The Corpse in the Cellar Read Online Free Page B

it clear that he had no intention of moving. I felt the same: I was neither an employee nor a customer of the bank, and saw no reason to snap to attention and follow orders.
    A look of frustration and helplessness swept over Grimm’s face. He turned back to his manager and indicated Jack standing by his side. ‘This man wishes to make a withdrawal from his passbook account, sir. But his account is with the Oxford branch and he has no identification. He says that you might recognise him from a visit last year.’
    â€˜Step into the light, if you please, sir,’ said Ravenswood. Jack moved to stand immediately under the circle of yellow light thrown by the one light globe. ‘I have seen your face before . . . you were with a party of hikers or ramblers . . . from Oxford, if I recall.’
    â€˜The name is Lewis,’ said Jack. Then he turned to Grimm and asked, ‘Is that sufficient identification?’
    â€˜Should I . . . ’ Grimm began to ask, but Ravenswood interrupted him to say, ‘Yes, yes, yes, let him withdraw whatever he wishes against his passbook.’
    While this was going on, Warnie was looking the staircase up and down. ‘This is the place,’ he said quietly to me.
    â€˜What place?’ I asked.
    â€˜This must be where Lady Pamela stood, screaming, as she watched Sir Rafael Black butcher her boyfriend, Boris the footman.’ Then pointing at the floor below us he added, ‘That must be where the poor blighter was buried.’
    Jack having obtained his authorisation, we all turned to troop back up the stairs. But before we could take our first step, the door above us was thrust open and a young man burst in. His explosive arrival set us on a path that was to lead to violence and murder.

FOUR

    â€˜Ravenswood!’ shouted the young man, spotting the manager. ‘You’re the one! Don’t turn around and go back into the strongroom. You’ll answer to me!’
    With these words he bounded down the stairs, pushing Warnie and me roughly to one side. Franklin Grimm stepped forward to block the newcomer’s path. They were both beefy young men with the build of rugby backs.
    â€˜Mr Proudfoot!’ said Grimm firmly. ‘You’re not allowed in the cellar.’
    The two of them stood toe-to-toe for a moment, glaring at each other. ‘I’m not leaving until I’ve spoken to Ravenswood, so either stand aside or I’ll knock you aside,’ growled the visitor.
    â€˜There’s no need for violence,’ said the manager. ‘I’ll speak to Mr Proudfoot alone. You take these other gentlemen back upstairs, Mr Grimm.’
    The teller stepped out of the way of the angry young man and slowly, with backward glances over his shoulder, as if doubtful that he was doing the right thing, walked towards the foot of the stairs.
    Angry young Mr Proudfoot advanced towards Ravenswood with both hands clenched into fists and his muscles tensed. The manager stood his ground.
    â€˜I’m not going to hit you, Ravenswood,’ hissed Proudfoot through tightly clenched teeth. ‘I’d like to thrash you until you’re bleeding and broken, but . . . I’m not going to do that.’
    He stopped speaking and breathed heavily, as if making a massive effort at self-control. He looked like a man who had a dozen angry bulldogs snarling inside his chest, and he was pulling hard on their leash to keep them under control. Those of us standing on the stairs were riveted by this drama and stood frozen where we were.
    â€˜If I gave in to my emotions,’ Proudfoot continued, ‘if I did what I feel like doing to you, I’d end up in a police court on an assault charge. And I’m not going to give you that satisfaction.’
    There was another long, tense silence, and then Proudfoot resumed, ‘You’re going to be the one who ends up in the police court, Ravenswood—not me.’
    The bank manager swallowed