The Fashion In Shrouds (17 page)

‘He
was
'ere.' The man looked over his shoulder as if he expected to find the lost sheep behind him. ‘'E come in about 'alf an hour ago, just before the gentleman from the Government who wanted everything altered. No, I ain't seen 'im since.'

‘Albert.' Amanda came round from behind the plane, which had been wheeled out into the sunlight. She was dragging behind her a bespectacled young man in oily dungarees. ‘Jimmy says Ramillies
was
here,' she said. ‘He wanted to see the seating accommodation again, and they let him in the plane. Then Wivenhoe came along and took everyone's attention, and they think Ramillies went off then.'

Campion glanced at the gaudy little Seraphim spreading its golden wings to the evening.

‘Let's have a look,' he suggested.

‘He's not
in
there,' said Jimmy, revealing a stammer and a public-school accent. ‘Don't be absurd, old man. I've c-c-alled him.'

‘Let's have a look.'

They found Ramillies cramped in the back seat. His tweed ulster billowed round him, and beneath it, strapped to his body, were the dismantled parts of the Filmer 5A together with two hundred rounds of ammunition. He was quite dead.

MR CAMPION'S FIRST
thought as he looked down at the body was that if Ramillies merely intended to reawaken his wife's interest he had overdone the effort considerably. After that he had little time for reflection.

A dead man in a gilded aeroplane in the midst of a crowd, with a broadcast imminent, an African flight about to begin, and in authority a Cabinet minister who does not wish to be convinced that anything unpleasant has occurred, is a responsibility which absorbs all one's attention.

The magic words ‘taken ill' circulated through the inquisitive gathering inside the hangar and acted, as they always do, as a temporary sedative. No doctor appeared, but Georgia hurried forward, all grace and anxiety, and the photographers obtained their one useful picture of the afternoon when she stood looking up at Wivenhoe in the doorway of the plane.

It was Wivenhoe, supported by Dell and a white-faced Gaiogi, who made the situation clear to Campion.

‘My dear fellow, he can't die here,' he whispered urgently, indicating by a single expressive lift of his shoulder the fidgety crowd, the weaving pressmen, and the mechanics and groundsmen who were at bay round their precious plane. ‘He can't. The Old Man wouldn't stand for it for a
moment. Sir Ray must be taken up to the house and a doctor must see him there.' He leant forward, his big nose bringing his face much nearer the other man's own than he seemed to realize. ‘He's alive. The Old Man is convinced that he's alive. I'll bring Lady Ramillies along after you. I'll explain he's very ill, so she'll be prepared for anything.'

Mr Campion said no more. He was barely on speaking terms with himself, let alone anyone else. To spend an entire day watching a man to see that he does not make a nuisance of himself and, in the furtherance of one's object, to connive at the most obvious piece of smuggling one has ever seen, only to be so entirely frustrated at the eleventh hour, is an exasperating experience. His frame of mind did not encourage him to insist on the letter of police procedure. He hoped he knew a corpse when he saw one, but if the Government wished its servant, Sir Raymond Ramillies, to die in a bed, who was Albert Campion to protest? He was, also, very sorry for Ramillies.

Actually there seemed little reason why this particular body should not be moved. There were no signs of wounding, and the possibility that the man had been shot in that confined space, firstly without sound and secondly without any smell or cordite, seemed more than unlikely.

The lean head with the door-mat hair lolled forward on the chest, the weight of the skull dragging the tendons of the neck horribly. The skin was still clammy with sweat and the flesh was not quite cold. Campion was curious to see the eyes and as he lifted one flaccid lid he was surprised to find the pupil almost normal. There were one or two other curious circumstances and he made a note of them.

The arrival of the ambulance provided a few grim moments. All that had to be done was accomplished in whispers, since the broadcast, which waits for no man, had begun and Towser's resonant voice, a trifle shaken but otherwise normally monotonous, had embarked upon the prearranged speech.

Georgia climbed into the ambulance and was persuaded out of it by the resourceful Wivenhoe, while Mr Campion took her place on the spare leather bench. The stretcher was hoisted gently into position, the doors closed, and the wheels began to move. It was a very discreet departure.

Ramillies lay on his back beside the dark glass windows and Mr Campion and the attendant sat and looked at him.

A uniform can make a man the next best thing to invisible, and when someone sucked a tooth with a sound both human and ingratiating Mr Campion started and turned to see, for the first time, a small, sharp-featured, red face lit with the bright ghoul's eyes of the professional calamity fancier.

‘You're a relative, I expect,' observed a wistful voice.

‘No, no I'm not, I'm afraid.' Campion felt for a cigarette and changed his mind.

The attendant got up and stood looking down at Ramillies with fascination.

‘You're just a friend, are you?' he said regretfully. ‘Well, I daresay it'll be a bit of a shock for you. You've got to prepare yourself, you know. I thought that as soon as I set eyes on 'im. I've seen too many of 'em. You get used to 'em In our work. As soon as I see 'im I said to myself, “This is goin' to be a shock for someone.” I thought it might be you.'

He conveyed considerable reproach and unconsciously Mr Campion did his best for him, as was his nature.

‘I knew him quite well.'

‘“Knew”? So you know he's a gonner?' Reproach had become disappointment. ‘You're right. 'E is dead. I see it the moment I saw 'im. 'E's nearly cold. Still, you can't be too sure. When we git up to the 'ouse we'll do one or two of the tests, although I expect there'll be a doctor there by then.'

There was not so much relief as contempt in the last phrase.

‘Once a doctor gets 'old of a patient you're nowhere. They think they know everything. And yet a man like me, who's seen serious cases every day of 'is life, he knows quite as much as any doctor. Look at this chap 'ere, now. D'you know what I notice about 'im? I wouldn't say it if you were a relative, but as you're only a friend I shan't 'ave to be so tactful. (We're taught that, you know: be tactful with relatives. That's part of our training.) Looking at 'im I should say, “You've 'ad a seizure, my lad, a sort of fit, and, though I couldn't say for certain without openin' you up, in my opinion you've got a clot of blood over the 'eart or in the 'ead, and if it's not that then it's fatty degeneration. You've
had trouble with your arteries for a long time and you've bin livin' a bit too 'ard and now the excitement of getting ready for this 'ere trip's bin too much for you, and I'd give you my certificate . . . after I'd done the tests to see you
was
dead”.'

He paused and looked at Mr Campion brightly.

‘That's what I'd say and I'd be right', he said.

Mr Campion considered him with distaste, but there was something forgivable in those bright, excited eyes. The man was a ghoul, but a good-natured one, and the dreadful thought came to Campion that if Ramillies's truculent spirit should by chance be hanging about its late abode its reply to the address might be worth hearing. There is a lot of talk about the dignity of death, yet it is but a negative kind of dignity. Ramillies alive would have made short work of this impertinence.

Meanwhile the ambulance had bumped off the flying-field on to the lower road and had passed the main entrance gates of Caesar's Court.

‘We're goin' round to the cottage, you know,' said the ghoul. ‘That's standing orders. Nothing unpleasant near the main 'otel. It's very sensible reelly. As soon as you get a bit o' class there's no sympathy with illness. 'Ave you noticed that? In a different neighbour'ood a thing like this'd be an attraction, but not with the smart people you get 'ere. No, it's all 'ush-'ush 'ere. “Coo, 'e's ill! Shut 'im in a nursing 'ome and don't let me see 'im.” That's the cry every time. Did you know this gentleman very well, sir? Would you say 'e was an 'ard liver? I don't want to sound inquisitive. It's just a professional question. I like to know if my diagnosis is correct. 'E's bit 'is tongue. That's a seizure, isn't it?'

Mr Campion breathed deeply.

‘I really can't tell you,' he said. He was not naturally squeamish, but a ghoul is a ghoul and to suffer them gladly is not in everybody's capacity.

‘I'm sorry, I'm sure,' said the attendant stuffily and was silent for a while.

Presently, however, Mr Campion, who had forgotten him, turned to find him looking down at one of the rather fine brown hands which lay upon the cover. He had tied a small piece of string very tightly round the lower phalanx of the forefinger and was studying the effect.

‘That's the only test you can do in the ambulance,' he said. ‘You can't go mucking about with saucers of water on the chest in 'ere. There you are, you see; there's no pinky glow. 'E's dead. I knew 'e was dead as soon as I saw 'im. I expect 'e was all right this afternoon, was 'e? Must 'ave been a shock for you.'

‘Yes, he was all right this afternoon.' A certain lack of decision in Mr Campion's tone brought the bright eyes up again.

‘Then you did notice something? 'E was 'eavy, was 'e? Very likely. P'raps 'e was a bit appre'ensive? A lot of people are 'oo die sudden. It's a funny thing and the doctors say there's nothing in it, but I've noticed it time and again. Time and again I've 'ad a sobbing relative sittin' where you're sittin' now and they've told me the same thing. Just before a seizure, just before someone's took off sudden, they've bin overcast, as you might say. Felt there was somethin' 'angin' over them. Of course that's psychic; that's not medicine; and I don't suppose there's anything in it. But it does 'appen. Would you say it 'ad 'appened in this case? Would you say this gentleman 'ad any premonition? D'you think it went through 'is 'ead that 'e was goin' to die?'

‘No,' said Mr Campion soberly. ‘No. I don't think it occurred to him for a moment.'

The heavy tyres scrunched on gravel and the ghoul looked out of the window.

‘'Ere we are,' he said. ‘Well, there'll be a doctor 'ere, but 'e'll tell you the same as me and get paid more for it.'

It was during the next twenty minutes that Mr Campion received the key to the entire story. At the time he did not recognize it, but afterwards, when he looked back, he saw that it was then that the shadowy wards were formed and spread out for him to recognize.

Gaiogi was waiting on the cushion-strewn steps of his doll's-house when the ambulance arrived and only the presence of a calash, abandoned on the path, indicated that he had not flown there. Already evidences of his extraordinary organization were apparent. There was even a woman in nurse's uniform in the doorway behind him and a houseman, with blankets and hot-water bottles, appeared in
the hall as the two ambulance men carried the stretcher inside.

‘I'm afraid all that is useless,' murmured Campion, trying not to be nettled by the reproachful expression in his host's shiny brown eyes. ‘He was quite dead when I found him.'

Gaiogi took his arm.

‘Oh no, my dear fellow,' he said pleadingly. ‘Oh
no
. Be careful, be careful, you two men. Take the stairs carefully – carefully. No jolting, please.'

The nurse superintended the ascent and he watched her critically, still holding Campion's arm.

‘His doctor will be here in a moment,' he whispered. ‘Then we shall see. I've been talking to him on the phone. He's coming at once.'

‘From Town?'

‘No. Oh no. He was here this afternoon, playing tennis. He's Juxton-Coltness, of Upper Brook Street, a very distinguished fellow. Very good. Do you know him? He's just coming.'

Gaiogi made the announcement blandly and with the faintest suggestion of a smile behind his anxiety. He was like a man throwing off a small conjuring trick in the midst of some other major manœuvre.

‘Wasn't it fortunate that he should have been here?'

‘Miraculous,' said Mr Campion involuntarily. ‘One's every want anticipated. There'll be an inquest, of course.'

‘An inquest? An inquest at Caesar's Court?'

There is one expression that is the same upon every countenance. It is the slow, incredulous stare of disgust which is reserved for him who reveals the ultimate depths, the mortal insult, the utterly unforgivable error of taste or morals. Gaiogi wore it now, and Mr Campion was almost apologetic until he pulled himself together and grasped at his fleeting sense of proportion.

‘My dear chap, it's a sudden death,' he protested.

‘I doubt it,' said Gaiogi calmly. ‘You are a good chap, Campion, a sensible fellow, but you jump to conclusions. We do not know if this man is dead. Let us hope he is not. It is for his doctor to say.'

Mr Campion blinked and was prevented from implicating
himself still further by the arrival of a second calash bearing Georgia and Wivenhoe. Georgia came to Campion, her hands outstretched. She was pale but controlled, and there was something about her manner that made him think of suppressed excitement before he put the idea aside as unworthy.

‘My dear, how is he?' she said, her eyes meeting his frankly. ‘Don't be afraid to tell me. Is it terribly bad? I'm being as sensible as I possibly can and you can rely on me. This dear boy here has been preparing me for the worst and I'm not a child. I can stand it if you tell me. How is he?'