Have His Carcass lpw-8

by Dorothy L. Sayers

  ‘I won’t suppose it,’ retorted Harriet.

  ‘We seem to have reached a no-thoroughfare,’ remarked Wimsey. ‘Let’s leave that for the time being, Inspector. You can come and suppose it in the bar, quietly, later on.

  Though I don’t think it very likely myself. It’s our turn to suppose something. Suppose a fishing-boat had wanted to come in at, the — Flat-Iron just about low tide on Thursday — could she do it?’

  ‘Easy, my lord. Some of these boats don’t draw more than a foot of water. You could bring her, in beautifully, provided you kept clear of the Grinders, and remembered to reckon with the current!’

  ‘A stranger might get into difficulties, perhaps.!’

  ‘He might, but not if he was a good seaman and could read a chart. He could bring a small boat up within a dozen feet of the Flat-Iron any day, unless the wind was setting with the current across the bay, when he might get driven on to the rocks if he wasn’t careful!

  ‘I see. That makes it all very interesting. We are supposing a murder, you see, Inspector, and we’ve ‘thought out two ways of doing it. We’d be glad to have your opinion.’

  Inspector Umpelty listened with an indulgent smile to the rival theories of the Man in the Fishing-boat and the Man in the Niche, and then said:

  ‘Well, miss, all I can say is, I’d like to read some of those books of yours. It’s wonderful, the way you, work it all in., But about that boat. That’s queer, that is. We’ve been trying to get a line on that, because whoever was in it must have seen something. Most of the fishing-boats were out off Shelly Point, but there’s a few of them I haven’t checked up on, and of course, it might be some of the visitors from Wilvercombe or Lesston Hoe. We’re always warning these amateurs to keep from the Grinders, but do they? No. You’d think some of them was out for a day’s suicide, the way they go on. But I’ve got an idea who it was, all the same.’

  ‘How about those cottages along the coast, where I went to try and get help?’ asked Harriet. ‘Surely they must have seen the boat? I thought those sort of people knew every boat in the place by sight.’

  ‘That’s just it,’ replied the Inspector. ‘We’ve asked them and they’re all struck blind and dumb, seemingly. That’s

  why I say I think I could put a name to the boat. But we’ll find a way to make them come across with it, never fear. They’re a surly lot, those Pollocks and Moggeridges, and up to no good, in my opinion. They’re not popular with the other fishers, and when you find a whole family boycotted by the rest of them, there’s usually something at the back of it.’

  ‘At any rate,’ said Wimsey, ‘I think we’ve got the actual time of the death pretty well fixed by now. That ought to help.’

  “Yes,” admitted Inspector Umpelty, ‘if what you and the lady tell me is correct, that does seem to settle it. Now but what I’d like a doctor’s opinion on it, no offence to you. But I think you’re right, all the same. It’s a great pity you happened — to fall, asleep when you did, miss.’ He looked reproachfully at Harriet.

  But wasn’t it lucky I was there at all?

  The Inspector agreed that it was.

  ‘’And taking this question of the time as settled,’ he went on, ‘we’ve got some information to hand now that may clear matters up, a bit. At least, from all I can see, it just goes to show that this murder-stuff is clean impossible, as I’ve said it was all along. But if we prove that, then we’re all right, aren’t we?’

  The conference was taking place in the Inspector’s cosy little villa in the suburbs of the town. Rising, Mr Umpelty went to a cupboard and extracted a large sheaf of official reports.

  ‘You see, my lord, we haven’t been idle, even though suicide looks more probable than anything else on the face of things. We had to take all the possibilities into account, and we’ve gone over the district with, as you might say, a magnifying glass.’

  After an inspection of the reports, Wimsey was obliged to admit that this boast seemed justified. Chance had helped the police very considerably. An application had recently been made by the local authorities to the County Council to have the coast-road between Lesston Hoe and Wilvercombe put into better repair. The County Council, conscious that times were bad and that money was tight; had courteously replied that it did not think there was sufficient traffic along the said coast-road to justify the proposed expenditure. As a result of these negotiations, persons had been appointed (at a modest wage) by the County Council to take a census of the vehicular traffic passing along the said road, and one of these watchers had been stationed, during the whole of, Thursday, 18 June, at the junction formed by the coast-road and the high road from Lesston Hoe to Heathbury. At the other end of of the twelve miles or so which interested the detectives: was Darley Halt, where, as Harriet had already discovered for herself, the gates were always shut, unless particularly summoned to be opened for a passing vehicle. On either side of the railway gates was a wicket for foot passengers, but this was of the kind that does not admit anything so large even as a push-cycle. It was clear, therefore, that unless the hypothetical murderer had come on foot, he must have been seen at one end or other of the road, or else have come from some intermediate farm. During the past four days, the police had carefully investigated the bona fides of every traveller over this section of the road, Every car, motor-cycle, push-cycle, van, lorry, wagon and beast had been laboriously checked up and accounted for. Nothing had been unearthed to suggest suspicion of any kind. Indeed, all the persons using the road were local inhabitants, well known to all the police officers, and each one of them had been able to give an exact account of his or her movements during. the day. This was not so surprising as it may appear, since nearly all of them were either tradesmen, accomplishing a given — round; in a given time, or farmers with business on their land or in the adjacent towns, who had witnesses to prove their departure and arrival. The only persons whose times could not very well be checked were those who loitered attendance, upon cows and sheep in transit; but, apart from the extreme improbability of these rustics having gone out of their way, to cut a gentleman’s throat with an Endicott razor, Inspector Umpelty was quite ready to vouch personally for all of them.

  ‘In fact, my lord,’ he said, ‘you may take it from me that all these people we have checked up are all right. You can put them right, out of your mind. The only possibility left now for your murderer is that he came by sea, or else on foot along the shore from either Wilvercombe or Lesston Hoe, and, as this young lady says, Wilvercombe is the more probable direction of the two, because, anybody coming — from Lesston Hoe would have seen her and put his crime off’ to a more convenient season, as Shakespeare says.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Wimsey. ‘All right. We’ll admit that. The murderer didn’t take any sort of wheeled conveyance for any part of the journey. Still, that leaves a lot of possibilities open. We’ll wash out the Lesston Hoe side altogether and only take the Wilvercombe direction. We now have at least three suggestions. One: the murderer walked by the road from Wilvercombe or Darley, came down on to the beach at some point out of view from the Flat-Iron, — and thence proceeded by the shore. Two: he came from one of those two cottages where the, fishermen live (Pollock and Moggeridge, I thing you said the names were). You don’t mean to say you’ll answer personally for those men, do you, Inspector?’

  ‘No, I don’t — only they weren’t there,’ retorted the Inspector, with spirit. ‘Moggeridge and his two sons were over in Wilvercombe, buying some stuff there — I’ve got witnesses to that. Old Pollock was out in his boat, because Freddy Bares, saw him, and his eldest boy was probably with him. We’re going to pull those two in, and that’s why I said the murderer might have come by sea. The only other Pollock is a boy of about fourteen, and you can’t suppose it was him that did it, nor yet any of the women and children.’

  ‘I see. Well then. Three: the murderer walked the whole way along the coast from Darley or Wilvercombe. By the way, didn’t you say there was somebody camping out a
long there, just beyond Darley Halt.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Harriet, ‘a square-built sort of man, who spoke — well, not quite like a countryman — like a gentleman of the country sort.’

  ‘If anybody had passed that way, he might have seen him.’

  ‘So he might,’ replied the Inspector, ‘but unfortunately we haven’t laid hands on that particular gentleman, though we’ve got inquiries out after him. He packed: up and departed early on Friday morning, taking his belongings in a Morgan. He’d been camping at the bottom of Hinks’s Lane since Tuesday, and gave the name of Martin.’

  ‘Is that so? And he disappeared immediately after the crime. Isn’t that a trifle suspicious?’

  ‘Not a bit.’ Inspector Umpelty was quite triumphant. ‘He was having his lunch at the Three Feathers in Darley at one o’clock and he didn’t leave till 1.30. If you’ll tell me how a man could walk four and a half miles in half-an-hour, I’ll get a warrant made out for Mr Martin’s arrest.’

  ‘Your trick, Inspector. Well — let’s see. Murder at two o’clock — four and a half miles to go. That means that the murderer can’t have passed through Darley later than 12.50 at the very outside. That’s allowing him to do four miles an hour, and since he would have to do at least part of the distance along the sand it’s probably an over-estimate. On the other hand, he wouldn’t be likely to do less than three miles an hour. That gives 12.30 as his earliest time — unless, of course, he sat and talked to Alexis for some time before he cut his throat.’

  ‘That’s just it, my lord. It’s all so vague. In any case, Mr Martin isn’t much good to us, because he spent Thursday morning in Wilvercombe — or so he mentioned to the landlord of the Feathers.’

  ‘What a pity! He might have been a valuable witness. I suppose you’ll go on looking for him, though it doesn’t seem as if he’d be very much good to us. Did anybody notice the number of his Morgan?’

  ‘Yes; it belongs to a London garage, where they hire out cars to be driven by the hirers. Mr Martin came in there last Thursday week, paid his deposit in cash and returned the bus on Sunday night. He said he had given up his house and had no fixed address, but gave a reference to a Cambridge banker. His driving-licence was made out in the name of Martin all right. There was no trouble about the insurance, because the garage uses a form of policy that covers all their cars irrespective of who is driving them.’

  ‘But wasn’t there-an address on the driving-licence?’

  ‘Yes; but that was the address of the house he’d given up, so they took no notice of that.’

  ‘Do garage-owners usually ask to see people’s driving licences?’

  ‘I don’t know that they do. Apparently this fellow showed it to them without being asked.’’

  ‘Curious. You’d almost think he was going out of his way: to forestall criticism. How about the bank?’

  ‘That’s all right. Mr Haviland Martin has been a depositor there for five years. Introduced by another client. No irregularity.’

  ‘I suppose they didn’t mention the name’ of his — referee nor the amount of his deposit.’

  ‘Well, no. Banks don’t care about giving away information. You see, we’ve absolutely nothing against this fellow Martin.’

  ‘Exactly. All the same, I’d rather like to have a chat with him. There are points about him which seem to me suggestive, as Sherlock Holmes would say. What do you think, my dear Robert Templeton?’

  ‘I think,’ replied Harriet, promptly, ‘that if I had been inventing a way for a murderer to reach an appointed spot and leave it again, complete with bag and baggage and without leaving more trail than was absolutely unavoidable, I should have made him act very much as Mr Martin has acted. He would open an account under a false name at a bank, giving the bank’s address to the garage-proprietor as sole reference, hire a car and pay cash and probably close the account again in the near future.’

  ‘As you say. Still, the dismal fact remains that Mr Martin obviously did not do the murder, always supposing that the Feathers’ clock can be relied on. A little further investigation is indicated, I fancy. Five years seems a longish time to premeditate a crime. You might, perhaps, keep an eye, on that bank — only don’t make a row about it, or you may frighten the bird away.’

  ‘That’s so, my lord. All the same, I’d feel more enthusiastic, I don’t mind saying, if I had any sort of proof that there really was a murder committed. just at present it’s a bit thin, you’ll allow.’

  ‘So it is; but there are quite a lot of small things that point that way. Taken separately, they aren’t important, but taken together, they have a funny look. There’s the razor, and the gloves, and the return-ticket, and the good spirits Alexis was in on the day before his death. And now there’s this funny story of the mysterious gentleman who arrived at Darley in time to take a front seat for the crime, and then cleared off with such remarkable precautions to obscure his name and address.’

  Inspector Umpelty’s reply was cut short by the ringing of his telephone. He listened for a moment to its mysterious cluckings, said ‘I’ll be along at once, sir,’’ and rang off.

  ‘Something else funny seems to have turned up,’ he said. ‘You’ll excuse me if I rush off; I’m wanted down at the Station.’

  Chapter XI. The Evidence Of The Fisherman

  ‘There’s a fellow

  With twisting root-like hair up to his eyes,

  And they are streaked with red and starting out

  Under their bristling brows; his crooked tusks

  Part, like a hungry wolf’s, his cursing mouth;

  His head. is frontless, and a swinish mane

  Grows o’er his shoulders: brown and warty hands,

  Like roots, with pointed nails. He is the man.’

  — Fragment

  Monday 22 June

  WIMSEY had not very long to wait before hearing the latest development.’ He had returned to the Bellevue for lunch, and was having a preliminary refresher in the bar, when he felt a smart tap on his shoulder.

  ‘Lord,’ Inspector! How you startled me! All right, it’s a fair cop. What’s it for this time?’

  ‘I just dropped along to tell you the latest, my lord. I thought you’d like to hear it. It’s given us something to think about, I don’t mind telling you.’

  ‘Has it? You look quite agitated. I expect you’re out of practice. It is exhausting when you’re not used to it. Have one?’

  ‘Thank you, my lord. I don’t mind if I do. Now, look here you remember about our young friend’s banking account and the three hundred pounds?’

  ‘Sure thing.’

  ‘Well’ the Inspector dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper we’ve found out what he did with it.’

  Wimsey registered expectation, but this was not enough. Inspector Umpelty evidently felt that he had got hold of a really choice morsel, and was not going to let it go without full dramatic honours.

  ‘I’ll buy it, Inspector.: What did he do with it?’.

  ‘Guess, my lord. You can have three guesses, and I bet you anything you like you don’t hit on it. Not in twenty guesses!’

  ‘Then I mustn’t waste your valuable time. Go on. Have a heart. Don’t keep me in such ghastly suspense. What did he do with it?’

  ‘He went,’ said the Inspector, ludicrously, ‘and turned it into gold.’

  ‘Into WHAT?’

  ‘Three hundred golden sovereigns — that’s what he turned it into. Three hundred round, golden jimmy o’ goblins.’

  Wimsey stared blankly at him.

  ‘Three hundred — oh, look here, Inspector, a shock like this is more than frail flesh and blood can stand. There isn’t so much gold in the country. I haven’t seen more than ten gold sovereigns together since I fought at my grandpapa’s side at the Battle of Waterloo. Gold! How did he get it? How did he wangle it? They don’t hand it out to you at the banks nowadays. Did he rob the Mint?’

  ‘No, he didn’t. He changed notes for it quite honestly. But it’s
a queer tale for all that. I’ll tell you how it was, and how we come to know of it. You may remember that there was a photograph of Alexis published in the newspapers last week?’

  ‘Yes, enlarged from that hotel group they took at the Gala Night last Christmas. I saw it.’

  ‘That’s right. Only one we could find; Alexis didn’t leave anything about. Well, yesterday we had a quaint old bird calling at the Station — Gladstone sort of collar, whiskery bits, four-in-hand tie, cotton gloves, square-crowned bowler, big green gamp — all complete. Said he lived up Princemoor

  way. He pulls a newspaper out of his pocket and points to the, photograph. “I hear you want information about this poor young man,”‘ he pipes up. “Yes, we do,” says the Super, “you know anything about it, Dad?”