The Tiger In the Smoke by Margery Allingham

George?’
    â€˜Here, sir?’
    â€˜Yes, please. I’ve got someone to see it. Get on with it, old man, will you?’ He broke off abruptly as Campion touched his shoulder. Old Avril had come into the circle of light and stood now bowed before all that remained of the wretched Duds. He was uncovered, his tufty untidy hair sticking up like rough grass on his fine head. He was wiping the blood very gently from the face with a great white handkerchief, performing the operation inexpertly but with a certain clumsy care which suggested to the minds of everybody present the same sort of operation performed on a child with a cold. He betrayed no trace of distaste or hesitation and Sergeant Picot for one was frankly scandalized. He made a faint noise in his throat like a startled pheasant and was on the point of intervening when Luke’s hand bit into his arm. The Chief was very still. He stood poised, every sense alert, his eyes snapping and the great kite-shaped mass of his shoulders cut into the picture, lending it new drama.
    The Canon continued his ministrations quietly and inexpertly, making a considerable mess of himself. It was clear that along with sin blood had no terrors for him.
    â€˜There,’ he said at last, apparently to the corpse, and he looked long at the now no longer horrible but dirty and infinitely pathetic face. Presently he pulled the lids down over the dull eyes.
    â€˜Poor boy.’ All the wastage of Duds’ manhood was expressed and commiserated in unselfconscious regret.
    As Avril took up the dead man’s hands to fold them the jacket sleeves caught his attention and for the first time he became puzzled. He lifted the right arm and ran his hand up to the elbow.
    â€˜Some light, please,’ he commanded gently, and Luke’s torch shone down for him at once. It fell on a neat leather patch on the elbow and on a smaller one nearer the cuff. It was good amateur work, an army batman’s job.
    â€˜Seen him before, sir?’
    The old man did not answer. He finished his task, folded the hands, and rose. He leaned over to Luke.
    â€˜I should like to talk to you.’
    â€˜Very well, sir.’
    â€˜Where are you taking this poor fellow? Can we go there?’
    â€˜No, sir; we’ll go along to the station, if you don’t mind. It’s just round the corner. The body must go down to the mortuary. The van will be here now.’ Luke was firm but respectful and the old man nodded. The two appeared to be in complete accord, Mr Campion noticed, as if they had known each other a very long time.
    â€˜I want that jacket,’ said Avril. ‘I want to take it home.’
    â€˜Very good, sir.’ Luke did not bat an eyelid. ‘We’ll have all the clothes, George, as soon as you can, down at the station. Okay?’
    Picot stepped back to give an order. The atmosphere of the entire proceedings had undergone an abrupt change. The query had gone out of it and life and bustle had returned.
    While Mr Campion was taking from his uncle the terrible handkerchief, which he appeared to be on the verge of stuffing into his pocket, Luke paused to give the routine instructions. The power of the man became almost frighteningly noticeable at once, as if a truck engine had suddenly started up in the narrow way.
    â€˜Detective Slaney there?’ he inquired, and hurried on as a compact shadow hurried in out of the dark. ‘Mrs Gollie, Bill. You know her well, don’t you? Nip along to the side bar of the Feathers and see what you can pick up. She’ll open her mouth, of course, but if you don’t fall right in you may be able to sort out something from the shower. Keep it as quiet as you can until this lot is out of the way. Detective Coleman.’
    â€˜Here, sir.’ The young voice just behind Campion was unsteady in its eagerness and a heavy figure brushed past him.
    â€˜Look alive, look alive! Zeal, energy, that’s what we want in the