‘I think it’s a great pity Mrs Faraday won’t send for the police,’ he said. ‘A great pity, and rather extraordinary.’
‘Mother’s old,’ said Uncle William, jumping to his feet. ‘I think I shall go out and call the police myself. That’ll be heaping coals of fire upon their heads after the disgusting way they treated me. I tell you, George is appalling,’ he went on, his voice rising unexpectedly. ‘Coming here, behaving like a – drunken anarchist in a house of sorrow. Assaulting people,’ he added, rubbing his cheek angrily. ‘If it hadn’t been for Mother I’d have taken a dog-whip to the fellow, old as I am. Yes, I shall go for the police. I’d like to see that fellow taken out of here in handcuffs, Faraday or no Faraday,’ he added vindictively. ‘Yes, well, I’ve made up my mind. I’m going.’
‘No,’ murmured Mr Campion.
Uncle William turned a baleful eye upon him. ‘What’s that, sir?’
‘No,’ said Mr Campion again. ‘Don’t do that. There’s all this mystery to be solved. You let him stay here.’
Uncle William threw himself down in his chair again. ‘Oh, well,’ he said resignedly, ‘badger me. Everybody badgers me. Hullo, what’s that?’
His last remark was occasioned by an extra loud remark from the library. Marcus strode to the door and threw it open just as Joyce, the colour flaming in her cheeks, came hurrying in. Across the hall Cousin George’s voice, thick and inexpressibly vulgar, came clearly to them.
‘Don’t be a little stiff. Come and let me have a look at you. Sorry I can’t get up. You’re the only thing worth looking at in this —— household.’
Marcus, whose carefully cultured langour and sophistication had undergone such a ruthless battering during the last few days, received his final blow. His shoulders stiffened and his head went down. Joyce, who saw his face, threw up an arm, checking for an instant his precipitate rush, an instant that gave Campion time to get across the room and haul his friend back.
‘Not yet,’ he pleaded, ‘not yet.’
Joyce shut the door and put her back against it. Marcus, like all men who are very seldom angry, was pig-headed in his wrath. His face had become a dusky red and his eyes were blinded slits.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said huskily. ‘I can’t stand that chap. I shall break his neck. Get out of my way.’
Joyce began to cry. Apparently she did not realize it, for the tears rolled down her cheeks, and she made no attempt to hide them.
‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘Don’t make any more trouble. Don’t! Don’t!’
Uncle William, who had observed this incident with interest, his mind seizing upon it as a relief from his own mental chaos, now rose to a height of which no one had suspected him capable. He produced an immense stiff white handkerchief, and pushing past the two young men, dabbed the girl’s face with it.
‘There, there, my dear,’ he said. ‘Come along, come along. We’ll soon have the bounder under lock and key – and probably hanged. There, there.’
This intervention saved the situation. Uncle William’s persistent belief that the arrest of Cousin George would solve all their difficulties had a humorous element in it which even at this most trying stage of the proceedings appealed to them irresistibly. Marcus put an arm round the girl’s shoulders and led her across the room to the fireplace.
Mr Campion and Uncle William remained near the door. ‘Poor little thing,’ said Uncle William huskily. ‘Damned shame. If the fellow hadn’t got our name I’d see him hanged with pleasure.’
Mr Campion made no comment, for at this moment the door again opened and Alice entered. She shut the door firmly behind her, and, taking a deep breath, burst out with her complaint.
‘’Tisn’t right, sir. You’ve got to stop it. She’s in there,’ she said.
They stared at her, uncomprehending, and Joyce hurried forward.
‘Who’s in where, Alice? What’s the matter?’
‘The mistress, Miss.’ The woman was nearly in tears. ‘She’s gone in to that – that person alone, and he’s not in a fit state. Miss. You can see that for yourselves. Why, he might kill her.’ She opened the door and pointed across the hall. ‘There. You can see, she’s gone in and shut the door.’
Uncle William took advantage of her invitation. He peered across the hall. The library door was visible from the breakfast-room threshold, and he could see that it was indeed shut. He returned to the room.
‘It’s a fact,’ he said. ‘What ought we to do about it? I suppose she knows what she’s doing, and if she does, she won’t thank us for interfering. But I don’t know . . .’
‘I’ve listened,’ said Alice shamelessly. ‘I’ve listened at the door. You can hear her talking to him quietly. I heard him swear, too. I’m sure it was that, although I couldn’t catch the word. I’d go in myself, only you know how wilful the mistress is.’ She paused questioningly.
Instinctively they turned towards Campion. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘It’s all we can do. This, I fancy, is Mrs Faraday’s idea. After all, if she cannot manage Cousin George, no one can.’
‘By Jove, you’re right there,’ said Uncle William, brightening up. ‘Leave him to Mother. You mark my words, he’ll come skulking out of that room with his tail between his legs like the cur he is.’
Alice appeared unsatisfied, but receiving no assistance from the others, she relinquished her idea of interrupting the interview. She planted herself in the doorway.
‘If you’ll excuse me, Miss,’ she murmured, ‘I’ll wait here. Then if she calls or anything I can go straight in. And if she comes out I can dodge back without her seeing me.’
Fifteen terrible minutes passed. Conversation had ceased and the morning-room was cold and silent. Uncle William sat hunched up in one green arm-chair, Joyce curled up in the other, with Marcus perched on the arm. Mr Campion lounged by the bookcase and Alice stood half in and half out of the open door.
After what seemed an eternity Uncle William stirred. ‘About time that yob came skulking out,’ he said, ‘isn’t it? Another five minutes and I shall send for the police. What do we pay rates for if a fellow can walk into your house and behave like an animal?’
Alice moved silently back from the door. ‘Someone’s coming,’ she murmured.
They all listened intently. From across the hall had come the metallic click of the library latch. The question in all their minds would be answered in a moment now: Who would come out of the library, who would remain in possession? Who had triumphed?
And then, shattering all their hopes, Cousin George’s voice, thicker and more indistinct than before, was heard shouting: ‘I’ve got you! You can’t shift me, whichever way you turn.’ And then, coming towards them over the tiles, they heard the sharp click-clack of Great-aunt Faraday’s cane.
With great presence of mind Alice picked up a flower bowl from the sideboard and stood back to allow her mistress to enter. Then she moved silently out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Great-aunt Faraday paused just inside the door and stood looking at them as they rose. She was still wonderfully composed, although the hand which held her cane trembled a little. She had changed her frock; her stiff black gown was the one which she usually wore in the evenings and her cap and fichu were of fine needle-point. She tapped the ground with her stick.
‘I will have a chair here, Marcus,’ she said. ‘Just here. I am tired of standing.’
When she was safely seated in her somewhat peculiar position a yard or so inside the doorway, she surveyed her audience and nodded to them to sit down.
‘William,’ she said, ‘would you be so good as to go into my writing-room and wait there for me. I shall like a word with you before I go to bed.’
Uncle William rose with a good grace, all things considered, and went off, reserving his muttered protest until he was outside the room. When he had gone the old lady cleared her throat.
‘George will remain here tonight,’ she said. ‘However, as I feel I owe you all a little explanation, I thought I w
ould have a word with you before retiring. George, as you have heard, has come here with an extraordinary story. I allowed him to remain because I know him well enough to realize that, odious as he is, he is not a complete fool, and I feared that he would not take such a dangerous line as this unless he had some information to lend weight to his threats. I have just been talking to him,’ she continued. ‘I waited until this moment to do so because it occurred to me that the more drunk he became the more likely he would be to betray himself. Unfortunately, I think he has a stronger will than I gave him credit for. He is also very drunk indeed, and apart from getting anything out of him, I am afraid the interview has only served to convince me that the creature knows a great deal.’
Joyce sprang up. ‘You don’t mean that you think he really did see who killed Uncle Andrew?’ she demanded.
Great-aunt Caroline nodded. ‘Yes, my dear,’ she said simply, ‘I do.’
The effect of this gentle statement was startling in the extreme.
‘Well, let’s get the police,’ said Marcus. ‘They’ll make him talk, if he really does know anything.’
The old lady shook her head. ‘My dear boy,’ she said, her small voice surprisingly calm after the excitement in his own, ‘not yet. The police cannot detain George, and I feel that we owe it to ourselves to hear what he knows before the officials get hold of him.’
‘Then you think . . .?’ Joyce’s voice trailed away.
The old lady shot her a swift bird-like glance.
‘George remains in this house tonight, my dear,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow, when he is sober, I shall talk to him again. Until then I do not want the police even to know that he is here. For,’ she went on deliberately, ‘should the unthinkable occur and we find ourselves involved in a murder trial, I see no way of preventing him from making all the capital he can out of any scandal he may be able to lay his hands upon, and that, I am afraid, is well within his power.’
‘But, Mrs Faraday’ – Marcus’s tone was scandalized – ‘nothing is worse than murder, surely?’
A grim expression spread over old Mrs Faraday’s face. ‘That is a matter of opinion, Marcus,’ she said. ‘Now, there are several things I want you to do for me. In the first place, I should consider it a great favour if you would consent to stay in this house tonight.’
Marcus was astonished. ‘Why, certainly, if you wish it, Mrs Faraday,’ he said.
Great-aunt Caroline nodded to him. She appeared satisfied.
‘Joyce, my dear,’ she said, ‘I want you to sleep in my room. The bed in the alcove has been made up. Marcus, you will have Joyce’s room. No doubt William can lend you everything you require. And then,’ she went on solemnly, ‘if you and Mr Campion would take George up to his room – that is, Andrew’s old room – I should be very grateful. I shall go to bed now. Joyce, will you come with me? First of all, run along and tell William I’ll see him in the morning instead of tonight, and then ask Alice to prepare your room for Marcus.’
As Joyce went out the old lady turned once again to the young men.
‘Even in the midst of tribulation such as this, a thought of general philosophy may occur to one,’ she said unexpectedly. ‘If either of you should be forced to listen to one of those misguided enthusiasts who decry the niceties of our conventional system – remember George. There are no doubt many other people in the world quite as wicked as he is, but a modicum of manners prevents them from making such a deplorable display. Now, I am afraid I have given you a most unpleasant task, but I feel that, unhampered by William, the two of you may be able to get George to his room, by whatever method you may think fit, which is more than I or anyone else in the house could possibly do. I shall go to my room now, and perhaps in fifteen minutes’ time you will be good enough to make your first attempt. Good night.’
Mr Campion held the door open for her, and was rewarded. Mrs Faraday stopped and smiled at him.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘This is the only shock from which you could not have protected me. I am very grateful for your presence here.’
‘My hat,’ said Marcus as Campion closed the door, ‘I’m itching to get my hands on that chap. I suppose we couldn’t accidentally tip him over the banisters? He doesn’t know anything, do you think so?’
Mr Campion took off his spectacles. ‘It’s the best thing that ever happened if he does,’ he said. ‘We shan’t be able to do much with him tonight, but we’ll have a shot in the morning. I’m afraid old Stanislaus is going to be angry with me again. I’m glad you’re going to stay the night. I have a feeling that something is going to happen.’
‘Something else?’ said Marcus.
Campion nodded, but did not speak, for at this moment the door opened again and Uncle William returned. If Great-aunt Caroline had hoped that he would take himself directly to bed, she had underestimated him. He had come back prepared for war.
‘Now that Mother’s gone to bed, let’s have a go at that fellow,’ he said, bounding into the room, his pink face glistening. ‘I don’t know what the old lady thinks she’s doing trying to get me out of the way. I’m not as young as I used to be, but I’m not the man I was in the mess at Jo’burg if I can’t put that blackguard under the table! In vino veritas, you know. We’ll have the truth out of him.’
Marcus looked at Campion, and the expression upon his face was so comic that the other nearly laughed. Uncle William went on.
‘I’ve been thinking it over,’ he said. ‘At last we’re up against something we can deal with, something tangible, instead of all this poking about in the dark. Suppose I go in and have it out with him?’
Mr Campion hastily changed the subject. ‘I say, I have only one pair of pyjamas with me,’ he remarked. ‘Can you lend Marcus a pair? He’s staying the night.’
Faced with an even more simple problem than the eviction of Cousin George, Uncle William was at home.
‘Certainly, my boy,’ he said. ‘Come up and I’ll get you all you want.’
‘You go and look him out some things,’ suggested Campion. ‘He’s having Joyce’s room. She’s sleeping with Mrs Faraday.’
‘I’ll find you everything,’ said Uncle William. ‘Pyjamas, dressing-gown, shaving tackle. Be delighted.’
The moment his rotund form had disappeared up the staircase Campion turned to Marcus.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Now or never.’ And together they bore down upon Cousin George.
It was as well, Mr Campion considered as they entered the study of the late Dr Faraday of Ignatius for the purpose of putting Cousin George to bed, that the dead do not turn in their graves.
Cousin George, his collar and tie unloosed, his swollen face purple and sagging, wallowed across the desk which now had a surface like a four-ale bar on a Saturday night. He barely raised an eyelid as they entered, but as they advanced upon him he threw out his hand in an unwieldy gesture which wiped a soda-water siphon on to the ground.
‘What’s the matter?’ he demanded.
‘Bed,’ said Campion clearly in his ear, and nodding to Marcus, he suddenly gripped the man beneath the arm and jerked him to his feet.
Cousin George struggled, and the strength of the man surprised his captors. They were both determined, however, and in a few moments he found himself borne precipitately towards the door. He began to swear, revealing a vocabulary which indicated that he had travelled extensively.
‘Shut up,’ said Marcus, suddenly taking the initiative. With a viciousness for which Mr Campion had not given him credit, he caught the two ends of Cousin George’s tie, and, jerking them round the back of the man’s neck, wound the silk about his wrist until he had a strangle-hold. Cousin George’s voice grew fainter and he began to cough and gasp painfully.
‘Don’t kill him,’ protested Campion.
‘He’s all right,’ said Marcus. ‘Come on.’
The stairs were negotiated with comparatively little difficulty, and at length the struggling group came to a stop outside Andrew’s room. Marcus relea
sed his hold on the man’s neck and threw open the door.
‘Now then,’ he said, ‘in he goes.’
Cousin George was shot unceremoniously into the room, Campion switched on the light, and they closed the door upon him. The key, left by the thoughtful Alice, confronted them, projecting from the outside lock. Marcus turned it and thrust it into his pocket just as a furious onslaught from within echoed throughout the house.
Uncle William, with a pair of unexpectedly vituperant pyjamas over his arm, put his head out of his door.
‘Oh, I missed it,’ he said. ‘Never mind. There’s tomorrow.’
Mr Campion straightened himself. ‘I expect he’ll make a din for half an hour or so,’ he said, raising his voice against the pandemonium. ‘We had better get to bed. We can’t do much till the morning.’
Uncle William nodded. ‘By far the most sensible thing to do,’ he agreed. ‘Come along, Marcus. I’ll show you your room.’
It was at this moment that it occurred to Cousin George to sing the more obscene verses of a well-known chanty at the top of his voice.
CHAPTER 21
THE OWNER OF THE GREEN HAT
MR CAMPION SAT on the end of his bed watching the moonlight streaming into his room through the wide-open window. The house was at last in silence and darkness. Cousin George had made the night hideous for a good hour after he had been locked safely in his room, and a shaken household had lain awake quaking in its beds while unexpurgated versions of various nautical and military ballads, punctuated by violent crashes of furniture and crockery, resounded through the house.
Gradually Cousin George had wearied of. singing and had taken to shouting profanities and libels on his relatives at the top of his voice. Finally these also had ceased, and after much trampling a last stupendous crash had jarred the stately precincts of Socrates Close and silence had fallen, profound and soothing. Slowly the house had dropped off to sleep. Mr Campion alone sat watching.
The plain-clothes men had been removed from the garden two or three days before. Mr Oates’s belief in his friend’s intuition had not been sufficiently strong to warrant so expensive a guard.
Police at the Funeral Page 23
