‘Don’t question me, Mr Rucker,’ said Theodore Racksole. ‘I feel very much inclined to break your back across my knee. Therefore I advise you not to irritate me. What have you been doing to Dimmock’s body?’
‘I’ve been embalming it.’
‘Em—balming it.’
‘Certainly; Richardson’s system of arterial fluid injection, as improved by myself. You weren’t aware that I included the art of embalming among my accomplishments. Nevertheless, it is so.’
‘But why?’ asked Racksole, more mystified than ever. ‘Why should you trouble to embalm the poor chap’s corpse?’
‘Can’t you see? Doesn’t it strike you? That corpse has to be taken care of.
It contains, or rather, it did contain, very serious evidence against some person or persons unknown to the police. It may be necessary to move it about from place to place. A corpse can’t be hidden for long; a corpse betrays itself. One couldn’t throw it in the Thames, for it would have been found inside twelve hours. One couldn’t bury it—it wasn’t safe. The only thing was to keep it handy and movable, ready for emergencies. I needn’t inform you that, without embalming, you can’t keep a corpse handy and movable for more than four or five days. It’s the kind of thing that won’t keep. And so it was suggested that I should embalm it, and I did. Mind you, I still objected to the murder, but I couldn’t go back on a colleague, you understand. You do understand that, don’t you? Well, here you are, and here it is, and that’s all.’
Rocco leaned back in his chair as though he had said everything that ought to be said. He closed his eyes to indicate that so far as he was concerned the conversation was also closed. Theodore Racksole stood up.
‘I hope,’ said Rocco, suddenly opening his eyes, ‘I hope you’ll call in the police without any delay. It’s getting late, and I don’t like going without my night’s rest.’
‘Where do you suppose you’ll get a night’s rest?’ Racksole asked.