Have His Carcase (42 page)

Your lordship will forgive my reminding you that it is advisable to remove the links

from the shirtcuffs before dispatching the garment to the laundry. It gives me great

anxiety to feel that I may not be at hand to attend to the matter myself on Monday,

and I should feel it deeply if there was any repetition of the disagreeable accident

which occurred on the occasion of my last absence. I omitted to inform your

lordship before leaving that the pin-stripe lounge suit must on no account be worn

again until the slit in the right-hand pocket has been attended to. I cannot account

for its presence, except by supposing that your lordship has inadvertently used the

pocket for the transport of some heavy and sharp-edged article.

‘I trust that your lordship is enjoying favourable climatic conditions and that the

investigation is progressing according to expectation. My respectful compliments to

Miss Vane, and believe me, my lord,

‘Obediently yours,

‘Mervyn Bunter.’

This document reached Wimsey on the Saturday afternoon, and in the evening

he received a visit from Inspector Umpelty, to whom he submitted it.

The Inspector nodded.

‘We’ve received much the same information,’ he observed. ‘There’s a bit

more detail in your man’s letter – what the deuce are pantiles? – but I think we

may take it for granted that our friend Weldon is a bit up the pole financialy.

However, that’s not what I came round about. The fact is, we’ve found the

original of that photo.’

‘You have? The fair Feodora?’

‘Yes,’ replied the Inspector, with modest triumph, and yet with a kind of

mental reservation behind the triumph, ‘the fair Feodora – only she says she

isn’t.’

Wimsey raised his eyebrows, or, to be more accurate, the one eyebrow

which was not occupied in keeping his monocle in place.

‘Then if she isn’t herself, who is she?’

‘She says she’s Olga Kohn. I’ve got her letter here.’ The Inspector

rummaged in his breast pocket. ‘Writes a good letter, and in a very pretty hand,

I must say.’

Wimsey took the blue sheet of paper and cocked a knowing eye at it.

‘Very dainty. As supplied by Mr Selfridge’s fancy counter to the nobility and

gentry. Ornate initial “O” on royal blue and gilt. A pretty hand, as you say,

highly self-conscious. Intensely elegant envelope to match; posted in the

Piccadily district last post on Friday night, and addressed to the Wilvercombe

coroner. Wel, wel. Let us see what the lady has to say for herself.’

‘159 Regent Square,

‘Bloomsbury.

‘Dear Sir,

‘I read the account of the inquest on Paul Alexis in tonight’s paper and was very

much surprised to see my photograph. I can assure you that I have nothing to do

with the case and I cannot imagine how the photograph came to be on the dead

body or signed with a name which is not mine. I never met anybody called Alexis

that I know of and it is not my writing on the photograph. I am a mannequin by

profession, so there are quite a lot of my photographs about, so I suppose

somebody must have got hold of it. I am afraid I know nothing about this poor Mr

Alexis so I cannot be of much help to you, but I thought I ought to write and tell

you that it was my photograph which was in the paper.

‘I cannot say at all how it can have got mixed up with the case, but of course I

shall be glad to tell you anything I can. The photograph was taken about a year ago

by Messrs Frith of Wardour Street. I enclose another copy so that you can see it is

the same. It is one I used when applying for an engagement as mannequin, and I

sent it to a great many heads of big firms, also to some theatrical agents. I am at

present engaged as mannequin to Messrs Doré & Cie, of Hanover Square. I have

been six months with them and they would give you references as to my character. I

should be very glad to find out how the photograph got into Mr Alexis’ hands, as

the gentleman to whom I am engaged is very upset about it all. Excuse me for

troubling you, but I thought it right to let you know, though I am afraid I cannot be

of much help.

‘Yours faithfully,

‘Olga Kohn.’

‘And what do you make of that, my lord.’

‘God knows. The young woman may be lying, of course, but somehow I

don’t think she is. I feel that the bit about the gentleman who is very upset rings

true. Olga Kohn – who sounds like a Russian Jewess – is not precisely out of

the top-drawer, as my mother would say, and was obviously not educated at

Oxford or Cambridge, but though she repeats herself a good deal, she is

businesslike, and her letter is ful of useful facts. Also, if the photograph

resembles her, she is easy to look at. What do you say to running up to Town

and interviewing the lady? I wil provide the transport, and tomorrow being

Sunday, we shal probably find her at leisure. Shal we depart, like two gay

bachelors, to find Olga Feodora and take her out to tea?’

The Inspector seemed to think that this was a good idea.

‘We wil ask her if she knows Mr Henry Weldon, that squire of dames.

Have you a photograph of him, by the way?’

The Inspector had an excelent snapshot, taken at the inquest by a press

photographer. A wire was sent to Miss Olga Kohn, warning her of the

impending visit and, having made the necessary arrangements at the police-

station, the Inspector heaved his large bulk into Wimsey’s Daimler and was

transported with perilous swiftness to London. They ran up that night, snatched

a few hours of repose at Wimsey’s flat and, in the morning, set out for Regent

Square.

Regent Square is anything but a high-class locality, being chiefly populated

by grubby infants and ladies of doubtful caling, but its rents are comparatively

cheap for so central a situation. On mounting to the top of a rather dark and

dirty stair, Wimsey and his companion were agreeably surprised to discover a

freshly-painted green door with the name ‘Miss O. Kohn’ neatly written upon a

white card and attached to the panel by drawing-pins. The brass knocker,

representing the Lincoln Imp, was highly polished. At its summons the door was

opened at once by a handsome young woman, the original of the photograph,

who welcomed them in with a smile.

‘Inspector Umpelty?’

‘Yes, miss. You wil be Miss Kohn, I take it? This is Lord Peter Wimsey,

who has been kind enough to run me up to Town.’

‘Very pleased to meet you,’ said Miss Kohn. ‘Come in.’ She ushered them

into a pleasantly furnished room, with orange window-curtains and bowls of

roses placed here and there on low tables and a general air of semi-artistic

refinement. Before the empty fireplace stood a dark-haired young man of

Semitic appearance, who acknowledged the introductions with a scowl.

‘Mr Simons, my fiancé,’ explained Miss Kohn. ‘Do sit down, and please

smoke. Can I offer you any refreshment?’

Declining the refreshment, and heartily wishing Mr Simons out of the way,

the Inspector embarked at once on the subject of the photograph, but it soon

became obvious both to Wimsey and himself that Miss Kohn had told in her

letter nothing more or less than the exact truth. Sincerity was stamped on every

feature of her face as she assured them repeatedly that she had never known

Paul Alexis and never given him a photograph under the name of Feodora or

any other name. They showed her his photograph, but she shook her head.

‘I am perfectly positive that I never saw him in my life.’

Wimsey suggested that he might have seen her at a mannequin parade and

endeavoured to introduce himself.

‘Of course, he may have seen me; so many people see me,’ replied Miss

Kohn, with artless self-importance. ‘Some of them try to get off with one too,

naturaly. A girl in my position has to know how to look after herself. But I think

I should remember this face if I had ever seen it. You see, a young man with a

beard like that is rather noticeable, isn’t he?’

She passed the photograph to Mr Simons, who bent his dark eyes on it

disdainfuly. Then his expression changed.

‘You know, Olga,’ he said, ‘I think I have seen this man somewhere.’

‘You, Lewis?’

‘Yes. I don’t know where. But there is something familiar about it.’

‘You never saw him with me,’ put in the girl, quickly.

‘No. I don’t know, now I come to think of it, that I ever saw him at al. It’s

an older face, the one I’m thinking of – it may be a picture I have seen and not

a living person. I don’t know.’

‘The photograph has been published in the papers,’ suggested Umpelty.

‘I know; but it isn’t that. I noticed a resemblance to – somebody or other,

the first time I saw it. I don’t know what it is. Something about the eyes,

perhaps—’

He paused thoughtfuly and the Inspector gazed at him as though he

expected him to lay a golden egg there and then, but nothing came of it.

‘No, I can’t place it,’ said Simons, finaly. He handed the photograph back.

‘Wel, it means nothing to me,’ said Olga Kohn. ‘I do hope you al believe

that.’

‘I believe you,’ said Wimsey, suddenly, ‘and I’m going to hazard a

suggestion. This Alexis felow was a romantic sort of blighter. Do you think he

can have seen the photograph somewhere and falen in love with it, as you

might say? What I mean is, he might have indulged in an imaginary thingmabob

– an ideal passion, so to speak. Kind of fancied he was beloved and al the rest

of it, and put a fancy name on to support the ilusion if you get what I mean –

what?’

‘It is possible,’ said Olga, ‘but it seems very foolish.’

‘Seems perfectly cock-eyed to me,’ pronounced Umpelty with scorn.

‘Besides, where did he get the picture from, that’s what we want to know.’

‘That wouldn’t realy be difficult,’ said Olga. ‘He was a dancer at a big hotel.

He might easily have met many theatrical managers, and one of them might have

given the photograph to him. They would get it, you know, from the agents.’

Inspector Umpelty asked for particulars of the agents and was supplied with

the names of three men, al of whom had offices near Shaftesbury Avenue.

‘But I don’t suppose they’l remember much about it,’ said Olga. ‘They see

so many people. Stil, you could try. I should be terribly glad to have the thing

cleared up. But you do believe me, don’t you?’

‘We believe in you, Miss Kohn,’ said Wimsey, solemnly, ‘as devoutly as in

the second law of thermo-dynamics.’

‘What are you getting at?’ said Mr Simons, suspiciously.

‘The second law of thermo-dynamics,’ explained Wimsey, helpfuly, ‘which

holds the universe in its path, and without which time would run backwards like

a cinema film wound the wrong way.’

‘No, would it?’ exclaimed Miss Kohn, rather pleased.

‘Altars may reel,’ said Wimsey, ‘Mr Thomas may abandon his dress-suit

and Mr Snowden renounce Free Trade, but the second law of thermo-

dynamics wil endure while memory holds her seat in this distracted globe, by

which Hamlet meant his head but which I, with a wider intelectual range, apply

to the planet which we have the rapture of inhabiting. Inspector Umpelty

appears shocked, but I assure you that I know no more impressive way of

affirming my entire belief in your absolute integrity.’ He grinned. ‘What I like

about your evidence, Miss Kohn, is that it adds the final touch of utter and

impenetrable obscurity to the problem which the Inspector and I have

undertaken to solve. It reduces it to the complete quintessence of

incomprehensive nonsense. Therefore, by the second law of thermo-dynamics,

which lays down that we are hourly and momently progressing to a state of

more and more randomness, we receive positive assurance that we are moving

happily and securely in the right direction. You may not believe me,’ added

Wimsey, now merrily launched on a flight of fantasy, ‘but I have got to the point

now at which the slightest glimmer of common-sense imported into this

preposterous case would not merely disconcert me but cut me to the heart. I

have seen unpleasant cases, difficult cases, complicated cases and even

contradictory cases, but a case founded on stark unreason I have never met

before. It is a new experience and, blasé as I am, I confess that I am thriled to

the marrow.’

‘Wel,’ said Inspector Umpelty, hoisting himself to his feet, ‘I’m sure we’re

very much obliged to you, miss, for your information, though at the moment it

doesn’t seem to get us much farther. If anything should occur to you in

connection with this Alexis, or if you, sir, should happen to cal to mind where

you saw Alexis before, we shal be very greatly obliged. And you mustn’t take

account of what his lordship here has been saying, because he’s a gentleman

that makes up poetry and talks a bit humorous at times.’