Smallbone Deceased

It was late when he got back to London, but he found Inspector Hazlerigg at his desk. When Plumptree had finished his account the inspector took out a sheet of paper headed “Ideas”. It contained a list of numbered items. The inspector crossed one of them out.

‌Chapter Eight —Monday— Discovery of a Document

Women never reason, and therefore they are (comparatively) seldom wrong. They judge instinctively of what falls under their immediate observation or experience, and do not trouble themselves about remote or doubtful consequences. If they make no profound discoveries, they do not involve themselves in gross absurdities.

Hazlitt: Characteristics

I

Mr. Birley started the day in a bad temper.

He was never at his best on Monday mornings. He regarded the presence of the police in the office as a personal affront; and his outlook had not been improved by a masochistic weekend among the newspapers.

Accounts of the Lincoln’s Inn murder were, in fact, less numerous and circumstantial than they might have been; this was partly due to shortage of space and partly to the climax of the Association Football season.

However, one paper had rubbed salt into his wounds by speaking of “the firm of Horniman, Barley and Craine”, and the Sunday Scribe, which ought to have known better, had referred to them as “the well-known firm of divorce lawyers”. (It was true that Horniman’s had recently abandoned their pre-war niceness in this matter—as had most of their professional brethren—and the firm now clutched out occasionally at the lucrative hem of the goddess of matrimonial discord; but well-known divorce lawyers! Good God, people would be coupling their names with —— and —— next.)

And then, no sooner had he reached the office, than Inspector Hazlerigg had come asking for him, with impertinent questions about a Mrs. Groot, and a Miss Holding, and a Miss Someone-or-other else. Questions, too, which Mr. Birley found himself annoyingly unable to answer.

“Now look here, Inspector,” he said, in his most intimidating voice, “I can understand that you have to ask questions about this—er—death, and about Smallbone, and his affairs and so on. But questions about the private workings of my firm, I cannot and will not tolerate. If you persist in wasting my time and my staff’s time in investigating matters which have no possible connection with this—er—death, then I shall have no alternative but to speak to the Commissioner—close personal friend of mine.”

“I am here,” said Inspector Hazlerigg without heat and without rancour, “to investigate a murder. I shall question whom I like when I like and about what I like. If you inconvenience me in any way I shall apply for an order to close this building, and no business will be able to be transacted until I have finished my investigation. And if you would like a word with the Commissioner, ring Whitehall 1212 and ask for extension nine. I will see that you get put through.”

“Oh, well—ah—hum—really,” said Mr. Birley. “I don’t want to be obstructive.”

When Hazlerigg had gone he sent for Bob.

“Who are these Groots and Holdings?”

“I’ve just been asking Miss Cornel,” said Bob. “It’s quite all right. They’re beneficiaries under Colonel Lincoln’s discretionary will trusts. You know he left Dad about five thousand to use the income as he thought fit—”

“Whether or not it is quite all right,” said Mr. Birley heavily, “I cannot say, since I have never been favoured with a sight of the will in question…”

“I’ll get Miss Cornel to look you out a copy.”

“If you please. I was about to add that as head of the firm I might perhaps expect to have been informed—”

“Well, I—”

“Your father saw fit to make you his sole beneficiary. That, of course, was entirely his affair. He also handed over to you, as he had power to do under our Articles of Partnership, his full share in this firm. In my opinion, and if you will excuse my saying so, that was a mistake. But it does not alter the fact that I have certain rights as the senior partner.”

“Of course,” said Bob.

“And another thing. I notice you lean a great deal on Miss Cornel. She is an admirable person in her way, but when all is said and done, she is only an employee—”

“Miss Cornel,” said Bob, flushing a little, “was very attached to my father. She is also extremely useful to me. Neither fact seems to constitute any very good reason for wanting to get rid of her.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that we got rid of her,” said Mr. Birley coldly. “But it is not a good thing for anyone to get too fixed in their routine. Supposing we made a change. Miss Cornel might work for Mr. Craine and you could have Miss Mildmay.”

The blood rushed to Bob’s face, and departed again as suddenly, leaving him white.

Fortunately Mr. Birley, who was in the full tide of oratory, noticed nothing.

“You know what we used to say in the army,” he went on. “It’s a bad officer who allows himself to be run by his N.C.O.s.”