More Work for the Undertaker by Margery Allingham Page B

‘No tea where I’ve been all night. “You’d think there’d be something in all these urns,” I said to the Super, but he didn’t catch on. Well, we got the old blighter up and into Sir Doberman’s galley-pots.’
    He carried Mr Campion’s early morning tea to his bedside and comfortably settled himself on the throne-shaped chair.
    â€˜Officially I’m interviewing Renee’s lawyer nephew,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose that tale’s going to wear but I suppose we may as well stick to it as long as we can.’
    He filled the big chair and suited it. His muscles looked like stone under his coat and his diamond-shaped eyes were as bright as if he had spent the night asleep and not waiting in a cemetery.
    â€˜Miss Jessica’s spotted me as a sleuth,’ observed Mr Campion. ‘She saw us all in the park.’
    â€˜Did she?’ Luke was not surprised. ‘Oh, they’re not barmy, any of them. I told you that. I made that mistake in the first place. They’re not, are they?’
    The thin man in the bed shook his head and his eyes were thoughtful.
    â€˜No.’
    Luke took a draught of cool tea.
    â€˜Renee has a crazy tale about Pa Bowels last night,’ he began. ‘Some story about him making a coffin on appro for Edward. “That be damned for a tale,” I said.’
    Campion nodded. ‘Yes, I noticed a delicate odour of fish. I don’t see the mechanism, though, do you? Lugg is staying over there, by the way. This should be a job for him. Not very ethical, perhaps, but they’re old enemies. What’s he passing? Tobacco? Or furs, perhaps?’
    The D.D.I.’s face grew dark with anger.
    â€˜Old perisher!’ he said. ‘I hate a surprise like that right on my own manor. That won’t do. Smuggling in coffins, the oldest blessed trick in the world. I’ll give him Bowels. I thought I knew this street like the back of my own neck.’
    â€˜I may be wrong.’ Campion was careful to avoid a soothing note. ‘His passion would appear to be undertaking. His story may even be true. I shouldn’t be surprised.’
    Luke cocked an eye at him in approval. ‘That’s the difficulty with people like these old blighters round here. The silliest blessed story may be true. I don’t say that Jas isn’t a goodtradesman but I don’t know that I’d fall for the great artist stuff.’
    â€˜What will you do? Go over the place with a toothcomb?’
    â€˜Oh yes, now we know we’ve got him for whatever it is. Unless you’d like him left until this other business is over, sir? A thing like that will keep, of course. We may as well get him with a packet of the stuff and let him have a real holiday.’
    Mr Campion considered Mr Bowels. ‘He’ll expect you,’ he said. ‘My publicity agent would never forgive me, either, if I didn’t show ordinary intelligence.’
    â€˜Lugg? I’ve heard of him but we’ve never met. They tell me he’s been inside, sir?’
    â€˜Ah, that was before he lost his figure. He did one inartistic little cat-burglary. No, I fancy you’ll have to go over the Bowels emporium if only as a matter of form. If you find anything, he’s a negligible rogue after all this notice.’
    â€˜And if we don’t he’ll lie low until he thinks he’s safe, and then we’ll pull him in.’ The D.D.I. took a handful of wastepaper from an inside pocket and picked it over carefully. Once again Campion was impressed by the graphic quality of his every movement. The scribbles became almost loudspeaker announcements as he glanced at them; this was unfortunate, that was unimportant, the other could wait, and so on, all done by fleeting lights and shadows passing over the vivid bony face.
    â€˜Hyoscine hydrobromide,’ he announced suddenly. ‘Now then, sir, what are the chances of Pa Wilde and