Читать книгу The Murdered Schoolgirl: A Classic Crime Novel - John Russell Fearn - Страница 7

CHAPTER THREE

For three days of the week’s confinement to college Frances Hasleigh made no effort to break the sentence. She had become entirely reserved and spoke only when spoken to, except for occasional outbursts of icy invective against Vera Randal, who never lost an opportunity to remind Frances of her infraction—being careful, however, not to go too far. She remembered the heavy fall on her back in the solarium.

Then, on the night of the third day, Joan Dawson awoke abruptly about one in the morning to find the girl fully dressed and gliding towards the biggest window at the far end of the dormitory.

“Frances!” she called softly. “Where are you going?”

“A walk,” came the laconic answer. “Stick up for me if anybody finds I’ve gone. I’ve left a bolster—”

Then, silently, the window opened and a dim figure was visible for a moment sliding on to the stone balcony outside. Obviously Frances was using the big drainpipe method of exit this time.

Joan peered through the window. Her bed was right against the centre window and without any effort she could see across the quadrangle to the big bulk of the School House. There was a moon getting up, and by its murky silver light she presently saw Frances’s figure move swiftly across the open space below into the shadows—then she lost sight of her.

Joan gave a start as the light at Vera Randal’s end of the dormitory suddenly gushed into being. She was sitting up in bed with her big freckled face shining with triumph.

“Put that light out!” Joan cried. “The curtains aren’t drawn! Blackout—”

Since Vera took no notice Joan hopped out of bed and covered the windows quickly. By this time the whole dormitory seemed to be awake.

“I heard what she said!” Vera cried. “Off again, is she? Well this time it will finish her! I’ll get her kicked out of the school for this! Throw me about the solarium, will she!”

“Shut up!” hissed Molly Webster, one of her study mates. “You’ll be having Tanny here in a minute!”

“Let her come!” Vera snapped. “If she doesn’t, I’m going to her.”

Vera got decisively out of bed, put on slippers and a dressing gown. She headed towards the door, but before she reached it Joan and Beryl Mather had caught her arms tightly.

“Wait a minute, Vera!” Joan insisted. “If you keep on running to Tanny with stories, you’re liable to get yourself labelled as a sneak, and you know what that will mean. You just won’t be head girl any longer!”

Vera hesitated, looking across at Molly.

“We can settle this between ourselves,” Molly said. “Anyway, Frances didn’t get expelled last time, so she probably won’t this. I think she’s one of Black’s favourites—”

“That isn’t true!” Joan said hotly. “And since it seems to get on all your nerves, why don’t you have it out with her personally when she comes back? That’s only right!”

“Listen to little Joan standing up for wayward little Frances,” Vera sneered. “It makes me sick! You and Tiny there and Frances are as thick as thieves. Why don’t you share your joys and sorrows with us? And another thing, Joan, when are you going to share that parcel you got this morning?”

“I can’t share it,” Joan retorted. “It was a pair of stockings and I’m sticking to it!”

“One day,” Vera mused, her eyes narrowing, “I’m going to take you apart, Joan! But first I’ll deal with Frances! Just wait until she gets back!”

She put the light out again, drew the curtains away from the windows once more, then back to bed to wait. The example set the other girls did likewise.

It was nearly an hour later before Frances reappeared at the big window and opened it silently. Just as carefully she closed it and began to glide across to her bed; then there was stealthy movement in the dark, and she found herself surrounded with torch-beams playing on her face.

“Well, Miss Gadabout, what this time?” Vera demanded. “Been out with your precious science master again? He’s still in the village, you know, even if he has quit the school. I saw him this afternoon when I went shopping.”

“Is it any business of yours where I’ve been?” Frances asked, in that quiet, insolent voice she had.

“As head girl of this class, it definitely is! I’d have reported it to Miss Tanby right away but for—my sense of honour.… And don’t smile like that, either! You can’t keep on breaking rules when it is my job to see that they’re kept!”

“I’m afraid you take an awful lot on your shoulders,” Frances said coolly, taking off her overcoat and returning it to her locker. “And don’t keep flashing that beam in my face, please. Or are you playing at gangsters?”

“That’s it!” Vera whispered. “Give me one chance and I’ll break your neck one day, Frances—believe me!”

Frances sat on the side of her bed and began to undress leisurely. The torches had been extinguished now, but she could see the girls hovering over her in the moonlight.

“You’re all very tiresome,” she sighed. “If I feel like going out for a walk in the moonlight, I’ll go! Anyway, Vera, a girl with a cloddish mind like yours can’t be expected to feel as I do. My father is a traveller and a soldier, remember. I get the wanderlust from him.”

“You’re not going to call me a clod and get away with it!” Vera snapped.

“Oh, why don’t you leave her alone?” growled Cynthia Vane, her other study mate. “I don’t like her either, but why do we have to lose our sleep just because of that? If she wants to creep about, let her!”

“Anyway,” Molly Webster said, “one would think you’d never broken a rule in your life, Vera! I’ve been here long enough to know that you’ve broken every rule in the book in order to be top girl. Let’s get back to bed—”

Vera hesitated, then with memories of her fall in the solarium at the back of her mind, she relaxed and nodded slowly.

“All right, we’ll go back to sleep. Otherwise there will be some questions asked if we’re tired in class tomorrow. But I’m not finished with you yet, Frances Hasleigh! I know what you want—to be in my place. And that issue’s got to be decided! Before I’m finished with you, you’ll be on your knees begging for mercy!”

Frances did not answer. Undressed by now, she climbed into bed, drew the covers over her and remained silent. Grim-faced, Vera plodded back to bed. The group broke up and retired again.

After her one infraction Frances did not break the rules again during the rest of her week’s punishment—but whether it was because she was uncertain of what Vera Randal might do was not entirely clear. She said so little, even to her two study mates, and by now they had become her bosom friends. They both gave every impression of liking her really, despite her rather queer temperament.

The only thrill the girls got as the week ended and Frances found herself free again—on probation anyway—was the arrival of a new science master, by the name of Clive Whittaker. All hopes of a young man rather less dull than Robert Lever were realised when into the classroom to take biology there walked one afternoon a man of perhaps twenty-eight, tall and stooping, clean-shaven, with black wavy hair and a rather pale face. Somehow he looked delicate, or else it was an impression conveyed by his bent shoulders.

But he knew his job, as the girls soon found out—and to their delight he treated them, in every Form, with an easy courtesy calculated to get the best out of their studies. There was none of the dull recital of facts that had made Robert Lever so outstandingly uninteresting.

For some reason, Frances came to life in real earnest when he took the class. Her usual languid contempt entirely disappeared, and instead she had brightly sparkling grey eyes and a merry smile. It was most extraordinary, and more than one girl noticed it, too. Then, when she was only listening to Whittaker instead of answering his scientific posers, Frances sat looking at him with a kind of awed reverence that made more than one girl nudge another and then stifle a giggle.

It was finally Joan Dawson who brought the matter to a head when the class was over on the Monday afternoon. She, Frances, and Tiny Mather were strolling out of the School House into the warmth of the sunlit quadrangle.

“I suppose,” Joan said, “that it’s your weakness for brainy young men that makes you go cow-eyed when you see Whittaker?”

“I think he’s just marvellous,” Frances said simply. Joan and Beryl glanced at each other.

“But he’s got round shoulders!” Beryl protested.

“Ah, but his mind!” Frances said dreamily.

“Well—er—would you like to tell him so?” Joan asked drily. “Here he is now—approaching. Looks as though he’s going out.”

“Hey, Frances, just a minute!”

She turned at the sharp command and saw that Vera Randal, Molly Webster, and Cynthia Vane were hurrying towards them. In a moment or two they had caught up.

“Well?” Frances asked calmly. “What is it, head girl?”

“Don’t try and be funny with me! I want to know if you have the nerve to decide our differences right away? There is only room for one head girl, and the issue’s in doubt. If I am the head girl, you have got to obey me. If you can defeat me, you can take my place and I obey you.”

Frances raised her eyebrows. “Sounds quite primitive—like apes fighting for the kingship. Well, what am I to do? Knock the confounded stuffing out of you?”

“You’re welcome to try,” Vera sneered. “I’ve a suggestion to make. We’ve got an hour before tea. Come out to Bollin’s Wood and bring your two pals here as your seconds—and I’ll bring Molly and Cynthia as mine. We’ll thrash it out. If you can get me on my back and keep my arms pinned to the ground while ten is counted I’ll admit you’re the new head girl—”

As Frances reflected, Clive Whittaker came past. He nodded and smiled.

“Lovely day, sir,” Frances smiled.

“Delightful,” he agreed, and it seemed to the other girls that he gave her an odd look. “Just on my way to do some shopping in our thriving village.… And you girls take care you don’t start damaging each other,” he added. “I heard what you said, Randal—and it sounded most aggressive. After all, this is a school for young ladies.…”

Then he was on his way again towards the school gates, leaving Frances looking after him.

“When you’ve quite finished mooning, what about it?” Vera demanded.

“It’s the accepted idea,” Joan said quickly, as Frances gave her a look of inquiry. “I really think you ought to do it!”

“All right,” Frances shrugged. “Let’s be off!”

With that she linked her arms through those of Joan and Beryl and led the way to the gates, followed at a distance by the hefty Vera and her two stooges. A ten-minute walk down the lane brought them to the stile leading into Bollin’s Wood—a deep mass of shady undergrowth at this time of year, the ground a solid carpet of ferns, long rank grass, and twisting brambles.

The girls went on until they were well within the wood’s depths, then in a little clearing, just within sight of the River Bollin, Vera called a halt, motioned her two friends on one side.

“Now,” she breathed venomously, “it’s my turn! I’m not going to fight you, Frances, because I can’t do jujitsu like you can. That wouldn’t be fair play—but I’m going to make you smart for the way you’ve treated me! Right!” she broke off suddenly. “On her!”

Utterly unprepared for an onrush by three at once, Frances went crashing over to the ground with the girls on top of her. Joan and Beryl rushed to her assistance immediately, but they could do very little, particularly against Vera. In perhaps thirty seconds Frances was stretched out flat, her shoes taken off, her ankles corded together and her hands tied behind her. For good measure a gag was added and tied tightly in her mouth. Three to two was more than they could handle, especially against a heavyweight like Vera. They, too, lost their shoes and found themselves bound and gagged in double quick time.

“There!” Vera breathed, standing up and taking the three pairs of shoes Molly Webster had collected. “This is going to be Lesson One! You can get from here to the lane without shoes, and I hope you enjoy it! You’ll find your shoes by the stile, and if none of you are too good on your feet for the next week, we’ll quite understand. The gags are so you can’t yell for help, like the rotten little cowards all of you are.… All right, girls, come on!”

Molly and Cynthia nodded and followed their leader out of the clearing. As Vera had promised, she put the shoes by the stile, then she and her two consorts went across to the sunny grass bank on the other side of the lane. They sat down with a certain air of resolve, prepared to watch the fun.

Ten minutes passed and the wood remained quiet. The three looked at each other in vague surprise, shifted their positions, then relaxed and waited again.

“Even if they take all night we’re not going in after them,” Vera stated flatly. “They might spring a trap and do the same to us. I wouldn’t put anything past Frances—”

“Taking a long while, anyway,” Cynthia Vane said. “I’m not going to get much fun out of this if they don’t hurry up! ’Sides, I want my tea.”

“Tea can wait for a treat like this,” Molly Webster said, leaning back on the grass.

So another twenty minutes passed without anything happening.

“I suppose,” Cynthia said doubtfully, “we shouldn’t—?”

“No!” Vera retorted. “And shut up!”

But even Vera began to become uneasy when a full hour and a half had gone by and the girls had not appeared. At the most Vera had reckoned her painful idea of a joke would not take more than thirty minutes.…

“Oh, confound them!” she said at last, getting to her feet impatiently. “They must have gone the other way without their shoes, or something, just to spite us. We’d better look. Come on.”

She led the way across the lane, over the stile, then re-entered the wood warily. The shoes were still there by the stile, as they had been throughout the full period. In the wood itself there was dead silence, save for the rustling of the leaves in the wind. The chill of evening was on it now, too.

“Gently,” Vera cautioned, as the others caught up with her. “Be ready for anything—”

But nothing untoward occurred. Until finally they came through the last bushes surrounding the little clearing— They stopped dead, paralysed at the sight that had burst upon them. Sheer horror absolutely held them rigid. They wanted to run, to scream, to cry out—but they couldn’t do any of these things. They could only go staring and feel their mouths get dry and their faces hot.

Lying flat on the ground, obviously unconscious, were Joan Dawson and Beryl Mather, still bound and gagged as before. This in itself was unexpected and unpleasant enough—but the worst sight of all was of Frances Hasleigh hanging from the lowest branch of a nearby tree, her hands still corded behind her and her feet a good six inches from the ground. She even swayed gently in the wind, a terrible puppet at the end of a rope.

“Oh!” Vera gulped, perspiration standing out in big drops on her colourless face. “Oh, God, she’s— She’s been hung!” she screamed abruptly. “Quick—get out of here—!”

Her own blind panic was as nothing compared to Molly’s and Cynthia’s. They swung round and raced for their lives back to the lane, tripping and falling as they went, blundering out at last over the stile.… Here, after a moment or two of stormy breathing, they began to collect their wits.

“What—what on earth do we do now?” Molly stammered. “Something terrible’s happened—and we’ll be blamed for it!”

“We didn’t do it, you idiot!” Cynthia shrieked, visibly shaking with fright.

“We’ve got to tell Miss Black,” Vera said. “We’ll have to! Come on—”

So they turned and ran all the way back to the school, came through the gates like track runners, to be followed by the amazed stares of the girls lounging about the quadrangle. Breathless and dusty, the three finally reached Maria’s study and blundered in after each other without as much as a knock.

“Girls! Girls!” Maria cried imperiously, jumping to her feet. “Such unseemly behaviour! Remember where you are!”

“It’s—it’s Frances!” Vera babbled, “She’s been hung!”

“She’s been what?”

“She’s hanging there in Bollin’s Wood,” Cynthia Vane went on hysterically. “We’ve just seen her! Tied up to a tree by her neck. Her wrists and ankles, bound. A gag in her mouth— And Joan Dawson and Beryl Mather are there, too, senseless. Oh, this is awful.… I think I’m going to faint.”

“Steady, girls,” Maria breathed, her face sternly set. “Steady, I say! This is a desperately serious matter.… Here, I’ll come back with you right away.”

She turned, slipped on her hat and coat, then accompanied the girls outside. The stares were more prolonged than ever at the sight of the usually majestic Maria speeding along with her hat slightly awry and three chattering girls with her.

In seven minutes flat they were at the site of the tragedy, and Maria paused for a moment as the terrible scene confronted her. Then, getting a hold of herself, she went over to the hanging girl and stared up at her. There was not the least doubt of the fact that she was dead. Her eyes were starting horribly and her face had the dull purple tint of strangulation. Across her mouth, wedged between the teeth, was the rough gag.… Maria gave a little shiver, then felt the girl’s tied hands. They were warm.

“Webster,” she said briefly, turning to the startled Molly, “go to the village police station immediately and fetch Inspector Morgan back with you. Tell him what has happened and ask him to fetch a doctor with him. Hurry!”

“Yes, Miss Black!” And the girl went at top speed.

Then Maria transferred her attention to Joan and Beryl. Joan did not seem far from recovering consciousness, but Beryl was out cold. Maria’s hand detected the lump on the back of the fat girl’s head, which had obviously been the cause of her collapse. As far as Joan was concerned there was no such evidence: perhaps shock had done it in her case.

In a few moments both girls were unfastened, Joan proving the easiest to untie. Maria went to work to revive them while Vera Randal was sent to the nearest house in the lane for water. In ten minutes both girls were looking about them, dazed and breathless.

“What on earth happened—?” Joan whispered moving stiffly. “I was— Oh, I remember! Something hit me in the jaw! Oh, it’s you, Miss Black!” Startled realisation of something wrong came suddenly into her pale face. Her eyes moved and rested finally on the swinging body. “Ohh!” Her voice was a screech. “It’s—it’s Frances! Look—look—!”

“Steady, steady,” Maria murmured, patting her arm. “Just keep a hold on yourself, my dear—and don’t look towards that tree more than you have to—”

“But—but she’s hanging!” Beryl Mather whispered, staring at the body as though trying to understand it. “How is she—?” Then suddenly it dawned on her what horrible implication was behind it, and her big body started to shake with something between tears and explosions of fear.

Altogether, Maria had her hands full for the next few minutes trying to force both girls to calm themselves. Gradually they did so: they could do little else in Maria’s masterful presence,

“You were hit on the head, Beryl, weren’t you?” Maria asked.

She nodded painfully. “And it still aches horribly, m’m. I was trying to free myself when something hit me on the head and I passed out.”

“Free yourself?” Maria repeated sharply.

“All three of us were left tied up,” Joan said looking up at Vera Randal. “Then we had our shoes taken off and were left to walk or jump back to the stile by the lane—”

“Indeed!” Maria turned a grim face to Vera. “From the look I saw Joan just give you, young lady, I imagine you had something to do with the matter?”

“Yes,” the big girl acknowledged sheepishly. And without any further hesitation she told the whole story, finishing lamely, “It was only meant as a joke—and it finished like this!”

Maria tightened her lips then she glanced up at sudden sounds in the undergrowth and three figures appeared—Inspector Morgan, whom she knew quite well, Dr. Roberts, who did most of the local police medical work, and the still scared Molly Webster.

“This is a pretty horrible business, Miss Black,” Morgan said, his eyes on the body. “This girl has been telling me all about it—”

“I left the body as it is until you have examined it,” Maria answered, then she stood at the side of the inspector and watched as Dr. Roberts studied the body intently from various angles. At length he gave a nod.

“We can take it down now, Inspector,” he said. It was no easy job. Morgan had to climb up the tree and along the branch to grapple with a thrice-knotted cord, while the doctor supported the body from below to take off the strain. But it was done finally, and the late Frances Hasleigh was laid down gently in the undergrowth and the cord and gag were removed.… Then came the task of unfastening her hands. Here again there were tight triple knots to wrestle with.

“Somebody certainly didn’t mean her getting free,” Morgan breathed finally, when at last the job was done. “All right, Doctor, it’s your province now.”

Roberts nodded and went to work. It was nearly ten minutes later before he had finished his diagnosis.

“Obviously death from strangulation,” he said grimly, getting to his feet. “She has been dead for a little over an hour. There is also a faint bruise on the back of her neck under each ear. They were inflicted before death. Near as I can judge they might have been caused by the pressure of somebody’s hand.… That’s about all I can tell you—Oh, except for one thing.” Roberts picked up his bag and glanced across at Maria.

“This was about the oldest pupil you ever had in your college, madam. From her teeth and general development I judge her at least twenty-three. Does that interest you?”

“Definitely it does,” Maria nodded, “but it does not entirely surprise me. I had already suspected it.”

“Up to you now, Inspector.” Roberts turned to go. “I’ll see you in the Coroner’s court. Good evening, Miss Black—”

For a moment the inspector stood frowning thoughtfully.

“The body will either have to be taken back to your school, Miss Black, or else to the mortuary until her parents can be fetched.… Which do you suggest?”

“The mortuary hardly fits the case, Inspector,” Maria replied, reflecting. “After all, the college is—or was—her home for the time being, and it is there she should be taken now. But I must ask you to bear in mind that I have hundreds of girls under my care, so please wait until darkness has fallen, then have her brought in an ambulance. I’ll meet you at the school gates at ten o’clock and we’ll have her locked in a private bedroom in the visitors’ wing. I am sure that that will be best.”

He nodded. “Very well. I’ll see to that and notify the Coroner. For the moment I just want the immediate details. Who found the body in the first place?”

“We did,” Vera Randal volunteered, nodding to her pals. “We were playing a joke on Frances and her two friends here. We left them bound and gagged, then took their shoes and put them by the stile in the lane. We wanted them to hop their way out of the wood.… When after an hour and a half they didn’t appear, we thought there must be something wrong— We found Beryl and Joan unconscious and Frances hanging on that tree branch.”

Morgan nodded slowly, jotting down notes in the fading light. “You provided the ropes for this—er—joke?” he asked coldly.

“Only for the hand-tying,” Vera said quickly. “We never saw that long silky cord which Frances had round her neck. And we didn’t tie her hands that tightly, either. Somebody else must have re-tied her wrists when we’d gone.”

“I see.… What was the deceased’s full name, Miss Black?”

“Frances Hasleigh, Inspector—but there is a definite amount of peculiarity attached to her parentage. In fact, I think we might have a private chat about her connections up at the college. How about tonight after you have brought the body home?”

“Maybe it would be as well,” he agreed. “In the meantime I’ll have a look round here with what daylight there is left. I’ll see you at ten o’clock then, Miss Black, outside the gates.”

She nodded and jerked her head imperiously to the girls.

“This way, girls—if you two are fit to walk?” she added with a glance at Joan and Beryl.

They both nodded, apparently forgetting for the moment they had no shoes on. Joan had hardly taken one step forward before she gave a yelp of anguish and sat down quickly, holding her foot.

“Thorns!” she gasped painfully. “Nearly cut my foot to ribbons! Vera, you rotten beast, you—! Sorry, Miss Black,” she broke off, as Maria gave her a grim look.

“Vera, fetch those shoes immediately,” Maria snapped. “And if you ever dare to think of such an escapade again, I’ll demote you to a lower form and take away all your privileges. Hurry, girl! It’s getting dark!”

Vera went and returned quickly. Thankfully Joan slipped her shoes on, and Beryl did likewise—but even so Joan walked gingerly and with obvious pain after her adventure with the thorns. Maria watched her gravely as she came hobbling up. Beryl Mather however, did not seem in the least troubled, ambling along with her usual side-to-side motion.

“What do I do with these, Miss Black?” Vera asked, holding out Frances’s shoes.

“I’ll take them,” Maria responded, then she led the way over the stile and into the lane. Here she looked round on the serious faces. “Girls, I have something to say to you. This terrible affair is going to mean an exhaustive police inquiry, of course, involving all of you. Whatever may transpire, you must tell the truth every time. Never mind what revelations it may mean—such as your rather vindictive joke conception, Vera. Don’t try and evade anything. Lastly, none of you are to breathe a word of this to any of the other girls. What information they may glean from the newspapers does not require colouring by you. Is that understood?”

“Yes, m’m,” they answered in chorus.

“Good! And not a word must be said about the ambulance tonight. I shall severely punish any of you who dare disobey!”

Maria led the way back to the school as the darkness was closing down, left the girls to scatter to their own quarters, and went along to her study. She found Miss Tanby waiting there.

“Oh, so here you are, Miss Black! I’ve been waiting to ask your opinion of this chemistry thesis by Pragnell of the Fifth. I think she—”

“Murder—sure as fate!” Maria breathed, laying Frances’s shoes down gently on the desk and getting out of her hat and coat.

Tanby gave a start. “Mur—murder?”

“Miss Tanby, prepare yourself for a shock!” Maria turned and faced her across the desk. “Frances Hasleigh has been murdered!”

Tanby felt behind her for a chair, sank into it, clearly shocked.

Briefly Maria outlined the facts, then she sat down at her desk. “In other words, Miss Tanby, I am face to face with murder right on my own home ground, as it were, and one of my own pupils as the victim! The tragedy and horror of the thing apart, I cannot help but welcome the chance it gives me.… Though I must say I never quite expected that strange girl to finish up so violently, or so suddenly.”

“But what are we going to do?” the Housemistress bleated. “Think of the scandal! This school will be the main topic of conversation from one end of the country to the other once the news is published.…”

“That is to be expected,” Maria shrugged. “One cannot have a pupil murdered without the Press extracting glory from the fact. Fortunately, the urgency of the war will keep us off the front pages, anyway. My immediate duty is to advise the Board of Governors as to what has happened, then communicate with the parents of the five other girls involved and make the facts as clear as I can.… The trouble is that Vera Randal and her two friends may have laid themselves open to arrest unless they can fully satisfy the police that they had nothing to do with it.”

“Yes,” Tanby admitted, bewildered, “I suppose that’s true. But I’m sure they wouldn’t do such a thing!”

“Unfortunately, Miss Tanby, the police will not just take your word for it. Anyway, you have the facts, and now I shall give you your orders. All talk of this matter among the girls is to be ruthlessly stamped out, and the visitors’ wing is to be out of bounds to everybody except you or me. As I have told you, the body will be placed in Room 10 in the visitors’ wing until it is decided what is to be done.… Is that quite clear?”

“Yes, Miss Black. And you?”

“I shall write to the various parents immediately, and then try and get in touch with Major Hasleigh through his bankers. For the moment, that is all. Most of my duties I shall have to turn over to you, Miss Tanby, for from what I can see, I am going to be very busy—very.”

The Housemistress nodded and left the study dazedly. Maria sat in thought for a while—then out came her inevitable black book. She wrote swiftly:

The mystery surrounding Frances Hasleigh has now developed into a tragedy. She was found hung today in Bollin’s Wood following a joke (so called) by three girls of the Sixth. Two points are interesting: 1. The rope about the wrists and the neck was knotted in a rather strange fashion—three times. And 2. She was a woman of 23 and not 16 years of age. Shall have to look into this matter privately, for I cannot think at this stage who would want to kill the girl. All I can recall, indeed, is the threat of Robert Lever that ‘many a man might slit her throat for telling lies as she did.’ Must look further. The time is 9:00 p.m.

Next, she turned her attention to typing out letters to the various parents concerned, including a letter to the head of the Board of Governors. Altogether, with the amount of thought she put into them, it took her an hour. Then she collected them all, put on her hat and coat, and went with them to the school mailbox, thereafter taking up her position inside the gateway to wait her appointment with Inspector Morgan.