Have His Carcase (51 page)

‘That’s true, sir; and as sure as I’m sitting here, he must ha’ kiled himself, for

there was nobody come a-nigh him – barring the young lady, of course. Unless

it might be while we was taking them pots up. I won’t say but what we might a-

missed summat then. We finished that job round about two o’clock – I couldn’t

say just when it were, not to the minute, but the tide had turned nigh on three-

quarters of an hour, and that’s when I looks at this felow again and I says to

Grandad, “Grandad,” I says, “that chap there on the rock looks queer-like,” I

says, “I wonder if there’s summat wrong.” So we brings the boat in-shore a bit,

and then, al of a sudden, out comes the young lady from behind them rocks

and starts caperin’ about. And Grandad, he says, “Let un bide,” he says, “let un

bide. Us have no cal to be meddlin’ wi’ they,” he says. And so we puts about

again. Because, you see, sir, if we’d gone a-meddling and it was to come out as

we was thereabouts with the boat ful of Tom Gurney’s lobsters, Tom Gurney’d

a-had summat to say about it.’

‘Your grandfather said you saw Alexis first at about 1.45.’

‘It ’ud be before that, sir. But I’l not say as we kept our eyes on un al the

time, like.’

‘Suppose someone had come along, say, between 1.45 and two o’clock,

would you have seen him?’

‘Reckon so. No, sir; that poor gentleman made away with himself, there’s no

doubt of it. Just cut his throat quiet-like as he sat there. There’s no manner of

doubt about that.’

Wimsey was puzzled. If this was lying, it was done with a surprising

appearance of sincerity. But if it was truth, it made the theory of murder stil

harder to substantiate than before. Every fragment of evidence there was

pointed to the conclusion that Alexis had died alone upon his rock and by his

own hand.

And yet – why wouldn’t the bay mare go near the Flat-Iron? Was it possible

– Wimsey was no friend to superstition, but he had known such things happen

before – was it possible that the uneasy spirit of Paul Alexis stil hung about the

Flat-Iron, perceptible to the brute though not to self-conscious man? He had

known another horse that refused to pass the scene of an age-old crime.

He suddenly thought of another point that he might incidentaly verify.

‘Wil anybody be up and about at your home, Jem?’

‘Oh, yes, sir. Mother’s sure to be waiting up for me.’

‘I’d like to see her.’

Jem offered no objection, and Wimsey went in with him to Polock’s

cottage. Mrs Polock, stirring soup for Jem in a saucepan, received him politely,

but shook her head at his question.

‘No, sir. We heard no horse on the beach this afternoon.’

That settled that, then. If Wimsey could ride past the cottages unnoticed, so

could any other man.

‘The wind’s off-shore today,’ added Mrs Polock.

‘And you’re stil sure you heard nothing of the sort last Thursday week?’

‘Ah!’ Mrs Polock removed the saucepan. ‘Not in the afternoon, what the

police was asking about. But Susie have caled to mind as she did hear

something like a trampling round about dinner-time. Happen it might be twelve

o’clock. But being at her work, she didn’t run out to look.’

‘Twelve o’clock?’

‘Thereabout, sir. It come back to her al of a sudden, when we was talkin’

over what that young Ormond wur askin’ about.’

Wimsey left the cottage with his ideas al in disorder. If someone had been

riding on the shore at twelve o’clock it accounted for the horseshoe, but it did

not account for the murder. Had he, after al, been quite wrong in attaching so

much importance to the horseshoe? Might not some mischievous lad, finding the

bay mare at large, have ridden her along the beach for a lark? Might she not

even have strayed away on her own account?

But that brought him back to her strange behaviour of that afternoon, and to

the problem of the ring-bolt. Had the ring-bolt been used for some other

purpose? Or suppose the murderer had come to the rock on horseback at

twelve o’clock and remained talking there with Alexis til two o’clock? But Jem

said that there had been only the one figure on the Flat-Iron. Had the murderer

lurked hidden in the rocky cleft til the time came to strike the blow? But why?

Surely the sole reason for riding thither could only have been the establishment

of an alibi, and an alibi is thrown away if one lingers for two hours before taking

advantage of it. And how had the mare got home? She was not on the shore

between one o’clock and two o’clock if – again – Jem was to be trusted.

Wimsey played for a few moments with the idea of two men riding on one

horse – one to do the murder and one to take the animal back, but the thing

seemed far-fetched and absurd.

Then an entirely new thought struck him. In al the discussions about the

crime, it had been taken for granted that Alexis had walked along the coast-

road to the Flat-Iron; but had this been proved? He had never thought to ask.

Why might not Alexis have been the rider?

In that case, the time of the mare’s passing might be explained, but other

problems bristled up thick as thorns in a rose-garden. At what point had he

taken horse? He had been seen to leave Darley Halt by road in the direction of

Lesston Hoe. Had he subsequently returned and fetched the mare from the

field, and so ridden? If not, who had brought her and to what rendezvous? And

again, how had she returned?

He determined to hunt out Inspector Umpelty and face him with these

problems.

The Inspector was just going to bed, and his welcome was not a hearty one,

but he showed signs of animation on hearing Wimsey’s fresh information.

‘Them Polocks and Moggeridges are the biggest liars in creation,’ he

observed, ‘and if there’s been murder done, it’s good proof that they’re al

concerned in it,’ said he. ‘But as to how Alexis got there, you can set your mind

at rest. We’ve found six witnesses who saw him at various points along the

road between 10.15 and 11.45, and unless there’s some other felow been

going about in a black beard, you can take it as proved that he went by the

coast-road and no other way.’

‘Did none of the witnesses know him personaly?’

‘Wel, no,’ the Inspector admitted, ‘but it isn’t likely there’d be more than

one young felow in a blue suit and a beard going about at that time, unless

somebody was deliberately disguised as him, and where’d be the point of that?

I mean to say, the only reasons for anybody impersonating him would be to

make out either that he was in that neighbourhood at that particular time when

he was realy elsewhere, or that he was realy alive some time after he was

supposed to be kiled. Now, we know that he was in that neighbourhood al

right, so that disposes of number one; and we know that he realy was kiled at

two o’clock and not earlier, and that disposes of number two. Unless, of

course,’ said the Inspector, slowly, ‘the real Alexis was up to some funny

business between 10.15 and two o’clock, and this other felow was making an

alibi for him. I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘I suppose,’ said Wimsey, ‘that it realy
was
Alexis who was kiled. His face

was gone, you know, and we’ve only the clothes and a photograph to go

upon.’

‘Wel, it was somebody else with a real beard, anyhow,’ said the Inspector.

‘And who would Alexis be wanting to kil, do you suppose?’

‘Bolsheviks,’ suggested Wimsey, lightly. ‘He might make an appointment

with a Bolshevik who meant to murder him, then murder the Bolshevik.’

‘So he might – but that doesn’t make things any easier. Whoever it was did

the murder, he had to get away from the Flat-Iron. And how could he have

managed to change clothes with the victim? There wasn’t time.’

‘Not after the murder, certainly.’

‘Then where are you? It’s only making things more complicated. If you ask

me, I think your notion of the mare having been ridden down there at some

other time by some mischievous young felow is a good one. There’s nothing

against it except that ring-bolt, and that might quite wel have been put there for

a quite different purpose. That washes the mare out of the thing altogether and

makes it al a lot easier. Then we can say that either Alexis did away with

himself or else he was murdered by some person we don’t know of yet, who

just walked along the coast on his two feet. It doesn’t matter that those

Polocks didn’t see him. He could have been hiding under the rock, like you

said. The only trouble is, who was he? It wasn’t Weldon, it wasn’t Bright, and

it wasn’t Perkins. But they’re not the only people in the world.’

Wimsey nodded.

‘I’m feeling a bit depressed,’ he said. ‘I seem to have falen down a bit over

this case.’

‘It’s a nuisance,’ said Umpelty, ‘but there! We’ve only been at it a fortnight,

and what’s fortnight? We’l have to be patient, my lord, and wait for the

translation of that letter to come through. The explanation may be al in that.’

XXVIII

THE EVIDENCE OF THE CIPHER

‘I know not whether

I see your meaning: if I do, it lies

Upon the wordy wavelets of your voice,

Dim as an evening shadow in a brook.’

Fragment

Friday, 3 July

The letter from ‘Clumps’ at the Foreign Office did not arrive til the Friday, and

then was a disappointment. It ran:

‘Dear Wimbles,

‘Got your screed. Old Bungo is in China, dealing with the mess-up there, so have

posted enclosure off to him as per instructions. He may be up-country, but he’ll

probably get it in a few weeks. How’s things? Saw Trotters last week at the Carlton.

He has got himself into a bit of a mess with his old man, but seems to bear up. You

remember the Newton-Carberry business? Well, it’s settled, and Flops has departed

for the Continent. What-ho!

‘Yours ever,

‘Clumps.’

‘Young idiot!’ said Wimsey, wrathfuly. He threw the letter into the waste-

paper basket, put on his hat and went round to Mrs Lefranc’s. Here he found

Harriet industriously at work upon the cipher. She reported, however, total

failure.

‘I don’t think it’s a scrap of good going on with these marked words,’ said

Wimsey. ‘And Bungo has failed us. Let’s put our great brains to the business.

Now, look here. Here is a problem to start with. What is in this letter, and why

wasn’t it burnt with the rest?’

‘Now you mention it, that is rather odd.’

‘Very. This letter came on the Tuesday morning. On the Wednesday, bils

were settled up, and on the Wednesday night, papers were burned. On

Thursday morning, Alexis set out to catch his train. Is it too much to suppose

that the instructions to do al this were in the letter?’

‘It looks likely.’

‘It does. That means that this letter probably made the appointment for the

meeting at the Flat-Iron. Now why wasn’t this letter burnt with the rest?’

Harriet let her mind range over the field of detective fiction, with which she

was moderately wel acquainted.

‘In my own books,’ she remarked, ‘I usualy make the vilain end up by

saying “Bring this letter with you.” The idea is, from the vilain’s point of view,

that he can then make certain that the paper is destroyed. From
my
point of

view, of course, I put it in so that the vilain can leave a fragment of paper

clutched in the victim’s stiffened hand to assist Robert Templeton.’

‘Just so. Now, suppose our vilain didn’t quite grasp the duplicity of your

motives. Suppose he said to himself: “Harriet Vane and other celebrated writers

of mystery fiction always make the murderer tel the victim to bring the letter

with him. That is evidently the correct thing to do.” That would account for the

paper’s being here.’

‘He’d have to be rather an amateur vilain.’

‘Why shouldn’t he be? Unless this is realy the work of a trained Bolshevik

agent, he probably is. I suggest that somewhere in this letter, perhaps at the

end, we shal find the words “Bring this letter with you” – and that wil account

for its presence.’

‘I see. Then why do we find it tucked away in an inner pocket and not in the

victim’s hand as per schedule?’

‘Perhaps the victim didn’t play up?’

‘Then the murderer ought to have searched him and found the paper.’

‘He must have forgotten.’

‘How inefficient!’

‘I can’t help that. Here
is
the paper. And no doubt it’s ful of dangerous and

important information. If it made an appointment, it must be because it would

then almost amount to a proof that Alexis didn’t commit suicide but
was

murdered.’

‘Look here, though! Suppose the letter was brought simply because it

contained instructions for reaching the Flat-Iron and so on, which Alexis didn’t