An Oxford Tragedy by J. C. Masterman Read Free Book Online Page A

writing-table, littered with papers and with a reading-lamp on one corner; the whole of the east wall and a great part of the north wall of the room were covered by bookshelves which ran up almost to the ceiling. I have left to the last what was, to me, the most impressive feature of the room – an octagonal table of beautiful workmanship, which stood almost midway between the door from the outer room and the door into the bedroom. It had been bequeathed to these rooms in perpetuity by a former dean, and stood always in the same place, an object of admiration and pride to one dean after another. Once more I must insert a plan so that the details of the arrangement of the inner room may be absolutely clear.
    Every detail of that room was, as I have already said, familiar to me, and a single glance showed it to me as I had always known it – with one ghastly exception – for in the armchair nearest to the writing table sprawled the body of Shirley.
    He sat low in the chair, his head just showing above the back, and half turned to the right as though he had been in the act of turning round when he had been shot. His head had sagged forward on to his chest, and his general appearance was that of a man who had sunk in a dishevelled condition into an arm-chair. The studs in the front of his soft dress shirt were undone, and to me he gave the impression of a man partly intoxicated who had flung himself down to rest. A second glance made it obvious that he was not drunkbut dead. On the right side of his head I could just see a tiny hole, not larger than a threepenny bit; on the left side was a much larger hole, a little ragged. There was hardly any blood. Instinctively my eyes turned to the octagonal table; in the middle of it, like some grim emblem of destruction, lay the revolver.

    From the moment that we reached the room, Brendel seemed to take command of the situation. He took one slow comprehensive look at the room as though he would photograph every detail of it upon his mind. Then he spoke with a new note of decision and command in his voice.
    â€˜Don’t touch the body, and whatever you do, don’t touch the revolver. Mr Hargreaves, tell me quickly. Is there any back door, any entrance into these rooms except by the way we have come?’
    â€˜No, none whatever.’
    â€˜Then you, Mr Winn, stand in that outer room, please, by the door, whilst we search the other rooms.’
    Two minutes sufficed to prove that no one was hidden in the bedrooms or the lobby.
    â€˜Now,’ said Brendel, as we re-entered the inner room, ‘tell me, as quickly as you can, please, exactly what you did since you left us?’
    For the first time I realized that Maurice had left us a good ten minutes ago. Why ever had he been so long? He seemed to pull himself together, and spoke now with comparative calmness.
    â€˜I walked into the Quad,’ he said, ‘and I saw from below that the lights in my room were burning, so I knew that Shirley was still there, waiting for me. I met Pine – Pine is the Head Porter, you know – and had a word with him. I asked him about the noise earlier on in the Quad. And then, well, I thought that Shirley had waited a long time anyhow, and a few more minutes wouldn’t matter – and it was a beautiful night – so I strolled a couple of times round the Quad before I went up. I wanted … I wanted to think what I was going to say to Shirley, I suppose. Then I went up, and oh my God! – I saw him in the chair, like that —’
    He turned his head away from the chair.
    â€˜Thank you,’ said Brendel. ‘You touched nothing – not the body, nor the revolver?’
    Hargreaves shook his head. ‘I couldn’t have,’ he said with a kind of shudder.
    Brendel nodded. ‘You have a telephone? Call the police at once, and a doctor.’
    Under the influence of the Professor’s calm efficiency, Maurice was rapidly recovering his