Cartwright gave his quick smile. “That job’s still open for you, Inspector.”
“No, thank you, sir, but there is one—what you might call—lost soul in need of one rather badly. A defector from St. Anselm’s. I doubt if she’s really employable myself.”
“I could see,” offered Cartwright.
“The name is Lome, Miss Eileen Lome. I’ll give you her address.”
“And I’ll give you my London one.”
Sloan coughed. “I have it, sir, thank you.”
Cartwright nodded gravely. “I was forgetting. But I’ll be coming back to The Bull. Funny thing you know, The Bull doesn’t mean the animal at all.”
“No, sir?”
“No. It means the Papal Bull. Isn’t that odd? The Mother Superior told me.”
Sloan went back to the car and tapped Crosby on the shoulder. “Get thee to a nunnery.”
Sister Gertrude set off in the direction of the Parlor. There must be visitors there again. Usually Sister Lucy was sent for, but today Sister Lucy was being kept very busy by the Mother Superior on the question of the cost of a cloister. And this time they knew where the money was coming from. Mr. Harold Cartwright. Usually, when the Convent of St. Anselm spent some money they had no idea from whence the wherewithal would appear. It always came, of course, but that was not easy to explain to a builder.
She hurried down the great staircase and wondered how long it would be before she could look at the newel post without a shudder. There was a portrait at the bottom of the stairs, framed and glass-covered. If you stood in a certain way you could catch sight of your own reflection. Sister Gertrude paused, squinted up at herself and pulled her coif quite straight. Very wrong of her, of course. She would try not to do it again. But it was a temptation.
She joined the Mother Superior and went into the Parlor.
“So it was Mr. Ranby all the time,” said the Mother Superior directly.
“Yes, marm,” said Sloan. “He swallowed the bait—Sergeant Perkins—hook, line and sinker. If I may say so, Father MacAuley has a real talent for dissembling. Ranby never guessed the idea of the night watch was all a put-up job.”
“Inspector, there is no doubt is there?”
“No, marm, we’ve found out other things too. He shaved twice that day and so on.”
“Poor soul,” she said compassionately, “to be so concerned with the passing things of this world.”
“Yes, marm.” He coughed. “Miss Faine … how …”
“Father MacAuley went to see her this morning after Mass. We must pray for her.”
Sloan shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Of course.”
“The two boys from the Institute?” she enquired.
Sloan brightened. “They’re taking it very well. It’s quite taken their minds off Tewn.”
“Inspector, when did you first suspect …?”
“Sister Lucy was white and shaking when I got here yesterday after you’d found Tewn’s body. It wasn’t that that had upset her because she hadn’t seen it. What she had seen, of course, was Ranby. And Ranby had seen her and realized he’d killed the wrong Sister.”
“He must have been a desperate man by last night.”
“He was, marm. He tried to kill Sergeant Perkins. There was no doubt about that.”
The Mother Superior inclined her head. “Sergeant Perkins is a courageous woman.”
“In the course of duty, marm,” he said hastily. It was a different discipline, a different dedication from that of the Sisters, but for all that it was still an equally dedicated way. “About Hobbett.…”
“In future,” she said dryly, “he can ring for Sister Polycarp.”
A bell suddenly echoed through the Convent. Both nuns rose, Sister Gertrude with a perceptible start. She had been wondering who it would be among the Community who would be bidden to move into the cell that had been Sister Anne’s, the cell next to Sister St. Hilda the snorer. Was it wrong to pray God it wouldn’t be her?
Sister Polycarp stumped to the door with the two policemen. “Good day, gentlemen.…”
Was it Sloan’s imagination or did she slam the grille behind them?
Crosby looked back at the Convent. “You wouldn’t have thought, sir, would you, that after all that, it would turn out to be a crime passionnel?” He pronounced it “cream.” “Not here.”
“No,” said Sloan shortly, “you wouldn’t.”
“That motto on the door, Inspector.…”
“Well?”
“Do we really know what it means?”
Sloan turned on his heel and stared at the writing. “Pax Intrantibus, Salus Exeuntibus. Didn’t you look it up, Crosby? You should have done. Very enlightening.”
“Please sir …”
“Peace to those who enter,” translated Sloan. “Salvation to those who leave.”
THE END
About the Author
Catherine Aird is the author of more than twenty volumes of detective mysteries and three collections of short stories. Most of her fiction features Detective Inspector C.D. Sloan and Detective Constable W.E. Crosby. Aird holds an honorary master’s degree from the University of Kent and was made a Member of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire (MBE) for her services to the Girl Guide Association. She lives in a village in East Kent, England.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
© Noel Coward, “The Stately Homes of England” taken from The Complete Lyrics of Noel Coward, used by permission of Bloomsbury Methuen Drama, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc.
Extract from “The Stately Homes of England” copyright © NC Aventales AG 1937 by permission of Alan Brodie Representation Ltd
Copyright © 1966 by Catherine Aird
Cover design by Tracey Dunham
ISBN: 978-1-5040-1070-2
This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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