No Graves as Yet_ A Novel - Anne Perry [138]
Morel took a deep breath. “No, of course I’m not!” he shouted above the roar. “But whoever did it must have believed they had a reason. It would be much more comfortable to think it was a lunatic from outside who broke in, but we know it wasn’t. It was one of us—someone who knew him for at least a year. Face it! Somebody hated him enough to take a gun and shoot him.”
“Jealousy,” Elwyn said hoarsely.
Beecher emerged from the doorway of the lecture room, his face white. “For God’s sake, be quiet!” he shouted. “You’ve all said more than enough!” He did not appear to see Joseph. “Go on back to your work! Get out!”
“Rubbish!” Morel exploded, ignoring Beecher completely. “That’s absolute bloody rubbish! He was a charming, brilliant, conspiring, arrogant sod who enjoyed his power over people, and for once he went too far.” He swung his arm wide, almost hitting Foubister. “He made you run errands like a boot boy. He took Rattray’s girlfriend, just to show everyone that he could.” He glanced at Beecher and away again. “He got away with all kinds of things nobody else did!” His voice was almost a scream above the rain.
“Shut up, Morel, you’re drunk!” Beecher shouted at him. “Go and put your head under the cold tap before you make even more of a fool of yourself. Or go and stand in the rain!” He jerked his hand toward the streaming window.
“I’m not drunk!” Morel said bitterly. “The rest of you are! You don’t have any idea what’s going on!” He jabbed his finger viciously in no particular direction. “Perth does! That miserable little bastard can see through us all. It’ll give him a kick to arrest one of us. Can’t you see it in his face—the glee? He’s positively smacking his lips.”
“Then at least it’ll be over!” Foubister yelled it as if it was an accusation.
“No, it won’t, you fool!” Morel shouted back at him. “It won’t ever be over! Do you think we can just go back to the way we were? You’re an idiot!”
Foubister launched himself at Morel, but Beecher had seen it coming and caught him in full flight, staggering backward to pitch up hard against the wall, Foubister in his arms.
Outside the rain was still roaring and hissing over the rooftops and bouncing back off the ground.
Beecher straightened up and pushed Foubister away. Foubister swung around to face Morel, Joseph, and Elwyn. “Of course we won’t be the same!” he choked, his voice a sob. “For a start, one of us will be hanged!”
Elwyn looked dazed, as if someone had hit him also.
Morel was white to the lips. “Better than going to war, which is where the rest of us will end up,” he lashed back. “He was always afraid of that, wasn’t he—our great Sebastian! He—”
Elwyn lurched forward and hit Morel as hard as he could, sending him staggering backward to strike his head and shoulders on the wall and slither to a heap on the floor.
“He wasn’t a coward!” Elwyn gasped out the words, tears streaming down his face. “If you say that again, I’ll kill you!” And he aimed another punch, but Morel saw it coming and stumbled out of the way.
Beecher was staring at Elwyn in disbelief.
Elwyn jerked forward again, and Joseph grasped his arms, exerting all his strength to hold him, surprised to find it sufficient. “That was stupid,” he said coldly. “I think you had better go and sober up, too. If we don’t see you again until tomorrow, that will be more than soon enough.” Elwyn went slack, and Joseph let him go.
Beecher helped Morel to his feet.
Elwyn glared sullenly at Joseph, then turned and walked away.
Morel shook himself and winced, then mumbled something, touching his jaw tentatively and smearing blood across his mouth.
“Maybe that will teach you to keep a wiser tongue in your head,” Joseph said unsympathetically.
Morel said nothing, but limped away.
“Coward . . . ?” Beecher turned the word over as if he had discovered a new and profound meaning in it.
“Everybody’s afraid,” Joseph responded, “except those who are too arrogant to realize the danger. It’s an easy word to fling around, and it’s guaranteed to hurt pretty well anyone.”
“Yes . . . yes, it is,” Beecher agreed. “And