A quick patter of slippered feet along the passage between the Hall and Queen Elizabeth was approaching rapidly.
On an impulse, Harriet stepped back and pushed open the Chapel door.
“Get in,” she said.
Mr. Pomfret slipped hastily in behind her. Harriet shut the door on him and stood quietly in front of it. The footsteps came nearer, came opposite the porch and stopped suddenly. The night-walker uttered a little squeak.
“Ooh!”
“What is it?” said Harriet.
“Oh miss it’s you! You gave me such a start. Did you see anything?”
“See what? Who is it, by the way?”
“Emily, miss-I sleep in the New Quad, miss, and I woke up, and I made sure I heard a man’s voice in the quadrangle, and I looked out and there he was miss, as plain as plain, coming this way with one of the young ladies. So I slipped on my slippers, miss…”
“Damn!” said Harriet to herself. Better tell part of the truth, though.
“It’s all right, Emily. It was a friend of mine. He came in with me and wanted very much to see the New Quad by moonlight. So we just walked across and back again.”
(A poor excuse, but probably less suspicious than a flat denial.)
“Oh, I see, miss. I beg your pardon. But I get that nervous, with one thing and another. And it’s unusual, if you’ll excuse me saying so, miss…”
“Yes, very,” said Harriet, strolling gently away in the direction of the New Quad, so that the scout was bound to follow her. “It was stupid of me not to think that it might disturb people. I’ll mention it to the Dean in the morning. You did quite right to come down.”
“Well, miss, of course I didn’t know who it was. And the Dean is so particular. And with all these queer things happening…”
“Yes, absolutely. Of course. I’m really very sorry to have been so thoughtless. The gentleman has gone now, so you won’t get woken up again.”
Emily seemed doubtful. She was one of those people who never feel they have said a thing till they have said it three times over. She paused at the foot of her staircase to say everything again. Harriet listened impatiently, thinking of Mr. Pomfret, fuming in the Chapel. At last she got rid of the scout and turned back.
Complicated, thought Harriet; silly situation, like a farce. Emily thinks she’s caught a student: I think I’ve caught a poltergeist. We catch each other. Young Pomfret parked in the Chapel. He thinks I’m kindly shielding him and Cattermole. Having carefully hidden Pomfret, I have to admit he was there. But if Emily had been the Poltergeist-and perhaps she is-then I couldn’t have had Pomfret helping to chase her. This kind of sleuthing is very confusion-making.
She pushed open the Chapel door. The porch was empty.
“Damn!” said Harriet, irreverently. “The idiot’s gone. Perhaps he’s gone inside, though.”
She looked in through the inner door and was relieved to see a dark figure faintly outlined against the pale oak of the stalls. Then, with a sudden, violent shock, she became aware of a second dark figure, poised strangely, it seemed, in midair.
“Hullo!” said Harriet. In the thin light of the South windows she saw the flash of a white shirt-front as Mr. Pomfret turned. “It’s only me. What’s that?”
She took a torch from her handbag and recklessly switched it on. The beam snowed a dismal shape dangling from the canopy above the stalls. It was winging a little to and fro and turning slowly as it swung. Harriet darted forward.
“Morbid kind of imagination these girls have got, haven’t they?” said Mr. Pomfret.
Harriet contemplated the M.A. cap and gown, arranged over a dress and bolster hitched by a thin cord to one of the terminals with which the architect had decorated the canopies.
“Bread-knife stuck through the tummy, too,” pursued Mr. Pomfret. “Gave me quite a turn, as my aunt would say. Did you catch the young woman-?”
“No. Was she in here?”
“Oh, definitely,” said Mr. Pomfret. “Thought I’d retreat a bit further, you know. So in I came. Then I saw that. So I came along to investigate and heard somebody scrambling out by the other door-over there.”
He pointed vaguely towards the north side of the building, where a door led into the vestry. Harriet hastened to look. The door was open, and the outer vestry door, though shut, had been unlocked from within. She peered out. All was quiet.
“Bother them and their rags,” said Harriet, returning. “No, I didn’t meet the lady. She must have got away while I was taking Emily back to the New Quad. Just my luck!” She muttered the last exclamation under her breath. It was really sickening to have had the Poltergeist under her hand like that, and to have been distracted by Emily. She went up to the dummy again, and saw that a paper was pinned to its middle by the bread-knife.
“Quotation from the classics,” said Mr. Pomfret, easily. “Looks as though somebody had a grouse against your dons.”
“Silly young fools!” said Harriet. “Very convincing bit of work, though, come to look at it. If we hadn’t found it first, it would have created quite a sensation when we all filed into prayers. A little investigation is indicated. Well, now, it’s time you went quietly home and were gated for the good of your soul.”
She led him down to the postern and let him out.
“By the way, Mr. Pomfret, I’d be obliged if you didn’t mention this rag to anybody. It’s not in the best of taste. One good turn deserves another.”
“Just as you say,” replied Mr. Pomfret. “And, look here-may I push round tomorrow-at least, it’s this morning, isn’t it?-and make inquiries and all that? Only proper, you know. When shall you be in? Please!”
“No visitors in the morning,” said Harriet, promptly. “I don’t know what I shall be doing in the afternoon. But you can always ask at the Lodge.”
“Oh, I may? That’s top-hole. I’ll call-and if you’re not there I’ll leave a note. I mean, you must come round and have tea or a cocktail or something. And I do honestly promise it shan’t happen again, if I can help it.”
“All right. By the way-what time did Miss Cattermole arrive at your friend’s place?”
“Oh-about half-past nine, I think. Couldn’t be sure. Why?”
“I only wondered whether her initials were in the porter’s book. But I’ll see to it. Goodnight.”
“Good-night,” said Mr. Pomfret, “and thanks frightfully.”
Harriet locked the postern behind him and returned across the quadrangle, feeling that, out of all this absurd tiresomeness, something had been most definitely gained. The dummy could scarcely have been put in position before 9:30; so that Miss Cattermole, through sheer folly, had contrived to give herself a cast-iron alibi. Harriet was so grateful to her for advancing the inquiry by even this small step that she determined the girl should, if possible, be let off the consequences of her escapade.
This reminded her that Miss Cattermole still lay on the bathroom floor, waiting to be dealt with. It would be awkward if she had come to her senses in the interval and started to make a noise. But on reaching the New Quad and unlocking the door, Harriet found her prisoner in the somnolent stage of the rake’s progress. A little research along the corridors revealed that Miss Cattermole slept on the first floor. Harriet opened the door of the room, and as she did so the door next it opened also, and a head popped out.
“Is that you, Cattermole?” whispered the head. “Oh, I’m sorry.” It popped in Harriet recognized the girl who had gone up and spoken to Miss Cattermole after the Opening of the Library. She went to her door, which bore the name of C. I. Briggs, and knocked gently. The head reappeared.
“Were you expecting to see Miss Cattermole come in?”