John smiled ruefully. ‘You’ve done your best, Joe. I know you tried hard. By the way, how did you get on with Paulina Gower?’
A dull glow appeared in the clerk’s rugged cheeks. ‘A very pleasant lady,’ he said non-committally.
John, who had found her sharp and unhelpful, looked at him in some surprise. ‘Oh,’ he said, but decided to leave his most searching questions until later.
Toby stood up. ‘I am sorry, gentlemen, but duty calls.’ He turned to the Apothecary. ‘I am afraid that I agree with Mr Jago, Sir. There is nothing further I can do in the case of the murder of William Gorringe. Should any further evidence come to light I will naturally pursue it. But, alas, I think that is now highly unlikely.’
John was forced to agree. It seemed as if every door had slammed shut in his face. He bowed to the Constable.
‘It’s been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir. Were you in London I would recommend you as a court runner to Sir John.’
‘Hear, hear,’ said Joe.
They watched the man go out and Joe, looking at his departing back, said, ‘An excellent worker, that one.’
‘Yes, indeed.’ John’s eyes glinted. ‘Tell me about Paulina? I take it you got on rather well.’
The colour returned to the clerk’s craggy face. ‘I found her very charming actually, Sir.’
‘Do I detect a hint of romance?’
‘No, good heavens, nothing like that,’ Joe protested loudly. ‘I pretended to be an admirer of her theatrical work and as a result we became quite friendly.’
John collapsed into a fit of wild giggling. ‘Oh, Joe, I do wish you could see the expression on your face. You resemble a naughty boy who has been caught at the jam pot.’
The clerk assumed a dignified air which drove John to further excesses. He chortled loudly and clutched his sides, tears pouring down his cheeks.
‘I am glad that I give you cause for amusement, Mr Rawlings.’
John calmed down, thinking that he might have wounded his old friend’s feelings. But he still had the strongest suspicion that all was not quite above board as far as Mrs Gower was concerned. He wiped his eyes.
‘Tell me, did she explain how she came to be sharing lodgings with the Black Pyramid?’
‘She said that she struck up an acquaintanceship with him on that original journey and that they have remained cordial ever since.’
‘I see. Did you believe her?’
But it was a superfluous question. Joe Jago had clearly done so, more than a little swayed by the power of Paulina Gower’s middle-aged charms. John clamped his lips shut and said no more.
‘Well, Sir, where do we go tomorrow?’ asked the clerk, pointedly changing the subject.
‘I would be most obliged if you would attend the funeral of Miss Schmitt with me and Elizabeth. I think it will be a very small affair and I know that Mrs Mitchell would be grateful for all the support she can get.’
‘I shall certainly do that, Sir.’
‘Good. Then perhaps you would ride out to the big house at eleven o’clock. We can take a coach from there. On second thoughts why don’t you come and dine with us tonight and spend the night. I know Elizabeth would be pleased.’
The clerk drained his ale without answering and John guessed with unerring accuracy what he was going to say next.
‘I’m sorry, Sir, I have a previous engagement.’
The giggles — not far away — threatened to come back. ‘I see. Anywhere interesting?’ John asked innocently.
‘I am going,’ replied Joe Jago with enormous dignity, ‘to the theatre.’
Sidford had one parish church and it was to this that Elizabeth’s carriage made its way at twelve noon on the day following. John had prearranged that Joe should escort the Marchesa inside while he would follow some ten minutes later and take a seat at the back where he could observe. Much to his surprise when he did eventually enter the church’s shadowy interior he saw that the place was full. It seemed that the entire village had turned out in support of Matilda Mitchell and John was hard put to find a pew at the far end. Sitting down, he saw something even more astonishing. Also present — and sitting near the front at that — were the Black Pyramid, Nathaniel Broome and Paulina Gower, all dressed in solemn shades. Remembering how the black fighter had physically put Miss Schmitt out of the coach when they had travelled down with the murdered man — a journey that John felt he could never forget — the Apothecary felt frankly astonished.
The coffin entered, carried by six stout men, followed by Mrs Mitchell, heavily leaning on the gallant Miss Davenport. A couple of elderly people walked with them who John presumed must be friends of the family. Another surprise. The Black Pyramid solemnly rose to his feet and stood with bowed head as the casket passed by him. Nathaniel Broome and Mrs Gower did likewise and the Apothecary felt more puzzled than ever. It was just as if they were paying their final respects to an old friend.
The vicar started the words of the funeral service in a dreary voice most suitable for the occasion. As always John took this as his moment to look round. There was nobody else there from the original coach party but as he had already noted the church was packed with depressed-looking villagers. He concluded that Matilda Mitchell must be a doer of good works and popular with one and all.
He looked again at the extraordinary trio and saw that the Black Pyramid was leaning forward, his clasped hands between his knees. John could have sworn that a tear glistened on the negro’s cheek. The other two, however, sat impassively enough, their faces betraying nothing.
Eventually the procession to the grave began and the Apothecary lingered behind as was his usual way. Joe Jago appeared beside him, temporarily leaving Elizabeth to talk to other members of the congregation.
‘Well, my friend, what did you observe?’
‘I was somewhat surprised to see the Black Pyramid here,’ Joe answered.
‘I presume that Mrs Gower told you she would be present?’
‘Yes, she did. The reason she gave was that she had grown friendly with the German lady during the trip to Devon.’
‘I see.’ John hesitated about saying anything further, aware that Joe and the actress had struck up some kind of rapprochement. But he knew perfectly well that that statement was a lie, that Paulina had had little time for the late Fraulein Schmitt. However he decided to keep this information to himself for the time being. Instead he said, ‘I thought I saw the black man weeping.’
‘Unfortunately I was sitting in front of him, Sir, so I did not really get a good look behind me.’
‘But why should he do that, Joe? That is the question worrying me. Surely it couldn’t have been an attack of guilty conscience?’
The clerk’s face took on its famous foxy expression. ‘I shouldn’t have thought he would go that far however badly he felt about his treatment of Miss Schmitt.’
‘There’s something odd here,’ said the Apothecary thoughtfully.
But their conversation ceased abruptly as the black fighter himself strode down the path towards the grave. He paused on seeing them.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said in tones of great astonishment.
‘We came to pay our respects,’ John answered hurriedly. ‘Tell me, are you fully recovered? The last time I saw you you were in a bad way.’
‘I am much restored, thank you. Nat and I will be returning to London in a day or two. I feel I am now ready to undertake the journey.’
Mrs Gower appeared, walking sedately, a pace or two in front of Nathaniel Broome. She dropped a demure curtsy and John thought that her friendship with Joe had improved her manners enormously.
‘Why, Mr Rawlings, what are you doing here?’
‘I might ask the same of you, Madam.’
‘I have come to pay my respects to the departed.’
‘Likewise,’ said John, and bowed.
Joe Jago stepped forward. ‘May I offer you my arm, Mrs Gower?’
‘I will accept it gladly,’ she responded, dropped the merest hint of a bob, and went trotting off with him down
