Have His Carcase

The next witness was Miss Leila Garland, who confirmed the evidence of Mrs Lefranc with respect to the cipher letters. This naturally led to an inquiry into the relations between Miss Garland and Mr Alexis, from which it transpired that their acquaintance had been conducted on a footing of rigid, and even Victorian, propriety; that Mr Alexis had been. terribly distressed when Miss Garland had put an end to the friendship that Mr Alexis was not by any means a likely person to commit suicide; that (on the other hand) Miss Garland had ‘been terribly upset to think of his having done anything rash on her account;’ that Miss Garland; had never heard of anybody called Fedora, but did not, of course, know what follies Mr Alexis might not have committed in a despairing mood after the termination of their friendship; that Miss Garland had not so much as set eyes on Mr Alexis for ever so long and could not imagine why anybody should think this terrible business had anything to do with her. With regard to the letters, Miss Garland had thought that Mr Alexis was being blackmailed, but could produce no evidence to prove this.

It now became obvious that nothing on earth could keep Mrs Weldon out of the witness-box. Attired in near-widow’s weeds, she indignantly protested against the suggestion. That Alexis could possibly have made away with himself on Leila’s account, or on any account whatever. She knew better than anybody that Alexis had had no genuine attachment to anyone but herself. She admitted that she could not explain the presence of the portrait signed ‘Feodora’,’ but asserted vehemently that, up to the last day of his life, Alexis had been radiant with happiness.; She had last seen him on the Wednesday night, and had expected to see him again on the Thursday morning, at the Winter Gardens. He had not arrived’ there, and she was perfectly sure that he must have been lured away to his death by some designing person. He had often said that he was afraid of Bolshevik plots, and in her opinion, the police ought to look for Bolsheviks.

This outburst produced some effect upon the jury, one of whom rose, to inquire whether the police were taking any steps to comb out suspicious-looking foreigners residing in, or hanging about, the vicinity. He himself had observed a number of disagreeable-looking tramps on the road., He also noticed with pain that at the very hotel where Alexis had worked, a Frenchman was employed as a professional dancer, and that there were also a number of foreigners in the orchestra at the Winter Gardens. The dead man was also a foreigner. He did not see that naturalisation papers made any difference. With two million British-born workers unemployed, he thought it a scandalous thing that this foreign riff-raff was allowed to land at all. He spoke as an Empire Free-Trader and member of the Public Health Committee

Mr Pollock was then called. He admitted having been in the neighbourhood of the Grinders reef with his boat at about two o’clock on the day of the death, but insisted that he had been out in deep water and had seen nothing, previous to Harriet’s arrival on the scene. He was not looking in that direction, he had his own business to attend to. As to the nature of that business he remained evasive, but nothing could shake his obstinate assertion of complete ignorance. His grandson Jem (having now returned from Ireland) briefly confirmed this evidence, but added that he himself had surveyed the shore with a glass at, he thought, about 1.45. He had then seen someone on the Flat-Iron rock, either sitting or lying down, but whether dead or alive he could not say.

The last witness was William Bright, who told the story about the razor in almost exactly, the same terms that he had used to Wimsey and the police. The coroner, glancing at a note handed up to him — by Umpelty, allowed him to finish what he had to say, and then asked:

‘You say this happened, at midnight on Tuesday, 16 June?’

‘Just after midnight. I heard the clock strike shortly before this man came up to me.’

‘How was the tide at the time?’

For the first time, Bright faltered. He glanced about him as though he suspected a trap, licked his lips’ nervously, and replied:

‘I know nothing about tides. I don’t belong to this part of the country.’

‘But you mentioned, in your very moving account of this interview, the noise made by the sea lapping against the wall of the Esplanade. That suggests, does it not, that the tide was then full?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Would you be surprised to learn that at midnight on the 16th of this month the tide was actually at the lowest point of the ebb?’

‘I may have sat there longer than I thought! ‘Did you sit there for six hours?’

No answer.

‘Would it surprise you to know that the sea never comes up to the wall of the Esplanade except at the top of the spring tides which, on that particular date, would occur at about six o’clock in the evening?’