‘A golf club?’ said Miss Chadwick vaguely. ‘I can’t remember—Oh, yes, I think I picked it up in the hall. I took it out with me in case—well, in case I should have to use it. When I saw Eleanor I suppose I just dropped it. Then I got back to the house somehow and I found Miss Johnson—Oh! I can’t bear it. I can’t bear it—this will be the end of Meadowbank—’

Miss Chadwick’s voice rose hysterically. Miss Johnson came forward.

‘To discover two murders is too much of a strain for anyone,’ said Miss Johnson. ‘Certainly for anyone her age. You don’t want to ask her any more, do you?’

Inspector Kelsey shook his head.

As he was going downstairs, he noticed a pile of old-fashioned sandbags with buckets in an alcove. Dating from the war, perhaps, but the uneasy thought occurred to him that it needn’t have been a professional with a cosh who had slugged Miss Vansittart. Someone in the building, someone who hadn’t wished to risk the sound of a shot a second time, and who, very likely, had disposed of the incriminating pistol after the last murder, could have helped themselves to an innocent-looking but lethal weapon—and possibly even replaced it tidily afterwards!

Chapter 16

The Riddle of the Sports Pavilion

‘My head is bloody but unbowed,’ said Adam to himself.

He was looking at Miss Bulstrode. He had never, he thought, admired a woman more. She sat, cool and unmoved, with her lifework falling in ruins about her.

From time to time telephone calls came through announcing that yet another pupil was being removed.

Finally Miss Bulstrode had taken her decision. Excusing herself to the police officers, she summoned Ann Shapland, and dictated a brief statement. The school would be closed until the end of term. Parents who found it inconvenient to have their children home, were welcome to leave them in her care and their education would be continued.

‘You’ve got the list of parents’ names and addresses? And their telephone numbers?’

‘Yes, Miss Bulstrode.’

‘Then start on the telephone. After that see a typed notice goes to everyone.’

‘Yes, Miss Bulstrode.’

On her way out, Ann Shapland paused near the door.

She flushed and her words came with a rush.

‘Excuse me, Miss Bulstrode. It’s not my business—but isn’t it a pity to—to be premature? I mean—after the first panic, when people have had time to think—surely they won’t want to take the girls away. They’ll be sensible and think better of it.’

Miss Bulstrode looked at her keenly.

‘You think I’m accepting defeat too easily?’

Ann flushed.

‘I know—you think it’s cheek. But—but, well then, yes, I do.’

‘You’re a fighter, child, I’m glad to see. But you’re quite wrong. I’m not accepting defeat. I’m going on my knowledge of human nature. Urge people to take their children away, force it on them—and they won’t want to nearly so much. They’ll think up reasons for letting them remain. Or at the worst they’ll decide to let them come back next term—if there is a next term,’ she added grimly.