When the introductions were over, and all had drinks, Sir Thomas said: “Gentlemen, Mr Masters has something he wishes to say, so would everybody find a seat, please.”
“Fetch the girls,” Masters whispered to Reed.
“Now, Chief?”
“Straight away.”
“Well,” said Hildidge heavily. “What now, Mr Masters?”
“Just a moment, please. We have two other interested parties: Rachel and June. The young ladies are just finishing off large slabs of fruit cake, I understand.”
“What’s June got to do with this?” demanded Hall. He waved one long arm around. He was tall and thin and, though scarcely in his mid-forties, gave the impression of a rather lugubrious senior citizen.
“Quite a bit, but nothing serious,” replied Masters. “She and Rachel have been rather made use of, I fear . . .”
At that point the door opened and two fourteen-year-old little beauties came in. Rachel was fair, June was dark, but they wore identical jeans and T-shirts which showed off their budding figures admirably. They had the clear skins of youth, and the wide eyes of knowing and well-informed innocence. They had been enjoying themselves in the kitchen, and their attitude suggested they intended to go on enjoying themselves in this gathering.
“Sit down, please,” ordered Masters. “The floor will do. Where you are, in the middle of the party.”
As the two girls sat, Masters turned to look round the men. “I would appreciate it, gentlemen, if, despite any strong urge to the contrary, you would not interrupt what we have to say. This is by way of being a social gathering, but I think you will find it to be of significance to all of you. Your co-operation will be of value.”
Without waiting for the several replies, Masters said: “I’m going to tell you a story of failure—on my part—which I hope will turn out to be an eventual success. In Sir Thomas Kenny’s hall is a telephone table, with a small drawer in which he keeps a key to the secretary’s door of Bramthorpe College. Last night, I borrowed that key . . .” Masters held up his hand to silence Sir Thomas who was about to expostulate, “. . . I borrowed the key and, from its white, pear-shaped fob, my sergeants lifted the fingerprints of what they guessed was an immature young woman.”
Green put his hand on Rachel’s shoulder as she seemed about to speak.
Masters continued: “On a shelf in a kitchen unit in the School House kitchen we discovered several cardboard drums, the contents of which had been removed and replaced by inedible substitutes.” Masters looked at the girls. “We found the fingerprints of immature young women on those drums, too, and to our great surprise, one set on the drums matched the specimens we found on the key fob.”
This time there was no holding the outbreak from the men, but Masters refused to be drawn, and held up both hands until he once again had silence.
“No you may wonder why I lifted Sir Thomas’ key. The answer to that is simple. Very early on we were of the opinion that a girlish prank was beginning to loom large in our investigations. I, therefore, made it my business to know which girls in the school were related to a keyholder, and I discovered that there was only one such girl. And that was you, Rachel. So I had to test that key. I could have been unlucky. But I wasn’t. There were the prints of a girl’s fingers and those prints coincided with some of those from the drums.”
Both girls were watching him with fierce attention, and even the men had lapsed into a state of unblinking concentration.
“Now I knew that the most likely girl to have touched that key would be Rachel. But I was told that June sometimes came to this house, so it could just be that June had left her prints on it.” He turned to June’s father as the latter spluttered angrily. “Please don’t take on, Mr Hall. As police officers we must attempt to see every possibility. Were we not to do so, you—if you were not so intimately involved—would, quite rightly, condemn us for dereliction of duty. As it is, I am doing you the courtesy of letting you know our thought processes and I have already confessed to being mistaken.”
Masters took his pipe from his pocket and a brassy tin of Warlock Flake. After he had opened the tin and selected a leaf of tobacco, he continued: “As I think I now know, that key was not used for entering the school premises, but you will admit that I had a right to believe that it had been so used in view of the same prints appearing in Miss Holland’s kitchen.” He looked down at the girls. “Please tell me which of you handled the key and for what reason.”
Rachel said: “It must have been me. I knew where it was kept and I rummage a bit when I’m here, you know. Grandad never minds as long as I don’t interfere with anything serious.”
“Thank you. So shall we say that your prints were also among those on the drums of flavourings?”
“I suppose you must.” She turned to June Hall. “We should have worn gloves. All the best burglars do, and we . . .”
“Please!” interrupted Masters. “Don’t go on like that. You are causing great distress. I think it would be better if you just answer questions very briefly. We now know you entered the School House and enjoyed yourselves at Miss Holland’s expense. Now, tell me, was it at mid-morning break on Tuesday that you went into the house, through the unlocked connecting door?”
“It was,” said June. “But how did you know that?”
“Young desperados like you should realise that even some of us older ones can guess you would choose a day when—because it was common knowledge—you knew Mrs Gibson would be away. You also banked on the fact that Miss Holland took her mid-morning coffee in her school study.”
“Always,” said June.
“Not quite always,” said Masters. “She returned to the house during Tuesday morning break and discovered you two young ladies, didn’t she?”
“It was rotten luck,” said Rachel. “We kept watch and saw her go to her school study as usual.”
“But she let you down. Never mind. Just think back to the time when you saw her go into her school study. Was she alone?”
“No. That’s why we were sure she would be there all through break.”
“Let me guess. Miss Bulmer was with her?”
“That’s not a guess. The Bull told you.”
“I assure you she didn’t. Why should Miss Bulmer tell me she took coffee with Miss Holland last Tuesday?”
“No reason, I suppose. But the Old Dutch did catch Rachel and me in . . . what’s that Latin word? . . . flag something or another.”
“Try red-handed, poppet,” said Green. “I always do. It’s easier.”
“Yes, thank you. She caught us red-handed, so she was sure to tell the Bull when she went back to the school study, wasn’t she? She wouldn’t keep a thing like that to herself.”
“Thank you.” Masters turned to the assembled men. “June has made an important point, which I should like you to note very carefully, gentlemen.” He again addressed the girls. “How did Miss Holland react when she caught you?”
“Jolly well,” said Rachel. “She was a bit shaken at first, of course, but when we confessed what we were doing, she laughed. I think she was in a bit of a hurry. She’d come back to get some papers and wanted to rush back to her coffee and the Bull, but she said she would talk to Mrs Gibson about it, and Mrs Gibson might want us to spend our next free afternoon in her kitchen cleaning up.”
“She was serious about what she said?”
“No, I don’t think so, was she, June? I know I felt jolly foolish. As I say, she was in a hurry, and she made us pick up our packets and she made us walk out in front of her.”
“Like naughty schoolchildren, in fact?”
“I suppose so. But you could tell she thought it was a hell of a joke.”
“Rachel!”
“She did, Daddy. She was trying to be serious and nearly bursting herself with laughing.”
“That will do.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Now,” continued Masters. “I had fixed on Rachel because of the key—a fortunate error on
my part. And I had selected June as an accomplice not only because she was a close friend of Rachel, but because I detected a motive for June’s involvement.”
“Oh!” said young Miss Hall in dismay.
“Sorry, sweetie,” said Green. “It’s got to come out.”
“I suppose so. But with Daddy here . . .”
“Your father won’t get cross,” promised Masters. He looked at Hall sitting glumly across from him. “There are two punishment registers in the school, in which are entered every misdemeanour that warrants any form of disciplinary action. The punishment book is for naughtiness—talking in class, playing tricks on the teacher or whatever it is our future matrons get up to in their form rooms. The other one is the detention book, and in this are entered the names of girls who are kept in school and given extra tasks for backsliding in their work. It is not intended for those who genuinely find difficulty or who try hard and fail. These are rewarded by encouragements. But the scapegraces who skimp their prep and get a delta minus when they are capable of getting an alpha plus are frowned on. Indeed, they are jumped on heavily. Such poor work attracts detention. But there is worse to come. Miss Holland was, quite rightly, so intent on girls realising their full potential and, thereby, raising the academic standards of the school, that even one detention in a term for any one girl was serious enough to earn a reprimand. Three detentions in a term could result in the parents of the girl involved being asked to remove her. In other words, Miss Holland reserved her right to weed out skrimshankers.”
“Quite right, too,” said Sir Thomas. “I agree with upholding standards.”
Masters smiled. “Our young friend June here might not readily agree with you, sir. She appeared in both books. A Miss Corkadale had occasion to punish her for smuggling into a form room what is described in the book as ‘a rude-noise maker’ and proceeding to operate it to what I imagine can only be described as the detriment of good order and scholarly discipline.”
“The Crocodile has no sense of humour,” said Miss June Hall. She looked at Rachel. “It was jolly good, wasn’t it, Raitch? Nice and loud and fruity.”
“June!” Her father sounded despondent.
“And,” continued Masters, “Miss Hall appeared twice in the detention book for gross dereliction over History and English written prep.”
Miss Hall looked faintly abashed.
“I therefore imagined,” continued Masters, “that June had been in hot water and that Miss Holland had warned her that she was near the edge of the precipice. Am I right?”
“Oh, absolutely. She gave me a wigging. Said she was considering what course to take. To ask Daddy to remove me or to send me down a form until I bucked my ideas up. That I think was what she had decided, and that would have been a stinker because they’re all such goons in that form that I would . . .”
“Don’t go on,” said Masters. “We know what your feelings were, and we can guess that to pay Miss Holland back for the stand she was taking you decided to play a practical joke on her.”
“I say,” said Miss Hall, looking up at Masters with large, beautiful and seemingly innocent eyes, “you are an understanding sort for a member of the fuzz, aren’t you? I thought you were all piggy.”
“Thank you for the compliment.” Masters looked across at Hildidge. “So I had opportunity—wrongly arrived at; motive—from the punishment books; and as for means . . . Well, I suppose anybody can go to an art shop and buy paint and plaster. That meant I had the three essentials of a case against these young ladies. However . . .”
“Shouldn’t all this be brought out in court?” asked Hildidge, plainly uncomfortable that the workings of the police should be thus paraded before the lay public.
“If you recall, sir, only this morning you asked me to solve your case without recourse to fingerprinting and the involvement of too many of our young friends in police business. Unfortunately, these two were vital to the business, so I did the best I could. I avoided police stations; I invited their fathers to be present, while you and Sir Thomas are here to see fair play. This way, we can avoid courts—at least for the time being.”
Hildidge shrugged to show he gave reluctant approval for Masters to carry on.
“Rachel and June, who else did you take with you into the School House kitchen?”
“Nobody. We told you. The Old Dutch found just the two of us.”
Masters looked across at Hildidge. “I have already informed you, sir, that we discovered three sets of prints that shouldn’t be there. So, strange as it may seem, there must have been two separate visits to Mrs Gibson’s kitchen that day. One by Rachel and June. One by another person. Please note that this is so great a coincidence that I cannot accept it as fortuitous. I believe the second visit came about as a direct result of the first one having taken place.”
Green grunted to show he was fully in accord with this belief.
“Now,” continued Masters, again addressing the girls, “please tell me exactly what substance you took with you into the kitchen and substituted for the wholesome foodstuffs you found there.”
“A packet of the plaster stuff we use for modelling with in art, and some packets of paint powder.”
“That is all?”
“Yes.”
“You are absolutely positive you took nothing else in there with you?”
Both girls swore they were telling the truth.
“Very well,” said Masters. “Which one of you nearly fainted in Assembly on Wednesday morning?” It was a shot in the dark, but it found its mark. “I did,” whispered June Hall.
“Why?”
“Because . . . because I’d got Raitch to help me and it wasn’t her fault. But it was mine.”
“What was?”
June remained silent.
“You thought Hiss Holland had eaten something that you had taken in and that she had become ill and had died, didn’t you?”
June nodded miserably. “At first, yes.”
“And it shocked you so much you nearly fainted?”
“Yes.”
“You said ‘at first’. What happened to change your mind?”
“It was Rachel. She said Miss Holland had seen exactly what we’d done and which drums we’d refilled, and she wasn’t the sort of juggins who’d forget and then use them. In any case, she wouldn’t be able to eat sauce made with plaster because it would set hard and if she’d used the paint powders the food would have been an awfully funny colour. She wouldn’t have touched it. And even if she had forgotten we’d been there, she’d soon have remembered when she saw red stew or something, wouldn’t she?”
Masters nodded.
“And then,” said Rachel quietly, “we heard Miss Holland had been poisoned with laburnum seeds and we’d not taken any of those in. I don’t think I’ve ever seen laburnum seeds.”
“Nor me,” said June. “So it really wasn’t our fault, was it?”
“No,” said Masters, “it wasn’t your fault. But people who play practical jokes and who get caught by the police get short shrift. Do you understand?”
Both girls nodded.
“Right. Detective Chief Inspector Green is going to think up some punishment for you. Now.”
“That’s right,” said Green as they turned to him. “It is half-past seven and I missed my tea and now I’m missing dinner. By eight o’clock, I want—in here—a plate of good ham sandwiches with mustard, made by you yourselves, and a large pot of coffee. I’ve no doubt some of the other gentlemen here will have similar orders for you to execute. So ask each one. Make a note of them and then skedaddle. And I want everything in here at eight o’clock prompt. Not before. Not after. Got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Right. Sharp’s the word now.”
Green had hit the right note. As the two girls scrambled to their feet there were signs that all those present were beginning to relax. And while the chastened pair went round prettily asking what people would like, Sir Thomas enlisted the help of Ree
d to replenish the glasses.
“Had you got that food business laid on?” asked Hildidge as soon as the girls had left the room. “It looked rehearsed to me.”
“I had asked Bill Green to get rid of them on some pretext at that point if I gave him the hint,” admitted Masters. “You can trust him to come up with some practical and satisfying exercise at such a time.”
“I felt sorry for the kids,” said Green. “They’re a couple of little ravers in my opinion. I wouldn’t have minded having a pair like that myself. It’s natural that bright lasses like that should get up to practical jokes—I’d rather they did that than smoked pot and indulged in illicit sex. Besides, Miss Holland could see the funny side of it. She’d probably done much the same thing herself when she was young, because from the looks of her she’d be just such another as those two are when she was a choker. And then, after the Old Dutch, as they call her, had taken it so well, she went and died. No wonder your June nearly fainted, Mr Hall. And it was good thinking on young Rachel’s part to pull her round, Mr Kenny. So I take it you two gentlemen will not make the mistake of blaming them for what came after?”
“No, no, of course not,” said Hall.
Norman Kenny said: “I just thank heaven they weren’t responsible.”
“Good,” said Masters. “Shall we continue? We had established several things which caused us to reconsider the whole affair. Our situation was: if not the girls, who then? Whose were the third set of fingerprints?”
“What drum were they on?” asked Hildidge.
“On the drum which contained the laburnum seeds was a third, single set of prints, different from the several sets we found on the drums containing plaster and paint. As I am assuming the girls told the truth, I must also assume that the prints on the drums containing plaster and paint are theirs.”
“A fair assumption,” agreed Hildidge.
“Let me tell you what we think happened, and the steps we have taken so far to prove our case. Further proof may be necessary, but only to tie up loose ends.
“Miss Holland returned to her school study where she was entertaining her deputy to morning coffee. The girls tell us she was amused at their prank rather than angry. My belief is that Miss Bulmer saw the amusement on the head’s face and asked the cause of it. I’ve no doubt Miss Holland told the story with some relish and in such great detail that the mathematical mind of Miss Bulmer could visualise the whole scene exactly.
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