Read The silent world of Nicholas Quinn for Free Online Page B

outside the Syndicate building loomed black against the
    darkening sky. The rain poured down.
    Charles Noakes, present incumbent in the key post of caretaker to the Syndicate, was
    (for the breed) a comparatively young and helpful man, whose soul was yet to be
    soured by years of cumulative concern about the shutting of windows, the polishing of
    floors, the management of the boiler, and the setting of the burglar alarm. He was
    replacing a fluorescent tube in the downstairs corridor when Roope entered the
    building.
    'Hello, Noakes. The Secretary in?'
    'No, sir. He's been out all the afternoon.'
    'Oh.' Roope knocked on Harriett's door and looked in. The light was on; but then
    Roope knew that the lights would be on in every room. Bartlett always claimed that the
    mere switching-on of a fluorescent tube used as much electricity as leaving it on for
    about four hours, and consequently the lights were left on all day throughout the office
    —'for reasons of economy'. For a brief second Roope thought he heard a noise inside
    the room, but there was nothing. Only a note on the desk which read: 'Friday pm. Off to
    Banbury. May be back about five.'
    'Not there, is he, sir?' Noakes had descended the small ladder and was standing
    outside.
    'No. But never mind. I'll have a word with one of the others.'
    'Not many of 'em here, I don't think, sir. Shall I see for you?'
    'No. Don't worry. I'll do it myself.'
    He knocked and put his head round Ogleby's door. No Ogleby.
    He tried Martin's room. No Martin.
    He was knocking quietly on Monica Height's door, and leaning forward to catch any
    response from within, when the caretaker reappeared in the well-lit, well-polished
    corridor. 'Looks as if Mr. Quinn's the only graduate here, sir. His car's still out the back, anyway. I think the others must have gone.'
    When the cat's away, thought Roope . . . He opened Monica's door and looked inside.
    The room was tidiness itself, the desk clear, the leather chair neatly pushed beneath it.
    It was the caretaker who tried Quinn's room, and Roope came up behind him as he
    looked in. A green anorak was draped over one of the chairs, and the top drawer of the
    nearest cabinet gaped open to reveal a row of buff-coloured file cases. On the desk,
    placed under a cheap paperweight, was a note from Quinn for his typist's attention.
    But Quinn himself was nowhere to be seen.
    Roope had often heard tell of Bartlett's meticulous instructions to his staff not only
    about their paramount duty for ensuring the strictest security on all matters concerning
    question papers, but also about the importance of leaving some notification of their
    whereabouts. 'At least he's left a note for us, Noakes. More than some of the others
    have.'
    'I don't think the Secretary would be very happy about this, though.' Noakes gravely
    closed the top drawer of the cabinet and pushed in the lock.
    'Bit of a stickler about that sort of thing, isn't he, old Bartlett?'
    'Bit of a stickler about everything, sir.' Yet somehow Noakes managed to convey the
    impression tha1t if he were on anyone's side, it would be Bartlett's.
    'You don't think he's too much of a fusspot?'
    'No, sir. I mean, all sorts of people come into the office, don't they? You can't be too
    careful in a place like this.'
    'No. You're absolutely right.'
    Noakes felt pleasantly appeased, and having made his point he conceded a little to
    Roope's suspicions. 'Mind you, sir, I reckon he might have picked a warmer week for
    practising the fire drill.'
    'Gives you those, does he?' Roope grinned. He hadn't been on a fire drill since he was
    at school.
    'We had one today, sir. Twelve o'clock. He had us all there, standing in the cold for
    something like a quarter of an hour. Freezing, it was. I know it's a bit too hot in here but
    . . .' Noakes was about to embark on an account of his unequal struggle with the
    Syndicate's antiquated heating system, but Roope was far more interested in Bartlett,
    it seemed.
    'Quarter of an hour?