Death at the Opera (18 page)

“Unless,” thought the little woman, “I haven't met the murderer yet!”

Her thoughts returned to the electrician, whom already she was calling “Mr. Helm.”

To fill in the time at her disposal she sent for Miss Freely, who arrived looking scared.

“I don't know anything about it, and I don't want to,” was the burden of her song when Mrs. Bradley questioned her. Mrs. Bradley decided that she really did know nothing, for she was able to account satisfactorily for all the time she had spent off the stage by announcing that she had sneaked into the auditorium and sat on a stool next to the pianist. As this was corroborated by the pianist, who was one of the girl-prefects, Mrs. Bradley dismissed Miss Freely from her mind and sent for Mr. Pritchard.

“You repaired an electric switch during the First Act of
The Mikado
, didn't you, Mr. Pritchard?” she asked without preamble, when he entered.

“Repaired nothing,” said Mr. Pritchard in a loud, cheerful voice. “I had one go at the damn' thing before the opera started, and I was sent for again half-way through the Act. Couldn't do anything by myself, so I fetched along the electrician fellow who was gassing with Smith, but the silly ass had no outfit with him. Sent him to borrow stuff from the caretaker, and never saw him again. Oh, Lord! that reminds me! I've still got the caretaker's kit! What the thing wanted, I discovered in the end, was a new lamp, so I pinched a bulb out of one of the classrooms on the top floor.”

“Who sat next to you in the auditorium?” asked Mrs. Bradley.

“Miss Camden sat on my right, and there was an empty seat next to me, and then came some of the audience. We were really stewarding, you see, so we just took the end seats, where there were any, on that side.”

“Thank you,” said Mrs. Bradley. “You are an expert, I believe, at everything connected with electricity?”

Pritchard, a large, cheerful young man, laughed.

“Sounds like it if I deduce a fuse and it turns out to be a worn-out bulb, doesn't it?” he said. “I've received a lot of undeserved applause for constructing a school wireless set, but it's one or two of the boys who are the real star turns.”

“Hurstwood?” inquired Mrs. Bradley.

“Well, I don't get him now. He's gone over to Arts, you see. But in the Fifth he was rather good.”

“Did he know enough to disconnect a switch so that no light could come on?”

“Oh, Lord, yes. Anybody could do that!”

“Thank you.”

“Not at all. May one inquire—?”

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Bradley. “I am trying to find out who murdered Calma Ferris.”

“
Murdered
her?”

“Yes.”

“Were you the first person to decide that she had been murdered?”

“No, young man.”

“H'm!” said Mr. Pritchard, walking to the door. Mrs. Bradley sat staring at it after he had closed it behind him. She stared at it for several minutes. When it opened to admit the Headmaster, she looked quite surprised. There was, however, a question she wanted to put to him.

“Is there any reason why you should refuse to write a testimonial for Miss Camden if she wanted to apply for another post?” she asked. Mr. Cliffordson sat down at his desk, moved his pen-tray and blotting-pad, and fidgeted with a jotter and a small metal ruler, and then inquired:

“Did she tell you I wouldn't?”

“Yes, dear child.”

“Oh? I would, of course, if she asked for one. I couldn't very well refuse. But I know what she means.” He put down the ruler and drummed on the desk with his fingers.

“There was a funny business about some money,” he said, obviously unwilling to embark on the explanation. “Mind, I accuse nobody—except myself, for leaving my chequebook about. I had made out a cheque for nine pounds to Self, and left the leaf in the book—signed, of course—while I went down to take a class. The cheque disappeared, and was later cashed for
ninety
pounds, and well, it rather appeared that nobody could have had access to it except Miss Camden, who was helping me that day with my correspondence in place of my secretary, who was down with influenza. I did not accuse her then, nor do I accuse her now, and, of course, the thing went no further than the four walls of this room. I should never have mentioned the subject again had not your question prompted me to do so. I
do
know that the poor girl is very extravagant. I heard from one of the men that she had told the staff she even had to wire home for the money for a return journey from Monte Carlo this last summer. But I don't believe she is dishonest. Please forget all this. The subject is very distasteful to me. I shall never be sufficiently sorry that my own carelessness tempted someone into dishonesty. But I certainly
could not
refuse to give Miss Camden a testimonial.”

“Thank you,” said Mrs. Bradley. “And now I want to leave the school for a few days. I am going to visit Miss Ferris's aunt at Bognor Regis. There is a missing diary which ought to be found and read. I am hoping that the aunt collected it up with the other personal belongings of Miss Ferris when she came here to attend the inquest.”

“And you think the diary may throw some light on the identity of the murderer?”

“I doubt it,” replied Mrs. Bradley. “But in any case I think I know the identity of the murderer. No. I want the diary for purposes—nefarious ones”—she screeched joyously—”of my own!”

“Extraordinary woman,” thought the Headmaster. He was not at all certain whether he was pleased or sorry that he had called her in to investigate the murder of Calma Ferris. As though she guessed his thoughts, Mrs. Bradley turned round when she reached the door.

“Who sups with the devil must have a long spoon,” she said. “Cheer up, child. Do you know, I have a shrewd suspicion that if anyone is hanged for the murder of Calma Ferris, it will be that elusive electrician of yours—or possibly your Mr. Pritchard,” she added, chuckling.

“Pritchard!” said Mr. Cliffordson, startled. Mrs. Bradley nodded.

“Pritchard. He pretended to me just now that he didn't know a fused wire from a worn-out lamp. What do you think of that?”

The Headmaster did not have the chance of telling her what he thought of it, for by the time he was ready she had gone.

CHAPTER IX

I
T
was surprising that Mrs. Bradley noticed the small paragraph in the morning paper. She was less a reader than a skimmer of the daily news. She would glance at the headlines, then read the column below, if she were interested in the topic. Then she would glance at the leading article, and, on the same principle, read it or not, as the spirit moved her. The small paragraph, which was tucked away almost at the bottom of one of the inside pages of the newspaper, would not have attracted her attention but for the sight of her own name, which happened to occur towards the end of it.

Not imagining that she herself was being referred to, she read the paragraph nevertheless, and discovered in it a fact of peculiar interest. This was nothing less than a notice of the sudden death of Mrs. Frederick Hampstead at a private asylum. The cause of death was drowning, and it was stated that the unfortunate woman had fallen by accident into a small ornamental lake in the grounds of the institution.

At one time, the column asserted, the deceased had been under the care of Mrs. Beatrice Lestrange Bradley, the eminent psycho-analyst and specialist in nervous and mental disorders.

“Curious,” said Mrs. Bradley, referring to the sudden decease of Mr. Hampstead's unwanted wife, and made a note in her small book while she was waiting for the train which was to take her to the home of Calma Ferris's aunt.

It was a long and tiresome journey from Hillmaston to Bognor Regis, and Mrs. Bradley employed her time during the actual time the train was in motion, and also during the long periods of waiting for a connection, by thinking out the facts bearing on the death of Calma Ferris, to see whether any new angle could be obtained from which to view the case.

She had made up her mind that it was going to be difficult, if not impossible, to obtain clear proof of the murderer's identity, although, in her opinion, the psychological proof was already overwhelming. But, partly for amusement and partly to test her theories by thinking them out from the beginning, she took each person who had had both opportunity and motive for the murder, then those who had had motive, but seemingly no opportunity, then those who had had opportunity but no apparent motive, and she reserved to herself the right to think over any unexpected developments which might have arisen during the time she had spent at the school in working on the case.

First, there was the boy Hurstwood. Temperamentally, Mrs. Bradley decided, he was capable of murder. He had had sufficient opportunity and a reasonably strong motive—Mrs. Bradley decided that to a schoolboy of seventeen the consequences of his having been discovered passionately kissing a member of the staff might appear far more disastrous and overwhelming than they would to an adult, especially if that adult were a man of the world, as Mr. Cliffordson appeared to be. The boy had known that Miss Ferris had injured her eye. He had known that she had gone into the water-lobby to bathe it. He had even lent her his handkerchief, and the handkerchief had certainly reappeared in what had to be considered suspicious circumstances. Miss Cliffordson had had possession of the handkerchief. If Hurstwood were not to be regarded with suspicion that handkerchief ought to have been found on or near the body.

Other questions had to be interpolated here, Mrs. Bradley decided. The first one was: Were Miss Cliffordson and Hurstwood in collusion? Miss Ferris's unfortunate discovery of the love affair affected them equally up to a certain point. The second question was: Had Miss Cliffordson found the handkerchief and recognized it, and then kept it in order to shield Hurstwood? If so, why had she weakened sufficiently to show it to Mrs. Bradley, and confess it was Hurstwood's?

This question was doubly difficult to answer in that the handkerchief was unidentifiable since initial and marking cotton had both been picked out. The third point was this: Did Miss Cliffordson believe that Hurstwood had committed the murder? Did she accept the finding of the handkerchief (if it
was
found, and not handed to her for safety by Hurstwood himself) as proof of his guilt? And did she fear for her own safety? She had reason to know that Hurstwood could be uncontrolled and unmanageable, and that physically he was much stronger than she was. It was possible, thought Mrs. Bradley, that fear had caused her to produce the handkerchief.

Against all this were several points which told in the boy's favour. He had admitted that he knew of Miss Ferris's injured face and that she was going to bathe it. Would an obviously intelligent boy have made such a damaging admission if he had had anything to fear? He was nervous, imaginative and sensitive. If he had committed a horrible crime against an absolutely inoffensive person, would he have been able to brazen it out? Mrs. Bradley thought it very doubtful, unless he felt that by killing Miss Ferris he had saved Miss Cliffordson from the consequences of his own tempestuous behaviour on the night of the rehearsal. A boy of Hurstwood's temperament might easily imagine that he owed it to Miss Cliffordson to get her out of the trouble into which his own madness and lack of self-control had placed her.

A different type of evidence was offered by the failing of the electric light in the water-lobby. There seemed no reasonable doubt that the light had been deliberately disconnected. If Hurstwood were responsible for tampering with the switch, it was for one of two reasons: either to cover up the murder he himself had committed, or the murder he believed one of his friends had committed. Putting it another way, said Mrs. Bradley to herself, if Hurstwood had any reason whatsoever for believing that Miss Cliffordson had killed Miss Ferris, he might have performed the two rash acts of giving his own handkerchief up for her to produce as evidence of his guilt instead of her own, and of disconnecting the electric light so as to put off the evil hour of the discovery of the body as long as possible. Taking into consideration his temperament, his reactions and his state of mind, the evidence was as much in his favour as against him, Mrs. Bradley decided.

She reconsidered his fainting fit in the Headmaster's room. It was the direct result of learning that Mr. Cliffordson knew all about his love for Miss Cliffordson, and that the Headmaster, in a semi-facetious manner, sympathized with instead of condemning him. In such circumstances, the fainting, followed by the boy's hysterical tears, had been natural enough, and need have had no connection at all with the murder.

She dismissed that train of thought, and returned to the question of the electric light. Could there be any connection between two lights that failed on the same evening? It was a coincidence, certainly, but a possible one. Suppose, for instance, that the caretaker was wrong about the switch in the water-lobby? Suppose nobody, either in jest or earnest, had tampered with it. Suppose, also, that Hurstwood had been telling the truth when he had told the Headmaster that after his first exit he had gone to the water-lobby to find Miss Ferris and ask for the return of his handkerchief—boys usually went provided with one only, Mrs. Bradley suspected, so that it was all quite plausible so far. Suppose the boy had discovered the place in darkness, discovered furthermore that he could not switch the light on, went back to the men's dressing-room and talked with Mr. Smith before going on the stage again.

There were a lot of gaps in Hurstwood's story, she was compelled to admit. On the other hand, it might easily be the truth. She wondered whether it might be necessary later to reinvestigate it. Not even Hurstwood's youth was on his side in a case like this. So many unstable boys in their teens had murdered women. There were numerous newspaper accounts of such crimes, besides the psychologically classic instances. She shook her head, and began to consider the case of Gretta Cliffordson.