Coroner's Pidgin (3 page)

“By a ruddy mistake,” said Lugg with feeling. “Nothing's gorn right with this thing from the first. I shouldn't be surprised if it's going to be unlucky. I 'ope it's goin' to be a lesson to us all. No, well, you see, it was 'er time orf from duty this afternoon. She 'asn't got a deputy now as things 'ave been quiet for a bit. When she's away I mind the ambulance. To tell you the truth, things is so quiet I'm pretty well alone at the depot most afternoons.”

Mr. Campion began to understand.

“You brought the body here in an ambulance.” he said. “In fact, Lady Carados made a confidant of you because you were the one man who could get hold of a vehicle without being questioned. That's a relief, the woman isn't quite mad after all.”

Lugg looked hurt. “She confided in me because she knew she could trust me,” he said. “But I'm not saying the ambulance might not 'ave 'elped. You can't trust a taxi to 'old 'is tongue, and no one's got a car running these days. It was a very good idea of 'ers, and it would 'ave worked, too, if the girl 'ad not come into the square just as we were slipping out of it.”

“She followed you, did she?”

“Yus, she did.” Lugg was torn between admiration and exasperation. “She's a conscientious little beggar—some of these kids are; and when she saw 'er ambulance being drove orf by a woman (I was in the back, you see, with the corp), she thought the vehicle was being pinched, and I suppose she 'opped in a taxi and followed it. Anyway, she came barging in the door right on top of us, and when she saw
wot we'd got, she was frightened. We was just tryin' to argue a little reason into 'er, when you come in.”

Mr. Campion made no comment. He glanced at his watch noting that he had twenty minutes before he need start for the station. The situation was so macabre, the possibilities so unpleasant, the characters so illustrious, and the explanations so humanly silly that it left him speechless.

Lugg was watching him under heavy white lids. No voices sounded from the sitting-room, and there was silence in the flat.

Lugg stirred uncomfortably. “It wasn't 'alf so barmy when we started out,” he said. “Left to ourselves, me and the old lady might have brought it orf and not a soul been the wiser. Now that the girl's in it—not to mention you—it's not going to be so easy.”

Mr. Campion eyed his old companion steadily.

“And there are the others,” he said. “All the hundreds of others who are bound to hear the story in confidence. My dear good chap, you don't imagine that you can keep a thing like this quiet? Just think . . .”

He broke off and sat listening. Someone was coming up the stairs; light, purposeful footsteps advanced upon them steadily; on and on they came, nearer and nearer, neither hurrying nor hesitating, but coming ever closer to the door.

THE KNOCKING WAS
gentle at first, almost timid, but the quiet sound echoed round the flat like thunder or the noise of guns. In the sitting-room the urgent whispering ceased abruptly, and Campion caught an echo of the thrill of fear which went through those others who heard it. Beside him, Lugg was standing stiffly. He was frowning, and the veins on his forehead stood out clearly under the skin. No one moved, and the knocking came again. It was more resolute this time; still nobody answered.

From outside the faint rumblings of the traffic floated up to the silent flat. These were homely, ordinary noises,
hootings, the squeal of brakes, and the cries of paper-sellers shouting the news. But they were far off, belonging to another world.

Within the flat there was silence. The four who lived were as quiet as the one who lay so stiffly on the bed.

The third bout of knocking was violent. The summons was angry and the bell rang shrilly like an alarm, while the knocker shook the panels of the door. Immediately afterwards, as there was no response from within, the lock rattled savagely and there was an ominous noise as someone put a shoulder to the wood.

At this new sound Mr. Campion raised his head and glanced sharply at his companion.

“I'm afraid that means business,” he murmured. “Wait a moment,” he called amid the noise, “what's up? What's the excitement?”

He pulled the door open but did not step back, so that the visitor's face suddenly appeared within a foot of his own.

The very young lieutenant of the United States Army who stood on the doorstep appeared to be as astonished by Campion as his host was to see him. He fell back a pace, but there was no suggestion of retreat in his square shoulders and serious pink face.

“I'm very sorry,” he said gently, “but I think Mrs. Shering is here, isn't she? I'd very much like to see her, please.”

He conveyed patience and studious politeness, but also the confident determination of a tank. Campion regarded him dubiously.

“I don't quite know,” he said at last, “unless . . . ? Tell me, what is she like?”

The boy's face flushed a deeper crimson, and his pleasant grey eyes grew angrier.

“She came in here about fifteen minutes ago,” he said. “I want to see her at once, please.”

It was a very small hall, and he was a very large youngster. Mr. Campion showed no signs of moving and some sort of impasse appeared imminent when the sitting-room door burst open and the girl who had screamed came running
out towards them. Her eyes were unnaturally bright and she was very pale.

“Oh, Don,” she said desperately, looking past Campion. “Oh, Don, take me away.”

He went over to her as though there were no one else in the world, much less in the room. It was a peculiarly youthful movement and Mr. Campion experienced considerable sympathy for him.

“Susan, my dear, who is this?”

Lady Carados did not come out into the overcrowded lobby and did not appear to raise her voice, yet the effect of her personality was by no means lessened by the fact that she spoke from half-way across the sitting-room. She dominated the group immediately, and Mr. Campion began to understand a little more of the present extraordinary situation. He realized that here was a woman who never from babyhood had expected any consideration whatever to stand in the way of her desires. It was not that she was particularly ruthless, but simply that things to inconvenience her had not been allowed to occur. She was frightened now, but he guessed that she was finding the experience invigorating.

“I think everybody had better come in here,” she said. “Now, Susan, who is this?”

Young Mrs. Shering took a firm hold of herself, and Campion who was watching her closely decided that his first impression of her had done her less than justice. He was astonished to find that she had been married; she looked not only younger than he had thought, but even more lovely. She stood up to the older woman very well, and it occurred to him that Lady Carados was her prospective mother-in-law, so that in view of the revealing expression on the face of the youngster at her side the position must be very difficult for her, quite apart from the alarming secret in the next room.

It was a considerable kettle of fish all round, he thought, and he eyed her curiously to see if she betrayed any answering feeling for the boy. At the moment her face told him nothing; she was schooled and impassive, her young mouth guarded and her eyes shadowed.

“Why, of course,” she said. “Darling, let me present
Lieutenant Don Evers. Don, this is Lady Carados.”

It was naturally done, but all the same it was not quite an ordinary social introduction. Both pairs of eyes were wary, and the woman took in everything the boy's face had to tell her. He was not disguising much, and she had plenty to read. His bewilderment kept him silent and she was the first to speak.

“I'm afraid I don't quite understand,” she said, and waited for him to explain.

“Don's been waiting downstairs for me,” Susan cut in quickly. “When I saw my ambulance we were together, you see. We'd been out to lunch and he was bringing me back to the depot. I changed into my uniform there. But when we turned into the square I was a minute or two late and I considered myself technically on duty, so when I saw the ambulance being stolen, I followed it.”

“Yes, that's so,” said Evers, in his slow, deliberate way. He was still very doubtful of the position, but he was keeping his end up gallantly. “That's so,” he repeated. “When Sue saw her ambulance flash by with a strange civilian at the wheel she felt it was her responsibility; so I sent our taxi after it—we were in a taxi when we saw the ambulance.”

Lady Carados was ignoring the girl, but she kept her eyes fixed on the young soldier.

“Did you see anyone leave the ambulance here?” she enquired abruptly.

Again it was the girl who answered.

“We saw it turn in to the cul-de-sac, but we were held up for a minute or so by the lights on the corner. When we saw it again it was standing outside here, empty. I would come up here alone, but Don insisted on waiting for me. It wasn't until I got into the flat that I saw . . .”

“That you saw us all, Susan,” said the elder woman firmly.

The two looked at one another, and again it occurred to the watching Campion that young Mrs. Shering possessed unusual determination. Either that, or she was at the end of her tether. All the same, it was she who first gave up the silent battle. She turned to the boy again and repeated her first abrupt request.

“Don, take me away from here.”

“Sure,” he said, closing in on her and taking her arm, adding apologetically as he glanced round the company, “I'm afraid I don't quite get what's going on around here yet, you know.”

Mr. Campion could have shaken his hand, and very nearly did so absent-mindedly in the warmth of his fellow-feeling. But meanwhile Lady Carados was pursuing her own line.

“Do you know,” she said, with a flicker of her early charm, “I don't think I want either of you to leave here at the moment.”

“But I must,” the girl insisted, “I must. I'm on duty, for one thing, and for another, I can't stay here a moment with . . .” She broke off helplessly.

“What exactly
is
this?” said Evers.

Lady Carados ignored him. “My dear,” she said, putting her hand upon Susan's arm. “I'm so sorry, but you must wait here—both of you until Johnny comes. I've 'phoned my son, Mr. Campion,” she went on, turning to him. “As soon as Mrs. Shering arrived so unexpectedly, and then you came in, I realized that I'd done a very silly, dangerous thing. So while you were dressing I telephoned my son's house. Fortunately he'd just got in, and he's coming round at once. I'm afraid I've been rather foolish, but I did what I thought best in an intolerable situation.”

She made the admission as if she were relinquishing a responsibility rather than accepting one. Don Evers looked at her blankly.

“Is Carados coming here?” he enquired.

“Yes,” she said placidly. “At any moment now. It'll all be all right when Johnny comes. We've only got to wait.”

Mr. Campion only hoped she was right; for his own part he was not so sure.

Meanwhile Evers, who alone of them all was unaware of the main dilemma, appeared to have one of his own.

“I don't think I want to stay, Sue,” he said simply.

The girl did not answer him but she took his arm, and her expression answered one of his questions concerning her. These young people were in love with each other; well, that
was another mystery. He glanced at his watch. In fifteen minutes he must go—whatever happened there must be no question about that. In thirty-five minutes he must be in the train.

A laugh on the stairs outside cut into his calculations, and he heard a woman's voice raised in amusement. He glanced at Lady Carados.

“Did you tell Johnny?” he enquired.

She was listening also, and the look she gave him was as startled as his own.

“No, not everything. Of course not. Not on the 'phone. I simply told him to come here immediately.”

“I see,” said Mr. Campion, adding as someone beat a lively rhythm on the knocker, “I rather think he's here now, you know, and I fancy by the sound of it he's brought Evangeline Snow with him.”

LUGG OPENED THE
door to the newcomers, and they trooped into the room looking both enquiring and sympathetically apprehensive as do those who have come to give unspecified aid. There were three of them: Lord Carados, Evangeline Snow, and the cheerful girl who had been the social secretary in Carados Square in the days before the war, and whose name Campion could never remember.

His first impression of Johnny Carados was that he looked younger than ever. He was a big man, not particularly tall and certainly not fleshy, but wide and long-armed, with a strong chin and serene smiling grey eyes. He glanced round the room as he came in, raised his eyebrows affably at the sight of Susan, smiled reassuringly at his mother, and stared at Campion in amazement.

“Hello,” he said, “I thought you were out in the blue. What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” said Mr. Campion mildly. “I just looked in, you know. It's my flat,” he added, by way of explanation.

“That's right—of course it is,” Carados grinned
disarmingly. “I knew the address was familiar. I said so to Eve, didn't I? I say, darling, do you know everybody?” He was talking without thinking, his eyes taking in the curious assortment of people, as he strove to get some line on the situation. He was embarrassed, too; not unnaturally, Mr. Campion reflected, and he glanced at Eve Snow with interest.

She met his eyes and nodded to him. Her unbeautiful, unforgettable face breaking into its famous smile. She was the same Eve, he noticed with pleasure, still incredibly chic in her plain clothes, still valiant, still exquisite of form and absurd of face, still the most lovable comedienne in the world.

All the other women in the room had some pretension to beauty, while she had none; yet she took the colour out of them all and her vivid honey-coloured eyes sized them up and conquered them one by one.