‘Very likely,’ said Umpelty. ‘That would account for its getting hitched-up over the times.’
‘Possibly. Well, 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 all this did away with the central snag in the case, blew his nose mournfully.
‘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 village 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 pulls 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 silly of him to scatter oats all 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’ll come twice as fast the second time; but once disappoint it, and it won’t come at all.’
‘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 Pollock’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 carefully 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 recollect 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 will bear in mind that it is fully 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 still. 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 all 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 tell 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 crueller than others . . .
‘We’ll 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. Well, all 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 all the details about Bach and shirt-collars, 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 all wrong, but I want you to realise what it was meant to be. Suppose all 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 well 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 – especially when the razor turned up. If the body was not found till later, the footprints would be less important, but the medical evidence would probably establish the time of death, and then the alibi would come in.
‘It sounds a very risky plan, but it sounds riskier than it was. Its boldness was its strength. From the Flat-Iron and for a mile or more before you come to it, the coast-road is visible from the shore. He could keep an eye on it and bide his time. If it looked dangerous, he could put it off to a more convenient season. Actually, the only real risk he ran was of being seen at the very moment of the murder and chased by car along the coast. Otherwise, even if it turned out later that a horseman had been seen on the shore about noon, who could prove who the horseman was? It could certainly not be Mr Haviland Martin, who had no connection with anybody and had spent the morning musically in Wilvercombe. And in any case, how many people did pass along that road? What were the odds that the body would be discovered under a few hours? Or that the death would be supposed to be anything except suicide?’
‘What are the odds now that it wasn’t suicide?’ said Inspector Umpelty. ‘By your own showing it can’t have been anything else. But I see what you mean, my lord. You mean that all this plan was made out, and then, when Weldon got along to the Flat-Iron, something made him change his mind. How’s this? When Alexis sees his Rider from the Sea, he recognises Weldon and asks him to explain, Weldon tells him how they’ve made a fool of him and somehow gets him to promise to chuck Mrs Weldon. Maybe he threatens him with the razor. Then Weldon goes away and Alexis is so disappointed that, after thinking it over a bit, he cuts his throat.’
‘Weldon having thoughtfully armed him with the razor for that purpose?’
‘Well, yes – I suppose so.’
‘And what did the bay mare see?’ asked Harriet.
‘Ghosts,’ replied Inspector Umpelty, with a snort of incredulity. ‘Anyhow, you can’t put horses in the witness-box.’
‘Weldon made a mistake afterwards in coming to Wilvercombe,’ went on Wimsey. ‘With that identification mark on his arm, he should have kept away, mother or no mother. But he had to poke his nose in and see what was happening. And Morecambe – well, his possible appearance as a witness was foreseen, of course. I wonder, though, if he was really wise to answer that advertisement of ours. I suppose it was the best thing he could do – but he ought to have smelt the trap, I think. But my private impression is that he wanted to keep an eye on Weldon, who was blundering about all over the place.’
‘Excuse me, my lord,’ said Inspector Umpelty, ‘but we’ve wasted a good hour now speculating about what these people might have done or meant to do. That’s very interesting to you, no doubt, but meanwhile we’re no nearer to knowing what they did do, and here’s three people in prison for doing something they can’t have done. If Alexis cut his own throat, we’ve either got to release these people with apologies, or get up a case against them for conspiring to procure by menaces or something. If some accomplice of theirs killed him, we’ve got to find that accomplice. In either case, I mustn’t waste any more time about it. I only wish I’d never touched the bleeding case.’
‘But you’re so hasty, Inspector,’ bleated Wimsey. ‘I only said the plan went wrong; I never said they didn’t carry it out.’
Inspector Umpelty looked sadly at Wimsey, and his lips silently formed the word ‘loopy’. But aloud he merely observed:
‘Well, my lord, whatever they did, they didn’t murder Alexis at two o’clock, because they weren’t there to do it; and they didn’t murder him at twelve o’clock, because he didn’t die till two. Those are facts, aren’t they?’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘No.’
‘You mean, one or other of them was there at two o’clock?’
‘No.’
‘You mean, they did murder Alexis at twelve o’clock?’
‘Yes.’
‘By cutting his throat?’
‘Yes.’
‘Right through?’
‘Right through.’
‘Then how is it he didn’t die till two o’clock?’
‘We have no evidence at all,’ said Wimsey, ‘as to the time Alexis died.’
XXXIV
EVIDENCE OF WHAT DID HAPPEN
‘Take thou this flower to strew upon his grave,
A lily of the valley; it bears bells,
For even the plants, it seems, must have their fool,
So universal is the spirit of folly;
And whisper, to the nettles of his grave,
“King Death hath asses’ ears.” ’
Death’s Jest-Book
Wednesday, 8 July
‘Do you mean to say,’ demanded Inspector Umpelty, with slow indignation, ‘that the young lady finds herself mistaken all this time?’
Harriet shook her head, and Wimsey said, ‘No.’
‘Well, my lord, I don’t think you can go against the doctor. I’ve asked other doctors about it, and they say there’s no doubt about it.’
‘You didn’t tell them the whole of the facts,’ said Wimsey. ‘I don’t blame you,’ he added, kindly, ‘I’ve only just thought of the rest of the facts myself. Something you said about blood put it in my head, Harriet. Suppose we put down a few things we know about this supposed heir of the Romanovs.’
1. He is known to have been very ill as a child, through being knocked down in the playground.
2. At the age of twenty-one he wore a beard, and had never used a razor. He was also
3. Extraordinarily timid about using sharp weapons or visiting the dentist.
4. Moreover, he had had at least one molar crowned – the last resort to avoid extraction.
5. On Thursday 18th, when scrambling over rocks, he wore gloves.
6. Periodic pains in the joints caused him acute suffering.
7. He used antipyrin to relieve this condition.
8. In no circumstances would he see a doctor, though he anticipated that the trouble would eventually cripple him.
9. Lack of the usual post-mortem stains were remarked on at the inquest.
10. Inquest also established that the great vessels were almost completely drained of blood.
11. And, finally, one may inherit other things besides Imperial crowns through the female line.
Harriet and the Inspector stared at this for a moment or two. Then Harriet laughed:
‘Of course!’ she said. ‘I thought your style was a little laboured in places! But as an impromptu effort it’s creditable.’
‘I don’t see what you get from all that,’ said Umpelty. And then, suspiciously: ‘Is it a joke? Is it another of these ciphers?’ He snatched up the paper and ran a large thumb down the lines. ‘Here!’ he said, ‘what are you playing at? Is it a riddle?’
‘No, it’s the answer,’ said Harriet. ‘You’re right, Peter, you’re right – you must be. It would explain such a lot. Only I didn’t know about antipyrin.’
‘I’m almost sure that is right; I remember reading about it somewhere.’
‘Did it come through the Romanovs?’
‘Possibly. It doesn’t prove that he really was a Romanov, if you mean that. Though he may have been, for young Simons recognised something familiar in his face, which may have been a family resemblance. But it may quite likely have been the other way: the fact that he had it may have lent colour to the tradition. It often occurs spontaneously.’
‘What is all this?’ asked the Inspector.
‘Don’t tease him, Peter. Try the initial letters, Mr Umpelty.’
‘Ah – oh! You will have your fun, my lord! H, A, E – Haemophilia. What in the name of blazes is that, when it’s at home?’
‘It’s a condition of the blood,’ said Wimsey, ‘due to a lack of something-or-the-other, calcium or what not
. It is inherited, like colour-blindness, through the female, and shows itself only, or practically only, in the male, and then only in alternate generations. That is to say, it might lie hidden in generation after generation of daughters, and then, by some malignant chance, pop suddenly up in a son born of a perfectly healthy father and an apparently quite healthy mother. And so far as is known it is incurable.’
‘And what is it? And why do you think Alexis had it? And what does it matter if he did?’
‘It’s a condition in which the blood doesn’t clot properly; if you get even a tiny little scratch, you may bleed to death from it. You may die of having a tooth drawn or from cutting your chin with a razor, unless you know how to deal with it – and in any case, you will go on bleeding like a stuck pig for hours. And if you get a fall or a blow, you have internal bleeding, which comes out in great lumps and swellings and is agonisingly painful. And even if you are terribly careful, you may get internal bleeding at the joints for no reason at all. It comes on from time to time and is horribly painful and gives you a hell of a fever. Hence, if I remember rightly, the antipyrin. And what’s more, it generally ends up by ankylosing your joints and making you a permanent cripple.’
‘The Tsarevitch had it, of course,’ and Harriet. ‘I read about it in those books of Alexis – but like a fool, I never thought about it in connection with the murder.’
‘I don’t know that I see it now,’ said the Inspector, ‘except that it explains why Alexis was such a namby-pamby and all that. Do you mean it proves that Alexis really was a royalty of sorts and that the Bolshies –?’
‘It may or may not prove any of that,’ said Wimsey. ‘But don’t you see, my dear old goat, that it completely busts up and spifficates the medical evidence? We timed the death for two o’clock because the blood hadn’t clotted – but if Alexis was a haemophilic, you might wait till Kingdom Come, and his blood would never clot at all. Therefore, he may have died at noon or dawn for all we know. As a matter of fact, the blood might end by clotting very slightly after some hours – it depends how badly he had the disease – but as evidence for the time of death, the blood is a simple washout.’
Have His Carcase Page 42
