A smile which Mr Brown liked even less than the expression he had found ugly a few minutes before flitted across Randall's face. “No, I shan't worry,” he said, and walked with his graceful, untroubled gait out of the shop.
Detective Peel, observing him from the opposite side of the road, thought it worth his while to follow him at a discreet distance.
His report, made to Superintendent Hannasyde later in the day, interested the Superintendent considerably.
“Mr Randall Matthews,” he said slowly. “Yes, you did quite right to follow him. How long was he in the shop?”
“Matter of twenty-five minutes,” replied Peel. “Came walking down the street as though he didn't give a damn for anyone.”
“Yes, I think he would do that,” said Hannasyde. “It may, of course, have failed to dawn on him that the place was being watched.” He tapped the pencil he was holding on his desk. “I think we might keep Mr Randall Matthews under observation,” he said. “You couldn't hear what was said in the shop, I suppose?”
“No, I couldn't, Superintendent. It's a bit difficult, hanging round the entrance with so many people about,” replied Peel apologetically.
Hannasyde nodded. “Yes, I know. It doesn't matter. But I shall be interested to see what Mr Randall Matthews' next move is.”
However, Randall Matthews' next move was an unexceptionable one. On the following afternoon, arrayed in all the sombre elegance of a morning-coat, with a sleek top-hat set at an unsuitably rakish angle on his still sleeker black head, he motored down to Grinley Heath in a hired limousine to attend his uncle's funeral.
The service was held at the Parish Church, and there were very few mourners. Apart from the dead man's relatives, only the Rumbolds, Dr Fielding, and Mr Nigel Brooke, who was Guy's partner, attended it. Nigel Brooke, a tall young man with curly yellow hair and a profile which, because some misguided person had once told him it was Grecian, he was rather too much inclined to present to the world, explained confidentially to Dr Fielding that he had only put in an appearance because one liked to do the proper thing. “Speaking for myself,” said Mr Brooke, “I regard funerals as pure relics of barbarism. I daresay you feel the same.”