The Weight of the Evidence by Michael Innes Read Free Book Online Page A

philosophically remote to accord these blunderings a gentle compassion, tucked his hands beneath the tails of his beautiful black coat and presently spoke. ‘It iss mysterious,’ he said. ‘Whatever it iss, it iss that.’
    Appleby and Hobhouse found themselves nodding gratefully. The Vice-Chancellor had said the cogent thing. One was much more aware of this than of the fact that he spoke in the accents of Wild Wales. It must be the way he holds his head, Appleby thought. And the way he closes his mouth and jerks up his chin at the end of it. All needed, no doubt, if one is to put philosophy across on the hard-headed young. ‘You knew Professor Pluckrose well?’ he asked.
    It was obvious that another man would have raised his eyebrows. But the Vice-Chancellor crinkled the corners of his eyes into the kindliest smile – much as a dog-lover might do when subjected to the gambollings of an over-obstreperous puppy. To ask Sir David Evans a question must be something quite out of the way. ‘You will inquire into his death,’ he said benevolently and with authority. He took a hand from under his coat tails and raised a finger. ‘You haf a notebook?’
    Hobhouse – but with less alacrity than might have been expected – indicated that he had a notebook.
    ‘Things to remember about professors,’ said Sir David – and paused. It is a lecture, thought Appleby. It is – thought Hobhouse, innocent of the higher education – a dictation. But Appleby listened and Hobhouse wrote. Sir David still had that overpoweringly cogent air.
    ‘They are ampitious.’ Sir David slightly inclined his head, as one might do when saying something compassionate about the perennial strangeness and oddity of children. ‘All professors are ampitious – ampitious to become professors somewhere else.’ He paused and appeared to decide that, to reach the intellect of his hearers, this must be expanded and illustrated. ‘Professors at Leeds or Sheffield or Hull are ampitious to be professors at Nesfield; and professors at Nesfield are ampitious to be professors at Leeds or Sheffield or Hull.’
    ‘Ambition’, said Appleby solemnly, ‘should be made of sterner stuff.’
    Sir David looked momentarily so disconcerted that it was plain his acquaintance had not the habit of offering him little jokes. Then he put out a kindly hand and patted Appleby on the shoulder, thereby indicating that even if he had said something foolish he should not altogether lose heart. ‘It iss the prave music of a distant drum,’ he said. ‘They are anxious to get away, and so they work at things which are too hard for them, as it iss very easy for professors to do. They worry pecause their prains lack certain microscopic neural tracks which would make them a little cleverer than they are. How foolish it iss.’ And Sir David shook his head slowly and charitably, comfortably convinced that his own neural tracks were just as he would desire them. ‘So that iss the first thing about professors; they worry and have preakdowns.’
    Hobhouse licked his pencil, marked a heavy full stop, and then unflinchingly pointed the lead at Sir David Evans’ nose. ‘This Mr Pluckrose,’ he said, ‘–did he have a breakdown?’
    This time the Vice-Chancellor seemed to welcome interrogation. ‘Pluckrose certainly had a preakdown. Otherwise, look you, why should he have had a preakup?’
    ‘A breakup?’ said Appleby, involuntarily chiming in on the questioning.
    ‘First Pluckrose had a preakdown. And then he proke up altogether and did it.’
    ‘Did it?’ Hobhouse had put down his notebook and was looking thoroughly blank.
    ‘Killed himself,’ said Sir David – and shut his mouth and jerked up his chin.
    It was almost as if Appleby and his colleague ought to take up their hats and retire as men sated and resolved. But Appleby had at least one question to ask. ‘Then’, he said, ‘it isn’t mysterious after all?’
    The effect of this was to cause Sir David Evans to