Bredon took the card obediently.
“Block letters please,” added Miss Rossiter, glancing with some dismay at the sheets of copy she had just received.
“Oh, do you think my handwriting’s awful? I always think it’s rather neat, myself. Neat, but not gaudy. However, if you say so-”
“Block letters,” repeated Miss Rossiter, firmly. “Hullo! here’s Mr. Tallboy. I expect he wants you, Mr. Ingleby.”
“What, again?”
“Nutrax have cancelled that half-double,” announced Mr. Tallboy with gloomy triumph. “They’ve just sent up from the conference to say that they want something special to put up against the new Slumbermalt campaign, and Mr. Hankin says will you get something out and let him have it in half an hour.”
Ingleby uttered a loud yell, and Bredon, laying down the index-card, gazed at him open-mouthed.
“Damn and blast Nutrax,” said Ingleby. “May all its directors get elephantiasis, locomotor ataxy and ingrowing toe-nails!”
“Oh, quite,” said Tallboy. “You’ll let us have something, won’t you? If I can get it passed before 3 o’clock the printer-Hullo!”
Mr. Tallboy’s eye, roving negligently round, had fallen on Bredon’s index-card. Miss Rossiter’s glance followed his. Neatly printed on the card stood the one word
DEATH.
“Look at that!” said Miss Rossiter.
“Oh!” said Ingleby, looking over her shoulder. “That’s who you are, is it, Bredon? Well, all I can say is, your stuff ought to come home to everybody. Universal appeal, and so forth.”
Mr. Bredon smiled apologetically.
“You startled me so,” he said. “Pooping off that howl in my ear.” He took up the card and finished his inscription:
DEATH BREDON,
12 A, Great Ormond Street,
W.C.I
Chapter II. Embarrassing Indiscretion of Two Typists
For the twentieth time, Mr. Death Bredon was studying the report of the coroner’s inquest on Victor Dean.
There was the evidence of Mr. Prout, the photographer:
“It would be about tea-time. Tea is served at 3.30, more or less. I was coming out of my room on the top floor, carrying my camera and tripod. Mr. Dean passed me. He was coming quickly along the passage in the direction of the iron staircase. He was not running-he was walking at a good pace. He was carrying a large, heavy book under one arm. I know now that it was The Times Atlas. I turned to walk in the same direction that he was going. I saw him start down the iron staircase; it is rather a steep spiral. He had taken about half a dozen steps when he seemed to crumple together and disappear. There was a tremendous crash. You might call it a clatter-a prolonged crashing noise. I started to run, when Mr. Daniels’ door opened and he came out and collided with the legs of my tripod. While we were mixed up together, Mr. Ingleby ran past us down the corridor. I heard a shrill scream from below. I put the earner down and Mr. Daniels and I went to the head of the staircase together. Some other people joined us-Miss Rossiter, I think and some of the copy-writers and clerks. We could see Mr. Dean lying huddled together at the foot of the staircase. I could not say whether he had fallen down the stairs or through the banisters. He was lying all in a heap. The staircase is a right handed spiral, and makes one complete turn. The treads are composed of pierced ironwork. The hand-rail has a number of iron knobs on it, about the size of small walnuts. The stairs are apt to be slippery. The stair is well lit. There is a skylight above, and it receives light through the glass panels of Mr. Daniels’ room and also from the glass-panelled corridor on the floor below. I have here a photograph taken by myself at 3.31 p.m. yesterday-that is the day after the accident. It shows the head of the spiral staircase. It was taken by ordinary daylight. I used an Actinax Special Rapid plate with the H & D number 450. The exposure was 1/5 second with the lens stopped down to f.16. The light was then similar to what it was at the time of Mr. Dean’s death. The sun was shining on both occasions. The corridor runs, roughly, north and south. As deceased went down the staircase, the light would be coming from above and behind him; it is not possible that he could have the sun in his eyes.”
Then came Mr. Daniels’ account:
“I was standing at my desk consulting with Mr. Freeman about an advertising lay-out. I heard the crash. I thought one of the boys must have fallen down again. A boy did fall down that staircase on a previous occasion. I do not consider it a dangerous structure. I consider that the boy was going too fast. I do not recollect hearing Mr. Dean go along the passage. I did not see him. My back was to the door. People pass along that passage continuously; I should not be paying attention. I went quickly out when I heard the noise of the fall. I encountered Mr. Prout and tripped over his tripod. I did not exactly fall down, but I stumbled and had to catch hold of him to steady myself. There was nobody in the corridor when I came out except Mr. Prout. I will swear to that. Mr. Ingleby came past us while we were recovering from the collision. He did not come from his own room, but from the south end of the passage. He went down the iron staircase and Mr. Prout and I followed as quickly as we could. I heard somebody shriek downstairs. I think it was just before, or just after I ran into Mr. Prout. I was rather confused at the time and cannot say for certain. We saw Mr. Dean lying at the bottom of the staircase. There were a number of people standing round. Then Mr. Ingleby came up the stairs very hastily and called out: ‘He’s dead!’ or ‘He’s killed himself.’ I cannot speak to the exact words. I did not believe him at first; I thought he was exaggerating. I went on down the staircase. Mr. Dean was lying bundled together, head downwards. His legs were partly up the staircase. I think somebody had already tried to lift him before I got there. I had some experience of death and accidents. I was a stretcher-bearer in the War. I examined him and gave it as my opinion that he was dead. I believe Mr. Atkins had already expressed a similar opinion. I helped to lift the body and carry it into the Board-room. We laid him on the table and endeavoured to administer first-aid, but I never had any doubt that he was dead. It did not occur to us to leave him where he was till the police were summoned, because, of course, he might not have been dead, and we could not leave him head downwards on the staircase.”
Then came Mr. Atkins, who explained that he was a group-secretary, working in one of the downstairs rooms.
“I was just coming out of my room, the door of which commands a view of the iron staircase. It is not directly opposite the foot of the staircase, but it commands a view of the lower half of the staircase. Any one coming down the staircase would have his back turned to me as he stepped off. I heard a loud crash, and saw the deceased falling all of a heap down the stairs. He did not appear to make any attempt to save himself. He was clutching a large book in his arms. He did not loose his grip of the book as he fell. He seemed to cannon from one side of the staircase to the other and fall like a sack of potatoes, so to speak. He pitched on his head at the bottom. I was carrying a large tray full of glass jars. I set this down and ran towards him. I endeavoured to lift him up, but the moment I touched him I felt sure that he was dead. I formed the opinion that he had broken his neck. Mrs. Crump was in the passage at the time. Mrs. Crump is the head charwoman. I said to her: ‘Good God! he’s broken his neck,’ and she screamed loudly. A number of other people arrived almost immediately upon the scene. Somebody said, ‘Perhaps it’s only dislocated.’ Mr. Daniels said to me: ‘We can’t leave him here.’ I think it was Mr. Armstrong who suggested that he should be taken into the Board-room. I assisted to carry him there. The book was held by the deceased in such a tight grip that we had difficulty in getting it away from him. He made no movement of any kind after he fell, and no attempt at speech. I never had the least doubt that he was dead from the moment that he fell.”