The Cambridge Theorem Read Online Free PDF Page B

asked wearily.
    â€œPerhaps I should ask first to see the Master of the college. He is the senior official, I think?” He suspected this inquiry was going to annoy Hawken, and he was right.
    â€œSir Felix Apsley is indeed the head of the college, but the position of Master is somewhat—er, ceremonial, shall we say. Bestowed by the Government. Sir Felix is up in town, and I shall of course inform him of this unfortunate event. But for all practical purposes, as senior tutor, I am the administrative head of this college.”
    â€œWell, tell me what you can about the dead man. Simon Bowles was his name, I think,” said Smailes baldly.
    â€œBrilliant chap, no doubt about it. One of the highest scholarship papers we had ever seen. Mathematics, you know. But unstable, I’m afraid. You see, he had tried it before.”
    â€œYou mean he had attempted suicide before?” asked Smailes, taking out a small notebook. “When was this?”
    â€œWell, I’m not sure. Before his Finals. Must be nearly two years ago. Jumped out the bloody window. There was a terrible fuss. He was in the asylum for a month or so. Thought it might be the last we’d see of him. But he made quite a recovery and the faculty committee went and awarded him a research fellowship, even though he only had the aegrotat .”
    Hawken became distracted by his attempts to tamp down the tobacco in his pipe with a gadget from his pocket. He walked over to the window and began to stare out at the court.
    Smailes stopped scribbling in his notebook. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t follow. What was the illness you say he had?”
    â€œAn aegrotat ? Good lord, no. That’s a type of degree. When you’re medically unfit to sit your exams, you get an aegrotat . Means ‘he is ill,’ I think,” said Hawken impatiently. He began to wave a great flare of flame over his pipe.
    â€œI’m sorry, Dr. Hawken, but could you explain further? How long had Simon Bowles been a student here?” Smailes was irritated by the condescension.
    â€œAs I said, officer, he came up as an undergraduate with one of the highest marks we had ever seen on an entrance paper. As I understood it, he did as well as expected. First in Part One. Looked like he was heading for a double First when he went to pieces.
    â€œI’d rather forgotten about him at the time—I only ever knew him by sight. Heard the story later from his tutor, Professor Davies. Decent chap. Arch. and Anth. You should talk to him. Knew a lot more about Bowles than I did.”
    â€œArk and what, I’m sorry?” asked Smailes.
    â€œArchaeology and Anthropology. Davies’ field. Anyway, seems he was working frantically, Bowles I mean, and then he had some bad news, I think perhaps his father died, and he started to go off the deep end. Always gets to them, Finals term. The unstable types,” said Hawken at-tempting to sound sympathetic, and failing.
    â€œHad he received help from anyone in the college, or doctors?” asked Smailes.
    â€œWell, Davies knew all about it. Had him under medical supervision. But it didn’t do any good. Never does, does it? He was found one night lying in the court. Luckily he had only fallen fifteen feet or so, and broken his ankle. But his mind was completely gone. Babbling about snakes. They took him to the hospital, then out to Myrtlefields.”
    The name of Cambridge’s famous mental hospital sent a chill down Smailes’ spine. Since boyhood, it had been synonymous with the direst of fates. He had lived in Cambridge all his life, but had never even driven past it.
    Hawken seemed to have hit a stride. He was standing in profile against the window, the four fingers of his good hand tucked into the flap of his jacket pocket, addressing the portrait of some walrus-faced don in a mortar-board and ermine-fringed gown. Smailes realized it was Harold Macmillan.
    â€œI was involved a little