The Murdered Schoolgirl: A Classic Crime Novel. John Russell Fearn
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the head girl of the Sixth Form and in case you get any queer ideas beforehand I’m telling you that. I have a way of dealing with shrimps like you if they try and upset my authority.… But you wouldn’t try and do that, would you?”
Frances did not answer and deliberately turned her back. The girls glanced at each other as Vera Randal’s face reddened.
“I’m talking to you! You! New girl!”
Frances turned languidly. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you’d finished long ago. You are head girl and you don’t allow shrimps like me to block your path. All right. Now what do we do?”
Breathing deeply, Vera gazed at the cynical grey eyes; then suddenly she looked round on the others.
“Impudent for a new kid, isn’t she?” she sneered. “But she’ll learn! All right, it’s time for our usual half-hour’s ultraviolet. Come on, everybody!”
There was a general scurrying to the dressing rooms. Joan caught Frances’s arm tightly.
“Come on, Frances—this way. It will tone you up a bit. You have a pretty pale skin, come to think of it—”
“Just a minute!” Frances shook herself free. “What exactly are we going to do?”
“Take sunray treatment. There are the machines over there by the wall. Ultraviolet. It’s grand stuff if you know how to use it—”
“Not if I know it!” Frances said abruptly, her mouth setting firmly—then she looked round as the big hand of Vera Randal fell on her shoulder.
“Won’t do, newcomer!” she announced. “We all do it, and My Lady Highbrow isn’t going to be the exception! Come on and get into a swimsuit—”
“I said I wasn’t going to!” Frances retorted. “Just leave me alone!”
“I don’t stand disobedience, especially from a new kid!” Vera snapped. “And you’re going to do as I say!”
With that she whirled Frances forward resolutely, but the girl did not go very far. Suddenly she halted herself, turned round, and caught the big girl by the wrist. Before she knew what was happening Vera had whirled round, over Frances’s head, and landed with a terrific thump on the floor matting.
“Sorry,” Frances said, straightening up, “but I meant what I said. I am not going to take ultraviolet treatment—”
She headed towards the door, then, as she reached it, she paused and looked back.
“That’s one of my tricks,” she explained drily, smiling at the astonished, dishevelled Vera. “Jujitsu. Why don’t you try it yourself some time?”
“Of all the confounded…,” Vera breathed, then she blinked as the door closed sharply and Frances departed.
* * * *
Mr. Robert Lever, aged twenty-four, proud of his moustache and his prowess in the various branches of science, was deep in Einstein’s Relativity when there came a gentle knocking on his study door. He looked up, put on the plain-lensed glasses he wore to convey a more mature aspect, straightened his ruffled black hair, then bade the visitor enter.
He tried to imagine who it might be at this hour of eleven-thirty. Surely none of the domestics, and even less likely to be a teacher—
To his astonishment a pale-faced, blonde-headed girl came in, a light blanket coat enveloping her slender figure up to her chin, just as though she was prepared for some kind of pretty cold vigil.
“Mr. Lever?” she asked, closing the door.
“Why, yes. I—er—” He stopped and looked at her anxiously. “I am afraid I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you before. And I think I ought to tell you that this is a dangerous violation of the college rules.”
“Yes—I know. I’m Frances Hasleigh, a new pupil here. I want to ask you a question. I’m told that you are pretty good at astronomy.”
“Well, I know a little about it, certainly. But—but you can’t come here like this! If it were found out, I’d lose my position—”
Frances smiled with her colourless lips. “Since you are liable to be called up soon, would that matter anyway? Wouldn’t you rather help a much puzzled girl even if it means the risk of discharge?”
He looked at her fixedly as though trying to imagine what she meant—then, struck with a thought, he went over and locked the door.
“This is really terrible,” he said, returning to face her. “If you want to ask me a question do so in a whisper, and then go! Now, what is it?”
Frances seated herself with a certain air of possession. And looking at her there were few thoughts of science left in the mind of Robert Lever. He knew only two things—that he was in decided danger and that she was extremely pretty.
“Mr. Lever,” she said, “I want to know the position of Sirius.”
“Good Heavens!” he exclaimed blankly.
Frances raised her eyebrows. “Isn’t it a natural question for a student of astronomy to ask?”
“Oh, yes, I suppose it is—but at eleven-thirty at night when you should be in your dormitory.… I can show you a stellar map giving its exact position at this time of the year. Or I can draw you a design if you wish.” Lever turned to his desk and began to rummage. “Hmm—how annoying. I must have left my fountain-pen in the form room again.…”
“Don’t you think it better, Mr. Lever, if you showed me the star in the sky itself?” Frances murmured. “It’s a glorious night, and with everything blacked out it helps the study of the stars enormously.”
“Does it?” he asked weakly, glancing at the curtained window.
“I don’t think a window view would be much use,” Frances said. “The buildings will hide the view a lot. We’ll have to go into the quadrangle. After all, it won’t take a minute to solve my little problem.”
“But, hang it all, Miss—er—Hasleigh, why do you want to know such a thing anyway?”
“Just interest,” Frances shrugged. “And because I am a pupil in a seat of learning I expect you to help me. If you don’t.… Well, of course, I could hint to Miss Black that I had been here and—”
“I’ll show you with pleasure!” Lever interrupted hastily, and realized now why she was so wrapped up. She had obviously planned beforehand to reach her objective. So he got into his own coat, opened the door softly, and peered down the dimly lit corridor.
“Nobody saw you come here?” he whispered.
“Not so far as I know. I had to find my way with a torch, but I had a pretty good idea where your study was—”
“This way,” he said, and, taking her arm, he led her silently down the corridor and so finally out into the quadrangle. It was dark, starlit, surrounded by the blacked-out mass of the college buildings.
“Now, which is it?” Frances asked, looking skywards.
“There!” Lever pointed upwards and the girl angled her head closer to him, apparently to get in line with his hand. Finally, as she searched in vain, he caught her shoulder and moved her towards him gently.
“There! See? Right between those two stars—”
Then he broke off in horror at a sudden cough from the gloom. A torch gleamed into life and behind it was a dim figure. Lever was on the point of making a dash for it, but the girl caught his arm tightly.
“I hope, Mr. Lever, that you have a satisfactory explanation for this conduct?”
The voice was acid, and the figure behind the torch proved to be Miss Tanby, an overcoat thrown hastily about her shoulders. She flashed the beam into both faces steadily.
“I—er—I