Police at the Funeral (28 page)

THE CORONER HAD
departed and the jury had shuffled out after him, having delivered their verdict. Stolid officials shepherded the spectators out of the court by the public entrance, but the principal actors remained in the centre of the slightly stuffy room, waiting to make their exit from a side door, where Mr Campion's car was awaiting them. The Faraday automobile was drawn up at the public entrance, so that the idle crowd which always collects on such occasions might be misled and wait in vain for the victims of their insatiable curiosity.

It was while Uncle William, pink and slightly triumphant, was still surrounded by congratulatory acquaintances, that Joyce and Mr Campion, who were standing talking to Marcus, noticed simultaneously the florid and unexpected face of Cousin George peering at them over the heads of the other spectators in the slowly moving group at the back of the court. Moreover, it was at the very moment that Mr Fred Shepherd, builder's clerk, of Grey Street, was shaking Uncle William vigorously by the hand, and the old man was trying to appear grateful without being unduly friendly, that he also caught sight of his cousin. His little blue eyes dilated, he blew out his cheeks, and he left the startled Mr Shepherd very suddenly indeed, pushing his way over to Marcus.

The unexpected length and severity of the ordeal which the inquest had proved, had told upon them all, more especially upon Uncle William, who had certainly borne the brunt of the coroner's careful questioning. Now that it was over, although the mystery seemed no nearer solution, they all felt that at least there was some respite from the tension of the past week, and, a moment before George's appearance, thankfulness had almost reached the point of rejoicing in the little group. Even the Inspector seemed relieved. He had made his peace with Mr Campion on the second day of the hearing, and now strolled over to join him. As he did so he caught a glimpse of the startled
expression upon Joyce's face, and followed the direction of her glance across the hall, until he too saw the heavy red face and little dark eyes of George Makepeace Faraday.

The man met his gaze for an instant, and then turned abruptly and disappeared among the out-going crowd.

The Inspector darted after him, but the chairs and benches which lay in his path impeded his progress, and by the time he came out into the evening sunshine the man had vanished, just as he had vanished before, after his precipitate flight from Tomb Yard. Hampered by the mob, the Inspector gave up any idea of a chase and returned to join the others.

When he found the family again they were standing in a group in the side entrance, waiting to enter Campion's venerable Bentley. Campion detached himself from the others to speak to the Inspector.

‘I say,' he said, coming up, ‘did you see that fellow?'

‘I did,' said the Inspector bitterly. ‘But he was too sharp for me again. I'd like to have a word with that customer – and I shall. If he's back in the town we ought to find him easily enough.'

Campion nodded, but he did not speak, and the Inspector went on regretfully.

‘This inquest hasn't got us anywhere, you know,' he said. ‘This'll be another case for the Black List against the police if we don't look out. It's too bad.'

He was speaking softly, although there was not much danger of being overheard. He looked gloomy and dejected, and if Mr Campion had not had sufficient troubles of his own he would have been sorry for him.

‘What are they going to do now?' the Inspector demanded, jerking his head towards the three others.

‘Mrs Faraday has ordered us all to return to dinner,' said Campion. ‘Miss Blount is returning to the house tonight, very much against my advice. How about you; are you leaving the town?'

‘Are you?' said Stanislaus.

The young man shook his head wearily. ‘No,' he said. ‘Not for a little while. To tell you the truth, I daren't. I have a feeling that the really important part of this affair is going to begin
at any moment now.' He paused and glanced at the other man inquiringly from behind his big spectacles.

Somewhat grudgingly the Inspector gave him the information he desired.

‘I shan't go up tonight,' he said. ‘And if you get a line on anything, for heaven's sake let me know. No more monkey tricks behind my back – hints or no hints.'

‘Right,' said Campion. ‘And you come across if you have any conversation with Cousin George.'

Oates scowled. ‘He's no use to us really,' he said. He sighed. ‘What a rotten unsatisfactory case this is! I knew it would be the moment I spotted that coincidence at the beginning. I'm not a superstitious man, but you can't help noticing queer things when they happen over and over again. If I had my way about this case I'd write “Act of God” across the docket and shut it up in a drawer.' He stopped abruptly, alarmed at the expression which passed across his friend's face. ‘What's up!' he demanded.

‘That's one of my own pet superstitions,' said Mr Campion. ‘Look here, when shall I see you again? Tomorrow, I hope?'

‘I shall be here,' said the Inspector. ‘I wish you'd come across with this airy-fairy theory of yours. What's rattling you?'

Mr Campion's reply was entirely unexpected. ‘I say, Stanislaus,' he said, ‘what's the penalty for arson?'

The Inspector did not reply, and Campion turned away. He seemed fagged out and worried. The Inspector drew him back again.

‘What's on your mind?' he insisted.

Campion sighed. ‘I don't know that I shall ever be able to convince you of it,' he said, ‘but I tell you I would rather take that carload of people to East Lane on Saturday night than back to that house. I've waited five days, but I've a feeling that if it's coming, it's coming tonight.'

‘I don't follow you,' said the Inspector grumpily. ‘But if you're expecting another attack from the same source you're on the wrong track. Whoever is responsible for this lot will wait for another six months or so now, you mark my words.'

‘We're up against something you never dreamed of,' said Mr
Campion. ‘See you tomorrow.' And he strode out to the car, where the others awaited him impatiently.

Marcus and Uncle William sat in the back. They were both weary, both a little apprehensive. Joyce, a bright spot of colour burning in her cheeks, sat in front next to Campion. They drove slowly through the town. The ‘Varsity had officially returned the day before, and the place had sprung to life. Young men in amazing motor-cars filled the streets, bicycles had become a menace, and battered ‘squares' and ragged gowns were everywhere. As they emerged into the long broad sweep of Trumpington Road, Joyce sighed with relief and spoke.

‘Oh, I'm glad it's all over,' she said. ‘Did you – did you see Cousin George? I'm afraid he'll be at home when we get there. It's just like him to turn up and worry Aunt Caroline for money at a time like this. He's bound to come, don't you think?'

Mr Campion looked at her dubiously. ‘I say,' he said, ‘do you think it's wise, quite apart from Cousin George, to have come back to the house so soon? Why not make up your mind to stay with Ann for another day or so?'

The girl shook her head. ‘No, I'm all right now,' she said. ‘I don't want to burden Ann any more than I can help. She's been so very sporting, bearing with me all this week. Besides, I've sent my things back. I shall stay at Socrates tonight.'

She could see he was disappointed, and hastened to vindicate herself.

‘I've been away five days,' she said. ‘I went as soon as you insisted, but nothing happened, did it? Besides, if Cousin George does come I shall be a great help to Great-aunt Caroline, and she needs someone, poor darling.'

Mr Campion made no reply, and they continued down the road and turned into the gate in silence.

Alice admitted them. She was smiling, and her red face shone above her severe black afternoon frock and stiff white apron. It was evident that the news of the verdict which Mr Featherstone, senior, had just brought to the house, had already percolated to the domestic quarters.

‘Mrs Faraday is in the drawing-room,' said Alice. ‘Mr Featherstone and Mrs Kitty are with her. She said for you to go in.'

The great drawing-room, which caught the last rays of the evening sun, was much brighter than Campion had expected. Great-aunt Faraday sat bolt upright in her chair by the fireplace, a frail but luxurious creature in her magnificent laces. Aunt Kitty sat beside her, an insignificant pathetic little body. The strain of giving evidence had told upon her, and her webby eyelids fluttered nervously.

Featherstone, senior, who looked older than both of them, his natural air of monumental ruin even more pronounced than usual, sat opposite and at a distance at which they must have appeared a mere blur to him. He rose unsteadily to his feet as Joyce entered, the others following her.

Aunt Kitty, who could be relied upon to do the embarrassing thing, bounced up with a squeal of excitement, tripped across the room, threw her arms around the uneasy bulk of Uncle William's shoulders and burst out hysterically: ‘Dear, dear Willie! Safe at last! Safe!'

Uncle William, who was very much on edge already, drew back from her.

‘Don't be a fool, Kitty,' he muttered testily. ‘I've been made a scapegoat in this affair, I know that, but I'm not going to be treated to it for the rest of my life, thank you.' He stalked past her and sat down.

Aunt Kitty looked hurt and a little frightened now that she found herself alone in the middle of the room. She stood fluttering until Joyce put an arm round her and led her to a settee on the opposite side of the fireplace to Great-aunt Caroline.

Old Featherstone cleared his throat. ‘Well,' he began in his deep and somewhat too musical voice, ‘as I have been telling Mrs Faraday, I think we are all to be congratulated. We have, of course, to be very grateful to the woman Finch and her employee. We were lucky to get hold of them, more especially as we received no help in that direction from you, Mr Faraday.'

Uncle William scowled at him. ‘I was ill, I tell you,' he said. ‘Nobody seems to realize that. I was very ill. I still am very ill. This affair might have been the death of me. Not one of you seems to have grasped that.'

‘Oh, but we have, Willie. That's what has been frightening us.' Aunt Kitty had spoken before Joyce could stop her, and it was, unfortunately, only too obvious what she meant.

Uncle William exploded. ‘I like that!' he said. ‘Twelve perfect strangers have told the world quite plainly that I'm as innocent as a new-born babe and yet the moment I come back into this house I'm accused by my own sister. Not one of you here has any sympathy except Campion. And I don't know why you're congratulating yourself, Featherstone. It was Campion who found you all your witnesses. Remarkable! He deduced where I'd been when I didn't know myself.'

‘William.' Great-aunt Caroline, who had sat very still during this interlude, her sharp black eyes taking in the varying expressions of the little group, now stirred herself. ‘William,' she repeated, ‘now is not the time for ingratitude. If you are not thankful for your deliverance, I am. Come and sit here by me, if you please.'

Uncle William went. He muttered to himself a little and the words ‘scapegoat' and ‘disgusting exhibition' were distinctly audible, but finally he sat down.

Great-aunt Caroline smiled at old Featherstone. ‘I am very grateful to you,' she said. You have been a very true old friend. Now, I want you all to sit down, for I have something to say before we go in to dinner.'

Marcus glanced sharply at Campion. The same thought was in both their minds. Surely Great aunt Caroline should be acquainted with Cousin George's presence in the town? However, the opportunity passed, for the old lady was already speaking again.

‘I am very glad that this inquest has ended as it has,' she began, ‘and I am very grateful to all of you who have helped us. But there is a point of which I feel we must not lose sight. It is this: this terrible affair is not yet at an end, and the odium which has fallen upon this house is still as strong as though some one of us had been arrested.'

‘Oh, Mama, how can you? – how can you?' Aunt Kitty burst into tears.

Great-aunt Caroline turned to her regretfully. ‘Don't be foolish, Catherine,' she said. ‘Sensibility is very charming, but
at this time it is out of place. These are facts, and we must face them. A verdict of murder against someone unknown has been passed upon Andrew's body. Therefore until that murderer is found and brought to justice, this house, and everyone in it, will remain under a cloud. I have already told this to Mr Featherstone, and he quite agrees with me. Dinner will be served informally this evening, rather earlier than usual. If anyone wishes to talk to me I shall be in my writing-room. Mr Featherstone, will you give me your arm?'

The old man rose ponderously to his feet and, very conscious that he made a picture of distinguished old-fashioned gallantry which needed only Mrs Faraday to complete it, offered her his arm.

They had advanced perhaps three paces when the blow fell. There was a shrill burst of protest from the hall outside, followed by a man's strident tones. The next moment the white door of the sacred drawing-room at Socrates Close was shattered open, and Cousin George, followed by a flustered and dishevelled Alice, precipitated himself into the room.

Old Featherstone, who could not see the intruder's features, was perhaps the only member of the company who did not receive a distinct physical shock.

Cousin George, not quite sure of himself in Tomb Yard, had not presented an attractive personality: but Cousin George with the whip hand, Cousin George truculent and with a drunken gleam in his small eyes, was a revolting specimen. Even Great-aunt Caroline stopped in her tracks, silent and trembling. Aunt Kitty screamed. Cousin George waved to her. Then he strode into the room, slamming the door in Alice's face.