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and the tutor—we’ve sort of dropped the moral bit over the years—is in charge of, well, moral welfare, shall we say. He meets with the student at regular intervals, reviews academic progress, but also goes over more general things, how things are going, whether there are any problems, things like that.”
    â€œIs the relationship—er, optional?” asked Smailes.
    â€œCertainly not,” retorted Hawken quickly. “Every man must meet with his tutor at least once a term. It’s a requirement for graduation. Of course, for a graduate student, it’s not mandatory, but in Bowles’ case we thought it wise to insist he keep up the meetings.”
    â€œSo if anyone from the college knew if there was anything troubling Bowles, it would be Dr. Davies?” He found himself acting deliberately slow to aggravate this arrogant, callous man.
    â€œYes, yes that’s correct,” said Hawken. “I have been thinking. Dr. Poole, a botany chap, is away at Harvard on sabbatical this term and you could use his rooms to conduct further inquiries, if you feel that is necessary. I suspect Dr. Davies is in his rooms. I could arrange for you to speak with him now, if you wish.”
    Smailes assented, and walked over to the window overlooking the court as Hawken made phone calls. The scene was perfectly normal. Two young women locked in earnest conversation were moving hurriedly past a group of Japanese tourists, all wearing identical tan raincoats. A stout man with a walking stick was gesticulating at the large clock above the porter’s lodge and haranguing them. Hawken joined him.
    â€œWell then, that’s all fixed. I’m sorry if I seem a little business-like about all this. But someone has to take the larger view.”
    Smailes ignored the remark. “Those young women there—I noticed them outside Bowles’ staircase too. Are there women students at this college?”
    â€œYes, I’m afraid so,” said Hawken, resuming his tone of wintry displeasure. “Three years ago. Couldn’t hold out any longer, although God knows, I was in favor of doing so. Not that I object to female students, of course. Frightfully bright, some of them. But they have their own colleges, and I never saw any point in mixing things up. Bloody distracting for the men, if you ask me.”
    â€œWould seem more natural to me,” said Smailes casually. “It’s mixed out there in the world, too.”
    â€œWell, indeed, Sergeant Smailes. But St. Margaret’s is in the business of serious scholarship, and personally I have never felt that the presence of women enhanced that aim.”
    â€œYou mean men study better if they’re celibate?” asked Smailes in disbelief.
    â€œDamn it man, if any chap from this college wants a woman, he can bloody well go up to London and buy one, as we all did,” Hawken exploded.
    Smailes gaped at him but could find no reply. There was an awkward silence as Hawken strode back across the room to pick up Smailes’ coat.
    â€œJust a couple of things, Dr. Hawken,” said Smailes, not knowing in quite what tone to proceed. “Did you see the note the young man left?”
    â€œNo, I did not.”
    â€œIt was in his typewriter. It said ‘They came back.’ Do you know what he meant?”
    â€œNo I’m afraid I do not. As I have told you, I did not know this young man very well,” said Hawken.
    He took his coat from Hawken’s outstretched hand. There was no longer any ceremony in Hawken’s manner.
    â€œI will show you Dr. Poole’s rooms. Dr. Davies is on his way over.”
    â€œOne last thing. Will you try and determine if anyone saw Bowles last night? We always try and find out as much as we can for the report to the coroner, and for the family.”
    â€œCertainly. I will ask Mr. Beecroft to see to it right away.” He led the detective out of the room.

    The old spy