Margery Allingham - Police at the Funeral

'You can't go by that,' said Mr Campion helpfully. 'He may have won something. People do sometimes.'

'Oh, but he hadn't--not then!' The girl spoke vehemently. 'You see, that isn't quite all the story. Great-aunt thinks that backing horses is not only wicked, but rather vulgar, which is slightly more important. So to save most furious rows all round we used to do all we could to keep Uncle Andrew's little investments as quiet as possible; otherwise there was a dreadful scene. He used to lose his temper with great-aunt and sit snapping out mingy little digs at her until she got really riled and ordered him to his room as if he'd been a schoolboy. Then he had to go. It's all rather shocking to you, I suppose,' she added apologetically.

'Not at all,' said Mr Campion politely. 'Carry on.'

'Well, I usually go round the bedrooms every evening to see that Alice has turned down the beds properly. Of course she always has, but great-aunt likes me to go. When I went into Uncle Andrew's room on Sunday night there were two or three letters on his table, ready stamped, waiting to be posted, and one half-written one that he had been at work on, I suppose, when the bell for church rang. So you see he couldn't have meant to go off. You don't go away and leave half your letters unposted and another unfinished. Anyway, I posted the letters that were sealed, and shut the blotting-pad over the other one. One of them was to his bookmaker. I didn't notice the others. When he didn't come back on Monday morning great-aunt was very stern and tight about the mouth. "Bad blood, Joyce," she said to me. "No sense of personal discipline. Tell your Uncle Andrew to come to the drawing-room to see me the moment he arrives." Aunt Julia and Aunt Kitty preserved a sedate silence most of the time. I believe Aunt Kitty did say something about "Poor wayward Andrew", but Aunt Julia was down on her like a ton of bricks. Uncle William was consciously virtuous. I think he rather enjoys Uncle Andrew being away. He can be as pompous as he likes without getting a dig from Uncle Andrew to make him crumple up and look foolish. By the end of the week, of course, we were all rather alarmed, and on Sunday, Aunt Julia said something about going to the police and having an SOS or something broadcast if that could be arranged. But great-aunt was horrified and Uncle William backed her up. She said that Uncle Andrew couldn't possibly have lost his memory, because no one even faintly connected with the Faradays ever had done such a thing. Aunt said she never had had the police in her house and never would, but that if Aunt Julia was really alarmed she could write round to all the other relatives and tactfully inquire if they'd seen Andrew. Aunt Kitty caused a mild sensation by saying she had already done that, on the Tuesday after Uncle Andrew had disappeared, and that no one appeared to have heard of him. So the matter was dropped for the time being.

'Then on Monday...'--the girl was speaking faster now and her cheeks were very bright, '...two queer things happened. First of all there was a telegram for Uncle Andrew. Alice brought it straight to me because that was an arrangement Uncle Andrew had with us so that great-aunt shouldn't know about the bookmaker. Any telegram that came when he was out used to be taken straight to me. I opened it, and it said: "Turkey Carpet won 75-1. Congratulations. Cheque following. Syd."

'As it was from the bookmaker it didn't seem to help much, so I put it in the drawer of the writing-table in his room. The next morning I had to look out for the letter.'

She paused and looked at Mr Campion with unflinching youthful eyes. 'It wasn't just curiosity,' she said, 'and I didn't steam it or anything--I just opened it. You see, I thought that if the cheque was for a small amount uncle might be careless about it and not trouble to come back to collect it if it meant a row with great-aunt. But if it was a large amount I thought he would have been watching the papers, would realize how much he'd won and would risk any row that might be coming to him. The cheque gave me a shock. It was for nearly seven hundred and fifty pounds. I put it in the drawer with the telegram and I felt much happier, because I knew--I felt certain--that Uncle would come back during the day. But in the afternoon an idiotic thing happened that terrified me somehow, I don't know why. A man came to see to the grandfather clock. There'd been some delay over it. And the weight had gone.'

She looked at the young man dubiously. 'I suppose that sounds awfully trivial?'

Mr Campion, leaning back in his chair, regarded her solemnly through his spectacles.

'No,' he said. 'No, I quite agree with you. That's rather a beastly thing to happen. You searched for it, of course? Asked everybody?'

'Oh, yes, of course. We hunted everywhere. But there's no trace of it, and, you know, they're difficult things to lose.'

Campion nodded. 'This is very interesting,' he said. 'When did you decide to call in outside help of some sort?'

'Yesterday.' she said. 'I waited all Monday night, and all Tuesday, and all yesterday morning, and I got more and more frightened. I went to great-aunt, but she was still adamant about the police. In the end I persuaded her to let me put the whole thing in Marcus's hands. He was horribly superior about it, of course, but in the end he put me on to you and here I am.'

'Ah, Marcus,' said Mr Campion. 'How does he come into it exactly? He's rather immature to be the family lawyer, isn't he?'

The girl smiled. 'I suppose he is,' she agreed, 'but you mustn't tell him that. As a matter of fact it's his father, old Hugh Featherstone, who is great-aunt's real solicitor, but he's very old and so naturally Marcus does most of the work.'

'I see,' said Mr Campion. 'Why exactly do you want to find Uncle Andrew?'

The suddenness of his question startled her a little, and she answered after a moment or two of hesitation.

'I don't, frankly,' she said at last. 'That is, not personally, if you see what I mean. Uncle Andrew isn't a lovable character. But then nor are any of them really, except perhaps poor Aunt Kitty, or great-aunt herself in a terrifying way. The house is quieter without Andrew. But I want to find him because I'm frightened. I want to know that he's all right, that something terrible hasn't happened.'

'I see,' said Mr Campion slowly. 'I suppose you've taken some steps--you made inquiries yourself? You've looked for him? I mean he hasn't sprained his ankle in a ditch or he isn't staying at the "Boar"?'

She looked at him reproachfully. 'Oh, of course, I've done that,' she said. 'But I tell you there's absolutely no trace of him. I haven't gone round making a fuss, you know, because naturally--well, gossip gets round fast enough in a place like Cambridge without one helping it. I'm afraid you'll think it rather a cheek of me coming to you with so little to tell you. But--oh--I don't know--I'm afraid--'

Mr Campion nodded. 'You're afraid that something more serious than an ordinary accident has happened to him,' he said, and added with disarming frankness, 'and besides, you've something else on your mind, haven't you? Now the Inspector isn't here, won't you tell me--who was the man in the yard who gave you such a shock?'

The girl started and turned to him, the colour very bright in her cheeks.

'You're right,' she said. 'I was lying to you before. I did recognize him. But he's nothing to do with this. Please forget all about him.'

Mr Campion did not answer for some moments, but remained staring in front of him, a completely vacant expression on his face. Then he glanced up at her.

'You may be right,' he said. 'But I think we ought to start square. I loathe going into things with my eyes shut.'

She took a deep breath. 'He had nothing to do with it,' she said. ' Please forget him. Are you going to help me or not?'