“A cheerful inefficient wouldn’t have been able to pay you the price you asked for this old mausoleum,” Bundle reminded him.
Lord Caterham winced.
“I wish you wouldn’t use that word, Bundle. We were just getting away from the subject.”
“I don’t see why you’re so frightfully sensitive about it,” said Bundle. “After all, people must die somewhere.”
“They needn’t die in my house,” said Lord Caterham.
“I don’t see why not. Lots of people have. Masses of stuffy old great grandfathers and grandmothers.”
“That’s different,” said Lord Caterham. “Naturally I expect parents to die here—they don’t count. But I do object to strangers. And I especially object to inquests. The thing will become a habit soon. This is the second. You remember all that fuss we had four years ago? For which, by the way, I hold George Lomax entirely to blame.”
“And now you’re blaming poor old steamroller Coote. I’m sure he was quite as annoyed about it as anyone.”
“Very inconsiderate,” said Lord Caterham obstinately. “People who are likely to do that sort of thing oughtn’t to be asked to stay. And you may say what you like, Bundle, I don’t like inquests. I never have and I never shall.”
“Well, this wasn’t the same sort of thing as the last one,” said Bundle soothingly. “I mean, it wasn’t a murder.”
“It might have been—from the fuss that thickhead of an inspector made. He’s never got over that business four years ago. He thinks every death