Chapter 2

_The Queen Is Out_

It is doubtful which occurrence was more disagreeable to the senior
members of the Bellona Club--the grotesque death of General Fentiman
in their midst or the indecent neurasthenia of his grandson. Only
the younger men felt no sense of outrage; they knew too much. Dick
Challoner--known to his intimates as Tin-Tummy Challoner, owing to the
fact that he had been fitted with a spare part after the second battle
of the Somme--took the gasping Fentiman away into the deserted library
for a stiffener. The Club Secretary hurried in, in his dress-shirt and
trousers, the half-dried lather still clinging to his jaws. After one
glance he sent an agitated waiter to see if Dr. Penberthy was still in
the Club. Colonel Marchbanks laid a large silk handkerchief reverently
over the rigid face in the arm-chair and remained quietly standing. A
little circle formed about the edge of the hearthrug, not quite certain
what to do. From time to time it was swelled by fresh arrivals, whom
the news had greeted in the hall as they wandered in. A little group
appeared from the bar. "What? old Fentiman?" they said. "Good God, you
don't say so. Poor old blighter. Heart gone at last, I suppose"; and
they extinguished cigars and cigarettes, and stood by, not liking to go
away again.

Dr. Penberthy was just changing for dinner. He came down hurriedly,
caught just as he was going out to an Armistice dinner, his silk
hat tilted to the back of his head, his coat and muffler pushed
loosely open. He was a thin, dark man with the abrupt manner which
distinguishes the Army Surgeon from the West-end practitioner. The
group by the fire made way for him, except Wimsey, who hung rather
foolishly upon the big elbow-chair, gazing in a helpless way at the
body.

Penberthy ran practiced hands quickly over neck, wrists and knee-joints.

"Dead several hours," he pronounced, sharply. "Rigor
well-established--beginning to pass off." He moved the dead man's left
leg in illustration; it swung loose at the knee. "I've been expecting
this. Heart very weak. Might happen any moment. Any one spoken to him
to-day?"

He glanced around interrogatively.

"I saw him here after lunch," volunteered somebody. "I didn't speak."

"I thought he was asleep," said another.

Nobody remembered speaking to him. They were so used to old General
Fentiman, slumbering by the fire.

"Ah, well," said the doctor. "What's the time? Seven?" He seemed to
make a rapid calculation. "Say five hours for rigor to set in--must
have taken place very rapidly--he probably came in at his usual time,
sat down and died straight away."

"He always walked from Dover Street," put in an elderly man, "I told
him it was too great an exertion at his age. You've heard me say so,
Ormsby."

"Yes, yes, quite," said the purple-faced Ormsby. "Dear me, just so."

"Well, there's nothing to be done," said the doctor. "Died in his
sleep. Is there an empty bedroom we can take him to, Culyer?"

"Yes, certainly," said the Secretary. "James, fetch the key of
number sixteen from my office and tell them to put the bed in order.
I suppose, eh, doctor?--when the rigor passes off we shall be able
to--eh?"

"Oh, yes, you'll be able to do everything that's required. I'll send
the proper people in to lay him out for you. Somebody had better let
his people know--only they'd better not show up till we can get him
more presentable."

"Captain Fentiman knows already," said Colonel Marchbanks. "And Major
Fentiman is staying in the Club--he'll probably be in before long. Then
there's a sister, I think."

"Yes, old Lady Dormer," said Penberthy, "she lives round in Portman
Square. They haven't been on speaking terms for years. Still, she'll
have to know."

"I'll ring them up," said the Colonel. "We can't leave it to Captain
Fentiman, he's in no fit state to be worried, poor fellow. You'll have
to have a look at him, doctor, when you've finished here. An attack of
the old trouble--nerves, you know."

"All right. Ah! is the room ready, Culyer? Then we'll move him. Will
somebody take his shoulders--no, not you, Culyer" (for the Secretary
had only one sound arm), "Lord Peter, yes, thank you--lift carefully."

Wimsey put his long, strong hands under the stiff arms; the doctor
gathered up the legs; they moved away. They looked like a dreadful
little Guy Fawkes procession, with that humped and unreverend mannikin
bobbing and swaying between them.

The door closed after them, and a tension seemed removed. The circle
broke up into groups. Somebody lit a cigarette. The planet's tyrant,
dotard Death, had held his gray mirror before them for a moment and
shown them the image of things to come. But now it was taken away
again. The unpleasantness had passed. Fortunate, indeed, that Penberthy
was the old man's own doctor. He knew all about it. He could give
a certificate. No inquest. Nothing undesirable. The members of the
Bellona Club could go to dinner.

Colonel Marchbanks turned to go through the far door towards the
library. In a narrow ante-room between the two rooms there was a
convenient telephone cabinet for the use of those members who did not
wish to emerge into the semi-publicity of the entrance-hall.

"Hi, colonel! not that one. That instrument's out of order," said a man
called Wetheridge, who saw him go. "Disgraceful, I call it. I wanted
to use the 'phone this morning, and--oh! hullo! the notice has gone. I
suppose it's all right again. They ought to let one know."

Colonel Marchbanks paid little attention to Wetheridge. He was the club
grumbler, distinguished even in that fellowship of the dyspeptic and
peremptory--always threatening to complain to the Committee, harassing
the Secretary and constituting a perennial thorn in the sides of his
fellow-members. He retired, murmuring, to his chair and the evening
paper, and the Colonel stepped into the telephone cabinet to call up
Lady Dormer's house in Portman Square.

Presently he came out through the library into the entrance-hall, and
met Penberthy and Wimsey just descending the staircase.

"Have you broken the news to Lady Dormer?" asked Wimsey.

"Lady Dormer is dead," said the Colonel. "Her maid tells me she passed
quietly away at half-past ten this morning."