Police at the Funeral

Chapter 19 Under the Black Wing

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.

'Hallo, Kitty, here's the devil again,' he said, revealing an unexpectedly deep voice and educated accent. He glanced round the room at the company. No one spoke or moved. The man was exultant, and he made a peculiarly unpleasant figure in his grease-spotted blue suit, with his coarse red face, sagging mouth and general air of leering satisfaction.

'Sit down, everybody,' he said thickly. 'Bring out the fatted calf. The Prodigal returns.'

Aunt Caroline stiffened herself for the effort. 'George,' she said, 'you will come to my writing-room and speak to me there, if you please.'

Cousin George laughed loudly and unpleasantly. 'Sorry, Aunt,' he said as he lounged against the closed door with considerable theatrical effect, 'sorry, but this is where the formula begins to differ. No hustling me into a back room. George has returned in force. George is going to be made a great fuss of. In fact, George is going to stay.'

There was a snort and a rustle from the back of the room as Uncle William, who, to do him justice, was not a complete coward, sailed into battle. He planted himself squarely in front of the intruder, who appeared to be enjoying himself immensely, and thrust his pink face close to the other man's.

'You infernal blackguard!' he said, his voice leaping out of control. 'We've had enough of you. You get out of this house. And to save the police trouble, call at the station on your way out of the town. They're looking for you, I don't mind telling you.'

Cousin George's amusement increased. He put his head back until it rested on the wood and, still smiling insolently into the old man's face, he opened his mouth and used a single epithet the like of which had never before defiled the stately precincts of Socrates Close, and then, while the frozen silence was still tingling, he raised his arm and caught the pink face so near his own a flip with the back of his hand, so that Uncle William tottered back livid with astonishment and the sudden pain.

Campion and Marcus leapt forward simultaneously, and Cousin George was pinioned before he realized what had happened. The man was as strong as an ox, but his captors were young, and, Mr Campion at least, by no means unpractised. Realizing himself helpless, the intruder began to laugh.

'All right,' he said. 'Chuck me out. You'll regret it to the day of your death.'

Old Featherstone, who had only just grasped who the newcomer was, and being fearful for his dignity if not for his balance, peered round him helplessly. Finally he cleared his throat.

'Marcus, my boy,' he said, 'move away from that door, will you? Mrs Faraday and I were just going out.'

Uncle William, who was rumbling ferociously, hovered in the centre of the room, uncertain whether to attack verbally or physically, when Cousin George spoke again.

'You'll be sorry if you don't let me speak,' he said. 'I've got you by the short hairs. You send your lawyer away, Aunt, and listen to me.'

To the complete astonishment of most of her hearers, Aunt Caroline seemed to give way.

'Mr Campion, Marcus,' she said, 'you will oblige me by coming over here. George, sit down. What have you to say?'

The man's triumph was insufferable, and although the young men obeyed the old lady, it was evident that they did so grudgingly. Freed, Cousin George shook himself.

'Thank you,' he drawled. 'Now sit down, all of you. Keep old Foxy here if you like, Aunt, but remember you have yourself to blame if you don't like him hearing what I say.'

Aunt Caroline's attitude surprised everyone. She returned to her chair by the fire almost meekly. Old Featherstone stepped after her and stood gracefully by her side. Although he could see very little of the proceedings, at least he could hear, and he had the satisfaction of knowing that he looked magnificent.

Cousin George threw himself into the most comfortable chair in the room and began to speak with spirituous and theatrical arrogance.

'This is funny,' he said. 'You don't know how funny you all are. I'm going to laugh now. This is where I step in and sit pretty for the rest of my life. No more fobbing me off with a few pounds, Aunt. I'm back to stay this time. You're all going to sit up and dance while I call the tune. And you,' he added, wagging a none-too-clean forefinger at Uncle William, 'you pompous old humbug, you're going to run round me like a spaniel if I want you to.'

He took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, quite conscious of the sensation he was causing, and enjoying it to the full. Both Uncle William and Aunt Kitty, who knew that the smell of tobacco had never before permeated the drawing-room, were aghast at this desecration, and they turned to their mother appealingly.

Great-aunt Caroline sat quite still, no muscle of her face moving; only her black eyes, which never left her nephew's face, seemed alive.

Cousin George spat a shred of chewed tobacco on to the Chinese carpet and ground his muddy heel into the soft pile with flagrant delight.

'I've looked forward to this,' he said. 'Now it's come. I've got you just where I want you. Are you going to keep the lawyers here, Aunt?'

'Yes.' Aunt Caroline's voice was perfectly composed, but her icy tone could not quell Cousin George, who was more than a little drunk, both with liquor and his own elation. He sniffed.

'Right; here goes. The police have been looking for me, haven't they? I should have been down before if I'd known that, but I didn't. And why? Because I was "inside". I got out this morning and read about the inquest. I read about Julia, too. She's gone, has she? Well, that's a stroke of luck I didn't expect. Who's that man?' He pointed to Campion. 'I've seen him before. If he's something to do with the police, all the worse for you, Aunt. Shall I go on?'

'Yes,' said Great-aunt Caroline again.

Cousin George shrugged his shoulders. 'Well, here I am, here I stay--j'y suis, j'y reste. Not one of you is going to raise a finger to turn me out of this house. Because if you do,' he added, lowering his voice, 'I shall tell all I know, and you'll have a murder trial in the family before you know where you are. You've come in for a bit of publicity already, but that's nothing to the stink I'll raise. You see, I happened to follow Andrew from church on Sunday, the thirteenth of March. It won't be circumstantial evidence; it'll be an eye-witness account.'

He paused and looked about him. There was deadly silence in the room. His words had electrified the company. Great-aunt Caroline alone appeared to be perfectly unmoved.

'You will explain, George,' she said.

Cousin George shook his head. 'You don't catch me like that. You know and I know that I've got you all just like that.' He thrust out his hand, the fingers extended, and slowly clenched it. 'As long as I'm comfortable I shall say nothing,' he went on. 'I know what suits me. You see,' he added, a tremor of satisfaction in his voice, 'it's one of you. You all know that. And I know which one it is. Now let's hear your airs and graces. William, ring that bell over there and tell the maid to get me some whisky.'

All eyes were turned upon Uncle William, and he shot an imploring glance towards his mother, but Great-aunt Caroline nodded, and humbly Uncle William rose and pulled the bell.

It was capitulation.

Cousin George laughed noisily. 'That's it,' he said. 'I'm going to make you do that often.'

When the startled Alice appeared it was he who gave the order.

'Whisky and soda,' he said, before anyone else could speak, 'and make it snappy.'

The woman shot a scandalized glance at her mistress, but receiving Great-aunt Caroline's nod, she hurried out.

Cousin George leant back. 'Murder trials arouse public interest in oneself, don't they, Aunt?' he drawled. 'I think I could place a short intimate biography of myself with several great newspapers should I be compelled to tell all I know about old Andrew. Don't you think so?'

The immediate result of this comparatively innocent remark was extraordinary. Great-aunt Caroline stiffened.

'Mr Featherstone,' she said, 'you would oblige me by excusing yourself from my table tonight. Since you are such an old friend, I know I may ask you this.'

Old Featherstone bent forward, and although he lowered his voice, its rumblings echoed quite clearly through the room.

'Dear lady.' he said, 'this is blackmail, you know. There's a very severe penalty for blackmail.'

'Yes,' said Cousin George casually from the depths of his chair. 'But so few people prosecute, do they, old Foxy? This family won't prosecute me, don't you worry. You run along and do what you're told.'

The old man would have spoken again, but Great-aunt Caroline laid a hand on his arm, so that he thought better of it, and, with a bow to his client and her household and a stony near-sighted stare for Cousin George, he strode out of the door. Alice, returning with a tray, stood aside for him to pass.

Cousin George's comment was cut short, no doubt, by the appearance of this refreshment, which he insisted upon having on the floor by his chair. When the woman had gone out he sat with his glass in his hand, his legs straddled out before him.

'Do the tame puppies remain?' he said, pointing to Campion and Marcus.

Marcus was livid and the muscles of his jaw throbbed visibly. Mr Campion, on the other hand, appeared almost imbecile, a mask of affable stupidity covering his personality completely.

'If you prefer it, no,' said Great-aunt Caroline.

Cousin George surveyed the two young men with an insolent stare.

'I don't care who hears what I've got to say,' he said. 'I know what I know, and I've got a witness to prove it. I've got the whip hand. I've got to be bribed not to tell all I know to the police. I should have been here before, only, as I say, I got a bit drunk and beat up a policeman last Thursday, so they put me in for seven days. One of the Faradays of Socrates Close drunk and disorderly--that's a paragraph for the local paper! Perhaps you'd like to write it out for me, William. Or perhaps you'd like to save your energy. I'm going to keep you busy in future. Yes, Aunt, I think you can turn these two lounge lizards out to grass. The family and I must get better acquainted. A little heart-to-heart talk will show us all where we stand. Oh, and by the way, neither of you need trouble to send for the police. I saw them as soon as I arrived in Cambridge this afternoon. They were quite satisfied as to my movements. If everything isn't arranged satisfactorily here I shall pay them another visit. I said I held the ace; I do.'

He poured himself out another drink and raised his glass provocatively to William.

'They drew out all the evidence against you at the inquest, and you got off,' he said. 'But that doesn't mean that everyone's satisfied. Why, it's obvious to the whole world that one of you did it, and I'm in the happy position of knowing which one. However, since you are my own flesh and blood, rather than turn you over to the police, I'll keep you in order myself.'

Great-aunt Caroline, whose composure was almost trance-like, turned to Campion and Marcus.

'I should like you both,' she said, 'to take Joyce into the breakfast-room and wait there for a little while. Joyce, dear, please tell Alice to lay another place at the dinner-table. She will have seen that Mr Featherstone has gone and may not be aware that Cousin George is staying.'

'Tell her to prepare a room for me,' said Cousin George. 'I'll have old Andrew's. I bet he knew how to make himself comfortable. I'll want a fire in it and a bottle of whisky on the mantelpiece. These are the only things I insist upon. Now then, clear out. I have something to say to my dear relations.'

But Aunt Kitty, whose frail nerves had stood up against this ordeal so valiantly, now gave way completely. She darted into the centre of the room like a small terrified rabbit.

'The spirit of Evil!' she shouted hysterically. 'The spirit of Evil is abroad! Another fiend has been sent to torment us. Oh! Oh! Oh!'

Each of the three final exclamations was uttered in a tone higher and more piercing than the last. She swayed uncertainly for some seconds, and finally collapsed upon the floor, sobbing and kicking like a maniac. The sight was distressing and a little terrifying.

For the first time since his arrival Cousin George was discomforted. He drew his feet away from the abject figure, and picking up his glass put the siphon under his arm. Then, with a decanter in his free hand, he turned towards the door.

'I can't stand this,' he said. 'I shall be in the library until you've pulled yourself together sufficiently to listen to me intelligently. I'll have my food served to me pronto on old Uncle John's desk. And from henceforward, remember that room is my room. I'm master of this house now.'

Mr Campion opened the door, and as Cousin George stared at him he bent forward and spoke softly.

'Pull up the blinds when you go into the library,' he murmured. 'You'll see there's a message for you on one of the window-panes.'

The man stared at him, but Campion said no more, and finally Cousin George stumbled out into the passage.