Coroner's Pidgin by Margery Allingham

a shoe.
    â€œThe handles have been filed off on the inside of the doors,” remarked the Superintendent. “It makes you think, doesn’t it?”

CHAPTER NINE
    THE YARD WAS as gloomy and dirty as only a London crevice can be. It was both cold and unsavoury, homely and uninviting. As Mr. Campion climbed out of the taxi-cab after making an exhaustive examination, there was a hint of rain falling. Yeo’s red face glistened above his magnificent overcoat.
    â€œWhat hope?” he enquired.
    â€œOf identifying it? Not a glimmer. Not in the witness box. I had my little dust-up in the dark, you see. Besides, this damned thing looks like every cab there ever was; it’s been cleaned, too, so there’s not a hope of real proof. The suspicion is tremendous, of course.”
    Yeo sighed. “Suspicion doesn’t count,” he said. “Pity you can’t remember something definite. Still, I don’t blame you, you can’t be too careful. I don’t see where it fits in either; you said there was a connection between the two crimes and I admit it begins to look like it, but I don’t see that helps us, it just makes it more difficult to my mind.”
    Mr. Campion turned up his coat collar. “What’s their story?” he enquired.
    â€œThe restaurant’s? Oh, they say they’re minding the cab for a lad on active service. We can check that, but it’s probably true.”
    The Superintendent began to move back to the house as he spoke. “They say it hasn’t been out for a year,” he went on, “and it’s not licensed. So if it was on the road yesterday, the driver was taking a big risk.”
    â€œThat’s rather the kind of driver we’re looking for,” observed Mr. Campion as he followed him towards the house.
    â€œExactly,” said Yeo irritably. “And so what? I tell you, Campion, I’ve had this case exactly twelve hours, and I’m tired of it; I’ve held this kind of baby before. It’s going to be unlucky for policemen, I can smell it.”
    Recollecting the Admiral, Mr. Campion thought there well might be something in the prophecy, but tactfully forbore to say so, and the Superintendent went on. “Now we’ll see Stavros,” he said. “He’ll have to identify the deceased formally this afternoon. We didn’t realize there was a husband about at first, so we got her char to come along to the mortuary. That won’t do, though, we must get the whole thing in order. There’s a great deal to do and no daylight anywhere. Holly’s with him now; a good officer, Holly, but hard, very hard, not like a London policeman, really.”
    All the time he was talking he was edging his companion towards the side door, and Campion, becoming aware of the manœuvre, stopped abruptly.
    â€œDo you need me?” he said.
    â€œYes, my lad, I do.” Yeo took his arm. “You weren’t surprised when I told you the dead woman was Stavros’s wife. Why was that?”
    Mr. Campion’s pale eyes widened. “I hope you realize that I was safely on the high seas,” he began.
    â€œYes, I do. And don’t keep talking about it or I shall feel I’ve got to verify it. No, you’re not a suspect, but you’re friendly with people who may be. Also, you’re missing yourfirst home leave for three or four years, and once you’ve made certain your shady old chum, Lugg, is safely above ground, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if you happened to forget any details which might keep you in London as a witness. That’s how we stand, Campion. Have I made myself clear?”
    â€œHorribly,” said his companion. “It may surprise you to learn, Yeo, that you remind me vividly of my dear mother. She used to see things with the same clarity, and say them too, which is more serious.”
    The Superintendent grunted. “I don’t feel like anybody’s