And here some time later Father Bernard found him. The priest had first visited Diane, and had found her spreading out upon the bed all the frilly flowery summer clothes she had bought for going to Spain. He managed to conceal his agitation from Diane, and went on to Druidsdale where he found Stella. Stella realized at once that something was very wrong, but the priest told her nothing except that he urgently wanted to see George. It had already occurred to Father Bernard that George might have run up on to the Common and if he did so would be likely to go toward the Ring. Here Father Bernard stumbled about in vain in the long grasses, almost weeping with tiredness and distress, falling over courting couples whom the grass, uncut, was long enough to conceal, beginning to mistrust his intuition and increasingly to fear that, wherever George was, he would not be discovered alive. When at last he glimpsed, in the green sea into which the sun was now laying down long shadows, the familiar colour of George’s grey jacket, and saw his dark hair, he fell down beside him with a cry of thankfulness.
George was lying on his face and seemed at first to be unconscious or asleep, as the priest laid his arm across the humped shoulders.
‘George, George, it’s me, Father Bernard, I’ve come to find you, wake up.’
George stirred, rolled on his side, opened his eyes, blinked a little, then closed them again.
‘George - don’t worry - it’s me - I’ll help you.’
George reached out and found a piece of the cassock and held it. He said, ‘I killed John Robert. I drowned him. He’s dead.’
‘I know,’ said the priest. He had read this, or something like it, in George’s face as they met in the corridor. ‘Only you didn’t kill him, you didn’t.’
‘You mean he’s still alive?’
‘No, no, but you didn’t kill him. Look, I’ll show you.’
‘He’s still alive, thank God, it’s a miracle - oh thank God.’
‘George, George,’ he cried, ‘he is dead, but not by your hand, he took his own life - look at this — ’
But George, hiding his face in the grass, just went on saying, ‘Oh thank God - oh forgive me - oh thank God.’
‘Look at this, look at this, look at his letter.’
George, turning on his side again, said, ‘I can’t see anything. I have become blind. I open my eyes and there is nothing, it is all dark, black. Was there an eclipse of the sun?’
‘No.’
‘I remember now. It was the flying saucer. It sent out a beam at me. It took my sight away.’
‘George, my dear, get up, can you, I’ll take you home. I’ll explain - John Robert’s dead - but you didn’t kill him, you’re not a murderer, you’re not.’
Very slowly with the priest’s help George rose to his feet. It was evident that he could not see. He swayed, holding out his hands. Together they stumbled as far as the path. It was late evening now, darkening to a clear greenish sunset sky.
As they began to walk slowly arm in arm along the path together Father Bernard asked, ‘Where shall I take you to?’
‘Take me home to Druidsdale. Stella is there.’
WHAT HAPPENED AFTERWARDS
The inquest brought in a verdict of ‘accidental death’ upon the decease of John Robert Rozanov, philosopher. George McCaffrey’s name was never mentioned or thought of in this connection. No one had seen him either enter or leave the Institute.
When Father Bernard got back there after leading George home to Druidsdale he found the whole matter of the ‘accident’ completely set up. What had happened was clear. Rozanov had been standing on the edge of the bath looking at his notebook and had slipped and stunned himself in falling. The circumstances of the death seemed to preclude suicide, and the only other theory which circulated (hushed up by the Director, Vernon Chalmers) was that the philosopher had been killed by a sudden inrush of scalding water which had rendered him unconscious. Father Bernard gave evidence at the inquest. He prayed for long hours to his inmost soul for guidance about whether or not he should produce the suicide note. In the end he was still uncertain about his duty but had become afraid of getting into trouble for concealing evidence. The inquest had been hustled on by Chalmers, who was afraid of talk and adverse publicity, and the funeral, a cremation in accordance with wishes expressed in the will, followed promptly. The national press had taken due notice of John Robert’s death, and various outsiders turned up at the brief ceremony (which was organized by Robin Osmore) including John Robert’s pupil Steve Glatz who happened to be in Oxford at the time, and a mysterious American woman who cried a lot.
George’s hysterical blindness left him after about a fortnight, and after that the priest took Rozanov’s letter round to show to him. George nodded his head, but did not utter any words after reading the note. Father Bernard brought it again on two occasions until he was satisfied that George had really understood it, although he still said nothing about it. Later on Father Bernard showed the note to me.
I think the priest’s intuition was probably right in guiding him not to reveal that Rozanov had intended to kill himself. Hattie Meynell, who felt enough guilt about it all in any case, was thereby spared the anguish of knowing that John Robert had proceeded almost directly from his conversation with her into the extremity of such an act. My own view is that John Robert had long been preparing his decision to die; this is certainly suggested by his possession of a specially compounded drug. And Hattie had perhaps not been mistaken in thinking that he was in a state of destructive despair about what he felt to be the failure of his philosophical work.
There are of course a number of factors in the case which must remain forever undecided. That John Robert should have chosen to die at the Institute is easily explained. He did not want to run the risk of being found by Hattie. But did Rozanov actually take the poisonous compound, did such a thing even exist? That it existed is, I think, given the man, simply proved by the letter, and equally I do not imagine Rozanov as one to delay or shirk, after writing the letter, the completion of the act. What caused his death? Was he, as is possible, already dead by the time George immersed him? And even if Rozanov did swallow a supposed lethal dose, would it necessarily have proved fatal? Supposing Father Bernard had arrived before George (as he might have done had he not gone first to Hare Lane)? Could the philosopher have been resuscitated? A confession by George together with the production of the suicide note would certainly have posed some interesting medical, legal and indeed philosophical problems. It is the sort of thing that would have interested John Robert, who might even have felt some odd ironical appreciation of George’s last-minute intervention in his life. That, at least, would have held his attention. What would the law have judged George to be guilty of? And what indeed, as things stand, is he guilty of? All these unanswered questions are likely to continue to disturb the minds of both George and Father Bernard. I had several talks with Father Bernard before his departure (of which I shall speak below). I have not yet been able to talk to George, but I hope that, with Stella’s help, this may prove possible in the near future.