Cyril Hare - Untimely Death aka He Should Have Died Hereafter

“But this is ridiculous,” spluttered Manktelow. He was stout and not in the best of condition, and the pace that Pettigrew had set was rather too much for him. “This is a remarkable case-a unique one, I should not be afraid to say, using the word for once in its strict and proper meaning. You could see for yourself how excited Puffkins was over it.”

“If by Puffkins you mean the Honourable Mr. Justice Pomeroy, I can only say that his ideas of excitement are not mine. I’m too old to start getting enthusiastic about base fees.”

They had emerged from the Temple precincts on to the pavement opposite the Royal Courts of Justice.

“You’re damnably cold-blooded,” said Manktelow. “For six months you must have been wondering how you came to see a dead man three days before he died. Now you know the answer, you pretend not to be interested.”

“We’ve only got three minutes,” said Pettigrew, looking up at the great clock. He plunged boldly on to the crossing, a protesting Manktelow beside him. “For six months,” he went on, “I’ve been running away from this case because it seemed to me irrational and, worse than irrational, thoroughly frightening.” He landed on the other side, sprinted with Manktelow to the robing-room door, and went on, “Never mind why I was frightened-I haven’t time to give you the history of my childhood now, and it’s none of your business. But as soon as I saw your sub poena, I realized that there must be a perfectly rational explanation to the whole thing.” He helped Manktelow on with his gown. “Now that I know what it is, I feel a fool not to have seen it before; but as I say, I wasn’t looking for it. On the contrary, I was looking away from it as hard as I could.”

They started on the narrow stairs up to the court corridor. Manktelow had his second wind by now and trotted up first.

“You ought to be feeling relieved, anyway,” he threw over his shoulder. “This case will have solved the problem.”

Pettigrew caught him up in the corridor.

“I don’t know what you call solving the problem,” he panted. “You’re going to persuade Puffkins to deliver a judgment which will disinherit Mrs. Gorman’s charming little daughters, if you’re not pipped on the post by a posthumous son. Great fun for all of you, and costs out of the estate. But it doesn’t satisfy me. Because now I have been compelled to look at this case again I feel that as sure as God made little apples there’s been murder done here, and nobody’s got within a mile of solving that problem yet.”

They reached Chancery Court VI just as Puffkins, punctual to the second, was taking his seat. Pettigrew made his way to his inconspicuous post at the back of the court, but he never reached it.

“My lord, I call Mr. Pettigrew,” said Manktelow with an evil grin, and thrust his hapless friend, still gasping for breath, straight into the witness-box.

On the whole, the experience was not quite so bad a one as Pettigrew had bargained for. At least, nobody referred to the possibility of precognition. None the less, he had some awkward passages to surmount.

“On the afternoon of Saturday the 9th of September,” Manktelow asked him, “were you at the place known as Bolter’s Tussock?”

Pettigrew agreed that he was, and after some business with a large-scale Ordnance Survey map identified the exact spot.

“You were on horseback, I think?”

“Er-yes. That is…”

“Well, were you or weren’t you?” interjected the judge. “You must know.”

“It was a pony, my lord.”

“Very well-on ponyback. Don’t quibble, Mr. Pettigrew. Please get on, Mr. Manktelow.”

“I am much obliged to your lordship. And as you reached this point did you see something on the ground?”

“I thought I did, yes.”

“Just look at this photograph, will you, Mr. Pettigrew? Does it appear to you to resemble in any way the object which you saw on the ground?”

“He hasn’t said he saw anything,” his lordship pointed out. “He says he thought he saw something.”

“Your lordship is very good. Looking at the photograph, do you now say whether you saw anything, and if so what?”

There is nothing in the world quite so definite and uncompromising as a police photograph. Jack Gorman’s face stared at Pettigrew from the print and told him very plainly that he could take it or leave it, but that there must be no shilly-shallying. He chose to take it.

“I saw this man on the ground,” he said firmly. “But my impression is that he was not in this position, exactly.”

“Your impression?” said the Judge.

“My lord, I only saw him for a very short time. I- that is, I…”

“You rode off at once to get help, did you not, Mr. Pettigrew?” said Manktelow.

“Yes, I did,” Pettigrew hoped that his gratitude for the suggestion was not too apparent in his voice. But something apparently had put Mr. Justice Pomeroy on enquiry.

“You didn’t get down to have a look at him first?” he asked incredulously.

“No, my lord, I didn’t.” It was on the tip of his tongue to say frankly that he didn’t because he couldn’t, but something inhibited him. An Englishman will always prefer an imputation on his morals to one on his horsemanship. Who had said that? Dr. Johnson? Surtees? Oscar Wilde? His perplexity must have shown itself on his face, for Manktelow hastened to come to his aid.

“Would it be right to say that you were in a hurry to get assistance as soon as you could?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Pettigrew offered up silent thanks to counsel prepared to put such a leading question and to the judge who allowed it. But his relief was only temporary.

“And then you returned later with help-how much later would you say, Mr. Pettigrew?”

“I’m not sure exactly-perhaps half an hour. Perhaps a little more.”

“Half an hour!” Pomeroy rolled round in his seat to stare at the witness. “I thought you said you were in a hurry?”

“My lord,” said Manktelow, boldly intervening, “I am given to understand that this is a somewhat remote spot. Your lordship will see from the map that the nearest habitation is-”

“It’s within a few yards of a busy main road,” retorted his lordship. “However, if the witness is saying that it took him half an hour to fetch help-That is what you are saying, is it, sir?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“-well, if that is what he says, Mr. Manktelow, I suppose I must accept it, for what it is worth.”

“If your lordship pleases. And when you did return, was there anything there?”

“There was not.”

“The body had gone?”

“Yes.”

At this point, Pettigrew realized why it was that Pomeroy, J. was familiarly known to those who practised before him as Puffkins. For his lordship’s face quite suddenly altered its shape altogether. He took a deep breath and inflated his cheeks until they stood out like the two halves of a round, pink ball. He maintained this attitude for an appreciable time before expelling the air from his lungs in a long sigh that seemed to express better than any words could have done his deep distrust of everything that he had heard from the witness-box.

“And after witnessing this disappearing trick on the part of the corpse,” he asked Pettigrew, “what did you then do?”

It was the question that Pettigrew had been dreading ever since he had entered the witness-box. If it had not been put to him in such an offensive way, and by a man whose facial antics he thought extremely ridiculous, he might have found difficulty in answering it. Now, he felt a sudden surge of anger and contempt, and under the spur of his emotions he said the first thing that came into his head-which happened to be the exact truth.