Free The Beckoning Lady by Margery Allingham Page B

Campion had to screw up his eyes to see at all after the dimness indoors. Out here the light was like diamonds, and Lugg’s face, vast and slightly mischievous, loomed against a blaze of green and white. “It wasn’t nobody’s fault.” The fat man’s growl was lowered confidentially. “She came ’opping along the path like an ole she-’are, sniffin’ this way and that. There we all was, me and the Super and the Sergeant and the bobby and the doctor ’oo’d just arrived. None of us saw her until she was right on top of us. I put up me ’and but I might as well ’ave tried to stop an ’en taking sights of a bit o’ grub. She darted round me and give a refined laugh. ‘Oo, what’s a-goin’ hon ’ere?’ “ He sniffed. “She fahnd out. Just then orf come ’is ’at, and lord luvaduck!”
    â€œDid she recognise him?” enquired Mr. Campion with interest.
    â€œCouldn’t say.” Lugg was thoughtful. “Might ’ave done. But just as easy might not. The way ’e was lookin’ I doubt if ’is wife could have took to him.”
    â€œDid she scream?”
    â€œMore of a whistle, like a train. Then she started to ’eave. The old Super, ’e’s no amachoor, give me the sign to take ’er away and no loiterin’. I supported of ’er in.”
    He was pleased about something. A fresh masculinity appeared to have been aroused in that well-bolstered breast, and his small black eyes turned towards the door. “Pore ole maid,” he said.
    â€œDid you find out anything new about the corpse.”
    â€œFracture of the occiput. I made that out as I was supporting of her orf. The bloke was only sayin’ the obvious, you could ’ear that. ’E ’adn’t got down to nothing.”
    A foolish little ditty from his undergraduate days crept into Mr. Campion’s mind and mingled with the hum of the bees and the bird song.
    â€œSand in his little socks he put
    And wopped her on the occiput”
    â€œAny sign of a weapon yet?” he enquired.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou’d better get back.”
    â€œIn a minute.” The small eyes had developed porcine indignation. “D’you know what you remind me of? A midwife, knowin’ a confinement’s goin’ on in the next room and can’t get at it. For ’eaven’s sake! I thought you’d got private business ’ere to see to.”
    He broke off. A small girl clutching the inevitable bottle to her bosom passed slowly across the end of the yard and vanished into the flower garden. A beatific smile spread over the white countenance.
    â€œHo,” he said, “perhaps you know what you are a-doin’ of.” He paused, and added “Sir” as an afterthought. “Yus, I see,” he went on with new enthusiasm, “this ’ere ’ouse must be pertected. I’ll just step back into the kitchen to ’ave a dekko at something I noticed and then I’ll get back to the flics. They call rozzers that in France, did you know? I learnt it on the pickchers.”
    Mr. Campion made no comment but followed him into the cool gloom of the house once more. Minnie and Miss Pinkerton were not visible, but Miss Diane was scrubbing the table, her huge red arms glowing and her earrings shaking until it seemed that the birds upon them must take flight. Mr. Lugg paused at the clean end of the board and leant upon it, his hands placed squarely on the damp surface. Miss Diane promptly ceased her toil to imitate him, so that they faced one another like poised buffalo, heads down for the charge.
    â€œI seen you before,” said Lugg without preamble.
    â€œI thought you ’ad,” she said woodenly, her clear skin bright in the shadowy room.
    The fat man’s eyes were lost as he narrowed them in an effort of recollection.
    â€œYou was on top of one of those ruddy