joints.
Mr. Courtney-Briggs, after a brief, “Good morning, Matron,” made his way to the door and stood there like a bored guest, demonstrating his anxiety to make a quick getaway. But the others crowded around her. There was an immediate sense of relief. Muttered introductions were made.
“Good morning, Superintendent.” Her voice was deep, a little husky, a voice as individual as herself. She seemed hardly aware of him, yet he was conscious of a swift appraisal from green exophthalmic eyes. Her handshake was firm and cool, but so momentary that it seemed a fleeting meeting of palms, nothing more.
The Vice-Chairman said: “The police will want a room. We thought perhaps Miss Rolfe’s office?”
“Too small, I think, and not private enough, so close to the main hall. It would be better if Mr. Dalgliesh had the use of the visitors’ sitting-room on the first floor and the cloakroom next door to it. The room has a key. There’s a desk with lockable drawers in the general office and that can be moved up. That way the police will get some privacy and there’ll be a minimum of interference with the work of the school.”
There was a murmur of assent. The men looked relieved. The Matron said to Dalgliesh: “Will you need a bedroom? Do you want to sleep in the hospital?”
“That won’t be necessary. We shall be staying in the town. But I would prefer to work from here. We shall probably be here late every night so that it would be helpful if we could have keys.”
“For how long?” asked the Vice-Chairman suddenly. It was on the face of it, a stupid question, but Dalgliesh noticed that all their faces turned to him as if it were one he could be expected to answer. He knew his reputation for speed. Did they perhaps know it too?
“About a week,” he said. Even if the case dragged on for longer, he would learn all he needed from Nightingale House and its occupants within seven days. If Nurse Fallon had been murdered—and he believed she had—the circle of suspects would be small. If the case didn’t break within a week it might never break. He thought there was a small sigh of relief.
The Matron said: “Where is she?”
“They took the body to the mortuary, Matron.”
“I didn’t mean Fallon. Where is Nurse Dakers? I understood it was she who found the body.”
Alderman Kealey replied. “She’s being nursed in the private ward. She was pretty shaken up so we asked Dr. Snelling to take a look at her. He’s given her a sedative and Sister Brumfett’s looking after her.”
He added: “Sister Brumfett was a little concerned about her. On top of that she’s got rather a sick ward. Otherwise she would have met you at the airport. We all felt rather badly about your arriving with no one to meet you, but the best thing seemed to be to telephone a message for you, asking you to ring us here as soon as you landed. Sister Brumfett thought that the shock would be less if you learnt it in that way. On the other hand it seemed wrong not to have someone there. I wanted to send Grout but …”
The husky voice broke in with its quiet reproof: “I should have thought that sparing me shock was the least of your worries.” She turned to Dalgliesh: “I shall be in my sitting-room here on the third floor in about forty-five minutes’ time.If it’s convenient for you, I should be glad to have a word with you then.”
Dalgliesh, resisting the impulse to reply with a docile, “Yes, Matron,” said that it would. Miss Taylor turned to Alderman Kealey.
“I’m going to see Nurse Dakers now. Afterwards the Superintendent will want to interview me and then I shall be in my main office in the hospital if you or Mr. Grout want me. I shall, of course, be available all day.”
Without a further word or look she gathered up her travelling case and handbag and went out of the room. Mr. Courtney-Briggs perfunctorily opened the door for her, then prepared to follow. Standing in the open doorway, he said with jovial
Mr. Courtney-Briggs, after a brief, “Good morning, Matron,” made his way to the door and stood there like a bored guest, demonstrating his anxiety to make a quick getaway. But the others crowded around her. There was an immediate sense of relief. Muttered introductions were made.
“Good morning, Superintendent.” Her voice was deep, a little husky, a voice as individual as herself. She seemed hardly aware of him, yet he was conscious of a swift appraisal from green exophthalmic eyes. Her handshake was firm and cool, but so momentary that it seemed a fleeting meeting of palms, nothing more.
The Vice-Chairman said: “The police will want a room. We thought perhaps Miss Rolfe’s office?”
“Too small, I think, and not private enough, so close to the main hall. It would be better if Mr. Dalgliesh had the use of the visitors’ sitting-room on the first floor and the cloakroom next door to it. The room has a key. There’s a desk with lockable drawers in the general office and that can be moved up. That way the police will get some privacy and there’ll be a minimum of interference with the work of the school.”
There was a murmur of assent. The men looked relieved. The Matron said to Dalgliesh: “Will you need a bedroom? Do you want to sleep in the hospital?”
“That won’t be necessary. We shall be staying in the town. But I would prefer to work from here. We shall probably be here late every night so that it would be helpful if we could have keys.”
“For how long?” asked the Vice-Chairman suddenly. It was on the face of it, a stupid question, but Dalgliesh noticed that all their faces turned to him as if it were one he could be expected to answer. He knew his reputation for speed. Did they perhaps know it too?
“About a week,” he said. Even if the case dragged on for longer, he would learn all he needed from Nightingale House and its occupants within seven days. If Nurse Fallon had been murdered—and he believed she had—the circle of suspects would be small. If the case didn’t break within a week it might never break. He thought there was a small sigh of relief.
The Matron said: “Where is she?”
“They took the body to the mortuary, Matron.”
“I didn’t mean Fallon. Where is Nurse Dakers? I understood it was she who found the body.”
Alderman Kealey replied. “She’s being nursed in the private ward. She was pretty shaken up so we asked Dr. Snelling to take a look at her. He’s given her a sedative and Sister Brumfett’s looking after her.”
He added: “Sister Brumfett was a little concerned about her. On top of that she’s got rather a sick ward. Otherwise she would have met you at the airport. We all felt rather badly about your arriving with no one to meet you, but the best thing seemed to be to telephone a message for you, asking you to ring us here as soon as you landed. Sister Brumfett thought that the shock would be less if you learnt it in that way. On the other hand it seemed wrong not to have someone there. I wanted to send Grout but …”
The husky voice broke in with its quiet reproof: “I should have thought that sparing me shock was the least of your worries.” She turned to Dalgliesh: “I shall be in my sitting-room here on the third floor in about forty-five minutes’ time.If it’s convenient for you, I should be glad to have a word with you then.”
Dalgliesh, resisting the impulse to reply with a docile, “Yes, Matron,” said that it would. Miss Taylor turned to Alderman Kealey.
“I’m going to see Nurse Dakers now. Afterwards the Superintendent will want to interview me and then I shall be in my main office in the hospital if you or Mr. Grout want me. I shall, of course, be available all day.”
Without a further word or look she gathered up her travelling case and handbag and went out of the room. Mr. Courtney-Briggs perfunctorily opened the door for her, then prepared to follow. Standing in the open doorway, he said with jovial
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