More Work for the Undertaker (2 page)

Mr Campion welcomed him sincerely. The two were very old friends and had that deep liking for each other which springs up so often between opposite temperaments.

Campion's pale eyes became speculative. Of one thing he was now certain. If Oates had taken it into his grey head to play the goat, Yeo was not the man to waste an afternoon to humour him.

‘Well,' Yeo said with glee, ‘you saw it.'

‘Yes.' The Chief was thoughtful. ‘Funny thing human greed. The exhumation must be reported in that paper if it's at all recent, but she's not reading it unless she's learning it by heart. She hasn't turned it over while we've been here.'

Campion's lean chin shot up for a moment and then he bent again over the piece of stick with which he was doodling in the dust.

‘Palinode case?'

Yeo's round brown eyes flickered at his Chief.

‘You've been making it interesting for him, I see,' he said with disapproval. ‘Yes, that's Miss Jessica Palinode sitting over there, Mr Campion. She is the third sister and she sits on that particular seat every afternoon, rain or shine. To look at she's what we used to call a “daisy”.'

‘And who was the other woman?' Campion was still intent on his hieroglyphics.

‘That was Mrs Dawn Bonnington of Carchester Terrace,' Oates intervened. ‘She knows it's “wrong to give to beggars” but when she sees “a woman who has had to let herself go” she just can't resist “doing something”. It's a form of superstition, of course. Some people touch wood.'

‘Oh give it to me straight,' grumbled Yeo. ‘Mrs B. walks her dog here on fine afternoons, Mr Campion, and seeing Miss Jessica always sitting there she formed the opinion, not unnaturally, that the poor old girl was down and out. So she
made a habit of slipping her something and she was never snubbed. One of our chaps observed the incident was pretty regular and walked over to warn the old thing against begging. As he came up to her he saw what she was doing and he admits quite frankly that it put him off.'

‘What was that?'

‘A crossword puzzle in Latin.' The Superintendent spoke placidly. ‘They run one in a highbrow weekly alongside a couple of others in English, one for adults and one for children. The officer, who is highbrow himself, bless his heart, does the one for kids, and he recognized the page as he approached. It shook him to see her slapping the words in and he walked past her.'

‘Ah, but next day when she was only reading a book he did his stuff,' put in Oates, who sounded happy, ‘and Miss Palinode gave him a fine comprehensive lecture on the ethics of true politeness, and half-a-crown.'

‘He doesn't admit the half-crown.' Yeo's small mouth was prim but amused. ‘However, he had the sense to find out her name and where she lived and he had a quiet word with Mrs Bonnington. She didn't believe him – she's that kind of woman – and ever after she's had to do her little act when she's thought no one was looking. The interesting thing is that he swears that Miss Palinode likes the money. He says she waits for it and goes off livid if Mrs Bonnington doesn't come. Well, does it attract you, Mr Campion?'

The third man straightened his back and smiled half in apology, half in regret.

‘Frankly, no,' he said. ‘Sorry.'

‘It's a fascinating case,' Oates said, ignoring him. ‘It's going to be one of the classics of its kind. They're such difficult interesting people. You know who they are, don't you? When I was a boy even I heard of Professor Palinode, who wrote the essays, and his wife the poetess. These are the children. They're queer brainy people, all boarding privately in what was once their own home. They're not easy people to get at from a police point of view, and now there's a poisoner loose among 'em. I thought it was right down your street.'

‘My street has developed a bend,' Campion murmured apologetically. ‘Where are your young men?'

Oates did not look at him.

‘Well, young Charlie Luke is the D.D.I. in charge,' he explained. ‘He's old Bill Luke's youngest. You'll remember Inspector Luke. He and the Super here were mates in Y Division. If young Charlie is what I think he is, I don't see why he shouldn't pull it off – if he has help.' He looked at the younger man hopefully.

‘We'll give you all the dope anyway,' continued Oates. ‘It's worth hearing. The whole street seems to be in it, that's such a funny thing.'

‘I do apologize, but you know, I fancy I've heard most of it.' The man in the horn-rimmed spectacles considered them unhappily. ‘The woman who owns the house they all live in is an old variety artiste called Renee Roper. She's an acquaintance of mine. In fact she once did me a very good turn a long time ago when I was having fun and games with some ballet stars. She came to see me this morning.'

‘Did she ask you to act for her?' They spoke together and he laughed.

‘Oh, no,' he said. ‘Renee's not your bird. She's just upset at having a murder or two – is it two yet, Oates? – on her nice respectable hands. She invited me to be her star boarder and tidy it all up for her. I felt a lout having to turn her down and as it was I listened to the whole harrowing story.'

‘Well!' The Superintendent was sitting up like a bear, his round eyes serious. ‘I'm not a religious man,' he said, ‘but do you know what I'd call that? I'd call it an omen. It's a coincidence, Mr Campion, you can't ignore it. It's intended.'

The thin man rose and stood looking out across the sunlit grass to the bundle on the seat and to the flowers beyond her.

‘No,' he said sadly. ‘No, two crows don't make a summons, Super. According to the adage one needs three for that. I've got to go.'

One crow means danger; two, strangers; three, a summons.

ON THE BROW
of the rise the thin man paused in his stride and looked back. Below him the scene was spread out in bright miniature, as if it were under the dome of a glass paper-weight. There was the shining grass and the rod of the path, and beyond, no larger now than a puppet, the untidy figure with the mushroom head, a blurred mystery on the dark seat.

Campion hesitated and then drew from his pocket one of those midget telescopes. When he put it to his eye the woman rushed towards him through the sunny air and he saw her for the first time in vivid detail. She was still bent over the paper on her lap, but in an instant, as if she were aware he watched her, she raised her head and stared full at him, apparently into his eyes. He was much too far away for her to have seen the telescope or even that he faced in her direction. Her face startled him.

Under the ragged edge of cardboard which showed clearly through the centre parting of the veil it blazed with intelligence. The skin was dark, the features fine and the eyes deep-set, but the outstanding impression he received was of a mind.

He moved his glass away hastily, aware of his intrusion, and quite by chance became the witness of a minor incident. Behind the woman a boy and a girl had appeared between the bushes. They had evidently come upon her unexpectedly and at the precise moment in which they swung into the bright circle of Mr Campion's seven-leagued-eye the boy started and caught the girl round the shoulders. They retreated stealthily, walking backwards. The boy was the elder, nineteen or so, and possessed all that clumsy boniness which promises size and
weight. His untidy fair head was bare and his pink worried face ugly and pleasant. Campion could see his expression clearly and was struck by the concern in it.

The girl was a little younger and his fleeting impression of her was that she was oddly dressed. Her hair silhouetted against the burning flowers shone with the blue-black sheen of poppy centres. Her face was indistinct, but he was aware of round dark eyes alive with alarm, and, once again to surprise and capture him, he received the same indefinable assertion of intelligence.

He kept his glass upon them until they gained the sanctuary of the tamarisk clump and vanished, leaving him curious. Yeo's remark that his intervention in the Palinode affair was ‘intended' nagged like a prophecy.

All that week coincidences had occurred to keep the case before his mind. The chance glimpse of these two youngsters was the latest of the baits. He found he wanted to know very much who they were and why they were so afraid of being seen by that unlikely witch on the public bench.

He hurried away. This time the ancient spell must not be permitted to work. In an hour he must telephone the Great Man and accept with gratitude and modesty the great good fortune his friends and relations had engineered for him.

He was crossing the street when he caught sight of an elderly limousine with a crested door.

The great lady, a dowager with a name to conjure with, was waiting for him with the small side window down as he came up and stood bareheaded in the sun before her.

‘My dear boy,' the thin voice had the graciousness of a world two wars away, ‘I caught sight of you and made up my mind to stop and tell you how glad I am. I know it's a secret but Dorroway came to see me last night and he told me in confidence. So it's all settled. Your mother would have been very happy.'

Mr Campion made the necessary gratified noises but there was a bleakness in his eyes which she was too experienced to ignore.

‘You'll enjoy it when you get there,' she said, reminding him of something someone had once lied about his prep
school. ‘After all, it is the last remaining civilized place in the world and the weather is so good for children. And how is Amanda? She'll fly out there with you, of course. She designs her own aeroplanes, doesn't she? How clever girls are these days.'

Campion hesitated. ‘I'm hoping she'll follow me,' he said at last. ‘Her work is not unimportant and I'm afraid there may be a great many loose ends to be tied up before she can get away.'

‘Indeed?' The old eyes were shrewd and disapproving. ‘Don't let her delay too long. It's vital from a social angle that a Governor's wife should be with him from the first.'

He thought she was going to leave him with that, but another idea had occurred to her.

‘By the way, I was thinking of that extraordinary servant of yours,' she said. ‘Tugg, or Lugg. The one with the impossible voice. You must leave him behind. You do understand that, don't you? Dorroway had quite forgotten him but promised to mention it. A dear faithful creature can be very much misunderstood and do a great deal of harm.

‘Don't be foolish,' her blue lips moulding the words with deliberation. ‘All your life you've squandered your ability helping undeserving people who have got themselves into trouble with the police. Now you have the opportunity to take a place which even your grandfather would have considered suitable. I'm glad to see it happen. Good-bye, and my warmest congratulations. By the way, have the child's clothes cut in London. They tell me the local style is fanciful and a boy does suffer so.'

The great car slid away. He walked on slowly, feeling as if he were dragging a ceremonial sword, and was still in the same state of depression when he climbed out of a taxi at the entrance to his flat in Bottle Street, the cul-de-sac which runs off Piccadilly on the northern side.

The narrow staircase was as familiar and friendly as an old coat, and when his key turned in the lock all the warmth of the sanctuary which had been his ever since he left Cambridge rushed to meet him like a mistress. He saw his sitting-room in
detail for the first time for close on twenty years, and its jungle growth of trophies and their associations shocked him. He would not look at them.

On the desk the telephone squatted patiently and behind it the clock signalled five minutes to the hour. He took himself firmly in hand. The time had come. He crossed the room quickly, his hand outstretched.

The note lying on the blotter caught his eye because a blue-bladed dagger, a memento of his first adventure which he was in the habit of using as a paper-knife, was stuck into it, pinning it to the board. The sensational trick annoyed him, but the frankly experimental type used in the letter heading and a certain spontaneity in the advertisement matter caught his attention and he bent down to read.

COURTESY * SYMPATHY * COMFORT in transit

J
AS
B
OWELS
& S
ON

(The
Practical
Undertakers)

Family Interments

12 Apron Street,

w3.

‘If you're Rich, or count the Cost,

We Understand there's Someone lost.'