The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club · Chapter 16 (2/2)

“But that’s no reason why Naomi should turn round like that. The fact is, the little brute’s so proud of having landed a man⁠—and an engagement ring⁠—for herself, that she’s out to patronize everybody else.”

“Oh?”

“Yes; besides, everything is looked at from dear Walter’s point of view now, and naturally Walter isn’t feeling very loving towards Ann Dorland.”

“Why not?”

“My dear man, you’re being very discreet, aren’t you? Naturally, everybody’s saying that she did it.”

“Are they?”

“Who else could they think did it?”

Wimsey realized, indeed, that everybody must be thinking it. He was exceedingly inclined to think it himself.

“Probably that’s why she didn’t turn up.”

“Of course it is. She’s not a fool. She must know.”

“That’s true. Look here, will you do something for me? Something more, I mean?”

“What?”

“From what you say, it looks as though Miss Dorland might find herself rather short of friends in the near future. If she comes to you⁠ ⁠…”

“I’m not going to spy on her. Not if she had poisoned fifty old generals.”

“I don’t want you to. But I want you to keep an open mind, and tell me what you think. Because I don’t want to make a mistake over this. And I’m prejudiced. I want Miss Dorland to be guilty. So I’m very likely to persuade myself she is when she isn’t. See?”

“Why do you want her to be guilty?”

“I oughtn’t to have mentioned that. Of course, I don’t want her found guilty if she isn’t really.”

“All right. I won’t ask questions. And I’ll try and see Ann. But I won’t try to worm anything out of her. That’s definite. I’m standing by Ann.”

“My dear girl,” said Wimsey, “you’re not keeping an open mind. You think she did it.”

Marjorie Phelps flushed.

“I don’t. Why do you think that?”

“Because you’re so anxious not to worm anything out of her. Worming couldn’t hurt an innocent person.”

“Peter Wimsey! You sit there looking a perfectly well-bred imbecile, and then in the most underhand way you twist people into doing things they ought to blush for. No wonder you detect things. I will not do your worming for you!”

“Well, if you don’t, I shall know your opinion, shan’t I?”

The girl was silent for a moment. Then she said:

“It’s all so beastly.”

“Poisoning is a beastly crime, don’t you think?” said Wimsey.

He got up quickly. Father Whittington was approaching, with Penberthy.

“Well,” said Lord Peter, “have the altars reeled?”

“Dr. Penberthy has just informed me that they haven’t a leg to stand on,” replied the priest, smiling. “We have been spending a pleasant quarter of an hour abolishing good and evil. Unhappily, I understand his dogma as little as he understands mine. But I exercised myself in Christian humility. I said I was willing to learn.”

Penberthy laughed.

“You don’t object, then, to my casting out devils with a syringe,” he said, “when they have proved obdurate to prayer and fasting?”

“Not at all. Why should I? So long as they are cast out. And provided you are certain of your diagnosis.”

Penberthy crimsoned and turned away sharply.

“Oh, lord!” said Wimsey. “That was a nasty one. From a Christian priest, too!”

“What have I said?” cried Father Whittington, much disconcerted.

“You have reminded science,” said Wimsey, “that only the Pope is infallible.”