WIGLESS HEAD ON KEW PAGODA,
HEADLESS WIG ON GREEN
Later, when they issued forth into the streets it was to find that the placards of the evening papers had entirely abandoned ‘U-Boat Believed Sunk’, ‘Nazi Planes Believed Down’, ‘Hitler’s Demands’, ‘Stalin’s Demands’, and the reactions of the U.S.A., and were devoting themselves to what soon became known as the Wig Outrage. ‘Wig on Green Sensation, Latest.’ ‘Pagoda Corpse – Foul Play?’ ‘Wig Mystery, Police Baffled.’
When the inquest was held, the police were obliged to issue an appeal to the great crowds that were expected, begging them to stay at home in view of the target which they would present to enemy bombers. In spite of this warning, the Wig Inquest was all too well attended, and the Wig Coroner had a few words to say about this generation’s love of the horrible. Indeed, Chiswick High Road had the aspect of Epsom Heath at Derby Day’s most scintillating moment.
It would be difficult to do better, for an account of the Wig Inquest than to switch over, as they say on the wireless, to the columns of the Evening Runner:
INQUEST ON WIG MURDER
VALET’S STATEMENT
ONLY CURLED LAST WEEK
WAS MURDERED MAN THE KING OF SONG?
The ‘colonel’s lady and Judy O’Grady’ fought for places at the inquest today on the body, which was found last Friday in Kew Pagoda, and which is presumed to be that of Sir Ivor King, ‘the King of Song’. The body was so extensively mutilated that a formal identification was impossible, although Mr Larch, Sir Ivor’s valet, swore that he would recognize that particular cranium anywhere as belonging to the ‘King’.
HIS MASTER’S VOICE
Giving evidence, Mr Larch, who showed signs of great emotion, said that Sir Ivor had left Vocal Lodge to go up to London at two o’clock on Friday afternoon. He had seemed rather nervous and said that he had to keep a very important appointment in town, but that he would be back in time to change for a local sing-song he had promised to attend after tea. His master’s voice, said Mr Larch, had been in great demand with A.R.P. organizations, and Mr Larch thought that what with so much singing, and the evacuations in the Orchid House, Sir Ivor had been looking strained and tired of late. By tea-time he had not returned. Mr Larch did not feel unduly worried. ‘Sir Ivor had the temperament of an artiste, and was both unpunctual and vague, sometimes spending whole nights in the Turkish bath without informing his staff that he intended to sleep out.’
HIS FAVOURITE WIG
‘When the children brought in the wig,’ went on Mr Larch, ‘I thought it was eerie, as it was his favourite wig; we only had it curled last week, and he would never have thrown it away. Besides, I knew he had no spare with him. I immediately notified the police.’ Here Mr Larch broke down and had to be assisted out of the court.
Mr Smith, taxi-driver, said that the old person first of all told him to go to the Ritz, but stopped him at Turnham Green and was driven back to the gates of Kew Gardens where he paid the fare, remarking that it was a fine day for a walk. He was singing loudly in a deep tenor all the while, and seemed in excellent spirits.
A VERY HIGH NOTE
Mr Jumont, a gardener at Kew Gardens, said that he was manuring the rhododendrons when he heard the ‘King’ go past on a very high note.
The Coroner: ‘Did you see him?’
Mr Jumont: ‘No, sir. But there was no mistaking that old party when he was singing soprano. Besides, this was his favourite song, “When I am dead, my dearest”.’ (Music by the Marchioness of Waterford.)
At these words there was a sensation, and hardly a dry eye in court. Some fashionably dressed ladies were sobbing so loudly that the Coroner threatened to have them evicted unless they could control themselves.
Continuing his evidence, Mr Jumont said that Sir Ivor seemed to be walking in the direction of the Pagoda, the time being about 3 p.m.
A WONDERFUL THATCH
Mr Bott, another employee at Kew Gardens, told how he had found the body. Just before closing time he noticed some blood stains and one or two blond curls at the foot of the Pagoda, then saw that the Pagoda door, which is always kept locked, stood ajar. He went in, and a trail of blood on the stairs led him to the very top where the sight which met his eyes was so terrible that he nearly swooned. ‘More like a butcher’s shop it was, and it gave me a nasty turn.’
Coroner: ‘Did it seem to you at the time that this might be the body of Sir Ivor King?’
Mr Bott: ‘No, sir. For one thing the old gentleman (who, of course, I knew very well by sight) always seemed to have a wonderful thatch, as you might say, for his age, but the only thing I could clearly
