11 - Ticket to Oblivion by Edward Marston Page B

Mickleton Tunnel,’ she said, confidingly. ‘It’s always caused trouble. Well, it’s not so many years ago that we had that riot there with thousands of people fighting a battle. And there have been other problems since. Someone started a fire in there. Two people committed suicide together by standing on the track. Last year, they found another dead body in there, curled up against a wall. Some folk believe that the tunnel is cursed. That’s the rumour, Vernon. They say that, when the train slowed in the dark of the tunnel, someone might have been able to climb into their carriage and commit whatever crime he did. I don’t believe it myself,’ she said quickly, ‘but that’s what I heard. If anything really dreadful happened on that journey to Oxford, it would have taken place in the Mickleton Tunnel.’
    Vernon Tolley swallowed hard and his gloom deepened.
     
    After a flurry of introductions, Dominic Vaughan tried to dispel the tension in the room by producing a decanter of the college sherry and pouring a glass for all five of them. Everyone sat down. The person most grateful for the drink was Victor Leeming, perched on the edge of a chair and feeling so alienated in the strange environment that his throat had gone dry and his body numb. The sherry at least brought him back to life again. Colbeck complimented the Master on the quality of his sherry then invited Tunnadine to explain how he’d achieved the miracle of unravelling the mystery. The politician was disdainful, mocking the efforts of the detectives and boasting that he’d succeeded wherethey had floundered. Ignoring the sergeant as if he were not even there, his words were aimed solely at Colbeck. When he sat back at the end of his recitation, Tunnadine looked as if he expected a round of applause.
    Colbeck sipped some more sherry then shook his head in disagreement.
    ‘It’s an interesting theory, Mr Tunnadine, but it’s fatally flawed.’
    ‘I know what George Vaughan is capable of, Inspector.’
    ‘That may well be so, sir. Throughout its long and illustrious history, this university has been enlivened by undergraduate jests. When I was a student here myself,’ said Colbeck, deliberately letting him know his academic credentials, ‘I saw countless examples of what one might call youthful exuberance. One of my own contemporaries, for instance, thought it would be a splendid joke if he clambered up on the roof of the Sheldonian Theatre with a live sheep tied around his shoulders. Why do it? The answer is simple – he wanted to cause a stir.’
    ‘What has that got to do with George Vaughan?’
    ‘He and my old college friend are two of a kind, Mr Tunnadine. Both like to shock people with their bravado. But a shock, by definition, is a temporary event. Once accomplished, its effect soon wears off. If, as you argue, the Master’s son is responsible for what you refer to as devilry, why has he let it drag on for such a long time? The joke had worn thin several hours ago.’
    ‘That’s precisely what
I
told him,’ said Vaughan.
    ‘George would never make us all suffer like this,’ added Cassandra. ‘He’s grown up in the last year. He’s finally seen the error of his ways.’
    ‘Once a joker, always a joker,’ argued Tunnadine. ‘I’ve met him. He can’t stop himself from being the family clown.’
    ‘Clowns perform in search of immediate applause, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘They never extend their act
ad nauseam
until it causes pain and anguish. I’m sorry, Mr Tunnadine, but your so-called solution is utterly worthless.’
    ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ agreed Cassandra.
    ‘Nor could I,’ said Vaughan. ‘You cast unjustified slurs on the honour of our younger son, Mr Tunnadine. I’d say that an apology was in order.’
    ‘None is deserved and none will be given,’ said Tunnadine, stonily.
    ‘Inspector Colbeck has exposed your theory for the gibberish that it is.’
    Looking from one face to another,