An Oxford Tragedy (9 page)

‘I'm afraid I haven't the remotest idea,' I answered. ‘The whole thing is utterly mystifying. How can anyone explain a murder when there's no clue, and no motive for the murder?'

‘Ah, the truth is you've no imagination,' said Doyne. ‘But I have, and my theory is this. You all remember Maurice's story last night about Fothergill murdering his scout and burying him in the meadow. I believe that this is the second chapter of that old story. Fate working out its inexorable revenge. Somewhere in the scout subconsciousness, you know, there has always been a desire to right that ancient wrong. The vendetta has been handed down from scout to scout, and this is the result. Probably Shirley's scout, day after day for twenty years, heard him complain of his breakfast until at last he could bear it no longer, and shot him through the head. How's that for an explanation?'

‘Ingenious, John, but manifestly fallacious,' said Whitaker. ‘To begin with Shirley has breakfasted for the last three years at home in North Oxford, and Crossett who used to be his scout in college died last year. My explanation is much simpler. Some undergraduate who had felt the heavy hand of the Dean, arrived to shoot him; the Dean was not at home, so rather than waste an opportunity
he shot Shirley instead, and then cleared out. How about that?'

‘Equally impossible,' returned Doyne, ‘the motive is inadequate, and no undergraduate would put on his gloves to shoot the Dean. You must try again.'

Mitton had been growing visibly agitated as the conversation proceeded, and now he turned a bright pink and uttered a not unreasonable protest.

‘For pity's sake stop talking like this about it,' he blurted out. ‘Shirley has not been dead for twenty-four hours, and you can jest about it. You've no business to speak like this about a sacred subject. Surely the whole thing is clear enough. This is, after all, a Christian College, and it is inconceivable that anyone here could have done such an act. The murder must have been the work of a homicidal maniac. He must have hidden himself in the room and waited for poor Shirley there.'

‘Padre, Padre,' interrupted Doyne, ‘you must control your language. How can you speak of the murder of a colleague as a sacred subject. It's really not decent. Besides your theory is ludicrously inadequate. Did Providence inform your homicidal maniac that there would be a revolver waiting for him to use in the Dean's rooms? And did he, when he had finished his shooting, climb out of college over the chapel roof, or did he wait all night hidden in some forgotten corner? Really, I'm disappointed at your efforts to help. I don't think you're really trying.'

Mitton's pink had turned to scarlet, and he was preparing to turn on his tormentor, but the Bursar intervened.

‘You're all off the track,' he said with military bluntness. ‘In affairs like this the obvious solution is usually forgotten, and is nearly always the right one. In this case what happened, I take it, was this. Scarborough and Garnett, who are a pair of rascals anyhow, went up to the Dean's rooms to see whether they could recover their damned
revolver. They were probably both drunk, and one of them picked it up and fired it off. Of course they're out of their minds with fright, and ready to deny everything. But if this Inspector, who seems to know his job, and I put a few searching questions to them to-morrow they'll soon spit out the whole story. I'm sorry for the poor young devils; it's a terrible punishment for taking a drink too many.'

‘Major,' said Doyne, ‘you're worse than the Padre. You don't use your brains at all. Every single bit of evidence is against you. Scarborough's the son of a country squire, and had been brought up with firearms all his life. He might be drunk, but he'd never point a firearm at anyone, whether it was loaded or not. You can't get rid of early training. As for Garnett, all the drink in this college would not, in my humble opinion, make that young gentleman even three parts intoxicated. Besides, by no stretch of imagination can you suppose that Scarborough or Garnett would have put on a pair of gloves in order to ask the Dean to return them their revolver. Hopeless, Major, quite hopeless. But come, Professor, what do you think? This is your special subject, and you ought to be able to help us.'

I was amazed, as we all turned towards Brendel, to observe his embarrassment and distress. He even seemed, as he replied, to have lost temporarily his command of English. He stammered, and spoke in curiously stiff un-English sentences.

‘Excuse me, please, excuse me,' he said. ‘I … I am here a guest. I can in this affair take no part. I have no theory to offer to you.'

‘But I have.' Prendergast had taken no part in the discussion, though he had listened with rapt attention. Now his voice rang through the room with a new note of decision and challenge. He hit the table with his clenched fist as he spoke.

‘Keep these facts in your minds. Shirley was shot by a man in gloves. Very well, the murder was with intention. He was shot with a revolver which Maurice had left on the table. Who knew that Shirley was in Maurice's rooms? Who knew also that there was a loaded revolver in those rooms? Everyone who was dining here last night, and – in all human probability – no other human soul. Is that your conclusion, too, Professor?'

He stopped abruptly, while his words sank in.

Brendel made a gesture, half of resignation, half of agreement, but when he spoke his words were almost an admission that he shared Prendergast's view.

‘No, no,' he said, ‘it is not certain. Your butler who waits on us – he may have heard Mr Shirley say that he would wait in the Dean's rooms; he may, too, have heard us speak of the revolver. It is not certain, indeed it is not.'

I got up from my chair and rang the bell. Callendar came in and stood in front of me.

‘Callendar,' I said, ‘did you hear us speak last night of the revolver in Mr Hargreaves' room?'

‘Yes, Sir, in Hall before you came down to Common Room.'

‘Were you in the room when Mr Shirley said that he would go up to Mr Hargreaves' rooms?'

‘Yes, Sir, I was just putting out the whisky and soda on the side table before I went away.'

‘And did you tell anyone else that Mr Shirley had gone there?'

This time it seemed to me that there was a perceptible pause before he replied, but his answer when it came was clear enough.

‘No, Sir, I had no reason to, Sir.'

‘Thank you, Callendar, that is all,' I said, and he left us.

There was an awkward silence, and then Doyne took the bull by the horns.

‘There's something in what you say, Prendergast,' he said at length. ‘At any rate,' he added drily, ‘it's an avenue which we have got to explore. We can at any rate see which of us deserve to be on the list of suspects. How many dined last night, Winn?'

‘Thirteen,' I said, ‘including Shirley, but Brendel and I were here together in Common Room until Maurice came back and told us of the murder.'

‘That leaves ten,' said Doyne; ‘now, Dixon, what about you?'

‘I'm safe, too,' said Dixon. ‘I went out with Whitaker and Whitaker's guest – Tweddle of Balliol – we let Tweddle out of college and then sat talking in Whitaker's rooms till nearly midnight.'

‘Then that disposes of you three.'

‘No, by Jove, it doesn't,' said Whitaker. ‘Tweddle came back ten minutes after he left to say that he had left a scarf behind, as indeed he had. That must have been just before ten.'

‘So he was in college again for five minutes on his own,' said Doyne. ‘Just long enough to do the business.'

‘Yes, but hang it all,' protested Whitaker, ‘I don't suppose he knew Shirley from Adam. You really can't imagine that he did it.'

‘A scientist from Balliol might do anything,' said Doyne judicially. ‘Besides, Shirley had probably insulted him at least once at dinner. Anyhow, he goes down on the list of suspects. Shepardson, you're next.'

‘I had two pupils, Howe and Martin; they were with me till after ten, I know. I can't remember the exact time. After that I read a novel, and then I went to bed.'

‘A doubtful case,' said Doyne. ‘If you were quick you had time to do it after Howe and Martin left you, but only just. I fancy that you're almost entitled to the benefit of the doubt, but not quite. I shall have to put you among the
suspects, at least until the evidence of Howe and Martin has been taken. Your turn, Bursar.'

‘I went out with Mitton – I forget just when. I meant to look over some accounts, but as a matter of fact I went to sleep in my chair, and didn't wake up until it was time to go to bed.'

‘Highly suspicious, Major, especially for a man whose profession was so long one of legalized slaughter. You join the suspects.'

Trower, I could see, did not like the pleasantry, but he said nothing, and Doyne turned to Mitton.

‘Well, Mitt?'

The Chaplain blushed even more fiercely than ever. ‘I went straight to my rooms,' he said, ‘and you know I don't sleep very well when I've had a glass of port, so I sat down and played patience for an hour or more to calm my nerves before bedtime.'

‘Lamentable!' exclaimed Doyne. ‘The grown male who will play a lonely game of patience might murder anyone. Your name heads the list of suspects. Who else was dining, Winn?'

I did not at all like the trend of the conversation, but, having gone so far, it was impossible to turn back. ‘Hargreaves, Mottram, Prendergast and yourself,' I said.

Doyne thought a moment, then smiled rather wryly.

‘I'm afraid you must go on the list, Maurice; you found him and therefore you could have shot him. Now, Mottram?'

Mottram looked dreadfully ill and haggard, and I felt sorry for him. He was the only one there who could fairly be described as a friend of the dead man's, and I began to think that the murder, coming on top of his own disappointment with his work, had been too much for him. But he answered readily enough.

‘I drove up to the Lab. in my car, about nine o'clock,
I suppose, and worked there most of the evening. Let me see. One of the demonstrators from next door came in to see me just after I arrived, and Holt of Magdalen, who has the room opposite, and who was working late, came in for a cigarette just after ten. Otherwise I was alone. I came back to bed between twelve and one, and left the car for the night outside college.'

‘That's clear enough,' said Doyne, ‘but even you aren't quite safe. With your car you could have come down to college and gone back again to the Lab. in a quarter of an hour. You're on the list, too.'

Prendergast's turn came next.

‘I went out of Common Room as you know at ten o'clock,' he said. ‘I had a pupil to whom I'd promised to lend some books then. I waited for him, but for some reason he never came. I thought it was too late to come back to Common Room, so I worked at some notes for my lecture to-day until Pine came running up and told me what had happened.'

Doyne whistled. ‘You're as bad as the rest,' he said. ‘Not a soul to answer for you just at the critical time.'

‘And what about yourself, John?' asked Prendergast.

‘Let me see,' said Doyne. ‘I went out of Common Room when Pine told us that there was a noise going on in the Quad – about a quarter to ten, I suppose. I waited for a bit in the front Quad, and then I strolled into the back Quad, to see if things were all right there. I found that most of the young men had retired to their rooms – there was a good deal of noise, but no harm being done. I was just coming back when I saw Polson – the stroke of the second togger – in an advanced state of intoxication. He was in fact extremely tight, and his friends seemed to have temporarily deserted him. He's a nice lad really, and I didn't want him to get into any trouble, so I thought I'd take him to his rooms. I did that, and a pretty tough job
it was. Having got him there I thought I'd better see him safely into bed, so I did that, too. No boy's job either.'

He paused and looked round. ‘Good Lord,' he said, ‘I'm in the worst position of the lot. The only witness to my innocence is an undergraduate who was much too drunk to remember seeing me at all. I'll have to bracket myself with Mitt at the top of the suspects' list.'

‘But this is fantastic,' said Prendergast. ‘I never heard of such a rotten set of alibis. Twelve of us dined with Shirley last night, and of those eight, if you include this Tweddle creature from Balliol, haven't a shadow of proof of their innocence. It's fantastic, I say.'

‘The whole thing is fantastic,' said Dixon. ‘Shirley is murdered without rhyme or reason; the murderer leaves no trace whatever, and eight men of unblemished reputation are found by your infernal deductions to contain among them a brutal and accomplished murderer. Are we all quite sane?'

‘For heaven's sake don't let us lose our heads,' I cried. ‘This affair is getting on our nerves. I don't believe for a single instant that anyone who dined last night killed Shirley, however convincing Prendergast's arguments may sound. But we
must
find out who the murderer was. If we don't, life here will be intolerable for us all; we'll be left with a hideous suspicion that one of those eight did it. It'll poison our whole lives. We can't go on like that. Brendel,' I said, turning to him almost savagely, ‘you
must
help us. You can't refuse now. Think what our position is if this crime remains a mystery! For heaven's sake say you will help.'

He made a deprecatory movement with his hand.

‘I don't know whether I can help, but, yes, I must try. I was afraid that you would say that, and it's true enough. Yes. I'll try to find the murderer for you, but listen.' His voice became very grave as he spoke. ‘I am afraid, I am terribly afraid, of what I shall find.'

We did not stay much longer in Common Room after that. Everyone was ill at ease, and I was glad enough to make an excuse to get away. Brendel had intimated to me that there were questions which he wished to ask me, and I suggested that there was no time for them like the present. As we walked out into the Quad, a figure stepped out of the shadow, and accosted me. It was Callendar.