‘Which way did you walk?’
‘Oh, along the beach for a bit. Why?’
‘I just wondered if you’d rambled as far as the Flat-Iron?’
‘Four and a half miles? Not likely. As a matter of fact, I haven’t seen the place yet and I don’t want to. Anyway, Thursday’s the day you want to know about. All the details, as they say in the ‘tec stories, eh? I had breakfast about nine o’clock — eggs and bacon, if you want to be particular — and then I thought I’d better see about getting along to Wilvercombe. So I went down to the village and flagged a passing car. That was — let me, see — just after ten o’clock.’
‘Whereabouts was this?’
‘Where the main road enters Darley the Wilvercombe side.’
‘Why didn’t you hire a car in the village?’
‘Have you seen the cars you can hire in the village? If you had, you wouldn’t ask.’
‘Couldn’t you have phoned up a Wilvercombe garage and got them to come out and pick you and the Morgan up?)
‘I could have, but I didn’t. The only garage I knew at Wilvercombe was the place I’d tried the night before, and I knew they weren’t any good. Besides, what’s wrong about taking a lift?’
Nothing, if the driver isn’t afraid about his insurance.’
‘Oh! Well, this one wasn’t. A very decent sort of woman she seemed to be. Drove a big red open Bentley. Made no bones about it at all.’
‘You don’t know her name I suppose?’’
‘I never thought to ask. But I do remember the number of the car — it was a comic one: 01 0101—sort of thing you couldn’t help remembering, — Oi-oi-oi! I’ said to this woman what a funny one it was and we laughed about it, a good bit.’
‘Ha ha!’ said Wimsey, ‘that’s a good one. Oi-oi-oi!’
‘Yes it made us both laugh. I remember saying it was a bit unfortunate having a number like that, because it ‘ud stick in a bobby’s mind. Oi-oi-oi!’ Mr Weldon yodelled
gleefully.
‘So you go to Wilvercombe?’ ‘Yes.’
‘And what did you do there?’
‘The good lady put me down in the Market Square and asked me if I would like to be taken back. So I said that was very kind of her and when would she be leaving. She said she had to go just before-one o’clock because she had an appointment in Heathbury, so I said that would do me all right, and she arranged to meet me in the Market Square again. So then I had a wander round and went down to the Winter Gardens. The chap I’d talked to said that this girl of Alexis had something to do with the Winter Gardens — sung, or something.’
‘She doesn’t, as a matter of fact. Her present young man plays in the orchestra there.’
‘Yes; I know that now. He’d got it all wrong. Anyhow, that’s where I went, and I wasted a good bit of time listening, to a tom-fool classical concert — my God! Bach and stuff at eleven in the morning! and wondering when the real show began.’
‘Were there many people there?
‘Lord, yes — packed with tabbies and invalids! I soon got fed-up and went round to the Resplendent. I wanted to get hold of the people there, only of course I had the luck to run slap-bang into my mother. She was just going out, and I dodged behind one of these silly palm-trees they have there so that she couldn’t see me, and then I thought she might be going off to meet Alexis, so I padded after her.’
‘And did she meet Alexis?’
No; she went to some damned milliner’s place.’
‘How provoking!’
‘I believe you. I waited a bit, and she came out and went to the Winter Gardens. “Hullo!” I said to myself, “what’s all this? Is she on the same tack as I am?” So away I toddled again, and dash it! If it wasn’t the same infernal concert, and if she didn’t sit through it all by herself! I can tell you what they played, too. A thing called the Eroica Symphony. Such stuff!’
‘Tut-tut! How wearisome.’
‘Yes, I was wild,’ I can tell you. And the funny thing was, Mother looked as if she was waiting for somebody because she kept looking round and fidgeting. She sat on right through the programme, but when it came to God Save the King, she chucked it and went back to the Resplendent, looking as sick as a cat when you’ve taken its mouse away. Well, then I looked at my watch, and dashed if it wasn’t twenty to one!’
‘A sad waste of time! So I suppose you had to give up your drive home with the kindly lady in the Bentley?’
‘What, me? Not a bit of it. She was a dashed fine woman. There wasn’t such a devil of a hurry about Alexis. I went back to the Market Square, and there she was and we went home. I think that was all. No, it wasn’t. I bought some collars at a shop near the War Memorial, and I believe I’ve got the bill about me somewhere, if that’s evidence. — Yes, here we are. One stuffs these things into one’s pocket, you know. I’ve got one of the collars on now, if you’d like to look at it.’
‘Oh, no — I believe you.’
‘Good! Well, that’s all, except that I went along and had some lunch at the Feathers. My good lady dropped me there and I think she went off up the Heathbury Road. After lunch, that is, at about 1.45, I went and had another go at the car, but couldn’t get the slightest sign of a spark, So I thought I’d see if the local man could make anything of it. I went and got him and he came, and after a time they traced the trouble to a fault in the H. T. lead and put it right.’
‘Well, that seems pretty clear. What time did you and the lady in the Bentley get to the Feathers?’
‘Just on one o’clock. I remember hearing the church clock strike and saying I hoped she wouldn’t be late for her tennis-party.’
‘And what time did you go to the garage?’
‘Blest if I know. About three or half-past I should think. But they could probably tell you.’
‘Oh, yes, they’ll be able to check that up all right. It’s, very lucky you’ve got so many witnesses to your alibi, isn’t it? Otherwise, as you say, it might have looked fishy. Now, here’s another thing. While you were in Hinks’s Lane on Thursday, did you happen to notice anybody or anything going along the shore?’
‘Not a soul. But, as I’ve been trying to explain, I; was only there up to ten o’clock and after 1.45, so it wasn’t very likely I should see anything.’
‘Nobody passed between 1.45 and three o’clock?’
‘Oh! between 1.45 and three o’clock? I thought you meant earlier. Yes, there was a chap a little pip-squeak of a — fellow, in shorts, with horn-rimmed goggles on. He came down Hinks’s Lane just after I got back — at 1.55, to be exact — and asked the time.’
‘Did he? Where did he come from?’
‘From the village. I mean, from the direction of the village ‘ he seemed to be a stranger. I told him the time, and he went down to the shore and had his lunch on the beach. He cleared off later — at least, he wasn’t there after I came back from the garage, and I think he went earlier than that. I didn’t have much conversation with him. In fact, he wasn’t keen for any, after I’d booted him one in the behind.’
‘Great Scott! What for?’
‘Nosey-parkering. I was struggling with the infernal car, and he stood about asking silly questions. I told him to clear out — standing there bleating “Won’t it start?” Blasted little idiot!’
Wimsey laughed. ‘He can’t be our man, anyhow.’
‘What man? The murderer? You still want to make out it’s murder? Well, I’ll swear that little shrimp had nothing to do with it. Sunday-school teacher, that’s what he looked like.’
‘And he was the only person you saw? Nothing else: neither man, woman nor child? Neither bird nor beast?’
‘Why, no. No. Nothing.’
‘H’m. Well, I’m much obliged to you for being so frank. I’ll have to tell Umpelty about all this, but I don’t imagine he’ll bother you much and I don’t see the least need to inform Mrs Weldon.’
‘I told you there was nothing in it.’
‘Exactly. What time did you leave on
Friday morning, by the way?’
‘Eight o’clock.’
‘Early start, wasn’t it?’
‘There was nothing to stay for.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, Alexis was dead, wasn’t he?’
‘How did you know that?’
Henry broke into a great guffaw.
‘Thought you’d got something that time, didn’t you? Well, I knew it because I was told. I went into the Feathers on Thursday night, and of course, they’d all heard about the dead man being found. Presently the local bobby came in — he doesn’t live at Darley, but he comes through on his bike from time to time. He’d been over to Wilvercombe for something or other and he told us they’d got a photo of the body and had. just developed it up and. identified it as a fellow called Alexis from the Resplendent. You ask the bobby, and he’ll tell you. So I began to think I’d better pop off home, because that’s where my mother would expect the condolences to come from. How’s that,’ eh?’
‘Overwhelming,’ said Wimsey.
He left Henry Weldon and made for the police-station. ‘Water-tight, water-tight, water-tight,’ he muttered to himself. But why did he lie about the horse? He must have seen it, if it was running loose. Unless it broke out of the field after eight o’clock in the morning. And why shouldn’t it? Water-tight, water-tight — damned suspiciously water — tight!
Chapter XX. The Evidence Of The Lady In The Car
‘Madam, we’re strangers:
And yet I knew some while ago a form Like thine.’
— The Bride’s Tragedy
Thursday, 25 June
The Superintendent and the Inspector were perhaps even more surprised than pleased to hear of the identification of Mr Haviland Martin. They felt that the amateurs had somehow stolen a march on them, although, as they both hastened to point out, the case now remained as obscure as ever, if not more so. That is to say, considered as a murder, it was obscure; on the other hand, the evidence for suicide was perhaps a little strengthened, though only negatively. Instead of the sinister Martin, who might have been anybody, they now had merely Mr Henry Weldon, whom they knew. True, it was now extremely plain that Henry Weldon had a most cogent reason for wishing Paul Alexis out of the way. But his own explanation of his presence at Darley steemed plausible, if foolish, and there remained the absolute certainty that he could not possibly have been at the Flat-Iron at two o’clock. Moreover, the fact that he had been known for five years as the bespectacled Haviland Martin of the tinted glasses, robbed his’ latest masquerade of half its significance. The character of Martin had not been invented for the present purpose, and, since it already existed, it was natural enough that Weldon should have assumed it for the purpose of spying on his mother.
As to the outstanding points of Weldon’s story, these could be easily checked. The bill: for the collars was dated June 18th, and the date did not appear to have been altered in any way. A telephone-call to the shop confirmed it, and brought the additional information that the bill referred to was one of the last half-dozen made out on that day. Since Thursday had been early-closing day, when the shop closed at one o’clock, it was fairly evident that the purchase had been made shortly before that time.
Next, perhaps, in importance was the evidence of the Darley policeman. He was, quickly found and interrogated. He admitted that Weldon’s account of the matter was perfectly true. He had been in Wilvercombe that evening at about nine o’clock on a visit, to his young lady (being then off duty) and had met one of the Wilvercombe Police, Rennie by name, outside the Resplendent. He had asked if there was any news about the body found at the Flat-Iron and Rennie had mentioned the identification. Rennie confirmed this, and there was no reason to doubt it the photographs had been developed and printed within an hour of their arrival at the police-station; the hotels had been among the first places visited by the police; the identification had been made shortly before nine o’clock, and Rennie had been on duty with Inspector Umpelty while the manager of the Resplendent was being interrogated. The Darley constable further admitted having mentioned the identification in the bar at the Three Feathers. He had gone into the bar, quite legitimately, just before closing-time, in search of a man who was suspected of some trifling misdemeanour,’ and he distinctly remembered that ‘Martin’’ was present at the time. Both constables were reprimanded for talking too freely; but the fact remained that Weldon had been told — of the identification that night,
‘So what have we got left?’ inquired Superintendent Glaisher.
Wimsey shook his head.
‘Nothing very much, but still, something. First: Weldon knows something about that horse — I’ll swear he does. He hesitated when I asked him if he’d seen any person, thing, or animal, and I am almost certain he was wondering whether to say “No” or to make up a tarradiddle. Secondly: All this story is so thin. A child. would know better than to set about his precious inquiries in the way he did. Why should he twice. go into Wilvercombe and twice come away without; really doing anything much? Thirdly: His story is so glib, and so full of exact times. Why, if he wasn’t deliberately preparing an alibi? Fourthly: Just at the, most crucial moment of all, we get an account of his having been seen by an unknown person who asks the time. Why on earth should a man who had just passed through a village full of people and clocks, walk down Hinks’s Lane to ask a casual camper for the time? The man who asks the time is part of the regular stock-in-trade of the alibi-maker. The whole thing is so elaborate and fishy — don’t you think so?’
Glaisher nodded.
‘I agree with you. It is fishy. But what does it mean?’
‘There you’ve got me. I can only suggest that, whatever Weldon was doing that morning in Wilvercombe, it wasn’t what he said he was doing, and that he may, somehow be in league with the actual murderer. How about, this car 010100,
‘It’s a shire number, but that means nothing. Everybody buys second-hand cars these days. Still, naturally, we’ll send out an inquiry. A wire to the shire authorities will put us on the track. Not that that helps us very much about what Weldon was doing later in the day.’
‘Not a bit, but there’s no harm in getting hold of the lady. And, have you asked at the Winter Gardens what the performance was last Thursday morning?’
‘Yes: Constable Ormond is, down there now oh! here he is.’
Constable Ormond had inquired minutely. It was a classical concert, starting at 10.30. Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, by Mozart; two Lieder ohne Worter by Mendelssohn; Bach’s Air for G String; Suite by Handel; Interval; Beethoven’s Eroica. All present and correct, Bach and Beethoven as per statement and approximately at the correct times. No printed programme that anyone could have taken away or memories. Further, the Eroica had been substituted at the last minute for the Pastoral, owing to some difficulty about mislaid band-parts. Each piece had been announced from the platform by the conductor. If anyone still nursed a suspicion that Mr Henry Weldon had not been present at that particular concert, it could only be out of surprise that he should have troubled to remember the items he had heard so, exactly. Positive confirmation of his story there was none, though P.C.Ormond had carefully questioned the attendants. Persons in tinted; spectacles were, alas! as common in the Winter Gardens as blackbeetles in a basement.
Some, additional confirmation of Weldon’s story was brought in a few minutes later by another constable. He had interviewed Mrs Lefranc and discovered that a gentleman in dark glasses really had called on Paul Alexis on the Wednesday and tried to get information about Leila Garland. Mrs Lefranc, scenting ‘trouble’, had packed him off with a flea in his ear to the restaurant where Alexis frequently lunched: Here the proprietor remembered him; yes, there had, he believed, been some talk about the Winter Gardens with a gentleman out of the orchestra who had happened to drop in — no, not Mr da Soto, but a much humbler gentleman, who played at the fourth desk of second violins. Finally, as sequel to a series of inquiries put round the principal Wilvercombe garages, a mec
hanic was found who remembered a gent calling on Wednesday evening with a Morgan and complaining of trouble in starting and feeble ignition. The mechanic. had been able to find no fault beyond a certain amount of wear in the platinum; points, which might have caused bad starting when the engine, was cold.
All these things were of little importance as regarded the actual crime, if there was one; they served, however, to support the general accuracy of Weldon’s statement.
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