Margery Allingham - Police at the Funeral

He found himself reviewing Kitty's position, and then old Mrs Faraday's. The older woman alone had credited George's story, yet she had been driving home in her four-wheeler with Joyce at the time when Andrew was presumed to have met his death. The same excuse applied to Kitty. Even though Julia was dead, there was still young Christmas to prove that she had not left the car from the time she had come out of church to the moment when he set her down at Socrates Close.

Marcus's mind returned to William. Mrs Finch, of 'The Red Bull', had proved to everyone's satisfaction where William had been at the time of Uncle Andrew's death, if Andrew had died from the shot which the cottager on the Granchester Road had heard. But supposing Andrew had not died at that time? Then the whole exasperating problem began all over again.

And now there was another murder. It never occurred to Marcus to put any other construction upon the fate of the terrible twisted thing in the wrecked room. He felt dizzy. His orderly mind revolted at the inexplicable. His father's words returned to him with startling force: 'I wondered when the bad blood in that family was going to tell.' What bad blood? Whose bad blood? It was as though the old house was cracking up under his eyes.

This, then, was what Campion had been afraid of. Yes, and where was he? It was not like Campion to disappear, to go off without any word of explanation. He struggled into his coat and went downstairs.

As he entered the hall he ran into Alice. She seemed relieved to see him.

'Oh, sir,' she said breathlessly, 'I was just coming up. I've been on the phone. Inspector Redgrave is coming down right away, and so is Inspector Oates. And, oh, sir, I spoke to Mr Campion.'

'Campion? Where?' said Marcus in astonishment.

'Oh the phone, sir. He was at the police station. Mrs Palfrey's maid was in the hall, so I didn't like to say what had happened, but when the Inspector realized I was hesitating, he said "Wait a minute", and then I heard Mr Campion's voice. And oh, sir'--she looked at Marcus with genuine mystification in her brown eyes--'Mr Campion seemed to expect something, for he said "Quick, Alice, who is it?" And so I just said "Mr George, sir."'

'Yes,' said Marcus eagerly. 'What did Campion say?'

'He said "Thank God", sir,' said Alice.

Marcus was still in the hall when Inspector Oates's red two-seater, followed by the official police car, drew up outside the front door, and Campion, backed by Oates, Inspector Redgrave and the police doctor, came hurrying in. In spite of his apprehension and the cold feeling of doom which had taken possession of him, Marcus was a little shocked by Mr Campion's appearance. He wore a raincoat much too large for him, smacking strongly of the police, which was buttoned up to his throat, and he was the possessor also of a remarkably fine black eye. For the rest, he was hatless and his fair hair was dishevelled.

There was something in his manner, however, which suggested triumph rather than despair. He took Marcus's arm.

'Who knows yet?' he said.

'No one except Alice and I,' said Marcus.

'That's splendid. Where did it happen? In his room?'

Marcus nodded. He was bewildered. As Alice had said, it was rather as though Mr Campion had expected this appalling development.

Inspector Oates, he noticed, did not share Mr Campion's air of suppressed satisfaction. He came forward now and spoke quietly.

'If you'll go first, Mr Featherstone, we'll go straight up to the room. The household will have to be told immediately, but I don't want to alarm anyone.'

As they mounted the stairs Marcus turned to Campion. 'Where have you been?' he whispered.

'Brawling,' said Mr Campion. 'I don't want to raise your hopes, but I think we know now. I'll tell you about it later.'

He stumbled on the top stair, and Marcus, suddenly catching sight of his face by the light of the upper hall, realized that he was almost dropping with fatigue.

As the procession came to a full stop outside George's room, Uncle William's door opened, and a pink and military figure in a dragon-infested dressing-gown appeared upon the threshold. For some seconds he stared in astonishment, but as he caught sight of the Inspector fitting a key into George's door an expression of satisfaction spread over his face.

'So you've seen the wisdom of my suggestion at last and sent for the police,' he said. 'It's high time that fellow was under lock and key, the drunken scoundrel. God bless my soul, Campion. What have you done to your face? Had a scrap with the bounder?'

With his hand on the door the Inspector paused irresolute. He had no liking for William, and now, he felt, was no time for explanations.

'I shall have to ask you to remain in your room, sir, for a few minutes at any rate,' he said, adopting his most official tone, 'and I should like to have a few words with you later.'

Uncle William stared at him, his pink face growing slowly puce with indignation.

'D'you realize you're ordering me about in my own house?' he said. 'I didn't know the police could bully a man in his own house at eight o'clock in the morning. You attend to your duty, my man. There's your quarry, in there.'

He retreated into his room, slamming the door behind him.

The Inspector sighed, and turned the key in the lock of George's room. The little procession followed him. He paused just inside the door and the others edged in behind him. Not until the door was closed did he speak.

'Is this exactly how you found him?'

'Exactly,' said Marcus. 'I didn't go much nearer than this. You see--well, can't you smell anything?'

'Cyanide,' said the little doctor, who stood on the Inspector's right. 'It's very strong. Tell it a mile off. Precious little I can do for you, Inspector. Can I make my examination right away, or do you want to take photographs?'

Stanislaus Oates turned to Campion. 'Here's your chance, my lad,' he said. 'If you're right, prove it now.'

Campion stepped forward cautiously, avoiding the débris with which the floor was littered.

A sudden frenzied knocking on the door checked him as Aunt Kitty's voice, shrill and imperative, came to them through the panelling.

'What is it? What's happened? I demand to know.'

Campion turned to Marcus. 'Go and quieten her, there's a good chap,' he said. 'And don't let her get in, for God's sake.'

Marcus had no choice but to obey, and he went unwillingly from the room. Inspector Redgrave edged the door open for him and held it firm, so that any sudden rush from the distracted woman without might be withstood.

As Marcus came out into the corridor Aunt Kitty fell into his arms. Her blue woollen dressing-gown was fastened up to her throat, and it seemed that she had been alarmed in the midst of her hairdressing, for although the front curls were released from their papers and neatly arranged, the back was in disarray.

'Marcus,' she said, 'what's happened? What are they doing to George?'

Gently, but exerting a certain amount of force nevertheless, Marcus led the old lady back towards her room, doing his best to calm her piteous outbursts. As they passed William's door his choleric face appeared again. Seeing no more formidable person than Marcus and his sister, he emerged and joined them.

'If that scoundrel is putting up any opposition,' he began, 'I'd be glad to do anything I could. What's happened, my boy? Won't the ruffian stir?'

Marcus was debating what would be the best way to break the news, which after all must come out sooner or later, when Great-aunt Caroline's door opened and Joyce came hurrying out.

'What's the matter?' she demanded. 'What's happened? Great-aunt wants to know.'

They were standing in the upper hall now, and Aunt Kitty would be denied no longer.