“What did I tell you?” cried Miss Hillyard. “I always said that this ridiculous sentimentality about married women would be the ruin of all discipline in this College. Their minds are not, and cannot be, on their work.”
“Oh, dear!” said Miss Lydgate. “Poor soul brooding over that grievance in this really unbalanced way! If only we had known, we could surely have done something to make her see the thing in a more rational light. Did it never occur to you, Miss de Vine, to inquire what happened to this unhappy man Robinson?”
“I am afraid it did not.”
“Why should you?” demanded Miss Hillyard.
The noise in the coal-cellar had ceased within the last few minutes. As though the silence had roused a train of association in her mind. Miss Chilperic turned to Peter and said, hesitatingly:
“If poor Annie really did all these dreadful things, how did she get shut up in the coal-hole?”
“Ah!” said Peter. “That coal-hole very nearly shook my faith in my theory; especially as I didn’t get the report from my research staff till yesterday. But when you come to think of it, what else could she do? She laid a plot to attack Miss de Vine on her return from Town-the scouts probably knew which train she was coming by.”
“Nellie knew,” said Harriet.
“Then she could have told Annie. By an extraordinary piece of good fortune, the attack was delivered-not against Miss de Vine, who would have been taken unawares and whose heart is not strong, but against a younger and stronger woman, who was, up to the certain point, prepared to meet it. Even so, it was serious enough, and might easily have proved fatal. I find it difficult to forgive myself for not having spoken earlier-with or without proof-and put the suspect under observation.”
“Oh, nonsense!” said Harriet, quickly. “If you had, she might have chucked the whole thing for the rest of the term, and we should still not know anything definite. I wasn’t much hurt.”
“No. But it might not have been you. I knew you were ready to take the risk; but I had no right to expose Miss de Vine.”
“It seems to me,” said Miss de Vine, “that the risk was rightly and properly mine.”
“The worst responsibility rests on me,” said the Warden. “I should have telephoned the warning to you before you left Town.”
“Whosever fault it was,” said Peter, “it was Miss Vane who was attacked. Instead of a nice, quiet throttling, there was a nasty fall and a lot of blood, some of which, no doubt, got on to the assailant’s hands and dress. She was in an awkward position. She had got the wrong person, she was bloodstained and dishevelled, and Miss de Vine or somebody else might arrive at any moment. Even if she ran quickly back to her own room, she might be seen-her uniform was stained-and when the body was found (alive or dead) she would be a marked woman. Her only possible chance was to stage an attack on herself. She went out through the back of the Loggia, threw herself into the coal-cellar, locked the door on herself and proceeded to cover up Miss Vane’s bloodstains with her own. By the way, Miss Vane, if you remembered anything of your lesson, you must have marked her wrists for her.”
“I’ll swear I did,” said Harriet.
“But any amount of bruising may be caused by trying to scramble through a ventilator. Well. The evidence, you see, is still circumstantial-even though my nephew is prepared to identify the woman he saw crossing Magdalen Bridge on Wednesday with the woman he met in the garden. One can catch a Headington bus from the other side of Magdalen Bridge. Meanwhile, you heard this fellow in the cellarage? If I am not mistaken, somebody is arriving with something like direct proof.”
A heavy step in the passage was followed by a knock on the door; and Padgett followed the knock almost before he was told to come in. His clothes bore traces of coal-dust, though some hasty washing had evidently been done to his hands and face.
“Excuse me, madam Warden, miss,” said Padgett. “Here you are, Major. Right down at the bottom of the ’eap. ’Ad to shift the whole lot, I had.” He laid a large key on the table.
“Have you tried it in the cellar-door?”
“Yes, sir. But there wasn’t no need. ’Ere’s my label on it. ‘Coal-cellar’ see?”
“Easy to lock yourself in and hide the key. Thank you, Padgett.”
“One moment, Padgett,” said the Warden. “I want to see Annie Wilson. Will you please find her and bring her here.”
“Better not,” said Wimsey, in a low tone.
“I certainly shall,” said the Warden, sharply. “You have made a public accusation against this unfortunate woman and it is only right that she should be given an opportunity to answer it. Bring her here at once, Padgett.” Peter’s hands made a last eloquent gesture of resignation as Padgett went out.
“I think it is very necessary,” said the Bursar, “that this matter should be cleared up completely and at once.”
“Do you realty think it wise, Warden?” asked the Dean.
“Nobody shall be accused in this College,” said the Warden “without a hearing. Your arguments, Lord Peter, appear to be most convincing; but the evidence may bear some other interpretation. Annie Wilson is, no doubt, Charlotte Ann Robinson; but it does not follow that she is the author of the disturbances. I admit that appearances are against her, but there may be falsification or coincidence. The key, for example, may have been put into the coal-cellar at any time within the last three days.”
“I have been down to see Jukes,” began Peter; when the entrance of Annie interrupted him. Neat and subdued as usual, she approached the Warden:
“Padgett said you wished to see me, madam.” Then her eye fell on the newspaper spread out upon the table, and she drew in her breath with a long, sharp hiss, while her eyes went round the room like the eyes of a hunted animal.
“Mrs. Robinson,” said Peter, quickly and quietly. “We can quite understand how you came to feel a grievance-perhaps a justifiable grievance-against the persons responsible for the sad death of your husband. But how could you bring yourself to let your children help you to prepare those horrible messages? Didn’t you realize that if anything had happened they might have been called upon to bear witness in court?”
“No, they wouldn’t,” she said quickly. “They knew nothing about it. They only helped to cut out the letters. Do you think I’d let them suffer?… My God! You can’t do that… I say you can’t do it… You beasts, I’d kill myself first.”
“Annie,” said Dr. Baring, “are we to understand that you admit being responsible for all these abominable disturbances? I sent for you in order that you might clear yourself of certain suspicions which-”
“Clear myself! I wouldn’t trouble to clear myself. You smug hypocrites-I’d like to see you bring me into court. I’d laugh in your faces. How would you look, sitting there while I told the judge how that woman there killed my husband?”
“I am exceedingly disturbed,” said Miss de Vine, “to hear about all this. I knew nothing of it till just now. But indeed I had no choice in the matter. I could not foresee the consequences-and even if I had-”
“You wouldn’t have cared. You killed him and you didn’t care. I say you murdered him. What had he done to you? What harm had he done to anybody? He only wanted to live and be happy. You took the bread out of his mouth and flung his children and me out to starve. What did it matter to you? You had no children. You hadn’t a man to care about. I know all about you. You had a man once and you threw him over because it was too much bother to look after him. But couldn’t you leave my man alone? He told a lie about somebody else who was dead and dust hundreds of years ago. Nobody was the worse for that. Was a dirty bit of paper more important than all our lives and happiness? You broke him and killed him-all for nothing. Do you think that’s a woman’s job?”