The Religious Body by Catherine Aird Page A

quite soft here.…” He slipped out a measure. “Men’s.…”
    â€œPerhaps.”
    â€œIt was a man’s shoe, sir …”
    â€œBut was there a man inside it? Don’t forget that this lot wear men’s shoes—every one of them.”
    Crosby measured the depth. “If it was a woman, it was a heavy one.”
    â€œGet a cast and we’ll know for certain.” He looked round. “It would be a good enough spot to watch the back of the place from.” From where he was standing he could see the kitchen door, the cellar steps, a splendid collection of dustbins and a small glass door which presumably led to the garden room. A broad path led round towards the front entrance of the house, and along this now was walking the Caller, Sister Gertrude.
    â€œInspector, Mother says will you come please? She’s had a letter.”
    â€œIt was handed to Sister Polycarp a few minutes ago,” said the Reverend Mother, “by one of the village children from a gentleman who is staying at The Bull. He says in his letter that he proposes to call at the Convent at four-thirty this afternoon in the hopes of being able to see Sister Anne.”
    â€œDoes he?” said Sloan with interest. “Who is he?”
    The Mother Prioress handed over the letter. “It’s signed ‘Harold Cartwright.’ A relation, presumably.”
    â€œDo you know him? Has he been here before?”
    She shook her head. “No. I do not recollect Sister Anne having any visitors. Do you, Sister?”
    Sister Lucy looked up. “Never, Mother.”
    â€œWould she have seen this man in the ordinary way?”
    â€œNot if she did not wish it, Inspector. Nor if I did not wish it. Sometimes visitors are no great help—especially to young postulants and novices, and are therefore not allowed.”
    â€œHe says here he hopes no objection will be raised to his visit, which is of considerable importance,” said Sloan, quoting the letter.
    â€œTo him,” said the Reverend Mother. “Visitors are rarely important to us. Nevertheless, I think in this instance that we had better ask Sister Polycarp to show him to the Parlor when he comes.”
    He arrived promptly at four-thirty, a man aged about fifty-five in a dark gray suit. He was heavily built and going gray. He wasted no time in getting to the point.
    â€œI am Harold Cartwright, the cousin of Sister Anne, and I would very much like to see her for a few moments.…”
    â€œI am afraid,” said the Reverend Mother, “that that will not be possible.…”
    â€œI know,” said the man quickly, “that she probably does not wish to see me or any of her family, but it is on a matter of some importance. That is why I have traveled down here in person rather than written to her.…”
    â€œ When did you travel down here?” asked Sloan.
    Cartwright turned. “Last night. I stayed at The Bull.”
    â€œWhat time did you arrive?”
    â€œIs that any concern of—”
    â€œI am a police officer investigating a sudden death.”
    â€œI see.” Again the man wasted no time in coming to the point. “I got to The Bull about seven-thirty, had a meal and a drink in the bar and went to bed.”
    â€œStraight to bed?”
    â€œNo. If you’re interested I went for a quick walk round the village to get a breath of air before going to my room.”
    â€œI see, sir, thank you.”
    â€œMr. Cartwright,” the Mother Prioress inclined her coif slightly, “how long is it since you last saw Sister Anne?”
    â€œAlmost twenty years. I went to another Convent to see her. Hersely, it was.”
    â€œThat would be so. We have a House there.”
    â€œI went to ask if there was anything she wanted, anything we could do for her.” His mouth twisted. “She said she had everything and I came away again.”
    â€œMr. Cartwright, you