Have His Carcase (14 page)

The Colonel intimated that golf, or, hr’rm, breeding spaniels would be a

more seemly amusement for a gentleman.

Wimsey said that, having engaged in a spot of inteligence work during the

War, he had acquired a kind of taste for that kind of thing.

The Colonel pounced on this remark immediately, turned Wimsey’s war-

record inside out, discovered a number of military experiences common to both

of them, and presently found himself walking with his visitor down the pansy-

edged path of his little garden to display a litter of puppies.

‘My dear boy,’ said Colonel Belfridge, ‘I shal only be too happy to help you

in any way I can. You’re not in a hurry, are you? Stay to lunch, and we can talk

it over afterwards. Mabel!’ – in a stentorian shout.

A middle-aged woman appeared in the back doorway and waddled hastily

down the path towards them.

‘Gentleman for lunch!’ bawled the Colonel. ‘And decant a bottle of the ’04.

Carefuly now, dammit! I wonder, now,’ he added, turning to Wimsey, ‘if you

recolect a felow caled Stokes.’

It was with very great difficulty that Wimsey detached the Colonel’s mind

from the events of the Great War and led it back to the subject of razors. Once

his attention was captured, however, Colonel Belfridge proved to be a good

and reliable witness.

He remembered the pair of razors perfectly. Had a lot of trouble with those

razors, hr’rm, woof! Razors were not what they had been in his young days.

Nothing was, sir, dammit! Steel wouldn’t stand up to the work. What with

these damned foreigners and mass-production, our industries were going to the

dogs. He remembered, during the Boer War –

Wimsey, after a quarter of an hour, mentioned the subject of razors.

‘Ha! yes,’ said the Colonel, smoothing his vast white moustache down and

up at the ends with a vast, curving gesture. ‘Ha, hr’rm, yes! The razors, of

course. Now, what do you want to know about them?’

‘Have you stil got them, sir?’

‘No, sir, I have not. I got rid of them, sir. A poor lot they were, too. I told

Endicott I was surprised at his stocking such inferior stuff. Wanted re-setting

every other week. But it’s the same story with al of ’em. Can’t get a decent

blade anywhere nowadays. And we shan’t sir, we shan’t, unless we get a

strong Conservative Government – I say, a
strong
Government, sir, that wil

have the guts to protect the iron and steel industry. But wil they do it? No,

damme, sir – they’re afraid of losing their miserable votes. Flapper votes! How

can you expect a pack of women to understand the importance of iron and

steel? Tel me that, ha, hr’rm!’

Wimsey asked what he had done with the razors.

‘Gave ’em to the gardener,’ said the Colonel. ‘Very decent man. Comes in

twice a week. Wife and family. War pensioner with a game leg. Helps with the

dogs. Quite a good man. Name of Summers.’

‘When was that, sir?’

‘What? Oh! when did I give ’em to him, you mean. Let me see, now, let me

see. That was after Diana had whelped – near thing that – nearly lost her that

time, poor bitch. She died two years ago – kiled – run over by a damned

motorcyclist. Best bitch I ever had. I had him up in court for it – made him pay.

Careless young devil. No consideration for anybody. And now they’ve

abolished the speed-limit—’

Wimsey reminded the Colonel that they were talking about razors.

After further consideration, the Colonel narrowed down the period to the

year 1926. He was sure about it, because of the spaniel’s ilness, which had

given Summers considerable trouble. He had made the man a present of

money, and had added the razors, having just purchased a new pair for himself.

Owing to the ilness of the mother, only one puppy out of the litter had been

successfuly reared, and that was Stamford Royal, who had proved a very

good dog. A reference to the stud-book clinched the date conclusively.

Wimsey thanked the Colonel, and asked whether he could interview

Summers.

By al means. It was not one of Summers’ days, but he lived in a little cottage

near the bridge. Wimsey could go and see him and mention the Colonel’s

name. Should the Colonel walk down with Wimsey?

Lord Peter was grateful, but begged the Colonel would not take the trouble.

(He felt, indeed, that Summers might be more communicative in Colonel

Belfridge’s absence.) With some trouble, he disengaged himself from the old

soldier’s offers of hospitality, and purred away through the picturesque streets

of Stamford to the cottage by the bridge.

Summers was an easy man to question – alert, prompt and exact. It was

very kind of Colonel Belfridge to give him the razors. He himself could not

make use of them, preferring the safety instrument, but of course he had not

told the Colonel that, not wishing to hurt his feelings. He had given the razors to

his sister’s husband, who kept a hairdressing establishment in Seahampton.

Seahampton! Less than 50 miles from Wilvercombe! Had Wimsey struck it

lucky with his very first shot? He was turning away, when it occurred to him to

ask whether there was any special mark by which either of the razors might be

recognised.

Yes, there was. One of them had been accidentaly dropped on the stone

floor of the cottage and there was a slight, a very slight crack across the ivory.

You wouldn’t hardly notice it without you looked closely. The other razor was,

so far as Summers knew, quite perfect.

Wimsey thanked his informant and rewarded him suitably. He returned to the

car and set his course southward. He had always thought Stamford a beautiful

town and now, with its grey stone houses and oriel windows bathed in the

melow afternoon sunshine, it seemed to him the loveliest jewel in the English

crown.

He slept that night in Seahampton, and on the Sunday morning set forth in

search of Summers’ brother-in-law, whose name was Merryweather – a name

of happy omen. The shop turned out to be a smal one, in the neighbourhood of

the docks. Mr Merryweather lived above his premises, and was delighted to

give Wimsey information about the razors.

He had had them in 1927, and they were good razors, though they had been

badly treated and were considerably worn when they came into his hands. He

had one of them stil, and it was doing good service. Perhaps his lordship would

like to look at it. Here it was.

Wimsey, with a beating heart, turned it over in his hands. It was the exact

duplicate of the razor that Harriet had found on the shore. He examined it

carefuly, but found no crack in the ivory. But what, he asked, almost afraid to

put the question for fear of disappointment, what had become of the felow to

it?

‘Now that, my lord,’ said Mr Merryweather, ‘I unfortunately cannot show

you. Had I known it would be wanted, I certainly would never have parted with

it. I sold that razor, my lord, only a few weeks ago, to one of these tramping

felows that came here looking for a job. I had no work for him here, and to tel

you the truth, my lord, I wouldn’t have given it to him if I had. You’d be

surprised, the number of these men who come round, and half of them are no

more skiled hairdressers than my tom-cat. Just out for what they can pick up,

that’s what they are. We generaly give them a few razors to set, just to see

what they’re made of, and the way they set about it, you can tel, nine times out

of ten, that they’ve never set a razor in their lives. Wel, this one was like that,

and I told him he could push off. Then he asked me if I could sel him a second-

hand razor, so I sold him this one to get rid of him. He paid for it and away he

went, and that’s the last I saw of him.’

‘What was he like?’

‘Oh, a little rat of a felow. Sandy-haired and too smooth in his manner by

half. Not so tal as your lordship, he wasn’t, and if I remember rightly he was a

bit – not deformed, but what I might cal crooked. He might have had one

shoulder a trifle higher than the other. Nothing very noticeable, but he gave me

that impression. No, he wasn’t lame or anything of that kind. Quite spry, he

seemed, and quick in his movements. He had rather pale eyes, with sandy

eyelashes – an ugly little devil, if you’l excuse me. Very wel-kept hands – one

notices that, because, of course, when a man asks for a job in this kind of

establishment, that’s one of the first things one looks for. Dirty or bitten nails,

for instance, are what one couldn’t stand for for a moment. Let me see, now.

Oh, yes – he spoke very wel. Spoke like a gentleman, very refined and quiet.

That’s a thing one notices, too. Not that it’s of any great account in a

neighbourhood like this. Our customers are sometimes a roughish lot. But one

can’t help notice, you see, when one’s been used to it. Besides, it gives one an

idea what kind of place a man has been used to.’

‘Did this man say anything about where he had been employed previously?’

‘Not that I remember. My impression of him was that he’d been out of

employment for a goodish time, and wasn’t too keen on giving details. He said

he was on his own. There’s plenty of them do that – want you to believe they

had their own place in Bond Street and only lost their money through

unexampled misfortunes. You know the sort, I expect, my lord. But I didn’t

pay a lot of attention to the man, not liking the look of him.’

‘I suppose he gave a name.’

‘I suppose he did, come to think of it, but I’m dashed if I know what it was.

Henry! What did that sneaking little red-haired felow that came here the other

day say his name was? The man that bought that razor off me?’

Henry, a youth with a crest like a cocktaoo, who apparently lodged with his

employer, laid aside the Sunday paper which he had been unsuccessfuly

pretending to read.

‘Wel, now,’ he said, ‘I don’t remember, Mr Merry-weather. Some ordinary

name. Was it Brown, now? I think it was Brown.’

‘No, it wasn’t,’ said Mr Merryweather, suddenly enlightened. ‘It was Bright,

that’s what it was. Because don’t you remember me saying he didn’t act up to

his name when it came to setting razors?’

‘That’s right,’ said Henry. ‘Of course. Bright. What’s the matter with him?

Been getting into trouble?’

‘I shouldn’t wonder if he had,’ said Wimsey.

‘Police?’ suggested Henry, with a sparkling countenance.

‘Now, Henry,’ said Mr Merryweather. ‘Does his lordship here look as if he

was the police? I’m surprised at you. You’l never make your way in this

profession if you don’t know better than that.’

Henry blushed.

‘I’m not the police,’ said Wimsey, ‘but I shouldn’t be surprised if the police

did want to get hold of Mr Bright one of these days. But don’t you say anything

about that. Only, if you should happen to see Mr Bright again, at any time, you

might let me know. I’m staying at Wilvercombe at the moment – at the Belevue

– but in case I’m not there, this address wil always find me.’

He proffered a card, thanked Mr Merryweather and Henry, and withdrew,

triumphant. He felt that he had made progress. Surely there could not be two

white Endicott razors, bearing the same evidence of misuse and the same little

crack in the ivory. Surely he had tracked the right one, and if so –

Wel, then he had only to find Mr Bright. A tramp-barber with sandy hair

and a crooked shoulder ought not to be so very difficult to find. But there was

always the disagreeable possibility that Mr Bright had been a barber for that

one performance only. In which case, his name was almost certainly not Bright.

He thought for a moment, then went into a telephone cal-box and rang up

the Wilvercombe police.

Superintendent Glaisher answered him. He was interested to hear that

Wimsey had traced the early history of the razor. He had not personaly

observed the crack in the ivory, but if his lordship would hold the line for a

moment. . . . Hulo! was Wimsey there? . . . Yes, his lordship was quite right.

There was a crack. Almost indistinguishable, but it was there. Certainly it was

an odd coincidence. It realy looked as though it might bear investigation.

Wimsey spoke again.

Yes, by al means. The Seahampton police should be asked to trace Bright.

No doubt it would turn out that Alexis had got the razor off Bright, but it was

funny that he couldn’t have bought one in Wilvercombe if he wanted one.

About three weeks ago, was it? Very good. He would see what could be done.

He would also find out whether Alexis had been to Seahampton within that

period or whether, alternatively, Bright had been seen in Wilvercombe. He was

obliged to Lord Peter for the trouble he had taken in the matter, and if his

lordship thought of coming back to Wilvercombe, there had been recent