Free Death of a Beauty Queen by E.R. Punshon Page B

quite sure, but they say there’s no real doubt.’
    â€˜There was a quarrel between them about stopping on the stage too long, or not long enough, wasn’t there?’ Mitchell asked. ‘That’s why Miss Mears was sulking all alone in her own room, I think. First it looked like a love tragedy – youngsters carried away by their own passion and killing as a mere relief to feelings they haven’t sense enough to get the better of. Then with this bag business it looked like turning into a motive of common robbery, and now it seems as if it may be just jealousy and a fit of temper. I think we must have a talk with Miss Ellis. Find her, Owen, will you? I suppose she’s still here. Ask her if I can have a word with her. Don’t frighten her, you know. There may be a dozen explanations of that finger-print.’
    But that hardly seemed very probable to Bobby as he left the room upon his errand, for in fact less than a fingerprint has before now brought a criminal to execution.
    The corridors, rooms, stairs, passages, that only a little before had been thronged by such eager, excited, animated crowds were indeed crowded still, for few had had any desire to leave the scene of so sensational and mysterious a tragedy, but presented now a very different spectacle. There was no more running to and fro of laughing, chattering girls, eager to compare experience: no more merry speculation on the outcome of the competition; no more friendly teasing of each other; no more grave debates as to whether this flower would not have been better here rather than there, or that ribbon or lace more effective there rather than here; no more proud boasting by confident mothers and aunts; no more swaggering up and down by fathers and uncles convinced no girl was like their girl, let the judges say what they liked. Pale and frightened, little groups gathered together, exchanging whispered speculation, watching with terrified eyes the grave-faced officers of police going about their business. Incongruous and strange indeed was the background to the grim business in hand that was furnished by that company of girlish competitors in their youth and loveliness and fashionable finery, and, as Bobby threaded his way among them, all whispering ceased, all eyes were turned to watch with dread his progress. It seemed as if they more than half expected to see him make a sudden pounce, and cry:
    â€˜Here’s the murderer.’
    Cold and draughty as were these corridors and stairs, it seemed nearly everyone was collected in them. Few apparently had cared to wait in the comparatively sheltered dressing-rooms. It was as though they feared that death that had struck once that night with such suddenness and effect might soon strike again, and that only in company were they safe.
    Bobby had no difficulty in finding Lily Ellis. She made one of a small group, including several of her friends and relatives, and Bobby’s invitation to her to come and talk to Superintendent Mitchell evidently frightened her badly.
    â€˜It is merely that you may be able to give some useful information,’ Bobby explained, more reassuringly than his feelings quite justified. ‘Perhaps you would like someone to come with you?’ he added.
    An aunt, a Mrs Francis, volunteered at once to be her companion. The offer plainly cheered her niece, who began to look a little less like a convicted criminal ordered to instant execution. Nevertheless all eyes followed her as she moved away in the company of Bobby and the aunt, nor was it difficult to see that what was now merely an excitement of interest and curiosity might easily turn into hostility. The whisperings and the nods and the stares could well be imagined changing to clamorous condemnation, and Bobby heard quite plainly murmured references – there was perhaps no very strenuous effort to keep inaudible – to the quarrel there had been between her and the dead girl; of how Lily Ellis