Read Online Death at the Opera by Gladys Mitchell - Free Book Online Page A

worry.”
    He went back to the men-principals’ dressing-room, to find Hampstead talking to Smith.
    â€œDo you want us any longer, sir?” Smith asked. He was a dirty-white where he had removed his make-up, and looked ill.
    â€œNo. There’s nothing to be done. I shall stay until the doctor has made his examination, of course. Good night. Don’t worry. I can’t think how it happened. You’ll . . . I needn’t ask you—ybzou won’t discuss it outside the school at present, will you?”
    He called Hampstead back as the two masters got to the door.
    â€œMrs. Boyle has not gone yet,” he said. “You’ll see her home, I expect, as usual, won’t you? Impress upon her not to worry. It’s a terrible affair, but we must take it that the poor woman was either the victim of sudden illness, or else that she had trouble of which none of us knew. Good night, my dear fellow. Don’t linger, or Mrs. Boyle may be gone.”
    Hampstead, who had been staring dumbly, went out like a sleep-walker, and in less than ten minutes young Mr. Browning returned with a doctor. Alceste had no intention of going, however, and as soon as she saw Hampstead she said:
    â€œYou’d better go, Fred. I must stay and see things through. After all, there ought to be a woman on the scene.”
    â€œThe Head quite expects that you will go home,” Hampstead replied. “In fact, he told me to take you. This is a frightful business, Alceste. I’ve seen her. . . .” He paused and fidgeted with the hat he was holding. “Do you think it could be suicide? She was sitting on a chair in the water-lobby, on this side of the building, and her head was in a bowl of water.”
    Alceste said:
    â€œI don’t believe she would have committed suicide. I know my own sex thoroughly, and Miss Ferris wasn’t the type. Probably religious, too. I should think she must have fainted. The child said Miss Ferris was ‘dabbing her face.’ I never for one moment. . . . But it’s queer. Has the doctor arrived yet, do you think?”
    â€œI don’t know. Shall I go and see?”
    â€œNo. I’ll go. Poor woman. It will be a nuisance for the school. It’s certain to get into the papers. I don’t believe, after all, we’d better go. We shall probably be in the way.”
    Together they went to the class-room which had been used as the men-principals’ dressing-room. It was empty, except for the Headmaster. The body had been taken into the laboratory, he told them, and the doctor had made a preliminary examination, sufficient to be certain that the cause of death was drowning.
    â€œThere will have to be an inquest, of course,” said Mr. Cliffordson. “The doctor is going to give orders for the body to be removed. What an awful business it is! One doesn’t want to be unfeeling, but I do wish it had happened anywhere but in school. I can’t think what possessed her, can you? Or could it have been an accident? The light has gone wrong in there, too. We had to get candles from the stock cupboard. I must communicate at once with her relatives, I suppose. Oh, well, don’t worry. As long as it isn’t one of the children, it isn’t as bad as it might be. Good night to you both. Don’t worry. Poor woman. Oh dear, oh dear!”
    II
    The verdict which concluded the inquest upon Calma Ferris was “Suicide while of unsound mind”: this in the face of all that the dead woman’s acquaintances could say on the subject of her apparent freedom from worry and ill-health. The Headmaster, still looking old and worn, called a staff meeting at ten o’clock on the following morning. The staff, nervously silent, guessing the subject of the meeting, came in in ones and twos, and seated themselves. When they were all present Mr. Cliffordson addressed them. His tones were dry and formal.
    â€œI have been in