thought so, and now I am almost certain. There! I have told you at last!”
“Sister Bridget deliberately killed that child? I may tell you that it is extremely unlikely you are right.”
“Consider the facts,” said Mother Jude. ‘ ’We know that the child was killed by breathing unlighted gas. We know, too, that the child was not seen to enter the guest-house. We know that she was under supervision until—?”
“Yes. Until when? Until the end of morning school. We hear no more of her until she is found in the bathroom with her head completely submerged.”
“Quite. But all that water—do you see my point?”
“No,” said Mrs. Bradley, who had seen another of such significance that she could think of nothing else for the moment.
“But yes! The water! When did all that water run into the bath? Did nobody hear it? Why did nobody hear it?” pursued Mother Jude triumphantly. Mrs. Bradley gave her her whole attention.
“You mean—I see. All the guests except Sister Bridget had gone out. She alone would have heard the water running. Yes, but it doesn’t prove that she turned it on, you know.”
“But who else could have turned it on?”
“The murderer.”
“But Sister Bridget would have made some remark to one of us about it. She knows that people don’t usually take a bath in the middle of the afternoon. You do not believe me. Let us make an experiment.”
She rang a bell and Kitty came to the door.
“My dear child,” she said, “I want you to go to Sister Bridget’s bedroom and remain there for the next half-hour. I have to go, but Mrs. Bradley will be here, and will have other instructions for you.”
“Do I have to be doing nothing but stay in her room, ma’am?” Kitty enquired, when Mrs. Bradley and she were left by themselves, and little Mother Jude, with a swirl of heavy skirts, had hurried out..
“You can take another girl with you,” said Mrs. Bradley, “and take all the coverings off the bed and tighten the spring mattress, if you will be so kind. You know how to do it, I suppose?”
“Indeed and I do, ma’am. Bessie is on duty with me to-day. Will I be going to find her?”
“You will. When Sister Bridget spends her afternoons in there, does she have the door open or shut?”
“She shuts it against her mouse. And how does the poor weak creature be getting on, ma’am?”
Judging that the question referred to Sister Bridget and not to the mouse, Mrs. Bradley replied that she was almost well. “And now,” she said, “you get along and find Bessie. Oh, and one more thing. Ask Annie and Ethel to come along, too, and sit in the kitchen with the door as they usually have it. What about the front door? Always left unlocked?”
“Until after tea, ma’am, always. The guests do be wanting to get in and out without trouble.”
“Yes, naturally. I had anticipated that. That makes no difficulty, then.”
While Kitty was gone for Bessie and the others, Mrs. Bradley walked over to the Orphanage, where, since the nuns had all gone to Church, the children were left by themselves. There was a fair amount of noise going on, but immediately she went in such a deathly silence ensued that she was considerably disconcerted by it.
“I want a girl of thirteen,” she said. She cast a quick glance over all the assembled children.
“You’ll do,” she added, picking out a stolid-looking girl. She beckoned the child to go with her.
“Now,” she said, when they got outside, “what’s your name?”
“Molly Kelly, but I wasn’t doing nothing.”
“You’re doing something now,” said Mrs. Bradley. ‘ ’You are helping me in a very important bit of work, and I want you to do exactly as I tell you. You and I are going to reconstruct a crime. Are you a brave girl, Molly?”
“I screeches at the dentist.”
“Well done you. But you mustn’t screech now. You mustn’t make a sound. You understand?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. It is just a game. Have you ever been into the guest-house?”
“No.”
“Do you know the way in?”
“Yes. I knows where the door is.”
“All right, then. We must wait until the coast is clear.”
They waited until Mrs. Bradley had seen Kitty go over with Annie and Ethel. Bessie, she assumed, was already in the guest-house, as she was on duty there, and needed only to be taken up into the seventh bedroom. She gave the girls another three minutes, and then said to Molly Kelly:
“You mustn’t mind. I’m going to send you in alone. I want you to go up to the front door, walk in, enter the first door on the left—which is your left hand?— that’s it—and stay in the room until I come. I shan’t be long. Will you do that?”
“Yes.” The heavy-looking child walked off. Mrs. Bradley watched her go. The gates were open; the portress was in church. Round the corner towards the guest-house went the child, and after an interval of less than a minute Mrs. Bradley followed after her. There was no sign whatever that the child had entered the guest-house. She herself pushed open the guest-house door, walked in and entered the parlour. There was the child.
They remained in the room for five minutes by Mrs. Bradley’s watch. Then Mrs. Bradley opened the big window which looked out beyond the low wooden fence to the downhill stretches of the moor. The next moment she had gone to the door of the room, opened it, and returned to the child whom she lifted up in her arms.