CHAPTER FIVE

The moment breakfast was over and she had taken prayers in the chapel, Maria summoned Joan Dawson and Beryl Mather to her study. They arrived promptly and stood waiting in some anxiety in front of her big desk.

Maria noted that they were indeed wearing different dresses to the previous day, then she sat back and interlocked her fingers in front of her.

“Joan,” she said quietly, “this little talk is not between pupil and Headmistress, but between—shall I say—friends?” She gave a rather dry smile. “The same applies to you, Beryl. Now, I want you both to be very frank with me so that I may know how to act when Superintendent Vaxley of Scotland Yard arrives. You will undoubtedly be questioned, and if I know in advance what is coming, I may be able to help you.”

“We’ll tell you anything we can, Miss Black,” Joan said earnestly, and Beryl Mather nodded her unruly head.

“Tell me, then, didn’t either of you see or hear somebody prior to being rendered unconscious in the clearing?”

They both shook their heads firmly.

“Tell me exactly what you did when you were left bound by Vera Randal and her friends. You first, Beryl.”

“Well, all three of us were lying on the ground,” Beryl said slowly. “Joan was on one side of me, and Frances on the other. I tried to get to my feet and just couldn’t—I—er—am a bit stout, you see.

“Frances seemed to have the idea of us standing back to back so that we could untie each other’s wrists. She got up finally, and so did Joan here. She and Joan were back to back, unfastening each other’s wrists. I had my back to them, of course, but Frances had no sooner shouted that her hands were free and the gag out of her mouth before something struck me a terrific welt on the head and I was knocked out cold. The next thing I remembered was you bending over me, Miss Black.”

Maria’s cold eyes turned to Joan. “This something that hit Beryl must surely have been seen by you, Joan. What was it?”

“I don’t know, Miss Black,” she answered quietly. “I had my back to both Beryl and Frances. My wrists being untied, I was busy with my ankles when Beryl must have been knocked out. The only one who could have seen what hit Beryl was Frances—I think she must have done, for I heard her give a little gasp. I didn’t think anything of it and never bothered to look round. I’d freed my ankles and had half got to my feet when I was hit a real smack under the jaw. Everything went black. Whoever it was must have come up from behind me and knocked me out before I could see who it was.”

“Hmm…,” Maria said. “But you believe that Frances did know who it was?”

“I think so, but.…” Joan shrugged. “She is dead, so what can we do?”

“In which case,” Maria mused, “the unknown person rebound Frances and you. He made a thorough job of Frances, but was not very concerned over you, presumably because you were unconscious anyway. Beryl had not been untied before she was stunned.… You say you fancied Frances gave a little gasp. In that case, she got the gag out of her mouth?”

“She was entirely free, Miss Black—except for her ankles.”

“Those were left tied just as Vera Randal had done it,” Maria answered. “They were not tied by the same person as the one who tied the wrists and the—the hanging rope.”

Maria got to her feet and began to pace slowly up and down.

“Tell me, Joan, did you touch that hanging rope at any time?” she asked abruptly.

“Good Heavens, no!” the girl cried, aghast. “How could I?”

“Well, it touched you, my dear. In fact, I think it trailed over you at one point. You see, I happen to know that strands of that many-coloured silk frock you were wearing yesterday are imbedded in the rope.”

Joan’s eyes widened and her face seemed to go paler. She seemed to make an effort to collect her thoughts. “I—I’ve no idea how that could have happened. Since I was unconscious, how could I know?”

“Naturally, you couldn’t,” Maria shrugged. “I merely mention it so you will be ready for the question if Superintendent Vaxley should spring it on you.…”

The two girls exchanged glances. Maria came back to her desk again.

“I think,” she said quietly, “that there’s something you should know.… The body of Frances Hasleigh has disappeared!”

“From—from Room 10?” Beryl Mather gasped.

“Exactly. It was presumably lowered from the window of that room and taken—I know not where. There are many places where it might have been taken in a place as extensive as this one. Places where I cannot go without—er—raising inquiry. Are either of you girls willing to undertake a search for it, notifying me the moment you find it? I am right outside my authority in asking you to do it, but if it is not found, there may be unpleasant repercussions.”

“We’ll look for it!” Joan answered promptly. “Do we stay off lessons to do it?”

“You have this morning in which to search,” Maria said gravely. “Report to me if you find it. If you don’t, then come to me here just before dinner bell, and tell me where you’ve looked.”

This was enough for them and they turned to leave the study. Beryl Mather went with her usual rolling motion, but Joan limped badly. Evidently her feet were giving her a good deal of trouble. Maria watched them from the window as they went out into the quadrangle on the first stage of their search.

She reflected she had taken a long chance—then just as she was going to turn away. She gave a start. A figure had just come through the gateway. She could distinguish a check suit, green pork-pie hat, a red tie.… She gave a little gulp as the visitor hailed the two girls and spent a few moments talking to them. From the amount of arm-waving that went on it was pretty clear he was asking directions—and getting them.

“No—it isn’t possible!” Maria breathed. “Mr. Martin is in New York—”

But she kept her eyes fixed on the figure just the same. He swaggered up to the steps of the School House and entered. Maria got back to her desk hurriedly just as there came a knock on the door.

“Come in,” she bade, rather breathlessly.

An impudently grinning red face angled round the door. Then the vivid hat came off and upstanding carroty hair was revealed, sweeping back from a broad, intelligent forehead.

“Black Maria!” he exclaimed, striding in and shutting the door with a bang. “Say, I’d know your puss anyplace! Hi-ya!”

Maria shook the big paw he held out, her eyes travelling over the expanse of face, the appalling suit, the various colours of shirt, tie, hat—

“Mr. ‘Pulp’ Martin!” she whispered. “I thought I’d left you in the Bowery where I solved the mystery of my brother’s death.… Sit down, won’t you?”

“Them was the days, eh?” he grinned, half sitting on the desk. “You and me running around Maxie’s Dance Hall, me swiping Ransome across the kisser, you falling in the docks. Swell stuff while it lasted. But I guess you’re wondering how I found you? There ain’t much to it, really. I came over to this country of yours a few months back, just when war started. Things got kinda hot down my way and I figured I’d better blow until the heat was off. I came over here as a volunteer for the American Air Force—you know how I love a scrap. But I got rejected on account of there’s something screwy about my feet. Me, a reject! So I’ve been doin’ a bit of potterin’ down London way in the Civil Defence—not as a regular, though.… Then, swipe me flat, if I didn’t read in last night’s paper about a murder happening up this way—a kid from the school of Miss Maria Black found with her neck stretched. I figured there could only be one Maria Black, so I hopped a train and came right over to see if I could do anything. I got the address of this college from the station. We sort of worked okay together before, remember? Anyway, I asked those two pieces outside where I could get the low-down on you, and here I am. You know me when it comes to service—”

“Quite!” Maria gave a little cough. “Frankly, I don’t know whether you are a gift from Heaven to me or just a rather—ah—embarrassing intruder. You see, things are so much different here to what they were in the States. Nobody knew me there, outside my relations, but everybody does so here, and for various reasons I must not be seen associating with you too closely.”

“I get it,” he nodded promptly. “Don’t worry, Maria, I’m quick on the uptake. You’re a big dish of stew over here and I’m not. Okay by me. I’ll find a squat somewhere in the village. You can always give me the old one-two when you want me.… Know any place where I can hit the hay and grab a bite to eat while I’m around here?”

“You might try the Fox Hotel in the village, Mr. Martin. I think there will be room there. They are on the telephone, too, in case I need you urgently.”

Pulp gave her a keen look of his intense blue eyes.

“Look, Maria, what’s the set-up in this murder, anyway? It didn’t say much in the paper. Anything I oughta know?”

“Simply a matter of hanging, Mr. Martin. A new pupil is left with me, a pupil who seems to have no home connections, and she is found hung on a tree branch with a bruise mark behind each ear. No clues in the wood where the tragedy happened. There are a lot of other details, of course, but those are the salient points. The rest will come out at the Coroner’s inquest.”

“Mmmm—quite a poser for England’s greatest woman criminologist, huh? Remember you telling me you was that? And I figure it’s true, too. The old neck stretch and panhandle grip, eh?”

“The what grip?” Maria frowned.

“The panhandle grip. Ain’t the proper name for it, but that’s what me and the boys call it. It’s a grip that can put anybody to sleep for minutes or hours, depending on the pressure. Finger and thumb behind the ears in just the right spot stop the circulation to the brain and the guy—or dame—just passes out cold.”

“Ah! Upon my word, Mr. Martin, you have a most uncanny gift of dropping in with suggestions at the right time. Tell me, could anybody use this—hum!—panhandle grip?”

“Sure—provided they’d learned it beforehand. Just what you might call knack.” Pulp’s eyes brightened. “Say, think I’ve got something to help you?”

“It’s possible, Mr. Martin!” Maria answered. “I see that I may need you after all—there is little pleasure in working on a case alone. One’s views become clogged.… Suppose I give you a retainer fee?”

He grinned and shrugged. “I’ve got my own ways of getting’ flush, I guess, but a bit on the nose wouldn’t hurt. I’m yours for the old price—five dollars a day, or night.”

Maria got up with a grave smile, went to her safe, took some treasury notes from a steel cash-box and handed them over.

“There you are, Mr. Martin. Now do me the favour of getting along to the Fox before anybody sees you here. If you can’t get fixed at the hotel, let me know over the phone where you finally settle.”

“It’s a date,” he nodded, sliding from the desk. “Don’t you fret, Maria—we’ll get this monkey business in the bag same as we did before.… Be seeing you.”

He picked up his hat and turned to the door, just as Miss Tanby knocked and came in. She stared blankly at the loud suit and grinning red face.

“Pulp Martin’s the name, sister,” Pulp explained blandly. “You and me’ll be ringing doorbells before you know it—”

“Great Scot!” Tanby gasped, and stared after his massive figure; then, rather bewildered, she came forward into the study where Maria stood eyeing her in some amusement.

“That, Miss Tanby, is Mr. Martín,” she said gravely. “A—er—rather overpowering personality, but about the most honest trickster I ever met. Chivalrous to women; violent to men. In a word, my assistant.”

“That man!” the Housemistress gasped. “Is he the one who helped you in America?”

“Exactly—and do not judge too readily by appearances. He is in England through various circumstances.… Anyway,” Maria rose, “I presume you wish to see me, Miss Tanby?”

“It’s Superintendent Vaxley, Miss Black. He’s just arrived. He got into the New House by mistake just as I was—”

“The details are quite irrelevant, Miss Tanby. Please show him in.”

Tanby nodded and went back to the doorway. She motioned into the corridor and as Superintendent Vaxley came in she went out and closed the door. Maria moved forward to clasp the extended hand.

“Miss Black, this is a pleasure indeed!”

Vaxley was a tall man—very tall—with a face as thin as a pedigree greyhound, a straight, inquisitive nose, and pointed chin. His eyes were tiny and sparkling, like little sapphires; his mouth generous. His greying hair was nearly nonexistent over the temples.

“Delighted to know you, Superintendent,” Maria said majestically. “Be seated, won’t you?”

He whipped up the tails of his roomy raglan coat and sat down. “Speaking unprofessionally for a moment, Miss Black, I have often wanted to make your acquaintance—though I never thought it would be in such tragic circumstances.… I have heard of your—er—unofficial work, you know.”

Maria gave a little start as she sat down opposite him.

“I don’t quite understand, Superintendent.”

“Perhaps you will when you know that Inspector Davis of New York is a cousin of mine. Believe me, I have heard quite a deal about you from him, especially about your unorthodox way of handling that gangster, Hugo Ransome. You clapped him in jail a year ago when all the police in New York had their hands tied. That, to my mind, is an achievement for an unofficial investigator to be proud of.”

Maria gave one of her rare warm smiles.

“Purely in the course of another investigation,” she shrugged. “However, you have taken rather a worry from my mind. I am, of course, deeply interested in the mystery which has descended right into my own school, and I was rather afraid that a man of law as prominent as yourself would look askance on my little researches. Now I feel—”

Vaxley interrupted her with a laugh.

“My dear Miss Black, whatever you do will receive no check from me: I might even learn a thing or two. I got myself assigned specially in this case for the interest of meeting you. A headmistress with a detective alter ego is something new—to me, anyway. And your past work shows you are no dabbling amateur.”

Maria gave a little cough of embarrassment. “Purely a hobby, Superintendent, and I trust you will respect my confidence in never revealing it as anything else but that. I have a Board of School Governors to please, remember.… Now, shall we get down to the matter on hand?”

Vaxley nodded and took out his notebook. Briefly, he recited a detailed list of the facts that had been gleaned by Inspector Morgan. When he had finished, he looked up with those keen little eyes.

“Quite correct,” Maria agreed; then she looked rather troubled. “But I have found one or two things out for myself. Am I to mention them or try and work out my own line of research?”

“You are certainly not to withhold any vital evidence,” Vaxley replied. “But whatever matters you find which only you think are vital evidence—that is, sidelights on the obvious—are your own gain or loss. In any case, you’ll not find Scotland Yard exactly lacking when it comes to analysis.”

Maria’s eyes twinkled. “To clear my conscience, Superintendent, I’ll tell you everything I know and we can each put our own construction on it. So here you are—Frances Hasleigh was hung with a thrice-knotted silk rope: her wrists but not her ankles were also thrice-knotted: her ears had bruise marks at the back of them: her shoes were made in France; she was afraid of ultraviolet treatment: the rope that hung her has silk shreds in it which tally with the material of a frock worn by one of the two girls who were unconscious while she was hung. Last of all, the tree branch on which she was hung has scored marks at the end of it as well as in the centre where her body was suspended. Score marks being slightly smaller. That is as far as I have got—up to now.”

Vaxley nodded slowly and looked at his report again. “I have it here from the doctor about the bruise marks behind the ears. Not done with an instrument and possibly done with a finger and thumb—before death.… There is no undue significance in that, Miss Black. Obviously the killer rendered the girl unconscious before killing her.”

“Said killer has left no footprints in the clearing,” Maria commented; at which Vaxley smiled.

“He could not have flown, Miss Black—and if there are no footprints there will be other traces. As to the triple knots, they may have a special meaning all their own. I’ll decide that later on when I’ve thoroughly examined the rope. The shoes? Well, to trace the makers would have been easy if France had not fallen. Even if we could trace them, I cannot see they can tell us much, unless it be a flashback on the girl’s history. As to the ultraviolet treatment—that is interesting.…” Vaxley rubbed his pointed chin. “Interesting, yes—but remote.… And you say the silk rope has the shreds of a silk frock worn by one of the three girls, has it? How did you get the chance to examine the rope so closely?”

Maria smiled. “You have your methods, Superintendent: I have mine. I am simply stating a fact, for you to follow or discard as you wish. My guess is that the rope trailed over one of the girls—Joan Dawson, to be exact—as she lay senseless on the ground.”

“A very likely explanation,” Vaxley agreed. “As to the other marks on the tree branch, I’ll form a better view when I’ve seen it.… You see, Miss Black, you have the advantage of being able to form a theory, however complex, and follow it out to its conclusion. We of the law are more hidebound; we have to show a result. We deal in the concrete and you in the abstract. Thanks, though, for all this information. For the moment I have a different line to follow—”

Maria feared he was going to suggest that he view the body—but to her relief he took another angle.

“Obviously, the one thing lacking at the moment is the motive. That girl must have had a merciless enemy, and it is my job—and yours, if you wish—to find out who it was.… First I’d like to see these three girls who played the trick on the dead girl and her friends.”

Maria nodded and picked up the house-phone. When she had given her orders she asked a question.

“You have a detailed list of the various parents, I take it?”

“Yes. A check-up is already being made on them, though we are obviously dealing with quite respectable families.”

“Possibly a whole host of parents will descend on me before long,” Maria sighed. “I had to write to them all, and I expect rapid answers. All except the parents of Frances Hasleigh, of course. There, Superintendent, we face a profound problem.”

He nodded grimly. “Yes, I’m coming to that later—”

He paused as there was a knock on the door. At Maria’s command to enter Vera Randal, Molly Webster, and Cynthia Vane came in sheepishly. It was quite a change to see Vera Randal looking scared for once.

“I shan’t keep you long, young ladies,” Vaxley said, his little eyes darting from face to face. “I am afraid you have some questions to answer about that little joke you played on your schoolmates. A very reprehensible sort of joke it was, too!” he added sternly.

“Yes, sir,” they said in chorus, with obvious repentance.

“Tell me, when you had bound and gagged Frances and her two friends, what did you do then?”

“Took their shoes away from them and put them by the stile in a heap,” Vera answered quickly. “Then we sat on the bank on the opposite side of the road to watch them hop into view.… But they didn’t! After about an hour and a half we decided that we’d better look. That was when we found out what—what had happened.”

“And during that time you didn’t hear anybody or see anything?”

“Nothing at all,” Vera replied, and her two friends nodded their heads vehemently. “The wood might just as well have been empty.”

“And those shoes were never touched at all?”

“No sir—not at all. Miss Black found them when we dashed back with her to the wood.”

Maria nodded her head silently as Vaxley glanced at her. Then he reflected for a while.

“You three girls did not like Frances Hasleigh, did you?” he asked finally. “Or her two friends?”

The three looked rather startled for a moment, then Vera took the bull by the horns as usual.

“We didn’t like Frances, no—or Joan, either. Beryl we just didn’t like because she tagged along with those two. Frances didn’t behave like an ordinary schoolgirl—she was too beastly cocky and self-assertive. As head girl of the class it was my job—and it still is—to keep the other girls in order. I had to do something to make her see who was boss and so I—or rather we—tried our ‘breaking in’ ceremony.”

“Hmmm” Vaxley said. “And Joan? Had you something against her, too?”

“Nothing much. She had a parcel from home the other day and wouldn’t tell us what it was at the time. That sort of blacklisted her among the girls. We share our joys and sorrows as a rule, and anybody who doesn’t is in for a bad time. She finally admitted it was a pair of stockings—”

Vaxley frowned pensively and Maria made a brief note of her own on her scratch pad. Then at length Vaxley spoke again.

“I consider that all of you have behaved most vindictively,” he snapped, and it was surprising how his generous mouth tightened into a hard line. “You realised when you thought out this deplorable scheme that those girls could have had their feet severely lacerated before they reached their shoes, didn’t you?”

“They might have got free,” Vera retorted.

“And they might not! You have a queer sort of mind, young lady! It wants taking in hand. However, that is not my business. I merely point out that a girl so cruel might not be averse to inflicting torture—for that is what your scheme amounted to.”

Vera’s red face went redder and her eyes blazed a challenge.

“Are you trying to suggest that I hung Frances?” she shouted. “You can’t do that! I didn’t, I tell you! I was seated on that bank in the lane the whole time.”

“Can you prove it?” Vaxley asked quietly.

“Of course. Molly and Cynthia were with me—”

“Their evidence is valueless, because they are as involved as you in this case. What outsider can you produce to prove that you were sat on the bank?”

The three looked at each other helplessly.

“I see,” Vaxley said, pondering. “All right, since you can’t answer the question I shall have to look into it further. All three of you girls are in a decidedly awkward predicament, and your best way to help yourselves is to tell all you know.… You said, Miss—er—Randal, that Frances Hasleigh was not like an ordinary schoolgirl. What exactly do you mean by that? Did she break the rules, or something?”

“She twice broke bounds at night to go for a canoodle with our ex-science master,” Vera sneered, hardly caring what she said after the verbal thrashing she had received.

“Don’t exaggerate, girl!” Maria snapped. “There was only one instance where she—”

“Twice!” Vera hooted. “Another time you didn’t know of!”

“Don’t dare raise your voice to me, Randal,” Maria said icily. “And explain yourself. What other occasion are you referring to?”

“It was during the time you gave her house detention. She went out one night and I was going to report it, but the girls talked me out of it. We decided to teach her in our own way, hence the initiation ceremony in the wood.”

“At what time did she leave, and when did she come back?” Vaxley asked.

“She left the dormitory by the big window about one o’clock, and came back an hour later. She wouldn’t say where she had been, but it was pretty obvious to all of us.”

“Why obvious?” Vaxley asked.

“She is referring to her escapade on her first day here,” Maria answered. “Frances sought out the science master, Mr. Lever, on a pretext—some astronomical question or other—and my House-mistress, Miss Tanby, surprised the pair of them together in the quadrangle in the small hours. It was Randal here who passed the information on. I had to dismiss Lever immediately, and I gave Frances house detention for a week. Having only just arrived and having no apparent home either, I just couldn’t expel her. Randal means, I think, that she and the other girl thought Frances had gone for a second rendezvous with the science master.”

“What else should she go out for?” Vera demanded.

“There are sometimes more reasons than the obvious one,” Vaxley said. “As for you girls, you can go. I’ll probably have another chat with you later.”

Maria gave a curt nod of dismissal and the three trooped out looking rather troubled. When the door had shut, Vaxley gave a faint smile.

“It is possible, Miss Black, that you will have three model pupils there for a little while to come. You can usually get the full story out of a bullying type like this girl Randal if you scare them to death—”

“You don’t think that any of them did it, then?” Maria asked in relief. “I am thinking of the scandal to the school—”

“Not them! The Vera Randal sort never do. This was planned by an ice-cool mind, not by a vindictive bully. A severe punishment later on might help her and her two cat’s paws to appreciate the virtues of decent behaviour.… But this science master interests me. You say you discharged him. Do you know where he went?”

“I cannot be sure of that, but I think he took a room in the village. Anyhow, he had that in mind when he left.… Frankly, I am rather surprised at the new turn in events. I never even suspected that Frances broke bounds twice.”

“I’ll have him picked up,” Vaxley said. “What does he look like?”

In detail Maria described him, and the superintendent made a note, and then asked quietly:

“Do you think there was any connection between him and this unfortunate girl? She was, as we know, quite a fully-grown woman, and may even have been secretly married to this scientist.”

Maria shrugged. “I just don’t know. All I do know is that she got Mr. Lever into the quadrangle on the pretext of wanting to know the position of Sirius. She may have really wanted to know, or it may have been an excuse. As yet I haven’t formed an opinion.”

Vaxley smiled slightly. “No wonder Inspector Morgan got into deep water! But to every pattern there are the pieces.… Anyway, I think I’d better examine the body and then question the two girls who were knocked out. I believe you had the body put in your visitors’ wing?”

Maria tried not to look anxious. “Yes—yes, of course. But first, Superintendent, tell me something. Did you check up on Major Hasleigh’s bank?”

“We did. There was an account in that bank in his name, but your cheque for fees when passed left only a few pounds surplus. Hasleigh gave the bank his address in Elmington, which we find does not even exist. In other words, he left the money in the bank to be immediately taken out—the very next day, in fact. Purely backing for getting his alleged daughter into this school.… We have a warrant out for his arrest for misrepresentation, and the War Office been asked to check their files in order to trace him. Another thing, the ration book and identity card of the dead girl are forgeries. We’ve a suspect for who did them, but we can’t get any proof. There’s a good deal of it goes on if you know the right places to go.… Briefly, Miss Black, the whole thing was a put-up job with murder at the end of it.”

“I think,” Maria said slowly, “that ‘Major’ Hasleigh will never be found. And I have my doubts if he was a father at all, much less Frances’s.”

Vaxley was about to ask her to elaborate, then something in her expression deterred him.

“I know—you have your own theory,” he smiled. “So be it. You have the advantage of pursuing your own angles: we have the advantage of all the machinery of the law to enforce our wishes. That makes us about equal. Now, about the body?”

“Yes—the body—”

Maria hesitated, glancing through the window, she gave an unnoticed sigh of relief. Joan Dawson and Beryl Mather were just hurrying up the steps of the School House. Since it was well before dinner-bell, they had obviously found something. In a few moments they were knocking on the study door.

“Come in,” Maria bade gravely.

“Miss Black, we—” Joan began eagerly, but Maria cut her short.

“I think, Joan, it must be pretty obvious to you that I have a visitor. Whatever you have to say can wait until later— Oh, the parcel!” she broke off, with an air of understanding. “You found out where it was delivered?”

Beryl looked rather blank, but Joan nodded quickly.

“Yes, Miss Black—here’s the address—” She scribbled a few words on a sheet of paper from the desk. Maria took it from her, tried not to look startled at the four words—‘In the chapel crypt’—then folded the note and put it away in her desk drawer.

“All right, girls, thank you,” she nodded. “We will see to it later.… Now, Superintendent, I am at your service.”

As the girls went out Vaxley asked sharply: “Shouldn’t those girls be at lessons, Miss Black, instead of tearing about the damp regions of the school?”

Maria gave him a glance as she accompanied him out into the corridor.

“Damp regions, Superintendent?”

“Both girls’ stockings had damp smears on them; there were dewdrops glistening in their hair. I saw it distinctly in the sun through the window—” Vaxley broke off and smiled. “I have the oddest feeling that you are not playing the game entirely square with me, Miss Black! Did that note really refer to a parcel? And those two girls were Frances’s unfortunate friends at the time of her murder, weren’t they? You called one of them Joan.”

“Yes, they are the two girls,” Maria nodded ruefully. “I see that I must not try and hide things from you, Super. Frankly, the body of Frances Hasleigh disappeared last night from Room 10 where I had had it placed. I went to see if it was all right, and it had gone! I put those two girls on the job of trying to find it before you arrived, and they have evidently succeeded. That note said—‘In the chapel crypt.’ As to the why and wherefore concerning the removal of the body, I know no more than you.”

Vaxley’s lips tightened a little. “So somebody is interested in the dead body, eh? Somebody evidently on these very premises. And you set two pupils to look for the corpse—girls of sixteen at that. Most unorthodox, Miss Black.”

“I had my own reason for doing that,” she replied stubbornly.

“I shan’t press you,” Vaxley smiled. “Anyway, you could not have kept the body’s removal a secret, because I knew it should have been in the visitors’ wing.… Anyway, suppose we try and find this wandering corpse together?”

They had come out into the sunny quadrangle by now. Maria led the way across to the chapel. They went through it, beyond the nave, and into the ancient crypt beyond. There was nothing here, but the heavy flagstone leading to the old abbey mausoleum—a relic of most ancient times—had been raised and was on one side.

Vaxley looked down at it, then Maria unclipped her fountain pen torch and gave it him. He led the way down a flight of stone steps into a mildewed area that reeked of wetness and the grave. The dampness Joan and Beryl had brought back with them was immediately explained away.

For a while the two stood looking round on the various burial plates and sarcophagi, then Maria nodded to the flat stone on top of the nearest sarcophagus. The dead body of Frances Hasleigh lay there, the sheet that had formerly covered her now missing, her hands folded on to her breast. And here was a peculiar thing that Maria and Vaxley both noted at the same moment—

The girl’s left forearm, to the elbow, was severely burned. From wrist to elbow it was black with blisters and the surface skin had peeled away. Even her dress, immediately underneath her forearm, was scorched and crinkled.

“Extraordinary!” Maria commented. “This looks like deliberate mutilation of the dead, Super.”

Vaxley did not reply. He began to prowl round the body and studied it from all angles. Maria did the same. At length they looked at each other.

“Her feet are not scratched anyway,” Vaxley said. “That seems to prove she did no walking in the clearing. Yet the legs of her stockings are torn—and the back of the heels. Seems she must have been dragged—”

“My view, too,” Maria acknowledged.

“But her arm!” Vaxley breathed, staring at it. “Was it like this before?”

“No, there was not a mark on her arms when she was found dead. This has happened since. It’s rather a horrible discovery. Burning— Hmm! I wonder if ultraviolet—”

Vaxley gave a start. “You did mention that, didn’t you? But who the devil would want to steal a dead girl’s body and then burn her forearm nearly to the bone? Again, there is a point, Miss Black. This may have been done by actual burning and not by ultraviolet radiation.… Can ultraviolet make any impression on a corpse?”

“It can,” Maria said calmly. “Ultraviolet tans the skin of either living being or dead one. The radioactive action is purely confined to the skin and the presence or absence of active blood circulation makes no difference. This burning could have been done by ultraviolet radiation on an extreme and prolonged scale.”

Vaxley looked back at the arm closely. It was set rigidly stiff by now, just as it had been placed when she had been laid on the mattress in Room 10.

“Quite a pretty girl,” he said reflectively, studying her face with its alabaster whiteness and closed eyes. “Pity she had to die so horribly.… Mmm, yes,” he mused, raising the blonde hair at the back of her ears and studying the tell-tale bruise marks now almost disappeared. “I see now what Morgan meant.… Well, Miss Black, she will have to be taken back to the visitors’ room when the blackout is on. That is your best move. I will have a couple of men down here shortly and they will do the job for you. They can keep an eye on this place during the rest of today, too. In the meantime what has this place to tell us?”

He began to search the floor and the tablet on which the girl was lying, but the torch was not particularly bright and there was nothing unusual to be seen. Certainly no footprints with the damp there was clinging to the floor. Finally he gave it up and looked at Maria again.

“Reverting back to this ultraviolet business, Miss Black You have ultraviolet lamps in the college, I presume?”

“Three—up in the solarium.”

“I’d like to see them. Who has charge of them?”

“The physical instructor and our new science master have equal responsibility, Super. One for the physical value thereof, and the other for the scientific possibilities.”

“Well, we’ll go and have a look at these lamps, and have a word with the two men concerned as well.”

Maria nodded and led the way back up the steps to the crypt. Vaxley returned her torch, then took hold of the heavy flagstone and with an effort levered it into place.

“Damned heavy,” he panted, dusting his hands when it was back in position. “I don’t see how either of those two girls—or even both of them together—could ever have got it up. Of course, they could have noticed it because of the ring in it— Unless it was on one side like that when they found it. We must have a word with them as soon as possible.”

Maria led the way out of the crypt, through the chapel, and so finally back into the school. Before long they had reached the solarium and Vaxley went across to the ultraviolet machines against the wall.

“Easy enough to move,” he commented finally, “but their power relies on the mains. How could one of them be used in the mausoleum where no power is laid on?”

“You think one of them was used, then?”

“Seems obvious to me. How otherwise was the burning produced? Of course, they might be battery-driven—”

Vaxley went down on his knees and frowned as he studied the bolts holding the lamps to the floor.

“We’re on the wrong horse here, Miss Black,” he growled. “These lamps have not been moved for a very long time. Not a scratch on these nuts here, and the enamel not even disturbed. No, these certainly were not used.… Yet,” he went on, getting up again, “it seems logical to infer that for some reason somebody wanted to use ultraviolet on the dead body of that girl, and could only do it in a place likely to be undisturbed—way under the chapel crypt, for instance.”

“I think that, too,” Maria nodded. “But since these machines were not used, and there is no power in the mausoleum to generate them anyway, we are brought back to the theory of some battery-driven lamp.”

“Right,” Vaxley nodded. “Which would be a pretty heavy job. Still, anybody who could shift that flagstone could easily move heavy batteries.… I think the best thing we can do is have a word with the two men connected with these lamps. Maybe we could do it in your study?”

Maria nodded and preceded him on the journey back. It was not long before Clive Whittaker arrived in response to her summons over the house telephone. He seemed rather surprised as he glanced at Vaxley lounging in the armchair, but definitely he was not nervous. He stood waiting, a faint smile on his keen, clean-shaven face, his stoop shoulders bent as usual.

“I am Superintendent Vaxley of Scotland Yard,” Vaxley said briefly. “I don’t have to tell you, Mr. Whittaker, that a pupil of this college—Frances Hasleigh—was found hung yesterday?”

“No, sir, you don’t. I think that practically all the school knows about it by now—if not by word of mouth then from the newspapers. I first heard of it yesterday evening when I was working late in the laboratory. A girl brought me a science essay I had ordered her to do for disobedience in class and she let the information slip. She had heard it from somebody else—”

“Which girl was it?” Maria asked sharply.

“I believe it was Marsden, of the Fifth.”

“Mr. Whittaker,” Vaxley said, “you are the science master here, and as such share the responsibility for the upkeep of the ultraviolet lamps in the solarium?”

“Correct,” Whittaker agreed. “The physical instructor and I look after the lamps between us.”

“Just how extensive is your knowledge of ultraviolet, Mr. Whittaker?”

“As Miss Black and the Board of Governors know when I applied for the position here, I have certificates for my scientific prowess. I studied science in the Vienna Technical Institute—as it was then—the French College of Physics, and in the British Imperial Laboratories. I suppose I know pretty well all there is to know about ultraviolet.”

As Vaxley reflected, Maria made a brief note of her own on the scratch pad, then Vaxley spoke again:

“We have reason to believe that the death of Frances Hasleigh was, for some unexplained reason, connected with ultraviolet instruments. Last night the body of the dead girl was removed from the visitors’ wing and taken down into the chapel mausoleum where the left arm was subjected to some kind of severe burning process. Can you throw any light on that?”

Whittaker shook his dark head. “I’m afraid I can’t, sir. It sounds like a most extraordinary business to me.”

“Very!” Vaxley agreed. “Did you know Frances Hasleigh at all?”

“Only as a pupil—and not very well even then. After all, I have not been here long enough to get very well acquainted with anybody.”

“Quite so.… Perhaps you can tell me if the girl evinced any particularly outstanding interest in science?”

“I cannot say that she showed any preference for any particular subject—unless it be astronomy. When it came to knowledge, she had a good all-round scientific education. I never asked her a scientific question but what she could answer it.”

Vaxley nodded slowly, then: “Can you tell me where you were last night between ten o’clock and rising-bell this morning?”

“I was in my study reading until eleven last night, after I had finished my laboratory work—then I went to bed. Of course, I can’t prove it, because nobody called on me during that time.”

“I don’t think we need worry over that, Mr. Whittaker,” Vaxley smiled. “And don’t feel alarmed. This is purely routine. That will be all for the moment, and thank you for being so frank.”

Whittaker turned towards the door, then he paused and looked back, frowning.

“I realise,” he said, “that this ultraviolet business causes a great deal of suspicion to attach to me, but I had nothing to do with that girl’s death. I swear it to you!”

Vaxley smiled, but said nothing. With that Whittaker went out quietly.

“Well, Miss Black?” Vaxley asked presently. “Did you glean anything?”

Maria merely shrugged. She had already decided it was her own business just how much she gathered. “You wish to see the physical instructor?” she asked.

“Yes—and then those two girls.”

Again Maria got busy with her orders over the house telephone. The physical instructor was soon disposed of, however. He was not a resident teacher, anyway, coming to the college from the village every day to give his P.T. lessons. Nor for that matter was he a man of great genius. Brawn, and brawn only, was his strong point, and his blunt, matter-of-fact answers to the questions posed for him satisfied Maria at least that he was not even worth recording in the case. Certainly his knowledge of ultraviolet seemed to be limited to switching a button on and off after a given period.

Then came Joan Dawson and Beryl Mather. Freshened up after their mausoleum experiences, they stood regarding Vaxley with anxious frowns.

“Are both you girls convinced that you did not see or hear anybody else in the clearing before you were attacked?” he asked them—and they nodded promptly and vigorously.

“The only one who could have seen anything was Frances,” Joan said, and then without being asked, she went into a fully detailed account of the circumstances, just as she had related them to Maria earlier in the morning.

At the close of her story Vaxley rubbed his jaw. “This morning you both found the missing body of Frances Hasleigh in the old abbey mausoleum, didn’t you?” he asked

“Be quite frank, Joan,” Maria smiled. “The Superintendent knows all about my asking you to search.”

“Oh, well then— Yes, we found it. It was only by chance, though. We had no footprints, or clues, to go on. It just seemed to me that if anybody wanted to hide a dead body, they would probably choose a place where nobody would ever go. Beryl said that that might mean the old mausoleum. So we went there—and found Frances.”

“Did you find the flagstone to the mausoleum open or closed when you got there?”

“It was half open. That was what attracted our attention. It looked as though somebody had tried to put it back into place but had not had the time. Between us we pushed it far enough on to one side to enable us to get below.”

“I see,” Vaxley nodded. “And did you notice anything odd about the body of Frances when you found her?”

“I did, yes,” Joan nodded. “Beryl got scared when she saw the corpse, and ran for it. I felt a bit squeamish myself, but I couldn’t help noticing that Frances’s left arm was horribly burned.”

“Most observant,” Vaxley said approvingly; “and I am going to ask you both to keep it strictly to yourselves.… That will be all, girls, thank you.”

They nodded and Joan led the way to the door, limping. Vaxley frowned at her.

“What is the matter with your feet, young lady? I noticed you were limping when I saw you earlier on”

“Thorns in the clearing yesterday, sir,” Joan replied. “I cut my foot pretty badly.”

“You’d better go along to the matron and have it seen to,” Maria said briefly,

“Yes, Miss Black,” Joan nodded, then she and Beryl went out and closed the door.

Vaxley glanced at his watch and rose to his feet. “Well, Miss Black, I have been here quite long enough and it is close on dinner-time. Thank you for the courtesy you have shown me. I have learned all I need to learn here: the rest is a matter of routine. I’ll examine the clearing after lunch, and if I reach any particular conclusions, I’ll let you know. And I’ll send down those two men I promised.… If you get into difficulties, just contact me at the local police headquarters and I’ll be over right away.”

Maria nodded and got up from her chair, shook the lean hand he held out to her. His little eyes searched her face for a moment.

“I do believe you’ve learned something from all this,” he said smiling.

“The observant person,” Maria murmured, “learns something out of everything.… So glad to have met you, Superintendent— Oh, by the way, in what position do I stand in regard to those various girls? Their parents will be bound to ask me. Are any of them likely to be put under police detention?”

Vaxley shook his head. “Not on the present evidence. If it should threaten later, I’ll give you good warning. As long as they are here in the school and with your eye on them I will consider it sufficient.”

Maria saw him as far as the quadrangle, then she returned to her study and pulled her black book from the desk drawer.

“Before I forget,” she muttered. “So many things crammed into one morning—”

She took up her pen and began to write swiftly:

Clive Whittaker (our new science master) got his degrees in Vienna, Paris, and Britain. Note the first two places. Connecting link: Frances’s shoes made in France, and Whittaker also in France at some time. Did they know each other on the Continent?

Joan Dawson received a parcel of (alleged) stockings recently. Check up. Joan Dawson still limps.

Frances Hasleigh broke bounds twice. Find where she went the second time.

Following disappearance of Frances’s body from Room 10, I have had her found again by Joan Dawson and Beryl Mather. Found in old abbey mausoleum with forearm (left) burned nearly to bone. Why? Ultraviolet?

Mausoleum flagstone could only be raised by a strong man—i.e. not by schoolgirls. Clive Whittaker seems at the moment to have no connection with all this, yet somehow—

Mr. Martin (Pulp) has arrived in England most unexpectedly, and I may have use for him.

The time is: 12:52 p.m.

Maria put her book away, then left the study with majestic strides to the staff dining-hall.