Have His Carcase (19 page)

want information about this poor young man,” he pipes up. “Yes, we do,” says

the Super, “you know anything about it, Dad?” “Nothing at al about his death,”

says the old boy, “but I had a very curious little transaction with him three

weeks ago,” he says, “and I thought you perhaps ought to know about it,” he

says. “Quite right, Dad,” says the Super. “Go ahead.” So he went ahead and

told us al about it.

‘It seems it was like this. You may remember seeing a while ago – not more

than a month or so back – a bit in the papers about a queer old girl who lived

al alone in a house in Seahampton with no companion except about a hundred

cats. A Miss Ann Bennett – but the name don’t matter. Wel, one day the usual

thing happens. Blinds left down, no smoke from kitchen chimney, milk not

taken in, cats yowling fit to break your heart. Constable goes in with a ladder

and finds the old lady dead in her bed. Inquest verdict is “death from natural

causes”, which means old age and semi-starvation with neglected pneumonia on

top of it. And of course plenty of money in the house, including four hundred

gold sovereigns in the matterss. It’s always happening.’

Wimsey nodded.

‘Yes. Wel, then, the long-lost next-of-kin turns up and who should it be but

this old chap from Princemoor, Abel Bennett. There’s a wil found, leaving

everything to him, and begging him to look after the poor pussies. He’s the

executor, and he steps in and takes charge. Very good. On the day after the

inquest, along comes our young friend Paul Alexis – name correctly given and

person identified by the photograph. He tels old Bennett a rambling kind of

story about wanting gold sovereigns for some purpose or other. Something

about wanting to buy a diamond from a foreign rajah who didn’t understand

bank-notes – some bosh of that kind.’

‘He got that out of a book, I expect,’ said Wimsey. ‘I’ve seen something like

it somewhere.’

‘Very likely. Old Bennett, who seems to have had more wits than his sister,

didn’t swalow the tale altogether, because, as he said, the young felow didn’t

look to him like a person who would be buying diamonds off rajahs, but after

al it’s not criminal to want gold, and it was none of his business what it was

wanted for. He put up a few objections, and Alexis offered him three hundred

pounds in Bank of England notes, plus a twenty-pound bonus, in exchange for

three hundred sovereigns. Old Abel wasn’t adverse to a buckshee twenty quid

and was wiling to hand over, on condition he might have the notes vetted for

him at a Seahampton bank. Alexis was agreeable and puled out the notes then

and there. To cut a long story short, they went to the Seahampton branch of the

London & Westminster and got the O.K. on the notes, after which Bennett

handed over the gold and Alexis took it away in a leather hand-bag. And that’s

al there is to it. But we’ve checked up the dates with the bank-people, and it’s

quite clear that Alexis drew his money out here for the purpose of changing it

into gold as soon as ever he saw the account of Ann Bennett’s death in the

papers. But why he wanted it or what he did with it, I can’t tel you, no more

than the Man in the Moon.’

‘Wel,’ said Wimsey, ‘I always knew there were one or two oddities about

this case, but I don’t mind admitting that this beats me. Why on earth should

anybody want to clutter himself up with al that gold? I suppose we can dismiss

the story of the Rajah’s Diamond. A £300 diamond is nothing very out of the

way, and if you wanted one you could buy it in Bond street, without paying in

gold or dragging in Indian potentates.’

‘That’s a fact. Besides, where are you going to find a rajah who doesn’t

understand Bank of England notes? These felers aren’t savages, not by any

means. Why, lots of them have been to Oxford.’

Wimsey made suitable acknowledgement of this tribute to his own university.

‘The only explanation that suggests itself to me,’ he said, ‘is that Alexis was

contemplating a flitting to some place where Bank of England notes wouldn’t

pass current. But I hardly know where that could be at this time of day. Central

Asia?’

‘It may not be that, my lord. From the way he burnt everything before he left,

it looks as though he didn’t mean to leave any trace of where he was going.

Now, you can’t very wel lose a Bank of England note. The numbers are bound

to turn up somewhere or other, if you wait long enough. Currency notes are

safe, but it is quite possible that you might have difficulty in exchanging them in

foreign parts, once you were off the beaten track. It’s my opinion Alexis meant

to get away, and he took the gold because it was the only form of money that

wil pass everywhere and tel no tale. He probably wouldn’t be asked about it

at the Customs, and if he was, they would be very unlikely to search him.’

‘True. I think you’re right, Inspector. But, I say, you realise this knocks the

suicide theory on the head al right?’

‘It’s beginning to look like it, my lord,’ admitted Mr Umpelty, handsomely.

‘Unless, of course, the stuff was paid out to some party in this country. For

instance, suppose Alexis was being blackmailed by someone who wanted to

skip. That party might be wanting gold for the very reasons we’ve been talking

about, and he might get Alexis to do the job of getting it for him, so that he

shouldn’t appear in it himself. Alexis pays up, and goes off the deep end and

cuts his throat.’

‘You’re very ingenious,’ said Wimsey. ‘But I stil believe I’m right, though if

it is a case of murder, it’s been so neatly worked out that there doesn’t seem to

be much of a loophole in it. Unless it’s the razor. Look here, Inspector, I’ve got

an idea about that razor, if you’l let me carry it out. Our one hope is to tempt

the murderer, if there is one, into making a mistake by trying to be too clever.’

He pushed the glasses aside and whispered into the Inspector’s ear.

‘There’s something in that,’ said Inspector Umpelty. ‘I don’t see why it

shouldn’t be tried. It may clinch the matter straight off, one way or another.

You’d better ask the Super, but if he’s got no objection, I’d say, go ahead.

Why not come round and put it to him straight away?’

On arriving at the police-station, Wimsey and the Inspector found the

Superintendent engaged with a crabbed old gentleman in a fisherman’s jersey

and boots, who appeared to be suffering under a sense of grievance.

‘Can’t a man take ’is own boat out when he likes and where he likes? Sea’s

free to al, ain’t it?’

‘Of course it is, Polock. But if you were up to no mischief, why take that

tone about it? You aren’t denying you were there at the same time, are you?

Freddy Baines swears he saw you.’

‘Them Bainses!’ grumbled Mr Polock. ‘A nasty, peerin’, pryin’ lot. What’s

it got to do with them where I was?’

‘Wel, you admit it anyhow. What time did you get to the Flat-Iron?’

‘Per’aps Freddy Baines can tel you that, too. ’E zeems to be bloody free

with his information.’

‘Never mind that. What time do
you
say it was?’

‘That ain’t no business of yours. Perlice ’ere, perlice there – there ain’t no

freedom in this blasted country. ’Ave I or ’ave I not the right to go where I

like? Answer me that.’

‘Look here, Polock. Al we want from you is some information. If you’ve

got nothing to hide, why not answer a plain question?’

‘Wel, what is the question? Were I off the Flat-Iron on Thursday? Yes, I

were. Wot about it?’

‘You came along from your own place, I suppose?’

‘Wel, I did, if you want to know. Where’s the ’arm in that?’

‘None whatever. What time did you set out?’

‘About one o’clock. Maybe more; maybe less. Round about the slack.’

‘And you got to the Flat-Iron about two.’

‘Wel, and where’s the ’arm in that?’

‘Did you see anybody on the shore at that time?’

‘Yus, I did.’

‘You did?’

‘Yus. I’ve got eyes in me ’ed, ’aven’t I?’

‘Yes. And you may as wel have a civil tongue in your head. Where did you

see this person?’

‘On the shore by the Vlat-Iron – round about two o’clock.’

‘Were you close enough in to see who it was?’

‘No, I weren’t. Not to come into your bleedin’ court and swear to a pimple,

I wasn’t; and you can put that in your pipe, Mr Cocky Superintendent, and

smoke it.’

‘Wel, what did you see?’

‘I zee a vule of a woman, caperin’ about on the beach, goin’ on as if she was

loony. She runs a bit an’ stops a bit, an’ pokes in the sand and then runs on a

bit. That’s what I zee.’

‘I must tel Miss Vane that,’ said Wimsey to the Inspector. ‘It wil appeal to

her sense of humour.’

‘Oh, you saw a woman, did you? Did you see what she did after that?’

‘She runs up to the Vlat-Iron an’ starts messin’ about there.’

‘Was there anybody else on the Flat-Iron?’

‘There was a chap lyin’ down. At least, it looked so.’

‘And then?’

‘Then she starts a-yowlin’ an’ wavin’ her arms.’

‘Wel?’

‘Wel, what? I didn’t take no notice. I never takes no notice of vemayles.’

‘Now, Polock, did you see anybody else at al on the shore that morning?’

‘Not a zoul.’

‘Were you within sight of shore al the time?’

‘Yes, I were.’

‘And you saw nobody except this woman and the man lying down?’

‘Ain’t I telin’ you? I zee nobody.’

‘About this man on the Flat-Iron? Was he lying down when you first saw

him?’

‘Yes, he were.’

‘And when did you first see him?’

‘Soon as I come in zight of’un, I zee un.’

‘When was that?’

‘ ’Ow can I tel to a minute. Might be a quarter to two, might be ten minutes

to. I wasn’t takin’ perticklers for the perlice. I were attendin’ to my own

business, same as I wish other folks would.’

‘What business?’

‘Zailin’ the bloody boat. That’s my business.’

‘At any rate, you saw the man some time before you saw the woman, and he

was then lying on the rock. Was he dead, do you think, when you first saw

him?’

‘ ’Ow wur I to know if ’e wur dead or alive? ’E didn’t kiss ’is ’and to me.

And if ’e ’ad, I shouldn’t a’ seen un, d’ye zee? I wur too far out.’

‘But you said you were within sight of shore the whole time.’

‘Zo I wur. But shore’s a big thing. A man couldn’t very wel miss it. But

that’s not to zay I could zee every vule on it playin’ at kiss-me-’and.’

‘I see. Were you right out on the Grinders, then?’

‘Wot’s it matter where I wur? I weren’t speckylatin’ about corpses, nor yet

what vemayles was after with their young men. I’ve got zummat more to do

than zit about watchin’ bathin’ parties.’

‘What had you to do?’

‘That’s my business.’

‘Wel, whatever your business was, it was out in the deep water off the

Grinders?’

Mr Polock was obstinately silent.

‘Was anybody with you in the boat?’

‘No, there weren’t.’

‘Then what was that grandson of yours doing?’

‘Oh, him? He was with me. I thought you meant was there somebody else,

that didn’t ought to have been there.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Nothing, only perlicemen is a pack of vules, mostly.’

‘Where is your grandson?’

‘Over to Cork. Went last Zatterday, he did.’

‘Cork, eh? Smuggling goods into Ireland?’

Mr Polock spat profusely.

‘ ’Course not. Business. My business.’

‘Your business seems to be rather mysterious, Polock. You’d better be

careful. We’l want to see that young man when he gets back. Anyway, you say

that when the young lady saw you, you had come in, and were putting out

again.’

‘Why not?’

‘What did you come in for?’

‘That’s my business, ain’t it?’

The Superintendent gave it up.

‘At any rate, are you in a position to say whether you saw anybody walking

along the shore between your cottage and the Flat-Iron?’

‘Yes, I am. I zee nobody. Not up to quarter to two, anyway. After that, I

couldn’t swear one way nor t’other, ’avin’ my own business to mind, like I

zaid.’

‘Did you see any other boat in the neighbourhood?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Very wel. If your memory should improve in the next few days, you’d

better let us know.’

Mr Polock muttered something uncomplimentary, and removed himself.

‘Not an agreeable old gentleman,’ said Wimsey.

‘An old scoundrel,’ said Superintendent Glaisher. ‘And the worst of it is, you

can’t believe a word he says. I’d like to know what he was realy up to.’

‘Murdering Paul Alexis, perhaps?’ suggested the Inspector.

‘Or conveying the murderer to the scene of the crime for a consideration,’

added Wimsey. ‘That’s more likely, realy. What motive should he have for

murdering Alexis?’

‘There’s the three hundred pounds, my lord. We mustn’t forget that. I know

I said it was suicide, and I stil think so, but we’ve got a much better motive for