A Javelin for Jonah (18 page)

W
e’ve plenty of time to get back to the College for dinner,” said Laura, settling herself beside Dame Beatrice on the back seat of the car when she had wrapped up the picture and placed it on the front seat.

“Plenty of time, but no inclination, so far as I am concerned,” said Dame Beatrice. “We shall return to Joynings in the morning after I have telephoned Mr. Medlar to find out when he will be prepared to receive us.”

“Are we going to spend the night at home, then?”

“No. I have to see my son. He is expecting us at his house in Hertfordshire.”

“Oh, well, that’s not so far away as the New Forest, anyway.” Laura, who, with all her bluntness, had the instinctive courtesy she had inherited from her Highland ancestors, asked no more questions. They dined with Sir Ferdinand Lestrange, his wife and grown-up children, and then Ferdinand took them off to the library.

“I’ve managed to get most of the information you wanted, mother,” he said. “There seems to be nothing wrong with Martin Bagshaw, Gerald Wicks or Celia Jenkins. Of the others, well, you’ve heard about Gascoigne Medlar’s wife and that it was Henry Collier whose cross-examination by a prosecuting barrister in the magistrates’ court turned in favour of the defence and prevented Medlar’s having to stand trial.”

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with Henry,” said Laura. “Hamish likes him, and Hamish has always been a very good judge of character.”

“Yes, but, of course, Mr. Medlar’s gratitude did take the form of making Henry a partner in the very lucrative Joynings enterprise,” Dame Beatrice pointed out.

“But that means Henry stood to lose if Jones’s bad behaviour ended by wrecking the College,” said Laura, “and he would hardly want to do that. So pass, Henry! All’s well.”

“What about the others?” asked Dame Beatrice, turning to her son. “Did you obtain further information?”

“Lesley Cartwright lost her job as a result of a fatal accident at the grammar school where she was in charge of the dancing and gymnasium classes. The accident was directly attributed to her negligence, and the child’s parents sued her. She got off, but had to resign her job and was glad to get a post at Joynings. Miss Yale was head of a big boarding-school for girls in the Midlands. She led a holiday expedition in the Cairngorms and lost two children who fell to their deaths in thick mist. She gave up her headship and was content to find a refuge at Joynings. Barry Fitzroy was a house-master at a minor public school, and was one of those unfortunates who cannot help forming emotional relationships with boys. There was some sort of scandal—I can’t get precise details and I don’t think they would help you, even if I could, but it appears that some boys blew the gaff to their parents and Barry had to leave. He, too, was glad and lucky to get a post at Joynings.”

“His devil may have pursued him even there,” said Laura.

“How do you mean?” asked Ferdinand.

“I think he could have got himself emotionally entangled with Colin. It could have been that, as I see it, which made him so furious when Colin was injured. He was known to be fond of the boy.”

“Be all that as it may,” said Dame Beatrice, “it became increasingly clear to me, as it has to you, my dear Laura, that it was not to the advantage—indeed, it was very much the reverse—of any of the staff to destroy the College, and I can think of nothing which would be more likely to do that than the murder of a member of that staff, followed by the murder of one of the students. However, by this time, if the inspector has carried out my suggestions, tomorrow should see the end of the business and in a short time, comparatively speaking, Gascoigne Medlar and your friend Henry should be able to sleep peacefully and to carry on what I feel is quite a valuable piece of social work. I have no doubt whatever that by their efforts at rehabilitating these socially maladjusted boys and girls, they are preventing crime and even achieving happiness for the subjects of their experiment.”

“Gascoigne only does it for money,” said Laura, throwing cold water on these eulogies.

“Ah, but Henry does not, and Henry, I am sure, is the motivating force behind the reforms.”

“Do the police expect to make an arrest pretty soon?” asked Ferdinand, referring to what, to him, was the practical side of the business.

“In answer to your question, my dear Ferdinand, I am bound to admit that, so far, we have nothing to put before a jury, I’m afraid, although there are one or two interesting points which might repay investigation, for, as you will see, we may venture to suggest where that lethal steel head could have been put on the javelin, and through whose agency.”

“Good Lord!” said Laura. “But that’s the thing in a nutshell, isn’t it?”

“Not quite, although Ferdinand’s researches, which I do hope have not taken up too much of his time…”

“Oh, no, I put a very experienced firm of private jacks on to it,” said Ferdinand. “They ferreted out most of what I’ve told you.”

“Well, they have occasioned in
me
some serious misgivings,” said Laura. “I thought, from Mrs Croc’s hints”—she fixed an accusing eye on her employer—“that I’d begun to get a pretty clear idea of various possible murderers, and that it only remained to pick the right one, but now…”

“What were your conclusions, then?” asked Dame Beatrice, with an eldritch cackle.

“Medlar might have taken a chance, I thought,” said Laura, “if Jones was blackmailing him.”

“There is no evidence that Jones
was
blackmailing him to any serious extent. Jones had fine rooms and a large salary and seems to have been a law unto himself in many ways, but there is no evidence that he was ‘bleeding’ Mr. Medlar.”

“There was the Bertha Potts business.”

“What was that?” asked Ferdinand.

“She claimed that she was pregnant by Jones.”

“But, my dear Laura, that wouldn’t induce Medlar to
murder
him! After all, which would damage the College more— a bit of scandal of that sort, or a murder?” demanded Ferdinand.

“Brings us back to Potts himself, you think? Well, we can’t do anything about
that
. Potts is dead.”

“But not murdered, I think,” said Dame Beatrice. Laura looked at her in surprise.

“I thought that was a
very
open question,” she said.

“I thought so, too, at first, but I have altered my opinion since we talked to Ferdinand, although, of course, the javelin
was
taken to the forge with a request that it be altered.”

“Well, we know it
wasn’t
altered there.”

“And never
could
have been, as we also know.”

“Do go on,” said Ferdinand to Laura. “I always find your deductions interesting.”

“I didn’t really make any more. I’d thought of Barry, of course, for the reason I gave you. He must have been livid when Colin was injured through Jones’s malicious stupidity. It wasn’t only that he was fond of the boy—over-fond, perhaps, judging by his previous reputation, now that we know what it was—but he had hopes of turning out a really first-class long-jumper. I suppose Colin
will
be able to take up athletics again?” Laura added, turning to Dame Beatrice.

“I do not know. The young and fit have marvellous powers of recuperation, but his injuries will take some time yet to right themselves.”

“But what about the other boy?” asked Ferdinand.

“Kirk? Well, I suppose, whoever the murderer was, if Kirk was blackmailing him and making him bring those drinks to the College under threat of exposing him to the police, well, there’s as good a motive as any.”

“Yes, that’s obvious, of course, but I still don’t know who the murderer is.”

“I’d also wondered about Miss Yale,” went on Laura. “Hamish said in one of his letters that he’d asked Miss Yale why she was content to look after a few wretched little maladjusted females at Joynings instead of taking on what he considered would be a worthwhile job for a woman of her capabilities. Of course we know the answer to that now, but I didn’t at the time.”

“But why should
she
murder Jones?” asked Ferdinand. “There would have to be a reason.”

“There could have been, as I saw it. Jones was known to be a pest with women. I think that if Miss Yale had thought Jones was making a set at any of her wretched chicks she would have murdered him quite cheerfully.”

“I think she might have been inhibited, you know, so far as causing the death of another person was concerned,” said Dame Beatrice. “She already had two deaths on her conscience.”

“Yes, it turned out that she had been warned, before she set out on that mountain scramble, about unfavourable weather conditions,” said Ferdinand, “but decided she knew better and so refused to change her plans and took a calculated risk which ended in tragedy and also ended her chosen career.”

“I did just toy with the thought of Lesley, too,” said Laura, “because Jones probably tried to make himself a nuisance there as well.”

“Dear me!” said Ferdinand, laughing. “In your opinion, the female of the species is indeed deadlier than the male! However, you argued pretty logically, I would say, except that, as my mother has pointed out, it was not to any of these people’s advantage to bring scandal and, no doubt, subsequent ruin on the College.”

“People don’t always think about things like that,” retorted Laura, “when they really get desperate.”

“Very true,” said Dame Beatrice. “Well, let us sleep on it. We may need to be up betimes in the morning. Meanwhile, my dear boy, I should like to use your telephone, if I may.”

“The inspector has arrested a man on suspicion of having removed property from enclosed premises with the intention of converting it to his own use?” asked Henry. “The police wish to have a confrontation in the presence of the whole staff? But why, Dame Beatrice? Nobody, so far as I know, has reported anything missing.”

“Perhaps not, Mr. Henry. Nevertheless, concerning this arrest, the inspector and I both feel that we shall be in a stronger position if any of the staff can supply corroborative evidence.”

“I think you will find we shall be loyal to one another, Dame Beatrice”

“But disloyal to the truth, and disloyal to the innocent?” asked Dame Beatrice. “I think you should realize, Mr. Henry, that, since the deaths of Mr. Jones and the lad Kirk, everybody here, whether student or lecturer, has been, to some extent, under suspicion.”

“I don’t care, all the same, for the criminal to be unmasked in public.”

“His trial will take place in public.”

“Well, I’ll see what Gassie has to say, but I don’t think he will be any keener on a staff-meeting show-down than I am.”

“Your scruples do you infinite credit, and I share your sentiments, Mr. Henry. Nevertheless, justice must be seen to be done, and, when it
is
done, I am sure that you and Mr. Gascoigne will be the last to regret it.”

“Anything which touches the good name of Joynings is a matter for regret, Dame Beatrice, and enough harm has been done to the College already by the reports—exaggerated, in many cases—of these terrible murders.”

“Suppose I told you that the College will benefit from what you call this show-down?”

“I hardly see how that can be, unless it proves that none of us was involved.”

“Well, that may be possible, up to a point. You have had your failures as well as your more numerous successes with your students, I take it?”

Henry looked perplexed.

“I thought you had decided that the murderer was not a student,” he said. “I thought the fact that no student could get at a key to the steel-fronted store-cupboard which houses some of the apparatus for the field events proved that.”

“The murderer was already in possession of a key, Mr. Henry.”

“Jonah’s key, do you mean? Oh, no, that’s impossible. He might have got hold of it for the shot which killed Kirk, but not for the javelin, surely!”

“You are right. Forgive me for not enlightening you further, but the inspector and I have an agreement that nothing beyond what I have told you is to be disclosed until the meeting.”

“Where am I to ask Gassie to hold it? In the senior common room? In one of the lecture rooms? In his office or his sitting-room?”

“Well, as the inspector will already have made his arrest, we think that the only place is the local police station. We shall not require the presence of Hamish, Martin, Celia and Jerry, but everybody else should put in an appearance.”

“Including Miss Yale and Lesley? A police station is hardly the place for ladies!”

“I shall be there in the role of duenna,” said Dame Beatrice solemnly.

It was a subdued and somewhat apprehensive group of two women and three men who, given seats, awaited the confrontation which they had been warned to expect.

“Have you
any
idea of what is going to happen, sir?” asked Barry. Gascoigne coughed.

“Gassie, my dear fellow,” he said. “Not ‘sir’ but ‘Gassie.’ We are all friends here until the criminal is unmasked. That is what we have been promised—that the criminal will be unmasked. Needless to say, I have the utmost confidence in all of you.”

“That’s as well,” said Miss Yale, who was seated next to him, “because I don’t think I ever in my life felt less confidence in myself.”

At this moment there was a slight but mysterious interruption. A uniformed policeman opened the door and ushered in Jerry.

“Hullo,” said Henry. “To what are we indebted?”

“We thought you were one of those without a stain on your character,” said Lesley. “Why have you been thrust in with all of us gaolbirds?”

Jerry found a vacant chair and sat down.

“I’ve no idea why I’ve been sent for,” he said. “I had a phone call, about ten minutes after you lot had started for the town, telling me to get my car out and join you here. I say, what’s on? Does anybody know?”

The inspector came in and counted heads.

“Everybody present?” he asked. “Right.” He turned his head towards the open doorway. “Very good, Ryder. You can bring him in.” As a police constable and a tall young man entered, Gascoigne exclaimed, in a startled, incredulous tone,

“Good heavens, Merve! What are
you
doing here?”

“You recognize this man, then, do you, Mr. Medlar?” asked the inspector.

“Certainly. This is Mervyn, who was once one of my students and, later on, joined my staff.”

“Quite so, sir. Now, does anybody recognize this?” The inspector laid on the table a pistol.

“Looks like one of my starting-guns,” said Jerry, bending forward to inspect it.

“You may handle it,” said the inspector. “We’d better be quite sure.”

“Oh, yes, it’s mine all right,” said Jerry. He handed it to Henry. “What do
you
think?” he asked.

“It’s the Webley Conversion .38, of course,” said Henry. “We’ve got a fire-arms certificate for it,” he added. “Where did you get it, Inspector?”

“From Mervyn Sharp, alias Harper, here, when we frisked him.”

“But where did
he
get it?” asked Jerry.

“From the same cupboard as he got the javelin and the shot, sir.”

“You’re a liar!” snarled the prisoner, speaking for the first time. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ryder?” said the inspector, turning to the impassive young constable.

“Taken from Sharp when Police Constable Bellairs and I frisked him upon arrest, sir.”

“Well, why shouldn’t I have a starting-gun?” demanded the prisoner. “It isn’t loaded.”

“Neither is it yours,” the inspector pointed out. “These two gentlemen have declared that it is the property of Mr. Jerry Wicks here.”

“The property of Joynings College, as a matter of fact,” said Gascoigne primly. “Jerry is not the owner.”

“Ah, yes,” said the inspector. “That means that the charge on which I’m holding Sharp is of being on enclosed premises with intent to rob and, further, with intent to murder, both of which intents he has carried out. I shall now formally…”

Before he could finish the sentence, Sharp had leapt from the side of the young police-constable, seized the pistol, which Henry had put down dangerously near that end of the table, and had shot himself in the chest.

“Oh, hell!” said the inspector. “You young fool, Ryder! You ought to have known it was loaded. Quickly! Get a doctor! No. Get Dame Beatrice. She’s in the waiting-room.
She’s
a doctor!”