The Black Seraphim by Michael Gilbert Page B

it tomorrow. Heavy type and biblical quotations. The obvious thing would be to come out on the other side, but Fisher says: ‘No. Don’t chase other people’s hares for them. Start one of your own.’ What we’re going to do is exhume an old one.”
    “Your metaphors are getting a bit mixed. If it’s a dead hare, you can’t chase it.”
    “Certainly we can. This is a drag hunt. We draw a piece of stinking meat across the track and the hounds all set off on a different trail.”
    “All right. Where do I come into it?”
    “It struck me you were just the chap to help. You know the people and you’ve got lots of time.”
    “Don’t break it to me gently.”
    “I want you to find out exactly what Gloag and his pals paid Mrs Henn-Christie for her property and what they paid Mrs Piper to get out.”
    “From which I gather that you’re reviving the supermarket affair.”
    “Right.”
    “And Mrs Piper, I seem to recall, is the old lady who had the only remaining shop. Where do I find her?”
    “She used the compensation money to open another little shop. On the other side of the road outside Bishop’s Gate. Then you will help? That’s very sporting of you.”
    “I’ll think about it,” said James.
    Bill evidently took this as signifying assent. He said, “That’s splendid. I’ve got to dash.” He sprinted off down the path and James heard his motorcycle roaring into life. He then began to wonder just what he had undertaken and how he could set about it. He needed a plausible excuse for calling, and a reason for discussing their private financial affairs with one old lady he hardly knew and another he did not know at all.
    He tried out some possible openings.
    “I must apologise for presuming on such a slight acquaintance—” or perhaps, “Money, I know, is an embarrassing topic—”
    He was still thinking about this when there was a knock on the door. When he opened it, he found Mrs Henn-Christie standing there. She said, “I do hope you’ll excuse me for presuming on having met you socially, Dr Scotland, but I’m worried and I think you may be able to help me.”
    “Come in.”
    “Thank you. You’re sure I’m not interrupting something?”
    “Not a bit. Won’t you sit down?”
    “I’d have gone to Dr McHarg, but I’m certain he’d have been off-putting. He’s so—what should I say?—abrupt.”
    “He has got a certain Scottish brusqueness. But I’m sure he’d listen sympathetically to anything you told him. After all, he is your doctor and there’s some ethical difficulty—”
    Mrs Henn-Christie was not to be diverted. She said, “This isn’t a medical problem. And it isn’t my problem. It’s Canon Maude. He thinks he’s going mad.”
    James was lacking in experience, but he had been a doctor long enough not to say anything silly. He said, “Are you sure?”
    “Not sure that he is, no. But sure that he thinks he is. He told me so.”
    “I should say that’s an encouraging sign.”
    “Oh, why?”
    “There are two things to remember about people who really are insane. The first is that they have no idea about it themselves. In the ordinary way when someone says, ‘I think I’m going mad,’ he means that he finds himself forgetting things he ought to remember or behaving illogically. If he really was mad, he wouldn’t have noticed anything wrong.”
    “I suppose not,” said Mrs Henn-Christie doubtfully. “What’s the other thing?”
    “That’s even simpler. A madman is no longer capable of doing his job properly. You’ve seen Canon Maude in Cathedral. Does he still seem to be functioning all right?”
    “Yes. I suppose he is. He took Evensong yesterday and he did it all right. We never get a large congregation at weekday services, so we all sit up in the Choir and I should certainly have noticed if there’d been anything wrong. In fact, I remember thinking that he read the lesson rather better than usual. It was the one about Elijah slaying four hundred and