Coroner's Pidgin (18 page)

Mr. Campion began to wonder if the sensation he felt round the edge of his scalp really was the well-known beads of sweat appearing. His sympathy for Carados was tremendous, and in his mind's eye he could see the sturdy, Edwardian gentleman who had bequeathed this lovely spoilt darling to a more harassed generation. Johnny was experienced where his mother was concerned, however, and he patted her shoulder.

“Too bad, sweetheart,” he said. “Now, let's just have the facts. The real, no-nonsense-about-it truth.”

She looked at him with tolerant reproach. “I didn't mean it to be nonsense, Johnny; I was simply thinking of you.”

“Of course you were, darling. Splendid of you. But just at this particular moment let's see what really has happened, and then . . .”

“Then we'll all go into a huddle and plan something.”

“Yes, very well, if you like, but let us know where we are
first. Now, is the original tale you told, the one you told me in Campion's flat, is that the literal truth?”

“Yes. Yes, Johnny. Substantially, I think it is.” She had such poise and authority, even now when she was in her softest mood, that Campion could understand much which had hitherto puzzled him. The behaviour of the police, for one thing, and Lugg's unaccountable obligingness, for another. Her potential dangerousness grew at every moment. She was like a beautiful, high-powered car driven by an engaging maniac.

Johnny was gentleness itself. “No, my dear,” he said, “‘substantially' won't do. I want the whole truth just as it happened. At the flat you told me that you went to my house yesterday morning and found this woman dead in the bed which had been prepared for me. There was a medicine bottle by her side, and you assumed she had committed suicide; you made arrangements to remove her to an unoccupied flat. That was your first story. Then, later last night you told us you had a confession to make, and you then said that you had found her in a servant's bedroom in the basement of your own house. Now you say the first story is true. Is it?”

Lady Carados appeared to make a supreme effort.

“Yes, dear,” she said. “You see, when I saw you all young, and eager, and happy on leave I felt I must protect you. You do understand, don't you?”

She believed what she was saying implicitly, and Campion could see her acquitting herself nobly in the witness box. Carados was beginning to look an old man; but he went on steadily with his questions.

“I've got it right, have I? You did all this alone save for the man Lugg?”

“Yes, I did.” She was frank and proud. “When one's fighting for someone one loves, one gets incredible strength. But, oh darling, it was terrible! Having to touch her, I mean.”

“Of course it was,” he said hastily. “But you thought it out all alone, did you?”

“Yes, it came to me that I could save us all a terrible
scandal. Because, you know, it did look frightful her being found just there at this time. I mean, no one would believe you hadn't broken her heart at least, would they? Perhaps you did; I don't know. I don't want to, Johnny. I just love you, you see.”

“No one else knew except you and Lugg?”

“No one. I thought Miss Chivers might find out. She was in another room when I found the terrible thing, so I sent her away.”

“On what excuse?”

She stared at him in astonishment. “My dear, I don't have to make excuses to an employee.”

“I see. You just said ‘Go away', or words to that effect.”

“Yes, I said ‘I don't want you in this house, Miss Chivers, until three o'clock this afternoon'.”

“Wasn't she surprised?”

“Johnny darling, how should I know? I know she's your secretary, but I know nothing else about her. She's here now, by the way, downstairs. She let me in.”

“Yes, I sent for her,” he said briefly. “Captain Gold is here too, upstairs. Now, darling, just to get the thing settled once and for all, you're sure the only thing you did was to move the body. And the medicine bottle, I suppose? Did you take that along with you? I didn't notice it at the flat.”

She was silent, and sat looking at the smoke rising unevenly from her cigarette.

“Well, what about the bottle, dear?” The tremor in the man's voice was barely impatient, but she frowned at him.

“My dearest, you mustn't bully me.”

“Forgive me,” he said. “I didn't mean to. Mustn't I ask about the bottle?”

“I'd rather you didn't,” she said. “I don't want to make you unhappy.”

The colour came into his face and he grinned. It was a brief flash of genuine entertainment, and Campion, who had begun to wonder about it, thought he saw at last where some of her tremendous charm for her menfolk lay.

“I'll bear it,” said Johnny. “One can't be happy all the time. What about the bottle?”

“Well, I changed it,” said Lady Carados.

There was a moment's complete silence, during which the men did not look at each other.

“Why?” Johnny's tone was deceptively conversational.

“I thought it best. Don't make me hurt you, darling. I've owned that I ought to have left everything alone, and I've said I'm sorry. Don't look at me like that, Johnny.”

He sat down on the arm of her chair. “Tell us,” he said.

“Oh, if I must I will, but I warn you, it's just annoying and it's horrible. The bottle that was by her side was yours, darling.”

“Mine?”

“Yes, yours. You can see how bad it looked?”

“Yes, I can. But how do you mean it was mine?”

“Well, it had your name on it, dear. It was some of that stuff Doctor Robson prescribed for you long ago. Don't you remember? You had to take the prescription before you could buy it, and they'd never let you drink the last dose. I forget what it was called, but it had your name on it, and a prescription number.”

“Do you mean
Bromot?
”

“Yes, that was it. I didn't know you had any left, but I remembered it as soon as I saw it. This must have been very old because it was all muddy and beastly-looking. There was about a quarter of a bottle left. Of course, I don't know how much she took.”

“What did you do with it?”

“Oh, I put it back in the medicine cupboard outside your bathroom. I ought to have thrown it away because it had obviously gone bad, but I didn't think of it.”

“And what bottle did you put by the cor . . . I mean, by the woman?”

“A little blue one I found. It had nothing but the chemist's name on it. I think it was some stuff they used to clean the bath with. Afterwards I remembered that they can tell what poison a person has died of, but this had ‘Poison' on it clearly and I thought they might not go into it. It
all sounds a little mad now, I know, but at the time I was so unnerved. It only seemed to me that I was making what
had
happened even more clear. Even now I don't think I did anything really wrong unless someone decides to get officious about it.”

It was that last phrase which made Campion raise his eyes to look at her. She had spoken quite unconsciously and even now when the words were still hanging in the room, it was evident that she heard nothing odd in them. He wondered just how spoiled she was, just how far her notions of her private rights to do things which in more ordinary people were not permissible ranged into that abnormal which is politely called eccentricity. How far into, and how far beyond? He looked at Carados, and it occurred to him that he did not know either. Campion was very sorry for him.

“Well, what do we do now, darling?” said the lady bravely. “I'll do anything you want me to do. I'll even go and tell those over-stuffed policemen—why do they wear their collars so right?—about the mistake I made if you tell me to. I don't want to, naturally, but we must all hang together, and if you think the first story is best . . .”

“My dearest girl!” Despite his efforts, Johnny's voice was rising. “It's not a question of ‘Is it best?' Is it true?”

At once she was offended. She betrayed it very slightly, just enough to correct him, not enough to permit him to think for a moment that she was ungracious.

“Moralizing, Johnny?” she said. “I never thought I should hear that from you. Your father was always moralizing. It's not
quite
a simple question of right and wrong, is it? You see, it's not as if this dreadful thing was anything to do with us, dear. If it was our business, if we were actually concerned in it, if we were any of us to blame, even if
you
were, Johnny, then I think you know me well enough to realize that I should do just what I saw was right, whatever it cost us. But it's not like that. It's all so terribly
unfair.
This is just a wretched accident which happens to have occurred on our premises. We must protect ourselves, it's only sense. I told her so.”

“You told her . . . ? Mother, whom did you tell?”

She blinked at him undecided whether to disown the slip altogether, or to prevaricate.

“What, darling? Don't flare up like that. Your nerves are completely upset. Oh, this
is
annoying.”

“Mother, tell me. Have you ever spoken to that woman who died?”

“No, darling, of course I haven't. Don't be so dramatic, dearest. You're making an awful fool of yourself.”

“Of whom are you talking?” he said.

“When?”

“Just now. You said ‘I told her so'.”

“Oh, that.” She had had time to recover herself, and was laughing. “Why, I told Gwenda so this morning. I said, ‘It's nothing to do with us and people are simply trying to drag us into it because we're wealthy and well known'. There are always people who do that. If one fights back, they squeal.”

Campion glanced at Carados and saw that whether he was satisfied or not, and it hardly seemed possible that he should be, he would not press the point. Instead he said abruptly:

“What are the police doing now?”

“I don't know. They've taken the clothes away. One of them, the same stupid little person, told me he'd be obliged to me if I'd stay indoors until tomorrow morning, which seemed silly and officious.”

“And yet you came down here?”

“Well, my dear, you don't suppose I intended—or he expected me to take him literally, do you?”

Johnny Carados said nothing. Both he and Campion were listening. Footsteps sounded on the floor above, and presently someone came down the stairs. Campion hurried out to meet Captain Gold, who was on the staircase. The man gaped at him.

“I was coming down to see if anyone could arrange some coffee,” he said, his deep voice lowered. “Good, strong coffee. Robson says it's to be as black as they can get it.”

“Gee-gee!” Johnny came out of the door as he spoke and
closed it firmly after him so that they were all huddled together in the little hall. “Does that mean—?”

“Yes, I think so.” Gold's teeth flashed in his beard. “It's been a very near thing, but I believe Robson has pulled it off. The old gentleman is made of tough material. I'm needed up there, though, so if you could get some coffee made—? Robson will want you, Johnny. He's going to be a little sticky, I'm afraid.”

“Is he? Right. You go back, and we'll get the coffee.”

Relief was shaking Carados as fear had never done. He slurred his words a little and his hand shook on Campion's arm.

“You'll see to it, won't you? I'll get back in here and try to send her home. With luck no one need ever know about this. Poor old boy, I'm glad. Oh, God, I'm glad!”

Gee-gee Gold glanced at the door. “Mrs. Shering?” he enquired.

“No, my mother.”

“Oh, I see.” It was evident he realized the gravity of the situation. “I'll go back then. You get the coffee, Mr. Campion. Very strong, and plenty of it.”

He crept back up the stairs on fat, pointed feet, and Carados turned to Campion again.

“Not a word to a soul,” he said urgently. “With luck we'll get clean away with it. I'll manage Bush and Dion; they'll see reason. This is a heaven-sent break. I don't deserve it. I can hardly believe it. I've been feeling like a murderer and it isn't true.”

As Mr. Campion went on down the stairs he wondered about Johnny, and about his mother he wondered even more. The one important and immediate problem, however, was the coffee.

The house was quiet and cold, and when he found the front hall empty he looked about for Miss Chivers with a certain anxiety. There was no sign of her in the dark downstairs room, but at last he found the entrance to a flight of service stairs. Below in the basement it was still very quiet, but he saw a crack of light beneath the centre doorway. He entered without knocking and stepped into a vast,
brightly lit, old-fashioned kitchen with a stone floor, hooks in the ceiling, and a huge table taking up nearly all the room. An old woman sat by the stove, her feet resting on a bright, steel fender.

But it was not she who caught Mr. Campion's startled attention, for at the table, disconsolate as children kept in school, were two men each of whom appeared to be engaged in the melancholy business of sitting the other out. One was Superintendent Yeo, neat and clean in plain clothes, and the other, surprisingly clad in the uniform of a Civil Defence Warden, was a man Mr. Campion had seen twice before. Above the blue battle blouse lowered the narrow face and unforgettable eyes of Stavros's partner, the ubiquitous Mr. Pirri.

PRUDENTLY PLACING FIRST
things first, Mr. Campion did not look at either of the visitors but concentrated on the housekeeper. She showed no surprise at his sudden appearance, but when he asked her for the coffee she smiled and shook her head at him.

Yeo pushed a slate across the table at him. “You have to write it,” he said briefly.

Mr. Pirri looked up sharply. It had been evident from the Superintendent's tone that he and Campion were acquainted. He got up at once, and with determined leisureliness, strolled towards the door. On the threshold he looked back.