The Mind Readers by Margery Allingham

sir,’ he said, his voice smooth, his accent cosily off-white and his manner familiar. ‘She rode in the back until she was sure Mr Ferris was all right and then she changed over and came in front.’
    â€˜When was this?’
    â€˜On the by-pass. She tapped on the side and I stopped and took her in with me.’
    â€˜I didn’t see her when I looked back.’
    â€˜It was dark and you were moving. You wouldn’t.’
    â€˜But I didn’t see her when I stopped to telephone. You were less than a dozen yards behind me in a lighted street. . . .’
    â€˜I think she bobbed down, sir.’
    It was one of those ridiculous conversations which only take place when both parties are thoroughly rattled. The rest of the gathering got the back of the van open and left them to it.
    Martin lay on a heap of cushions; he was snoring and the air in the van was thick with a curious pungent smell.
    Luke glanced sharply at Campion and they were lifting the young man out when Mayo came pushing through the group.
    â€˜Just a minute, sir,’ The Superintendent appeared to flick him aside without using his arms. ‘We’ll just get him into the air. You get the van closed. I’ll take him in.’ He lifted Martin bodily over his shoulder and carried him off, Helena at his heels. Mr Campion passed Mayo and his wife over to the Canon and Amanda, and concentrated on the driver whom he led into the house.
    Luke had made for the spare bedroom which, with the Canon’s own room, was situated at the back of the house a few steps down from the hall, and the Canon and Amanda were shepherding the angry Mayo and his disconcertingly triumphant wife into the parlour.
    Mr Campion took Fred Arnold into the study. Luke’s sharp enquiring glance when they had first got the van open had not been lost upon him. The symptoms of coal gas poisoning, which are dramatic, were well known to them both and there had been no sign of them on Martin’s somewhat pallid face. On the other hand the smell of chloral hydrate, that oldest and most reliable of all the hypnotics, is unmistakable and its pungent reek had rushed towards them as the doors had swung open. Martin had not been in any very great trouble Campion could see and so, knowing the Superintendent, he thought it best to leave the patient to the expert and concentrate on finding a witness.
    At first sight the man before him seemed to be an almost perfect example of that most distinctive product of the age, the communal manservant. It is a peculiar type, not particularly happy, as if the hero’s friend and knave of classic story had been translated by a multiplicity of masters into the loneliest of dogs, unattached and in business on his own.
    He sat on the edge of the visitor’s chair looking wary but self possessed and he was wax faced with a shiny skin, a very wide mouth and small bald-looking eyes. His coat collar still stood up round his cropped head and he sat with his fresh pink hands folded and talked with the ease of the expert who is always being asked for advice or information.
    â€˜Oh yes, sir. Tonight Mr Ferris behaved just as he always did,’ he said firmly. ‘For a young man he’s got almost unnaturally regular habits. He came in the bar at six and had a drink with Mr Mayo—as he seems to be expected to do—and then he went back to his place to have a wash and a change and a read as usual until seven-thirty, when he always comes up to the canteen for a meal.’
    â€˜Does he always eat at the canteen?’
    â€˜Always when the boy’s at school, unless they’re entertaining. There’s a little of that among the ladies on the island. They try to pretend they’re having a life. Mrs Helena had come to London today, though. I knew that.’
    â€˜But tonight Mr Ferris didn’t come back?’
    â€˜That’s right. Mr Mayo came in first and told me he was expecting him but that he