once. Something happened to change Miss Kettle’s plans and, instead of returning the cash to the A.O. for safe custody, she locked it in her drawer.”
“Do you know how many of the staff knew that it was there?”
“That’s what the police asked. I suppose most people knew that the vases hadn’t been bought or Miss Kettle would have shown them around. They probably guessed that, having been handed the cash, she wouldn’t be likely to return it even temporarily. I don’t know. The arrival of that fifteen pounds was mysterious. It caused nothing but trouble and its disappearance was equally mysterious. Anyway, Superintendent, no one here stole it. Cully only saw the thief for a second but he was certain that he didn’t know the man. He did say, though, that he thought the chap looked like a gentleman. Don’t ask me how he knew or what his criteria are. But that’s what he said.”
Dalgliesh thought that the whole incident was odd and would bear further investigation but he could see no apparent connection between the two crimes. It was not even certain that Miss Bolam’s call to the group secretary for advice was related to her death, but here the presumption was much stronger. It was very important to discover, if possible, what she had suspected. He asked Mr. Lauder once more whether he could help.
“I told you, Superintendent, I haven’t an idea what she meant. If I suspected that anything was wrong I shouldn’t wait for Miss Bolam to phone me. We’re not quite so remote from the units at group offices as some people think and I usually get to know anything I ought to know. If the murder is connected with that phone message something pretty serious must be happening here. After all, you don’t kill just to prevent the group secretary knowing that you’ve fiddled your travelling claim or overspent your annual leave. Not that anyone has as far as I know.”
“Exactly,” said Dalgliesh. He watched the group secretary’s face very closely and said, without emphasis:
“It suggests something that might ruin a man professionally. A sexual relationship with a patient perhaps— something as serious as that.” Mr. Lauder’s face did not change.
“I imagine every doctor knows the seriousness of that, particularly psychiatrists. They must have to be pretty careful with some of the neurotic women they treat. Frankly, I don’t believe it. All the doctors here are eminent men, some of them with world-wide reputations. You don’t get that sort of reputation if you’re a fool and men of that eminence don’t commit murder.”
“And what about the rest of the staff? They may not be eminent, but presumably you consider them honest?”
Unruffled, the group secretary replied:
“Sister Ambrose has been here for nearly twenty years and Nurse Bolam for five. I would trust them both absolutely. All the clerical staff came with good references and so did the two porters, Cully and Nagle.” He added wryly: “Admittedly I didn’t check that they hadn’t committed murder but none of them strike me as homicidal maniacs. Cully drinks a bit and is a pathetic old fool with only another four months’ service to complete. I doubt whether he could kill a mouse without making a hash of it. Nagle is a cut above the usual hospital porter. I understand he’s an art student and works here for pocket money. He’s only been with us a couple of years so he wasn’t here before Miss Bolam’s time. Even if he’s been seducing all the female staff, which seems unlikely, the worst that could happen to him would be the sack and that wouldn’t worry him as things are today. Admittedly she was killed with his chisel but anyone could have got their hands on that.”
“I’m afraid this was an inside job, you know,” said Dalgliesh gently. “The murderer knew where Tippett’s fetish and Nagle’s chisel were kept, knew which key opened the old record-room, knew where that key was hung on the board in the porters’
“Do you know how many of the staff knew that it was there?”
“That’s what the police asked. I suppose most people knew that the vases hadn’t been bought or Miss Kettle would have shown them around. They probably guessed that, having been handed the cash, she wouldn’t be likely to return it even temporarily. I don’t know. The arrival of that fifteen pounds was mysterious. It caused nothing but trouble and its disappearance was equally mysterious. Anyway, Superintendent, no one here stole it. Cully only saw the thief for a second but he was certain that he didn’t know the man. He did say, though, that he thought the chap looked like a gentleman. Don’t ask me how he knew or what his criteria are. But that’s what he said.”
Dalgliesh thought that the whole incident was odd and would bear further investigation but he could see no apparent connection between the two crimes. It was not even certain that Miss Bolam’s call to the group secretary for advice was related to her death, but here the presumption was much stronger. It was very important to discover, if possible, what she had suspected. He asked Mr. Lauder once more whether he could help.
“I told you, Superintendent, I haven’t an idea what she meant. If I suspected that anything was wrong I shouldn’t wait for Miss Bolam to phone me. We’re not quite so remote from the units at group offices as some people think and I usually get to know anything I ought to know. If the murder is connected with that phone message something pretty serious must be happening here. After all, you don’t kill just to prevent the group secretary knowing that you’ve fiddled your travelling claim or overspent your annual leave. Not that anyone has as far as I know.”
“Exactly,” said Dalgliesh. He watched the group secretary’s face very closely and said, without emphasis:
“It suggests something that might ruin a man professionally. A sexual relationship with a patient perhaps— something as serious as that.” Mr. Lauder’s face did not change.
“I imagine every doctor knows the seriousness of that, particularly psychiatrists. They must have to be pretty careful with some of the neurotic women they treat. Frankly, I don’t believe it. All the doctors here are eminent men, some of them with world-wide reputations. You don’t get that sort of reputation if you’re a fool and men of that eminence don’t commit murder.”
“And what about the rest of the staff? They may not be eminent, but presumably you consider them honest?”
Unruffled, the group secretary replied:
“Sister Ambrose has been here for nearly twenty years and Nurse Bolam for five. I would trust them both absolutely. All the clerical staff came with good references and so did the two porters, Cully and Nagle.” He added wryly: “Admittedly I didn’t check that they hadn’t committed murder but none of them strike me as homicidal maniacs. Cully drinks a bit and is a pathetic old fool with only another four months’ service to complete. I doubt whether he could kill a mouse without making a hash of it. Nagle is a cut above the usual hospital porter. I understand he’s an art student and works here for pocket money. He’s only been with us a couple of years so he wasn’t here before Miss Bolam’s time. Even if he’s been seducing all the female staff, which seems unlikely, the worst that could happen to him would be the sack and that wouldn’t worry him as things are today. Admittedly she was killed with his chisel but anyone could have got their hands on that.”
“I’m afraid this was an inside job, you know,” said Dalgliesh gently. “The murderer knew where Tippett’s fetish and Nagle’s chisel were kept, knew which key opened the old record-room, knew where that key was hung on the board in the porters’
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