“I informed the Vice-chancellor,” said the Warden, “that steps were being taken.”
“Quite so; and you complimented me by asking me to take those steps. I had very little doubt from the start as to the identity of X; but suspicion is not proof, and I was anxious not to cast any suspicion that could not be justified. My first task was obviously to find out whether Miss de Vine had actually ever murdered or injured anybody. In the course of a very interesting after-dinner conversation in this room, she informed me that, six years ago, she had been instrumental in depriving a man of his reputation and livelihood-and we decided, if you remember, that this was an action which any manly man or womanly woman might be disposed to resent.”
“Do you mean to say,” cried the Dean, “that all that discussion was intended merely to bring out that story?”
“I offered an opportunity for the story’s appearance, certainly; but if it hadn’t come out then, I should have asked for it. Incidentally, I established for a certainty, what I was sure of in my own mind from the start, that there was not a woman in this Common Room, married or single, who would be ready to place personal loyalties above professional honour. That was a point which it seemed necessary to make clear-not so much to me, as to yourselves.”
The Warden looked from Miss Hillyard to Mrs. Goodwin and back at Peter.
“Yes,” she said, “I think it was wise to establish that.”
“The next day,” said Peter, “I asked Miss de Vine for the name of the man in question, whom we already knew to be handsome and married. The name was Arthur Robinson; and with this information I set out to find what had become of him. My working theory was that X was either the wife or some relation of Robinson: that she had come here when Miss de Vine’s appointment was announced, with the intention of revenging his misfortunes upon Miss de Vine, the College and academic women in general; and that in all probability X was a person who stood in some close relation to the Jukes family. This theory was strengthened by the discovery that information was laid against Jukes by an anonymous letter similar to those circulated here.
“Now, the first thing that happened after my arrival was the appearance of X in the Science Lecture Room. The idea that X was courting discovery by preparing letters in that public and dangerous manner was patently absurd. The whole thing was a clear fake, intended to mislead, and probably to establish an alibi. The communications had been prepared elsewhere and deliberately planted-in fact, there were not enough letters left in the box to finish the message that had been begun to Miss Vane. The room chosen was in full view of the Scouts’ Wing, and the big ceiling light was conspicuously turned on, though there was a reading-lamp in the room, in good working order; it was Annie who drew Carrie’s attention to the light in the window; Annie was the only person who claimed to have actually seen X; and while the alibi was established for both scouts, Annie was the one who most closely corresponded to the conditions required to X.”
“But Carrie heard X in the room,” said the Dean.
“Oh, yes,” said Wimsey, smiling. “And Carrie was sent to fetch you while Annie removed the strings that had switched out the light and overturned the blackboard from the other side of the door. I pointed out to you, you know, that the top of the door had been thoroughly dusted, so that the mark of the string shouldn’t show.”
“But the marks on the dark-room window-sill-” said the Dean.
“Quite genuine. She got out there the first time, leaving the doors locked on the inside and strewing a few of Miss de Vine’s hairpins about to produce conviction. Then she let herself into the Scouts’ Wing through the Buttery, called up Carrie and brought her along to see the fun… I think, by the way, that some one of the scouts must have had her suspicions. Perhaps she had found Annie’s bedroom door mysteriously locked on various occasions, or had met her in the passage at inconvenient times. Anyhow, the time had obviously arrived for establishing an alibi. I hazarded the suggestion that nocturnal ramblings would cease from that time on; and so they did. And I don’t suppose we shall ever find that extra key to the Buttery.”
“All very well,” said Miss Edwards. “But you still have no proof.”
“No. I went away to get it. In the meantime, X-if you don’t like my identification-decided that Miss Vane was dangerous, and laid a trap to catch her. This didn’t come off, because Miss Vane very sensibly telephoned back to College to confirm the mysterious message she had received at Somerville. The message was sent from an outside call-box on the Wednesday night at 10:40. Just before eleven, Annie came in from her day off and heard Padgett speak to Miss Vane on the ’phone. She didn’t hear the conversation, but she probably heard the name.
“Although the attempt had not come off, I felt sure that another would be made, either on Miss Vane, Miss de Vine or the suspicious scout-or on all three. I issued a warning to that effect. The next thing that happened was that Miss Vane’s chessmen were destroyed. That was rather unexpected. It looked less like alarm than personal hatred. Up till that time. Miss Vane had been treated with almost as much tenderness as though she had been a womanly woman. Can you think of anything that can have given X that impression, Miss Vane?”
“I don’t know,” said Harriet, confused. “I asked kindly after the children and spoke to Beatie-good heavens, yes, Beatie!-when I met them. And I remember once agreeing politely with Annie that marriage might be a good thing if one could find the right person.”
“That was politic if unprincipled. And how about the attentive Mr. Jones of Jesus? If you will bring young men into the College at night and hide them in the Chapel-”
“Good gracious!” exclaimed Miss Pyke.
“-you must be expected to be thought a womanly woman. However; that is of no great importance. I fear the illusion was destroyed when you publicly informed me that personal attachments must come second to public duties.”
“But,” said Miss Edwards, impatiently, “what happened to Arthur Robinson?”
“He was married to a woman called Charlotte Ann Clarke, who had been his landlady’s daughter. His first child, born eight years ago, was called Beatrice. After the trouble at York, he changed his name to Wilson and took a post as junior master in a small preparatory school, where they didn’t mind taking a man who had been deprived of his M.A., so long as he was cheap. His second daughter, born shortly afterwards, was named Carola. I’m afraid the Wilsons didn’t find life too easy. He lost his first job-drink was the reason, I’m afraid-took another-got into trouble again and three years ago blew his brains out. There were some photographs in the local paper. Here they are, you see. A fair, handsome man of about thirty-eight-irresolute, attractive, something of my nephew’s type. And here is the photograph of the widow.”
“You are right,” said the Warden. “That is Annie Wilson.”
“Yes. If you read the report of the inquest, you will see that he left a letter, saying that he had been hounded to death-rather a rambling letter, containing a Latin quotation, which the coroner obligingly translated.”
“Good gracious!” said Miss Pyke. “Tristius haud illis monstrum-?”
“Ita. A man wrote that after all, you see; so Miss Hillyard was so far right. Annie Wilson, being obliged to do something to support her children and herself, went into service.”
“I had very good references with her,” said the Bursar.
“No doubt; why not? She must somehow have kept track of Miss de Vine’s movements; and when the appointment was announced last Christmas, she applied for a job here. She probably knew that, as an unfortunate widow with two small children, she would receive kindly consideration-”