Free Death of a Ghost by Margery Allingham Page A

the heart completely. The scissors were broad enough and thick enough to destroy the organ at once. I don’t see how anyone could have done it intentionally. I mean, I don’t see how anyone could have been sure that it would come off just like that. Both doctors admitted they wouldn’t have been anywhere near certain of bringing it off themselves. I suppose artists know a good deal about anatomy, but even so she had diabolical luck.’
    â€˜Are you sure a woman could have done it?’ ventured the younger man.
    â€˜Well’ – the Inspector spread out his hands – ‘my mother couldn’t have done it, and I don’t suppose yours could. But these modern kids are as muscular as boys. The blow was a hefty one – I admit that – but it wasn’t in the kick of a horse class. And you know, Campion’ – he lowered his voice – ‘there’s insanity in the family, isn’t there?’
    â€˜Insanity? Certainly not. I’ve never heard of any. You’re on the wrong tack here completely, Stanislaus.’
    The Inspector considered a moment before continuing. He sat down at the table and rubbed his moustache the wrong way, an irritating habit he possessed.
    â€˜That woman who lives in the house, is she an aunt or something?’ He consulted his notes. ‘Here you are: Harriet Pickering
alias
Donna Beatrice. I realized she was going to keep me up half the night if I was going to get even the more ordinary facts from her, so I left it till later. Well, she’s a perfectly ordinary hysterical type, there’s no doubt about that. Very near the edge of mania, too, I should say. You must know the woman I mean – wears an acoustic device,’ he went on testily, catching sight of Campion’s blank face. ‘I couldn’t manage her, so I turned her over to the doctors. She told me a cock-and-bull story about seeing lights round my head. Seeing lights round the victim’s head. Something to do with indigo and the viler emotions. She seemed to be in fancy dress too. She may not be certifiable, but – well, she’s not quite
compos mentis
, poor soul. That was one of the things I wanted to ask you. Who is she? And what is she doing here?’
    Mr Campion did his best to give the Inspector a brief outline of Donna Beatrice’s career as he knew it, during which Oates’s eyes widened and his moustache seemed to be in danger of being rubbed off altogether.
    â€˜Really!’ he said at last. ‘Lafcadio’s inspiration? I didn’t know he was that sort of man at all.’
    â€˜He wasn’t,’ said Mr Campion. ‘I doubt if he ever treated the lady with anything but the utmost propriety.’
    â€˜Oh, well, then, there’s your insanity,’ said the Inspector easily. ‘The whole household is definitely queer. There’s that cook who used to be a model, and those funny people who live in a shed in the garden. Bohemia’s one thing, but this has a respectable veneer. I think you’ll find that there’s insanity somewhere. All round, if you ask me.’
    â€˜What about Mrs Lafcadio?’ Campion ventured.
    The Inspector smiled. ‘I wasn’t counting her,’ he said. ‘There’s something very attractive about the real McKie when you meet it. I told her she ought to go and lie down. It’s been a shock, I’m afraid. I want you to go and prepare her for something worse soon. I think we shall have to detain the girl.’
    â€˜You’ll be making a very silly mistake if you do, on a par with the time when you nearly arrested Uncle William in Cambridge.’
    The Inspector was silent for a little while.
    â€˜If you want to get rid of that moustache, why don’t you shave it?’ said Campion.
    The Inspector laughed and dropped his hand.
    â€˜Oh, well,’ he said, ‘it all falls back on routine in the end. That man Rennie seems an intelligent