Have His Carcase (62 page)

that, I fancy, and she got the idea of bringing her husband in on the job. That’s

al speculative, as you might say, though we’ve checked up that Mrs M. was

staying at Heathbury about the time Weldon was in Wilvercombe. Anyhow, we

have made sure of one thing, and that is that Morecambe’s “Commission

Agency” is a pretty vague sort of affair and uncommonly rocky on its pins. Our

idea was that the lady brought the two men together, and that Morecambe

promised to do what he could for Weldon on a fifty-fifty basis.’

‘Fifty-fifty of what?’ asked Harriet.

‘Of his mother’s money – when he raked it in.’

‘But that wouldn’t be til she died.’

‘No, miss, it wouldn’t.’

‘Oh – do you think—?’

‘I think those two might have been in it for what they could get out of it,

miss,’ said the Inspector, stolidly.

‘I agree,’ said Wimsey, ‘Anyway, the next thing that happens is that Mr

Morecambe goes to Leamhurst and stays a few days with Weldon. Al through

this business, Morecambe has been far too smart to put anything on paper,

except al that rubbish in cipher, so I imagine the plot was more or less worked

out then. Weldon mentions to Morecambe the romantic tale of Alexis’ Imperial

descent, and that gives them the idea for luring their victim to the Flat-Iron.

Immediately after this, the mysterious letters begin to go out. I wonder, by the

way, what was the excuse for not writing that first letter in Russian. Because, of

course, that must have gone out in clear and not in code.’

‘I’ve got an idea about that,’ said Harriet. ‘Didn’t you say you knew of an

English novel that had an explanation of the Playfair cipher?’

‘Yes – one of John Rhode’s. Why?’

‘I suggest that the first letter merely gave the title of the book and the

chapters concerned and added the code-word for the next message. Since the

book was English it would be quite natural to make the whole message

English.’

‘Ingenious beast,’ said Wimsey. ‘Meaning you. But it’s quite a possible

explanation. We needn’t go into al that story again. Obviously, Mrs

Morecambe was the source of information about the topography and fauna of

Wilvercombe and Darley. Weldon was chosen to do the throat-cutting and

horse-riding part of it, which needed brawn only, while Morecambe buzzed

about despatching letters and photographs and working Alexis up to the top-

notch of excitement. Then, when everything is about ready, Morecambe goes

off to take up his rôle of traveling hairdresser.’

‘But why al that incredible elaboration?’ demanded Harriet. ‘Why didn’t

they just buy an ordinary razor or knife in an ordinary way? Surely it would be

less traceable.’

‘You’d think so. In fact, I daresay it might have been. But it’s surprising how

things do get traced. Look at Patrick Mahon and the chopper, for instance. The

plan was to make the thing realy impregnable by double and triple lines of

defence. First, it was to look like suicide; secondly, if that was questioned and

the razor traced, there was to be a convincing origin for the razor; thirdly, if by

any chance Morecambe’s disguise was seen through, there was to be an

explanation for that.’

‘I see. Wel, go on. Morecambe had the courage of his own convictions,

anyhow – he did the thing very thoroughly.’

‘Wise man. I admit that he took me in absolutely. Wel, now – Weldon. He

had his character of Haviland Martin al ready to slip into. Acting under

instructions, he hired a Morgan, crammed it uncomfortably with a smal tent and

his personal belongings, and went to camp at Darley, next door to Farmer

Newcombe’s field. Morecambe arrived at Wilvercombe the same day.

Whether and when those two met I don’t know. It’s my impression that the

whole thing was scheduled beforehand as far as possible, and that there was

next to no communication after the plot had once got going.’

‘Very likely,’ said Umpelty. ‘That would account for its getting hitched-up

over the times.’

‘Possibly. Wel, on the Thursday, Alexis starts off for the Flat-Iron according

to instructions. By the way, it was necessary that the body should be found and

recognised – hence, I fancy, the fact that Alexis was told to go openly to the

rock by the coast-road. In case the body got lost, there would be witnesses to

say that he had been last seen going in that direction, and to suggest a possible

area for search. It would never have done for him simply to disappear like

snow upon the desert’s dusty face.

‘So Alexis goes off to look for a crown. Meanwhile, Henry Weldon has run

a needle through the H.T. leads of the Morgan, so as to provide a very good

reason for asking for a lift into Wilvercombe. And now you see why a Morgan.

It had to be something with only two cylinders, if the whole ignition was to be

put out of action with one needle: that is, a Morgan, a Belsize-Bradshaw or a

motor-bike. He probably avoided the bike on the ground of exposure to

weather, and chose the Morgan as the next most handy and numerous two-

cylinder bus.’

Inspector Umpelty smacked his thigh, and then, remembering that none of al

this did away with the central snag in the case, blew his nose mournfuly.

‘Shortly after ten o’clock, along comes Mrs Morecambe in the Bentley with

the conspicuous number-plate. That number-plate was pure bunce for them –

they can scarcely have picked or wangled it on purpose, but it came in very

convenient as a means of identifying the bus. What more natural than that

Weldon, if questioned, should remember a number so screamingly funny as

that? Oi, oi, oi! Highly humorous, wasn’t it, Inspector?’

‘Where did she put him down, then?’ asked Umpelty, scowling.

‘Anywhere, out of sight of the vilage and the passing throng. At some point

where he can cut across the fields to the shore again. The road turns in rather

sharply from the coast between Darley and Wilvercombe, which doubtless

accounts for their having left him so much time for his walk back. In any case,

by, say, 11.15, he has walked back to Darley and is cocking an eye over the

fence at Farmer Newcombe’s bay mare. He puls a stake out of the hedge and

goes into the field, with oats in one hand and a rope-bridle in the other.’

‘What did he want to take oats for? Surely the horse would have come up to

him if he just said “Coop” or whatever it is and shaken his hat about? It seems

sily of him to scatter oats al over the place like that.’

‘Yes, my child,’ said Wimsey. ‘But there was a reason for that. I think the

oats he scattered were from the day before, when he first started to make

friends with the mare. Teach an animal to come for food once and it’l come

twice as fast the second time; but once disappoint it, and it won’t come at al.’

‘Yes, of course. You’re quite right.’

‘Now,’ said Wimsey, ‘I
think
, I can’t prove it, but I
think
, our hero left

most of his clothes behind him. I’m not certain, but it seems an obvious

precaution. At any rate, he bridled the mare and mounted her and rode off.

You’ve got to remember that between Darley and Polock’s cottage the shore

is hidden from the road, so that the only risk he ran of being seen was by

somebody straying on the edge of the cliff itself. And they would probably not

worry much about a man exercising a horse along the shore. His real awkward

moment was the passing of the cottages, but he had carefuly chosen the very

time when the working-classes have their dinner. I fancy he went past there just

before midday.’

‘They heard hoofs about that time.’

‘Yes. And a little later, Paul Alexis heard them too, as he sat on his rock and

dreamed of the Imperial Purple. He looked and saw the Rider from the Sea.’

‘Quite so,’ said Umpelty, unmoved. ‘And what then?’

‘Ah! – you recolect that we are merely describing an ideal crime, in which

everything works out as planned.’

‘Oh, yes – of course.’

‘Then – in the ideal crime – Weldon rides up to the rock through the water –

and by the way, you wil bear in mind that it is fuly an hour before low tide and

that there is a foot and a half of water at the foot of the Flat-Iron. He ties the

mare close by the head to the ring-bolt put there the day before, and he climbs

up on to the rock. Alexis may or may not have recognised him. If he did . . .’

Wimsey paused, and his eyes grew angry.

‘Whether he did or not, he hadn’t much time for disappointment. Weldon

asked him to sit down, I think; emperors sit, while respectful commoners stand

behind them, you see. Weldon asked for the letter, and Alexis gave him the

decoded translation. Then he leaned over him from behind with the razor . . .

‘Weldon, of course, was a fool. He did everything wrong that he could do.

He ought to have removed those gloves, and he ought to have seen to it that he

had the original letter. Perhaps he ought to have searched the body. But I think

that would have been worse stil. It might have destroyed the suicidal

appearance. Once move a body and you never can recapture the first, fine,

careless rapture, don’t you know. And besides, the mare was struggling and

nearly breaking away. That would have been fatal . . .

‘Do you know, I rather take my hat off to Weldon about this. Ever seen a

horse that has suddenly had fresh blood splashed al over it? Not pretty.

Definitely not. Cavalry horses have to get used to it, of course – but the bay

mare could never have smelt blood before. When I realise that Weldon had to

mount that squealing, plunging, terrified brute bareback from the top of a rock,

and ride her away without letting her once plunge on to the sand, I tel you, I

take off my hat.’

‘You mean, you would have had to, if it had happened that thick way.’

‘Exactly. A man who could seriously contemplate bringing that scheme off

knew something about horses. He may even have known too much. I mean . . .

there are ways and ways of subduing violent animals, and some ways are

crueler than others . . .

‘We’l suppose he did it. That he somehow got the mare untied from the

rock and forced her straight out to sea. That would be the best way. That

would tire her out, and at the same time wash the blood away. Then, having got

control of her, he rides back as he came. But she has loosened a shoe in her

frantic plunging and kicking, and on the way back she wrenches it off

altogether. Probably he doesn’t notice that. He rides on past his camp to

wherever he left his clothes, looses the mare, gets dressed and hurries out to

flag the Bentley on the return journey. I don’t suppose he gets there much

before, say 12.55. He’s picked up and set down at the Feathers at one

o’clock. Here we leave romance and come back to the facts. Then, after lunch,

he goes down to his own place, burns the rope-bridle, which is bloody, and

kicks out our friend Perkins, who seems disposed to take too much interest in

the rope.’

‘He hadn’t the rope with him at the Feathers, had he?’

‘No; I expect he threw it down in some handy spot on his way back from

the Flat-Iron – somewhere near the stream, I should imagine. Wel, al he has to

do after that is to get Polwhistle to come along and deal with the Morgan. He

made another mistake there, of course. When he was putting those leads in his

pocket he should have
put
them in his pocket and seen that they stayed put.

‘But you see that he, too, was intended to have three lines of defence. First,

of course, the death was to look like suicide; secondly, the camper at Darley

Halt was to be Mr Martin of Cambridge, having no connection with anybody;

and thirdly, if Mr Martin was proved to be Henry Weldon, there was the alibi in

Wilvercombe, with al the details about Bach and shirt-colars, and an

absolutely independent witness in a Bentley car to swear to the story.’

‘Yes, but –’ said Umpelty.

‘I know, I know – bear with me. I know the plan went al wrong, but I want

you to realise what it was meant to be. Suppose al this had worked properly –

what would have happened? The body would have been left on the rock at

about noon, with the razor lying below it. By 12.30, the murderer was wel

away, nearly at Darley. By one o’clock, he was at the Feathers, eating and

drinking, with a witness to swear that he had spent the whole morning in

Wilvercombe. If the body was found before the tide turned, there would be no

footprints, other than those of the corpse, and suicide would probably be

presumed without a second thought – especialy when the razor turned up. If

the body was not found til later, the footprints would be less important, but the

medical evidence would probably establish the time of death, and then the alibi