Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 48, No. 1, January 2003

Pole was the only one tall enough. He craned forward. “The river. A sheer drop. But a hard climb to get up to that sill.”

“Elias Barton could have done it. He did not.” Wentworth moved left, to a wall with two narrow windows. “Here, as you see, it is much easier to climb out of the window onto the gutter, and only a foot-high parapet stands between a man and a sheer drop to the cobblestones of Third Court. In the dark, in last night’s bad weather, anyone might slip and fall. But Elias Barton did not take that option, either. He fell from here, down to his death in Kitchen Lane.”

The third window was open. Darwin and Pole approached it cautiously until they could actually see what lay beyond. Then Pole snorted in disbelief. “From here? Why, man, your friend Barton would have to be twelve feet tall to slip over that — the protecting wall would come up to my waist.”

“Which is exactly what I said to John Chevallier, the Master of the College. Regardless of what Elias Barton was doing last night, by no stretch of the imagination could he have ‘slipped’ to his death from here. It would be necessary for him to climb deliberately out of the window, ascend to the top of the wall, and step out into space.”

“Which would make it suicide,” Darwin said quietly. “A prospect that I assume our good Master prefers not to face.”

“A prospect which he refuses absolutely to entertain. That conclusion would lead to other issues. At the very least there would be a question of burial in consecrated ground, and the investigation might not stop there. But the Master asserts — believe it if you will and if you can, although I certainly cannot — that a terrific gust of wind — and last night’s storm had many of those, no one can deny — lifted Elias Barton bodily over the parapet and dropped him to his death. For John Chevallier, any other explanation is anathema.”

Darwin was leaning out of the window, as far as his great belly would permit. He nodded. “Accidental death, even if it is the result of folly, leads to closure without recriminations. Whereas the alternatives...” He pulled back from the window. “Is the Master religious?”

“Almost unnaturally so.”

“So John Chevallier will do anything to save Barton from what he sees as the road to eternal damnation. Tell me, is this the only window from which Barton could have climbed, to land where he did?”

“All other high windows on this side of E Staircase were closed, because those rooms are not occupied. But this one was open then as it is open now, as the still-wet patch beneath it suggests. Any other window would imply at best an accomplice, at worst a murderer.”

“No other rooms at all were occupied, then, in this entire staircase? Isn’t that a rare situation?”

“Not in high summer. Also, not quite all rooms are unoccupied. I said, all high windows looking out over Kitchen Lane were closed, because those rooms are unoccupied. In fact, there is someone in the rooms on the next bend of the staircase above Elias Barton’s study.”

“But no one spoke to him?”

Wentworth’s face again took on a tight look of disapproval. “Indeed we did. His name is Thomas Selfridge. He is a young sizar, a second-year student of no great attainment. Barton was his tutor. His biggest fear seems to be that we will somehow conclude that he was involved in the death.”

“Are you sure that he was not?”

“I was suspicious, though for no sound reason. Talk to him yourself, should you wish — but do not ask permission from the Master. He would like the whole matter closed and forgotten.”

“I will speak to Selfridge. But there are others with whom I would like to talk first.”

“Erasmus, I never dreamed of putting you to such trouble. You came all the way from Lichfield; and you are in need of rest—”

Pole interrupted gruffly. “Don’t waste your breath on sympathy, Mr. Wentworth. Look at that face. Can’t you see that Erasmus eats mystery with the same gusto as he eats his dinner?”

He turned to Darwin. “Where now, ’Rasmus? Whose life do we make a misery now?”

“It has happened to me, too many times to count.” Darwin was following Wentworth to one corner of First Court. “I stop my sulky outside a house where there has been a report of infectious disease. I go to the front door and I knock. A servant answers and says — apologetically, in most cases, and with all honesty — ‘I am sorry, Dr. Darwin, but no one is home.’ Yet I observe, with my own eyes, half a dozen maids and footmen scuttling about at the far end of the hall! I say to him, ‘What then are those? The household sprites?’ and he gapes at me. It is one of the mysteries of our society. Servants go everywhere, and they see everything, but we often behave as though they do not exist.”

They were approaching the staircase. Wentworth stepped ahead. “Let me go first. I will emphasize to the College Butler the importance of full and complete cooperation.”