Free The Tiger In the Smoke by Margery Allingham Page B

policeman had unearthed one of the old naphtha flares which are the only real answer to fog. Like a livid plume, it spat and hissed above the heads of a knot of men in the chasm, its vigorous smoke trail mingling with the other vapours, making Rembrandtesque clouds above them.
    â€˜Chief?’ The brisk voice of Sergeant Picot came to them hollowly as his chunky silhouette detached itself from the dark mass.
    â€˜Wotcher, George.’ Luke was ferociously cheerful as usual. ‘What have you got there?’
    â€˜Quite enough, sir. Can you get by? There’s not much room. The doctor’s here.’ This last was clearly in the nature of a friendly warning. They advanced cautiously, the little crowd parting for them.
    Duds had died in a hole. In a narrow angle where two walls met there was a space perhaps a foot wide and eighteen inches deep, and into this the body was crammed in a sitting position, the legs drawn up, the chin on the breast. It seemed impossible that any human being should take up so little space. He sat, a heap of unwanted rubbish, and the red shadow which spread out over his sports coat like a bib had crept over his hands and onto the stones. He looked very small and negligible, scarcely even horrible, in the circle of dark heads about him.
    Luke squatted down on his heels and the constable brought the flare a step nearer. Picot bent towards his Chief.
    â€˜One of our men found him at six-forty, but he may have been here an hour or more,’ he murmured, his heavy-featured face catching the light from Luke’s own torch. ‘This path isn’t used very much, and anyway I doubt whether one would have seen him if one was hurrying by.’
    â€˜Or stopped if one had. He’s no wayside flower,’ muttered Luke, getting up to make way for Mr Campion. ‘What was the exact time he left us this afternoon?’
    â€˜Well after five, sir. I can’t say for sure. I was hoping you’d have noticed. I came along as soon as I got the report, of course. We’ve had the photographer and made the survey. Here’s the doctor, sir.’
    The reminder was scarcely necessary. A steady grumble from the region of the Chief Inspector’s elbow had been audible for some time. Now Luke turned his head towards it.
    â€˜Funny how we always disturb you at your dinner, Doc,’ he said mildly into the darkness. ‘I’ve got a parson just behind me. No offence. I only thought you’d like to know.’
    The rumbling ceased abruptly and a clipped schoolmasterish voice remarked acidly: ‘Very good of you to bother about my immortal soul, Chief Inspector. I’m afraid I’d ceased to concern myself about yours. I’ve been waiting here for over half an hour, and of course any sort of examination in these circumstances is quite useless. If you’ll have this sent along I’ll do the P.M. at nine tomorrow.’
    â€˜Righto.’ Luke did not turn his head. ‘Just before you go, what is all that? Throat cut?’
    â€˜The haemorrhage? Oh no. That’s from the nose. That’s nothing.’
    â€˜Get away!’ the D.D.C.I. sounded relieved. ‘It’s natural, is it? Had a nose bleed and just sat down and died?’
    â€˜Not unless by so doing he cracked himself over the head with sufficient force to fracture the vault.’ The prim voice was smugly amused. ‘I think that, as you might so easily say yourself, Charles, someone has been “putting in the leather”. I have no intention of committing myself, but I should say that was done with a boot. We shall know in the morning.’
    â€˜Can we wash his face?’
    â€˜If it gives you any satisfaction. Good evening.’ He trotted off and his plump figure was swallowed by the fog.
    â€˜Steak and kidney pudding night,’ murmured Luke, glancing after him. ‘I hope she’s kept it hot for him. Can we get this face fit to look at,