Here Lies Gloria Mundy

hell of a nuisance now she’s dead. I don’t like that inspector’s manner and I didn’t like that chap who interviewed me at the police station. They’ll ferret around and uncover things.’

‘Such as your little, short-lived affair with Gloria?’ I said. ‘Don’t be an ass, man! You weren’t the only one. What about Hara-kiri? And, from what I gather, there could have been a dozen men that she’d had on the hook at some time or other.’

‘She wasn’t killed on their premises, though. That’s the rub. She turned up here, left in a huff because of Aunt Eg’s inexcusable behaviour and then somebody killed her.’

‘Well, nobody killed her without a motive.’

‘But I had a motive, Corin. She came here with the intention of blackmailing me. She wanted to give up her job and go abroad. She told me so almost as soon as she arrived. That’s why she came for money.’

‘Did she threaten you? And did anybody overhear the conversation?’

‘She made her intention quite plain. The interview was only between the two of us, but I don’t suppose I moderated my voice. I don’t when I lose my temper, and lose my temper I did.’

‘What sort of job did she do?’

‘She was a sales assistant at that fashion shop called Trends.’

‘How could she afford a cruise that other time?’

‘It was a one-class boat and she had a cabin right down in the depths. That’s why I let her share mine, on the strict QT.’

‘Why didn’t you kick her out of the house straight away that day? Why ask her to stay to lunch?’

‘I did that,’ said Celia. ‘I was curious about her. I wanted to find out what Anthony had ever seen in her.’

‘Nothing, of course,’ said Anthony morosely. ‘I never saw anything in her. She just happened, like any other disaster.’

‘But she couldn’t have blackmailed you merely on the strength of a ship-board flirtation. What else have you got on your conscience?’ asked Celia.

‘Nothing, of course.’ But to me his denial did not ring true and I was worried. I tried another tack — or, rather, I returned to one we had tried earlier.

‘Look,’ I said, ‘there’s nothing to show that she was killed in the old house. Let’s sort this out a bit. At least two days elapsed between the time Aunt Eglantine saw her and the time the body was found after the fire. She couldn’t have been living in the old house without somebody knowing she was still there. She could have been killed — mugged, as likely as not — anywhere in the neighbourhood and the body brought back here and the fire started to cover up the murder. What’s wrong with that theory? It seems utterly likely to me.’

‘Why should they bring her back here?’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, man!’ I said desperately. ‘They knew the old house, of course. Plenty of people would know of it.’ But he would look on nothing but the black side and I went to bed a very depressed man. There must be something which he had not told me. I racked my brains, but could not imagine what it was.

8

Hounds in Cry

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I think all three of us dreaded Anthony’s appearance in the coroner’s court. He and the medical witnesses were called and then the police put up two other people, one of whom I had more or less expected, the other somewhat of a surprise. The chief fireman was the first of them to take the stand. He described the fire, referred to Celia’s telephone call to the fire brigade and, in answer to questions he stated that, to the best of his knowledge, there had been no body among the ashes and nobody had been trapped in the house.

‘She would have run out screaming if she had been in there when the fire started,’ he said, ‘if she had been alive, that is, which we’re told she wasn’t, but we would have seen her body. Wood burns out to fine ash, as everybody knows, and wood — plenty of it, of course, but that makes no difference — was all that got burnt up, the walls being good Cotswold stone and still standing.’

‘What about the roof? That wasn’t made of wood,’ said the coroner.

‘Oh, well, yes, a lot of slates did come down, but if there had been a body I still reckon me or some of my lads would have seen it.’ (This point was emphasised by the police surgeon, who asserted that the body showed no sign of having been struck by falling roof-tiles.)

The surprise witness, so far as I was concerned, was Anthony’s gardener, who had reported the finding of the body. I suppose my surprise was irrational.

‘You are William George Platt?’

‘That’s me.’

‘You live at Begonia Cottage, Hilcombury?’

‘That’s right, there being no gardener’s cottage on the estate, so I go to Beeches Lawn daily.’

‘So you were not at Beeches Lawn when the fire broke out in what is known as the old house?’

‘A man can’t be expected to do no gardening after dark.’

‘Where were you?’

‘At the Weaver and Loom. Plenty there to say so.’