‘Not break up the party?’ exclaimed Abbershaw, looking so profoundly shocked that the other hastened to explain.
‘The deceased was a most eccentric man,’ he murmured confidentially. ‘His last words were a most urgently expressed desire for the party to continue.’
‘A little trying for all concerned,’ Abbershaw commented stiffly.
‘Just so,’ said his visitor. ‘That is really why I came to you. It has always been the Colonel’s wish that he should be cremated immediately after his decease, and, as a matter of fact, all preparations have been made for some time. There is just the formality of the certificate, and I wonder if I might bother you for the necessary signature.’
He hesitated doubtfully, and shot a glance at the little red-haired man in the dressing-gown. But Abbershaw was ready for him.
‘My dear sir, anything I can do, of course. Let’s go up there now, shall we?’
All traces of nervousness had vanished from Whitby’s face, and a sigh of relief escaped his lips as he escorted the obliging Dr Abbershaw down the long, creaking corridor to the Colonel’s room.
It was a vast old-fashioned apartment, high-ceilinged, and not too well lit. Panelled on one side, it was hung on the other with heavy curtains, ancient and dusty. Not at all the sort of room that appealed to Abbershaw as a bedchamber for an invalid.
A huge four-poster bed took up all the farther end of the place, and upon it lay something very still and stiff, covered by a sheet. On a small table near the wide fire-place were pen and ink and a cremation certificate form; standing near it was Jesse Gideon, one beautiful hand shining like ivory upon the polished wood.
Abbershaw had made up his mind that the only way to establish or confute his suspicions was to act quickly, and assuming a brisk and officious manner he strode across the room rubbing his hands.