Free Death at the President's Lodging by Michael Innes

person, but there was a rigidity about such features as he had that suggested a quality of intensity or concentration. He was dressed, as the Dean had foretold, in morning clothes – clothes which conveyed, in their soft but clear colouring and negligent flow, something of consciously-worn aesthetic sensibility. But the hands were lifeless and the voice cold, thin, impassive as the features. He addressed the Dean.
    “I take it that you are not suggesting that Mr Appleby should begin by holding a conference. What information each of us may have, what impressions each of us no doubt has – all that Mr Appleby had better get by going round privately.”
    Beneath the flat words, beneath the flat tone in which they were uttered, there was discernible some latent cutting edge waiting to come into operation. “Information,” “impressions,” “going round” –there had been scepticism, irony, contempt delicately perceptible behind the successive words. Haveland continued.
    “But there is something I take this chance of saying to everybody. It may deprive one or two of you of the pleasures of suddenly realizing that two and two are four, and give you an impression the less to convey to Mr Appleby. Please forgive me.
    “You all know that Umpleby’s study has been found littered with bones. I wonder where they came from… Empson, can you think?”
    There was some hidden art in this appeal: Empson seemed momentarily confused. But Haveland at once went on.
    “I am sure you can. But I don’t know if Mr Appleby understands as yet the significance of bones amongst us? I am certain it is a point his rural colleague – with whom I am afraid I shall reveal myself as having been improperly reticent this morning – would scarcely appreciate. I suggest you say a word to Mr Appleby on that, Deighton-Clerk.”
    Deighton-Clerk, thus appealed to, looked first puzzled and then startled. “Mr Haveland no doubt means,” he said, “that anthropology is a strong subject with us at St Anthony’s. Haveland is an anthropologist himself. Titlow’s classical archeo1ogy has got mixed up – please excuse the expression, Titlow! – with anthropology of late. And Pownall’s ancient history and Campbell’s ethnology have linked up with the subject too. The linking-up was fostered by the late President. Dr Umpleby himself came to anthropology through comparative philology, as did his pupil, Ransome, who is now abroad. In fact, St Anthony’s has been famous for teamwork on ancient cultures for 57 years now. As a student of comparative religion I have been interested myself. I suppose that is what Haveland means by the significance of bones amongst us – though such an odd notion would never have occurred to me… And now, Haveland, if you have something to say, pray say it.”
    Haveland had that look in his eye which a man might have who is putting a horse for a second time at a very stiff fence.
    “Empson knew that I had a collection of bones in college. I wonder if anyone else knew?” His eye ran round the table, making a fleeting point before he continued. “The bones are my bones.”
    The common-room was hushed. None of Haveland’s colleagues said a word, and Appleby said no word either.
    “At least I presume they are my bones, for my bones have disappeared. And as mine happen to be of Australian aborigines they will be fairly easily identified… I wonder if any of you has any thoughts as to how these exhibits of mine have come to be put to such picturesque use?”
    There was absolute silence.
    “Or perhaps I might ask not how they came where they did, but why ? What do you think…Empson? Would you care to advance any theory?”
    “I have nothing to advance… Ask Titlow.”
    Why, thought Appleby, ask Titlow? And Titlow seemed to think the same. He was looking with much the same indignation at Empson as Empson was looking at Haveland. A little more of this and all the subterraneous currents of this little community would be