He was curt. ‘Don’t try to bury them before they’re even dead.’
‘I’m only saying what everybody else is thinking.’
‘Well, I’m not thinking it,’ he warned. ‘There’s still cause for hope.’
‘I know, I know and I’m glad.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘I only came to see you because I’m worried about you.’
Win Eagleton was the cook, a plump woman in her late thirties with a vulgar appeal that was offset by a gushing manner and by her habit of producing a broad grin that revealed huge gaps left by missing teeth. The coachman might have set his heart on marrying Rhoda Wills but the cook — even though given no encouragement — had long harboured designs on Tolley. With her rival apparently out of the way, Win thought she could begin to circle her prey.
‘Are you sure you’re not hungry?’ she said, brushing his arm with podgy fingers. ‘You’ve had a long and troubling day, Vernon. You need food inside you.’
‘I couldn’t touch a thing.’
‘You know how much you like my pies.’
‘Thank you, all the same, but I have no appetite.’
‘It’s always a pleasure to cook for you, Vernon.’ She moved closer to him. ‘But you’re right, of course,’ she went on, face solemn. ‘At a time like this, we shouldn’t be thinking about our bellies. Our minds and our prayers should be fixed on them. Whatever could have happened on that train?’
‘I wish I knew, Win. They were safe and sound when I waved them off.’
‘And were they alone in the compartment?’
‘I made certain of it.’
‘That was wise,’ she said. ‘You do hear terrible stories of nasty men who take liberties if they catch a woman alone on a train. I know that I wouldn’t dare to travel by myself. You can’t be too careful.’
‘Nothing like that happened,’ he declared. ‘I’m sure of it.’
‘So am I, Vernon. I told them that the rumour was nonsense.’
He turned to her. ‘What rumour?’
‘Oh, I don’t even want to repeat it. I shouldn’t have mentioned it except that they were all talking about it in the kitchen. It would only upset you,’ she told him. ‘It’s far better that you don’t even hear it.’
‘Don’t keep anything from me, Win,’ he insisted. ‘What’s this about a rumour? If it’s more than idle gossip, I want to know what it is.’
Having got his attention at last, she wanted to flash a broad grin to signal her triumph but overcame the urge to do so and furrowed her brow instead.
‘It’s about the Mickleton Tunnel,’ she said, confidingly. ‘It’s always caused trouble. Well, it’s not so many years ago that we had that riot there with thousands of people fighting a battle. And there have been other problems since. Someone started a fire in there. Two people committed suicide together by standing on the track. Last year, they found another dead body in there, curled up against a wall. Some folk believe that the tunnel is cursed. That’s the rumour, Vernon. They say that, when the train slowed in the dark of the tunnel, someone might have been able to climb into their carriage and commit whatever crime he did. I don’t believe it myself,’ she said quickly, ‘but that’s what I heard. If anything really dreadful happened on that journey to Oxford, it would have taken place in the Mickleton Tunnel.’
Vernon Tolley swallowed hard and his gloom deepened.
After a flurry of introductions, Dominic Vaughan tried to dispel the tension in the room by producing a decanter of the college sherry and pouring a glass for all five of them. Everyone sat down. The person most grateful for the drink was Victor Leeming, perched on the edge of a chair and feeling so alienated in the strange environment that his throat had gone dry and his body numb. The sherry at least brought him back to life again. Colbeck complimented the Master on the quality of his sherry then invited Tunnadine to explain how he’d achieved the miracle of unravelling the mystery. The politician was disdainful, mocking the efforts of the detectives and boasting that he’d succeeded where they had floundered. Ignoring the sergeant as if he were not even there, his words were aimed solely at Colbeck. When he sat back at the end of his recitation, Tunnadine looked as if he expected a round of applause.
Colbeck sipped some more sherry then shook his head in disagreement.
‘It’s an interesting theory, Mr Tunnadine, but it’s fatally flawed.’
‘I know what George Vaughan is capable of, Inspector.’
‘That may well be so, sir. Throughout its long and illustrious history, this university has been enlivened by undergraduate jests. When I was a student here myself,’ said Colbeck, deliberately letting him know his academic credentials, ‘I saw countless examples of what one might call youthful exuberance. One of my own contemporaries, for instance, thought it would be a splendid joke if he clambered up on the roof of the Sheldonian Theatre with a live sheep tied around his shoulders. Why do it? The answer is simple — he wanted to cause a stir.’
‘What has that got to do with George Vaughan?’
‘He and my old college friend are two of a kind, Mr Tunnadine. Both like to shock people with their bravado. But a shock, by definition, is a temporary event. Once accomplished, its effect soon wears off. If, as you argue, the Master’s son is responsible for what you refer to as devilry, why has he let it drag on for such a long time? The joke had worn thin several hours ago.’
‘That’s precisely what I told him,’ said Vaughan.
‘George would never make us all suffer like this,’ added Cassandra. ‘He’s grown up in the last year. He’s finally seen the error of his ways.’
‘Once a joker, always a joker,’ argued Tunnadine. ‘I’ve met him. He can’t stop himself from being the family clown.’
‘Clowns perform in search of immediate applause, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘They never extend their act ad nauseam until it causes pain and anguish. I’m sorry, Mr Tunnadine, but your so-called solution is utterly worthless.’
‘I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ agreed Cassandra.
‘Nor could I,’ said Vaughan. ‘You cast unjustified slurs on the honour of our younger son, Mr Tunnadine. I’d say that an apology was in order.’
‘None is deserved and none will be given,’ said Tunnadine, stonily.
‘Inspector Colbeck has exposed your theory for the gibberish that it is.’
Looking from one face to another, Tunnadine saw that he was outnumbered. Since nobody took his explanation seriously, he began to have his first niggling doubts about it. Too wily to admit defeat, he tried to turn the tables on Colbeck.
‘What progress have you made, Inspector?’ he demanded.
‘We’re still harvesting information, sir.’
‘You must have reached a conclusion.’
‘I never do that on insufficient evidence,’ said Colbeck.
‘So, in effect, your investigation has yielded nothing of consequence.’
‘I wouldn’t put it like that, Mr Tunnadine.’
‘Then how would you put it?’ pressed the other.
‘Possibilities are beginning to emerge.’
‘I’m not interested in possibilities,’ said Tunnadine with vehemence. ‘The dear lady I intend to marry may be in some kind of danger. She must be found quickly and returned safely to me. The culprit — and I still name him as George Vaughan — must be subjected to the full rigour of the law.’ After draining his glass, he rose to his feet, set the glass on the desk, then plucked a card from his waistcoat pocket. ‘This is where I may be reached in London,’ he said, thrusting the card at Colbeck. ‘I’ll be spending the night at Brasenose before returning there.’
‘As you wish, sir,’ said Colbeck, getting up to see him off.
‘Good day to you all!’
After snatching up his hat, Clive Tunnadine let himself out and slammed the door behind him to indicate his displeasure. Colbeck resumed his seat.
‘We can now begin to have a less fraught discussion,’ he observed.
‘I’m sorry that you came when you did, gentlemen,’ said Vaughan. ‘He was in a foul mood when he barged in here. We’ve only met Mr Tunnadine twice before and he doesn’t improve on acquaintance.’