The Ka of Gifford Hillary (19 page)

Mr. Fisher, soft-voiced and unobtrusive, agreed with Johnny that as I had no relatives living at a distance, who might be unable to attend the funeral if given less than forty-eight hours’ notice, there was no reason why it should not take place on Tuesday morning. When informed of my special directions, he said:

‘Quite so, Sir. On a number of occasions we’ve had similar instructions. You would be surprised how many people suffer from the same fear. Most of them, though, direct that the veins in their wrists shall be opened; as, of course, if the blood does not flow there can be no doubt whatever about their being dead. But perhaps Sir Gifford did not think of that. In which room do you wish the deceased gentlemen to be laid out, Sir?’

Naturally, when ringing up, James had said nothing of the circumstances in which Evans and myself were supposed to have died; so Johnny now had to take Mr. Fisher into his confidence. Thereupon the undertaker agreed that it would not be quite fitting for the two bodies to be placed side by side for the week-end, and suggested that a minimum of inconvenience would be caused to the household if each was prepared for burial where it was. Johnny saw nothing against this, so Mr. Fisher went out to his car to collect the man and woman assistants he had brought with him, and the three of them set about their gruesome business.

Having been on the go without intermission since half-past eight that morning, Johnny evidently felt that he was due for a short break, so he went through to his room and lay down on the bed. I drifted upstairs to see how Ankaret was faring. As orders had been given not to disturb her, she must have rung and ordered tea and toast, for a tray reposed on her bed table. But it looked as if she had eaten only one piece of toast, and the tea-cup, with a slice of lemon in it, was still half full. She was lying on her back and quite still, but I could see from her only partially closed eyes that she was not actually asleep, and her face looked ten years older. Apparently she was half comatose from the pills that Dr. Culver had given her; but I felt sure that she was still conscious.

Once more I was at a loose end, with nothing much to think about except my own situation. As far as I could judge, my state was exactly the same as it had become within a few moments of being murdered. I still had no feeling of being dead; my perceptions were every bit as acute as they had been then, and I was not possessed by the faintest urge to leave my present surroundings.

However, I felt no desire to remain with poor Ankaret. I
know well enough that others will maintain that she had brought all this upon herself; but, even if her mind was temporarily dulled by a drug, the half-formed thoughts drifting through it must still have been torture; so I could not bear the idea of staying there and contemplating in my own mind what she must be suffering.

On glancing out of the window I saw that it was a pleasant sunny afternoon; so I thought I would take a look round the garden. Getting there called for little effort; far less than it would have done had I still been hampered by a body. I simply floated out of the window, and drifted round the corner of the house, gradually losing height until I settled at my usual six-feet-above-ground level on the little square of lawn beyond Ankaret’s rose garden.

For about half an hour I made just the same sort of round that I usually did on Sunday mornings, and sometimes on summer evenings, admiring a group of blossoms here, planning some small alteration there, or noting a dead branch on a tree or shrub that ought to be cut off. In September the weeds are always at their worst and, knowing that old Eagers now had more than his work cut out to cope with such a large garden, I took no particular notice of them till I reached the asparagus bed. The fern there was almost hidden in a jungle of unwelcome herbage which had sprung up, making the whole patch one solid mass of greenery.

Momentarily quite forgetting both that it was a Saturday and that I could no longer communicate with any human being, I decided that I must tell Eagers to do something about it. As I had not so far seen him during my tour I went straight to the potting shed. He was not there, and I was brought back to my new state with a jerk by the thought that on hearing about my death he had probably considered it fitting to cease work for the day. But the shed was still open and inside Smuts, our garden cat, was enjoying a feed of fish-heads.

Suddenly Smuts stopped eating and turned her face towards the doorway in which I was poised. Her black back arched in terror, she gave a furious hiss and next moment, in one bound, disappeared through the open window. Her action told me plainly that, although I was invisible to humans, I could be seen by creatures having extra sensory perception;
so I was still, in a sense, a being of this world. I wondered how long I was meant to continue as one.

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My papa-in-law arrived in time for tea. He had been sent over in a chauffeur-driven Rolls by the friend with whom he had expected to spend the week-end. Silvers carried in the heavy, expensive, but old-fashioned cases, guns, shooting-stick and other impedimenta without which His Lordship never travelled on such occasions; then went to rouse Johnny.

The Rt. Honourable the Earl had evidently been informed only of the bare facts of my sudden death. As he listened to Johnny’s account of the previous night’s happenings his face became redder, his pale blue eyes more protuberant and his exclamations of amazement and horror more frequent. When Johnny had done he said jerkily:

‘Extraordinary business! Of course, this letter of Giff’s to Ankaret leaves no loop-hole for surmise. All the same, I don’t understand it. Giff was an even-tempered chap. Not like him to go off the deep end, whatever the provocation. I’m different. If I’d learned that some feller had assaulted my wife, I might have beaten his brains in. But I can’t see Giff doing that. Another thing: Ankaret’s upbringing was very different from her mother’s. Gels are much more sophisticated these days. Even if she had the bad taste to fool around with that little Welshman I’d have thought she’d have no trouble at all in keeping him at arm’s length. She ought not to have had to call Giff in to do that. It isn’t the first time, either, that she’s had a little fun on the side. But she adored Giff, and he knew that she had a bit of a weakness for setting her cap at other fellers; so why the frenzy on this occasion? That makes it all the more extraordinary.’

‘It certainly does,’ Johnny nodded. ‘Two of his oldest friends, James Compton and Eddie Arnold, who were here this morning both said that they had never known Giff to lose his temper really badly, and we all agreed that he was the very last man we would have expected to commit suicide.’

His Lordship grunted. ‘One doesn’t expect that of anyone who is normal, and no one could question Giff’s sanity. But a man’s sanity has no bearing on a case like this. It’s courage that counts, and Giff had plenty of that. Hang it all, he had committed murder! Think what would have happened if he let himself be arrested! Weeks, months perhaps, cooped up in a cell being badgered by a lot of lawyers. The trial, an appeal, then at the end of it all Jack Ketch putting a rope round his neck. No, no; thank God he had the guts to commit hara-kiri while he had the chance.’

‘It needs still more guts to face the music,’ Johnny argued. ‘And I would have betted on Giff doing that. Arnold was saying this morning that on a plea of intense provocation Giff might have got off with a ten-year sentence. Allowing for reduction for good conduct he would have been a free man again while still under fifty. No jury could have failed to recommend him to mercy if Ankaret had gone into the box and testified to the assault mentioned in the letter; or better still have gone the whole hog and sworn that Evans had raped her.’

‘Oh, I haven’t a doubt that she would have told any lie to save Giff! But d’you think he’d have let her?’ Bill Wiltshire’s voice rang with scorn. ‘Think of the press, and all the filthy publicity that would have been given to the trial. He would never have allowed Ankaret to be dragged through the gutter for the edification of every Tom, Dick and Harry who get a cheap thrill out of cases like this. No; apart from the fact of such a well-balanced chap as Giff having suddenly gone insane with rage, everything is explained by his letter. I suppose even the mildest men are liable to that sort of black-out at times. Anyhow, once he realised that he had killed the Welshman, to my mind he did the right and proper thing.’

Johnny shrugged. ‘Perhaps I’m prejudiced against the idea of taking one’s own life; and I still find it hard to believe that Giff would have taken his. But we’ll get nowhere by arguing about it further. I’m very glad you have turned up, though, and can take charge of things here now, because I’m only on forty-eight hours and must get back to London this evening. I would have telephoned for an extension if it wasn’t for a rather tricky paper that I’m devilling on which should be
in by tomorrow night. But I’ll get leave so that I can come down for the inquest on Monday and stay over Tuesday for the funeral.’

On that they separated, Johnny to pack his bag and Bill going upstairs to see Ankaret. I hung about in the hall, wondering what to do with myself, till Johnny appeared with his suit-case; then I followed him out to the garage. It had just occurred to me that if I really were earth-bound I was probably tied by some law outside human comprehension to the neighbourhood in which I had met my physical end; so it would be interesting to test that out and see if I could leave it. In consequence, when Johnny got into the driver’s seat of his Standard Eight I settled myself beside him.

As he put in the clutch I metaphorically held my breath, wondering if I should be drawn out through the back of the car in the same way that I had been drawn back to earth when I had attempted to rise above the roof level of the house. But I felt no pull whatever. As the car sped forward down the drive the essential ‘I’ moved with it.

As it was Saturday evening, even when we had by-passed Southampton and got on to the main London road there was comparatively little traffic, so we made good going. The weather was still fine and although I was condemned to silence, the tints of autumn on the trees and the sight of the pleasant countryside enabled me to enjoy the run.

We had left Longshot soon after five and by a quarter to eight were crossing Wimbledon Common. I was just wondering how best to amuse myself in London for the evening when I got a surprise. Half-way down Putney Hill, instead of going straight on towards the High Street and the bridge, Johnny turned off to the left between two big blocks of flats and ran on through several streets of medium-sized houses. I could only assume that he meant to call on a friend; but he seemed rather uncertain of his way, as he had to stop to consult the relevant page of a large-scale book-map of the London area. Two minutes later he pulled up outside one of a row of semi-detached villas, probably built in Edward VII’s reign.

I had no intention of spying on Johnny, but when he got out I instinctively followed him up the short garden path. His ring was answered by a smartly-dressed young woman of
about twenty and, to my astonishment, I recognised her as my daughter.

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Evidently that morning, at some moment when my attention had been distracted, Eddie Arnold had discussed with Johnny the question of informing my first wife of my death; Eddie must have mentioned where she lived and Johnny volunteered to call in there as it was on his way up to London. Of course, I knew perfectly well that Edith and the children lived in Putney, as I had written to them there from time to time for years, but I had never been to the house and had not noticed the name of the street as Johnny turned into it. Moreover, I must confess that since having been violently ejected from my body I had not given them a thought.

Johnny had never met Christobel; so he proceeded to introduce himself. She had opened the door to him with a frown on her pretty, rather plump face but when he told her who he was she brightened and said:

‘As a matter of fact we are just in the middle of supper; but we’ll all be thrilled to meet a long-lost cousin. Do come in.’

‘Thanks, but I can only stay a moment.’ Johnny hesitated. ‘To tell the truth this isn’t a social visit. I’ve just driven up from Longshot and the family solicitor asked me to look in.’

Christobel’s expression changed to a pout. ‘How disappointing. I wondered why you were looking so serious.’

‘It is a serious matter. Perhaps, instead of springing it on all of you at once, it would be best if I told you about it; then you could break it to your mother.’

At this clear indication by Johnny that he was the bearer of bad news, her brown eyes grew as round as saucers, and she exclaimed:

‘For heaven’s sake don’t tell me that Pa has gone broke! That would be too much! But we can’t stand here on the doorstep exhibiting ourselves to the neighbours. Come into the lounge. Whatever it is I can take it.’

Leaving Johnny to shut the front door, she turned with a flurry of skirts and led him down a short passage to a room at the back of the house. It looked out on a pocket-handkerchief-sized garden, but the view was partially obscured on
the hall side by a one-storied portion of the house that jutted out into it, and was evidently the kitchen quarters.

Had I entered that room in Timbuktu I think it would still have reminded me of Edith. No doubt its furnishings resembled those of countless others, also termed lounges, that had gradually evolved from the drawing-rooms of more spacious Edwardian days; but Edith had been my only intimate contact with that section of the middle classes which is utterly devoid of taste. For individual pieces, whether antique or modern, she had no use at all; her soul craved suites, the more expensive the better, as turned out by the hundred for the nouveau-riche by the big stores in Tottenham Court Road. She had no sense of space and crowded things in on the principle of ‘the more the better’, loading every piece with valueless and often hideous ornaments. The carpet swore at the curtains and on the walls hung pictures of ‘The Soul’s Awakening’ type, in wide-margined gilt frames.