The Case of the Murdered Major by Christopher Bush

Author:Christopher Bush [Bush, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dean Street Press
Published: 2018-07-02T04:00:00+00:00

Re D. Find out—

(a) What is the condition of his practice.

(b) How he came to get this job.

Everybody was in Mess, except Dowling, which was a rare enough happening. There was a relief in the atmosphere, tempered with a diplomatic gravity, for while people’s tongues were loosed, voices were suitably hushed.

“Are you going to make an announcement in camp this morning?” Winter asked. “If so, will you want me?”

“I think I’ll drift across after sick parade,” Travers said. “Friedemann can act as interpreter.”

“What about a new Commandant? Will they be sending one down or will you carry on?”

“Thy servant is as a dead dog,” said Travers. “I mean, in the eyes of the War House. But you bet your life they’ll do whatever’s the most awkward.”

“The War House always runs true to form,” Byron said. “Any news, by the way? I thought I saw Dulling.”

Travers thought it discreet to say at least something. Stirrop, he let out, had been the victim of an extremely nasty accident, though whether that accident was of his own causing or someone else’s design was not to be discussed.

Long before his usual time he was in his office. Stirrop’s cap was transferred to an attaché case, then he switched the ’phone through to the Commandant’s office and went there to ring up the War House in privacy. The case was locked up in the Commandant’s safe.

He was lucky in his telephoning. Not only did he get W.O. in a very few minutes, but he was put through to his own department where, more amazing still, was someone who knew what he was talking about. Travers, helped by the immunity of distance, and taking a firm line, said that of course he could carry on. As he pointed out, he knew every working of the camp, and new blood would only be a hindrance. No, he did not even want an adjutant at the moment. If he might be permitted to ring up again in a day or two, then perhaps the situation might be reviewed. In the meanwhile he could give an assurance that everything was, and would be, well in hand.

Travers replaced the receiver with an enormous satisfaction. Unless some other meddling department threw a spanner into the works, the camp would have rest for many days. Then, as a reminder that rest was a very relative term, the ’phone went. It was Miss Dance, asking if she should open the correspondence. Travers told her he would be along at once.

She greeted him in a monstrously little voice. Her eyes were red too, but Travers made no comment on the sadness of things. Miss Dance, but for the smell, would have been fully capable of seeking the melancholy aid of an onion.

“Work will go on just as usual,” Travers told her. “I shall work here, but if there are any interviews I shall have them in the Commandant’s office.”

“But isn’t it dreadful, though?”

“Yes,” Travers said. “And when did you first hear of it?”

“Just before I came,” she told him.

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