Coroner's Pidgin Read Free Page A

old sport, she is. Not a nerve in ’er body. Me an ’er always ’ave got on very polite. So when she got ’erself in this spot of trouble it was natural she should turn to me. Also, she knew I was still working for you in me spare time, and p’raps that ’ad something to do with it. You’ve got a reputation, you know, and I’ve come in for a bit of it.”
    He paused and regarded his employer defiantly. Campion’s expression was not helpful. Lugg sighed.
    â€œWhen she come to me I ’elped ’er,” he said. “I felt it was my duty, and I ’elped ’er.”
    â€œYes, well, let’s hope you haven’t helped the nerveless Marchioness to jug,” observed Mr. Campion pleasantly. “You say you don’t know who the dead woman is; has your distinguished confederate any idea?”
    â€œNo. She don’t know neither. That’s wot’s made ’er so wild, if you ask me.”
    Mr. Campion put on his coat. “Do you know how the woman died?”
    â€œOh, that’s all right, don’t worry about that. It’s nothing fishy.” Lugg was unexpectedly confident. “That’s O.K.I’ve taken care of that. You know me by this time, I wouldn’t mix myself up with nothing dangerous.”
    Campion regarded his old friend with respectful astonishment.
    â€œI don’t know how carefree the old country has gone in my absence,” he said, “but you seem to be considerably more casual with your corpses than is the fashion elsewhere. Are you telling me you’ve got a doctor’s certificate for that body? What are you doing? Just throwing a small funeral from my flat?”
    â€œNo, cock. No. Not yet.”
    Lugg was uncomfortable, and again the unusual gleam of alarm showed for an instant in his small eyes. “We ain’t ’ad a doctor yet, as a matter of fact. But I was goin’ to, of course. It was suicide, if you want to know—straight suicide. Bottle of muck by ’er side, and everything.”
    Campion remained unimpressed, and Lugg went on earnestly:
    â€œWe ’ad to move ’er, you see, because she was in ’is bed. It didn’t look the article, especially with ’im due any minute for the wedding. That’s going to be the day after tomorrow.”
    Mr. Campion sat down slowly on a chair which was fortunately behind him.
    â€œWhose bed?” he enquired.
    â€œâ€˜Is Nibs’.”
    â€œCarados’s?”
    â€œYus. I’m tellin’ you.”
    â€œWhose wedding?”
    â€œâ€™Is, of course. Don’t you see no papers where you come from?” Lugg’s voice was becoming appealing. “There’s been pictures of them both in all of them; ’im in his uniform with ’is ribbons up, and ’er looking about fourteen and all very nice. I’m going to ‘and round at the reception,” he added shyly, “if I get out of this.”
    Mr. Campion struggled to adjust his mind to the facts so startlingly presented. One complete incongruity in the story stuck out and he commented on it casually. He was very fond of Evangeline, he said, but he could not believe shecould look fourteen. The Heavy Rescue stalwart appeared puzzled.
    â€œâ€™Er name’s Susan,” he said, adding brightly, “oh, I get you, cock, it’s not the same girl. No, he ain’t marrying Miss Snow, he’s got one of my ambulance drivers, Admiral’s daughter. The bloke wot got himself in the papers by sinking the
Prince Otto
. You’ve seen ’er, she’s in the next room. That’s the trouble, or some of it,” he added gloomily.
    â€œHow did she get into it?”
    â€œBy a ruddy mistake,” said Lugg with feeling. “Nothing’s gorn right with this thing from the first. I shouldn’t be surprised if it’s going to be unlucky. I ’ope it’s goin’ to be a lesson to us all. No,