Unnatural Death

with people in. The idea was, I suppose, to build up a double identity, so that, if Mary Whittaker was ever suspected of anything, she could quietly disappear and become the frail but otherwise innocent Mrs. Forrest. The real slip-up was forgetting to take back that £5 note from Bertha Gotobed. If it hadn’t been for that, we might never have known anything about Mrs. Forrest. It must have rattled her horribly when we turned up there. After that, she was known to the police in both her characters. The Findlater business was a desperate attempt to cover up her tracks⁠—and it was bound to fail, because it was so complicated.”

“Yes. But the Dawson murder was beautiful in its ease and simplicity.”

“If she had stuck to that and left well alone, we could never have proved anything. We can’t prove it now, which is why I left it off the charge-sheet. I don’t think I’ve ever met a more greedy and heartless murderer. She probably really thought that anyone who inconvenienced her had no right to exist.”

“Greedy and malicious. Fancy tryin’ to shove the blame on poor old Hallelujah. I suppose he’d committed the unforgivable sin of askin’ her for money.”

“Well, he’ll get it, that’s one good thing. The pit digged for Cousin Hallelujah has turned into a goldmine. That £10,000 cheque has been honoured. I saw to that first thing, before Whittaker could remember to try and stop it. Probably she couldn’t have stopped it anyway, as it was duly presented last Saturday.”

“Is the money legally hers?”

“Of course it is. We know it was gained by a crime, but we haven’t charged her with the crime, so that legally no such crime was committed. I’ve not said anything to Cousin Hallelujah, of course, or he mightn’t like to take it. He thinks it was sent him in a burst of contrition, poor old dear.”

“So Cousin Hallelujah and all the little Hallelujahs will be rich. That’s splendid. How about the rest of the money? Will the Crown get it after all?”

“No. Unless she wills it to someone, it will go to the Whittaker next-of-kin⁠—a first cousin, I believe, called Allcock. A very decent fellow, living in Birmingham. That is,” he added, assailed by sudden doubt, “if first cousins do inherit under this confounded Act.”

“Oh, I think first cousins are safe,” said Wimsey, “though nothing seems safe nowadays. Still, dash it all, some relations must still be allowed a look-in, or what becomes of the sanctity of family life? If so, that’s the most cheering thing about the beastly business. Do you know, when I rang up that man Carr and told him all about it, he wasn’t a bit interested or grateful. Said he’d always suspected something like that, and he hoped we weren’t going to rake it all up again, because he’d come into that money he told us about and was setting up for himself in Harley Street, so he didn’t want any more scandals.”

“I never did like that man. I’m sorry for Nurse Philliter.”

“You needn’t be. I put my foot in it again over that. Carr’s too grand to marry a nurse now⁠—at least, I fancy that’s what it is. Anyway, the engagement’s off. And I was so pleased at the idea of playing Providence to two deserving young people,” added Wimsey, pathetically.

“Dear, dear! Well, the girl’s well out of it. Hullo! there’s the phone. Who on earth⁠—? Some damned thing at the Yard, I suppose. At three ack emma! Who’d be a policeman?⁠—Yes?⁠—Oh!⁠—right, I’ll come round. The case has gone west, Peter.”

“How?”

“Suicide. Strangled herself with a sheet. I’d better go round, I suppose.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“An evil woman, if ever there was one,” said Parker, softly, as they looked at the rigid body, with its swollen face and the deep, red ring about the throat.

Wimsey said nothing. He felt cold and sick. While Parker and the Governor of the prison made the necessary arrangements and discussed the case, he sat hunched unhappily upon his chair. Their voices went on and on interminably. Six o’clock had struck some time before they rose to go. It reminded him of the eight strokes of the clock which announce the running-up of the black and hideous flag.

As the gate clanged open to let them out, they stepped into a wan and awful darkness. The June day had risen long ago, but only a pale and yellowish gleam lit the half-deserted streets. And it was bitterly cold and raining.

“What is the matter with the day?” said Wimsey. “Is the world coming to an end?”

“No,” said Parker, “it is the eclipse.”

Genealogical Table

List of Illustrations

1. A sketch of the layout of Agatha Dawson’s bedroom showing the position of a mirror through which the maids could see her sign documents.

2. A genealogical table showing the descent of Mary Whittaker, Agatha Dawson and Hallelujah Dawson.

Colophon

Unnatural Death
was published in 1927 by
Dorothy L. Sayers.

This ebook was transcribed and produced for
Standard Ebooks
by
David Grigg,
and is based on digital scans from the
Internet Archive.

The cover page is adapted from
Shadows,
a painting completed in 1922 by
Fred Leist.
The cover and title pages feature the
League Spartan and Sorts Mill Goudy
typefaces created in 2014 and 2009 by
The League of Moveable Type.

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