“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 that takes place here must necessarily be a case of foul play fraught with grave political significance. You’ve no idea the fuss he made. I’ve been hearing about it from Tredwell. Tested everything imaginable for fingerprints. And of course they only found the dead man’s own. The clearest case imaginable⁠—though whether it was suicide or accident is another matter.”

“I met Gerry Wade once,” said Bundle. “He was a friend of Bill’s. You’d have liked him, Father, I never saw anyone more cheerfully inefficient than he was.”