Towards Zero - Agatha Christie [5]
“That, Miss Amphrey,” said Superintendent Battle, “is why I have come down.”
His voice was quiet, his face unemotional, his eyes surveyed the school mistress appraisingly.
“I have been very gentle with her,” said Miss Amphrey.
Battle said laconically:
“Good of you, Ma’am.”
“You see, I really love and understand these young things.”
Battle did not reply directly. He said:
“I’d like to see my girl now, if you don’t mind, Miss Amphrey.”
With renewed emphasis Miss Amphrey admonished him to be careful—to go slow—not to antagonize a child just budding into womanhood.
Superintendent Battle showed no signs of impatience. He just looked blank.
She took him at last to her study. They passed one or two girls in the passages. They stood politely to attention but their eyes were full of curiosity. Having ushered Battle into a small room, not quite so redolent of personality as the one downstairs, Miss Amphrey withdrew and said she would send Sylvia to him.
Just as she was leaving the room, Battle stopped her.
“One minute, Ma’am, how did you come to pitch upon Sylvia as the one responsible for these—er—leakages?”
“My methods, Mr. Battle, were psychological.”
Miss Amphrey spoke with dignity.
“Psychological? H’m. What about the evidence, Miss Amphrey?”
“Yes, yes, I quite understand, Mr. Battle—you would feel that way. Your—er—profession steps in. But psychology is beginning to be recognized in criminology. I can assure you that there is no mistake—Sylvia freely admits the whole thing.”
“Yes, yes—I know that. I was just asking how you came to pitch upon her to begin with.”
“Well, Mr. Battle, this business of things being taken out of the girls’ lockers was on the increase. I called the school together and told them the facts. At the same time, I studied their faces unobtrusively. Sylvia’s expression struck me at once. It was guilty—confused. I knew at that moment who was responsible. I wanted, not to confront her with her guilt, but to get her to admit it herself. I set a little test for her—a word association.”
Battle nodded to show he understood.
“And finally the child admitted it all.”
Her father said:
“I see.”
Miss Amphrey hesitated a minute, then went out.
Battle was standing looking out of the window when the door opened again.
He turned round slowly and looked at his daughter.
Sylvia stood just inside the door, which she had closed behind her. She was tall, dark, angular. Her face was sullen and bore marks of tears. She said timidly rather than defiantly:
“Well, here I am.”
Battle looked at her thoughtfully for a minute or two. He sighed.
“I should never have sent you to this place,” he said. “That woman’s a fool.”
Sylvia lost sight of her own problems in sheer amazement.
“Miss Amphrey? Oh, but she’s wonderful. We all think so.”
“H’m,” said Battle. “Can’t be quite a fool, then, if she sells the idea of herself as well as that. All the same, Meadway wasn’t the place for you—although I don’t know—this might have happened anywhere.”
Sylvia twisted her hands together. She looked down. She said:
“I’m—I’m sorry, Father. I really am.”
“So you should be,” said Battle shortly. “Come here.”
She came slowly and unwillingly across the room to him. He took her chin in his great square hand and looked closely into her face.
“Been through a good deal, haven’t you?” he said gently.
Tears started into her eyes.
Battle said slowly:
“You see, Sylvia, I’ve known all along with you, that there was something. Most people have got a weakness of some kind or another. Usually it’s plain enough. You can see when a child’s greedy, or bad-tempered, or got a streak of the bully in him. You were a good child, very quiet—very sweet-tempered—no trouble in any way—and sometimes I’ve worried. Because if there’s a flaw you don’t see, sometimes it wrecks the whole show when the article is tried out.”
“Like me!” said Sylvia.
“Yes, like you. You’ve cracked under strain—and