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?