Colin Dexter: The Silent World Of Nicholas Quinn

for Jack Ashley

PROLOGUE

'WELL? WHAT DO you think?' The Dean of the Foreign Examinations Syndicate addressed his question directly to Cedric Voss, the Chairman of the History Committee.

'No, no, Dean. I think the Secretary should be the first to have his say. After all, it's the permanent staff who'll have to work with whoever we appoint.' In slightly less distinguished company, Voss would have added that he didn't give two monkeys which of them got the job. As it was, he reassumed a characteristically somnolent posture in his comfortable blue-leather chair, and prayed they'd all get their fingers out. The meeting had already lasted almost three hours.

The Dean turned to the person sitting on the immediate left, a small twinkling man in his middle or late fifties, who blinked boyishly behind his rimless spectacles. 'Well, Dr. Bartlett, let's hear what you've got to say.'

Bartlett, permanent Secretary of the Foreign Examinations Syndicate, glanced good-naturedly round the tables before looking down briefly at his neatly-written notes. He was used to this sort of thing. 'It seems to me, Dean, that generally speaking, by and large' (the Dean and several senior members of the Syndicate visibly winced) 'and on the whole, we would all agree that the short-list has been a very good one. All the applicants seemed pretty competent, and most of them sufficiently experienced to take on the work. But—' He looked down again at his notes. 'Well, to be truthful, I would not myself wish to appoint either of the two women. The one from Cambridge was, I thought, a little, er, a little strident , shall we say?' He beamed expectantly round the Appointments Committee and a few heads nodded fairly vigorous assent. 'The other woman I thought just a little inexperienced, and I, er, didn't feel much inner surge of conviction about some of her answers.' Again there was no visible sign of dissent from the silent tables, and Bartlett stroked his ample belly with mild satisfaction. 'So. Let's come to the three men. Duckham? Just a little vague, I thought. Nice chap and all that, but I wonder if he's got quite the snap and zip that I'd welcome in the Humanities Department here. He's third, in my book. Then there's Quinn. I liked him: honest, intelligent fellow; firm views; clear brain. Not quite the ideal experience, perhaps, and then— Well, let me be quite honest about it I think that, er, I think his, er— handicap may be a bit too much of a liability here. You know what I mean: phone calls, meetings, that sort of thing; It's a pity, but there it is. Anyway, I'd put him second. That leaves Fielding, and he's the man I'd go for every time: damn good schoolmaster; excellent results from his pupils; just the right age; modest; likeable; and a first in History from Balliol. References quite outstanding. I don't honestly think we could have hoped for a better applicant, and he's my first choice, Dean, without the slightest doubt.'

Not unostentatiously the Dean closed his appointments folder and gently nodded his agreement, noting with gratification that several other heads were nodding too. Including the Dean himself, the full complement of Syndics was present. Twelve of them, each a prominent fellow of his or her college within the University of Oxford, and each called upon to attend the meetings held twice a term at the Syndicate building for the purpose of formulating official examination policy. None of them was on the permanent staff of the Syndicate, and none was paid a penny (apart from travelling expenses) for attendance at these meetings. Yet most of them took an active part on the various Subject Committees, were happy to adopt a policy of enlightened self-interest towards the profitable procedures of public examinations, and during the months of June and July, after their own undergraduates had departed for the long vac, acted as chief examiners and moderators in the GCE Ordinary — and Advanced-level examinations. Of the permanent officers of the Syndicate only Bartlett was automatically invited to participate in the counsels of this governing body (though even he was not entitled to cast a vote), and it was Bartlett who brought the number in the room up to thirteen. Thirteen. . Yet the Dean was not a superstitious man, and he looked round the committee with a degree of mild affection. Tried and trusted colleagues almost all of them, although one or two of the younger dons he'd not yet got to know particularly well: hair rather too long, and one of them had a beard. Quinn had a beard, too. . Come on! The appointment would be settled very quickly now, and with a bit of luck he could be back in Lonsdale College before six. Tonight was a 'gaudy' and. . Get it over with! 'Well, if I'm right in assuming that the committee agrees to the appointment of Fielding, there's only the matter of his starting salary to settle. Let's see, he's thirty-four. I should think the bottom of the B Lecturers' Scale might—'

'Could I just make one point before you go on, Dean?' It was one of the younger dons. One of the long-haired ones. The one with the beard. A chemist from Christ Church.

'Yes, of course, Mr. Roope. I didn't mean to give the impression—'

'If I may say so, I think you're presuming that we all agree with the Secretary's views; and, of course, it may be that everyone else does. But I don't, and I thought the whole purpose of. this meeting—'

'Quite so, quite so, Mr. Roope. As I say, I'm sorry if I gave you the impression that, er — you know. . I certainly didn't mean to do that. It was just that I thought I sensed a feeling of general agreement. But we're in your hands. If you feel—'

'Thank you, Dean. I do feel strongly about this, and I just can't agree with the order of merit the Secretary has given. If I'm going to be frank about it, I thought that Fielding was too much of a yes-man, too much of a smoothie for me. In fact if he got the job, it wouldn't be so much a matter of taking the rough with the smooth as taking the smooth with the smooth.' A gentle murmur of amusement rippled round the tables, and the slight tension, perceptible only a minute before, was visibly relaxed. And as Roope continued, some of his senior colleagues listened to him with slightly more interest and attention. 'I agree with the Secretary about the rest, though I can't say I completely agree with his reasons.'

'You mean you'd put Quinn first, is that it?'

'I would, indeed. He's got sound views on examinations, and he's got a good mind. But what's more important, I reckon he's got a genuine streak of integrity, and these days—'

'You didn't feel the same about Fielding?'

'No.'

The Dean ignored the Secretary's audible mumble of 'Nonsense!' and thanked Roope for his views. His eyes swept vaguely over the committee, inviting comments. But none was immediately forthcoming. 'Anyone else wish to, er—?'

'I think it quite unfair for us to make too many cosmic character-judgements on the strength of a few brief interviews, Dean.' The speaker was the Chairman of the English Committee! 'We must all make our own assessments of these people; of course we must. That's the only reason we're here. But I agree with the Secretary. My order of merit was the same as his: exactly so.'

Roope leaned back and stared at the white ceiling, a yellow pencil balanced between his teeth.

'Anyone else?'

The Vice-Dean sat shuffling uneasily in his chair, profoundly bored, and anxious to be on his way. His notes consisted of an extraordinarily intricate doodle of whorls and scrolls; and he added a further florid curve to the flowing tracery as he made his first and final contribution to the day's deliberations: 'They're both good men, that's obvious. Doesn't seem to me to matter much which we go for. If the Secretary wants Fielding, I want Fielding. A quick vote, perhaps, Dean?'