‘Nothing. He’s just a friend. A bit of company for me.’ The corkscrew lay on the sideboard. He lifted an end, let it drop, lifted it, let it drop…
‘I’d better turn the chop,’ she said and went into the kitchen.
He followed her. ‘You gave him information about me,’ he said.
‘No, I’ve told you -‘
‘And you typed his reports to the Board.’
She pushed past him, weeping noisily, to find her handkerchief on the chair.
‘What else was between you and him?’ he said, raising his voice above the roar of the television.
He came towards her with the corkscrew and stabbed it into her long neck nine times, and killed her. Then he took his hat and went home to his wife.
‘Doug dear,’ said Miss Maria Cheeseman.
‘I’m in a state,’ Dougal said, ‘so could you ring off?’
‘Doug, I just wanted to say. You’ve re-written my early years so beautifully. Those new Peckham stories are absolutely sweet. I’m sure you feel, as I feel, that the extra effort was quite worth
‘Thanks,’ said Dougal. ‘I doubt if the new bits were worth all the trouble, but -‘
‘Doug, come over and see me this afternoon.’
‘Sorry, Cheese, I’m in a state. I’m packing. I’m leaving here.’
‘Doug, I’ve got a little gift for you. Just an appreciation-’
‘I’ll ring you back,’ Dougal said. ‘I’ve just remembered I’ve left some milk on the stove.’
‘You’ll let me have your new address, won’t you?’
Dougal went into the kitchen. Miss Frierne was seated at the table, but she had slipped down in her chair. She seemed to be asleep. One side of her face was askew. Her eyelid fluttered.
Dougal looked round for the gin bottle to measure the extent of Miss Frierne’s collapse. But there was no gin bottle, no bottle at all, no used glass. He took another look at Miss Frierne. Her eyelid fluttered and her lower lip moved on one side of her mouth.
Dougal telephoned to the police to send a doctor. Then he went upstairs and fetched down his luggage comprising his zipper-case, his shiny new brief-case, and his typewriter. The doctor arrived presently and went in to Miss Frierne. ‘A stroke,’ he said.
‘Well, I’ll be off,’ Dougal said.
‘Are you a relative?’
‘No, a tenant. I’m leaving.’
‘Right away?’
‘Yes,’ Dougal said. ‘I was leaving in any case, but I’ve got a definite flaw where illness is concerned.’
‘Has she got any relatives?’
‘No.’
‘I’d better ring the ambulance,’ the doctor said. ‘She’s pretty far gone.’
Dougal walked with his luggage up Rye Lane. In the distance he saw a crowd outside the police-station yard. He joined it, and pressed through with his bags into the yard.
‘Going away?’ said one of the policemen.
‘I’m leaving the district. I thought, from the crowd, there might be some new find in the tunnel.’
The policeman nodded towards the crowd. ‘We’ve just arrested a man in connexion with the murder.’
‘Druce,’ Dougal said.
‘That’s right.’
‘Druce is. the man,’ Dougal said.
‘He’s the chap all right. She might have been left there for days if it hadn’t been for the food burning on the gas. The neighbours thought there was a fire and broke in. The tunnel’s open now, as you see; the steps are in. Official opening on Wednesday. Lights are being fixed now.’
‘Pity I won’t be here. I should have liked to go along the tunnel.’
‘Go down if you like. It’s only six hundred yards. Brings you out at Gordon Road. One of our men is on guard at that point. He’ll know you. Pity not to see it as you’ve taken so much interest.’
‘I’ll come,’ Dougal said.
‘I can’t take you,’ the policeman said. ‘But I’ll get you a torch. It’s just a straight run. All the coins and the old bronze have been taken away, so there’s nothing there except some bones we haven’t cleared away as yet. But you can say you’ve been through.’
He went to fetch the torch. A young apprentice electrician emerged from the tunnel with two empty tea-mugs in his hand and went out through the crowd to a cafe across the road.
The policeman came back with a small torch. ‘Give this to the constable at the other end. Save you trouble of bringing it back. Well, good-bye. Glad to know you. I’ve got to go on duty now.’
This tunnel had been newly supported in its eight-foot height by wooden props, between which Dougal wound his way. This tunnel – which in a few days’ time was to be opened to the public, and in yet a few days more closed down owing to three scandals ensuing from its being frequented by the Secondary Modern Mixed School – was strewn with new gravel, trodden only, so far, by the workmen, and by Dougal as he proceeded with his bags.
About half-way through the tunnel Dougal put his bags down and started to pick up some bones which were piled in a crevice ready to be taken away before the official opening. Then he held the torch between his teeth and juggled with some carefully chosen shin bones which were clotted with earth. He managed six at a time, throwing and catching, never missing, so that the earth fell away from them and scattered.
He picked up his bags and continued through the hot tunnel which smelt of its new disinfectant. He saw a strong lamp ahead and the figure of the electrician on a ladder cutting some wire in the wall.
The electrician turned. ‘You been quick, Bobby,’ he said.
Dougal switched out his torch and set down his bags on the gritty floor of the tunnel. He saw the electrician descend from the ladder with his knife and turn the big lamp towards him.
‘Trevor Lomas, watch out for the old bones, they’re haunted,’ Dougal said. He chucked what was once a hip at Trevor’s head. Then with his left hand he grabbed the wrist that held the knife. Trevor kicked. Dougal employed that speciality of his with his right hand, clutching Trevor’s throat back-handedly with his claw-like grip.
Trevor went backward and stumbled over the bags, dropping the knife. Dougal picked it up, grabbed the bags, and fled.
Near the end of the tunnel, where the tight from the big lamp barely reached, Trevor caught up with him and delivered to Dougal a stab in the eye with a bone. Whereupon Dougal flashed his torch in Trevor’s face and leapt at him with his high shoulder raised and elbow sticking out. He applied once more his deformed speciality. Holding Trevor’s throat with this right-hand twist, he fetched him a left-hand blow on the corner of the jaw. Trevor sat down. Dougal picked up his bags. pointing his torch to the ground, and emerged from the tunnel at Gordon Road. There he reported to the policeman on duty that the electrician was sitting in a dazed condition among the old nuns’ bones, having been overcome by the heat. ‘I can’t stop to assist you,’ Dougal said, ‘for, as you see, I have to catch a train. Would you mind returning this torch with my thanks to the police station?’
‘You hurt yourself?’ the policeman said, looking at Dougal’s eye.
‘I bumped into something in the dark,’ Dougal said. ‘But it’s only a bruise. Pity the lights weren’t up.‘
He went into the Merry Widow for a drink. Then he took his bags up to Peckham High Street, got into a taxi, and was driven across the river, where he entered a chemist’s shop and got a dressing put on his wounded eye.
‘I’m glad he’s cleared off,’ Dixie said to her mother. ‘Humphrey’s not glad but I’m glad. Now he won’t be coming to the wedding. You never know what he might have done. He might have gone mad among the guests showing the bumps on his head. He might have made a speech. He might have jumped and done something rude.
I didn’t like him. Our Leslie didn’t like him. Humphrey liked him. He was bad for Humphrey. Mr Druce liked him and look what Mr Druce has come to. Poor Miss Coverdale liked him. Trevor didn’t like him. But I’m not worried now. I’ve got this bad cold, though.’
