Have His Carcase (33 page)

had been disappointing, having yielded nothing but sea-sickness and a close-up

view of a considerable number of lobster-pots.

A question about Alexis’ passport found the Inspector very much on his

dignity. Did his lordship realy suppose they had overlooked that obvious point?

Alexis certainly had a passport, and, what was more, had had it visa’d within

the last month. Where for? Why, for France, to be sure. But of course he could

have got fresh visas from the Consul there, if he had wanted them.

‘That offers some support for the theory that our young friend intended to flit,

eh?’

‘Yes, my lord. And if he was going to some remote place in Central Europe,

I daresay he’d have found gold sovereigns a sight handier than notes. Though

why he shouldn’t have taken currency notes and changed them in Paris I don’t

know. Stil, there it is, and he must have had
some
idea in his mind. I don’t

mind admitting, my lord, that I’m coming round a bit to your way of thinking.

Here’s a man with what I might cal a purpose in view – and that purpose isn’t

suicide. And he had £300 in gold on him, and there’s plenty as ’ud do murder

for less than that. At least, we’re supposing he had it on him. We can’t tel til

we find the body.’

‘If he was murdered for the sake of the gold, you won’t know even then,’

said Wimsey.

‘No, my lord, that’s a fact. Unless we was to find the belt or what not he had

it in. And even then, likely as not, the murderer would have taken belt and al.’

The Inspector looked unhappy. ‘But there might be papers or something to tel

us – always supposing the murderer didn’t take them as wel or the salt water

hasn’t made pulp of them.’

‘D’you know,’ said Wimsey, ‘I feel inspired to make a prophecy. I think

you’l find that Alexis was murdered al right, but not for the sake of the money.

I mean, not for the £300.’

‘Why do you think that, my lord?’

‘Because,’ said Wimsey, ‘you haven’t found the body.’

The Inspector scratched his head.

‘You don’t mean that somebody came and took the body away? What

should they want to do that for?’

‘What indeed? If my idea’s the right one, that’s the last thing they would

want to do. They’d want the body found.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the murder was not committed for the £300 in gold.’

‘But you said that was why the body hadn’t been found.’

‘So it is.’

‘Your proper walk in life,’ said Inspector Umpelty, ‘if you’l excuse me, my

lord, is setting crossword puzzles. Say that again. They wanted the body found,

because they didn’t murder him for the £300. And
because
they didn’t murder

him for the £300, we can’t find the body. Is that right?’

‘That’s right.’

The Inspector frowned heavily. Then a radiant smile iluminated his broad

face. He smacked his hand jubilantly upon his thigh.

‘Of course, my lord! By George, you’re perfectly right. What mutts we were

not to see that before. It’s as clear as daylight. It was just your way of putting it

that muddled me up. I must try that one on the Super. Bet you
he
won’t see

through it first go off. They didn’t want the body found – no, that’s wrong. They

did want the body found because they did, didn’t—’

‘Try it in rhyme,’ suggested Wimsey.

Why did they want the body found?

They didn’t want three hundred pound
.

They didn’t want three hundred pound
,

And that’s why the body
wasn’t
found
.

‘Very good, my lord,’ said the Inspector. ‘Why, you’re quite a poet.’ He drew

out his note-book, and solemnly made an entry of the quatrain.

‘You could sing it very nicely to the tune of “Here we go round the mulberry-

bush”,’ suggested Wimsey, ‘with the refrain, “Al on a Thursday morning”. Or it

should be “Thursday afternoon”, but that’s just poetic licence. You have my

permission to perform it at your next Police-concert. No fee.’

‘You wil have your joke, my lord.’ The Inspector smiled indulgently, but as

Wimsey left the police-station he heard a deep voice laboriously humming:

Why did they want the body found, body found, body found
,

Why did they want the body found

All of a Thur-ursday morning?

Wimsey went back to the Belevue and found a note from Harriet, containing

the substance of her conversation with Mrs Weldon. He frowned over it for a

moment and then abruptly summoned Bunter.

‘Bunter, my man,’ said he, ‘I think it is time you took a trip to

Huntingdonshire.’

‘Very good, my lord.’

‘You wil go to a place caled Leamhurst, and find out al about Mr Henry

Weldon, who owns a farm there.’

‘Certainly, my lord.’

‘It’s only a smal vilage, so you must have some reason for going there. I

suggest that you purchase or hire a car and are benighted, owing to some

intricate kind of engine-trouble.’

‘Precisely, my lord.’

‘Here is £30. If you want more, let me know.’

‘Very good, my lord.’

‘You wil, naturaly, stay at the principal pub and pursue your inquiries in the

bar.’

‘Naturaly, my lord.’

‘You wil find out everything you can about Mr Weldon, and, in particular,

what his financial standing and reputation may be.’

‘Quite so, my lord.’

‘You wil be as quick as you can about it, and return here as soon as

possible.’

‘Very good, my lord.’

‘You wil start immediately.’

‘Very good, my lord.’

‘Then be off!’

‘Very good, my lord. Your lordship’s dress-shirts are in the second drawer

and the silk socks in the tray on the right-hand side of the wardrobe, with the

dress-ties just above them.’

‘Very good, Bunter,’ said Wimsey, mechanicaly.

Ten minutes later, Mr Bunter, suit-case in hand, was on his way to the

railway-station.

XVIII

THE EVIDENCE OF THE SNAKE

‘There is a little, hairy, green-eyed snake,

Of voice like to the woody nightingale,

And ever singing pitifully sweet,

That nestles in the barry bones of Death,

And is his dearest friend and playfellow.’

Death’s Jest-Book

Wednesday, 24 June

On leaving the Turkish baths, Miss Harriet Vane went out on a shopping

expedition. This was her second venture of the kind since her arrival in

Wilvercombe, and on both occasions her purchases were dictated by the desire

of pleasing a man. On this occasion, she wanted an afternoon frock. And why?

She was going out for a picnic.

She had picnicked before, with Lord Peter; and for him the old tweed skirt

and wel-worn jumper had been good enough. But today, these garments

would not do. Her appointment was with Mrs Weldon and Henry.

The curious inhibitions which caused her to be abrupt, harsh, and irritating

with Lord Peter did not seem to trouble her in dealing with Henry Weldon. For

him she produced a latent strain of sweet womanliness which would have

surprised Wimsey. She now selected a slinky garment, composed of what male

writers cal ‘some soft, clinging material’, with a corsage which outlined the

figure and a skirt which waved tempestuously about her ankles. She enhanced

its appeal with an oversized hat of which one side obscured her face and tickled

her shoulder, while the other was turned back to reveal a bunch of black

ringlets, skilfuly curled into position by the head hairdresser at the Resplendent.

High-heeled beige shoes and sheer silk stockings, with embroidered gloves and

a hand-bag completed this aluring toilette, so eminently unsuitable for

picnicking. In addition, she made up her face with just so much artful restraint

as to suggest enormous experience aping an impossible innocence, and, thus

embelished, presently took her place beside Henry in the driving-seat of Mrs

Weldon’s large saloon. Mrs Weldon sat at the back of the car, with a luxurious

tea-basket at her feet and a case of liquid refreshment beside her.

Henry seemed gratified by the efforts made to please him, and by Miss

Vane’s openly expressed admiration of his driving. This was of a showy and il-

tempered kind, and involved ‘putting the wind up’ other users of the road.

Harriet had herself driven cars, and suffered as al drivers do when being

driven, but even when Henry rounded a corner very wide at fifty miles an hour

and crammed a motor-cyclist into the ditch, she merely remarked (with some

truth) that the speed made her feel quite nervous.

Mr Weldon, braking violently at the unexpected sight of a herd of cows

nearly under his radiator, and crashing his gears as he changed down, smiled

indulgently.

‘No point in these damned machines of you don’t make ’em move,’ he said.

‘Not like a horse – no life in ’em. Only useful for getting from one place to

another.’

He waited while the cows dawdled by and then let his clutch in with a bang

which nearly shot the liquid refreshment to the floor.

‘You don’t catch me motoring for pleasure,’ said Mr Weldon. ‘I like fresh

air – none of these beastly stuffy boxes and stinking petrol. Used to breed gees

once – but the bottom’s dropped out of the market. Damned shame.’

Harriet agreed, and said she was so fond of horses. Life on a farm must be

wonderful.

‘Al right if you don’t have to make it pay,’ growled Mr Weldon.

‘I suppose it
is
rather hard nowadays.’

‘Damned hard,’ said Mr Weldon, adding, however, as though recolecting

himself, ‘not that I have a lot to grumble at as things go.’

‘No? I’m glad of that. I mean, it’s nice for you to be able to leave your work

and come down here. I suppose a realy wel-managed farm runs itself, so to

speak.’

Mr Weldon glanced at her almost as though he suspected her of some

hidden meaning. She smiled innocently at him, and he said:

‘Wel – as a matter of fact, it’s a beastly nuisance. But what can one do?

Couldn’t leave my mother al by herself in this hole.’

‘Of
course
not; I think it’s splendid of you to come and stand by her. And

besides – wel, I mean, it makes such a difference to have somebody realy nice

to talk to.’

‘Joly of you to say that.’

‘I mean, it must make al the difference to your mother.’

‘Not to you, eh? Dukes and lords are good enough for you?’

‘Oh!’ Harriet wriggled her shoulders, ‘If you mean Lord Peter – he’s al

right
, of course, but he’s a little – you know what I mean.’

‘La-di-dah!’ said Mr Weldon. ‘What’s he want to wear that sily thing in his

eye for?’

‘That’s just what I feel. It isn’t manly, is it?’

‘Lot of affected nonsense,’ said Mr Weldon. ‘Take that felow away from

his valet and his car and his evening togs, and where’d he be? Thinks he can

ride, because he’s pottered round with a fashionable hunt, trampling down

people’s crops and leaving the gates open. I’d like to see him –’

He broke off.

‘See him what?’

‘Oh, nothing. Don’t want to be rude to a friend of yours. I say, what’s he

after down here?’

‘Wel!’ Harriet smirked demurely behind the drooping brim of the

preposterous hat. ‘He
says
he’s interested in this crime, or whatever it is.’

‘But you know better, eh?’ He nudged Harriet familiarly in the ribs. ‘I don’t

blame the felow for making the running while he can, but I do wish he wouldn’t

raise false hopes in the old lady. That’s a dashed awkward hat of yours.’

‘Don’t you like it?’

‘It’s topping – suits you down to the ground, but it does keep a felow at a

distance. And I don’t want to shout, because my mother can hear. I say, Miss

Vane.’

‘Yes?’

‘Listen!’ Henry pushed his face as far as possible under the guard of the hat

and blew his confidence on to Harriet’s cheek. ‘I wish you’d do something for

me.’

‘Of course, I’d do anything I could.’

‘That’s nice of you. Do persuade this Wimsey felow to drop it. As long as

she
thinks there’s anything in that Bolshie idea of hers, she’l hang on here like

grim death. It isn’t good for her – morbid, you know. Besides, she’s making an

ass of herself. I want to get her away and go back to my work.’

‘Yes, I see. I quite understand. I’l do my best.’

‘Good girl!’ Henry patted her encouragingly on the thigh. ‘I knew you and

I’d get on like a house on fire together.’

Harriet smiled.

‘I don’t know if I shal be able to persuade him. He doesn’t like taking

advice. You know what men are.’

‘I bet
you
know al right. I don’t suppose there’s much you don’t know, by

jove!’ Henry was obviously wel aware that he was talking to a rather notorious

young woman. He chuckled.

‘Don’t say I’ve said anything – just try what you can do. I bet you can twist

him round your little finger if you try, eh?’

‘Oh, Mr Weldon! I hope I’m not one of those managing sort of women!’

‘You don’t need to be. You know how to get your own way, I bet. I know