“It weren’t nothing to do with me,” protested Hobbett. “I only did like you said. Moving an old piece of cloth from one place to another and forgetting to lock up—that’s not a crime, is it? What’s that got to do with murder?”
“Everything,” said Sloan sadly. “It provided the opportunity.”
The telephone was ringing as Sloan got back to his room.
Crosby handed over the receiver. “For you, sir. London.”
“Inspector Sloan? Good. About our friends the Cartwrights and their Consolidated Chemicals…”
“Yes?”
“Something I think will interest you, Inspector.”
“Yes?”
“Harold—the principal subject of our enquiry— highly respected, highly respectable business man. Hard but straight.”
“Well?”
“His father—Joe—not such a good business man but quite a fellow with the chemicals in his day. Past it now, of course.”
“Of course. He must be about eighty-five.”
“That’s just it. He is. And he had a stroke on Tuesday night. He’s still alive but not expected to recover.”
Sloan whistled. “So that’s what upset the applecart!”
“At a guess—yes.”
“Thank you,” said Sloan. “Thank you very much.”
“I’m glad it was useful information,” said the voice plaintively, “because I should have been at Twickenham this afternoon.”
Sloan pushed the telephone away from him.
“So, Crosby, if Sister Anne died before Uncle Joe all was well. If she consented to the firm going public all was not well but better than it might have been. If she neither died nor consented, Cousin Harold inherited his father’s half minus death duties leaving Sister Anne with her half intact and a strong leaning to the Mission field and making restitution.”
“Tricky,” said Crosby.
“Tricky? Cousin Harold must have been in a cold sweat in case his father died before he got to Cullingoak and Sister Anne.”
“Sir, what about that awful old woman we saw in London, Sister Anne’s mother—doesn’t she come into this?”
Sloan shook his head. “No. She’s only got a life interest that reverts to either her daughter, brother-in-law or nephew according to the order in which they survive. We can leave her out of this. Give me that telephone back, will you? I’m going to ask Cousin Harold to go up to the Convent.”
“Tonight?”
“Tonight, Crosby. After the good Sisters have had supper and Vespers.”
Crosby started to thumb through the telephone directory.
“Crosby, where’s Sergeant Perkins?”
“In the canteen, sir.”
“Get them to save me something, and then tell her I want to see her. I’m going back to see the superintendent when I’ve spoken to Cousin Harold.”
“It was blood then, Sloan.”
“Yes, sir. Dr. Dabbe’s just sent along his report. Minute traces, dried now and mixed with polish, but indubitably blood.”
“Group?”
“The same as Sister Anne’s, the same as on the Gradual.”
“And as a possible weapon?”
“Ideal.” Sloan tapped the pathologist’s report. “He won’t swear to it being the exact one…”
“Of course not,” said Leeyes sarcastically. “They never will.”
“But it fits in every particular.”
“Good enough for the jury, but not the lawyers?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And what do you propose to do now?”
Sloan told him.
18
« ^ »
Neither the Mother Superior nor Sister Lucy were present at Vespers that Saturday evening. If any member of the Community so far forgot herself as to notice the fact, they took good care not to look a second time at the two empty stalls. The welfare of the Convent of St. Anselm sometimes necessitated their presence in the Parlour with visitors. So it was this evening.
There were three of them, and a grumbling Sister Polycarp had let them in and taken them to the Parlour. The Convent of St. Anselm did not usually have visitors at the late hour of eight-thirty in the evening and she resented the interruption of her routine. She would have resented still further—had she known about it—two other visitors who had come privily to another door a little earlier. They had tapped quietly on the garden room door that Sister Polycarp had so carefully locked and bolted only an hour before that. But it was mysteriously opened for them and they stepped inside, a man and a woman, locking it as carefully behind them as Sister Polycarp had done so that should she chance to check again there was nothing to show that it had been opened and closed again in the meantime.
The Mother Superior greeted those who had come by the front door, keeping Sister Polycarp by her side.
“Father, how kind of you to come back, and Mr. Ranby too.”
“We don’t like to think of you alone here all night with a murderer at large.”
She bowed. “It is indeed difficult to sleep with that thought. We have been more than a little perplexed.” She lowered her voice, “You see we cannot exclude the possibility that the—er—perpetrator of these outrages is within our own house.”
Both men nodded.
“Especially,” went on the Mother Superior, “now that the police have discovered the murder weapon was here all the time.”
“They have?” said Ranby.
“The orb on the top of the newel post. Inspector Sloan has taken it away.”
“Now, about tonight…” said the priest.
“Mr. Cartwright has come up from the village, too,” said the Mother Superior. “He is just looking through the cellars for us now. We felt a little uneasy about the cellars.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Father MacAuley soothingly. “I think it would be as well if Cartwright, Ranby and I worked out some scheme for patrolling the building, cellars and all.”
“We had already decided to do that ourselves,” said the Mother Superior, “but if you would be so kind as to augment our—rather feminine efforts it would be a great kindness.”
“An hour each on,” suggested Ranby, “and two off. That is if Cartwright agrees?”
“Right,” said MacAuley.
“With one Sister…”
“With two Sisters,” said the Mother Superior firmly.
“With two Sisters in the gallery at the top of the stairs.”
“Thank you, gentlemen. That should keep us safe through the night. I will detail the Sisters immediately. They are quite used to night vigils, you know. In Lent we keep them between the Offices of Compline and Lauds.”
Sergeant Gelden rang Sloan at Berebury Police Station at a quarter to ten.
“That you. Inspector? About a Miss Felicity Ferling of West Laming House.”
“I’m listening, Sergeant.”
“It’s like this, sir…”
Sloan listened and he wrote, and he thanked Sergeant Gelden. Then he drove out to Cullingoak. He parked his car at The Bull and walked to the Convent from there, timing the walk. Then he, too, went round to the garden door and tapped very quietly. He was admitted by no less a personage than the Mother Superior herself.
She produced a list for him. “From ten to eleven, Father MacAuley and Sisters Ninian and Fidelia; from eleven to twelve Mr. Cartwright and Sisters Damien and Perpetua, and from twelve to one Mr. Ranby and Sisters Lucy and Gertrude.”
“And so on through the night?”
“Yes, Inspector, unless anything untoward happens. Sister Cellarer has sent a supply of hot coffee and sandwiches to the Parlour for those not actually watching.”
“Any difficulties?”
“None. All three gentlemen were quite agreeable to my suggestions.”
“Let’s hope they’ve swallowed everything. And the rest of the Community?”