Days Without Number by Robert Goddard

yesterday.'
    'All right. Sherry. Thanks.'
    Pru opened a corner cabinet, setting its contents rattling and tinkling, which drew another volley of yaps from the dog. 'Be quiet, Finlay, do.' The plea had a measure of success. Finlay slowly lapsed into silence as Pru poured the Bristol Cream. 'Here's to your father,' she said, taking a generous sip. 'May he rest in peace.'
    They sat down either side of the electric fire, whose glowing bars were emitting a fearsome though narrowly focused beam of heat. Finlay pattered between their feet before settling on the rug.
    'We're grateful for everything you did, Pru,' said Nick. 'Not just yesterday, I mean. Looking after Dad can't always have been easy.'
    'No more it was. When your mother passed away, 'twas in my mind to leave him to it, being as he didn't have what you'd call an accommodating nature. But as it turned out ... we rubbed along.' She took another sip of sherry. 'I'll miss him, temper and all.'
    'We all will.'
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    'Have you settled on a date for the funeral?'
    'It'll probably be next Monday. We'll let you know when it's confirmed. There are . . . one or two complications. A postmortem, things like that.'
    There'd have to be one, of course. I perfectly understand that. Though why I'm not allowed into Trennor to clear things up in the meantime is a mystery to me.'
    'It won't be for long, Pru. We're seeing Mr Baskcomb later. He'll sort it out.'
    'I do hope so. There'll be a goodly amount of bottoming to do after your party on Sunday.'
    'There's no need for you to worry about that.'
    'Who else is there to worry about it? I should hope you'll still want me to look to such things. For as long as you keep the house, any rate.'
    'Of course, of course. If you're happy to.'
    'Least I can do, Nicholas. Your mother was very kind to me. She'd want me to keep an eye on the place.'
    'You don't mind going back, then? After what happened yesterday morning?'
    'Lord bless you, no. I'm that close to the grave myself that death holds few terrors for me. If your father came back as a ghost, it'd give me the chance to give him a piece of my mind without fearing for my job.' She laughed and Nick joined in. Then she stopped. "Twas no sight for the squeamish, though, and that's a fact.'
    'How did you ... I mean . . .'
    'How did I come upon him? Well, I let myself in as usual, around ten o'clock, and there was neither sight nor sound of him. I thought he must have gone out for a walk or somesuch, though the weather was scarcely fit for strolling and his car was in the garage. Then I noticed the cellar door standing open, with the light on inside. I popped my head round the door and looked down the steps. And there he was, sprawled on his back at the bottom. I knew he was dead at once, just by the way he was lying. I thought he'd broken his neck, though that young constable who spoke to me yesterday reckoned a
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    crack on the back of his head was what did for him. Well, I didn't see that, of course.'
    'Poor old Dad.'
    'I should say. It only takes one slip at our age, his and mine, and slips are what you grow liable to, take my word for it. He had that fall a few weeks back. It should have been a warning to him.'
    'Dad wasn't one to heed warnings.'
    'No more he was.' Pru set down her glass and stared thoughtfully at it. 'He'd got a little too fond of the liquor these last few years, which can't have helped.'
    'So I gather.'
    'That'll be what took him down to the cellar, I dare say. One of those fine wines of his.'
    'Did he have a bottle with him?'
    'Pardon?' Pru frowned.
    'Well, if he went down to fetch a bottle of wine, he'd have had it with him when he left, wouldn't he? It would probably have smashed as he fell.'
    'There was no smashed bottle.'
    'No?'
    'No.'
    'You're sure.'
    'Definitely. Is it important?'
    'Shouldn't think so,' Nick lied, feeling certain in his own mind that it almost certainly did matter.
    'Course, if you don't mind me saying, Nicholas, as far as the liquor went . . .'
    'Go