‘You need take only a quick look, sir. There is one special feature which may help with identification. It should be sufficient for our purpose.’
‘May Mr Stratford come with me? He has been staying in the house, as I told you, and is still here.’
‘We may be glad of him for confirmation, sir. Are there no other persons in the house?’
‘Two women servants and my wife, but I’m not going to have them look at any dead bodies.’
‘We would be loth to submit females to such an ordeal, sir.’
‘If you think this person was a squatter and as I have assured you, I know nothing of any such, what is the point of taking me along to look at this body of yours? I repeat that I cannot help you.’
‘A matter of routine, sir, as the corpse was found under very suspicious circumstances on premises belonging to you, as I have explained. The singular feature to which I alluded should settle the matter of identification if the person should turn out to be somebody you know.’
I had been uneasy in my mind ever since the inspector’s arrival and when Anthony told me of this reference (the second one) to what the police seemed to think was an unmistakeable feature, my thoughts went to the red and black hair of Gloria Mundy, that uninvited and unwelcome interloper. The same idea presented itself to Anthony, I think, for he said in an aside to me after I had been sent for, ‘
I nodded. The inspector smiled and said, ‘I ought to tell you that I understand French, sir. Even yours,’ he added unkindly, ‘and I assure you that we have nothing up our sleeve. Shall we go, sir? You and Mr Stratford will be shown the body separately, of course.’
‘I must let my wife know where I am going.’
‘Of course, sir.’
We went in a police car. Nothing was said on the journey. What Anthony’s thoughts were I do not know. Personally I was nerving myself for what I knew would be the most unpleasant experience of my life. At the same time I was aware of a sick sort of curiosity of which I was ashamed but could not dismiss.
Anthony was first and they let him out by another door, for I saw nothing of him before it was my turn. The mortuary smelt heavily of disinfectant, an odour I detest, and it did not help my already queasy stomach.
‘Just a glance, sir,’ said the inspector encouragingly. ‘Nothing to worry about.’
Sez you! I thought grimly, swallowing in order to rid myself of my horrid feeling of nausea. The attendant drew back the sheet from the face, or what had been the face. It was blackened and quite unrecognisable. The feature referred to twice by the inspector was only too plain to see, however. On the otherwise unidentifiable head of the corpse was the slightly scorched red and black hair which was what I thought of as the trademark of Gloria Mundy. The inspector covered up the horror which lay on the mortuary slab and led me away from it.
‘Well, sir?’ he said, with a briskness which I suppose was an indication that I must pull myself together.
‘Well,’ I said, ‘I don’t know, I’m sure. It’s — there’s nothing to go on but the hair, and that doesn’t make sense, does it?’
‘No, sir?’
‘I mean, if the head is — is like that, the hair ought to be shrivelled right up and you wouldn’t see the two colours and all that, would you?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine, sir, so if I may know what your verdict is?’
‘Oh, the identification. I suppose the body is that of Gloria Mundy, but — ’
‘You need go no further, sir. Thank you for your help.’
All was not yet over. We were taken to the police station, where Anthony was escorted to the interview room and I was given a seat opposite the desk sergeant’s counter. He asked me whether I would like a cup of tea. I thought this apparently kind suggestion was an indication that I might need to be fortified against my next ordeal.
I refused the tea and asked whether I had long to wait. He answered, in the elliptical manner of which the police are pastmasters, that these things took a little time. He offered me a newspaper to read.
I took it and thanked him, but it is hardly necessary to say that, although I looked at it for courtesy’s sake, I did not read a single word. I was still wondering what Anthony had thought when he was shown Gloria’s hair and her ravaged face, and what he was saying at that moment in the interview room.
At last it was my turn. They led Anthony past me and saw him out and then a constable touched me on the arm and said, ‘This way, sir.’ In the interview room he positioned himself against the door. The inspector was not there. A mild-looking man in plain clothes gave me a seat opposite him at a table, drew a writing-pad towards himself, took up a ballpoint and said, with what I thought (with even worse misgivings than before) was a kind of gruesome cheerfulness, ‘Well, now, sir, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty, shall we? Then we can both have our lunch.’
‘I suppose it’s no good to ask you what my friend has told you,’ I said.
‘The same as I hope you are going to tell me, sir. You say that you recognised the body as being that of a Miss Gloria Mundy. How well did you know her?’
‘Only well enough to recognise her rather unusual two-coloured hair. She was my fellow guest at lunch a few days ago.’
‘The lunch being where, sir?’
‘At Mr Wotton’s house. I had been invited to pay him a visit and Miss Mundy turned up unexpectedly and was offered lunch. She took umbrage at the table manners of another guest and left before the end of the meal. I never saw her alive again, and I had never met her before that day.’
He pushed a writing-pad towards me. Another plain-clothes man had been making notes at a small table in a corner of the room.
