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MORE MURDER IN A NUNNERY


By the same author
MURDER IN A NUNNERY


MORE MURDER
IN A NUNNERY
B\ ERKISHLPHERD
SHELD A\D “ARD
xsw YORK I954


To
FRIEDA


CHAPTER I
HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF AT HARRINGTON
CONVENT
WHEN Reverend Mother of Harrington was told
that another dead body had been found on the
conventual premises she was silent for, possibly,
ten seconds.
Then she said: “And they say history never
repeats itself ” '
Mother Assistant, her informant, underwent
a spasm of those strongly aquiline features which,
though she was the gentlest soul, struck the
Junior School as with a palsy.
“I cannot express, dear Reverend Mother, my
sympathy ”
“Let me know the worst.”
“It isn’t the worst, thank God. Not one of the
children. Not one of us. Only a man ”
God frequently consoled Reverend Mother in
strange ways. He did so now. But not a sign of
this interior consolation showed on her face. I
“Tell me,” was all she said, “about this
man.”
The facts of the matter may be condensed as
follows:
The dead body of a man, a perfect stranger,
7


More Murder in a Nunneqy
had been found early that morning by Mr.
Turtle (the Convent’s head-gardener and, in a
general way, most unhandy man), upon, of all
places, his own sacred rubbish-dump.
This dump, if dump it could be called, was as
close to Mr. Turtle’s heart as anything could be
to that remote organ. It was built with the
greatest discrimination and maintained with
the utmost method. It was a thing of beauty
and, to its maker, a joy for ever—so much so
that he was used to begin the day by going and
having a prolonged and profoundly self-satisfied
stare at it.
This he had been doing that morning when
he saw what looked like a very large brown-
paper parcel placed on top of the dump so as to
impair the perfect symmetry of its construction.
A man of deep but controlled feelings, he had
suppressed his indignation and hurried to the
spot, strongly suspecting that “some o’ them
Convent young lidies, I don’t think” had been
up to their tricks again.
“It were the queerest parcel as ever I seen,
mum.”
On attempting to lift the parcel Mr. Turtle
had stumbled and fallen under its weight. The
brown-paper swathings had come undone, dis-
closing a “body”—the body of a man.
It was “nobody as I known, mum, and I will
not deny that a weakness come over me strength,
like. A nice thing for a man to find on a empty
stommick, and at a convent, mind you. It was
8


History Repeats Itself at Harrington Convent
with difficulty as I retrace me steps where a cup
of ’ot tea do somethink to restore me faculties.
I seen at once, mum, as a dead body was a matter
for you lidies. I ain’t sayin’ a word agin nobody,
but if you will ’ave furriners a-workin’ on the
place and ’inderin’ rather than ’elpin’, then dead
bodies a-croppin’ up promiscous is no more than
you had ought to expec’.”
This allusion of Mr. Turtle’s referred to the
employment by the Convent of a Spaniard to
act as aide to himself in the kitchen-gardens.
Green-fingered as Juan Copanza undoubtedly
was, bright, intelligent and a hard worker,
nothing could palliate to Mr. Turtle his dark
complexion and broken English, or the fact that
he had been taken on in place of Mr. Turtle’s
own son “Mock” (so called by the School) on
the latter’s “doin’ better for ’isself”.
“Dead ’e was,” Mr. Turtle had reported to
Mother Assistant; “ dead, and gone to ’is account.
Which, mum, asking your pardon, so must we
all, flesh bein’ like grass, and the man wot
thinketh ’e stand apt to come a nasty cropper
at the ’ands of an orl-seein’ God.”
Reverend Mother’s face, as she listened to
this recital, had undergone certain fleeting
changes. Not that she smiled, or committed
herself in any way. But there was a feeling,
somehow, that if a dead body had to be found
at the Convent, then on top of Mr. Turtle’s
dump was the place where she could bear it
best.
9


More Murder in a Nurznery
Reverend Mother and Mr. Turtle had never
been soul-mates.
Once master of the facts, Reverend Mother
proceeded to the situation.
“The police must be informed at once. Will
you attend to that, Mother?” And, guessing
from certain movements of the aquiline features
what was going on in Mother Assistant’s mind,
she added:
“I mean the ordinary police—at the Harring-
ton station. I’m afraid it’s no use dialling 999
and expecting Mr. Pearson to grow on the
doorstep.”
“Oh no, of course not, Reverend Mother.”
Chief-Inspector Andrew Pearson was that
great luminary of the Yard who had come to
the Convent’s aid on the occasion of the stabbing
of old Baroness Sliema, and had shown such tact
and delicacy, and handled the matter so success-
fully, that he was remembered as a very Bayard
by the Community, and was never out of its
prayers.
Reverend Mother knew best, of course. That
went without saying. Mother Assistant professed
no knowledge of the police and their elaborate
etiquette. But she was a very much disappointed
woman when the oracle was spoken and she
found that immediate recourse to Mr. Pearson
was by no means to be had. The “ordinary”
police! And Mother Assistant felt so sure that
Mr. Pearson would want to help Harrington
again.
10


History Repeats Itself at Harrington Convent
Nevertheless Mother Assistant was every inch
(and she stood well up to six foot) a nun, and was
off in discharge of her distasteful duty without a
further word.
One opening of the door served both to let
Mother Assistant out and to let Mother Peagle
1n.
The latter’s appearance could not have been
more timely. Mother Peagle was headmistress
of the School, that super-sensitive organism which
must always be given first place in all practical
considerations. Reverend Mother, a consum-
mate mistress of the spared word, put the facts,
and Mother Peagle listened with that impas-
sivity of countenance which long dealing with
girls had perfected in her.
“I understand, Reverend Mother. The chil-
dren need know nothing of this. I had better
put the kitchen-gardens out of bounds at once.
With your permission, I will go now and do
so.”
Reverend Mother had but to incline her head,
and a few minutes later a notice in Mother
Peaglc’s blackest-lettered hand was posted on
the board, and the Head of the School—one
Miss Torquilla Rohays, famous for her biceps—-
was under summons, as were all the “Blue
Ribbons” or prefects, to wait upon Mother
Peagle at recess.
Hardly had Mother Peagle fixed her notice
and gone her way when a girl seemed to slip
out of nowhere and stealthily approach the board.
II


More Murder in a Nurmegr
She moved with extraordinary speed and abso-
lute silence. Mother Peagle’s lettered hand was
very black and large indeed. A single glance
of the girl’s eyes as she passed seemed sufficient,
and she slipped again into invisibility.
But why did she wring her hands? And who
was she that made so un-English a gesture?
I2


More Murder in a .Nunnery
So were the sergeants to a man, and no less the
P.C.s. Miss Churston, as has been said, was
lamenting the loss of the light finger.
It was upon such police doldrums as these
that Mother Assistant’s telephone-call tinklingly
intruded, and Sergeant Baseldon, who happened
to be nearest to the instrument, positively skipped
to answer.
“ Is that the—er—Harrington police-station?”
“Yessir,” replied the Sergeant, and just re-
frained from springing sharply to attention.
The Sergeant had been in the Army, and
he thought he knew that way of speaking. It
was an oflicer, and an oflicer on whom he did
not hesitate to confer field rank.
It was in fact the voice of Mother Assistant
crouching in an agony of nervousness at her end
of the wire. Telephoning always made Mother
Assistant nervous, and when she was nervous her
voice and manner reverted to that long line of
military ancestors, including a field-marshal or
two, of which she was sprung.
“I am speaking on behalf of the Reverend
Mother of Harrington Convent of the Immacu-
late Conception ”
The Sergeant paled. To have to request a
field-oflicer to repeat himself! But there was
no alternative.
“Begging your pardon, sir, but might I ask
you to say them words again?”
The field-rank officer appeared in a lenient mood.
The words were repeated without a rebuke.
14


More ./I/Iurder" in a Nunnerjl
But as the Sergeant hung up the receiver he
felt considerable concern for the mental state of
that field-officer.
“ Shell-shock, Ishould say—poor fellow. Never
a damn or a cuss or a ‘ go to hell!’ Ah, it was
sad to hear him ”
But the Sergeant soon cheered up as he hurried
to spread the good news round the station. A
murder! That was something like, that was.
Make a new man of the Super, this would.
This would show them fellas at Wimbledon and
Putney and Barnes and Wandsworth who’d been
going around snecring that Harrington was
“dead-alive”. This would show——
But at this point the Sergeant broke off to
bestow a broad, a bright, a beaming and even
affectionate smile on a young colleague, whom
he also chucked under the chin, kissed with the
utmost assurance, and addressed as “poppet”.
“Hallo, poppet. Waiting round, like, to see
if Uncle has any news? You bet your life!”
Olive Churston, for she it was, showed no
surprise and certainly no resentment at this
familiar treatment. Indeed, she put herself in
the way of more of it by going and standing
beside the Sergeant with her face turned up
towards his questioningly.
“What can I bet my life about?”
“That there’s a good time coming,” said the
Sergeant, with more of his highly unoflicial
treatment. “What do you guess, now—a clever
girl like you?”

|6


From the Police Angle
“As if I possibly could!”
The Sergeant looked down on her with
immense satisfaction. And indeed in a rather
unobvious way she was pretty enough to gladden
any eyes. But she had to be looked twice at.
Hers was a beauty of the second sight. It seemed
a queer fate which had made a policewoman of
her.
“Try,” urged the Sergeant. “Think what it
is we’ve all been needing in this station?”
“Something to do?” she suggested.
“You never spoke a truer word. And what
do you think we’ve got?”
She raised her eyebrows.
“A murder!” he said thrillingly. “A murder
—up at Harrington Convent———”
“Not—by one of the nuns?”
“By one of the ladies!” The Sergeant looked
shocked. “What a question! Why, I thought
you liked nuns.” I
“So I do. Though they scare me rather.
What goes on inside their heads?”
“Ah, you may ask. That’s what a many
would like to know. No, it ain’t by a nun, nor
yet of a nun, but it’s a murder all the same.
And do you mean to tell me—a clever girl like
you—-—as you can’t see anything for yourself in
a start like this?”
“For me? A bit of stooging, perhaps
“You want a good smack. Stoogin’ indeed!
Listen now to what’s come into your uncle’s
head ”
$7
17


More Murder in a Nunnery
And he whispered.
Olive, it should be said, was almost the
daughter by adoption of Sergeant Baseldon and
his “Missus”. It was ten thousand pities that
this excellent couple, with a world of love to
bestow, should be childless; but, finding that
Olive was an orphan, and entirely without
friends in Harrington—-if indeed she had any
anywhere—they had adopted her, and were
never so happy as when she was about the house.
They treated her, and fussed about her, exactly
as if she were their own child. Her tendency
to disabling “moods”, for instance—intervals
of some mysterious unhappiness which came over
the girl from time to time—how they had dis-
cussed these together, the “Missus” suspecting
a “fellow” in the background, the Sergeant—
who could not abide the thought of a “fellow”
—blaming her loneliness and the austerity of the
police life.
Olive laughed when the Sergeant had done
whispering, and shook her head.
“Not a hope. Besides, I told you, nuns scare
me. And the Super would never ”
“You leave the Super to me. And what do
you want to be scared of nuns for, you silly
girl?”
“Of course I’m not really seared. But they
come into my dreams sometimes—with those
crosses they wear ”
“A baby, that’s what you are. A convent job!
Why, it might have been arranged to suit you.
18


From the Police Angle
The ladies’ll feel it a delicacy in us sendin’ ’em
a nice clever girl like you as they can be free
with. Now, just you wait here while I go in to
the Super ”
He was gone a very short time, and returned
beaming.
“What did I tell you? Super thinks it a brainy
idea; says, if you handle it smart, it’ll be the
making of you. I’m to go with you. Lordy, but
won’t I be proud bein’ bossed about by you.
Off with you now, and make yourself look the
way you know how. I want the Ladies to see
what kind of a girl you are.”
“ More to the point if they knew what kind of
a man you are,” Olive said. And she went and
did her best to please him, excitement upon her
and a strange sense as of the fulfilment of
prophecy.
Nuns! What sort of people were they really?
Nuns
“Ready, Chief?” came a hail from the Ser-
geant.
“Chief” indeed! But what a darling he was!
Some fifteen minutes later a small, rather
anomalous group of persons presented itself
humbly at the back regions of the Convent and
was greeted there by Mother Assistant.


19


CHAPTER Ill
VERITY ACQUAINTS HERSELF WITH THE
FACTS
“WnAT’s all this rot?”
So said Miss Verity Goodchild as, swaying
gracefully, she read Mother Peagle’s notice over
the nondescript heads of numerous Middle
Schoolers—some of which she lightly cuffed much
as a bishop at Confirmation lightly cuffs a can-
didate on the cheek to remind him or her of
those buffets of the world which he or she may
confidently expect.
The nondescripts wriggled but made no reply.
They were all in great awe of Verity, who, though
not a Ribbon, was away up at the dizzy top of
the School, and a dark and secret power.
Verity suppressed a sigh. Life was a bit dull
now that all her contemporaries, even Philomene
Watts and the feather-brained Jamette Kestrel,
were Ribbons. She did not envy them or grudge
their promotion, but she did miss those former
selves in them which the magisterial Ribbon
had affected, in her opinion, for the worse.
She re-read the notice, deliberately occupying
about three times as much space as she needed
so as to mortify the curiosity of her juniors and
20


Verity Acquaints Herself with the Facts
teach them that “ Life is real and life is earnest.”
“A case in point,” she remarked to herself.
“Now if the Peaglums had made a Ribbon of
me when she jolly well ought, it would be my
painful duty not only to keep all these little
donkeys out of the kitchen-gardens but also to
keep out myself. As things are, however ”
And, pushing aside the scrum of supernumer-
aries, she passed out with studied negligence
through the cloister door into the garden. No-
body saw her as, with a quick glance around,
she slipped in among the bushes en route for the
forbidden ground.
“This ought to be a lesson to the Peaglums.
She is quite old enough to know that you cannot
have things both ways.”
Verity had indeed ever been an independent
thinker. That was why she was not a Ribbon.
Independent thinkers do not become Blue
Ribbons or Cabinet Ministers.
Verity was now seventeen. She had matured.
She was—not engaged to, but had a profound
understanding with that Mr. “Johnny” Guest
of the Peephole newspaper, who had perceived
in her at a fevered glance an “helpmeet” unto
his many-sided life. She met him in town at
least twice every holidays, with a broadening
effect on her mind. There was no secret about
this; Major and Mrs. Goodchild knew as much
about it as they were capable of knowing about
their daughter’s proceedings. Verity, under the
influence of Mr. Guest, proposed a meantime
21


Verity Aequaints Herself with the Facts
Verity’s soul cried out within her.
“I do believe ! It can’t be l But ”
Any feelings of distaste she might have had
were overwhelmed by excitement.
“A body! Another body! Oh, what fun!”
Perhaps Mother Peagle was right. Ribbons
should be nice-minded girls, shrinking properly
away from the macabre in all its forms and not
exclaiming “What fun!” of a corpse on a dump.
But Verity was not seeing a corpse on a dump,
she was seeing that most living and beautiful
thing, scope. Scope—opportunity—call it what
you please. She was seeing what Olive Churston
was to see later. She was seeing what “stout
Cortez” saw from his “peak in Darien”. She
was seeing what all the fuss of the French Revo-
lution was about—la carriére ouverte aux talents.
But excitement did not deprive her of prud-
ence. She approached as near as she could to
the dump but never so as to leave cover. She
kept an eye open for Mr. Turtle, and the other
for the spritely ubiquity of Juan Copanza. She
kept both ears alert for sounds of the approaching
police. She knew better than to touch or tamper
with anything. But from the nearest point she
could reach she observed the protruding foot
with intensity, and was soon deducing away like
Sherlock Holmes himself. It is the Watsons of
this world who suppose that all feet are much of
a muchness, the Sherlocks and the Veritys know
that from one foot you can deduce the whole
body of which it is part.
as


More Murder in a Nunnery
Thus Verity decided at once that it was not
an English foot.
This was no pavement foot. It had gone bare
as often as shod, and over rough country too.
The sole was toughened, the toes uncrushed, the
nails perfect. Verity had been out in Malta
when her father was stationed there, and she
had noted the large, capable, wholesome feet
of the peasants. This was a foot not unlike—a
peasant foot. There are no peasants in England
to-day.
Verity had another brainwave, though at first
it would not come. Ah, she had it. The position
of the body—on a rubbish-dump———thrown there
presumably by the murderer—what would Sher-
lock make of that? Elementary, my dear Watson.
I/Vhy, scorn! Scorn—contempt—and contumely.
A peasant murdered and thrown in scorn on
a rubbish-dump!
Watson would shrug helpless shoulders, but
Sherlock, knowing what foreigners are, would
be on to it at once
Politics!
All foreigners are mixed up in politics: this
man was a foreigner: ergo
And, mind you, politics are no fun in foreign
countries. Now, presently, what politics are the
most dangerous? Even Watson could hardly
have failed here.
“A Communist! A ‘liquidated’ Commu-
nist ”
It was at this point of triumphant deduction



24


More Murder in a Nunnery
finding itself waylaid, sank down in a huddle,
covering its face with its hands.
Verity, picking it up and standing it on its feet,
found herself confronting—Inez Escapado.
“Inez. Whatever do you think y0u’re doing?”
“What busyness is it of yours? You are not
a R-r-ibbon, so I t’ink. What do you t’ink you
do? If you tell of me, Verity Goodchild, I also
shall tell of you.”
“ What’s the matter with you?” Verity inquired
in a tone of real sympathy and concern, for
Inez was obviously keyed up to some very high
pitch indeed.
“Nuzzing. Only I am not able to find where—
Juan is. Do you know where Juan is?”
Verity shook her head. “I haven’t seen him.
And look here, Inez, don’t do this again. I may
not be a Ribbon, but I’m older-than you, and
I can tell you things are pretty serious, and it
won’t do Juan any good to have you‘ running
after him.”
“I do not know what to do,” Inez said in a
despairing voice, speaking, it seemed, to herself
rather than to Verity.
“You’re—afraid of something,” Verity said.
“Yes, yes. I am afraid ”
“Then you’d better tell me. Not now; we
haven’t time, but as soon as you can. I might
be able to help. I will if I can. You look to me
as if you ought to go to the infirmary ”
“No. I must find where Juan is. You do not
understand. Oh, it is terrible—terriblc ”
26


Verity Aequaints Herself with the Facts
“It probably isn’t as bad as you think, you
poor kid,” Verity said, feeling ages older than
the shuddering girl at her side. “ Come, we must
get back in school now. But, Inez ”
“Oh, what ?”
“I tell you what I’d do if it was me, and the
thing was serious ”
“Serious? Yes, it is serious. What would you
do, Verity?”
“I’d spill the whole bally tin of beans right
out to Reverend Mother.”
“ Ze—beans? Oh yes, I understand. Reverend
Muzzer? Oh, but I can never do that. She
will not even believe me ”
“If it’s real, she will.”
“God knows it is real ”
“Well, that’s something to hold on to—that
God knows. Inez, I do want to help. I’m giving
you the best advice I know. Reverend Mother
will believe. And she’ll be able to help. Do now,
like a good kid. I don’t care what it is—battle,
murder or sudden death—Reverend Mother will
be able to help.”
“Verity. There is battle—there is murder—
I t’ink dere will be sudden death—for me—
soon, quick, now—unless something become. It
is not dat Reverend Muzzer will not to under-
stand—she is unable—she cannot ”
“Don’t you believe it. Do as I tell you. Stick
up your chin, and remember you’re the daughter
of the Hazh Bazh.”
“Oh, Verity, I t’ink my fazzer is dead—and
27


More Murder in a Nunnery
my muzzer—and all my family right down to
de last little baby—to Grandissimo Superbo ”
“Well, I think they aren’t. You poor little
thing. Promise me, Inez—don’t put it off—go
to-day and tell Reverend Mother.”
“I t’ink,” Inez murmured, “perhaps I
must ”


28


CHAPTER IV
A PARLIAMENT OF RIBBONS
No trace of recent guilt or strong emotion
remained on Verity’s fresh-coloured and incor-
rigibly cheerful face when she got back into
school in nice time to see the Ribbons emerging
from the conference with Mother Peagle.
She waited to make sure that their eyes were
upon her, and then went and stood among a
group of very junior juniors, where she performed
an act of holding the Ribbons in awe if not
terror.
The Ribbons as usual looked uncomfortable,
except, of course, Torquilla and the black-avised
Alauda Gale, who remarked:
“That one is getting a bit stale, Verity. Not
so funny as it was.”
Verity suddenly decided to forgive the Ribbons,
for the moment anyhow.
“Sorry, Alauda. I’ll try to think up some-
thing quite new. There’s nothing I wouldn’t
do for a Ribbon.” She added:
“How’s the Peaglums this morning? Why
this sudden prejudice against the kitchen-gar-
dens? What’s the Great Secret?”
Alauda (the Hon. Alauda Gale) merely smiled
29


More Murder in a Nunnery
an aggravating smile down the sides of her
undoubtedly Norman nose. It was the slender
Philomene, always concerned for Verity, who
replied.
“Is there a secret?”
“Don’t be disingenuous,” Verity reproved.
“This Ribbon racket is corrupting you, Phil.
Where is your pristine candour?”
“Where is her—what?” It was the mighty
Torquilla, Head of the School, who demanded.
“What words you do use, Verity! You really
are a prize ass.”
“It’s second prize while you’re about.” And
Verity dodged the cuff which Torquilla aimed
at her head.
By what seemed strange coincidence—or per-
haps it was the workings of an interior grace—
all the Ribbons had gathered round, so that
Verity stood like Joseph among the brethren.
“Why this sudden affection?” she asked.
“It isn’t,” Alauda replied. “It’s scientific
interest.”
And there was a general smirk.
This was annoying. It was one thing for
Verity to have secrets apart from the Ribbons,
quite another for the Ribbons to have a secret
apart from her. The creatures obviously had a
secret.
They had. Little as Verity knew it, the chief
subject of discussion at the recent conference had
been—Verity herself.
Mother Peagle had opened the proceedings
30


A Parliament of Ribbons
by stressing the importance of the ban on the
kitchen-gardens, but, quick at the uptake, she
had noted a certain lack of response, not to say
glumness, on the faces around her. She had
paused accordingly, waiting for the glumness to
find expression.
Torquilla spoke.
“I bet you anything you like, Mother ”
But Mother Peagle had gone stone deaf, as
she always did when a manner of speech dis-
tressed her.
Torquilla tried again.
“Of course we’ll take care about the kitchen-
gardens, Mother, but ”
“Yes, Torquilla?”
“Well—I shouldn’t be at all surprised if
Verity was having a good nose round there at
this minute ”
“A good—what, Torquilla?”
“Well, a good look round.”
“Come, Torquilla. Verity must have seen
the notice ”
“Yes. But, Mother ”
It was Philomene speaking, and actually inter-
rupting. But a change had been coming over
Philomene of late: still as slender, as fragile, as
heartbreakingly pretty, she was beginning to
show a strong practical side. Mother Peagle,
whose wisdom had not failed her with Philomene
as it had with Verity, rejoiced, and was always
glad to hear Philomene’s voice raised in council.
“Yes, Philomene?”





31


More Murder in a Nunnery
~}_ _ ‘
“You see, Mother—though Verity pretends,
she doesn’t like not being a Ribbon. I think she
feels—at her age ”
Mother Peagle suppressed a sigh: the problem
of Verity, a girl she loved and therefore chas-
tened, was always on her conscience.
“I fear Verity is as irresponsible as ever,”
she answered Philomene.
“No, Mother. Excuse me, but really she isn’t.
You know how Verity pretends. But she is
seventeen, and at seventeen you can’t help being
responsible. You just feel it, and that’s all about
it. If Verity still behaves funnily, it’s because
her position is so funny—so senior, such a born
leader, and yet not a Ribbon. It’s awfully hard
on Verity, Mother ”
There was a chorus of agreement—loudest
perhaps in Alauda Gale, that shrewd and pug-
nacious young person, who on the whole did not
like Verity, and had certainly less affection than
the others for Mother Peagle.
“Yes, Alauda?”
“I think Philomene is right. It’s a nuisance
Verity’s not being a Ribbon. It would make
things a lot easier for us if she was.”
“Does she—obstruct you?”
“Oh dear, no. Nothing so obvious. She just-—-
sort of—grins at us ”
“Smiles ?”
“No, Mother: grins!”
Another chorus of approval, above which the
voice of Philomene was aga n heard.
32


A Parliament of Ribbons
“I do wish you would think about it, Mother.
You always decide right. Nothing can stop a
person like Verity from being an influence. I’m
sure it would be for the good of the School if
she were a Ribbon.”
“You, Torquilla?” said Mother Peagle.
“I’m all for it, Mother. Verity wasn’t any
more of a little beast than the rest of us, but she
somehow, without meaning to, drew more atten-
tion to herself. She got people’s goat ”
“ What did she do?”
“I don’t know how else to put it, Mother. I
mean, Verity did things in a special way. It was
partly that nose of hers ”
There was an outburst of laughter, to which
even Mother Peagle was forced to contribute a
smile. Verity’s nose had a unique slight tilt which
put it out of her power to look anything but
cheerful, even under reprimand, even in chapel
on Good Friday.
Ribbon feeling, it appearec’, ran strongly in
Verity’s favour. Such opposition as there was
came from Prudence Rockingham, who held,
and always had done, that because she was
virtuous there ought to be no more “cakes
and ale”.
“Yes, Prudence?”
“I am sorry to disagree with Torquilla and
Philomene, Mother, but I must say what I think
or fail in my duty. I hope I have no uncharit-
able feelings ”
“Oh bother!”—sotto voce but general.
33


More Murder in a Nunnery

“—but when I look back I cannot help seeing
how often I myself had to regret the influence
of Verity. She was, of course, younger then, but
I see nothing in her to-day which makes me think
she is more serious and conscientious.”
“Utter nonsense! If you mean she isn’t a
general wet-blanket like you ”
“Hush, Philomene.” And Mother Peagle
again looked towards Torquilla.
“Well, Mother, I can look back as far as
Prudencc—and so can Phil and Alauda—and
all I can say is I never regretted Verity’s influ-
ence.”
“Would I have been her best friend?” burst
out Philomene.
“What have you younger Ribbons got to
say?” inquired Mother Peagle.
A certain Muriel Maitland answered—a
quietly forceful girl, not unlikely to be Head of
the School next year.
“We feel very awkward about Verity, Mother.
I think most of us like her very much. Certainly
I do. I don’t believe she was ever a bad influ-
ence, and I’m sure she would be a good one now.”
“Good,” said Torquilla: which was exactly
the length at which she liked to deliver herself.
“I shall certainly not overlook a point on
which so many of you are agreed,” said Mother
Peagle. “I am most heartily with you in liking
Verity for herself ”
“Oh, Mother, do make Verity a Ribbon.”
It was Philomene, again interrupting.


34 .


A Parliament of Ribbons
“Hush,” admonished Prudence.
“Oh, you shut up ”
“—and in thinking,” went on Mother Peagle,
“that her cheerfulness would be an asset to us.
I shall earnestly reconsider the matter. Remem-
ber, Philomene, only the grace of God can
bring us to right judgments.”
“Yes, Mother, but please do make Verity a
Ribbon ”
The meeting then broke up.
Well might Verity suspect a secret.


35


Mr. Turtle Meets his Match
“I would much rather you came. But—
it’s sometimes not very nice, you know. I
mean ”
“Oh, I’ve been a V.A.D. in my time, and all
sorts of things. It would interest me to see how
you set about an affair like this ”
“And so you are really a nun,” Olive said,
with a frank look, as they set off.
Mother Assistant laughed.
“Am I as bad as you expected?”
“I am not quite sure what I did expect,”
Olive said, “but not—not like you.”
She flushed, not feeling quite sure if this was
polite. She had a very pretty flush.
Mother Assistant thought so.
“And you are not at all my idea of a lady
detective.”
“Thank goodness for that!” Olive said.
And they both laughed.
Verity, seated aloft at a front window paying
but little heed to what she described as the
“unspeakable gibberish” pouring from the lips
of Mother Bracken, saw the police party pass by,
recognized it for what it was, and almost fell out
with excitement.
“I do believe it’s a girl ’tec. They have them
now. Johnny told me. Oh, how I wish it was me!
How glorious to be her!”
Fortunately Mother Bracken was too much
absorbed in her positively astral theorem to take
notice, but the Ribbons took notice, and were
furious with Verity for risking a conduct mark
37


More Murder in a Nunrzery
at a time when Mother Peagle might be actually
on her knees in that “earnest reconsideration”
which she had promised.
How just like Verity!
Mother Assistant felt definitely nervous for
her new favourite, as, on approaching the dump,
they found Mr. Turtle standing beside it,
obviously in what Reverend Mother called one
of his “impossible” humours. Mr. Turtle seemed
always to have a presentiment of a crisis, and to
stop shaving in due time ahead.
“I am afraid our man is sometimes a little—
difficult,” she whispered to Olive.
But Olive was young and believed that Turtles
are only a matter of handling.
“Good morning, Mr. Turtle. How horrid for
you this morning. So this is your dump. What
a beauty! I should like to have a look over it
when I’ve asked you a few questions.”
However it may be with nuns, with Mr.
Turtle it was certainly true that he was old-
fashioned, easily shocked and opposed to progress
in all its forms. He was not aware that such
creatures as Olive existed. He hated being
“spoke pert to by a young gal”. He gave Olive
a look all over (at which the Sergeant bristled),
and he spat aside.
“And ’oo may you be, if a man may ast a
plain question?”
“My name is Churston,” Olive answered
pleasantly. “ I am a police-oflicer, and at present
looking into this case.”
38


Mr. Turtle Meets his Match
mine. Can you suggest a reason why this man
should not be at work as usual?”
“I cannot. And reason why. ’Cos I never give
’im a thought.”
“Please do so now. Do you know where he
is?”
“I do’ know nothink about him. Nor I do’
want to know nothink about him.”
“You are a very unsatisfactory witness.” And
Olive turned away from Mr. Turtle, on her heel,
so to speak, dropping him as if he were some
failure in his own vegetable world, and spoke to
the Sergeant.
“We must account for this man. Will you go
over and search the hut, Sergeant? See if it
shows any signs of sudden departure. Have a
look in the bushes too; he may be scared and
hiding.”
Next minute she was supervising a photo-
grapher and his work, giving expert directions
and using the jargon of photography, to Mother
Assistant’s edification. The body was meanwhile
moved into an empty greenhouse, where Dr.
Goodall followed it like a scientific vulture. He
had the air of one saying to himself, “I’ll larn
you to be a dead body!” and he did most
thoroughly “larn” it.
Olive assisted him, and seemed in her quickly
assumed surgical head-dress and gloves as much
at home in autopsy as in photography.
“However did she pick it all up? How old
can she be?” Mother Assistant was thinking
4.1


More Murder in a Nunnery
as, moved by old V.A.D. memories, she watched
the grisly proceedings through the glass.
After a deal of general poking and probing
Dr. Goodall seemed to pounce. There was a
little quick work with scalpel and forceps, a
grunt from the man of science, and the latter
instrument was withdrawn tightly locked upon
some small object, which he showed to Olive,
remarking facetiously, “Here’s what done it,
ma’am. Shot at dam’ short range—through the
kidneys—with these little jokers!”
Olive nodded, and immediately went outside
to receive the report of the Sergeant, just returned
from the hut.
The Sergeant had drawn a complete blank.
The door of the hut was not locked, everything
within was orderly, there were no “firearms or
other lethal weapons”, nothing was suspicious,
and nothing offered a hint as to the present
whereabouts of the wanted man.
“My own belief is, miss, he’ll be coming back
to that hut, with a headache.”
Olive’s composure had been perfect through-
out the proceedings, but now she began to look
exhausted, and there was a trace of exasperation
in her manner. She frowned for a moment as if
in deep thought, and then turned to Mother
Assistant.
“You probably know all about that hut—er—
madam. Has it a cellar or storehouse under-
neath—anywhere for a man to hide in?”
“No, Miss Churston. I was present myself
42


Mr. Turtle Meets his Match
when it was erected. It is just a little one-room
pre-fab. There is only insulation under the floor.
To my certain knowledge no cellar or store-
house.”
But Olive, still frowning, was straining her eyes
across at the hut.
“What’s all that digging round the place?”
she asked in a general way.
“They been growing celery there, miss, or so
I’d think,” said the Sergeant.
Mother Assistant nodded confirmation.
But at this moment there was a diversion. A
small police-van much like a coffin on wheels
had sidled into position. There was considerable
shuffling of large feet as all officers joined in
consigning the draped corpse within. Mother
Assistant reverently knelt, and Olive, after a
glance, did likewise. The van drove away with
its burden to some place of mortuary where it
would await identification. Noses were generally
blown. The bleak and godless little ceremony
was at an end.
“Dingy, isn’t it?” Olive was saying to Mother
Assistant. “They always leave out this part in
the crime stories.”
“You—you feel the lack of religion?” Mother
Assistant gently suggested. “Yes, it is godless-
ness which exhausts.”
Mother Assistant was not a shining light or a
person of penetrating intelligence, but one thing
she did know when she saw it, and that was a
tired girl.
43



CHAPTER VI
REVEREND MOTHER READS THE TIMES
NEVVSPAPER
AT a fixed hour every day Reverend Mother was
in the habit of quickly and expertly scanning
through The Times.
This is not to be taken as a sidelight on her
character but on the position she held as head
of a cosmopolitan institution.
Harrington was such an institution: its human
complement included, among choir-nuns, lay-
sisters and children, many not entitled to the
blessing of a British passport.
It thus behoved Reverend Mother to keep
abreast of foreign politics. Therefore she read
The Times.
This, and a confidential friend at the Foreign
Office, kept her reasonably well informed as to
the main tendencies of events in even the most
obscure countries.
Only a few days before the discovery of the
body on the dump her eye had been caught, her
attention fixed, by about an eighth of a column
to the following effect:
(6
News from Anaconda continues to be con-
flicting—according to its source. It seems,
46


Reverend Mother Reads The Times
however, to be established that the Com-
munist rising against the Hazh Bazh, Don
Magnifiguo Escapado, far from having been
repressed, has been successful in capturing
the capital city of Lilitha and in forcing the
Hazh Bazh and his adherents into the jungle.
The legation emphatically denies the rumour
from a Communist source that he and his entire
family have been put to death. While un-
doubtedly a dubious situation exists in Ana-
conda there is reason to believe that Don
Magnifiguo still constitutes the dominating
factor. He is a master of jungle warfare.”
“I should not be at all surprised,” Reverend
Mother commented to herself; and, completing
her perusal of the paper, and folding it neatly,
she rang up her friend—one Sir Clement de
\N'illowby—at the Foreign Office.
“Anaconda?” said the cheerful voice of Sir
Clement. “If I were you I shouldn’t worry at
all, Reverend Mother. If I know anything about
Escapado, he isn’t done for yet-——not by a long
chalk. I’ll let you have any lowdown there is.
No trouble at all. Delighted. Best love to
Sefiorita Inez.”
Reverend Mother then sent for Inez. It was
her custom to have a private word or two from
time to time with all the foreign children, and
so there was nothing out of the way in her doing
this.
“Well, Inez, my child—-—”
4-7


ll/[ore Murder in a Nunnery
The lapse of two‘ years had taken nothing from
the exotic beauty of Inez but rather added to it.
At fourteen she was exquisite. If she was less
now the perfect little savage which had once
thrilled Reverend Mother’s imagination, there
was a new depth to her, a greater warmth and
glow, which thrilled Reverend Mother even
more. There were nothing but good reports of
her, for she was the soul of prudence in all things.
The only people to find her a little trying some-
times were her classmates and the Ribbons,
because of a certain patronage which showed
in her manner to both. She felt older than
English fourteen-year-olds, and she could not
understand what such great creatures as Tor-
quilla, say, were doing still at school when by
Anacondan standards they ought to be married
and the mothers of at least one child.
“Dear Reverend Muzzer ”
Reverend Mother did not come straight to her
point but kept the talk general for a while, satis-
fying herself from the girl’s natural manner that
she was in no present alarm.
It was after some time that she said:
“And how are all your people in Anaconda,
Inez? Is your brother Jacquimo as good a
correspondent as ever?”
“Oh yes, t’ank you, Reverend Muzzer, all my
family are ver’ well—from my great-grandfazzer
down to de little baby-brother, Grandissimo
Superbo. I have long letter from Jacquee five,
six days ago. He say it is ver’ amusing in Lilitha
48


Reverend Mather Reads The Times
just now because of de Communists dat shoot
at us always and say dey will throw us all to
de crocodiles.”
“He finds that amusing, does he?” said
Reverend Mother. “I have always wanted to
meet Jacquimo.”
“Perhaps he come to England someday to see
me. He has great curiosity to see England be-
cause of de funny t’ings which I write him about
de English.”
Reverend Mother could only wonder what
sort of figure the Community cut in these pages.
“You are not nervous, Inez—about the Com-
munists?”
Inez shrugged. “Oh no, Reverend Muzzer.
Jacquee tell me it is all O.K. It is not ver’ easy
to kill my fazzer. Many people try. Most days.
But,” with a gesture, “he is not dead.”
“Are you sorry to be away from Anaconda
at this ‘amusing’ time, Inez?”
“I regret sometimes, Reverend Muzzer. But
I am obedient to my fazzer. In Anaconda a
daughter is obedient to her fazzer. My fazzer
say, Anaconda is bad, bad, bad, but dat is one
of de good t’ings, dat de childrens obeys their
parents. Besides, Reverend Muzzer,” Inez went
on, “even in England, among all your police-
men and with your English Constitution, I share
in the dangers of my family.”
“Surely not, Inez.”
“Oh, but yes, Reverend Muzzer. If de Com-
munists wish to kill all of us, dey will not miss
49


More Murder in a Nunnery
me out. Dey will send a bazh—I beg your
pardon, a man—to kill me also. In de Convent
here, wiz all de big windows, it is easy for some-
one to climb in and kill me.”
Good God!
Inez did not hear this inward exclamation of
Reverend Mother’s. She did not see any out-
ward sign of it on the perfectly controlled face.
All she knew was that after a short silence
Reverend Mother put an arm round her, drawing
her closer to her side.
When Reverend Mother spoke, it was beside
the point.
“What do you think your father meant, Inez,
when he said Anaconda was bad, bad, bad?”
“He mean that in Anaconda dere are no laws
and parliaments and—and t’ings ”
“Does he think there ought to be?”
“Oh yes. He say to me, if ever he can settle
with dese Communists he will make laws and
have parliaments, and teach de people not to
kill so much, and not throw anybody to de
crocodiles. He was beginning to try to do some
of dese t’ings, but de people only t’ink he is
not so strong as he was, so they listen to de
Communists, who tell zem dat a man of their own,
a man called Marx, ought to be de Hazh Bazh.”
“Yes,” Reverend Mother said. “I am very
sorry for your father. The most diflicult thing
in the world is to teach people to have new and
better ideas.” She broke off, and went on, still
holding the girl close to her.
50


More Murder in a Nunnery
with what seemed some sort of hysterical break-
down. Mother Infirmarian issued sad reports
of her condition. The doctor had come, given a
soothing injection, advised absolute quiet
But Inez could not be quiet. She kept forever
starting up in bed declaring with wild eyes
that the garden was full of deadly snakes. She
cried out for “Juan—_]uan”, but more often for
somebody called “Diego”—whom nobody
knew.
The doctor came again and stayed a long
while, watching Inez closely.
He interviewed Reverend Mother.
“Do you know of anything she may have on
her mind?”
Reverend Mother gave him a very guarded
account of things which might well be on Inez’s
mind.
The doctor pulled a long face and promised
to come again first thing in the morning.
Reverend Mother made up her mind. She
consulted no one. She was the last woman to
cry out for help but the first to realize when
help must at all costs be had.
Effective help.
“I shall let Mr. Pearson at least hear about
this.”

52


More Murder in a Nunnery

they were bringing the Good News from Ghent
to Aix. One such would hand in a cable from
the Lady Gale at Bordighera asking if it was
really safe for the Honourable Alauda to stay
at Harrington? Now, Alauda was no chicken;
she was seventeen, a Ribbon, and about the
toughest girl in the School.
More excusable was the anxiety of the Mac-
Binkie of MacBinkie for his Thistle, a harebell
of a child. But it was a pity that his strong
Scottish nationalist principles compelled him to
wire in Gaelic. The boy had to be kept waiting
until a certain Mother McVehoy, who alone
knew Gaelic, could be run down in some remote
sphere of usefulness and asked what it was exactly
the MacBinkie wished to be reassured about.
Reverend Mother’s post-bag swelled out to
mammoth proportions, for not only did almost
every parent want advice by return but all
generations of “Old Children” birographed end-
less pages of sympathy and begged for “just a
line when you are not too busy”.
There was also the Press. Whatever happens
in a convent (except the prayer) is “news”, and
the public must have it. But here Harrington
was provided: a certain Mother Gogg, who had
heard the “still, small voice” of vocation above
the roar of printing machines in Fleet Street,
handled the needs of the Press to perfection,
and enjoyed herself into the bargain.
The great thing was, of course, to prevent such
a boiling over of parental solicitude as to cause
54


Told in Gath
know, Reverend Mother. This is certainly a
matter for us. I shall come down to Har-
rington ”
“ Could you spare the time? This is more than
I could have ventured to ask.” But the relief
in Reverend Mother’s voice was very great.
“Of course I shall come. My time exists for
such troubles as this of yours. Besides ”
She knew he was searching around in his
mind for a compliment sufficiently delicate, but
much as she would have liked to hear it she
could not wait.
“When will you come?”
“I will come at once. I will be with you in
a few hours.”


57


CHAPTER VIII
MR. SMITH—OF BIRMINGHAM
MEANWHILE the Harrington police were very
busy indeed.
The usual almost touching notices were got
out inviting Juan Copanza to get in touch at
once, and, with a view no doubt to the personal
persuasion of any officer he might meet, a detailed
description of him, obtained by Olive from
Mother Assistant, was circulated to all stations.
The police have their own methods of letting
it be known that they have a corpus delicti awaiting
identification, and these were no sooner afoot
than a certain Mrs. Parsley, together with her
son Alfred, a lugubrious young man in the early
twenties, and her pretty daughter Lulu, a “teen-
ager” (to use an expression which would have
sent Mother Peagle stone deaf), arrived at the
station, and were interviewed by Olive.
Mrs. Parsley began by stating that she was
of the highest respectability and had never had
dealings of any kind with the police before.
Mr. Alfred looked lugubrious, and Miss Lulu
giggled, nudged her mother, and said, “Come
off it, Mum, now do.”
Nor, resumed Mrs. Parsley, would she be
58


More. Murder in a Nunnery
~_}___#__ 7 ;
Birmingham” carried her very far. Such a name
and neighbourhood proclaimed itself as a hasty
and impudent improvisation. Still, anything
was better than nothing. The Parsleys could
be closely examined about their late lodger, and
his effects might yield much when inquired into.
Questioned by Olive: Mr. Alfred admitted to
knowing nothing about Mr. Smith. He had met
him at the Party club meeting, where conver-
sation had revealed them as kindred spirits. No,
Smith wasn’t young—not to say young: thirty-
five if a day. He knew an awful lot, Smith did,
and had travelled all over the earth. In fact,
as Olive saw, Mr. Alfred had been fascinated.
Further questioned: Mr. Alfred knew of no
enemies Mr. Smith could have had, and it was
a shame if he had any.
Volunteered by Miss Lulu: Smith was a man
likely to have as many enemies as there was
people saw him.
Inserted by Mrs. Parsley: Miss Lulu was a
naughty girl. Deceived as she might have been,
Mrs. Parsley would always say of Mr. Smith
that he was quite the gentleman. Or she would
never have had him in her house, being accus-
tomed to the highest standards. Mr. Alfred was
to straighten his tie, and Miss Lulu to pull her
frock down, for shame—what would the lady
think?
Further questioned by Olive: Mr. Alfred
couldn’t rightly remember just how the matter
arose of Smith’s coming to board with them.
6o


Mr. Smith—of Birmingham
I picked up the impression of a very unplea-
sant person. If so, I expect his purpose was
unpleasant. If only we could get hold of Juan
Copanza ”
“We will, love. Don’t you fret. There’s mills
as grinds slow, like, but grinds exceedin’ small.”
$6
63


More Murder in a Nunnery
been gone already but that she was not quite
sure of the hang of her skirt.
“Hallo, Phil. Some people knock at doors
before entering. As you are here you might have
a look at this beastly skirt ”
“It only wants ” And Philomene adroitly
did it, remarking with studied nonchalance:
“The Peaglums wants to see you for a
minute ”
“Bother the Peaglums! Does she expect me
to keep my boy-friend waiting? W'hat does she
want?”
“How should I know? “There are you going?”
“Now then, nosey. But if you must know, I
am going to see that rich old cousin of mine—~
the one from whom I have ‘expectations’.”
Philomene sighed. She knew this cousin of
old. There “ wasn’t no sich a person”, but when-
ever she was invoked it meant that Verity did
not want any company. Philomene had wept
quarts over that cousin in her day.
“Don’t forget the Peaglums. Oh—and,
Verity ”
“What’s the matter now?”
“Why are you so horrid to me?”
“Don’t be maudlin. I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. W e’ve never been out together
once this term. We used to be such friends.”
“Circumstances alter cases. It’s you that’s
horrid to me really—always about with Tor-
quilla and Alauda. Besides, you’re a Ribbon.
You might go giving me away.”




66


More Murder in a ./Vunnery
“Verity dear, you are the new Ribbon. Here
it is, and may God bless you.”
Verity recoiled. “Mother ”
Mother Peagle went calmly on. “Torquilla
and all the other Ribbons asked me to do this.
On thinking it over I have felt sure they were
right. It sometimes happens to strong charac-
ters, dear, to get misjudged. I have allowed
myself to act with prejudice against you, and I
am sorry.”
“Don’t, Mother-please——-—”
Mother Peagle patted Verity’s hand and took
up the ribbon.
“Here it is. I realize it comes too late to give
the pleasure it might have done ”
“No. I like it this way.”
“I would put it on for you,” Mother Peagle
said, “if you were not so very smart. What a
nice suit, Verity.”
“Do you think so? The skirt is a bit—it’s apt
to show my slip ”
“It won’t when you are wearing the right
sort of underclothes to go with it.” And
Mother Peagle gave the waist a much more
competent adjustment than Philomene had been
able to.
“You’re a wonder, Mother. Being a nun
too—I beg your pardon ”
“My dear, I knew all about frocks and suits
before you were born or thought of. Off with
you now, and have your walk. Remember, that
ribbon takes effect as from the time when you
68


Better Late Than Never
should have had it. It makes you next to Tor-
quilla and Alauda.”
She shook both Verity’s hands and kissed her.
Smart as the new suit was, and slightly absurd
as the new ribbon looked over it, none the less
it was in this motley that Verity burst in again
upon the waiting Philomene.
“My worst fears are confirmed. Pray for the
poor dear Peaglums, Phil; she is slipping fast
away.”
“ Oh—Verity ”
“Don’t be lachrymose. Come on, let’s go for
that walk—though I did promise my cousin ”


It was when they were coming back after the
walk. A “definitely super” car was standing
outside the Convent door. Not that this was any-
thing out of the way, but there was something
dzjerent about this car.
“I hope Inez isn’t worse and it’s a specialist,”
Philomene said.
Verity was positive. “Awful big shot, but not
a doctor.”
The “awful big shot” was about to descend
from his chariot, the door of which was held
open for him by two rigid figures at the salute.
“ Coo ! ” murmured Philomene.
The big shot drew himself up to a tall but
tenuous height on the pavement. The early
twilight of an autumn day was falling, but the
ray of a street lamp shone on the face.
Verity clutched Philomene by the elbow.
69


_ CHAPTER X
THE VISIT TO THE PARSLEY HOUSE
OLIVE and Sergeant Baseldon were on their way
to inspect the Parsley “home” and the late Mr.
Smith’s effects.
As they went Olive continued to fret about
the disappearance of Juan Copanza, who con-
tinued to resist all calls to come and make friends
with the police.
“A man can’t just vanish into thin air. I have
a feeling that Copanza never existed. The nuns
imagined him.”
As there was no one about the Sergeant per-
mitted himself to be unofficial; he took and patted
Olive’s hand.
“Trouble with you girls,” he said, “isn’t that
you ain’t clever, it’s you’re too eager. You feel
things as too personal. What you’ve got to do,
if you’re ever to be the first lady Chief Inspector,
as the Missus and me both thinks you will be, is
to keep calm. That’s the great lesson every
policeman ’as to learn.”
“I don’t think I shall ever be a Chief Inspec-
tor,” Olive said.
“You mean as you’ll get married?”
(‘N0 77

71


The Visit to the Parsley House
“It’s in ’ere you want to ’ave a look.” And
Miss Lulu, pulling aside a curtain, revealed what
was without doubt an interesting piece of luggage.
It was a small case made of some metal and
most meticulously locked, padlocked and tied
with strong cord.
“I’d take care if I was you,” counselled Lulu.
“A Bolshy spy, that’s wot ’e was.” And she
ducked down behind the bed while the Sergeant
coped with the exhibit.
But nothing startling occurred when the case
at last stood open. Inside was much paper
scrawled over in a language totally unfamiliar
to Olive. It was not even in Roman characters.
More interesting was a map, which appeared to
be of the Convent walls, with special attention
to those parts where a 'builder’s care was needed.
There was also a passport, emanating from St.
Helena, made out in the name of “John Smith,
Student, British Subject”, and showing a not
very recognizable photograph of the same.
It was, however, under all the literary matter,
and flat with the bottom of the case, that the
real interest was found. Here was another
case, not much larger than a pencil-box, and
again closely secured. This, when the Sergeant
had opened it with the utmost caution, was
found to contain a very queer collection of
objects. These were a sort of sturdy blowpipe
and a number of highly pointed darts.
“Don’t you go touchin’ ’em,” cried Miss
Lulu. “The points is all over a vegytable fat of
73


The Visit to the Parsley House
quick, ’e did, almost as if ’e jumped it. Some
champion ’urdler ”
“When was this? How long ago?”
“About a week ”
“Was—Srnith—in the Lane at the time?”
“Yes, ’e was. Mousin’ as usual. I ’ad an idea
the young fella wanted a look at ’im ”
“Do you think he got one?”
“I’d say ’e did.”
“What you are telling me may be of the
greatest importance ”
(G00, 3,
“Can you remember anything else?”
Lulu giggled.
“Yes—’cos I ’ad to laugh. Smith see the young
fella come over the wall, and—’ave you ever
see a big spider leg it? Well, that’s wot Smith
done—sort of stoopin’ and lurkin’ and ’uggin’
the wall. An’ nex’ minute ’e was back ’ere,
a-tryin’ to give me a kiss—ugh! But I fetched
’im a good ’un with the rollin’-pin. Coo! but I
did ’ave to laugh?-”





75


CHAPTER XI
“O CUCKOO! SHALL I CALL THEE BIRD,
OR BUT A WANDERING VOICE?”
OLIVE and the Sergeant took a short-cut back to
the station through the Convent grounds.
The season was autumn, and not now of
“mellow fruitfulness” but inclining towards
winter. The sky above was leaden; and though
everything seemed perfectly still, none the less
an occasional frisson of cold air was about, nipping
some sere leaf here and there to the ground.
“I hate autumn,” Olive said.
“Come now, you’ve no call to do that,
girl. If there was no autumn there’d be no
spring.”
The Sergeant was carrying Mr. Smith’s metal
case, and he referred to that when he said:
“Queer sort of thing. I don’t remember
ever to have seen its like. I think the fellow must
have been a Mexican. It’s in Mexico where they
use blowguns.”
“And in other parts of South America,”
Olive said.
The Sergeant shook his head. “Ah, I know
very little about them other parts. America
means Yanks to me. There’s Argentine though,
76


“O Cuckoo! Shall I Call Thee Bird?”
isn’t there? And a place called Chilly——though
I’m told it’s ’ot as blazes ”
“Yes. And Brazil,” Olive said. “And there’s
Anaconda ”
“Never heard any good of any of it,” said the
Sergeant.
They were passing round the little lake in the
grounds as they spoke, and Olive paused to
watch the zigzag patterns of one or two moor-
hens on the water.
The Sergeant glanced at her suspiciously.
“You’re tired. Let’s sit down on one o’ these
benches for a minute.”
They sat in companionable silence. But then
Olive quoted in an undertone:


“ The sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.”
“You couldn’t ’ardly expect ’em to sing all
year round,” said the Sergeant. “They’d bust
’emselves.”
He had hardly spoken when the loud, clear
call of a bird rang out over the grounds.
Olive sprang to her feet. Less nimbly the
Sergeant rose and stood beside her.
The call was repeated.
“Whatever ?” Olive cried. “It’s like the
cuckoo and the curlew, but with more notes.
Couldn’t you swear it was telling something?”
“That’s no English bird,” said the Sergeant.
“Got loose out of an aviary, that has.” His
police conscience rousing within him, he added:
77


CHAPTER XII
SIR ANDREW PEARSON
SIR ANDREW PEARSON was not a Prodigal Son—
far from it—~but if he had been, and were return-
ing now, husk-sated, to the paternal mansion,
he could not have been more kindly received
than he was by Mother Peck.
One gathers from the parable that the elder
gentleman, the father of the Prodigal Son, was
well able to express emotion. This gift was
denied Mother Peck. Some even thought her
deficient. But she opened the Convent door on
Sir Andrew that night in a way which nailed
that calumny to the counter for ever as the false-
hood which it was.
“I am pleased to see you, Sir Andrew. I trust
you are in good health?”
The lay-sister in attendance gasped for breath:
Mother Peck had not withheld the favour of
her hand.
Nor did Sir Andrew show himself unequal to
this high moment; he grasped the hand and swept
a bow over it.
“I am very well indeed, thank you, Mother.
But how are you?”
“I am well, in the mercy of God.”
79


jllore Murder in a Nunnery
There was a short religious pause.
“It looks,” said Mother Peck, as she closed
the door, “as if we were to have a fog, Sir
Andrew.”
“I fear so indeed, Mother. Turning colder
too.”
“These are small trials, Sir Andrew. If we
were to be tried according to our deserts, which
of us could abide it?”
“Which indeed, Mother?” Sir Andrew stood
first on one leg and then on the other.
' “Be pleased,” said Mother Peck, “to step
this way.” And all the angels of God sang
together as she added:
“Reverend Mother is expecting you.”
There was no anticlimax. No further words
were spoken as the solemn progress towards
Reverend Mother’s parlour was begun. But
Mother Peck was edified to behold how Sir
Andrew remembered the way without fault,
traversed it with ceremony, and drew up as
upon a chalked line.
Sir Andrew would have been glad, no doubt,
had he known the edification he was causing;
but the truth is that memory was making such
an attack on his feelings he was hardly conscious
of Mother Peck, five foot full as she was. He
had once been so very happy here. The words
of de Musset haunted his mind:
“ A Saint Blaise, 51 la Zuecca,
Le coeur est bien la.”
80


Sir Andrew Pearson
Nothing was altered in this timeless place.
There was a lump in his throat as he inhaled
again the hallows of the chapel, as he saw again
the bright beam which denoted the Grotto of
Lourdes, as he heard the muted recital of that
organ which it seemed Mother Frederica had
never given up playing.
There came to him too, out of the warm dark-
ness which stretched beyond the cloister, a sense
of the volume of young life invisibly present there.
He did not need Mother Peck to chasten him.
Mother Peck now began her great act. She
withdrew from the door, she stealthily approached
the door, she listened at the door—she tapped
at the door. She listened again.
“Entrez ”
The door might now be canonically opened,
and with a fine flourish it was.
“ Reverend Mother—Sir Andrew Pearson ”
Then, with one of her throttled curtsies and a
look of adoration in her sea-green eye, Mother
Peck withdrew.
“Some day you will come here and find me
not able to be got at at all,” Reverend Mother
said, as she and Sir Andrew shook hands with
an exchange of cordial glances. “I am more
and more hemmed in by ritual. My impulse
was to meet you in the porch this evening, but
I should have sent Mother Peck to bed for a
fortnight if I had done. I expect you get the
same sort of thing at the Yard nowadays?”
“ I think not the same sort of thing. If you will
81


More Murder in a Nunnery
It is enough to deceive even the-—elect. What
can be done?”
“Much can be done.. You and I together, we
shall do it. Leave the practical side entirely to
me. I beg you to put your mind at rest. I shall
put through a call to the Yard—now. Then-
may I speak to Inez?”
“Certainly. I will fetch her. You must
prepare to be shocked ”
He put through his call shortly. When he had
done so he stood looking all round the beautiful
room where he was. The picture it presented
was one of perfect security in a well-ordered
and enduring scheme of things.
But the eeriness dwelt.

84


Inez
gladly give her life to save yours; and all around
you, endlessly watchful though you cannot see
it, is the whole power of the law of a great
country. Put it out of your head that you are
in any danger.”
“Danger ” she muttered. And, her eyes
awfully dilating, she looked him in the face.
He observed her closely. There was lucidity
again in her eye, almost a cunning; but he could
not disguise from himself, and was puzzled
and even hurt, that she profoundly mistrusted
him.
“You are great_ man of de police,” she said.
“But in England all things are different from
Anaconda ”
“I know,” he said. “That is why I so much
need your help to help you ”
“Was he not covered with de brown paper?”
she cried. “What more could Diego do? Is it
wrong, in England, to kill a snake which is about
to bite?”
Sir Andrew carefully abstained from asking
who “Diego” was, or what the “brown paper”.
“Did Diego kill a snake?” was all he said.
“Did you see him do it?”
She nodded. “It was a man-snake. Dey are
the worst. It was killing me, but Diego shot it.
Is it wrong to kill a man-snake?” _
“Not if you know it is one, and there is
nothing else you can do ”
“You do not put people in prison for killing
man-snakes? ’ ’




87


More Murder in a Nunnery
‘G
No, no, dear. Diego has nothing to fear.
We shall only ask him to explain.”
Sir Andrew was back on his old and successful
policy, of trusting the innate tendency of all
human stories to tell themselves if they are
treated with that meekness which “inherits the
earth”. Inez’s face lost its cunning look, she drew
closer to him. Undoubtedly she was about to
give him her confidence-———
But then suddenly her manner changed. She
lifted a finger—“Hush———” He saw the terror
return to her face.
He was now able to watch one of these fits
in action. He saw how she sought frantically
around for cover but found none adequate to
her needs, at which her agony increased. He saw
it was not imagination which caused her panic,
and it was not hysterical: it was more like a
telepathy—a remotely atavistic warning, coeval
with the cavemen, crucifying the nerves with
foreknowledge of danger and doom.
“Ah,” she cried, “de window—de win-
dow ” And she threw herself in a crouched
heap down in a corner.
“It is nothing,” he reassured her. “A pane
of the fanlights must have got loose. It is far
too high for anyone to get up there from out-
side.”
“Down!” she whispered. “Down upon de
floor. An Anacondan can climb anywhere ”
There was now no doubt of a stealthy sound at
the top of the great window. Even as Sir Andrew
88


CHAPTER XIV \
AN ETHICAL POINT RESOLVED BY FOG
PSYCHOLOGY, more or less erroneous, is often
invoked to eke out the interest of a story, but
ethics hardly ever. Nevertheless, after the events
of that evening, a serious ethical consideration
confronted Reverend Mother.
The School for which she was responsible con-
sisted of not less than, say, one hundred and forty
girls aged from seventeen to seven. If a very
fierce measles had broken out in the School, or a
scarlet fever, those children not involved would
have been sent home. No measles or scarlet fever
formed the present crisis, but a campaign of
murder directed against one child might very
well involve some one or other of the remaining
hundred and thirty-nine.
Suppose, for example, that snake, so effectively
dealt with by Sir Andrew Pearson, had got loose
in the Junior School? And who could positively
say what more was coming?
Reverend Mother must ask herself, therefore,
if it was fair play to the parents and common
honesty to keep the children at school?
She knew perfectly well that if, say, the Lady
Gale got so much as an inkling in Bordighera of
what was happening in Harrington, then the very
QI


More Murder in a Nunnery
latest development in jet-propulsion—said to be
saucer-shaped and capable of doing its 1,500
m.p.h.—would not be nearly fast enough to bring
her to Alauda’s side. ,
Gaelic is no doubt a rich and expressive tongue
—as much richer than the Sassenagih as the works
of Ossian.are obviously superior to those of Shake-
speare—but Gaelic itself would fail to express the
feelings of the MacBinkie of MacBinkie if he knew
that his Thistle had been even for a moment on
the same premises as a poisonous snake.
Admiral Hercules would certainly have a fit.
Reverend Mother could not doubt that, at the
least hint, all the parents would arise as one
parent and descend in a parental avalanche upon
Harrington, all saying the same thing, and saying
it very loud and clear, and shouting it in Reverend
Mother’s ear.
Most of the parents were earnest students of
crime in its fictional form; but in factual form,
and as concerning the flesh of their flesh, their
horror of it would outdo that of every Chief
Justice who has ever dismissed a murder appeal
with an apophthegm.
But first things come first; and the first thing
was to get Inez back (as they put it in Guernsey)
“in bed with the doctor”, a nun forever by her
side, and two stout detectives from Scotland Yard
cutting off all access by their bulk alone.
Not a child in the School had a suspicion of
what had occurred or how near they were to
a sudden outburst of the Christmas holidays.
Q2


An Ethical Point Resolved by Fog
Of the Community, Mother Assistant knew,
Mother Peagle, and, probably, Mother Bunting
as novice-mistress. But such shining lights as
Mother Peck and Mr. Turtle were left in total
darkness: all of which goes to show how very
much may be happening under the noses of intel-
ligent people and they knowing nothing about it.
The telephone-call put through to the Yard
immediately before the outrage now began to
have effect in the arrival at Harrington of a
choice selection from among the brainiest and
weightiest of the Chief Detective-Inspectors and
Super-Superintendents of the former place.
Assembled together in the Priests’ Parlour, they
looked like a grounded school of porpoises,
each grasping under an immense fin the
squashiest of squash hats.
“Well, gentlemen ” And Sir Andrew made
his appearance among them, to a buzz of acclaim.
“I hope,” he went on, “none of you had any
difficulty in getting here? The fog is very dense,
I’m afraid.”
“Aye,” said a very Scots voice. “It’s that,
Sir Andrew. I would feel justified in calling it
dense, and I misdoot it’ll maybe be worse. I’m
fearing we’re in for a long spell of it.”
And Superintendent MacTavish loudly and
gloomily blew his nose.
“I sincerely hope you are mistaken, Mac-
Tavish,” said Sir Andrew, “for I have a matter
to put before you all this evening which fog
would greatly complicate. However, it cuts
93


An Ethical Point Resolved by Fog
“VVhat will you say, Reverend Mother, if I
may ask? It is such an unprecedented thing,
apart from epidemic ”
“I shall say that, until a matter connected
with a foreign child is settled, both the Foreign
Office and Scotland Yard advise a short suspen-
sion of the School.”
“It is for you to say, Reverend Mother.
Perhaps, if we postponed the matter for a day
or two, the necessity need not arise.”
“We must postpone it,” Reverend Mother
said, “until this fog lifts. It would be a prac-
tical impossibility to get the children off. But
I shall have my letter in readiness, and, if
to-morrow gives us any hope, it must be sent,
and preparations made accordingly.”
“Of course,” boomed Mother Assistant in her
best brigadier voice—the same which had hope-
lessly bamboozled Sergeant Baseldon.
Reverend Mother then withdrew to draft her
letter, which cost her immense pains. And
she knew there could be no sleep in prospect
for her that night, but she must pass its anxious
hours ceaselessly patrolling the dormitories, pull-
ing aside curtains to peer into cubicles, and ever
and anon reverting to the infirmary for the
latest report on Inez.
That letter was one of the hardest tasks which
Reverend Mother of Harrington had ever had
to undertake.
And it was destined never to be sent.

95


CHAPTER XV
THE PRESENCE OF SISTER URSULA
THE night passed without further event. Yet
there was nothing to show in the morning that
it had passed. The fog was as dense as ever.
Mercifully it did not afflict the spirits of the
children at Harrington, who found it exciting
to have all the lights on at breakfast-time. Mass
was felt to be a midnight Mass. No human
power could have prevented Fr. Witherstick’s
punctual arrival to say that Mass, and, the
Mass said, nothing could have prevented his
departure. But first a little procession of senior
nuns accompanied him to the infirmary, where
Inez was communicated. Her condition on
this morning of all mornings seemed to be
quieter.
All London was coping as best as it could with
this periodic nuisance which it brings down on
itself. Nothing quite like a fog in an English
city has ever been known, probably, in history.
Mists are inevitable in a damp island, and were
known in the days of Beowulf. But a fog is a
result of highly artificial conditions—of indus-
trialism, of factories and great smoke-stacks and
of myriads of domestic chimneys, all hard at it,
96


The Presence of Sister Ursula
day and night befouling the air, until the
higher atmosphere becomes choked with it; then,
owing to some change of temperature, it is held
and forced down again to meet and mix with
the ascending mists of the foul dank fens and
rivers, and the light of the sun is utterly blocked
out.
A London fog is simply the dense saturated
mists of the sea blackened by the pent-up smoke
of our innumerable chimneys.
In such a fog the pedestrian may be turned
right round and set off in the reverse direction
without in the least knowing what he is doing.
Business, of course, every kind of human
activity, is enormously complicated by fog.
Nevertheless it has to be gone about somehow:
during the night the “big shots” of Scotland
Yard managed to disperse, so that in the morn-
ing only Sir Andrew and Superintendent Mac-
Tavish remained to partake of the breakfast
which Sister Carmela brought them.
Mr. MacTavish was to be in command of all
police arrangements at Harrington throughout
the day. He therefore made an excellent break-
fast.
“I’m fearing,” he remarked to Sir Andrew,
“that there’ll be no evacuating the bits of
lasses from this Schule to-day. So if you’ll be
introducing me to the Reverend Mother body,
Sir Andrew ”
The “Reverend Mother body” was soon on
the spot, where Mr. MacTavish addressed her
97


More Murder in a Nunnery
as “Your Reverend Leddyship”, and showed a
degree of cheerful resourcefulness and perfect
confidence which was entirely after her mind.
“If we canna remove the Schule as far as
maybe we would like, your Leddyship,” said
Mr. MacTavish, “we’ll be removing it at least
as far as we can. Sir Andrew here has been
telling me of a grand New Building you have and
a fine Coronation Wing. It was my idea, if Your
Reverend Leddyship was to agree, that the
weans might be using them for their lessons
and games the day. That way they’ll no be
seeing the police bodies as will maybe be aroond
doon here, and where the eye doesna see the
heart doesna fash itself.”
Reverend Mother began to feel that a day
passed with Superintendent MacTavish might
have compensations.
“And don’t you think,” Sir Andrew said,
addressing her, “that Inez herself might be
better altogether away from this part of the
house?”
Reverend Mother’s mind passed immediately
to some rooms in the New Building which had
sometimes been used for isolation purposes.
They were cut off by a separate staircase and a
corridor. Their windows were high and not
easily visible. “Anacondans can climb any-
where ” So Inez had been proud of saying.
But even Anacondans could hardly climb in at
a window they could not see. In one of these
rooms, with a nun constantly in and out, and with
98


More Murder in a Nunnery
annoyed at such a gross error in himself, and at
exposing himself, Deputy Commissioner as he
was, to the rebuke of a Superintendent.
“Most of these lay-sisters,” he went on,
“hardly speak English. And they never heed a
word that is said—too busy saying their Rosaries.
That’s what they do while about their work,
isn’t it, Reverend Mother?”
“Theoretically, Sir Andrew. Sir Andrew is
always too kind to us religious,” she explained
to Mr. MacTavish.
“Hoots, toots, Your Leddyship, I hae nae
doots he’s aboot right. I’m a Presbyteerian
masel’, but I can appreciate the beauties of the
aulk kirk of Rome. And to think she would
be saying her Rosary noo, and me not knowing.”
“You must let us show you how it is done,
Mr. MacTavish. It is really very practical, and
I think might appeal to a Presbyterian. But,
whether Sister Ursula was saying her Rosary
or not, I feel quite sure we need fear nothing
from her.”
“I am sure we need not,” said Sir Andrew,
and he rose to his feet.
“Well, I suppose I must be making a dash for
it now. I am leaving you in the best of hands,
Reverend Mother. Mac here is not the man to
be frightened of a few Anacondans, eh, Mac?”
“I couldna rightly say, Sir Andrew, never to
my knowledge having set eyes on yin. But I’m
no easy to be frichted—unless it might be yin 0’
these unco’ spiders with the gey lang legs ”
IOO


The Presence of Sister Ursula
Reverend Mother had turned to Sir Andrew.
“When I think of last night-—”
He blushed with delight. “You are always
far too kind. I did—er—nothing—ah—nothing.
To serve you in any way ” He broke off,
and added:
“ I shall get back here, somehow, to-night—”
He turned on MacTavish.
“And let me find, Mac, that you are well
ahead with the Rosary.”
“Dinna fash yersel’, mon,” was the reply.
And it was adopted as the motto for the day.

IOI


The Coronation Wing
“What a bore there’s such a fog I can’t see
it properly. If there’s one thing I bar it’s a fog,”
Verity declared.
“Yes. And these convent glasses! Let’s go
along to the hair-washing place and have a decent
look.”
“Yes, let’s.”
It was pitch-dark in the corridors, and the
first thing they did in their haste was to collide
with something so solid that they knew it at
first bump for Torquilla.
“Torquilla. Really, you want a whole school
to yourself ”
Torquilla showed not the slightest sympathy.
She never did.
“ Vanitas vanitatum!” she remarked. “Well,
you can’t just now. The Peaglums had a brain-
storm in the night, and the only thing which
would calm her down this morning was to call
a Ribbons’ Meeting.”
“A Ribbons’ Meeting!”
“A meeting,” Torquilla explained, “of Rib-
bons. Otherwise she gets melancholia with hoot-
ings. The doctor says she may become dangerous
if not indulged.”
Such a thing was without precedent.
What was more, this meeting was not to be
held in the usual place, the dignified surround-
ings of the Senior Library, but in a squalid and
revolting changing-room adjoining the gymna-
sium in the Coronation Wing.
There was a general rush of fuming Ribbons

:03


More Murder in a Nunnery
towards this degrading place in the hope of being
able to hold a short indignation-meeting before
Mother Peagle came. But such hopes were
dashed, for there, seated on a decrepit old chair,
with Prudence simpering beside her, was Mother
Peagle ahead of them, and motioning them all
to squat on the floor.
Mother Peagle began at once, oracular behind
her spectacles.
“Close the door. Thank you. Ahem——”
Every eye. was fixed on her face.
“Don’t stare so, children, or I shall never get
through. I have a difficult task before me—the
task of asking you to accept, and enforce upon
others, a certain number of what you will feel
to be irksome and unreasonable regulations,
and without being able to offer even you Ribbons
any explanation. From to-day, from now, the
entire school will be confined to the Coronation
Wing.”
She hurried on, acutely conscious of the
almost incredulous hostility which her words
excited.
Only one face suspended judgment; it was
Verity’s.
“No one may leave this wing without the
permission of a nun. A Ribbon’s permission is
not enough. Meals will be served in the gymna-
sium. Classes will be held in the dormitories.
I am afraid it is going to mean a good deal of
discomfort and exceptionally hard work for you
Ribbons.”
104


More Murder in a Nunnery
“Does that mean, yes, Mother?”
“Oh, I—I think so, Torquilla.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
But there was no warmth, no applause.
The meeting broke up, each member setting
off at once on her disgusting task of spreading
the news and herding the victims to the hated
Coronation Wing.
106


CHAPTER XVII
OLIVE AND OLIVER
“OL1vE-—--”
“Yes, Super?”
The Superintendent of Police at Harrington
has not yet been introduced except as heartily
endorsing Sergeant Baseldon’s plan for giving
Olive a chance, but he existed, and his name,
by a coincidence, was Oliver—Oliver Austin.
He was youngish to have gained his rank, but
had entered the Force by way of the Police
College, where he had done extremely well. At
thirty-four he was a man whom even Sergeant
Baseldon, apt to be highly critical of men,
approved, liked and even admired.
Olive, when not in a “mood”, could never
be sufficiently thankful for an appointment which
had given her the Sergeant and his “Missus”
for loving friends, and “Super” Oliver Austin
for her superior officer. It is something when a
young woman in employment receives every
consideration and never hears an impatient or
harsh word. In return she had brought her
womanly arts to work on the station, which thus
had pretty curtains at its windows, and in
season window-boxes, was dusted as no char
W
107


Olive and Oliver
“That was our Miss Churston, sir.”
“Olive Churston? Give her my very kind
regards. I have not forgotten her handling of
that handwriting case. What sort of a girl is
she?”
“First-rate. I mean, sir, a very promising
young oflicer.” He remembered in time to sound
impersonal and official, but Sir Andrew at his
end smiled none the less.
And so Olive, on herself arriving at the
station, was summoned into the Super’s room.
“I say, Olive, we are going up in the world.
That was the Deputy. There’s some whale of a
job at Harrington Convent ”
She nodded quickly.
“—and I’m to be third under himself and old
MacTavish. He congratulated you no end on
the Dump Case and sent his kindest regards.
Actually asked what you were like ”
“And what did you say?”
“If I’d said the truth, the whole truth, and
nothing but the truth, I shouldn’t have got up
to the Convent to-day. Olive, when are you
going to put me out of my misery and say you’ll
marry me?”
“Oliver, I never met any man I liked as much
as you. But—I don’t know if I shall ever marry.
I’m too moody. I’m not fit ”
“Dearest, if you like me-—-love would soon
come. I’d make it. As for never marrying, don’t
talk such utter nonsense. As for not being fit,
don’t hurt me, girl.” .



109


More Murder in a Nunnery
“I certai don’t want to do that.”
“But it doe . And so does this police business.
It isn’t you ”
“I—I don’t know what is me. I—I sometimes
think I should be happiest as a—nun—-”
He looked at her with absolute horror.
“A—nun! You’re not a Catholic ”
“People become Catholics.”
“Then do by all means, if you’d like. I would
never say a word against what you want. But
a nun—Olive——”
“You don’t see that with some people—God
has to come first?”
“Yes, I do. But don’t beg the question.”
“What question?”
“Whether you are such a person.
“You don’t think so?”
“I am sure you want to put God first. But
these aren’t the Middle Ages, Olive. The ‘world ’
is no longer classed with the flesh and the devil
in quite the old easy-going way.”
“ Easy-going? ”
He pressed his point. “It was taken for granted
there was only one way to God. But that idea
is a back-number. An ugly word ‘escapism’
has cropped up——”
“ Oliver. Of all things, nuns aren’t ‘ escapists’.”
“I didn’t say they were, dear. I only said
that we now know there is such a thing.”
“You—you think I am one?”
“I didn’t say that either.”
“What did you say? I'm all muddled up.”

IIO


More Murder in a Nunnery
“That’s not the way to be a Ribbon,” Alauda
informed her. So she caught the next offender
and tickled her till she squealed.
Verity was easily the most popular Ribbon
after that first breakfast, and yet it was found
that in more serious matters the children obeyed
her: to the annoyance of Alauda.
Prudence also protested against Verity’s
methods. “It is no true kindness to be over-
indulgent,” she said.
Torquilla requested both Alauda and Pru-
dence to dry up. “Recommend me to the
blooming haristocracy and the ‘unco guid’ for
downright cruelty to children,” she said. And
she went on, to Verity:
“Don’t forget the tea-banquet, Verity, old
thing.”
“You bet I won’t. When you give a tea,
Torquilla, it is a tea.”
Torquilla looked sulky, as she always did when
pleased. She actually took Verity’s arm. After
all, one did one’s best, getting up tea-banquets
and what-not: it was something to meet with a
spot of real gratitude. Alauda was “sounding
brass” and Prudence was “tinkling cymbal”,
but good old Verity, if you asked Torquilla,
had the indispensable charity.
Which reminded Torquilla of something, and
she ranged her lion-like way until she penned
the harassed Mother Peagle into a corner.
“Wouldn’t some other time do, dear?”
“It’s nothing, Mother. Only I was beastly
114


Recalls a Famous Question about Moses
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only did the Ribbons feel more power to their
elbows through her but they expected to be far
better entertained than when Prudence, who was
at that stage of a possible vocation which is an
unmitigated nuisance to all less-favoured souls,
had been apt to set the ton.
Torquilla was on her guard against this, and
no sooner had the guest of honour been acclaimed
than she gave the board a mighty thump and
began to address the meeting.
“Welcome to Verity ”
“I am sure we are all very ” Prudence
was beginning. But Torquilla shouted her
down.
“I vote we leave the speeches until we’ve got
outside the tea. Any objections?”
There was none.
“So I’ll only say just now,” resumed Tor-
quilla, “that we’re all very glad to have Verity
with us. She has many faults ”
“Hear, hear!” from Alauda.
“—as we jolly well all have
“It is too true,” sighed Prudence.
“—but she isn’t a drug on the market,” went
on Torquilla, amid general agreement. “So,
Verity, consider yourself jolly well persona grata,
as the Pope says. And now, if all you ladies are
like-minded, what about ?”
“We haven’t said grace yet,” admonished
Prudence.
“Benedictus benedicat. Yes, we have,” said
Torquilla; and plunging the knife into the cake,
77
117


More Murder in a Nunnery
she helped herself to a large slice and handed
on the plate to Verity on her right.
“ Much obliged, Torquilla,” Verity said. “I’ll
keep any little rejoinder I have to make to
your kind words until later. At present,
here’s looking to you. In the words of the poet
Byron, ‘Let joy be unconfined’; that is, don’t
let’s have any shop-talk while we’re eating. Let
me down gently. No religion and no politics,
please.”
“O.K. by me,” mumbled Torquilla.
The cake went the round of the table.
No arrangements of any kind had been made
for pouring out, and so nobody would have had
anything to drink had not Philomene felt very
thirsty and provided herself with a cup. It was
then a case of noblesse oblige, and everybody
was served, without any inquiries as to how they
liked it: after which Philomene doused the tea-
pot, remarking that if anyone wanted a second
cup they could jolly well get up and help them-
selves.
Philomene returned to her place to find that
a young and particularly innocent-looking Rib-
bon seated beside her, by name Angela Manners,
had been thieving, and a disgraceful scene
ensued which would have shocked the Junior
School.
Otherwise, “joy was unconfined”. Verity had
brought a large box of crackers, and everybody
was soon adorned with a paper-cap, some of
which were very a propos, Torquilla having a
118


CHAPTER XIX
APPARENTLY THE END OF THE WORLD
THE eclipse was total.
Packed together as they were, the Ribbons
could yet see nothing of each other. _
They knew they were in the refectory, but all
sense of direction was gone from them.
Where, for example, was the door?
Startled silence reigned. But then the voice of
Torquilla was heard, sounding as from far away.
“Only a bust fuse. Sit tight. It’ll soon come
on again. Anyone got a match?”
“‘Hellish dark and smells of cheese ”’
quoted Verity. “Yes, I’ve got a box—I think ”
She was felt to be feeling all over herself.
“You don’t have to be modest,” Alauda said:
to which Prudence duly objected.
“Here it is, and—dash!—there’s only three
in it. What do you think, Torquilla? Shall I
light one now, so we can see where the door is?
If this is general, we ought to be being useful.”
“The wing has its own plant,” someone said.
“They’ll be all right up there.”
“Yes, but do let’s have a match.” So said
several voices, from which a quiver was not
altogether absent.


I21


More Murder in a Nunnery
“Funny everything’s so quiet. I can’t hear
a sound.”
“It’s no use lighting a match,” Verity said,
“unless we know exactly what we’re going to
do while the light lasts. Here’s what I sug-
gest-——”
She was interrupted by a voice definitely bor-
dering on hysteria. “I—I can’t breathe. I don’t
believe it is a fuse.”
“Of course not,” Alauda said, “it’s the end
of the world. The Day of ‘Judgment will follow
shortly——”
An invisible elbow shot out and caught Alauda
in the ribs. It was Torquilla’s elbow.
“Shut up. Everybody shut up. Now then,
Verity, what were you going to say?”
“While the match is burning we all catch
hold of each other behind Torquilla, and then
follow-my-leader to the door.”
“Sound scheme. Ready with the match?”
Verity struck. But the stick broke short in
her hand, and in the meagre ray which flickered
for a second stampede prevailed. There were
scuffles, falls, and a scream. The flame was upon
Verity’s very fingers before any concerted move
could be made.
“Stay where you are,” Verity cried, and
immediately struck another match. This one
burnt clear, but its light was too dim for so large
a space, and before much use could be made of
it to restore order there was a terrific thud some-
where in the distance, followed by a concussion
I22


Apparently the End of the World
hurry. He drew up beside them, and seemed
of such immense strength that they were all
somehow able to lean against him while they
fetched a deeper breath.
“Och, noo, ma puir bonny lasses,” he ex-
horted them, “ye’ll sune be there. Come awa’
noo, and let me into the midst of ye. That’s the
gir-r-ls! Noe I can be the ingine and give ye a
whir-r-l along.”
He was better than his word. Not only did
he “whirl” the whole exhausted Ribbonhood
along, but he infallibly detected the ones nearest
fainting and carried them. The fear of having
this happen to her was sufficient to keep Prudence,
who took the most Aloysian views of purity, on
her tottering feet.
Next minute they were all in the Coronation
Wing again, breathing pure air with gasps
and sobs and sighs of relief. The strange man
was gone, but hurrying towards them with arms
outstretched as if to embrace them all and with
exclamations of affectionate concern came Mother
Peagle, and there was a sufficient revival of
strength to enable one and all to exclaim with
united breath:
“ The Peaglums!”
125


CHAPTER XX
THE “BRAINWAVE” OF THISTLE MACBINKIE
ONE mystery at any rate explained itself to the
Ribbons as they subsided upon the chairs or
even on the floor of the room into which Mother
Peagle took them. That distant sound of screams
which they had heard from below certainly did
not mean that the School was being killed off like
so many little piglets. Mother Peagle would hardly
have maintained her composureif a Massacre of
the Innocents were going on next door.
Yet the screaming was much louder up here,
and it definitely was screaming. But above its
shrillness sounded the piano under the ever-
obliging hands of Mother Frederica, and her
tunes were of the gayest, and the screamers were
also frantically dancing, and bursting into fits
of laughter and falling down on the floor.
It was indeed a case of “revelry by night”,
but there was no sign of “The foe! they come!
they comel”, for those who would ordinarily
have been the foe of such goings-on—i.e. the
nuns—could be heard actually taking part.
Beyond a point the brain will not function.
The Ribbons could only direct a “wild sur-
mise” at Mother Peagle.
126


The “Brainwave” of Thistle MacBinkie
“It is still burning,” Verity cried. “We heard
it and saw it. Oh, Mother, couldn’t we
help?”
“My dear child, we could on no account
risk any of you children. Thank God you are
all safe ”
“ Inez?” Torquilla said.
“Inez too—and the police hope they have
the matter in hand. And you Ribbons—God
be for ever thanked and praised. I could not
think what had become of you. I totally forgot
about the tea-banquet. If you could know what
I felt when I saw you—my poor children. I
cannot say what I think of your discipline and
courage ”
“We thought it was a bust fuse,” muttered
Torquilla, with one of her fierce blinks aside-
at Verity, as much as to say, ‘Do nothing to
encourage the Peaglums in this maudlin vein
and, if you can, think of some way of heading
her off.’
Verity rose to the occasion.
“What a splendid idea to have a party, Mother.
Shall we go in? That music makes my toes
tickle. I’m simply dying to be dancing.”
It was Mother Peagle’s turn to bestow a look,
and her look was not so easily to be interpreted
as Torquilla’s. It certainly was not a look of
reproach. It was, had Verity known, a look of
sheer gratitude. Mother Peagle had had a gruel-
ling day, in constant anxiety for the very lives of
other people’s children. This brunt she had borne
129


CHAPTER XXI
THE BATTLE OF HARRINGTON
(IN SIX PARTs)
I. WHY SUPPRESSED IN THE NEWS
THE Battle of Harrington would have been a
nine-days’ wonder indeed but for the fact that
the Government, acting on the advice of the
police, suppressed all report of it.
The police thought it not in the interests of
the public that the facts should be made known.
The Government agreed with the police. The
Home Secretary was approached, who called in
his colleague for Foreign Affairs; and together
they interviewed the Prime Minister.
The Prime Minister called a meeting of the
Press, and after stating the facts of Harrington
to the great owners and editors he asked them
to accept the ruling of the Government that it
was not in the interests of the public to make
such facts known.
In a democratic country the Press, provided
its privileges are considered, is always ready to
co-operate with the Government; and thus,
though many thousands of people were soon
in the secret, they kept their mouths closed, and
131


More Murder in a Nunnery
They were armed with revolvers and tommy-
guns. They had several cylinders of a stupefying
gas, also incendiary bombs, and one small
high-explosive bomb.
They had upon their persons every known
contrivance for making weird and terrifying
noises. They could shriek and mutter and
groan.
3. STRATEGY AND TACTICS
The frontal attack—that is, on Mother Peck’s
door—was made in silence by three men.
They crept up and blew it off its hinges with
hand-grenades. They poured in the fire of
tommy-guns, from which the police withdrew;
and then, with indescribable shrieks and howls,
they themselves rushed into the porch, their guns
still directed upon the police.
But they had overlooked one factor, as had
the police likewise—and that factor was Mother
Peck.
Mother Peck was not going to be dislodged
from her rightful place by what was obviously
a gang of young toughs made up for Guy
Fawkes’ Day. Arming herself with a huge black
ruler, without which she never ruled the smallest
line, she rushed upon the intruders with flying
veil and beat down the muzzles of their guns.
“This is too much. What do you mean by such
conduct? A gang of great naughty boys trying
to frighten people! You ought to be birched ”
134-


More Murder in a Nunnery
dear old woman the “Comrades” appeared as
probably some plumbers or gas-fitters arriving,
weeks behind time, on some urgent work of
repair; and with fervent thanks to the Holy
Mother, who, though crowned by the Almighty
in everlasting bliss, could still spare a thought for
the Convent’s humbler needs, she smiled with
seraphic toothlessness and sped the “plumbers”
with a blessing on their way.
Their way led straight to the Convent chapel!
Now the Comrades were in a hurry; it was
tip and run for them. But they were high-
minded young men and, confronted with Super-
stition, felt a duty to society. Besides, a moment
would suffice to time a fuse—to scatter some
incendiaries. All these rich carpets and curtains
would do the rest.
Quickly they fell to work.
Their work done, they rushed on and out into
the cloister, where they found, drawn up and with
tommy-guns in position, all the other Com-
rades—all, that is, but the one captured by
Mother Peck. There was just time for the Red
fist-shake, a bar or two of the “Red Flag”.
Then, under a furious bombardment of all
eleven tommy-guns, the Comrades charged in
the direction of the infirmary, the police retiring
before them.
It was the Supreme Moment for the Com-
rades. The Convent lay helpless at their mercy.
136


The Battle of Harrington
4. REVEREND MOTHER SAVES THE BLESSED
SACRAMENT
The police, taking cover behind doors, watched
the triumphant charge of the Comrades with
approval. Let the perishers round ’emselves
up. The police asked nothing better.
Superintendent MacTavish whistled the
“March of the Cameron Men”.
“It’s a peety,” he said, “they haven.a the
pipes.” He then looked pawkier, if possible,
than usual, and delivered himself to Oliver
Austin in a series of proverbs.
“Have ye ever heard tell, Mr. Austin, what
it is that gangs before a fall? Ye’ll have heard
the auld Roman adage to the effect Quem Deus
vult perdere prius dementat? They’ve exposed their
flank, the loons. And if yon Reverend Mother
body hadn’t told me to risk no police lives I’ve
an idea I could settle with ’um.”
“She said that, did she?” Oliver answered.
Since his conversation with Olive he had taken
a great prejudice against Reverend Mother.
Taking advantage of a young girl—wasn’t that
what nuns were always doing? Still, he thought
it was nice of Reverend Mother to feel for
police lives. And, by Jove, these women were
plucky.
No one had a notion as yet that the Comrades
had left a surprise-packet in the chapel; and thus
Mother Vannes, the sacristan, slipping in to
have a look round, was blown violently out
127


More Murder in a Nunnery
again and stretched on her back in the cloister
half choked with smoke and flame.
“Dear me ” was all she had time for as
she lost consciousness.
But a bomb announces itself. Nuns now came
running from all quarters. Also police. Reverend
Mother was there at once. Mother Assistant a
second later. MacTavish was hot on their heels.
Smoke and bright yellow flame was pouring
through the entrance.
“Don’t ye noo, Reverend Leddyship. Woman,
have sense.”
Thus MacTavish, crying hoarsely, and
actually detaining Reverend Mother by the
sleeve. “Wait noo, ma bonny leddy, till my men
have ”
Reverend Mother gently freed herself and
with a perfectly expressionless face passed through
the flame and up the steps of the altar.
Mother Assistant immediately followed.
“Hech, sirs—hech, sirs! Noo when did a body
see the like. Daft they are—sheer daft. If the
Lord doesna juist repeat the miracle of Shadrach,
Meshach and Abednego I’m sure I dinna ken
what’s to become of the poor dear doited
reverend ladies ”
At this point in his lamentations the Superin-
tendent was interrupted by the reappearance
of Reverend Mother clasping under her veil
the ciborium containing the Blessed Sacrament
which she had rescued from the Tabernacle,
and almost immediately after her came Mother
138


The Battle of Harrington
Assistant carrying the door of the Tabernacle,
a heavy sheet of gold encrusted with gems
gifted to the Convent, which she had by sheer
manual strength wrenched from its hinges.
Neither of the two seemed to have suffered
scathe in the fiery interlude, and MacTavish
would have thrown himself upon them in con-
gratulations when he realized in time that
Reverend Mother must by no means be spoken
to at present. She stood holding the ciborium
while the other nuns knelt worshipping around
her, even Mother Vannes recovering conscious-
ness in time to stretch out her arms. No
heed at all was paid to the valuable door, but it
was just set on one side. A procession was
formed behind Reverend Mother, a bell tinkled
and a psalm was raised, and she led at a slow
pace, with eyes withdrawn in ecstasy, along the
corridors to the New Building, where in an
improvised chapel the snowy-headed novices
and their mistress received the Elements with
adoration.
MacTavish wept to see them go, and declared
ever after that if he hadna been a Presbyterian
he would juist have joined the Auld Kirk.
5. TRIUMPH OF POLICE AND NUNS
While they were gone a strong body of police
under Oliver Austin also broke through the
flames and began beating them down as best
they could. \Vith the telephones cut there was
139


The Battle of Harrington
“Noo then, what do you wee laddies think
you’re doing? Fine I ken you’re all married men
with weans. Oot of it with all three 0’ ye, or am
I to report ye for insubordination? What would
her Reverend Leddyship say if she saw ye trying
to shirk the duties of paternity?”
The sergeants merely grinned and looked
stolid.
“Aweel. Wha wull to Cupar maun to Cupar.
Keep ye well ahint, and don’t show your thick
heads till me and Mr. Austin has had ours took
off us.”
Those words of Mr. MacTavish’s might well
have been his last, for his next step brought
him onto the landing, which was exposed to the
cross-fire of eleven tommy-guns and as many
revolvers.
Oliver took the same step with him, and the
sergeants followed in strict order of seniority.
The immediate result in all five was an out-
burst of sneezing and coughing.
“Ugh, ugh, ugh! Where are the blighters?”
Oliver was gasping.
It was MacTavish who next found a voice—
as a result of a particularly rending sneeze which
must have cleared his passages.
“Come awa’ noo, laddies. I am a police
oflicer, and I arrest ye all on a charge of feloni-
ously entering a dwelling-house with intent to
wound and kill, and it’s my duty to warn ye
forby that anything ye say may be took doon in
writing and used against ye ”
141


More llfurder in a Nunnery
But he broke off, for a young sergeant was
pointing with horror at what looked in the glare
of the police-lamps like a number of enormous
blackbeetles heaving leggily in a heap on the
floor.
It was the Comrades.
The tale told itself. They had meant to use
gas against the police before shooting their way
down as they had shot it up. But they were
inexpert in opening the cylinder, which proved
refractory: someone had lost his nerve: panic
ensued: weapons were thrown down, kit torn
off, gas-masks dislodged. Now the suffocating
Comrades were making a final struggle against
the coma which assailed them.
Under artificial respiration applied down-
stairs the Comrades revived and sat sulkily
round in No. I7 Parlour. Under interrogation
they said they desired only the English Tower
and the English Block. They could also do with
an English cup of tea—provided no English
poison were put into it.
The tea (without poison) was served them at
once, but they looked so miserable as they drank
that the kindly MacTavish could not refrain
from words of comfort.
“Hoot, toot, laddies. Dinna be too doon.
Ye winna be hangit. Ye havena kill’t anny-
body.”
Not killed anybody! It was too much.
The English weather suddenly changing, the
dense black English fog was somewhat cleared
142


The Battle of Harrington
away, and Sir Andrew Pearson arrived. After a
word with Mr. MacTavish, he drove on to the
station, where he received an astonishing com-
munication from Olive Churston.
The communication was amazing beyond
words, and necessitated his immediate return to
the Convent, where he also took Olive.
But he used the station telephone (undamaged)
to make arrangements with a sitting magistrate,
and so the Comrades were able to get through
the formalities that night and sleep comfortably
in Brixton.
6. ARRIVAL OF FR. WITHERSTICK
Mother Peagle was just wondering how in the
world to deal with the riot set afoot by Thistle
MacBinkie when Fr. Witherstick massively
arrived.
Characteristically he knew nothing of the day’s
doings, and on being told by Mother Peagle he
characteristically said noth.ng.
He proceeded at once to give Benediction,
which caused all the little Bacchantes to put on
veils and turn into little angels.
The ceremony over, Torquilla, Verity, Muriel
and a few other Ribbons contrived by excellent
staff-work that the only way open to the retiring
worshippers was one which led straight to bed.
143


CHAPTER XXII
“BUT WHAT FAR GROVE——”
N0 sooner was the Battle of Harrington over and
won—for a battle must be said to be won when
the enemy is incapable of further resistance-
than Reverend Mother lost not a minute in going
to the New Building to make sure that all was
well with Inez.
She had little or even no doubt, for the Com-
rades had never got near the New Building; but
she did feel that the whole thing must have_been
a terrible ordeal to the child, lying there and not
knowing exactly what was happening.
She remembered, too, that Inez had, in spite
of the kindness of Sir Andrew, a strange dislike
of the police. Nothing could persuade her that
they were on her side.
Reverend Mother’s orders with regard to
Inez during the course of the disturbance had
been that a nun was to be in the bedroom with
the child—it was to be a choir-nun, not a lay-
sister; and Reverend Mother had been careful
to choose a favourite of Inez’s. Immediately
outside the door were, of course, the two special
detectives, and they were armed. Thus the only
144


“But What Far Grove ”
way of getting in upon Inez would have to be
by the window, which was high from the ground,
not very near any trees, and was to be kept
shuttered until after the “All Clear”.
If anybody was to kill or abduct Inez he would
first have to perform the almost impossible feat
of reaching the window-ledge from the trees,
and there, hanging on by his hands, undo the
shutter in the face of the armed opposition of
two experienced detectives.
It is small wonder that Reverend Mother felt
little anxiety as she hastened to the New Building
with news which she hoped would put an end
for ever to the child’s suffering and terror. Not
only were the Comrades all made prisoner, but
that morning’s Times had contained a very
encouraging report from Anaconda.
Not for one moment that Reverend Mother
sympathized with dictators or desired to see their
triumph anywhere, but she certainly did feel
that Don Magnifiguo, who was in some strange
way a man of religious principles and, if a tyrant,
on the benevolent side, was much to be pre-
ferred to the sheer anarchy and hatred which
was contending with him. Therefore she could
not be really sorry to read the following short
paragraph:

“Even Communist sources admit that Don
Magnifiguo, the Hazh Bazh, has inflicted a
heavy defeat upon them in the jungle and has
retaken the capital city of Lilitha. The people
I45


More Murder in a Nunnerv
received him with acclamation, and he granted
a general amnesty to all but foreign Com-
munists. The rumour that he has declared
Anaconda a republic with himself as interim
President has not as yet been confirmed.”
None the less, the “amnesty” warmed Reverend
Mother’s heart, and she decided to ring up her
friend Sir Clement de Willowby without loss
of time.
Thank God Inez was safe, for her father would
be wanting news of her at once.
Reverend Mother was not anxious—it was
absurd to be anxious when all was well: but she
hurried, all the same.
She was almost running when she entered the
New Building.
The sweet sound of the novices singing before
the Blessed Sacrament came to her ears, and she
would certainly have gone in but for a feeling
that she must not delay just now.
She shook herself inwardly for such weakness,
but she went quickly upstairs.
At the slightest sound the detectives were both
out in the passage, but saluted and relaxed
smiling, when they saw who came.
“All perfectly O.K., Your Reverence. The
lady is still with the little girl. There hasn’t
been a sound.”
Reverend Mother never forgot her feelings
when she opened the door. The room was in
darkness. A great waft of cold air struck her full
146


“But What Far Grove——”
in the face from the window, which was unshut-
tered and thrown wide open.
A groan from something on the floor drew her
attention, and for a frightful second she thought
it was Inez—Inez stabbed, wounded, dying
But it was not Inez. It was Sister Ursula
stretched unconscious by the bed.
The two detectives were in the room, flooding
every corner with light.
But the strong lights showed nothing.
It seemed as if the girl must have taken unto
herself wings and flown from the room.
Inez was gone.

T47


More Murder in a Nunnery
lamp was baflled by it. The only way to get along
was to grope—to grope from house to house.
Such going was very slow, and she stumbled
incessantly. She was beset with what has been
called the “innate malice of inanimate objects”.
Every doorstep was a man-trap; and when,
exhausted by this stumbling, fumbling course,
she ventured to steer out, up rose a lamp-post
and knocked her spinning.
Believing herself attacked, she struck out,
scrambled up and backed away, only to trip
over the opposite kerb and take a header into
a ditch.
Something seized her by the throat; fighting
the horror off, she found it to be a great jagged
arm of bramble.
She was now without any sense of direction
at all. She did not know she had crossed the road.
She was unnerved by disaster and in pain from
the lamp-post’s blow. Her nose was bleeding
and her mouth full of blood. The bramble had
lacerated her hand.
Climbing out of the ditch, she set forward
again, now on hands and knees, and, as good
luck would have it, she crossed the road again,
moving diagonally. After what seemed an end-
less time she came to a place where the fog was
thinner, and she saw the dim lights of the row
of small shops which she knew to be exactly
opposite the Harrington Hotel. Immense relief
filled her; she at least knew where she was again,
and ought to be able to crawl back to the station.
r50


The Face in the Fog
She sat down on the kerb for a while, cheered
by the brightening lights of the shops. Was the
fog clearing? It had receded from the pavement,
and she thought there were rifts in it beyond.
There was one rift, if rift it was, which seemed
to her especially promising, and she fixed her
eyes on it. The fog deadened sound, nothing was
to be heard as of a footstep, but as she gazed she
saw to her amazement a face pass by somewhere
high up in the rift.
Now was the time for Olive’s lamp. But she
had lost it; it must have fallen from her in the
ditch. But she did not need it; the glimmer
of the shops was sufficient, and for an instant
before it was again eclipsed a face was re-
vealed
The beautiful face of Inez Escapade!
But again swooped the fog, obliterating every-
thing.

151


Olive in Conference
“I did. One can’t help oneself. I expect I
was all wrong.”
“As you say, one cannot help oneself. Did
you, for instance, when you found the poison
darts in the possession of the man ‘Smith’,
suspect that an attempt had already been made
upon the little girl, and that—someone—had
shot him to prevent him?”
“Yes, Sir Andrew. And I felt pretty sure the
man who—did the shooting—was this Juan
Copanza.”
“ The—er—Spanish gardener-man ? ”
“Yes. But then I had another idea, Sir
Andrew ”
“Please tell me.”
“I know it sounds wild, but when the little
girl was delirious she cried upon someone called
Diego ”
“She did,” said Sir Andrew.
“\/Vell, it occurred to me there was a secret,
which sometimes she remembered and some-
times did not. And I wondered if perhaps
Copanza and this Diego might perhaps be the
same person——”
“That is—ah—profoundly interesting. Sug-
gestive, one might say. Please go on, Miss—er—
Olive.”
“The rest is pure guesswork
“Hypothesis,” murmured Sir Andrew.
“Well, I—got a feeling—.that not Cop-anza
but Diego was the real man, and—that—perhaps
he was the—agent of—Inez’s friends. Perhaps
77
153


More Murder in a Nunnery
that explains,” Olive went on, “why she hated
the police ”
¢(why?77
“Because she thought the police would arrest
Diego for killing ‘Smith’, and then she would
have no friend left to look after her. She couldn’t
be expected to know about ‘justifiable homicide’
—could she?”
Sir Andrew shook his head and seemed to pass
into a kind of reverie.
“So your belief is,” he said at length, “that
Inez has gone off with this—Diego?”
“That’s what I really do think ”
“Where has he been all this time? How did
he keep in touch with the child?”
“I don’t know the first answer now, but—I
think I could tell you first thing after breakfast
to-morrow morning—and—and perhaps some
other things too. As for keeping in touch—he—
he did it by sounds—sounds like a bird’s—which
Inez would understand, but nobody else. Then,
though I hate to say it, I think they’ve had an
accomplice inside the house.”
“This Sister Ursula?” said Sir Andrew.
“I suppose she’ll get into very hot water, poor
thing. But I’m perfectly sure she meant nothing
but well. Please, Sir Andrew, ask Reverend
Mother not to be too down on her.”
“I will make a note of it. But now, Miss—
er—Olive, has this very astute mind of yours
got as far as where these young people are likely
to have gone?”


154-


Olive in Conference
Olive shook her head. “No. But I think if
we all put our wits together—and get Inez’s
friends in the School to remember things she may
have said—I don’t know a thing about Diego,
not a thing, but I’ve a feeling a place chosen by
him won’t be too obviously on the map.”
“I suppose,” said Sir Andrew, “we must
advertise their descriptions in all parts?”
“I doubt if they’ll answer those descriptions
by to-morrow,” Olive said. “Inez had on the
queerest little bonnet which made it quite a job
to recognize her.”
“In fact, my dear Miss Olive, are you sure
you did recognize her? Or may she not have
been some quite different child?”
Olive was almost cross.
“Oh well, if that’s what you think of me ”
“I think very highly of you, my dear. So
what we want now,” said Sir Andrew, “is an
answer to a question about a thing which is
animal, vegetable and abstract.”

I55


CHAPTER XXV
MR. TURTLE RISES TO HEIGHTS AND FALLS TO
EFFECT
IMMEDIATELY after breakfast on the following
morning Olive was off upon those further investi-
gations which she had promised Sir Andrew.
Her way took her through the shrubberies into
the kitchen gardens and to the Copanza-Diego
hut.
As she passed through the shrubberies, how-
ever, she paused and looked back where, across
the Lane, the bedroom windows of the Parsley
house could be seen, plainly affording a view of
where she stood.
Taking the greatest care not to kneel or con-
tact the ground with her hands, she provided
herself with a small wand and began to push
it about among the grasses and twigs and small
stones which littered the path in the shrub-
beries.
After a long time of pushing and poking
about she uttered a low exclamation and, taking
from her handbag a small pair of tweezers and
brushing some dead leaves aside with her wand,
she picked up and laid on a flat stone—a poison
dart.
156


1!/Iore Murder in a Nunnery
The lightness of her tone stung Mr. Turtle to
renewed bitterness. But the bitterness forced him
to speak.
“Which per’aps you will kindly explain your
meanin’, if an honest man may ventur’?”
“I meant the young man that used to live
here—your assistant, wasn’t he?”
“My assistant!” repeated Mr. Turtle on a
note of rising choler. “An’ ’oo told you ’e was
my assistant? A furriner ’e was.”
And here Mr. Turtle’s innate tendency to
philosophy betrayed him: his senior years, his
dignity, his very manhood required of him that
he now pass hence and leave Olive to her shame.
But his desire to explore the depths of truth got
the better of him.
“Assistant, ses you! A furriner! If there’s
two things,” said Mr. Turtle, “on this ’ere
revolvin’ globe as I ’ates and detests, the one
is a furriner, and the other is an ’ooman out of
’er place.”
“You don’t die of your complaint,” Olive said,
nodding her head. “It’s called ‘xenophobia’.
You seem to suffer rather badly.”
She had scored. If he had a fancy it was for
polysyllables; he had come like most great philoso-
phers to see that without these, and a generally
inverted and periphrastic manner of speech,
there could be no true philosophy. But he took
Olive up on another point.
“I am not a man as suffers from nothink. Last
time as I was taken with a turn, like, on account
158


More Murder in a Nunnery
when it was for the sake of another’s need. Early
on in life I ses to myself, like, ‘Turtle,’ I ses,
‘of what use are you if you ’ides your light under
a bushel?’ and I resolves, miss, never so to
do, and never ’ave I done. A woman’s place,
miss,” he added, with simple sublimity, “is the
’ome.”
Olive made a gurgling noise which might
have been interpreted in many ways. Mr. Turtle
heard in it the hallelujah of the Methodist
convert; he heard in it a sudden conviction of
sin. His heart enlarged within his bosom—and
not the less because he was struck again with
Olive’s charms.
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Olive said.
“But how if she hasn’t got a home?”
It is absurd to suppose that such a philosopher
as Mr. Turtle would have no answer to such an
elementary question.
“If an ’ooman is so unfortnat, miss, as not to
’ave a ’ome—either the ’ome she was born in or
the ’ome where she come as a sparkling bride—
she cannot do better for ’erself than like the ladies
up at ’ouse, and be resigned in the Lord. For
the Lord, miss———the Lord ”
But at this point Mr. Turtle came a heavy
stumble, threw up his arms and disappeared
altogether from sight.
Olive rushed to his aid, for his groans were
very pitiable. An excitement was upon her.
Could it be that, in spite of Mother Assistant’s
positive answers to the contrary, there yet was
160


More Murder in a Nunnery
Really you’re a wonderful man. There’s some-
thing in the masculine mind ”
Mr. Turtle began to show distinct signs of
recovery. He pulled at his whiskers and beamed
at Olive.
Olive was sorting out the sheets. The language
upon all of them was wildly beyond her, she
could make neither head nor tail of it, but some
of the sheets were of School exercise paper, and
she guessed the writing to be that of Inez.
The only English she found appeared to be a
page torn out of a railway time-table, dealing
with trains to the New Forest.
She gathered up the papers and put them into
her bag. The sooner she was gone now, the
better. She knew there was a hiding-place under
the hut. She had the dart. In the papers she
had a treasure which might prove a solution of
the mystery.
If only she could get the writing trans-
lated
She suddenly thought of the Convent’s Gaelic
expert, Mother McVehoy. Mother McVehoy
was said to be a genius at languages
Meanwhile, there was the profound psycholo-
gical task of getting Mr. Turtle to move. He
had lighted his pipe and was looking extremely
comfortable and only wanting another good
go at philosophy.
“Well, I’m afraid I shall have to leave you,
Mr. Turtle,” Olive said. “I hate to do it,
because after that shock you ought to get home
162


Mr. Turtle Rises to Heights
and lie down. But of course not even a man as
strong-minded as you could be expected to do
that without help. I’ll send help to you the first
minute I can.”
“’Elp,” said Mr. Turtle, “is wot I never
needed, miss, excep’ the self-’elp of me manly
mind.”
“Splendid, Mr. Turtle. That’s what I should
have expected. But no mind, however manly,
could possibly just get up after a shock like yours
and be at the door the same time as me. Why,
you’ll be telling me next that you’re going to
do a bit of work this morning!”
“That, miss, might be rash, considerin’ the
state of me spine. But where gettin’ ’ome is
concerned, and makin’ myself comf’able and
takin’ the best care of mcsclf, you can rely on
me self-’elp.”
And Olive felt she could.
163


CHAPTER XXVI
“IT IS A TERRIBLE RESPONSIBILITY,
REVEREND MOTHER?”
DAYs passed, much was done, but nothing was
heard of Inez.
Anaconda, however, appeared on the map.
No longer had Reverend Mother to search
in obscure columns of The Times for the informa-
tion she wanted. Such information was to be
had in many newspapers now, and usually on the
front page. No sooner was Don Magnifiguo in
power again than he made a striking gesture of
affection and goodwill towards this country.
“Henceforth,” he cried, “we in Anaconda
shall look to great England for our manners and
customs, our institutions and ideals.”
England was naturally rather pleased. It is
always pleasant to have somebody’s good opinion,
especially when one has been at no trouble to
obtain it, and no expense at all.
Editors did not fail to draw attention to the
very undictatorial amnesty proclaimed by the
victor in Anaconda.
The tables were now turned: it was not now
Reverend Mother who anxiously rang up Sir
Clement de Willowby about Inez, it was Sir
164.


“It is a Terrible Responsibility”
Clement de Willowby himself who came to the
Convent and, refusing to wait until Mother
Peck had ascertained what Reverend Mother’s
engagements were, strode straight to the Parlour.
Hardly giving Reverend Mother time to
express her pleasure at seeing him, and pro-
foundly disedifying Mother Peck by abstractedly
shutting the door in her face, he plunged in
medias res.
“What’s all this I hear? You can’t find Inez?
Do you realize her father is coming to see her?”
Reverend Mother nodded. “I thought he
might.”
Sir Clement refused to sit down, he strode
the room with immense strides.
“And you mean to tell me that Scotland Yard
—that all you clever ladies—you haven’t an
idea between you?”
“Scotland Yard is doing its best. As for us,
we are only nuns—not mediums or soothsayers.
And oh yes, there are plenty of ideas. The best
is from one of the children—a senior girl, no fool,
and she says she had it from Inez herself. Inez
has reverted to the jungle.”
“You said the girl was no fool. Revert to the
jungle indeed! How can she revert to what
doesn’t exist?”
“Inez believes it does. She cannot imagine a
great country without a jungle. And so I suppose
she has gone to look for it.”
“I must say,” Sir Clement said, “you seem to
take it with ‘more than usual calm’.”
165


“It is a Terrible Responsibility”
and a clue based on some evidence, I feel
inclined to keep it to myself for the present. I
shall only say now that I have had many long
talks with Inez, in which she used to tell me a
great deal about herself, and I used sometimes
to amuse her with stories about myself. It is
possible,” Reverend Mother went on after a
pause, “that when the poor child was frantic
for a hiding-place, one of my stories—which
were true stories—may have come into her
mind.”
“When,” cried Sir Clement, “will you be
able to go into this?”
“I have gone some distance into it already.
I have made sure of some points. You, Sir
Clement, might be able to help me very much ”
“I’ll do any mortal thing.”
“You haven’t by any chance at the Foreign
Office an expert in the—Anacondan language?”
“In the Anacondan language!” Sir Clement
threw up his hands. “Believe me, there ‘isn’t
no sich a person’. Certainly there isn’t in the
F.O.”
“Oh well, it doesn’t matter. We have a nun
here already well ahead.”
“A nun—already well ahead ” Sir Clement
gasped it.
Reverend Mother spoke with quiet pride.
“Yes. And she had nothing to go on but the
Four Gospels as translated into Anacondan by
the original Jesuit missionaries. These were
found in Inez’s cubicle. Yet within a_ week
167


More Murder in a Nunnery
Mother McVehoy was able to translate a corres-
pondence in Anacondan which explained the
whole of this case. We know now what hap-
pened to Inez, and how she was saved. We
know how this Diego hid himself and how he
kept in touch. We know, though it is all but
unbelievable, how he got her out of the house
on the night it was attacked. It remains now
to see where he took her.”
“And what, if I may ask,” said Sir Clement,
“does this prodigy of yours—this woman who
can learn Anacondan in a week—do with her-
self in a general way?”
“Oh, Mother McVehoy? Well, she takes all
the Senior French ”
“Schoolgirl French! A woman like that!
Why, she ought to be a professor in a univer-
sity ”
“Well,” said Reverend Mother, “she was.”
“\'Vas?” cried Sir Clement, eating his mous-
tache. “Why isn’t she now?”
“Well, she still writes books—and reads a
paper now and then to some learned society.
But you see,” said Reverend Mother in almost
an apologetic voice, “she found she had a
vocation.”
“Pshaw!” cried Sir Clement, springing to his
feet.
And fond as he was of Reverend Mother, and
long as it was since he had seen her, no persua-
sions of hers could get him to stay to tea.


168


Reverend Mother Takes a Day Of
“The car is all right,” Olive said. “It’s the
best at the station. It’s Oliver’s—I mean the
Superintendent’s—but when he heard it was
you he lent it at once.”
Reverend Mother smiled and patted Olive’s
shoulder.
“Please give him my best thanks. Wasn’t he
the officer who went upstairs with Mr. MacTavish
when they might have been blown to pieces?”
“Yes. And he was first in the chapel after you
and Mother Assistant ”
“He is—a friend of yours?”
Olive’s eyes were downcast as she answered.
“Yes, Reverend Mother.”
“And would like to be something more, eh?
Well, tell him your Reverend Mother gives her
permission. And now about the driver?”
“The driver is me.”
“ My child. And you have such slender arms.
Does Oliver really approve of this?”
“Well, it’s his car. And he taught me to
drive—and he always lets me drive when I go
out with him ”
“And you have taken the driving-test?”
“One has to, you know, Reverend Mother.
Whatever should I as a policeman have to say
to myself?”
“Well, I shall be delighted, my dear.” And
Reverend Mother put her hand on Olive’s
shoulder.
Quite a crowd of nuns and children had
gathered to see Reverend Mother off. Mother
171


Reverend Mother Takes a Day Of
“Perfect,” Olive said.
Reverend Mother looked pleased.
“I find it quite easy when Mother McVehoy
isn’t telling me how. I was always like that, I
am afraid. When people start being scientific
about things, talking about ‘uvulas’ and ‘fleshy
processes’ and so on, I am hopeless.”
She went on:
“I am glad you thought it good, because, you
know, we have definitely got to find Inez to-day.
If we don’t her father may arrive in her absence,
and that would be so terribly disappointing for
him.”
“I only hope we shall,” Olive said, feeling,
however, very slight confidence.
Soon afterwards they arrived at the charming
little New Forest town of Lyndhurst.
173


CHAPTER XXVIII
“ GRACE ”
7
OLIVE s spirits suffered a further declension as,
entering the town, she drew up at a corner of
the market-place.
Owing to the fine weather there were many
people in the streets and good business being
done in the shops. There were cars in plenty,
telling of the well-populated neighbourhood
all about. Every corner directed to some part
of the Forest, and Olive could not see that Inez
was likely to be in one more than another. Cer-
tainly she and Reverend Mother could not hope
to visit more than a few.
“Where had we better go now?” she inquired
rather disconsolately of Reverend Mother.
“There are such heaps of ways.”
“And all so well worth visiting,” said Reverend
Mother, rather with the air of a tripper visiting
the Forest for the first time.
Olive looked at her almost with hostility.
There were times when Reverend Mother’s
detachment could be very aggravating.
“Yes. But what about Inez?” Olive said.
“ Don’t worry about her, dear. If she is here at
all, I think we shall be guided to the right place.”
174


“ Grace”
Yes. But hadn’t we better be setting about
it? The days are not very long in November.”
“No, they are not, are they? We are getting
along to the shortest day and Christmas. Do
you know, my dear, I think I shall go into the
back of the car and eat my sandwiches. I should
advise you to do the same in front.” So saying,
she gave Olive a neat little packet of sand-
wiches and a small Thermos, herself retiring
to the back with the same.
When Reverend Mother had finished her
lunch—and she was in no hurry—she packed
away the paper and the flasks in her bag again.
“Well,” she said, “I think we might be
going. Myself, I have a fancy for the Lymington
road. Long ago when I was a little girl and used
to drive about here with my grandmother I was
always glad when she chose the Lymington road.
It was a charming drive in the direction of
Lymington—in the old days of carriages and
horses. I should be glad to do it again—after
all these years ”
Olive kept her temper with difficulty.
“But—but is the Lymington road the best for
finding Inez?” she said, almost fretfully.
“ Oh, I should think so. I shouldn’t wonder. We
mustn’t go fast, or I shall miss all the old places.
My grandmother used to use a victoria, and I sat
up beside the coachman dangling my legs.”
A glance at Reverend Mother’s profile as they
took the Lymington road revealed nothing but
perfect tranquillity and pleased anticipation.
C‘
175


More Murder in a Nunnery
Why can’t she speak outright?’ Olive chafed.
“A lovely day for this time of the year,”
Reverend Mother was murmuring.
‘Really—these nuns !’
Olive drove slowly and sulkily along the road
to Lymington, Reverend Mother sitting up very
straight beside her and missing no feature of the
way. Again and again she exclaimed at the
beauty of the country and commented on some
incident of her own childhood.
“It was just here the coachman would always
inquire if Grandmamma wished to turn back.
Oh, how I did hope she would say no. But little
girls were not asked what they would like in
those days. Really, dear, if you don’t mind, I
think I should like to get out here for a moment
and breathe the air again.”
Olive drew up and opened the door for
Reverend Mother. She was thinking:
‘By all means have a breath of the air. It’s
what we seem to have come for. It will help the
time nicely on until we have to go back.’
Reverend Mother, now outside the car, was
renewing her youth.
“Dear me, what an adventure! Grand-
mamma was very strict. There was no moving
her as
‘Just such another as yourself,’ Olive was
thinking. ‘Like grandmother, like grandchild.
Where on earth is she going now?’
Reverend Mother was across the road and
sauntering off into a glade.
176


More Murder in a .Nunnery=
She slightly quickened her step.
“Inez may have remembered,” she said. “At
any rate, I thought it worth trying. The pro-
perty,” she added, “still belongs to the family,
and I believe my brother has made rather a
point of keeping it private. After all, why not?
He has served his country very well. Of course I
am prejudiced, but I do think landowners are
entitled to keep a little.”
‘And you’ve had all this inside that bonnet of
yours all this time!’ Olive thought. She was now
intensely excited.
Reverend Mother went on quietly speaking.
“However, that is not the point. I mention it
because if those two did come here it was open
and waiting for them. It is well stocked with
tinned foods and cereals. There is water to be
had close at hand. And,” she added, “here is the
place.”
As she spoke a turn in the wooded aisle where
they were walking revealed the bungalow. Or
perhaps hardly revealed it, for it was small and
low-lying, made of wood, and painted so as to
assort with its surroundings. It might very
easily have been passed by and never noticed.
Reverend Mother was explaining.
“In the old days,” she said, “when it was just
a playhouse for children, it was called ‘Grace’s
Rainproof’—after me. My name is Grace. It
did not matter for my brothers when it rained, but
I had to take care of my frocks. Ah,” she broke
off, as she advanced to the little gate in the fence,
178


“ Grace”
‘L
it is still called by the old name. How it comes
over the years. He was always the dearest and
kindest of brothers.”
An almost unearthly silence brooded around,
like the silence which falls upon a garden when
bedtime ends the play of happy children. Olive
was subdued. Reverend Mother seemed en-
tranced. I
“I/Vhat shall wc do?” Olive whispered.
Reverend Mother did not reply: instead,
standing where she was by the little gate, she
clearly and perfectly sounded the sacred aspirate.
“Inez,” she gently called, “Inez ”
Nothing happened. Not an old leaf quivered of
the many about to fall. Olive could have imagined
that the silence was being held by some force.
“Inez ” called Reverend Mother.
Then there was a sound. From behind them,
an almost inaudible stir.
Reverend Mother did not turn round, but
Olive did. And there, sure enough, stood a
young man whom she recognized at once, from
the descriptions and the photographs she had
seen, to be the man called Juan Copanza.
He spoke to her in French.
“Pardon, ma’moiselle, if I make trespass. It
was not my intention. I was passing by and I see
the little house ”
“Will you not speak to Reverend Mother?”
Olive said, also in French.
“ I will not intrude. I will go now. A thousand
pardons ”




I 79


More Murder in a Nunnery
But Reverend Mother had turned round.
“Diego,” she said, “where is the sefiorita?”
But still he kept it up.
“Pardon, madame. But perhaps there is some
little error. I would very gladly serve you, but
I am a stranger in these parts—in this England.
It is impossible that I am a person madame
would know.”
“Perhaps,” replied Reverend Mother, “there
is no error at all. Perhaps you know who I am
and what I have come about as well as I do.
You have done very well, Diego. But there is
no more reason for disguise. All the danger is
past. You have committed no crime. I have
come to fetch the sefiorita because,” her voice
rose to gentle command, “her father is coming
to see her.”
But his face showed not a sign.
“ I do not understandi-”
“Yes, you do, Diego. Be quick now and do
what I tell you.”
He would have denied again. But now it
mattered little whether he did or no, for
another’s ear had overheard Reverend Mother’s
words, and another’s voice made answer.
“Oh, Reverend Muzzer. Did you say my fazzer
is coming? Did you say my fazzer?”
And Inez stood, glowing, beside them.
180


More Murder in a Nunnery
When they were gone, Diego, who had held
apart in silence, approached Olive and spoke.
“Pardon, lady, but you are the police, is it
not?”
Olive found herself flushing, and most unwil-
ling to make the admission.
“I am—connected—with the police. But-
I am not on duty just now.”
He looked crestfallen.
“Perhaps you—become on duty—if I tell you
I am the gardener-man Juan Copanza, which
is ‘wanted’ by de police for shooting de man on
de dump.”
“I am afraid I must warn you,” Olive said,
and got out her notebook, “that anything you
say about that may be taken down and used
against you.”
“So I t’ink,” he replied. “But yet I wish to
say that I kill that man. I do so because he
has tried to kill other person, and is about to try
again.”
Olive made notes. “Can you remember the
day of this, and where it was? And your name?
And the other person’s name? And if your name
is not Juan Copanza do not say it is.”
He gave what Olive knew to be the right
answers as to date, time and place. The “other
person” was, of course, Inez. But he hesitated
and seemed most unwilling to give his right name.
“ I have heard Inez call you Diego,” Olive said.
“Perhaps I am what you call ‘snob’,” he
replied. “Perhaps I do not like to work as
182


More Murder in a Nunnery
“I thought,” Diego said, “if I put de brown
paper on de body that would make it all right.
In Anaconda dc brown paper mean it is a mur-
derer which has been killed. In Anaconda it is
twice and three times to be a murderer to shoot
with the poison b1owgun.”
“I am not surprised. But don’t you think
your best plan both for Inez and yourself would
have been to tell Reverend Mother the whole
story and let her take steps to protect you
both?”
“I do not know if she will believe me. I am,
after all, only the gardener. And it all come
so sudden. Before I know I am almost off my
head. So nearly dey succeed. I cannot keep in
touch with Inez. I am in peril also of my own
life. Not that I mind this for myself, but if I
am dead my beloved also will die. No, lady, no:
your scheme to tell all to de Reverend Mother
break down at every point.”
“I think what you did was marvellous,”
Olive said.
“God bless de sweet soul of her. She is
standing,” he cried, “like dis ” And he
perfectly acted the child’s expectation of instant
death. “And dat man, which is also a snake,
is crouching, crouching right down on de ground,
preparing his second dart. Dis I see, lady, all
at a glance. I know dat nothing can save her
but dis man’s destruction. Is he a man? I
cry out to alarm him and make him again blow
wrong. His back is towards me, and I shoot
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In the End
into him—where I know it will kill—two bullets
—zip, zip ”
Olive found herself shaking with reliefi
“Is—is it—painful, the poison?”
“For a moment, lady—-agony ”
He told Olive then how he had taken Inez
up to the house, keeping her in among the
bushes, trying to comfort her, to explain to her
his plans which she was too utterly dazed to
understand.
“De nun is very cross, and I see Inez crying.
My heart is quite broken. But as I go away a
gentle voice speak in my ear. It is dat Sister
Ursula, and she say, ‘I guess dere is danger for
Miss Inez, and you are on her side.’ I deny at
first, but I am so lonely and so 1nis’able I tell a
little. And de Sister say, ‘I also am on her side,
and on your side, and all I can do to help I
will do.’ \
“And so it is arranged between us—the
Sister Ursula and myself.
“And de Sister is good as her word. It is she
dat come to my hut in de dark and fog and danger
to tell me dey have moved Inez to de New
Building. And she never betray dat I am
hidden at my hut, but bring food whenever she
can.
“She warn me to come and wait outside de
New Building until I see a light at a window.
“Dere is a great fire in the chapel, and all de
nuns are needed to put it out. So Sister Ursula
go quick to de nun which is with Inez, and she
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In the End
tended to be a gardener so as to come here and
look after Inez. She said you were noble, good
and brave ”
“Bless her. I am none of these t’ings. But I
am certainly a del Sagrad y Sole. I am not—-
how does he so abominably call hisself?—a
Turtle.” And at this point Diego burst out
laughing.
“Pardon, dear lady, dat I laugh so much,
but how can I help when I t’ink how you give
dis old Turtle de good tickle off ”
Olive found him entirely charming; he was
gay, ingenuous and debonair, dividing his eager
speech between the glory which was Inez and
the grandeur which was the New Anaconda.
“You also, dear lady—will you not come to
de New Anaconda? I cannot describe to you de
beauty of dat country or de excellence of
de new humane institutions which de Hazh
Bazh design. Dere is nuzzing which would give
him so more pleasure dan de refined observa-
tions of English lady—if she would give some
talks perhaps about how t’ings are done in
England. Oh,” cried Diego, “I feel if once you
have seen dc jungle, never will you wish to
absent yourself from its fascinations. Imagine
seeing a python of twenty-five feet long!”
‘And imagine it seeing me!’ Olive thought.
But Diego got well away on the subject of
“dc excellence of de New Institutions”, which,
if they could be carried out, did really sound
like a measure of freedom for poor old Anaconda
187


In the End .
think my man—would rather like it.—Only,”
she suddenly broke off, “for goodness’ sake
don’t take him into jungles ”
Diego swept her an operatic bow.
“Now will de Hazh Bazh be indeed a proud
and happy man—to have a great Englishman
and a beautiful Englishwoman to spend deir
honeymoon with him in Anaconda! Now is dc
freedom of Anaconda assured. De Hazh Bazh
will do what your husband say, de people will
do what de Hazh Bazh say, and at once we shall
have London in Lilitha!”
They could have gone on indefinitely but that
Olive at this moment was hugged round the
waist by Inez and the voice of Reverend Mother
was heard in the land. .
Inez never missed an opportunity of showing
off her accomplishments before Reverend Mother,
and so she dropped a curtsey and said:
“Il faut partir, monsieur et ma’moiselle.”
“ C’est dommage, n’est-ce pas?” said Reverend
Mother.
“And oh,” Olive cried, “how dark it’s got. I
shall never be back in time—and I faithfully
promised Oliver to have dinner with him ”
Diego also saw the necessity of haste. “You
must indeed keep such an appointment”—and
picking up Inez, whom it had now become his
habit to carry, he vanished at a run in the
direction of the car.
“It is a pity the same thing cannot be done
for me,” said Reverend Mother to Olive.
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A/[ore Murder in a Nunnery
G46
Grace’ would have been there first, and
scolded for romping.” She paused for a last
look at the little house. “Well, I never thought
to be back here again. It just shows. To think
that at my age I should be stepping out like this
over bumpy ground ”
She stepped out, continuing to speak:
“They say nuns are inhuman. But I shall
miss that child every hour of the day. I like
Diego, and think they will be very happy in a
year or two. They have similar natures—so
ingenuous and affectionate.”
“It is a very pretty ending,” Olive said.
“But oh, Reverend Mother, shouldn’t we thank
God for pistols when we think of the—unspeak-
able beginning ”
“One should always thank God,” Reverend
Mother said.
She added, after a pause:
“I suppose Diego will be in no trouble?”
“An inquiry, I should suppose. Sir Andrew
Pearson will attend to it.”
“God bless him,” said Reverend Mother.
Olive began to speak hurriedly.
“ Oh—and, Reverend Mother, there was some-
thing I rather wanted to tell you ”
“\Vas there, dear? Tell me then.”
“You remember the—man I mentioned—our
local Superintendent, who went up those stairs
with Mr. MacTavish and was first in the chapel
after you and Mother Assistant—well, I always
liked him-—he’s utterly different from other men,
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