Have His Carcase (18 page)

into better repair. The County Council, conscious that times were bad and that

money was tight, had courteously replied that it did not think there was

sufficient traffic along the said coast-road to justify the proposed expenditure.

As a result of these negotiations, persons had been appointed (at a modest

wage) by the County Council to take a census of the vehicular traffic passing

along the said road, and one of these watchers had been stationed, during the

whole of Thursday, 18 June, at the junction formed by the coast-road and the

high road from Lesston Hoe to Heathbury. At the other end of the twelve miles

or so which interested the detectives was Darley Halt, where, as Harriet had

already discovered for herself, the gates were always shut unless particularly

summoned to be opened for a passing vehicle. On either side of the railway

gates was a wicket for foot passengers, but this was of the kind that does not

admit anything so large even as a push-cycle. It was clear, therefore, that unless

the hypothetical murderer had come on foot, he must have been seen at one

end or other of the road, or else have come from some intermediate farm.

During the past four days, the police had carefuly investigated the bona fides of

every traveler over this section of the road, Every car, motor-cycle, push-

cycle, van, lorry, wagon and beast had been laboriously checked up and

accounted for. Nothing had been unearthed to suggest suspicion of any kind.

Indeed, al the persons using the road were local inhabitants, wel known to al

the police officers, and each one of them had been able to give an exact

account of his or her movements during the day. This was not so surprising as it

may appear, since nearly al of them were either tradesmen, accomplishing a

given round in a given time, or farmers with business on their land or in the

adjacent towns, who had witnesses to prove their departure and arrival. The

only persons whose times could not very wel be checked were those who

loitered attendance upon cows and sheep in transit; but, apart from the extreme

improbability of these rustics having gone out of their way to cut a gentleman’s

throat with an Endicott razor, Inspector Umpelty was quite ready to vouch

personaly for al of them.

‘In fact, my lord,’ he said, ‘you may take it from me that al these people we

have checked up are al right. You can put them right out of your mind. The

only possibility left now for your murderer is that he came by sea, or else on

foot along the shore from either Wilvercombe or Lesston Hoe, and, as this

young lady says, Wilvercombe is the more probable direction of the two,

because anybody coming from Lesston Hoe would have seen her and put his

crime off to a more convenient season, as Shakespeare says.’

‘Very wel,’ said Wimsey. ‘Al right. We’l admit that. The murderer didn’t

take any sort of wheeled conveyance for any part of the journey. Stil, that

leaves a lot of possibilities open. We’l wash out the Lesston Hoe side

altogether and only take the Wilvercombe direction. We now have at least

three suggestions. One: the murderer walked by the road from Wilvercombe or

Darley, came down on to the beach at some point out of view from the Flat-

Iron, and thence proceeded by the shore. Two: he came from one of those two

cottages where the fishermen live (Polock and Moggeridge, I think you said the

names were). You don’t mean to say you’l answer personaly for those men,

do you, Inspector?’

‘No, I don’t – only they weren’t there,’ retorted the Inspector, with spirit.

‘Moggeridge and his two sons were over in Wilvercombe, buying some stuff

there – I’ve got witnesses to that. Old Polock was out in his boat, because

Freddy Baines saw him, and his eldest boy was probably with him. We’re

going to pul those two in, and that’s why I said the murderer might have come

by sea. The only other Polock is a boy of about fourteen, and you can’t

suppose it was him that did it, nor yet any of the women and children.’

‘I see. Wel then. Three: the murderer walked the whole way along the coast

from Darley or Wilvercombe. By the way, didn’t you say there was somebody

camping out along there, just beyond Darley Halt.’

‘Yes,’ said Harriet, ‘a square-built sort of man, who spoke – wel, not quite

like a countryman – like a gentleman of the country sort.’

‘If anybody had passed that way, he might have seen him.’

‘So he might,’ replied the Inspector, ‘but unfortunately we haven’t laid hands

on that particular gentleman, though we’ve got inquiries out after him. He

packed up and departed early on Friday morning, taking his belongings in a

Morgan. He’d been camping at the bottom of Hinks’s Lane since Tuesday, and

gave the name of Martin.’

‘Is that so? And he disappeared immediately after the crime. Isn’t that a trifle

suspicious?’

‘Not a bit.’ Inspector Umpelty was quite triumphant. ‘He was having his

lunch at the Three Feathers in Darley at one o’clock and he didn’t leave til

1.30. If you’l tel me how a man could walk four and a half miles in half-an-

hour, I’l get a warrant made out for Mr Martin’s arrest.’

‘Your trick, Inspector. Wel – let’s see. Murder at two o’clock – four and a

half miles to go. That means that the murderer can’t have passed through

Darley later than 12.50 at the very outside. That’s alowing him to do four miles

an hour, and since he would have to do at least part of the distance along the

sand it’s probably an over-estimate. On the other hand, he wouldn’t be likely to

do less than three miles an hour. That gives 12.30 as his earliest time – unless,

of course, he sat and talked to Alexis for some time before he cut his throat.’

‘That’s just it, my lord. It’s al so vague. In any case, Mr Martin isn’t much

good to us, because he spent Thursday morning in Wilvercombe – or so he

mentioned to the landlord of the Feathers.’

‘What a pity! He might have been a valuable witness. I suppose you’l go on

looking for him, though it doesn’t seem as if he’d be very much good to us. Did

anybody notice the number of his Morgan?’

‘Yes; it belongs to a London garage, where they hire out cars to be driven

by the hirers. Mr Martin came in there last Thursday week, paid his deposit in

cash and returned the ‘bus on Sunday night. He said he had given up his house

and had no fixed address, but gave a reference to a Cambridge banker. His

driving-licence was made out in the name of Martin al right. There was no

trouble about the insurance, because the garage uses a form of policy that

covers al their cars irrespective of who is driving them.’

‘But wasn’t there an address on the driving-licence?’

‘Yes; but that was the address of the house he’d given up, so they took no

notice of that.’

‘Do garage-owners usualy ask to see people’s driving licences?’

‘I don’t know that they do. Apparently this felow showed it to them without

being asked.’

‘Curious. You’d almost think he was going out of his way to forestal

criticism. How about the bank?’

‘That’s al right. Mr Haviland Martin has been a depositor there for five

years. Introduced by another client. No irregularity.’

‘I suppose they didn’t mention the name of his referee nor the amount of his

deposit.’

‘Wel, no. Banks don’t care about giving away information. You see, we’ve

absolutely nothing against this felow Martin.’

‘Exactly. Al the same, I’d rather like to have a chat with him. There are

points about him which seem to me suggestive, as Sherlock Holmes would say.

What do you think, my dear Robert Templeton?’

‘I think,’ replied Harriet, promptly, ‘that if I had been inventing a way for a

murderer to reach an appointed spot and leave it again, complete with bag and

baggage and without leaving more trail than was absolutely unavoidable, I

should have made him act very much as Mr Martin has acted. He would open

an account under a false name at a bank, giving the bank’s address to the

garage-proprietor as sole reference, hire a car and pay cash and probably close

the account again in the near future.’

‘As you say. Stil, the dismal fact remains that Mr Martin obviously did not

do the murder, always supposing that the Feathers’ clock can be relied on. A

little further investigation is indicated, I fancy. Five years seems a longish time to

premeditate a crime. You might, perhaps, keep an eye on that bank – only

don’t make a row about it, or you may frighten the bird away.’

‘That’s so, my lord. Al the same, I’d feel more enthusiastic, I don’t mind

saying, if I had any sort of proof that there realy was a murder committed. Just

at present it’s a bit thin, you’l alow.’

‘So it is; but there are quite a lot of smal things that point that way. Taken

separately, they aren’t important, but taken together, they have a funny look.

There’s the razor, and the gloves, and the return-ticket, and the good spirits

Alexis was in on the day before his death. And now there’s this funny story of

the mysterious gentleman who arrived at Darley in time to take a front seat for

the crime, and then cleared off with such remarkable precautions to obscure his

name and address.’

Inspector Umpelty’s reply was cut short by the ringing of his telephone. He

listened for a moment to its mysterious cluckings, said ‘I’l be along at once,

sir,’ and rang off.

‘Something else funny seems to have turned up,’ he said. ‘You’l excuse me

if I rush off; I’m wanted down at the Station.’

XI

THE EVIDENCE OF THE FISHERMAN

‘There’s a fellow

With twisting root-like hair up to his eyes,

And they are streaked with red and starting out

Under their bristling brows; his crooked tusks

Part, like a hungry wolf’s, his cursing mouth;

His head is frontless, and a swinish mane

Grows o’er his shoulders: brown and warty hands,

Like roots, with pointed nails – He is the man.’

Fragment

Monday, 22 June

Wimsey had not very long to wait before hearing the latest development. He

had returned to the Belevue for lunch, and was having a preliminary refresher in

the bar, when he felt a smart tap on his shoulder.

‘Lord, Inspector! How you startled me! Al right, it’s a fair cop. What’s it for

this time?’

‘I just dropped along to tel you the latest, my lord. I thought you’d like to

hear it. It’s given us something to think about, I don’t mind teling you.’

‘Has it? You look quite agitated. I expect you’re out of practice. It is

exhausting when you’re not used to it. Have one?’

‘Thank you, my lord. I don’t mind if I do. Now, look here – you remember

about our young friend’s banking account and the three hundred pounds?’

‘Sure thing.’

‘Wel’ – the Inspector dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper – ‘we’ve

found out what he did with it.’

Wimsey registered expectation, but this was not enough. Inspector Umpelty

evidently felt that he had got hold of a realy choice morsel, and was not going

to let it go without ful dramatic honours.

‘I’l buy it, Inspector.
What
did he do with it?’

‘Guess, my lord. You can have three guesses, and I bet you anything you

like you don’t hit on it. Not in twenty guesses.’

‘Then I mustn’t waste your valuable time. Go on. Have a heart. Don’t keep

me in such ghastly suspense. What
did
he do with it?’

‘He went,’ said the Inspector, lusciously, ‘and turned it into gold.’

‘Into WHAT?’

‘Three hundred golden sovereigns – that’s what he turned it into. Three

hundred round, golden jimmy o’ goblins.’

Wimsey stared blankly at him.

‘Three hundred – oh, look here, Inspector, a shock like this is more than frail

flesh and blood can stand. There isn’t so much gold in the country. I haven’t

seen more than ten gold sovereigns together since I fought at my grandpapa’s

side at the Battle of Waterloo. Gold! How did he get it? How did he wangle it?

They don’t hand it out to you at the banks nowadays. Did he rob the Mint?’

‘No, he didn’t. He changed notes for it quite honestly. But it’s a queer tale

for al that. I’l tel you how it was, and how we come to know of it. You may

remember that there was a photograph of Alexis published in the newspapers

last week?’

‘Yes, enlarged from that hotel group they took at the Gala Night last

Christmas. I saw it.’

‘That’s right. Only one we could find; Alexis didn’t leave anything about.

Wel, yesterday we had a quaint old bird caling at the Station – Gladstone sort

of colar, whiskery bits, four-in-hand tie, cotton gloves, square-crowned

bowler, big green gamp – al complete. Said he lived up Princemoor way. He

puls a newspaper out of his pocket and points to the photograph. “I hear you