Have His Carcase (36 page)

I’d better see about getting along to Wilvercombe. So I went down to the

vilage and flagged a passing car. That was – let me see – just after ten

o’clock.’

‘Whereabouts was this?’

‘Where the main road enters Darley – the Wilvercombe side.’

‘Why didn’t you hire a car in the vilage?’

‘Have you seen the cars you can hire in the vilage? If you had, you wouldn’t

ask.’

‘Couldn’t you have phoned up a Wilvercombe garage and got them to come

out and pick you and the Morgan up?’

‘I could have, but I didn’t. The only garage I knew at Wilvercombe was the

place I’d tried the night before, and I knew they weren’t any good. Besides,

what’s wrong about taking a lift?’

‘Nothing, if the driver isn’t afraid about his insurance.’

‘Oh! Wel, this one wasn’t. A very decent sort of woman she seemed to be.

Drove a big red open Bentley. Made no bones about it at al.’

‘You don’t know her name, I suppose?’

‘I never thought to ask. But I do remember the number of the car – it was a

comic one: OI0101 – sort of thing you couldn’t help remembering – Oi-oi-oi! I

said to this woman what a funny one it was and we laughed about it a good bit.’

‘Ha ha!’ said Wimsey, ‘that’s a good one. Oi-oi-oi!’

‘Yes – it made us both laugh. I remember saying it was a bit unfortunate

having a number like that, because it ’ud stick in a bobby’s mind. Oi-oi-oi!’ Mr

Weldon yodeled gleefuly.

‘So you got to Wilvercombe?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what did you do there?’

‘The good lady put me down in the Market Square and asked me if I would

like to be taken back. So I said that was very kind of her and when would she

be leaving. She said she had to go just before one o’clock because she had an

appointment in Heathbury, so I said that would do me al right, and she

arranged to meet me in the Market Square again. So then I had a wander

round and went down to the Winter Gardens. The chap I’d talked to said that

this girl of Alexis’ had something to do with the Winter Gardens – sang, or

something.’

‘She doesn’t, as a matter of fact. Her present young man plays in the

orchestra there.’

‘Yes; I know that now. He’d got it al wrong. Anyhow, that’s where I went,

and I wasted a good bit of time listening to a tom-fool classical concert – my

God! Bach and stuff at eleven in the morning! – and wondering when the real

show began.’

‘Were there many people there?’

‘Lord, yes – packed with tabbies and invalids! I soon got fed-up and went

round to the Resplendent. I wanted to get hold of the people there, only of

course I had the luck to run slap-bang into my mother. She was just going out,

and I dodged behind one of these sily palm-trees they have there so that she

couldn’t see me, and then I thought she might be going off to meet Alexis, so I

padded after her.’

‘And did she meet Alexis?’

‘No; she went to some damned miliner’s place.’

‘How provoking!’

‘I believe you. I waited a bit, and she came out and went to the Winter

Gardens. “Hulo!” I said to myself, “what’s al this? Is she on the same tack as I

am?” So away I toddled again, and dash it! If it wasn’t the same infernal

concert, and if she didn’t sit through it al by herself! I can tel you what they

played, too. A thing caled the Eroica Symphony. Such stuff!’

‘Tut-tut! How wearisome.’

‘Yes, I was wild, I can tel you. And the funny thing was, Mother looked as

if she was waiting for somebody because she kept looking round and fidgeting.

She sat on right through the programme, but when it came to God Save the

King, she chucked it and went back to the Resplendent, looking as sick as a

cat when you’ve taken its mouse away. Wel, then I looked at my watch, and

dashed if it wasn’t twenty to one!’

‘A sad waste of time! So I suppose you had to give up your drive home with

the kindly lady in the Bentley?’

‘What, me? Not a bit of it. She was a dashed fine woman. There wasn’t

such a devil of a hurry about Alexis. I went back to the Market Square, and

there she was and we went home. I think that was al. No, it wasn’t. I bought

some colars at a shop near the War Memorial, and I believe I’ve got the bil

about me somewhere, if that’s evidence. Yes, here we are. One stuffs these

things into one’s pocket, you know. I’ve got one of the colars on now, if you’d

like to look at it.’

‘Oh, no – I believe you.’

‘Good! Wel, that’s al, except that I went along and had some lunch at the

Feathers. My good lady dropped me there and I think she went off up the

Heathbury Road. After lunch, that is, at about 1.45, I went and had another go

at the car, but couldn’t get the slightest sign of a spark. So I thought I’d see if

the local man could make anything of it. I went and got him and he came, and

after a time they traced the trouble to a fault in the H.T. lead and put it right.’

‘Wel, that seems pretty clear. What time did you and the lady in the Bentley

get to the Feathers?’

‘Just on one o’clock. I remember hearing the church-clock strike and saying

I hoped she wouldn’t be late for her tennis-party.’

‘And what time did you go to the garage?’

‘Blest if I know. About three or half-past I should think. But they could

probably tel you.’

‘Oh, yes, they’l be able to check that up al right. It’s very lucky you’ve got

so many witnesses to your alibi, isn’t it? Otherwise, as you say, it might have

looked fishy. Now, here’s another thing. While you were in Hinks’s Lane on

Thursday, did you happen to notice anybody or anything going along the

shore?’

‘Not a soul. But, as I’ve been trying to explain, I was only there up to ten

o’clock and after 1.45, so it wasn’t very likely I should see anything.’

‘Nobody passed between 1.45 and three o’clock?’

‘Oh! between 1.45 and three o’clock? I thought you meant earlier. Yes,

there was a chap – a little pip-squeak of a felow, in shorts, with horn-rimmed

goggles on. He came down Hinks’s Lane just after I got back – at 1.55, to be

exact – and asked the time.’

‘Did he? Where did he come from?’

‘From the vilage. I mean, from the direction of the vilage; he seemed to be a

stranger. I told him the time, and he went down to the shore and had his lunch

on the beach. He cleared off later – at least, he wasn’t there after I came back

from the garage, and I think he went earlier than that. I didn’t have much

conversation with him. In fact, he wasn’t keen for any, after I’d booted him one

in the behind.’

‘Great Scott! What for?’

‘Nosey-parkering. I was struggling with the infernal car, and he stood about

asking sily questions. I told him to clear out – standing there bleating “Won’t it

start?” Blasted little idiot!’

Wimsey laughed. ‘He can’t be our man, anyhow.’

‘What man? The murderer? You stil want to make out it’s murder? Wel, I’l

swear that little shrimp had nothing to do with it. Sunday-school teacher, that’s

what he looked like.’

‘And he was the only person you saw? Nothing else: neither man, woman

nor child? Neither bird nor beast?’

‘Why, no. No. Nothing.’

‘H’m. Wel, I’m much obliged to you for being so frank. I’l have to tel

Umpelty about al this, but I don’t imagine he’l bother you much – and I don’t

see the least need to inform Mrs Weldon.’

‘I told you there was nothing in it.’

‘Exactly. What time did you leave on Friday morning, by the way?’

‘Eight o’clock.’

‘Early start, wasn’t it?’

‘There was nothing to stay for.’

‘Why?’

‘Wel, Alexis was dead, wasn’t he?’

‘How did you know that?’

Henry broke into a great guffaw.

‘Thought you’d got something that time, didn’t you? Wel, I knew it because

I was told. I went into the Feathers on Thursday night, and of course, they’d al

heard about the dead man being found. Presently the local hobby came in – he

doesn’t live at Darley, but he comes through on his bike from time to time.

He’d been over to Wilvercombe for something or other, and he told us they’d

got a photo of the body and had just developed it up and identified it as a

felow caled Alexis from the Resplendent. You ask the bobby, and he’l tel

you. So I began to think I’d better pop off home, because that’s where my

mother would expect the condolences to come from. How’s that, eh?’

‘Overwhelming,’ said Wimsey.

He left Henry Weldon and made for the police-station.

‘Water-tight, water-tight, water-tight,’ he muttered to himself. But why did

he lie about the horse? He must have seen it, if it was running loose. Unless it

broke out of the field after eight o’clock in the morning. And why shouldn’t it?

Water-tight, water-tight – damned suspiciously water-tight!

XX

THE EVIDENCE OF THE LADY IN THE CAR

‘Madam, we’re strangers:

And yet I knew some while ago a form

Like thine.’

The Bride’s Tragedy

Thursday, 25 June

The Superintendent and the Inspector were perhaps even more surprised than

pleased to hear of the identification of Mr Haviland Martin. They felt that the

amateurs had somehow stolen a march on them, although, as they both

hastened to point out, the case now remained as obscure as ever, if not more

so. That is to say, considered as a murder, it was obscure; on the other hand,

the evidence for suicide was perhaps a little strengthened, though only

negatively. Instead of the sinister Martin, who might have been anybody, they

now had merely Mr Henry Weldon, whom they knew. True, it was now

extremely plain that Henry Weldon had a most cogent reason for wishing Paul

Alexis out of the way. But his own explanation of his presence at Darley

steemed plausible, if foolish, and there remained the absolute certainty that he

could not possibly have been at the Flat-Iron at two o’clock. Moreover, the

fact that he had been known for five years as the bespectacled Haviland Martin

of the tinted glasses, robbed his latest masquerade of half its significance. The

character of Martin had not been invented for the present purpose, and, since it

already existed, it was natural enough that Weldon should have assumed it for

the purpose of spying on his mother.

As to the outstanding points of Weldon’s story, these could be easily

checked. The bil for the colars was dated June 18th, and the date did not

appear to have been altered in any way. A telephone-cal to the shop confirmed

it, and brought the additional information that the bil referred to was one of the

last half-dozen made out on that day. Since Thursday had been early-closing

day, when the shop closed at one o’clock, it was fairly evident that the

purchase had been made shortly before that time.

Next, perhaps, in importance was the evidence of the Darley policeman. He

was quickly found and interrogated. He admitted that Weldon’s account of the

matter was perfectly true. He had been in Wilvercombe that evening at about

nine o’clock on a visit to his young lady (being then off duty) and had met one

of the Wilvercombe Police, Rennie by name, outside the Resplendent. He had

asked if there was any news about the body found at the Flat-Iron and Rennie

had mentioned the identification. Rennie confirmed this, and there was no

reason to doubt it; the photographs had been developed and printed within an

hour of their arrival at the police-station; the hotels had been among the first

places visited by the police; the identification had been made shortly before nine

o’clock, and Rennie had been on duty with Inspector Umpelty while the

manager of the Resplendent was being interrogated. The Darley constable

further admitted having mentioned the identification in the bar at the Three

Feathers. He had gone into the bar, quite legitimately, just before closing-time,

in search of a man who was suspected of some trifling misdemeanour, and he

distinctly remembered that ‘Martin’ was present at the time. Both constables

were reprimanded for talking too freely; but the fact remained that Weldon had

been told of the identification that night.

‘So what have we got left?’ inquired Superintendent Glaisher.

Wimsey shook his head.

‘Nothing very much, but stil, something. First: Weldon knows something

about that horse – I’l swear he does. He hesitated when I asked him if he’d

seen any person, thing,
or animal
, and I am almost certain he was wondering

whether to say “No” or to make up a tarradiddle. Secondly: al this story is so

thin. A child would know better than to set about his precious inquiries in the

way he did. Why should he twice go into Wilvercombe and twice come away

without realy doing anything much? Thirdly: his story is so glib, and so ful of

exact times. Why, if he wasn’t deliberately preparing an alibi? Fourthly: just at