One of the minor irritations of detective; work is, the delay which usually occurs in the putting-through of inquiries. Trunk-calls are held up, people urgently required for interviews are absent from home; letters take time to travel. It was therefore gratifying and surprising to find the identification of the owner of 01 0101 going along like oiled clockwork. Within an hour, a telegram arrived from the — Shire County Council, stating that 01 0101 had been last — transferred to a Mrs Morecambe, living at 17 Popcorn Street, Kensington.; Within ten minutes, the Wilvercombe Telephone Exchange had put through a trunk-call. Within fifteen minutes the bell rang and Superintendent Glaisher was learning from Mrs Morecambe’s maid that her mistress was staying at Heathbury Vicarage. A call to the vicarage received immediate attention. Yes, Mrs Morecambe was staying there; yes, she was at home; yes, they would fetch her; yes, this was Mrs Morecambe speaking; yes, she distinctly remembered driving a gentleman in dark glasses from Darley to Wilvercombe and back last Thursday; yes, she thought she could remember the times; she must have picked him up about ten o’clock, judging by the time she had started out from Heathbury, and she knew she had dropped him in Darley again at one o’clock, because she had consulted her watch to see if she would be in time for her luncheon and tennis-party at Colonel Cranton’s, the other side of Heathbury. No, she had never seen the gentleman before and did not know his name, but she thought she could identify him if required. No trouble at all, thanks — she was only glad to know that the police had nothing against her (silvery laughter); when the maid said the Superintendent was on the phone she had been afraid she might have been trespassing on the white lines, or parking in the wrong place or something. She would be staying at the vicarage till next Monday and would he happy to assist the police in any way. She did hope she hadn’t been helping a gangster to escape or anything of that sort.
The Superintendent-scratched his head. ‘It’s uncanny,’ he said. ‘Here we are and we know all about it — not so much as a wrong number! But anyhow, if the lady’s a friend of the Rev. Trevor’s, she’s, O.K. He’s lived here for fifteen years and is the nicest gentleman you could wish to meet — quite one of the old school. We’ll just find out how well he knows this Mrs Morecambe, but I expect it’s ‘ all right. As to this identification, I don’t know that it’s worth while.’
‘You probably couldn’t expect her to identify him without his dark hair and glasses,’ said Wimsey. ‘It’s astonishing what a difference it makes having the eyes concealed. You could make him put the spectacles on, of course, or you could bring her over and get him to identify her. I’ll tell you what. Ring up again and ask if she can come over here now. I’ll get hold of Weldon and park him out on the verandah of the Resplendent, and you can fetch her along casually. If he spots her, all’s well; if she spots him, we may feel differently about it.’
‘I, see,’ said Glaisher. ‘That’s not a bad idea. We’ll do that.’ He rang up Heathbury Vicarage and spoke again.
‘It’s all right; she’s coming.’
‘Good. I’ll toddle round and try to detach Weldon from his mamma. If she’s present at the interview the good Henry will be in the soup. If I can’t get him, I’ll ring you.’
Henry Weldon was readily found in the lounge. He was having tea with his mother, but, excused himself when Wimsey came up and asked for a word in private. They selected a table about-half-way along the verandah, and Weldon ordered drinks, while Wimsey embarked on a rather verbose account of his interview with the police that morning. He harped a good deal on the trouble he had
taken to persuade Glaisher not to let the story come to Mrs Weldon’s ears, and Henry expressed a proper sense of gratitude.
Presently a burly figure made his appearance, looking exactly like a police-constable out of uniform, and escorting a rather young-old lady; dressed, in the extreme of fashion. They passed slowly along the verandah, which was well filled with people, making for an empty table at the far end. Wimsey watched the lady’s glance roam over the assembly; it rested on him, passed on to Weldon and, then, without a pause or sign of recognition, to a young man in blue glasses who was toying. with a chocolate sundae at the next table. Here it paused for a moment — then it moved on again. At the same time Weldon gave quite a convulsive start.
‘I beg your pardon,’ said Wimsey, breaking off short in his monologue., ‘Did you speak?’
‘I — er — no,’ said Weldon. ‘I thought I recognised somebody, that’s all. Probably a chance resemblance.’ He followed Mrs Morecambe with his eyes as she approached them, and raised a tentative hand to his hat.
Mrs Morecambe saw the movement and looked at Weldon, with a faint expression of puzzlement. She opened her mouth as though to speak, but shut it again. Weldon completed the hat-raising gesture and stood up.
‘Good afternoon,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid you don’t—’
Mrs Morecambe stared with polite surprise.
‘Surely I’m not mistaken,’ said Weldon. ‘You were good enough to give me a lift the other day’
‘Did I?’ said Mrs Morecambe. She looked more closely and said.
‘Yes, I believe I did — but weren’t you wearing dark glasses that day?’
‘I was it makes rather a difference, doesn’t it?’
‘I really shouldn’t have known you. But I recognise your voice now. Only I had an idea — But there! I’m not very observant. I earned away an impression that you were quite dark. Probably the glasses put it into my head. So stupid of me I hope the Morgan has recovered itself.’
‘Oh, yes, thanks. Fancy — meeting you here. The world’s a small place, isn’t it?’
‘Very. I hope you are having an enjoyable holiday.’
‘Oh, very much so, thanks — now that my car is. Behaving itself again. I’m tremendously grateful for you for having taken compassion on me that day.’
Not at all; it was a pleasure.’
Mrs Morecambe bowed politely and moved away with her companion. Wimsey grinned.
‘So that was your attractive lady. Well, well. You’re.a gay dog, Weldon. Young or old, they all go down before you, spectacles or no spectacles.’
‘Chuck it!’ said Henry, not displeased. ‘Lucky thing her turning up like that, wasn’t it?’
‘Remarkably so,’ said Wimsey.
.’Don’t like the hick she’s got with her, though,’ pursued, Henry. ‘One of the local turnip-heads, I suppose.’
Wimsey grinned again. Could anybody be as slow-witted as.Henry made himself out?
‘I ought to have tried to find out who she was,’ said Henry, ‘but I thought it would look a bit pointed. Still, I daresay they’ll be able to trace her, won’t they? It’s rather important to me, you know.’
‘Yes, it is, isn’t it? Very good-looking and well-off, too, from the looks of her. I congratulate you, Weldon. Shall I, try and trace her for you? I’m a most skilful go-between and an accomplished gooseberry.’
‘Don’t be an ass, Wimsey. She’s my alibi, you idiot.’
‘So she is! Well, here goes!’
Wimsey slipped away, chuckling to himself.
‘Well, that’s all right,’ said Glaisher, when all this was reported to him. ‘We’ve got the lady taped now all, right. She’s the daughter of an old school-friend of Mrs Trevor’s and stays with them every summer. Been at Heathbury for the last three weeks. Husband’s something in the City, sometimes joins her for weekends, but hasn’t been here this summer. Lunch and tennis at Colonel Cranton’s all correct. No funny business there. Weldon’s all right.’
‘That will be a relief to his mind. He’s been a bit nervy — about this alibi of his. He skipped like a ram when he caught sight of Mrs Morecambe.’
‘Did he? Skipping for joy, I expect After all, you can’t be surprised. How’s he to know what tune the alibi’s wanted for? We’ve managed to keep that part of it out of the papers, and he probably still thinks, as we did at first, that Alexis was dead some time before Miss Vane found — the body. He can�
�t help knowing that he had a jolly good motive for killing Alexis, and that he was here under dashed suspicious circumstances. In any case, we’ve got to let him out, because, if he did the murder or helped to do it, he wouldn’t make any mistake about the time. He’s scared stiff, and I don’t blame him. But his not knowing lets him out as surely and certainly as if he had a really cast-iron alibi for two o’clock.’
‘Much more surely, my dear man. It’s when I find people with cast-iron alibis that I begin to suspect them. Though Weldon’s two o’clock alibi seems to be as nearly cast-iron as anything can be. But it’s only when somebody comes along and swears himself black in the face that he saw Weldon behaving with perfect innocence at two o’clock precisely that I’ll begin seriously to weave a hempen neck-tie for him. Unless, of course-’
‘Well?’
‘Unless, I was going to say, there was a conspiracy between Weldon and some other person to kill Alexis, and the actual killing was done by the other person. I mean, supposing, for example, Weldon and our friend Bright were both in it, and Bright was scheduled to do the dirty deed at eleven o’clock, for example, while Weldon established his own alibi, and suppose there was some hitch in the arrangements so that the murder didn’t come off till two, and suppose Weldon didn’t know that and was still sticking to the original time-table — how about that?’
‘That’s supposing a lot. Bright — or whoever it was — has had plenty of time to communicate with Weldon. He wouldn’t be such a fool as not to let him know.
‘True; I’m not satisfied with that suggestion. It doesn’t seem to fit Bright.’
‘Besides, Bright really has a cast-iron alibi for two.’
‘I know. That’s why I suspect him. But what I mean is that Bright is a free agent. Even if it was too dangerous to meet Weldon he could always have written or telephoned, and so could Weldon. You haven’t got anybody in jug who would fit the bill, I suppose? Or any sudden deaths? The only thing I can think of is that the accomplice may have been in some place where he couldn’t communicate with anybody — quod, or six foot of elm with brass handles.’
‘Or how about a hospital?’
‘Or, as you say, a hospital.’
‘That’s an idea,’ said Glaisher. ‘We’ll look into that, my lord.’
‘It can’t’ do any harm — though I haven’t much faith in it. I seem to have lost my faith lately, as the good folks say. Well, thank Heaven! it’s nearly dinner-time, and one can always eat. Hullo — ullo — ullo! What’s all the excitement?’
Superintendent Glaisher looked out of the window. There was a noise of trampling feet.
‘They’re carrying something down to the mortuary. I wonder—’
The door burst open with scant ceremony and Inspector Umpelty surged in, damp and triumphant.
‘Sorry, sir,’ he said. ‘Good-evening, my lord. We’ve got the body!’
Chapter XXI. The Evidence At The Inquest
‘‘At the word, “I’m murdered,”
The gaolers of the dead throw back the grave-stone,
Split the deep ocean, and unclose the mountain
To let the buried pass.’
— Death’s Jest-Book
Friday, 26 June
THE inquest upon the body of Paul Alexis was held on June 26th, to the undisguised relief and triumph of Inspector Umpelty. For years (it seemed to him) he had been trying to make an investigation about nothing tangible. But for Harriet’s photographs, he might, in his more worried moments, have begun to think that the body was a myth. Now, however, here it definitely was — a real, solid or comparatively solid — body. True, it was not quite so informative as he had hoped. It was not served out to him complete with a ticket, marked in, plain figures: ‘Suicide, with care’, or ‘This Year’s Murder-Model; Body by Bright’. However, there was the corpse, and that was something gained. To quote Lord Peter (who seemed to be specialising in the provision of mnemonics), he might now say:
“Twould make a man drink himself dead on gin-toddy To have neither a corpus delicti nor body; But now though by destiny scurvily tricked, I At least have a corpse — though no corups delieti.’
There was some little debate whether the whole matter should be thrashed out at the inquest or the complicated series of clues and suspicions suppressed and the inquest adjourned for further inquiries. In the end, however, it was decided to let matters take their course. Something useful might come-out; one never knew. In any case, the possible suspects must know by this time pretty well where they stood. Certain clues — for example, the horseshoe — could, of course, be kept up the sleeves of the police.
The first witness to give evidence was Inspector Umpelty. He explained briefly that the body had been found tightly wedged into a deep crevice at the far end of the Grinders reef, from which it had been recovered with considerable difficulty by means of dredging-tackle and diving. It had apparently been washed into that position by the heavy seas of the previous week. When found, it was considerably distended by internal, gases, but had not floated, being heavily, weighted down by the presence of a cash-belt containing £300 in gold. (Sensation.)
The Inspector produced the belt and the gold (which the jury inspected with curiosity and awe), and also a passport found on the deceased; this had recently been visa’d for France. Two other items of interest had also been discovered in the dead man’s breast-pocket. One was the unmounted photograph of a very beautiful girl of Russian type, wearing a tiara-shaped head-dress of pearls. The photograph was signed in a thin, foreign-looking hand with the name Feodora. There was no mark of origin on the photograph, which either had never been mounted, or had been skilfully detached from its mount. It was in a fairly good state of preservation, having been kept in one of the compartments of a handsome leather note-case, which had protected it to some extent. The note-case contained nothing further but a few currency notes, some stamps, and the return half of a ticket from Wilvercombe to Darley Halt, dated 18th June.
The second item was more enigmatical. It was a sheet of quarto paper, covered with writing, but so stained with blood and sea-water that it was almost undecipherable. This paper had not been folded in the note-case, but tucked away behind it. Such writing as could be read was in printed capitals and in a purplish ink which, though it had run and smeared a good deal, had stood up reasonably well to its week’s immersion. A few sentences could be made out, but they were not of an encouraging nature. There was, for instance, a passage which began musically ‘SOLFA but swiftly degenerated into ‘TGMZ DXL LKKZM VXI’ before being lost in a dirty crimson stain. Further down came ‘AIL AXH NZMLF’, ‘NAGMJU KG KC’ and ‘MULBY MS SZLKO’, while the concluding words, which might be the signature, were ‘UFHA AKTS’.
The coroner asked Inspector Umpelty whether he could throw any light on this paper. Umpelty replied that he thought two of the witnesses might be able to do so, and stepped down-to make way for Mrs Lefranc.
The lady of the lodgings, in a great state of nerves, tears and face-powder, was asked if she had identified the body. She replied that she had been able to do so by the clothes, the hair, the beard and by a ring which deceased had always worn on his left hand.
‘But as for his poor face,’ sobbed Mrs Lefranc, ‘I couldn’t speak to it, not if I was his own mother, and I’m sure I loved him like a son. It’s all been nibbled right away by those horrible creatures, and if ever I eat a crab or lobster again, I hope Heaven will strike me dead! Many’s the lobster mayonnaise I’ve ate in the old days, not. knowing, and I’m sure it’s no wonder if they give you nightmare, knowing where they come from, the brutes!’
The court shuddered, and the managers of the Resplendent and the Bellevue, who were present, despatched hasty, notes by messenger to the respective chefs, commanding them on no account whatever to put crab or lobster on the menu for at least a fortnight.
Mrs Lefranc deposed further that Alexis had been acustomed to receive letters from foreign parts which took him a long time to read and answer.
That after receiving the last of these on the Tuesday morning he had become strange and excited in his manner. That on the Wednesday he had, paid up all outstanding bills and burnt a quantity of papers, and. that that night he had kissed her and referred mysteriously to a possible departure in the near future. That he had gone out on the Thursday: morning after making rather a poor breakfast. He had not packed any clothes and had taken his latch-key as though he meant to return.
Shown the photograph: she had never seen it before; she had never seen the original of the portrait, she had never heard Alexis speak of anyone named Feodora; she knew of no ladies in his life except Leila Garland, with whom he had broken some time ago, and Mrs Weldon, the lady he was engaged to marry at the time of his death.
This, naturally, focused public attention, on Mrs Weldon. Henry handed her a smelling-bottle and said something to her, and she responded by a faint smile.
Have His Carcass lpw-8 Page 28
