Dancers in Mourning Read Online Free

be amused. ‘I can’t say I see anything funny about that, sir.’
    He took up the little white bunch gingerly and eyed it.
    â€˜Not very grand, perhaps. Star of Bethlehem, aren’t they? Country flowers. You’ve got a lot of humble admirers, you know.’
    Sutane did not speak and, finding himself ignored, the ex-policeman raised the flowers to his nose and sniffed them idly. His sudden change of expression was ludicrous, and he dropped the bouquet with an exclamation.
    â€˜Garlic!’ he ejaculated, his small eyes round with astonishment. ‘Garlic! Hey, what d’you know about that? A messenger brought it, did he? Well, I think I can check up there. Excuse me.’
    He retrieved the flowers and plunged out of the room with them. Sutane caught Campion’s eye in the mirror and turned round to face him.
    â€˜It’s all trivial,’ he said apologetically. ‘Little tuppenny-ha’penny squirts of malice. They’re negligible on their own, but after a month or so they get one down.’
    He broke off and smiled. When he spoke again it was to reveal the essential charm of the man, a charm which was to puzzle and finally defeat an Albert Campion who was then barely in existence.
    â€˜It’s worse for me,’ he said. ‘I’ve been such a blasted popular sort of fellow for so long.’ His grin grew lop-sided and his eyes were sad and childlike and intelligent.

2
    A FTERWARDS , when the tide of circumstance had reached its flood and there was no telling what were the secrets beneath its turbulent waters, Mr Campion tried to remember every moment of that long and catastrophic day. Details which had seemed unimportant at the time flitted about in his mind with exasperating vagueness and he strove to catch at them in vain.
    Yet the whole story was there, so clear to read if only he had been looking for it.
    On the momentous Sunday Mr Campion went to White Walls in the morning. On that day Chloe Pye plumbed the final depth of inconsideration, entirely outclassing all her previous efforts. This, in itself, was a remarkable feat since her total disregard for those who entertained her was a byword among the host of near-friends who composed her circle.
    Uncle William Faraday sat beside Mr Campion in the Lagonda and pointed out the way with most of the pride of ownership. It was July and the roads were hot and scented, cow-parsley making a bridal avenue of every lane. Uncle William sniffed appreciatively.
    â€˜Twenty miles from London. Nothing in a car. But feel you’re in the heart of the country. He runs a flat, of course, but gets down here most evenings. Don’t blame Sutane. Sensible feller, at heart.’
    He glanced at his companion to make sure he was attending.
    â€˜Dear old place,’ he went on, receiving a nod of encouragement. ‘You’ll like it. Used to belong to his wife’s uncle. Girl wanted to keep it when it came to her and Sutane suddenly thought, “Why not?” That music-writer, Squire Mercer, who did the stuff for my show, has a little house on the estate. Had it for years. Matter of fact, it was at his place that Sutane met Linda, his wife. She was stayin’ with her uncle up at White Walls and Jimmy came down to see Mercer. They fell in love and there you are. Funny how things work out.’
    He was silent for some little time, his old eyes speculative and his lips moving a little as though he rehearsed still further details of Sutane’s private life. Mr Campion remained thoughtful.
    â€˜This persecution business has got on his nerves, has it? Or is he always as excitable as he was last night?’
    â€˜Always a bit mad.’ The old man pulled the large tweed cap he affected for motoring more firmly over his ears. ‘Noticed that as soon as I saw him. Don’t think he’s very much worse than usual. Of course you can understand it when you see the life the feller leads. Most unnatural …