"Yes," he said. "We can't quite rule out madness." He went on, "Have you any theory about the damage done to Elizabeth Johnston's notes and papers?" "No. That was a spiteful thing, too. I don't believe for a moment that Celia would do a thing like that." "Any idea who it could have been?" "Well… Not a reasonable idea." "But an unreasonable one?" "You don't want to hear something that's just a hunch, do you, Inspector?" "I'd like to hear a hunch very much. I'll accept it as such, and it'll only be between ourselves." "Well, I may probably be quite wrong, but I've got a sort of idea that it was Patricia Lane's work." "Indeed! Now you do surprise me, Miss Hobhouse.

I shouldn't have thought of Patricia Lane. She seems @u very well balanced, amiable young lady." "I don't say she did do it. I just had a sort of idea she might have done." "For what reason in particular?" "Well, Patricia disliked Black Bess.

Black Bess was always ticking off Patricia's beloved Nigel, putting him ri-L lit, you know, when he made silly statements in the way he does sometimes." "You think it was more likely to have been Patricia Lane than Nigel himself?" "Oh, yes. I don't think Nigel would bother, and he'd certainly not go using his own pet brand of ink. He's got plenty of brains. But it's just the sort of stupid thing that Patricia would do without thinking that it might involve her precious Nigel as a suspect." "Or again, it might be somebody who had a down on Nigel Chapman and wanted to suggest that it was his doing?" "Yes, that's another possibility." con'Who dislikes Nigel Chapman?" 'Oh, well, Jean Tomlinson for one. And be and Len Bateson are always scrapping a good deal." "Have you any ideas, Miss Hobhouse, how morphia could have been administered to Celia Austin?" "I've been thinking and thinking. Of course, I suppose the cot ee is the most obvious way.

We were all milling around in the Common Room.

Celia's coffee was on a small table near her and she always waited until her coffee was nearly cold before she drank it. I suppose anybody who had sufficient nerve could have,dropped a tablet or something into her cup without being seen, but it would be rather a risk to take. I mean, it's the sort of thing that might be noticed quite easily." was The morphia," said Inspector Sharpe, "was not in tablet form." What was it? Powder?":ea'allyes." Valerie frowned.

That would be rather more difficult, wouldn't it?":ea'Anything else-besides cotee you can think of?" "She sometimes had a glass of hot milk before she went to bed. I don't tldnk she did that night, though." "Can you describe to me exactly what happened that evening in the Common Room?" "Well, as I say, we all sat about, talked, somebody turned the wireless on. Most of the boys, I think, went out. Celia went up to bed fairly early and so did Jean Tomlinson. Sally and I sat on there fairly late. I was writing letters and Sally was mugging over some notes. I rather think I was the last to go up to bed." "It was just a casual evening, in fact?" "Absolutely, Inspector." "Thank you, Miss Hobbouse. Will you send Miss Lane to me now?" Patricia Lane looked worried, but not apprehensive. Questions and answers elicited nothing very new. Asked about the damage to Elizabeth Johnston's papers Patricia said that she had no doubt that Celia had been responsible.

"But she denied it, Miss Lane, very vehemently." "Well, of course," said Patricia. "She would. I think she was ashamed of having done it. But it fits in, doesn't it, with all the other thins?" "Do you know what I find about this case, Miss Lane? That nothing fits in very well." "I suppose," said Patricia, flushing, "that you think it was Nigel who messed up Bess's papers. Because of the ink. That's such absolute nonsense. I mean, Nigel wouldn't have used his own ink if he'd done a thing like that. He wouldn't be such a fool. But anyway, he wouldn't do it." "He didn't always get on very well with Miss Johnston, did he?" "Oh, she had an annoying manner sometimes, but he didn't really mind." Patricia Lane leaned forward earnestly. "I would like to try. and make you understand one or two things, Inspector. About Nigel Chapman, I mean. You see, Nigel is really very much his own worst enemy. I'm the first to admit that he's got a very difficult manner. It prejudices people against him. He's rude and sarcastic and makes fun of people, and so he puts people's backs up and they think the worst of him. But really he's quite different from what he seems. He's one of those shy, rather unhappy people who really want to be liked but who, from a kind of spirit of contradiction, find themselves saying and doing the opposite to what they mean to say and do." "Ah," said Inspector Sharpe. "Rather unfortunate for them, that." "Yes, but they really can't help it, you know. It comes from having had an unfortunate childhood.

Nigel had a very unhapy home life. His father was very harsh and severe and never understood him. And his father treated his mother very badly. After she died they bad the most terrific quarrel and Nigel flung out of the house and his father said that he'd never give him a penny and he must get on as well as be could without any help from him. Nigel said he didn't want any help from his father; and wouldn't take it if it was offered.

A small amount of money came to him under his mother's will, and he never wrote to his father or went near him again. Of course, I think that was a pity in a way, but there's no doubt that his father is a very unpleasant man. I don't wonder that that's made Nigel bitter and difficult to get on with. Since his mother died, he's never had anyone to care for him,allynd look after him. His health's not been good though his mind is brilliant. He is handicapped in life and he just can't show himself as he really is." Patricia Lane stopped. She was flushed and a little breathless as the result of her long earnest speech. Inspector Sharpe looked at her thoughtfully. He had come across many Patricia Lanes before. 'In love with the chap," he thought to himself. "Don't suppose he cares twopence for her, but probably accepts being mothered. Father certainly sounds a cantankerous old cuss, but I daresay the mother was a foolish woman who spoilt her son and by doting on him, widened the breach between him and his father. I've seen enough of that kind of thing." He wondered if Nigel Chapman had been attracted at all to Celia Austin. It seemed unlikely, but it might be so. 'And if so," he thought, "Patricia Lane might have bitterly resented the fact." Resented it enough to wish to do Celia an injury?

Resented it enough to do murder? Surely not-and in any case, the fact that Celia had got engaged to Colin Mcationabb would surely wash that out as a possible motive for murder. He dismissed Patricia Lane and asked for Jean Tomlinson.

Miss ToMLIN-SON WAS a severe-looking young woman of twenty-seven with fair hair, regular features and a rather pursed-up mouth.

She sat down and said primly, "Yes, Inspector? What can I do for you?" "I wonder if you can help us at all, Miss Tomlinson, about this very tragic matter." "It's shocking. Really quite shocking," said Jean.

"It was bad enough when we thought Celia had committed suicide, but now that it's supposed to be murder.

.." She stopped and shook her head, sadly.

"We are fairly sure that she did not poison herself," said Sharpe. "You know where the poison came from?" Jean nodded.

"I gather it came from St. Catherine's Hospital, where she works. But surely that makes it seem more like suicide?" "It was intended to, no doubt," said the Inspector.

"But who else could possibly have got that poison except Celia?" "Quite a lot of people," said Inspector Sharpe, "if they were determined to do so. Even you, yourself, Miss Tomlinson," he said, "might have managed to help yourself to it if you had wished to do so." "Really, Inspector Sharpe!" Jean's tones were sharp with indi nation.