I followed Constable Winters and Mr. Spencer all the way to the station. Mr. Spencer was too concerned about himself to notice, and Constable Winters didn’t seem to mind that I was there.
When we arrived at the station, Constable Winters shoved Mr. Spencer through to the office and pushed him towards the chair by Inspector Burrows’s desk. Inspector Crawley noticed the location and turned back to his paperwork, but I could tell he was watching the events unfold.
“What’s all this?” Inspector Burrows asked.
Constable Winters glanced at me for an explanation.
I provided it. “This is the person who wanted the train ticket to London.”
“She’s trying to trap me.”
Inspector Burrows looked at me.
“I mentioned a train ticket; he denied that he needed one to London.”
“And you didn’t mention London. I see.”
Mr. Spencer opened his mouth to protest, but then he saw Inspector Burrows’s expression and switched to sullen silence.
“Your name?”
He didn’t answer so Constable Winters provided, “Paul Spencer.”
“I see. Mr. Langley mentioned seeing you as he was leaving Professor Headly’s office. Was he alive when you left?”
“Of course he was. I didn’t kill him.”
“So you did see him then. Excellent.” Inspector Burrows wrote that down.
Mr. Spencer clutched at the arms of his chair as he realized Inspector Burrows had just tricked him.
“Why did you visit him?”
“Why does anyone visit a professor?”
“So he was helping you with schoolwork?”
I glanced around the desk, trying to figure out how to signal to Inspector Burrows.
“Isn’t that why people visit professors?”
I grabbed a pad of paper and scribbled some mathematical symbols on it, hoping “2+493-82x=723y” would relay to Inspector Burrows what I was hoping to.
“I see, I see. So, a Classics professor was helpful with mathematical problems then, was he?”
Mr. Spencer slouched back further in his chair, conscious that he’d been caught again.
I scribbled, “Post curfew,” on the pad, but Inspector Burrows seemed to ignore that.
“So why a train ticket to London?”
Inspector Burrows stared at his suspect until Mr. Spencer finally snapped, “Do you know who my father is? You can’t just hold me here.”
Inspector Burrows put his pen down on the desk with exaggerated calm. “You met with a murder victim shortly before he was murdered. You do not want to tell me why you were there. I do not have any choice but to arrest you. I hope your parents know a good barrister.” He turned to Constable Winters. “Keep an eye him while I get the paperwork.”
Constable Winters came to lean on the desk near Mr. Spencer’s chair while Inspector Burrows went to the outer office.
Inspector Crawley watched Mr. Spencer from his desk while I glared from my chair.
Inspector Crawley finally broke the silence, “If you didn’t do it, you’re just getting yourself into more trouble.”
Mr. Spencer didn’t answer.
Inspector Crawley got out of his chair and went to kneel down in front of Mr. Spencer. I continued to glare from my corner.
“Look, lad, that man is from London. He doesn't understand how things are up here. He's probably trying to contact London and get an arrest warrant as we speak. Now if you tell me what's going on, I can pass it on to him and put it in the best light possible. I can't promise we'll keep it a secret from your parents, but I'll do my best to stop him from telling. All right?” He patted Mr. Spencer's shoulder. “Now, tell me about this train ticket to London.”
“You really won't tell them? No matter what it is?”
“As long as it has nothing to do with murder. It can't be worse than murder, can it?”
Mr. Spencer started playing with the end of his jacket.
“Who's the girl?” I asked.
“Is that it? Does it have something to do with your girl?”
He nodded.
“So Miss Milford is in London? You wanted to see her? Is that it?”
“Not Miss Milford. Hettie Carrington.” Now that he'd started, it seemed easier for him to go on. “She went to see a doctor in town, for tests, to see.... And I was supposed to go with her. If she's... if the results were... Well, we'd have to act fast. My parents would have a fit if I broke off the engagement to Miss Milford, but I thought, if we were fast enough to say we had a whirlwind courtship, maybe they wouldn't guess and maybe it would be all right. Otherwise, Hettie was going to tell them, and she’d...” He trailed off.
“I see. And why didn't you buy your own ticket?”
“I didn't have the money. I knew Professor Headly from when he helped Professor Armstrong with the spring banquets for the cricket team. He’d said if I ever needed any help, to go to him. He didn't ask why I needed it, just said he'd get it for me. I was supposed to pick it up on Friday night, just after curfew so no one would see. But I was late. It was harder to sneak out than I thought it would be. There was this whole group trying to get to the concert across town, and by the time I got out and got to his office, no one was there.”
“What time was that?”
“Around nine thirty.”
“And what did you do?”
“I went back to my room.”
“And you didn't see anyone there in the office or anywhere around there?”
“No sir, I was too scared about getting the ticket without being seen.”
“All right. I'll do the best I can with this, but don't leave the university until I tell you it's all right.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I hope everything's well with your girl.”
“I don't know. She won't talk to me. I telephoned the boarding house where she's staying; I even sent a telegram with a paid return. She signed for it, but she didn't write back. She can't blame me for not going. I tried. I really did. Could you tell her that?”
Inspector Crawley sighed. “You can use the back door to slip out if you don't want to see Inspector Burrows.”
Mr. Spencer’s shoulders slumped, but he took the hint and left.
When the back door clicked shut, the office door opened and Inspector Burrows glanced in. I realized he’d been waiting outside the door until Inspector Crawley had finished. “Did you get anything?”
Inspector Crawley looked like he was considering saying no, but as he returned to his desk he said, “He was going to visit a young woman, not the one his family wishes him to marry.”
“But why couldn’t he buy the ticket himself?”
“He didn’t have the money and couldn’t ask his parents for it. Seems he may have gotten the woman in question...” He hesitated and glanced in my direction.
“With child,” I provided. “Although I suspect she isn't.”
“Why do you say that?”
“If she were, she'd be insisting he get to town this instant with a special license and a priest in tow. Slow torture is the sort of thing a girl whose mind has been set at ease does, not one in a panic. But it does explain why he didn't go to buy it himself.”
“He didn’t have enough money; yes, we got that.” Inspector Burrows sounded amused.
“No, I mean Professor Headly.”
“I don't follow.”
“If you were an irate father whose son had just eloped with an undesirable girl instead of the fiancée you'd picked out, what's the first thing you'd do? Particularly if you had the ability to count.”
Inspector Crawley answered, “Try to find out who helped him. And if I had enough sense to ask at the train station here, I'd be told who bought the ticket.”
“And Mr. Langley gets blamed and possibly beaten up. I see.” Inspector Burrows sat back down at his desk. “But that doesn’t tell us what happened to the train ticket, or even if Professor Headly ever got it.”
“So you didn't find a train ticket,” Inspector Crawley asked.
“No. I suppose Mr. Langley could have delivered it as scheduled, and the killer could have used it to take the body to London.”
I tried to imagine taking a body to London in a public train. “How would he get the body there? Buy it a ticket too?”
“More likely in a steamer chest or something like that. You'd be amazed at what turns up in the lost and found at train stations.”
I snorted.
“All right, maybe you wouldn’t be amazed, but normal people would be. Now, no one boarded the London train here that night, but I don't think he'd have too much trouble catching it closer to London and using a ticket from Oxford. We’ve been trying to find where Mr. Langley boarded, but I'll see if anyone along the route remembers someone else boarding that night with heavy luggage. And we can check London when the train was supposed to arrive, but unless he was walking with the body flung over his shoulder, I don't think anyone will remember. Even then it's doubtful. But it’s worth trying.”
“And Mr. Langley?” I asked.
Inspector Burrows rubbed his forehead. “Let me think, all right?”
I took that as a good sign. A sign he was trying to think of a reason he could use to release Mr. Langley. “Then I hope your thoughts will lead to some results.”
He smiled. “As long as they’re the ones you want, eh? What time does Mrs. Eggleston expect you to eat dinner?”
I glanced at my watch-pin. “If I leave now, I should have enough time to get something at the tea shop before she remembers.”
“Then I won’t keep you.”
I correctly interpreted that as a polite form of “get lost” and collected up my handbag.
“And Miss Pengear, thank you for finding him. It was rather clever.”
I smiled. “You’re quite welcome.” I let my eyes dart in Inspector Crawley’s direction and hoped Inspector Burrows would be as gracious with him. Constable Winters followed me out.
I waited until the door had closed behind him to ask, “Will that put Inspector Crawley in a better mood?”
“I hope so. If Inspector Burrows acknowledges his help, of course. He needs something to cheer him up.”
“Something else gone wrong?”
Constable Winters began unbuttoning the overcoat he hadn’t had time to remove when he’d been escorting Mr. Spencer in. “He thought he'd solved the missing coat case, but it turned out it wasn't Mr. Parker’s after all.”
It didn't seem to be that interesting of a case, but I said, “That's too bad.”
“He does need some sort of a victory right now. I think he'd like to show Inspector Burrows he can solve something, and that's all he's got right now. Both cats made it home on their own.” Constable Winters took off his coat and hung it up by the door. “Of course, as the coat wasn't really found but turned in by the Carrington cafeteria, I suppose it wouldn't really have counted as a proper solve, so maybe it's for the best.”
I stared at his uniform overcoat. “Grey coats and tinkering notes.”
“I’m sorry?”
“There are a lot of gray coats around this case.”
Constable Winters looked up from his buttons. “I suppose there are, but that’s really not surprising. Grey coats are common. Probably the most common coat color in town, wouldn’t you say?”
“But there seem to be an awful lot of them floating around without owners. It just seems odd.”
“I suppose it is a bit unusual.” He shrugged. “But then, what does it mean?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. But it seems like it should mean something.”
Constable Winters smiled. “If you think of it, let me know.”
I nodded and set out for the tea shop.
As I passed Mr. McAvery’s office, I thought about what I’d said about coats. Inspector Burrows would say I was grasping at straws, but it was odd, and the more suspects I could find, the easier it would be for Inspector Burrows to justify letting Mr. Langley go. I went into the office.
Mr. McAvery smiled when he saw me. “How goes the case?”
“Slowly. Although Mr. Spencer may have been of some help to Mr. Langley. But I wanted to ask you something.”
“Of course. Anything I can do to help.”
“There is an interesting aspect to the case involving people's coats. I think it might be helpful, but I don’t know how. Would you know who here has a dark gray coat, the same color as Professor Headly’s or close enough to be mistaken for it?”
“Now that is a challenge. How similar? Someone who is directly related to the college, or everyone in town? If you were able to tell me the purpose, I might be able to make a more useful list.”
“I don’t really know. It’s just that there seem to be a lot of stray gray coats in this case. It seems odd.”
“And you do well with odd. Well, the list will take some time to compile. I myself own a gray coat. If you would return tomorrow, I should have something for you.”
“Thank you. I hope it’s not too much trouble.”
“Oh, not at all. I would hate to see someone convicted of the wrong crime.”
I was halfway back to the guest house when I noticed the peculiar phrasing of his parting words.