Death at the Excelsior
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death at the Excelsior and other Stories by P. G. Wodehouse. Chapter One. The room was the typical bedroom of the typical boarding house furnished in so far as it could be said to be furnished at all with severe simplicity. It contained two beds, a pine chest of drawers, a strip of faded carpet and a washbasin. But there was that on the floor which set this room apart from 1000 rooms of the same kind flat on his back with his hands tightly clenched in one leg, twisted oddly under him and with his teeth gleaming through his grey beard in a horrible grin. Captain Jon Gunnar stared up at the ceiling with eyes that saw nothing until a moment before he had had the little room all to himself. But now two people were standing just inside the door looking down at him. One was a large policeman who twisted his helmet nervously in his hands. The other was a tall, gaunt old woman, in a rusty black dress, who gazed with pale eyes at the dead man. Her face was quite expressionless. The woman was mrs Pickett, owner of the Excelsior boarding house. The policeman's name was Grogan. He was a genial giant, a terror to the riotous elements of the waterfront, but obviously ill at ease in the presence of death. He drew in his breath, wiped his forehead and whispered, look at his eyes, ma'am mrs Pickett had not spoken a word since she had brought the policeman into the room and she did not do so. Now constable Grogan looked at her quickly. He was afraid of mother Pick it, as was everybody else along the waterfront. Her silence. Her pale eyes and the quiet, decisiveness of her personality, cowed, even the tough old salt to patronize the excelsior. She was a formidable influence in that little community of sailor men. That's just how I found him, said Mrs Pickett. She did not speak loudly, but her voice made the policemen start. He wiped his forehead again. It might have been apoplexy. He hazarded. Mrs Pickett said nothing. There was a sound of footsteps outside and a young man entered carrying a backpack. Good morning. Mrs Pickett. I was told that. Good Lord! The young doctor dropped to his knees beside the body and raised one of the arms. After a moment he lowered it gently to the floor and shook his head and grim resignation. He's been dead for hours, he announced. When did you find him? 20 minutes back? Replied the old woman. I guess he died last night. He never would be called in the morning. Said he'd like to sleep on. Well. He's got his wish