The Old Vengeful

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"THERE'S NOTHING WRONG with funerals," said Audley.

"I met my wife at a funeral."

Mitchell studied the picture again. In the original newspaper it had been a good sharp reproduction, but the photo-copier hadn't improved it. "I hope the weather was better than it was for this one."

"It was bloody cold, as I recall—an east wind and an open churchyard." Audley peered over his shoulder. "Yes . . . they do seem a bit bedraggled, I must say. But that's because it's never been considered conducive to good order and military discipline to carry umbrellas into action—though I believe Sir Thomas Picton carried one at Waterloo, didn't he?"

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"Or naval discipline, in this case." Mitchell ran his eye down the line of officers. "Two captains, three admirals, and a flag-lieutenant—and the two-striper's the only dry one ... or half-dry, anyway."

Audley smiled evilly. "And that's only because he's holding an umbrella over the hero's daughter. Smart fellow! And the C-in-C looks rather unhappy, I do agree. But then he never did like Loftus— they were at Dartmouth together, and Loftus pipped him for the Sword-of-Honour, or something. . . although, to be fair, I don't think that was the whole reason."

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