Smallbone Deceased

“I would,” said John, “but—please don’t tell anyone, it’s not a thing I want generally known—I’m married already.”

“Who to?” said Miss Bellbas.

“A female taxing master in Chancery,” said John. “Show the gentleman in, there’s a dear. You mustn’t keep the aristocracy waiting.”

“He said his name was Mr. Brown.”

“That’s just his incognito,” explained John. “It’s the Earl of Bishopsgate.”

The gentleman whom Miss Bellbas brought in certainly didn’t look like an earl. His salient features were, as she had said, smallness and greyness. He looked not unlike a little beaver. John addressed him as Brown and gave him a number of instructions which were accepted with servility. At the end of the interview a couple of pound notes were pushed across the table and the stranger departed, almost colliding, on his way out, with Mr. Bohun.

Henry, however, was too occupied with his own troubles to ask any questions.

“What unsatisfactory witnesses girls are,” he said. “I’ve spent about half an hour with them and I’m still not absolutely certain who came in on what day.”

“If it’s your precious list you’re worrying about,” said John, “you needn’t. It’s all right. I’ve asked Sergeant Cockerill.”

“Good,” said Henry absently. He was still thinking about that curious little incident in the secretaries’ room.

“Do you know Anne Mildmay well?” he asked abruptly.

“No,” said John. “But it’s not for want of trying. I rather went for her at one time, you know.”

He sounded serious. Henry looked at him for a moment and then said: “Yes, a very nice girl.”

“There’s a certain lack of conviction in your tone,” said John. “But don’t apologise. Anne is that type. Either she gets you completely, or she leaves you cold. Cove on Love.

“Anyway,” he went on, “I left her cold. She didn’t allow me any doubts about that. If she didn’t actually throw a lump of mud in my eye, that’s only because it wasn’t a muddy day. I then behaved in the most traditional manner, and went out and got roaring tight, and finished up in the fountain in Trafalgar Square and spent the night at Bow Street. Since then we’ve been fairly good friends.”

“I see,” said Henry. He hadn’t invited the confidence, and he felt no scruple in docketing it for future reference. There was a point of chronology which it might be useful to confirm.

Later that morning the opportunity presented itself. John had gone out to examine deeds and Bob Horniman, dropping in to borrow a volume of Prideaux, stopped to chat.

“You were in School House, too, weren’t you?” he said.

“Years ago,” said Bohun. “I’d be lying if I said I remembered you.”

“Well, that’s a good thing, anyway,” said Bob. “I remember you very well. You were aloof, thin, scholarly and mysterious.”

“Good God!” said Bohun. “I expect I was covered with spots as well, but you’re too kind to say so.”

“How are you finding it here?”

“Splendid, thank you,” said Bohun. “Never a dull moment, really.”

“We can’t guarantee a corpse a week. How’s the work? I expect it’s all quite easy. With your Final only just over you’ve probably got everything in your head.”

There was a note of envy in his voice, and Bohun guessed that the responsibilities of partnership might be sitting shakily on an almost complete lack of technical knowledge.

“Here a bit and there a bit,” said Bohun. “I’d hate to have to go through with my articles again. That really was uncomfortably like hard work. John Cove seems to bear up all right, though.”

“John’s a good chap,” said Bob. “And not nearly such a fool as he makes out. If only he found things a bit more difficult he might have to work a bit harder—which wouldn’t do him any harm. It’s that fatal charm of his—”

“A charm,” said Bohun, “which Miss Mildmay appears to have been the only person in the office capable of resisting.”

He perpetrated this thundering indiscretion deliberately, turning his back on Bob as he did so. The glass front of the bookcase made a convenient reflector.

The shot went home with surprising effect. On Bob’s face, in the fleeting, reflected glimpse which he allowed himself, Bohun saw a look which he had no difficulty in recognising. Half of it was made up of possession and the other half of apprehension.

A small section of the puzzle fell neatly into its place.

“Why do you say that?” Bob made a perfunctory effort to sound casual.

“Really,” said Bohun. “I’m afraid that was very indiscreet of me. I imagined that it was public knowledge—from the way he discussed it with me.”

“John and Anne—Miss Mildmay.”

“Yes. Apparently she turned him down. It was unforgivable of me. If I hadn’t thought that you knew, I should never have mentioned it.”

“No, I didn’t know.”

“You’ll oblige me very much, then,” said Bohun, “by forgetting all about it.”

“Of course,” said Bob. “Naturally.”

“Liar,” said Henry. But this was to himself, after Bob had left the room.

IV

Mr. Birley, having disposed of Miss Chittering, looked round for fresh conquests. After a moment’s thought he rang the bell and summoned Mr. Prince to his presence.