“It has been exceedingly kind and considerate of you,” The Tundish reassured him. “From the questions I was asked and the looks that I got—looks that I could almost overhear!—when I paid a few professional visits this afternoon, I guessed that some such stories must be afloat. The facts, however, are as I have told you. Miss Palfreeman’s death is at present a mystery to us all. She was rather overtired, but otherwise in normal health when she retired for the night. The police have moved her body to the mortuary so that a careful examination can be made. There is to be an inquest, and Mr. Jeffcock here, and the others, have been asked to remain in Merchester until it is over. That is really all that we can tell you. We are nearly as much in the dark as any one else. It is a very painful position without exaggeration, and if you can help to thin out some of the rumors that are thickening the air we shall all be not a little grateful.”
“Oh, I will. I most certainly will. I’ll do everything I possibly can.” He retreated nervously.
The doctor, I felt, had not been overconvincing. Rushton, I am sure, really came to us out of kindness and because he felt that some one ought to warn us of what was being said, however unpleasant the task might be. But if he had no suspicions of his own before he came, the doctor’s so-called explanations would most surely have aroused them. A doctor in the house—a mysterious death which the doctor would not certify—a body removed to the mortuary by the police, and an inquest—an unpleasant string of facts to have to admit! Add a little imagination, a dash or two of spite, and a misunderstanding here and there as the details are whispered by one scandal-loving cathedral matron to the next, and it is easy to realize that the final story might even outcrimson the actual facts. The Tundish had done his best, but it was very evident that until the whole abominable business was properly cleared up, and Stella’s murderer discovered and caught, nothing that we could say or do would silence the gossip that was about.
“That is the first of a great many kindly people who will make it their business to call because they felt that we ought to know of the awful things that are being said,” The Tundish remarked, with a wry grimace.
“Don’t you think that he really did feel like that?”
“Oh yes, yes! And so will many of the others who come for the same purpose. But they will one and all go away to strengthen the rumors of which they came to warn us. I’m not blaming them—it’s human nature. We shall find it rather trying, though, I fancy. It’s half past six. I’ll just run up-stairs and find out how Ethel is getting on, and then if it is not too hot for you I’ll join you in the garden for a stroll.”
I agreed, and went out through the front door, round the end of the house, and into the garden behind. The heat was still devastating. Not a leaf was astir. Not even a stray wisp of cloud broke the pale blue of the sky, a blue that faded imperceptibly into a misty white above the top of the high garden wall.
Inspector Brown’s three men were still busy with the ivy on the roof, and the heap on the lawn had grown to a goodly size. Nearly three-quarters of the roof had been cleared. The inspector himself stood watching them at work, peaked hat in hand, his red round face looking like a damp boiled beet-root from underneath his handkerchief, which he had knotted at the corners and placed on his head for protection against the sun. He beckoned to me as I rounded the end of the house, and I went and stood by his side.
“You’re making good progress,” I said.
“Yes.”