St. Peter's Finger

chapter 22

reconnaissance

“Heaven and erthe and also helle,

And all that ever in hem dwelle.”

anon.: Good Day, Sire Cristemas.

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Mother saint jude,” said Mrs. Bradley, going back to the guest-house and waylaying the little nun as she was leaving the guest-house for the cloister, “don’t let me delay you, but I wonder whether you can remember a trifling point in connection with a child— one of the orphans—whom Miss Bonnet knocked over in a netball practice on the day that Ursula Doyle was found dead.”

“I remember that the child was injured.”

“How did you come to be brought into the thing? It isn’t part of your work to attend to injured orphans.”

“Miss Bonnet herself came and fetched me from the guest-house. I stayed with the child and with Sister Saint Ambrose until it was time for us to go to Vespers, and then Miss Bonnet kindly offered to stay with the child until it was time for us to begin the afternoon lessons.”

“But she didn’t stay with her, did she?”

“She was with her when we came back. She explained that she had been away for a time to give some extra coaching in gymnastics.”

“Yes, that seems to be true.”

“Do you believe, then—?” The nun looked surprised. Mrs. Bradley laughed.

“Mother Saint Francis told me, long ago, that Miss Bonnet was a liar,” she observed. “One more question: have you any reason to suspect that one of the gas fires in the guest-house consumed more gas than usual the week the child was found dead!”

“No, certainly not. There is only one gas fire in the guest-house, and that is the one you saw in the northern wall of the parlour, the small portable heater. You did see it, you remember?”

“Yes, of course. What other gas appliances are there, besides the geyser?”

“None at all. There are geysers in all three bathrooms.”

“Yes, I know. I have looked at them all. I will be frank with you, Mother Saint Jude. I have to find out whether it is possible that Ursula Doyle was murdered in some place other than the bathroom in which she was found.”

“And her body carried to the bathroom?”

“Yes. There is very little possibility of it, I am afraid, but, if it should turn out so, my problem, a pressing one, would be to discover the room where the murder took place.”

“There are two gas fires in the Orphanage.”

“In the Orphanage?”

Mother Jude smiled and shook her head.

“I agree with you,” she said. “It could not have been done at the Orphanage. The risk of discovery would have been too great. It would have been so much easier in the guest-house, too. Undoubtedly it was the parlour. Strange, though, that no one smelt gas.”

“We can’t be sure that nobody smelt gas,” said Mrs. Bradley. “Several people may not be telling the truth about that. Besides, the very strong smell of that creasote, you know!”

“It is dreadful,” said the nun. “Who would have thought of such a thing?”

“There are several people,” Mrs. Bradley replied. “There is Ulrica Doyle, for example. We can prove that she went into the church, but we cannot prove that she spent the whole of the afternoon school-time there; it covers the time for the murder, that couple of hours. Then there is Miss Bonnet: it is odd, you must admit, that her half-holiday from Kelsorrow School coincided with the death of the child, and that all the untoward incidents, such as the attacks on me and on Sister Bridget, occurred on the evenings or nights when Miss Bonnet had been on the premises.”

“Ulrica—I should be certain she did not do it. It is too wicked a thing for any young girl to have contemplated,” Mother Jude stoutly affirmed.

“The motive,” said Mrs. Bradley.

“You mean the money? I cannot believe she could be so dreadfully mercenary.”

“For herself, no. For the church—?”

“The end and the means,” said Mother Jude. She shook her head again, gently. “I do not believe it. You think she would commit a terrible sin in order to get money to give to the Church? No, no! It is wrong. You do not understand. I am sure you do not. With all your goodness, my friend, you are not a Catholic!”

“What about Miss Bonnet, then?”

“I do not know her. But what would be her reason? Why should she kill a child—and such a gentle, inoffensive child?”

“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Bradley, nodding solemnly, “unless the child was a menace, in some way, to her. What do you say to Mrs. Maslin?”

“Well, that one!” said Mother Jude. Then, to Mrs. Bradley’s concealed amusement, she shut her lips tightly, flushed a little, and concluded: “I will not imagine it. No. It is not possible. Yet—she knows something! She is always hinting.”

“Well, somebody did it. I thought perhaps you might give me your opinion. What do you say to Mrs. Waterhouse?”

“But, again, why?”

“Well, she killed her husband. ‘’

Mother Jude smiled incredulously.

“Oh, but she did,” said Mrs. Bradley. “I agree, however, that it is not a very good reason for suspecting her of killing Ursula Doyle. Still, the fact remains that she is, perhaps, a little—hasty.”

“Do you know what I really believe?” said Mother Jude. Mrs. Bradley turned to find the blue eyes fully upon her. “I believe it was poor Sister Bridget. I have thought so from the first. Before the inquest I thought so, and now I am almost certain. There! I have told you at last!”

“Sister Bridget deliberately killed that child? I may tell you that it is extremely unlikely you are right.”

“Consider the facts,” said Mother Jude. ‘ ’We know that the child was killed by breathing unlighted gas. We know, too, that the child was not seen to enter the guest-house. We know that she was under supervision until—?”

“Yes. Until when? Until the end of morning school. We hear no more of her until she is found in the bathroom with her head completely submerged.”

“Quite. But all that water—do you see my point?”

“No,” said Mrs. Bradley, who had seen another of such significance that she could think of nothing else for the moment.

“But yes! The water! When did all that water run into the bath? Did nobody hear it? Why did nobody hear it?” pursued Mother Jude triumphantly. Mrs. Bradley gave her her whole attention.

“You mean—I see. All the guests except Sister Bridget had gone out. She alone would have heard the water running. Yes, but it doesn’t prove that she turned it on, you know.”

“But who else could have turned it on?”

“The murderer.”

“But Sister Bridget would have made some remark to one of us about it. She knows that people don’t usually take a bath in the middle of the afternoon. You do not believe me. Let us make an experiment.”

She rang a bell and Kitty came to the door.

“My dear child,” she said, “I want you to go to Sister Bridget’s bedroom and remain there for the next half-hour. I have to go, but Mrs. Bradley will be here, and will have other instructions for you.”

“Do I have to be doing nothing but stay in her room, ma’am?” Kitty enquired, when Mrs. Bradley and she were left by themselves, and little Mother Jude, with a swirl of heavy skirts, had hurried out..

“You can take another girl with you,” said Mrs. Bradley, “and take all the coverings off the bed and tighten the spring mattress, if you will be so kind. You know how to do it, I suppose?”

“Indeed and I do, ma’am. Bessie is on duty with me to-day. Will I be going to find her?”

“You will. When Sister Bridget spends her afternoons in there, does she have the door open or shut?”

“She shuts it against her mouse. And how does the poor weak creature be getting on, ma’am?”

Judging that the question referred to Sister Bridget and not to the mouse, Mrs. Bradley replied that she was almost well. “And now,” she said, “you get along and find Bessie. Oh, and one more thing. Ask Annie and Ethel to come along, too, and sit in the kitchen with the door as they usually have it. What about the front door? Always left unlocked?”

“Until after tea, ma’am, always. The guests do be wanting to get in and out without trouble.”

“Yes, naturally. I had anticipated that. That makes no difficulty, then.”

While Kitty was gone for Bessie and the others, Mrs. Bradley walked over to the Orphanage, where, since the nuns had all gone to Church, the children were left by themselves. There was a fair amount of noise going on, but immediately she went in such a deathly silence ensued that she was considerably disconcerted by it.

“I want a girl of thirteen,” she said. She cast a quick glance over all the assembled children.

“You’ll do,” she added, picking out a stolid-looking girl. She beckoned the child to go with her.

“Now,” she said, when they got outside, “what’s your name?”

“Molly Kelly, but I wasn’t doing nothing.”

“You’re doing something now,” said Mrs. Bradley. ‘ ’You are helping me in a very important bit of work, and I want you to do exactly as I tell you. You and I are going to reconstruct a crime. Are you a brave girl, Molly?”

“I screeches at the dentist.”

“Well done you. But you mustn’t screech now. You mustn’t make a sound. You understand?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. It is just a game. Have you ever been into the guest-house?”

“No.”

“Do you know the way in?”

“Yes. I knows where the door is.”

“All right, then. We must wait until the coast is clear.”

They waited until Mrs. Bradley had seen Kitty go over with Annie and Ethel. Bessie, she assumed, was already in the guest-house, as she was on duty there, and needed only to be taken up into the seventh bedroom. She gave the girls another three minutes, and then said to Molly Kelly:

“You mustn’t mind. I’m going to send you in alone. I want you to go up to the front door, walk in, enter the first door on the left—which is your left hand?— that’s it—and stay in the room until I come. I shan’t be long. Will you do that?”

“Yes.” The heavy-looking child walked off. Mrs. Bradley watched her go. The gates were open; the portress was in church. Round the corner towards the guest-house went the child, and after an interval of less than a minute Mrs. Bradley followed after her. There was no sign whatever that the child had entered the guest-house. She herself pushed open the guest-house door, walked in and entered the parlour. There was the child.

They remained in the room for five minutes by Mrs. Bradley’s watch. Then Mrs. Bradley opened the big window which looked out beyond the low wooden fence to the downhill stretches of the moor. The next moment she had gone to the door of the room, opened it, and returned to the child whom she lifted up in her arms.

“Keep still,” she whispered. The child, looking frightened, wriggled. “Still!” whispered Mrs. Bradley. She carried her up the stairs and along to the bathroom.

There she set her down, grinned at her reassuringly, shut the door and turned on both taps in a steady, fairly fast trickle, letting the water fall on to a towel to deaden any sound that there might be. She looked at her watch, then took a folding ruler from her pocket and measured the bath. At the end of five minutes she measured the depth of the water. Then she whispered to the child:

“That’s all. Go back. You’ll still be in time for school. Did you ever read a detective story, by the way?”

“Seen Charlie Chan on the pictures,” said the child.

“Well, you and I together have been engaged in the solution of a mystery.”

The child made no verbal reply; her face, however, expressed her thoughts, which could be summed up thus: “Garn, you old barmy skinny lizzie!”

Mrs. Bradley cackled, and gave the child a shilling. Then she walked along to the seventh bedroom and tapped on the door. Bessie and Kitty had almost finished their task, and when she went in they were making the bed again. Mrs. Bradley shut the door behind her, and then, with her ear to the inside keyhole, she listened. This time there came a sound of running water. She went back to the bathroom, watched, this time, by the girls, and tied the towel, a big bath-towel— over the tap. Slowly, surely, but now without a sound, the water was gradually rising. The quietness of it fascinated Bessie, who leaned, open-mouthed, on the bath. Mrs. Bradley measured the depth again. She compared the result with some scribbled calculations she had made in the margin of her notebook, and slightly adjusted her figures. She was about to tell the girls to go back to their ordinary duties, when Bessie suddenly said:

“ ’Ell of a row you made on them there stairs.”

Mrs. Bradley started, and then laughed.

“I expect that was Molly Kelly getting back to school in a hurry. I came up about five minutes before you saw me come into the bedroom.”

“Thought she was going to be murdered, going by the row,” said Bessie. “Just a few minutes ago.”

“You heard nothing else, though, did you?”

“Nothing else in the world, ma’am,” said Kitty.

“Right. Now, listen, you two. I want you to come up here again at precisely half-past two, and undo everything you’ve done.”

“Not ’arf!” said Bessie, austerely. “Who do you think we are? Carter Paterson or something? Or Alice in Wonderland?”

“I should certainly hate to confuse you with the heroine of a certain music-hall turn I saw some time ago,” Mrs. Bradley replied. Suspecting a subtle witticism at her expense, Bessie regarded her tormentor with a wary but belligerent eye.

“What was that?” she demanded abruptly.

“A famous conjuring trick. I watched Horace Goldin saw a girl in half. She was almost the image of you, Bessie. It was most realistic, most. An enormous circular saw.

“ ’Ere!” said Bessie, backing away in mock trepidation, but casting a sincerely anxious glance over her left shoulder as she did so. “Want to make me dream?”

“At two-thirty, then,” said Mrs. Bradley, addressing Kitty as well. “Don’t fail me, or you’ll spoil a very good show.”

“This way for the loony-bin,” said Bessie, loudly and rudely. “Or, as the old gal at school used to say, ‘Across the stream, girls! You’ll soon be across the stream! ’ The asylum being the other side of the brook.”

Mrs. Bradley heard Kitty’s giggles coming faintly up the stairs, as the girls made their way to the kitchen to warn Annie and Ethel to stand by. It was almost a sound-proof house, she began to think. She resolved to congratulate the builder.

She went back to the bathroom, opened the window, and looked out. Then she glanced again at the bath. The water was coming in nicely. The bath was nearly half full. She looked at her watch, again revised her calculations a little, then went across to the private school to ask Mother Mary-Joseph to spare her a minute or two.

“I want you to know,” she said, “what I am trying to do, and why I can’t try the experiment with the assistance of one of the children. I am going to reconstruct what may have happened on the afternoon that Ursula Doyle was murdered, and I have asked particularly for your help because you are the lightest of the grown-up people here. You are not easily frightened, I hope?”

“No. I don’t think I am,” the young nun answered, smiling.

“Good. Go over to the guest-house and enter the first room on the left. Sit down on a chair beside the portable gas-fire, will you? I’ll be over in a minute or two.”

The nun left her, and Mrs. Bradley walked into the Orphanage, stood there a minute, then went to the guest-house. She found Mother Mary-Joseph seated in a low fire-side chair.

“Don’t be alarmed, dear child,” she said, very quietly. “You can struggle as much as you like; in fact, the harder the better.” So saying, she knelt on the floor beside the low chair, picked up the rubber nozzle of the gas tube and suddenly put her free arm round the nun in the bundly habit, and gripped her nose with some firmness. The young girl gasped and struggled. Mrs. Bradley held her tight, and, the moment that her mouth came open, she inserted the rubber nozzle, and said quickly:

“Don’t bite on the rubber, dear child!”

In spite of every effort that the victim could make, she could not escape nor dislodge the nozzle from her mouth.

“Keep your head still. I don’t want to injure your nose. So much for that!” said Mrs. Bradley, letting her go at last. “Feel bad? No? That’s good. Well, what do you think of the demonstration? Is it convincing, I wonder? Would it convince the police?”

“Was she—is that how she was killed?” The nun had gone pale. “How horrible! Could it have been like that? So quick and clever and cruel?”

Mrs. Bradley cackled—a sound which, since she took it for an expression of mirth, startled Mother Mary-Joseph—and replied:

“You see, even if the attacker had been only a little stronger than the victim, it seems as though, having taken her so suddenly and at such a disadvantage, she would find the rest quite easy. Long before I let you go you would have been unconscious if the gas tap had been turned on. Thank you so much for your help. I do hope you will forgive me for using you quite so unceremoniously.”

“We are all under obedience to help the enquiry,” the nun responded, with a little bow to acknowledge Mrs. Bradley’s apology. “May I go now? I have a class.”

When she had gone Mrs. Bradley turned on the gas tap for a second. The gas rushed out with a sharp hissing sound. She turned it off, walked quietly upstairs, opened the bathroom window and climbed out on to the leads. She was wearing a pair of rubber-soled gymnasium shoes which she had borrowed from one of the girls. The climb, she found, was easy enough. She turned first and pushed the window shut, just as she imagined the murderer must have done. Then she groped her way along the flat piece of roof below the window, climbed carefully over the gable, and found herself facing the flat roof of the short passage which, since the three houses had been incorporated into one, joined the end house to the one next door. Along this she crawled, keeping low, and then found herself in view of what had originally been the roof of a garage. Over this she also climbed. She descended to the ground at the end of the converted houses by means of a water pipe. It was clamped into place very firmly with massive, ornamental iron grips, and would not, she thought, pull away from the wall with her weight. On the roof she had thought she could see why the murderer had not needed to make the complete journey over the three converted houses to avoid being seen by the old gardener slapping creosote on the wooden fence with his back to the guest-house windows. The original fences had not been removed when the three houses had been made into one, and those which separated garden from garden still remained, and were six feet high at least. Once past the first of these, the murderer could lie hidden, or could crawl along to the next garden gate and come out on to the road.

The murderer had had bad luck, Mrs. Bradley concluded. The flaw in a well-constructed scheme had been the death of the child from the gas instead of death by drowning. The gas was meant to make her unconscious only, not to kill her. It is never possible to determine the exact amount of carbon monoxide which will cause death; and it is not possible to tell, in the case of any particular supply of coal gas, how much carbon monoxide is present in its constitution, she reflected. The murderer had killed the child instead of stupefying her, and could have had no plan to cover the dire emergency.

She climbed the pipe again and worked her way back towards the bathroom window. Just as her hand was reaching over the sill to grasp the edge of the window to pull it open, she saw—it was less than a shadow— another hand, from inside, grope towards the sill. She flung herself flat on the leads, as a heavy jar of bath salts, the crystals scattering in every direction, flew clean across her and crashed against the trunk of a small, old tree in the garden down below.

Out from the front door came the four eldest orphans, mouths open, Ethel clutching her chest, Bessie with a shower of oaths, Annie breathless and alarmed, Kitty dancing with excitement. Mrs. Bradley, recognising that they would be her saviours, crawled to the edge and waved to them.

“Stay where you are,” she said. “I’m coming down.”

“Thought you was killed,” said Bessie.

“Who was in the bathroom?” Mrs. Bradley demanded when she joined them in front of the guest-house.

“Why, nobody, madam,” they said.

“Let’s go and look,” said Kitty.

“There won’t be anyone there by this time,” said Mrs. Bradley. “There’s been every chance to get away, with none of you on the look-out.”

“Oh, yes, out the back door, but they couldn’t climb over the wall, I bet,” said Bessie. “What say we run? We might ketch ’em, eh? What say?”

But nobody was in sight, although they all ran round through the gateway and tore as hard as they could towards the school.

“Dear me,” said Mother Francis, when she heard of it. “Surely it was very unsafe, in any case, for you to climb about on the guest-house roof, Mrs. Bradley?”

“Yes, I expect so,” Mrs. Bradley meekly replied.