“Thank you, sir,” said Underwood bitterly.
“And, in the intervals of fascination, look up the deaths of the Colson father and grandfather. Miss Pearse was rather affectionate about them. Did you notice that?”
“Good Lord!” Underwood exclaimed. “You mean to say, maybe this wasn’t the first time a saffron cake went from her house to the Colsons?”
“I wonder,” Reggie murmured. “Some animosity towards the Colson family very marked. Yes. We’d better know what we can about the deaths of the past. Before the future brings more deaths. Well, well. Here’s the police station. Futile institution, so far. Justify your existence. Underwood. If possible. Good - bye.”
Some days afterwards he was called away from the composition of a monograph on influenza in rabbits to Scotland Yard.
Again he found Underwood with Bell and Lomas. He gazed at them with plaintive dislike. “Oh, my hat!” he moaned. “What’s the matter now?”
“The reference is your infernal saffron cake, Reginald,” Lomas said. “You don’t mean to say you’ve forgotten it?”
“Oh, yes. Yes. I had. Absolutely. I’d done my job. The rest is simple police work. I was on something important.”
“Simple!” said Lomas. “Good Gad! You’ve brought us up against a blank wall. Go on. Underwood. Tell him.”
Underwood went off with a rush. “Well, sir, I got on to the Colsons’ cook all right. I reckon I’ve pretty well turned her inside out - -”
“My dear fellow!” Reggie purred admiration. “Your fatal charm.”
“Nothing like that, sir,” said Underwood severely. “She’s old enough to be my mother. I took her round for a cup o’ tea with the Langdon inspector - -”
“Very proper, I’m sure,” Bell grunted.
Underwood glowered at him. “Talking over poor Mills’s death, that was the idea. She’s desperate cut up about him. He did go into the Colsons’ house that night, Mr. Fortune. She gave him a bun and a cup of cocoa, and he went off as right as rain.”
“Oh, yes. Who made the bun?” Reggie murmured.
“That’s where the catch comes. It was a saffron bun, like you said. That day the Colsons had the married son and his wife coming to tea, and Miss Minnie Colson made some special stuff herself - buns made with cream and currants and saffron - -”
“Yes. I told you so. Revel buns, as in Devonshire.”
“I dare say. The cook says Minnie Colson had the recipe from Miss Pearse next door. The Colsons have ‘em now and again, and Miss Minnie always makes ‘em. The son’s wife is supposed to like ‘em.”
“Sound taste. They’re very good,” Reggie murmured. “Not quite right though. I’ve been thinkin’ about that. Want a better fruit flavour. I - -”
“Damme, let the man get on,” Lomas cried.
“Oh, yes. Yes. Duty first. You were sayin’ they were made for the son’s wife. By daughter Minnie.”
“That’s right. Cook wasn’t in the kitchen when she made ‘em. The buns went up to tea, and came down again untouched.”
“The son’s wife wouldn’t have any. Well, well. Taste not reliable. Appetite not reliable. Very disconcertin’ in a guest. Makes a lot of trouble. Look at this case.”
“Made some trouble for poor Mills,” Underwood said severely. “The buns came back to the kitchen. The cook don’t like saffron herself. So she didn’t eat any. She fed Mills on ‘em when he looked in for his bit of supper. When she went to the cake tin next day, to send things up for tea again, the rest of the buns were gone. That’s all she knows - so she says, and I believe her. So there’s a nice old snag. We’ll never be able to prove there was anything in the dam’ buns at all.”
“No. As you say. We shan’t,” Reggie murmured. “Nothing more from that line of investigation. We weren’t quick enough.”
“I don’t know what more I could have done, sir,” Underwood protested.
“Nothing. No. Not blamin’ you. We don’t have much luck. If Mills had been found sooner, I might have saved him. If we could have learnt his habits quicker, we might have got some effective evidence. However. Other means of usin’ pressure. By the way, what about the deaths of Colson father and grandfather?”
“Colson grandfather died, aged seventy - five, in 1914, of a stroke. Colson father died, aged sixty - two, in 1925, of gastric influenza.”
“Well, well.” Reggie sank deep in his chair, and gazed at Lomas with closing eyes. “That’s very interestin’.”
“You’re suspicious?” Lomas frowned.
