Have His Carcase

‘God knows. The young’ woman may be lying, of course, but somehow I don’t think she is I feel that the bit about the gentleman who is very upset rings true. Olga Kohn who sounds like a Russian Jewess — is not precisely out of the top-drawer, as my mother would say, and was obviously not educated at Oxford or Cambridge, but though she repeats herself a good deal, she is businesslike, and her letter is full of useful facts. Also, if the photograph resembles her, she is easy to look at. What do you say to running up to Town.and interviewing the lady? I will provide the transport, and tomorrow being Sunday, we shall probably find her at leisure. Shall we depart, like two gay bachelors, to find Olga Feodora and take her out. to tea?’

The Inspector seemed to think that this was a good idea.

‘We will ask her if she knows Mr Henry Weldon, that squire of dames. Have you a photograph of him, by the way?’

The Inspector had an excellent snapshot, taken at the inquest by a press photographer. A wire was sent to Miss Olga Kohn, warning her of the, impending visit and, having made the necessary arrangements at the police-station, the Inspector heaved his large bulk into Wimsey’s Daimler and was transported with perilous swiftness to London. They ran-up that night, snatched a few hours of repose at Wimsey’s flat and, in the morning, set out for Regent Square.

Regent Square is anything but a high class locality being chiefly populated by grubby infants and ladies of doubtful calling, but its rents are comparatively cheap for so central a situation. On mounting to the top of a rather dark and dirty stair, Wimsey and his companion were agreeably surprised to discover a freshly-painted green door with the name ‘Miss O. Kohn’ neatly written upon a white card and attached to the panel by drawing-pins. The brass knocker, representing the Lincoln Imp, was highly polished. At its, summons; the door was opened at once by a handsome young woman, the original of, the photograph, who welcomed them in with a smile..

‘Inspector Umpelty?’

‘Yes, miss. You will be Miss Kohn, I take it? This is Lord Peter Wimsey, who has been kind enough to run me up to Town.!

‘Very pleased to meet you,’ said Miss Kohn, ‘Come in.’ She ushered them into a pleasantly, furnished room, with orange window-curtains and bowls of roses placed here and there on low tables and a general air of semi-artistic refinement. Before the empty fireplace stood a dark-haired young man of Semitic appearance, who acknowledged the introductions with a scowl.

‘Mr Simons, my fiance,’ explained Miss Kohn. Do sit down, and please smoke: Can I offer you any refreshment’

Declining the refreshment, and heartily wishing Mr Simons out of the way, the Inspector embarked at once on the subject of the photograph, but it, soon became obvious both to Wimsey and himself that Miss Kohn, had told in her letter nothing more or less than the exact truth. Sincerity was stamped on every feature of her face as she assured them repeatedly that she had never known Paul Alexis and never, given him; a photograph under the name of Feodora or any other name. They showed her his photograph, but she shook her head.

‘I am perfectly positive, that I never saw him in my life,’

Wimsey suggested that he might have seen her at a mannequin parade and endeavoured to introduce himself.

‘Of course, he may have seen me; so many people see me,’ replied Miss Kohn, with artless self-importance. ‘Some of them try to get off with one too, naturally. A girl in my, position has to know how to look after herself. But I think I should remember this face if I had ever seen it. You see, a young man with a beard like that is rather noticeable, isn’t he?’

She passed the photograph to Mr Simons, who bent his dark eyes on it disdainfully. Then his expression changed.

‘You know, Olga,’’ he said, ‘I think I have seen this man somewhere.’

‘You, Lewis?’

‘Yes. I don’t know where. But there is something familiar about it.’

‘You never saw him with me,’ put in the girl, quickly.

‘No. I don’t know, now I come to think of, it, that I ever saw him at all. It’s an older face, the one I’m thinking of — it may be a picture I have seen and not a living person. I don’t know.’

The photograph has been published in the papers,’ suggested Umpelty.

‘I know; but it isn’t that. I noticed a resemblance to somebody or other, the first time I saw it. I don’t know what it is. Something about the eyes, perhaps—’

He paused thoughtfully and the Inspector gazed at him as though he expected him to lay a golden egg there and then, but nothing came of it.

‘No, I can’t place it,’ said Simons, finally. He handed the photograph back.

‘Well, it means nothing to me,’ said Olga Kohn. ‘I do hope you all believe that’