Free More Work for the Undertaker by Margery Allingham

He’s highly strung to begin with and a single drink puts him right on his dig.’ She paused and regarded her adopted nephew dubiously. ‘It was only because of the room,’ she said. ‘Old people are like children. They get jealous. I gave him a nice room when we came here and Ruth always wanted it. She said she’d had it as a child and when she found she couldn’t get any change out of me shehad a go at him. That’s all there was to it. Really, I’m not lying. It was too footling to mention.’
    She looked so guilty that he laughed at her.
    â€˜How long did the feud last?’
    â€˜Too long altogether,’ she admitted. ‘All the time we’ve been here. It blew up and then cooled down and then started again. You know how these things do. There was nothing in it and although he has said dreadful things about her he was the first to do what he could for her when he saw she was ill. He’s like that. A sweet old Flick when you know him. I’d go bail for him any day.’
    â€˜I’m sure you would,’ he agreed. ‘By the way, is that the awful secret you were going to uncover?’
    â€˜What! Me and the Captain?’ She threw back her head and her laugh was full and deep with amusement. ‘My dear,’ she said with cheerful vulgarity, ‘we’ve lived in the same house for nearly thirty years. You don’t want a detective to find out any secret there. You want a time-machine! No, I was going to tell you about the coffin cupboard.’
    The sleepy Campion was taken off his guard.
    â€˜I beg your pardon?’ he said.
    â€˜Of course it may not
be
coffins.’ Miss Roper tipped a teaspoonful of spirit into her glass, added a ladylike splash, and continued airily: ‘It may be anything in that line.’
    â€˜Bodies?’ he suggested helpfully.
    â€˜Oh no, ducky.’ Her tone was reproving but she was quite ten years younger after her laugh. ‘It may be simply wood or perhaps those nasty little trestles they use. I’ve never seen inside. Never had the chance. They always come at night, you see.’
    Campion roused himself. ‘Suppose you tell me what you’re talking about.’
    â€˜I’m trying to.’ She sounded plaintive. ‘I’ve let one of my cellars – the little ones leading off the area round by the front door and not actually in the house at all – to old Mr Bowels the undertaker. He asked me as a special favour and I didn’t like to refuse him as it’s always as well to keep in with people like that, isn’t it?’
    â€˜In case you want a quick box-up at any time? Well, you know best. Never mind, go on. When did all this happen?’
    â€˜Oh, years ago. Months, anyway. He’s very quiet. Never makes any trouble. But I thought you might find it locked and get it open and wonder if the things inside were mine, whatever they are. It might look funny, I mean.’ She was perfectly serious and her eyes, grey and round, met his own placidly. ‘I thought you might possibly hear him and his son down there tonight, as a matter of fact,’ she said.
    â€˜Is he here?’
    â€˜If he isn’t he soon will be. He popped in when you were up with Miss Evadne to say I wasn’t to be nervous if I heard him moving about between three and four. He’s a very thoughtful man. Old-fashioned.’
    Mr Campion ceased to hear her. Charlie Luke had surely said that the exhumation of Edward Palinode’s body was fixed for four a.m., but that was at Wilswhich Cemetery. He wondered if he was quite awake until the explanation occurred to him.
    â€˜Of course! They didn’t bury him,’ he said triumphantly.
    â€˜Not Mr Edward. Bowels and Son didn’t. No.’ She looked troubled. ‘Oh, there was a fuss about that! Mr Edward had put it in his will, the thoughtless old man. Didn’t care how much he hurt people’s feelings. The dead