Leaving his Detective-Constable on guard over the prizes which were on display in the sixth-form room, Routh had made a tour of the building and had spent more time in the art room than anywhere else. He, too, like Dame Beatrice, had made enquiries about the Vesuvius picture and had received the answer that it had been sent in, unsigned, by an Old Boy and that, although Mr Pybus thought it an exaggerated ‘and really rather childish and silly piece of work’, he had exhibited it ‘for sentimental reasons, as the fellow must still have happy memories of his art lessons or he would not have bothered to send the painting in. Besides, he may be somewhere among our visitors and, if he is, he will expect to see his picture on the wall.’
The prize giving went off as prize givings do. The choir and the orchestra gave of their best, so did the verse speakers. The head boy gave a speech written for him by Mr Burke, the headmaster read the school report, the chairman of governors made a far too long and extremely boring speech and then insisted upon closing the gathering with ‘Auld Lang Syne’ with everybody joining hands — a proceeding which Mr Ronsonby, compelled to hold the hands of his head boy and the chairman, found particularly embarrassing and distasteful, although it was a relief to know that at last the opening day was over.
17
Every Picture Tells a Story
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Routh had not attended the actual ceremony of the prize giving. Dame Beatrice had waylaid him on her way to the school hall and said, ‘The room Mr Pythias had at Mrs Buxton’s — is it kept locked?’
‘Locked and sealed, but not for some days after the body was found, ma’am. Of course, we had no real evidence that Mr Pythias was dead until the foundations of that pond were dug out.’
‘Were you present when the room was sealed off?’
‘Yes, ma’am, me and the Super saw it done.’
‘Was the painting still on the wall?’
‘Larger than life, ma’am. Now you mention that picture, I suppose you noticed the volcano thing in the art room?’
‘One could hardly miss it. Laura has decided that it was by the same hand as the wall painting in Mr Pythias’s bedsitting room.’
‘I don’t think there can be much doubt about that, ma’am, but we don’t know who painted them, although I might make a guess and so, I reckon, might you.’
‘Yes. When we know for certain who painted both, we shall be able to name our murderer, I fancy. I may have a confession for you in the morning.’
‘Not from the murderer, ma’am, I suppose?’
‘No, I do not imagine it will be from the murderer.’
‘Ah, well, we can’t expect everything, can we? Do you mean you will come to the station and report to the Super? It’s his case now, not really mine.’
‘I shall be there at eleven tomorrow morning.’
When the prize-giving was over, the various exhibitions were to remain on show until ten o’clock. Most of the audience, however, went home after the ceremony. The headmaster entertained the governors to port in his office and had included Dame Beatrice and Laura in the invitation, but they had not accepted it. Instead, they returned to the art room to find Mr Pybus seated at his table. Half a dozen boys were putting the room to rights ready for next day’s lessons, for the tables had all been moved to the window side of the room and chairs arranged in the empty centre of it so that leg-weary or particularly interested callers could sit facing the pictures.
Mr Pybus stood up when Dame Beatrice and Laura came in. The boys politely left two chairs in the middle of the room for them, said, ‘Goodnight, sir,’ and went home. Dame Beatrice and Laura seated themselves, but it soon became apparent that Mr Pybus was to expect no other visitors that evening, so the two women came up to the table, Laura bringing the chairs.
‘Now, Mr Pybus,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘I would be glad to have your opinion. What do you make of this rough but attractive little sketch and this even more attractive and beautifully finished painting?’ She laid the open letter on the table and unrolled the picture she had bought at the art dealer’s.
Mr Pybus made no attempt to bluff matters out. He said, ‘So, the game is up, is it?’
‘I think you had better tell me the whole story,’ said Dame Beatrice.
‘I didn’t kill Pythias, you know.’
‘But you used his trademark and stole his pictures to pass them off as your own. You will observe the pi symbol on the letter as well as on the finished painting.’
‘I didn’t steal the pictures. They were given to me.’
‘I shall be interested to hear chapter and verse about that.’
‘By what right? You are not connected with the law, are you?’
‘No, I am connected with the Home Office and Mrs Gavin is the wife of an Assistant Commissioner of Police, so you see that we do come armed with a little brief authority.’
‘I can’t stay here and talk to you about all this sort of thing. I’ve got to get home.’
‘To an extravagant wife for whom a teacher’s pay is insufficient to supply what she believes to be her needs?’
‘You don’t know my wife, do you?’
‘I am an inspired guesser with a fairly wide experience of human nature and behaviour. Even at only sixty-seven pounds apiece, I suppose poor Mr Pythias’s exquisite paintings are worth selling.’
‘He gave them to me.’
Dame Beatrice cackled, but there was no mirth in the sound.
‘You must do better than that,’ she said. ‘You were given the pictures in exchange for holding your tongue on behalf of Rattock about the theft of the money for the tour to Greece, I think.’
‘I insisted on the cheques being sent to the bank. I made that a condition of my silence.’
‘Because you and that Buxton nephew thought the cheques might be too hot to handle, I suppose,’ said Laura. Pybus covered his face, a purely histrionic gesture which deceived neither of the women. Then he pushed back his chair and stood up. Laura stood up, too, and, with a powerful arm, thrust him back and bluntly told him to remain seated. Before this impressive display of women’s lib, Pybus capitulated.
‘All right, all right,’ he said. Laura resumed her own seat and took paper and ballpoint from her handbag.
‘Just rough notes, but we’ll get you to sign them,’ said Dame Beatrice.
‘I won’t!’
Dame Beatrice leered at him and he flinched.
‘If I am to persuade the police not to bring a capital charge against you, I think you will,’ she said.
‘That’s blackmail!’
‘Yes, of course it is. How clever of you to know the word for it,’ said Laura. ‘It was also blackmail when you demanded the Pythias paintings in return for keeping silent about the stolen money and, of course, about the murder.’
‘He came in here at half-past eight this morning,’ said the Detective-Superintendent, ‘and gave himself up. Swears he knew nothing about the murder at the time. Just believed the story he had been told, that Pythias had gone away for Christmas, leaving the tour money locked up in his room. I don’t think, now I’ve talked to him, that he is cut out for villainy. Perhaps you would like to have a word with Routh. I believe he is expecting you.’
Routh exuded a certain amount of satisfaction when they met. He said he was receiving kudos for the way he had conducted his share of the case. The Super, he added, had been very decent and had had him in while Pybus made his confession. ‘How much of it is true may or may not come out at his trial,’ Routh went on. ‘We shall hold him on a charge of receiving goods knowing them to have been stolen. We’ve also pulled in Rattock who, of course, is full of injured innocence and denies all of the tale told us by Pybus, but Buxton and his missus, not to mention the furniture van, are also involved, so we’ve bagged the whole lot of them and will get them sorted out later. We think Buxton was only involved in getting the body to the school quad, although he absolutely denies this and says all he did was to post an envelope for Rattock in Springdale.