‘It would have ruined her career. I had to have it. I told my husband it was an orphan I’d adopted. It was only five when we married. Of course, he may have found out about it later. The elder girl may have let him know. They couldn’t stand one another. Yet they took posts together to be able to see the child, and watched one another like cats. The father of the child was by way of being engaged to the elder one, Blanche, you see, and then, when Doris bore the child —!’
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘An old story, isn’t it? But now, if you’ll forgive me for asking, can you tell me whether your husband had had any of his attacks previous to the inquest?’
‘Oh, yes. He had spent two years in a mental home before I married him. I knew that. I liked him none the worse for it.’
With this oddly-worded statement she seemed to have finished all that she had to say on the subject.
‘One more question, and then I’ll go,’ said Mrs Bradley gently. ‘Did the child’s mother believe that the child had been murdered?’
‘She had the best reason of anybody to believe it, as I told you,’ Mrs Princep replied. Mrs Bradley, digesting all the implications of Mrs Princep’s illuminating remarks, and also this one, which seemed a trifle obscure, she felt, went off on her third errand.
‘Mental hospital?’ said the local reporter. ‘Yes, he did. But if you want my candid opinion, he was as sane as I am. Eyewash, to get public sympathy. Been some scandal about him at some time, I should imagine. The wife hushed it up, but, hang it, there was the kid. What were people to think? She said she had adopted it, and, of course, they’ve only lived in the town about four years. But you know how people gossip, and some of it followed them here. It’s certain the child was illegitimate.’
‘That wouldn’t necessarily prove that it was his,’ Mrs Bradley retorted.
‘No. But why did he throw that fit at the inquest, then? Gave things away, people thought. Of course, people love a bit of scandal, but, after all, no smoke without fire. Anyway, into the bin he went, and was discharged last June. I interviewed him on the subject of his experiences. No good. Merely got a flea in my ear. Couldn’t stand the fellow, anyway. Unwholesome old devil, I thought him.’
‘Have you seen him since?’
‘Oh, yes, but not to speak to. He’s always about.’
‘When did you see him last? Can you remember?’
‘Not to swear to it. Mayor’s Banquet, last November — let’s see — November 3rd, I think. But what are you getting at — murder? I thought so at the time.’
‘Oh, the police have nothing to go on in the case of the child’s death,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘They are looking for the missing schoolmistress, Miss Murchan. As she lived here, and testified at the inquest on the child, they felt bound to begin their work from this end. That’s all. By the way, the fact that she is missing is not to be emphasized. There may be no connexion between the two cases.’
‘More in that woman than met the eye,’ said the reporter, solemnly accepting the decree. ‘Definitely a queer stick. Odd, worried sort of creature. Ought to have seen a nerve specialist, I would have said. Even school concerts used to upset her for days beforehand. Had nightmares, too, I believe. Thought the doctor could cure her of it, she told me once, at one of the school do’s. Useless to tell her he couldn’t, so he made her up some harmless dope — an iron tonic, I expect — and she took it and said it improved things. Couldn’t do any harm, at all events.’
‘Did she come to you after the child was killed and offer you information?’
‘No. She left the town soon after. Seemed to think people felt it was her responsibility. Got some crack-brained idea that the child must have pinched her keys to get into the gym., and that therefore she had some moral share in the accident, or some such guff as that. All boloney, of course. The kid hadn’t touched her keys. Climbed in through a window, I expect, or else somebody else forgot to lock up that night. Miss Murchan wasn’t the only person who had a key to the gym. That came out at the inquest, but nobody else seemed worried, except the mistress who took the gym., of course. But, then, it was right up her street. Anyone could sympathize with her deciding to leave. But t’other — well, it was just her nature to brood, and magnify every little trifle, I expect. Suicide type, I shouldn’t wonder. If she’s disappeared, you’ll find her in the river or somewhere.’
For her own amusement, and by way of a minor psychological experiment, Mrs Bradley spent the night at the Grand Hotel, which was built almost on the edge of the cliff and commanded, therefore, extensive views seawards.
Next morning she walked on the promenade for an hour, so that anybody who happened to be interested in her movements had ample opportunity of discovering that she had not returned to the College. She lunched at the hotel, promenaded again in the afternoon, and at a quarter to four had tea at the hotel before sending for the car, and going back to Cartaret.
She found Miss du Mugne enjoying her after-dinner coffee. She accepted an invitation from the Principal to join her.
‘You have enjoyed your jaunt?’ Miss du Mugne inquired, as a graceful way of approaching the topic she hoped and expected that they were going to discuss.
‘Very much,’ Mrs Bradley replied. ‘But I doubt whether I have acquired any valuable information from Miss Paldred except the address of the dead child’s grandparents.’
‘No?’ The Principal looked disappointed. ‘But you hoped great things of your second visit to the Secondary School.’
‘Well, I had some hope, I think, of being able to trace the other person who left just about when Miss Murchan did — the Physical Training mistress, you know. It was odd, if both were innocent of negligence, to go off like that, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t know, I am sure. You see, except for what you have told me from time to time, I know very little of the circumstances under which Miss Murchan left the Secondary School.’
‘Well, there I did make progress. It appears that Miss Murchan was the holder of a guilty secret.’
‘Miss Murchan with a guilty secret?’ The Principal laughed. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘Well, from what I can deduce, it seems possible that she was there when the child was killed.’
‘Then why didn’t she say so at the inquest?’
‘I don’t know. She seems to have been of a nervous, retiring, vacillating disposition. She probably decided to say nothing, discovered that these were wrong tactics, and then was afraid of becoming entangled with the law. She does seem to have made some attempt to communicate her knowledge to others, but she was not successful. She was here two years, was she not?’
‘Exactly two years. She came at the beginning of the Christmas Term, and her disappearance, as you know, dates from last summer’s End of Term dance.’
‘Of course, yes. Now, how was it that Miss Murchan became Warden of Athelstan as soon as she arrived? Is it usual to make new lecturers Wardens in their first term? — I except myself, of course!’
‘Oh, but Miss Murchan had a year here before she was given Athelstan, you know.’
‘What was the reason for promoting her?’
‘It was not so much a promotion, in her case, as the fact that she was really not such a very good lecturer, I am afraid. She was altogether too timid and deprecating. I cannot think how she was able to stand the life at a Secondary School. I should have thought it much too boisterous for her. She seemed to go in fear and trembling of everything and everybody.’
‘It seems that she had good reason,’ said Mrs Bradley dryly, ‘if what I suspect is true.’ The Principal started, and spilled a little coffee.
‘I beg your pardon? Oh, yes, I see. But I understand that it was her general manner.’
‘I understand so, too. That emerged clearly during my interview today with Miss Paldred. Interesting. So when she was a Warden, Miss Murchan gave fewer lectures?’