Have His Carcase (12 page)

sort of trouble and he went abroad, at the time of the Megatherium Scandal.

Early in the twenties, wasn’t it? My memory isn’t what it was. He had a pair of

razors. Very fond of a good blade, he was, and looked after it very carefuly.

Mr Alec Baring – that was sad, too. They said it was in the family, but I always

thought that flying crash had something to do with it. I suppose they wouldn’t let

him have razors where he is now. He only had one of that set, as a replacement

for one he left in an hotel. How many does that make? Sixteen altogether, not

counting the dozen that went to Bombay. Wel, that’s nearly the lot, because I

gave a round half-dozen to my late head-assistant when we broke up the

business. He has an establishment of his own in Eastbourne, and is doing very

wel there, I’m told. Twenty-two. Now, what about the last pair?’

Mr Endicott scratched his head with a pained look.

‘Sometimes I think I’m beginning to fail a bit,’ he said, ‘though my handicap

is getting shorter and my wind’s as good as ever it was. Now, who
did
have

that pair of razors? Wel, there! Could it have been Sir Wiliam Jones? No, it

couldn’t. Or the Marquis of – ? No. Stop a minute. That was the pair Sir Harry

Ringwood bought for his son – young Mr Ringwood up at Magdalen Colege. I

knew I hadn’t seen them about. He had them in 1925, and the young gentleman

went out to British East Africa under the Colonial Office when he left the

University. There! I knew I should get it in time. That’s the lot, my lord.’

‘Endicott,’ said Lord Peter, ‘I think you’re marvelous. You’re the youngest

man of your age I ever struck, and I should like to meet your wine-merchant.’

Mr Endicott, gratified, pushed the decanter across the table and mentioned

the name of the vendor.

‘A lot of these people we can dismiss at once,’ said Lord Peter. ‘Colonel

Grimes is a problem – goodness knows what happened to the kit he left in

France, but I expect somebody out there got hold of it. The razor may have

returned to this country. He’s a possibility. Major Hartley and Colonel

Belfridge wil have to be traced. I shouldn’t think it would be Sir John

Westlock. If he was a careful sort of blighter, he probably took his razors with

him and cherished them. We’l have to inquire about poor Baring. His razor

may have been sold or given away. And we might just ask about young

Ringwood, though we can probably count him out. Then there’s your head-

assistant. Would he be likely to have sold any of them, do you think?’

‘Wel, no, my lord; I shouldn’t think he would. He told me that he should

keep them for his own use and for use on his own premises. He liked having the

old name on them, you see. But for sale to his customers, he would have his

razors marked with his own name. That has a certain value, you see, my lord.

It’s only if you’re in a good way of business and can order in razors in three-

dozen lots that you get your own name put on them. He started off very wel

with a new three dozen Kropp blades, for he told me al about it, and, things

being equal, those are what he would supply his customers with.’

‘Quite. Any likelihood of his seling the others second-hand?’

‘That,’ said Mr Endicott, ‘I could not say. There isn’t a great deal of

business done in second-hand razors, without it’s one of these tramp-

hairdressers now and again.’

‘What’s a tramp-hairdresser?’

‘Wel, my lord, they’re hairdressers out of a job, and they go about from

place to place looking to be taken on as extra hands when there’s a press of

work. We didn’t see much of them in
our
place, of course. They’re not first-

class men as a rule, and I wouldn’t have taken it upon me to engage any but a

first-class man for
my
gentlemen. But in a place like Eastbourne, where there’s

a big seasonal custom, you would have them round pretty frequently. It might

be worth while asking my late assistant. Plumer, his name is, in Belvedere

Road. If you like, I wil send him a line.’

‘Don’t bother; I’l run down and see him. Just one other thing. Was any of

the customers you’ve mentioned a clumsy-handed felow who took a lot out of

his razor and was always sending it back to be re-set?’

Mr Endicott chuckled.

‘Ah! now you’re talking,’ he said. ‘Colonel Belfridge – oh, dear! oh, dear!

He was a terribly hard man on his razors – is stil, for al I know. Time and

again he’d say to me, “ ’Pon my word, Endicott, I don’t know what you
do
to

my razors. They won’t keep their edge a week. Steel isn’t what it was before

the War.” But it wasn’t the steel, or the War either. He was always the same. I

think he took the edge off with the strop, instead of putting it on; I do indeed.

He didn’t keep a man, you know. The Colonel belongs to one of our best

families, but not a wealthy man, by any means. A very fine soldier, I believe.’

‘One of the old school, eh?’ said Wimsey. ‘Good-hearted but peppery. I

know. Where did you say he was living now?’

‘Stamford,’ replied Mr Endicott, promptly. ‘He sent me a card last

Christmas. Very kind of him, I thought it, to remember me. But my old

customers are very thoughtful in those ways. They know I value their kind

remembrance. Wel, my lord, I am exceedingly pleased to have seen you,’ he

added, as Wimsey rose and took up his hat, ‘and I’m sure I hope I may have

been of some assistance to you. You keep very fit, I hope. You’re looking

wel.’

‘I’m getting old,’ said Lord Peter. ‘My hair is turning grey over the temples.’

Mr Endicott emitted a concerned cluck.

‘But that’s nothing,’ he hastened to assure his visitor. ‘Many ladies think it

looks more distinguished that way. Not getting thin on top, I hope and trust.’

‘Not that I know of. Take a look at it.’

Mr Endicott pushed the straw-coloured thatch apart and peered earnestly at

the roots.

‘No sign of it,’ he pronounced, confidently. ‘Never saw a healthier scalp. At

the same time, my lord, if you
should
notice any slight weakening or faling-off,

let me know. I should be proud to advise you. I’ve stil got the recipe for

Endicott’s Special Tonic, and though I say so myself, I’ve never found anything

to beat it.’

Wimsey laughed, and promised to cal on Mr Endicott for help at the first

symptom of trouble. The old barber saw him to the door, clasping his hand

affectionately and begging him to come again. Mrs Endicott would be so sorry

to have missed him.

Seated behind the steering-wheel, Wimsey debated the three courses open

to him. He could go to Eastbourne; he could go to Stamford; he could return to

Wilvercombe. A natural inclination pointed to Wilvercombe. It was, surely, only

justifiable to return at once to the scene of the crime, if it was a crime. The fact

that Harriet was also there was a purely accidental complication. On the other

hand, his obvious duty was to clear up this razor business as quickly as

possible. Musing, he drove to his own flat in Piccadily, where he found his

man, Bunter, mounting photographs in a large album.

To Bunter he laid bare his problem, requesting his advice. Bunter, revolving

the matter in his mind, took a little time for consideration and then delivered

himself respectfuly of his opinion.

‘In your lordship’s place, my lord, I fancy I should be inclined to go to

Stamford. For a variety of reasons.’

‘You would, would you?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Wel, perhaps you are right, Bunter.’

‘Yes, thank you, my lord. Would your lordship wish me to accompany you?’

‘No,’ said Wimsey. ‘You can go down to Eastbourne.’

‘Very good, my lord.’

‘Tomorrow morning. I shal stay the night in Town. You might send off a

telegram for me – no, on second thoughts, I’l send it myself.’

Telegram from Lord Peter Wimsey to Miss Harriet Vane:

following razor clue to stamford refuse resemble thriller hero who hangs round

heroine to neglect of duty but will you marry me – peter.

Telegram from Miss Harriet Vane to Lord Peter Wimsey:

good hunting certainly not some developments here – vane.

VII

THE EVIDENCE OF THE GIGOLOS

‘A worthless life,

A life ridiculous.’

Death’s Jest-Book

Friday, 19 June – Evening

Miss Harriet Vane, in a claret-coloured frock, swayed round the dance-lounge

of the Hotel Resplendent in the arms of Mr Antoine, the fair-haired gigolo.

‘I’m afraid I am not a very good dancer,’ she remarked, apologeticaly.

Mr Antoine, who was, rather surprisingly, neither Jew nor South-American

dago, nor Central European mongrel, but French, clasped her a very little more

firmly in his competent professional arm, and replied:

‘You dance very correctly, mademoisele. It is only the
entrain
that is a little

lacking. It is possible that you are awaiting the perfect partner. When the heart

dances with the feet, then it wil be
à merveille
.’ He met her eyes with a

delicately calculated expression of encouragement.

‘Is that the kind of thing you have to say to al these old ladies?’ asked

Harriet, smiling.

Antoine opened his eyes a trifle and then, mocking back to her mockery,

said:

‘I am afraid so. That is part of our job, you know.’

‘It must be very tedious.’

Antoine contrived to shrug his exquisite shoulders without in any way

affecting the lithe grace of his motion.

‘
Que voulez-vous?
Al work has its tedious moments, which are repaid by

those that are more agreeable. One may say truthfuly to mademoisele what

might in another case be a mere politeness.’

‘Don’t bother about me,’ said Harriet. ‘There’s something else I want to talk

about. I wanted to ask you about Mr Alexis.’

‘
Ce pauvre Alexis!
It was mademoisele who found him, I understand?’

‘Yes. I just wondered what sort of person he was, and why he should have

– done away with himself like that.’

‘Ah! that is what we are al wondering. It is, no doubt, the Russian

temperament.’

‘I had heard’ – Harriet felt that she must tread cautiously here – ‘that he was

engaged to be married.’

‘Oh, yes – to the English lady. That was understood.’

‘Was he happy about it?’

‘Mademoisele, Alexis was poor and the English lady is very rich. It was

advantageous to him to marry her. At first, no doubt, it might offer a little

désagrément
, but afterwards – you understand, mademoisele, these matters

arrange themselves.’

‘You don’t think that he suddenly felt he couldn’t face it, and took this way

out?’

‘That is difficult to say, but – no, I do not think so. He had, after al, only to

go away. He was a very good dancer and very popular. He would easily have

found another situation, provided his health would permit him to continue.’

‘I wondered whether there was any other attachment to make things more

difficult.’

‘From what he said to us, mademoisele, I know of nothing which could not

easily have been arranged.’

‘Women like him, I suppose?’ demanded Harriet, bluntly.

Antoine’s smile was a sufficient answer.

‘There wasn’t any disappointment of any kind?’

‘I did not hear of any. But of course, one does not tel one’s friends

everything.’

‘Of course not. I don’t mean to be inquisitive, but it al seems to me rather

odd.’

The music stopped.

‘What is the arrangement?’ asked Harriet. ‘Do we go on or have you other

engagements?’

‘There is no reason why we should not continue for the next dance. After

that, unless mademoisele wishes to make a special arrangement with the

management, I am expected to attend to my other patrons.’

‘No,’ said Harriet, ‘I don’t want to upset things. Is there any reason why you

and the two young ladies should not have a little supper with me later on?’

‘None at al. It is very kind; very amiable. Leave it to me, mademoisele. I

wil arrange it al. It is natural that mademoisele should take an interest.’

‘Yes, but I don’t want the manager to think that I’m interrogating his staff

behind his back.’

‘
N’ayez pas peur, je m’en charge
. I wil ask you to dance again in a little

time, and then I wil tel you what I have contrived.’

He handed her back to her table with a smile, and she saw him gather up a

vast and bilowy lady in a tightly fitting gown and move smoothly away with her,

the eternal semi-sensuous smile fixed upon his lips as though it was painted

there.

About six dances later, the smile reappeared beside her, and Antoine,

guiding her steps through a waltz, informed her that if, at 11.30, when the

dancing was over, she would be good enough to seek out a smal restaurant a

few streets away, he, with Doris and Charis, would be there to meet her. It was