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

consultation with the governing body of the school,” he said, “and it seemed to all of us that for the sake of the boys and girls it would be wiser to appoint immediately a successor to Miss Ferris. I have been fortunate enough to secure the services of an able and distinguished lady whose qualifications happen to be a. good deal higher than those required for the post, but who is anxious to obtain a first-hand impression of a co-educational day-school of an advanced modern type. She will accordingly be appointed for the remainder of this term, while the governors and I are deciding upon a candidate for permanent appointment. I should be glad if you would all take pains to welcome the lady. She is elderly, and probably . . .”—he smiled, and for a moment looked himself again, the lines washed from his forehead, and his eyes candid and kind—“has pronounced views which some of you may find irritating. However, I think you’ll like her. Her name”—he consulted a paper before him on the big desk—“is Bradley. Mrs. Beatrice Adela Lestrange Bradley. She will commence her duties on Monday at nine.”
    There was a stunned silence. Then Mr. Browning said blankly:
    â€œBut—you don’t mean—not the Mrs. Bradley, Headmaster?”
    â€œWhy not?” said Mr. Cliffordson coldly. The staff, taking its cue, rose and filed out, but the Headmaster motioned Browning to remain. When the others had gone and the door was shut, Mr. Cliffordson said:
    â€œMrs. Bradley is coming here to make a study of the school. She is writing a psychological treatise on adolescence, and wishes to make first-hand observations in boys’, girls’, and mixed schools. You understand?”
    â€œI understand,” said young Mr. Browning, meeting the Headmaster’s eye, “that you think Miss Ferris was murdered, and, in view of the fact that the verdict of the coroner’s jury was one of suicide, I don’t consider you are being fair to us, Headmaster, in getting Mrs. Bradley here like this. I wish to tender my resignation.”
    â€œAnd I refuse to accept it,” said Mr. Cliffordson firmly. He changed his tone.
    â€œMy dear boy,” he said, “pause and consider. I do believe Miss Ferris was murdered, but I don’t want the school turned upside down. Mrs. Bradley will decide, quietly, whether I am justified in my conclusions, and then, if I am, some action must be taken. That is all. Last night I was convinced that poor Miss Ferris had drowned herself. Later, I discovered that the waste-pipe was completely stopped up with clay. That struck me as curious. I must beg of you not to communicate these tidings to your colleagues. I hope that I am wrong. Things are quite bad enough. But there are facts which cannot be ignored, and I must face them.”
    â€œWell, Headmaster, I won’t say a word, of course,” said Browning, mollified by the Headmaster’s attitude. “But if you imagine I’m the only one to smell a rat, I think you’ll find you’re wrong. Everyone has heard of Mrs. Bradley. She’s news, as they say in journalistic circles, and . . .”
    â€œEnough, my boy,” said Mr. Cliffordson. “I have your assurance, then?”
    â€œOh, I won’t say anything about it,” said the young man. But to himself he said, as he walked back to his room: “I wonder who the devil he suspects? Smith, I expect. That clay in the waste-pipe came out of the Art Room, for a certainty, and she ruined his Psyche. But how on earth did he persuade her to go into the lobby in the first place? And the electric light! Someone had tampered with it so that she would not be found very quickly. Dirty work at the cross-roads, undoubtedly!”
    He was so interested that he forbore to remark on a pitched battle that was being waged by the male members of Form Lower Four when he got back to the room they were