He was always simmering. When he found something that really annoyed him, he became uncomfortably loud and extremely animated. All that Marmion could do was to stand there and listen. ‘It’s disgraceful!’ cried the superintendent, pacing his office to work up a head of steam. ‘As if the police don’t have enough to do, we’ve had to rush men over to a village near Enfield to guard the remains of that Zeppelin. Sightseers have descended on the place in thousands by bus, train and car, and they all want souvenirs from the wreck. It’s repulsive. Human beings died in that crash but people show no respect. According to one report I’ve had, they tried to lift the tarpaulin to gloat over the charred bodies. Can you imagine that?’ he howled. ‘In the end, soldiers had to remove the corpses to a tiny corrugated iron church and stand guard over them. If they hadn’t been stopped, I dare swear that some of the vultures would have hacked off parts of the bodies and carried those away as souvenirs.’ ‘To some extent, sir,’ ventured Marmion, ‘it’s understandable.’ Chatfield rounded on him.
