Free Smallbone Deceased by Michael Gilbert

work and not much kudos. He also realized why the case had been handed to him. The implied compliment added only a little to its attractions.
    Another thought struck him.
    â€œWhat room was this in?”
    â€œYoung Horniman’s—that’s the son. He’s taken his father’s place in the firm.”
    â€œAnd his father’s room, I suppose.”
    â€œYes. I’ve got the first pictures here.” He opened a folder. “The deed box was kept on a shelf under the window—there—you can see the space it came out of.”
    â€œI take it it was locked.”
    â€œYes—that was one of the things. They couldn’t find the key. The box was actually opened in the end by their commissionaire. He ‘sprung’ the lock with a hammer, and the lid flew open. Must have been quite a moment.”
    Hazlerigg was studying one or two of the reports. Something seemed to have puzzled him. He looked through the photographs again and selected one gruesome close up which showed the body of Marcus Smallbone as it had lain packed in its metal coffin.
    Then he looked again at the statement.
    â€œI can’t quite make out from this,” he said, “who actually identified the body first?”
    â€œI thought it was young Horniman.”
    â€œNot from what it says here. Horniman says that the first time Smallbone’s name was actually mentioned was when Miss Bellbas—she’s one of the typists, I gather—ran out of the room screaming ‘It’s Mr. Smallbone’ and something about the stars foretelling it. Miss Bellbas denies it. She says she had never seen Mr. Smallbone when he was alive so how could she have recognized him when he was dead. Miss Cornel, one of the secretaries, says that she thought Bob Horniman mentioned the name first. Sergeant Cockerill says. No. He doesn’t think anyone actually mentioned the name, but there had been so much speculation about Smallbone’s disappearance that he, for his part, assumed at once that the body must be his.”
    â€œSounds plausible,” said the Assistant Commissioner. “Why are you making a special point of it …?”
    â€œWell, sir” – Hazlerigg pointed to the photograph – “you see how the body was lying. The face was pushed right down on to the chest. Then again, after eight or ten weeks, I shouldn’t have imagined that anyone could say with certainty—”
    â€œYes. There may be something there. Bland did the autopsy. Have a word with him and see what he says. Incidentally, I can set your mind at rest on one point. There’s no doubt it was Smallbone. We’ve got very good prints which match up a dozen test samples from his lodgings. The man was a sort of pottery collector, bless him, and has left hundreds of beautiful prints. Colley will tell you about that.”
    â€œRight,” said Hazlerigg. He replaced the photographs and gathered the typewritten sheets of Divisional Detective-Inspector Colley’s report, patting them into a neat bundle, then rose to go.
    â€œThere is one thing,” said the Assistant Commissioner. “You may need a bit of expert help. It doesn’t need me to point out to you that there is an obvious line here, and the obvious line is often the right line. On the face of it, there’s only one man who could have done this job. And his motive, when you get to it, is almost certain to be tied up in some legal jiggery-pokery. That’s the logical supposition, anyway. Now would you like me to lend you one of our legal fellows to help you? Just say the word—”
    Hazlerigg hesitated. The offer, he knew, was helpfully meant: and yet it had a faint suggestion of dual control which was hateful. However, it was no doubt the sensible course and he had actually opened his mouth to say “Yes” when his eye caught a name on the top of the typescript report.
    â€œMay I take it that the offer will be