Free Riotous Assembly by Tom Sharpe

up.
    Miss Hazelstone moved pensively and with an air of gentle melancholy to her

    wing-backed armchair and seating herself in it turned her face with a look of the

    profoundest reverence towards a painting that hung above the fireplace.
    “He was a good man,” she said at last in a low voice.
    Kommandant van Heerden followed her gaze and studied the painting. It portrayed a man

    in long robes and carrying a lantern in his hand at the door of a house, and the Kommandant

    supposed it to be yet another portrait of Sir Theophilus, painted this time, to judge by

    the robe he was wearing, while the great man had been serving in India. It was entitled,

    “The Light of the World”, which even the Kommandant for all his admiration of the Viceroy,

    thought was going a bit far. Still he felt called upon to say something.
    “I’m sure he was,” he said sympathetically, “and a very great man too.”
    Miss Hazelstone looked at the Kommandant gratefully and with new respect.
    “I had no idea,” she murmured.
    “Oh, I practically worship the man,” the Kommandant continued, adding as an

    afterthought, “He knew how to handle the Zulus all right,” and was surprised when Miss

    Hazelstone began to sob into her handkerchief. Taking her tears to be a further

    indication of her devotion to her grandfather, van Heerden ploughed on.
    “I only wish there were more of his sort about today,” he said, and was gratified to

    notice Miss Hazelstone once more gazing at him gratefully over her handkerchief. “There

    wouldn’t be half the trouble there is in the world today if he were back.” He was about to

    say, “He’d hang them by the dozen,” but he realized that hanging wasn’t a tactful subject

    to bring up considering the likely fate of Miss Hazelstone’s own brother, so he

    contented himself by adding, “He’d soon teach them a thing or two.”
    Miss Hazelstone agreed. “He would, oh, he would. I’m so glad, Kommandant, that you of all

    people see things his way.”
    Kommandant van Heerden couldn’t quite see the need for her emphasis. It seemed only

    natural that a police officer would want to follow Sir Theophilus’ methods of dealing

    with criminals. After all, Judge Hazelstone hadn’t sucked his known preference for

    hanging and flogging out of his thumb. Everyone knew that old Sir Theophilus had made it

    his duty to see that young William early developed a taste for corporal punishment by

    inflicting it on the boy from the day he was born. The thought of duty recalled the

    Kommandant to his own distasteful task, and he realized that this was as good a moment

    as any to break it to her that he knew that Fivepence had been murdered not by her, but by her

    brother Jonathan. He rose from his chair and relapsed into the formal jargon of his

    office.
    “I have reason to believe…” he began, but Miss Hazelstone wouldn’t let him continue.

    She rose from her chair and gazed up at him enraptured, a reaction van Heerden had hardly

    expected and certainly couldn’t admire. After all, the fellow was her own brother, and

    only an hour before she had been willing to confess to the murder herself just to shield

    him.
    He began again, “I have reason to believe-”
    “Oh, so have I. So have I. Haven’t we all?” and this time Miss Hazelstone gathered the

    Kommandant’s large hands into her own tiny ones and gazed into his eyes. “I knew it

    Kommandant, I knew it all the time.”
    Kommandant van Heerden needed no telling. Of course she had known about it all the time,

    otherwise she wouldn’t have been covering up for the brute. To hell, he thought, with

    formalities. “I suppose he’s still upstairs in the bedroom,” he said.
    The expression on Miss Hazelstone’s face suggested a certain wonder which the

    Kommandant assumed must be due to her sudden recognition of his talents as a

    detective.
    “Upstairs?” she gasped.
    “Yes. In the bedroom with the pink floral