Battle, Superintendent (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; Detective and mystery stories; Police -- England -- Fiction
“It is indeed. Some haddock?”
“No, no. It must be hushed up—at all costs it must be hushed up.”
As Bundle had prophesied, George began to splutter.
“I understand your feelings,” said Lord Caterham sympathetically. “Try
an egg and bacon, or some haddock.”
“A totally unforeseen contingency—national calamity—concessions
jeopardized——”
“Take time,” said Lord Caterham. “And take some food. What you need
is some food, to pull you together. Poached eggs now? There were some
poached eggs here a minute or two ago.”
“I don’t want any food,” said George. “I’ve had breakfast, and even if
I hadn’t had any I shouldn’t want it. We must think what is to be done.
You have told no one as yet?”
“Well, there’s Bundle and myself. And the local police. And Cartwright.
And all the servants of course.”
George groaned.
“Pull yourself together, my dear fellow,” said Lord Caterham kindly.
“(I wish you’d have some breakfast.) You don’t seem to realize that
you can’t hush up a dead body. It’s got be buried and all that sort of
thing. Very unfortunate, but there it is.”
George became suddenly calm.
“You are right, Caterham. You have called in the local police, you say?
That will not do. We must have Battle.”
“Battle, murder and sudden death,” inquired Lord Caterham, with a
puzzled face.
“No, no, you misunderstand me. I referred to Superintendent Battle of
Scotland Yard. A man of the utmost discretion. He worked with us in
that deplorable business of the Party Funds.”
“What was that?” asked Lord Caterham, with some interest.
But George’s eye had fallen upon Bundle, as she sat half in and half
out of the window, and he remembered discretion just in time. He rose.
“We must waste no time. I must send off some wires at once.”
“If you write them out, Bundle will send them through the telephone.”
George pulled out a fountain pen and began to write with incredible
rapidity. He handed the first one to Bundle, who read it with a great
deal of interest.
“God! what a name,” she remarked. “Baron How Much?”
“Baron Lolopretjzyl.”
Bundle blinked.
“I’ve got it, but it will take some conveying to the post office.”
George continued to write. Then he handed his labours to Bundle and
addressed the master of the house:
“The best thing that you can do, Caterham——”
“Yes,” said Lord Caterham apprehensively.
“Is to leave everything in my hands.”
“Certainly,” said Lord Caterham, with alacrity. “Just what I was
thinking myself. You’ll find the police and Dr. Cartwright in the
Council Chamber. With the—er—with the body, you know. My dear Lomax,
I place Chimneys unreservedly at your disposal. Do anything you like.”
“Thank you,” said George. “If I should want to consult you——”
But Lord Caterham had faded unobtrusively through the farther door.
Bundle had observed his retreat with a grim smile.
“I’ll send off those telegrams at once,” she said. “You know your way
to the Council Chamber?”
“Thank you, Lady Eileen.”
George hurried from the room.
11
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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