Purbright thought—and set the glass on the mantelpiece beside one of a pair of china storks that must have been nearly two feet high. Then he said: “The funeral—I’ve been wondering about the funeral. You know...”
“You can go ahead with the preliminary arrangements. Sergeant Malley will be in touch with you about the inquest. You’ll find him very helpful.”
“Inquest—that’s necessary, is it?”
“I’m afraid so, sir. Unless, of course, it turns out that your wife’s doctor was seeing her regularly and confirms the post-mortem findings. Then he’ll issue his certificate, I’ve no doubt.”
Palgrove remained silent. During the pause, Purbright did some mental moulding on his next question.
“There is one possibility that the coroner is always required to examine when anything like this happens: I suppose you realize what that is, sir?—oh, a very remote possibility, certainly, but it has to be disposed of.”
Palgrove’s incredulous stare wavered after the first few seconds, as if it might turn to laughter. “Good God, man! Who’d want to murder poor old Henny?”
The inspector frowned. “I wasn’t thinking of murder, sir.”
“Sorry. My mistake.”
“The question I had in mind was whether your wife could have done what she did otherwise than by accident. You must know her personality, her state of mind, if she was worried about anything...Any eccentricities of behaviour, for instance.”
“I don’t know. I’d have to think about that.”
“Yes, do, sir.”
Purbright leaned back a couple of inches and gazed blandly at his tumbler. He tipped it gently to one side, then the other, and watched the fine oily rivulets of spirit creep down the glass.
“It’s funny, you know,” Palgrove said at last, “but I shouldn’t be surprised if there was something in what you say.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean you to...”
Palgrove held up his hand. “No, I know you didn’t. Facts are facts, though. And I can’t pretend that Henny’s attitude to things was altogether normal. She had these terrific enthusiasms, you know. It seemed sometimes that animals meant more to her than human beings. It was her kindness, really, I suppose. I mean, I wouldn’t knock her for that. Not now. But she got so worked up about these things. Perhaps I should have seen that there was a danger of her—you know—sort of going over the top.”
“Did Mrs Palgrove do much letter writing, sir?”
“Lord, you can say that again. You certainly can. She was forever writing letters. Mind you, she was on committees galore.”
“So I understand. I wasn’t thinking so much of formal correspondence, though. Have you ever known her to write a—what shall I say?—an excitable sort of letter?”
“To be quite honest, I never took that much interest. She’d be capable of it, though. I’m sure she would. She was an excitable sort of woman.” Palgrove paused to eye the inspector carefully. “Why, has something of that kind...?”
“It was a hypothetical question, sir. I’m just trying to get a general idea of your wife’s temperament.”
Palgrove looked at his glass, empty now. He stretched and flexed his shoulders. “Can I get you another drink, Inspector?”
“No, thank you, sir. We’ll have to be getting back.”
Palgrove went to pour a second whiskey for himself. He spoke over his shoulder. “This inquest thing...”
“Yes, sir?”
“I suppose I ought to get my solicitor on the job.”
“That’s a matter for you to decide, Mr Palgrove. He would accompany you if you wished, I’m sure.”
“I’ll have to think about it.” He drank his whiskey at one steady tilt, then smacked his lips. He stood the glass on the top of the cabinet, paused, picked it up again and walked with it in his hand to the door, where the two policemen were already waiting. He smiled wryly at them, showed them the glass. “My own washer-up from now on, I suppose.”
Seated in The Widow on its sedate return run to the police station, Love said to the inspector: “What do you make of Pally, then?”
“What do you think I should make of him?”
“I reckon he’s a bit of a rum bugger.”
“You could be right.”
“They say he’s rattling some tottie from Jubilee Park way.”
“That’s one thing I admire about you, Sid—you have an eye for geographical detail.”
“You don’t really believe his wife did herself in, do you?”
“No, I don’t. But it was very interesting to see how appealing a theory Mr Palgrove found it, once it was suggested.”
Chapter Nine
The offices of the Flaxborough and Eastern Counties Charities Alliance were on the first floor of what once
