Smallbone Deceased

“No,” said Bohun. “I don’t think he was quite that. She was too level-headed to have terrestrial gods. It was just that she saw all the better side of him. Do you remember that money she used to distribute to those poor old ladies, as almoner for Abel. When you come to reckon it up, that was a most revealing indication of their relationship. The money was entirely in his discretion. He might so easily and safely have stolen that. But he didn’t. He was prepared to swindle a large corporation to the tune of ten thousand pounds but he wouldn’t dip his hand into their shillings and pence. And Miss Cornel knew it. She carried his purse for him. She’d been his right hand and his left hand for nearly twenty years.”

“Of course, he was a widower,” said Mr. Craine thoughtfully. “You don’t think—”

“No,” said Bohun firmly. “I don’t. I think it was one of those relationships which just happens. I don’t suppose either side fully understood it.”

Back in his own room he found Mrs. Porter with the afternoon post. He turned his thoughts resolutely towards the future.

“To the Whizzo Laundry—two z’s, Mrs. Porter—West Street, Wirral. Sir, Our client, Lady Buntingford, instructs us most emphatically that she dispatched three undervests—”