Miss Bulstrode led the way to the side door.

‘Is this the way Miss Johnson and Miss Chadwick went out?’

‘Yes. You see it leads straight on to the path through the rhododendrons there which comes out at the Sports Pavilion.’

The Inspector had a powerful torch and he and Miss Bulstrode soon reached the building where the lights were now glaring.

‘Fine bit of building,’ said Kelsey, looking at it.

‘It cost us a pretty penny,’ said Miss Bulstrode, ‘but we can afford it,’ she added serenely.

The open door led into a fair-sized room. There were lockers there with the names of the various girls on them. At the end of the room there was a stand for tennis racquets and one for lacrosse sticks. The door at the side led off to showers and changing cubicles. Kelsey paused before going in. Two of his men had been busy. A photographer had just finished his job and another man who was busy testing for fingerprints looked up and said,

‘You can walk straight across the floor, sir. You’ll be all right. We haven’t finished down this end yet.’

Kelsey walked forward to where the police surgeon was kneeling by the body. The latter looked up as Kelsey approached.

‘She was shot from about four feet away,’ he said. ‘Bullet penetrated the heart. Death must have been pretty well instantaneous.’

‘Yes. How long ago?’

‘Say an hour or thereabouts.’

Kelsey nodded. He strolled round to look at the tall figure of Miss Chadwick where she stood grimly, like a watchdog, against one wall. About fifty-five, he judged, good forehead, obstinate mouth, untidy grey hair, no trace of hysteria. The kind of woman, he thought, who could be depended upon in a crisis though she might be overlooked in ordinary everyday life.

‘Miss Chadwick?’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘You came out with Miss Johnson and discovered the body?’

‘Yes. She was just as she is now. She was dead.’

‘And the time?’

‘I looked at my watch when Miss Johnson roused me. It was ten minutes to one.’

Kelsey nodded. That agreed with the time that Miss Johnson had given him. He looked down thoughtfully at the dead woman. Her bright red hair was cut short. She had a freckled face, with a chin which jutted out strongly, and a spare, athletic figure. She was wearing a tweed skirt and a heavy, dark pullover. She had brogues on her feet with no stockings.

‘Any sign of the weapon?’ asked Kelsey.

One of his men shook his head. ‘No sign at all, sir.’

‘What about the torch?’

‘There’s a torch there in the corner.’

‘Any prints on it?’

‘Yes. The dead woman’s.’

‘So she’s the one who had the torch,’ said Kelsey thoughtfully. ‘She came out here with a torch—why?’ He asked it partly of himself, partly of his men, partly of Miss Bulstrode and Miss Chadwick. Finally he seemed to concentrate on the latter. ‘Any ideas?’

Miss Chadwick shook her head. ‘No idea at all. I suppose she might have left something here—forgotten it this afternoon or evening—and come out to fetch it. But it seems rather unlikely in the middle of the night.’