‘I have been thinking about your visit to Mrs Buxton. You said you did not get on with her very well,’ said Dame Beatrice.
‘I didn’t. I checked her advertisement in the local paper — they had a copy in the reading room at the public library — and it stated plainly and clearly that the room the Buxtons had to spare would be let to a suitable tenant on a week-to-week basis, but, when I entered into negotiations with the woman, she wanted me to sign a three-year lease.’
‘Her tactful way of pointing out that she did not want you as a tenant?’
‘Obviously. For one thing, she prefers men lodgers. All the tenants are men. They are given their breakfasts, four cooked suppers a week at which everybody sits down, and individual high teas are provided on Fridays for anybody who says he will be in. No visitors are allowed, not even for a cup of tea. It all sounded very much regimented to me.’
‘Not for a household of men. The male sex goes out of the home for its pleasures, even if it is married. I do not suppose Mrs Buxton’s lodgers find her rules restricting. Was the house well kept?’
‘Oh, yes, it was neat, orderly and very clean.’
‘Were you shown Mr Pythias’s room?’
‘I was. It’s a good room on the ground floor, but it does have that awful great daub painted on one wall. I gained nothing from being shown it. The real fun was when I went round to the school.’
‘Ah, yes, the caretaker and the chickens, you said. Does he keep chickens?’
‘No. The boys do. The school, it appears, branches out in all directions when it comes to out-of-school activities, and the chickens are presided over by the younger boys. Well, the caretaker came to report that it was thought a fox had got one of the birds. The tally was minus one hen and there were feathers blowing about on the school field.’
‘Did the caretaker break into the headmaster’s conference merely to report on a missing hen?’
‘Yes, because it seems that he has a guilty conscience about not reporting another raid on the henhouse, which he now thinks may have something to do with the murder of Mr Pythias.’
‘You fascinate me. Proceed.’
‘Well, he came in, as I said, to report that one of the school chickens was missing and that there were feathers here and there about the school field. It appears that the chickens function in the corner of it furthest from the caretaker’s cottage, so that the cackling doesn’t disturb him, but if the boys who are on the rota for holiday feeding and egg collecting don’t turn up for any reason, the caretaker’s wife does the needful feeding and is rewarded by being allowed to keep the eggs. It is known that one of the back gardens of the houses which border the school field on two sides harbours a vixen and her cubs, and the caretaker came to report that he thought the missing hen was in her den.’
‘So what about the guilty conscience?’
‘The school secretary, Mrs Wirrell, dragged that into the light of day. She said, “Lucky not to have lost one or two chickens during the Christmas holidays.” Mr Ronsonby said, “How do you mean, Margaret?” At this the caretaker, looking a bit flustered, said that kids from the primary school had opened the henhouse at Christmas time and the fowls had scattered all over the place and had to be chased up and caught. The caretaker said he had not reported it, as the people who were staying in the cottage for Christmas had been able to round up the chickens and account for all of them, so no harm had been done and he had thought nothing of it until this fox and hen thing had brought it back to his mind. He said he realised he ought to have reported it, because obviously some unauthorised person or persons must have been on school premises. Mr Ronsonby agreed that he should have reported it. They have had two other break-ins, you see, and much more serious ones. Twice during last term a couple of people — men, not kids — managed to get inside the building itself and mess about in the school quad.’
‘Dear me,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘How did they manage that?’
‘The first time it was easy enough. While the builders were still at work there was no way of keeping people from entering the school from the rear. When the building was finished and the back of the premises made secure, the trespassers broke a window to get in. Again, they were two men.’
‘The same two men?’
‘The caretaker doesn’t know, but he supposes they must have been, as each time their objective seems to have been the quad, and that, of course, is where the body was found.’
‘I think I would like to have a word with that caretaker,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘Will you take me along and introduce me to the headmaster?’
This proved to be unnecessary. Margaret Wirrell took Laura’s telephone call and asked her to hold on. When she returned, she reported that Mr Ronsonby would be delighted to see Dame Beatrice at any time which was convenient to her and a meeting was arranged at which Laura did not put in an appearance. Routh, however, was present. Apprised of the imminent visit, he made a particular request to be allowed to attend the conference.
‘If Dame Beatrice is interesting herself in the case, sir, there may be something in it for me.’
It was not long after the polite preliminaries had been gone through when Sparshott was summoned. The reason was so that he might render an account of his stewardship in front of the visitor. The matter of Sparshott’s Christmas leave and the broken window in the boys’ washroom came up again. Mr Ronsonby was a reasonable man and spoke of these things more in sorrow than in anger.
‘You know, Sparshott, you really should not have left the school unguarded,’ said Mr Ronsonby. ‘You had proof of how simple a matter it was for unauthorised persons to enter the premises while there were still no back doors to the building.’
‘But, sir,’ protested Sparshott, ‘like I told you before, the premises wasn’t left unguarded. Me and my wife and Ron went off to friends for Christmas Day and Boxing Day, that’s true enough, but my older son, Geoffrey — you’ll remember Geoffrey, Mr Ronsonby?’
‘Oh, yes, yes. A most sensible, reliable boy.’
‘There you are, then’ said Sparshott, giving Routh a triumphant glance. ‘Well, Geoffrey, not having nothing but a council flat for him and his wife, they was glad enough to take over the cottage for a day or two and I promised ’em they could stay for another couple of days after we got back, which is what they done.’ He looked at the headmaster. ‘It’s not as though anybody at that time knew what terrible mischief there was afoot, sir.’
‘No, no, Sparshott. We quite appreciate that. Now then, Dame Beatrice has some questions to put to you.’
‘I know you wouldn’t try to victimise me, sir. You always been a fair-minded gentleman. I be ready to tell the lady anything as will help.’
‘Any objection to Mrs Wirrell taking down questions and answers and letting me have them?’ asked Routh. ‘If no objection, you’ll talk more free without me, I reckon, so I’ll take myself off.’
‘Everything will be unprejudiced,’ said Mr Ronsonby to Sparshott, ‘and we all want to know the truth about Mr Pythias, don’t we?’
Sparshott looked at the very old, very thin, yellow-skinned little woman opposite him. He averted his gaze. Her mirthless grin reminded him of a puff-adder he had seen at the London Zoo. Dame Beatrice saw a retired village policeman, honest, wary, probably rather stupid, but with a kind of bovine innocence about him. She began her questioning as soon as Routh had gone, and without preamble.
‘What did you think when you found two strangers on the premises on the evening when the school broke up for the Christmas holidays?’