The Religious Body by Catherine Aird

more helpful.
    When she had gone the Reverend Mother beckoned Sister Lucy to her side. “What was that address?”
    â€œSeventeen Strelitz Square, Mother.”
    The Mother Prioress nodded. “Inspector, that was the address from which Sister Anne came to us.”
    â€œIt’s a very good one,” said Sloan involuntarily.
    â€œShe was a very good nun,” retorted the Reverend Mother dryly. “It was, of course, some time ago that she left home, but in the normal course of events I would telephone there to establish whether or not she still had relatives.”
    Sloan took a quick look at his watch. “Perhaps I’ll telephone myself, marm.”
    Standing in the dark corridor where the nuns kept their instrument he wondered if it wouldn’t have been wiser to go to London. When he was connected to 17 Strelitz Square he was sure.
    â€œMrs. Alfred Cartwright’s residence,” said a female voice.
    â€œMay I speak to Mrs. Cartwright, please?”
    â€œWho shall I say is calling?”
    â€œThe Convent of St. Anselm.” That would do to begin with.
    â€œI will enquire if madam is at home.”
    There was a pause. Sloan heard footsteps walking away. Parquet flooring. And then they came back.
    â€œMadam,” said the female voice, “is Not At Home.”
    â€œIt’s about her daughter,” said Sloan easily. “I think if she knew that she—”
    â€œMadam has no daughter,” said the voice and rang off.
    Sloan went back to the Parlor. Only Crosby was there now.
    â€œA bell rang, Inspector, and they both went—just like that. I didn’t know if you wanted me to stop them.”
    â€œYou? Stop them?” said Sloan unkindly. “You couldn’t do it. Now, listen …”
    There was a knock on the Parlor door and Father MacAuley came in.
    â€œAh, Inspector, found the glasses?”
    â€œNot yet, sir,” said Sloan shortly. It was bad enough investigating a death in the alien surroundings of a Convent without having a priest pattering along behind him. And MacAuley wasn’t the only one who wanted to know where Sister Anne’s glasses were. Superintendent Leeyes would be on to their absence in a flash, and a fat lot of good it would be explaining to him that he and Crosby had looked everywhere for them.
    â€œDid you get anything out of Lady Macbeth?” asked the priest.
    â€œWe confirmed all of Sister Peter’s statements,” said Sloan stiffly.
    â€œShe’s walking up and down the corridor muttering ‘What! Will these hands ne’er be clean?’” He squinted at Sloan. “All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten that little hand.”
    â€œNo, sir? The Mother Prioress tried an old Army remedy.”
    â€œShe did?”
    â€œSpud bashing.”
    â€œA fine leader of women, the Mother Prioress.” Father MacAuley grinned suddenly. “I hear that the chap across the way—Ranby at the Agricultural Institute—he’s gated his students for the evening. All to be in their own grounds by four o’clock this afternoon.”
    â€œCan’t say I blame him for that,” said Sloan. “Last year they burnt down the bus shelter and there was hell to pay.”
    â€œNearly set the Post Office on fire, too,” contributed Crosby.
    â€œPolycarp says all buildings burn well, but Government buildings burn better,” said the priest.
    Sloan rose dismissively. “I don’t think Bonfire Night at the Agricultural Institute will concern us, sir.”
    Wherein he was wrong.

CHAPTER SIX
    It was still damp in the grounds, and for that Sloan was grateful. It meant that the footprints Crosby had found not far from the cellar door were perfectly preserved.
    â€œTwo sets, Inspector.” He straightened his back. They were in the shelter of one of the large rhododendron bushes. “One of them stood for a while in the same place. The earth’s