Let’s get back to this blasted bicarbonate business. Now think back carefully to exactly what you did with the stuff- Put your head in your hands and think, Pat.” Genevieve entered the Common Room in a state of great excitement. She spoke to the assembled students in a low thrilled voice.
“I am sure now, but absolutely sure I know who killed the little Celia.” “Who was it, Genevieve?” demanded Ren6.
“What has arrived to make you so positive?” Genevieve looked cautiously round to make sure the door of the Common Room was closed. She lowered her voice.
“It is Nigel Chapman.” “Nigel Chapman, but why?” “Listen. I pass along the corridor to go down the stairs just now and I hear voices in Patricia’s room. It is Nigel who speaks.” “Nigel? In Patricia’s room?” Jean spoke in a disapproving voice. But Genevieve swept on.
“And he is saying to her that his father killed his mother, and that, pour Va, he has changed his name.
So it is clear, is it not? His father was a convicted murderer, and Nigel he has the hereditary taint .
. .” “It is possible,” said Mr. Chandra Lal, dwelling pleasurably on the possibility. “It is certainly possible. He is so violent, Nigel, so unbalanced. No self control. You agree?” He turned condescendingly to Akibombo who nodded an enthusiastic black woolly head and showed his white teeth in a pleased smile.
“I’ve always felt very strongly,” said Jean, “that Nigel has no moral sense…. A thoroughly degenerate character.” “It is sex murder, yes,” said Mr. Ahmed Ali. “He sleeps with this girl, then he kills her. Because she is nice girl, respectable, she will expect marriage.
“Rot,” said Leonard Bateson explosively. “What did you say?” “I said ROT!” roared Len.
SEATED rNA ROOM at the police station, Nigel looked nervously into the stern eyes of Inspector Sharpe. Stammering slightly, he had just brought his narrative to a close.
“You realize, Mr. Chapman, that what you have just told us is very serious? Very serious indeed.” “Of course I realise it. I wouldn’t have come here to tell you about it unless I’d felt that it was urgent.” “A nd you say Miss Lane can’t remember exactly when she last saw this bicarbonate bottle containing morphine?” “She’s got herself all muddled up. The more she tries to think the more uncertain she gets. She said I flustered her. She’s trying to think it out quietly while I came round to you.” “We’d beller go round to Hickory Road right away.” As the Inspector spoke the telephone on the table rang and the constable who had been taking notes of Nigel’s story, stretched out his hand and lifted the receiver.
“It’s Miss Lane now,” he said as he listened. “Wanting to speak to Mr. Chapman.” Nigel leaned across the table and took the receiver from him.
“Pat? Nigel here.” The girl’s voice came, breathless, eager, the words tumbling over each other.
“Nigel. I think I’ve got itl I mean, I think I know now who must have taken-you know comtaken it from my handkerchief drawer, I mean-you see, there’s only one person who-was The voice broke off.
“Pat. Hullo? Are youthere? Who was it?” “I can’t tell you now. Later. You’ll be coming round?” The receiver was near enough for the constable and the Inspector to have heard the conversation clearly, and the latter nodded in answer to Nigel’s questioning look.
“TeEvery her ‘at once,” was he said.
“We’re coming round at once,” said Nigel.
“On our way this minute.” “Oh! Good. I’ll be in my room.” “So long, Pat.” Hardly a word was spoken during the brief ride to Hickory Road. Sharpe wondered to himself whether this was a break a-t last. Would Patricia Lane have any definite evidence to offer, or would it be pure surmise on her part? Clearly she had remembered something that had seemed to her important.
He supposed that she had been telephoning from the hall, and that therefore she had had to be guarded in her language. At this timein the evening so many people would have been passing through.
Nigel opened the front door of 26 Hickory Road with his key and they passed inside.