Cold Evil by Brian Flynn

Author:Brian Flynn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dean Street Press
Published: 2021-06-08T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XV

CHRISTMAS DAY, EARLY MORNING

I was just getting into bed on that Christmas morning when there came a tap on my bedroom door. I knew that it must be Anthony Bathurst. So I sang out at once, “Come in.”

He was at my side in a jiffy. “Jack,” he said, “if you want to have a good look at a thrice-blasted, doddering fool, buy me as the premier Christmas Annual. That is to say—‘Help Yourself’.”

Not understanding, I sat on the edge of the bed. “What’s biting you now?”

“Chinnery! Chinnery’s body! We saw it in the mortuary together, didn’t we?”

I nodded. “Was it such a thrill that you must come and recite about it at this time in the morning?”

“Oh, don’t get stuffy. You might be as dead as Chinnery is, and as Copeland might have been, but for a stroke of amazing luck. Consider yourself blessed.”

“That idea, that there’s somebody always worse off than you yourself, if you only take the trouble to find him, never cuts any ice with me. My jaw always aches just as badly and my headache’s usually worse. Sorry—and all that.”

He grinned at me. “Well, listen to me for half a minute, now, and then you’ll understand why I’ve worried you to tell you how I’ve been such a prize ass.”

“Oh, all right. Get it over. But make it snappy.”

“Remember Chinnery’s face as he lay dead in that mortuary?”

“Haven’t been able to forget it. Why?”

“What was the growth of hair on the face? His beard, for instance. And remember, before you answer, that hair grows to a certain extent after death.”

It didn’t take me long to find the reply to that. “I didn’t notice any beard, really. Not what you would call ‘beard’. But what’s your point? Tell me!”

“Why this! How long did old Surtees say that Chinnery had been dead?”

“He didn’t say.”

“No. He took a good deal for granted. Far too much, in my opinion. The idea of foul play was anathema to him. When I asked him about the findings of his P.M. he was inclined to tell me very little. I observed that particularly. Chinnery had been on the moor, and, as a result, had died from cold and exposure! That was good enough for him and it should, in his idea, have been good enough for the lay mind as well. As you know, I didn’t agree. If my opinion’s worth anything, if it hadn’t been for the red marks behind the corpse’s ears, Surtees wouldn’t have bothered about a P.M. at all. Now do you see what I’m getting at?”

I shook my head. “Candidly, Anthony Lotherington Bathurst, I don’t. Should I?”

“You should, my son. Even though it’s a time when all good people should be in bed. How long was Chinnery missing? Now, tell me that.”

I thought. “Over a week. Eight days—wasn’t it?”

“Exactly. Eight days. And as I said a moment ago, hair, the growth of hair, doesn’t stop directly the body, as we know it, dies. Well, now where are we?”

I saw his point and said so.

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