Police at the Funeral by Margery Allingham Read Free Book Online Page A

had been drowned.’
    Campion sat forward in his chair, his pale eyes vague behind his spectacles, his tone still inconsequential.
    â€˜About the shooting,’ he said. ‘What happened exactly?’
    The other man’s expression changed and he grimaced reminiscently. ‘He was shot through the head,’ he said. ‘I saw the body afterwards. Shot through the head at very close range. There might have been a simple explanation for that, of course, but unfortunately he was bound hand and foot and they can’t find a gun. I saw the Chief Constable of the county today; he’s a friend of Father’s, a delightful old boy, Anglo-Indian family, a “wallah of the old school, don’t you know”. Our chat was completely unofficial, of course, but in confidence he gave me to understand that there’s no doubt about it – it’s murder. In fact what he said was: “It’s murder, my boy, and damned unpleasant murder at that.”’
    A ghost of a smile appeared upon Mr Campion’s lips and he lit another cigarette.
    â€˜Look here, Featherstone,’ he said. ‘I must warn you. I’m no detective, but of course I’m open to help. What d’you think I can do for you exactly?’
    His host hesitated before replying. ‘I’m afraid it’s rather adelicate matter to explain,’ he said at length, in his curiously dry voice. ‘When I first asked you to come down I had some vague idea that you might assist me to prevent a particularly unpleasant scandal. You see,’ he went on, smiling sourly, ‘this is one of the few places left in the world where it’s not only considered unfortunate, but atrocious bad form, to have one of your relations – or clients – mysteriously murdered. Of course it’s quite beyond the bounds of scandal now,’ he hurried on, ‘but I feel, if I may say so without being offensive, that it would be very useful for me to have someone I knew who was not bound by the edicts or – well – scruples of convention to assist the police on our side. Someone who would hold an intelligent watching brief, someone utterly trustworthy, and, if you will forgive me, my dear Campion, for using a revolting term, someone who is a gentleman. In other words,’ he added, unbending suddenly and becoming almost ingenuous, ‘the governor is almost eighty himself and not really capable of the job, and I’ve got the wind-up.’
    Campion laughed. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘I’m to play my speciality role – the handy man about the trouble. I say, I hope the police like me. This isn’t the sort of idea they cotton to as rule. I’m afraid it’s practically impossible to go gaily in “assisting”. However, I’ve got friends, as Lugg said to the beak. I’ll do anything I can for you, but I must know the full strength. Things look rather hot for Uncle William, I suppose?’
    The other did not reply, and he went on:
    â€˜Tell me the worst. I’m a ferret for information. And after all, you don’t want me turning up with the family skeleton in my beak, wagging my tail and shouting miaow, as it were.’
    Marcus took up the poker and jabbed meditatively at a particularly solid piece of coal. The stiffness had faded out of his manner, leaving him an oddly defenceless person without his affectations. ‘If I didn’t know you, Campion,’ he began – ‘and why you insist on calling yourself that I can’t imagine – I should never dream of putting this to you at all. But the thing that’s frightening me is the family.’
    His tone gave the two words an ominous significance.
    â€˜There’s rank evil there,’ he went on unexpectedly, fixing his bright eyes on the other man’s face and speaking with anintense sincerity which finally removed any trace of his former frigidity. ‘There they are, a family forty