Margery Allingham: "Police at the Funeral"
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London: Penguin Books, 1939 
(reprinted in recent times: 2012?)
ISBN 0-14-008780-X

p.92: [NP] But as he [Albert Campion, the detective] walked across the
Piece a dozen disturbing thoughts wrestled in his mind. There were Uncle
William's twenty-five unaccounted-for minutes to consider. Was it just
possible that the old man had not parted with Andrew Seeley, but that he
had ... shot him, hurled him into the stream and doubled back to Sunday
luncheon? Immediately the circumstances which must have conspired to
make such a procedure possible presented themselves to the young man in
all their array of absurdity. ...
[NP] Mr. Campion was discomforted.

p.96: He [Uncle William] checked his meandering wits sharply and took
refuge in a suitable comment. "Poor Andrew," he said, and coughed. [NP]
Mr. Campion remained silent, looking more vague than ever in a blue haze
of cigar smoke. Uncle William's thoughts were racing tonight, however,
leading him in a fantastic dance from one subject to another, and
presently he spoke again. [NP] "Damn bad-tempered, evil-minded fellow,
all the same," he said angrily [referring to Andrew, an apparent murder
victim].

p.96: [NP] There was no cosiness in the breakfast-room. The lights were
not shaded, but sprouted unadorned from a brass water-lily floating
upside-down in the white expanse of ceiling, and their cold blaze
presented an atmosphere of hygienic chill which even the bright fire
could not dispel. [NP]