Have His Carcase

The road still ran beside the coast, but the cliffs were gradually sloped, down almost to sea-level. They saw a clump of trees and a hedge and a little lane, curving away past the ruins of an abandoned cottage to a wide space of green on which stood a tent, close by the sandy beach, with smoke going up from a campers’ fire beside it. As they passed the head of this lane a man emerged from it, carrying a petrol-tin. He wore a pair of old flannel slacks, and a khaki shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbow. His soft hat was pulled down rather low over his eyes, which were further protected by a, pair of dark spectacles.

Harriet stopped him and asked if they were anywhere near the village.

‘A few minutes farther on,’ he replied, briefly, but civilly enough ‘I want to telephone,’ went on Harriet. ‘I’m told I can do so at the grocer’s. Is that right?’

‘Oh, yes. Just across on the other side of the green. You can’t mistake it. It’s the only shop there is.’

‘Thank you. Oh, by the way — I suppose there isn’t a policeman in the village?’

The man halted as he was about to turn away and stared at her, shading his eyes from the sun’s glare. She noticed a snake tattooed in red and blue upon his forearm, and wondered whether he might perhaps have been a sailor.

‘No, there’s no policeman living in Darley. We share a constable with the next village, I believe he floats round on a bicycle occasionally. Anything wrong?’

‘There’s been an accident along the coast,’ said Harriet. ‘I’ve found a dead man.’

‘Good lord! Well, you’d better telephone through to Wilvercombe.’

‘Yes, I will, thanks. Come along, Mr Perkins. Oh! he’s’ gone on.’

Harriet caught up her companion, rather annoyed by his patent eagerness to dissociate himself from her and her errand.

‘There’s no need to stop and speak to everybody,’ complained Mr Perkins, peevishly. ‘I don’t like the look of that fellow, and we’re quite near the place now. I came through here this morning, you know.’

‘

‘I only wanted to ask if there was a policeman,’ explained Harriet, peaceably. She did not want to argue with Mr Perkins. She had other things to think of. Cottages had begun to appear, small, sturdy buildings, surrounded by little patches of gay garden. The road turned suddenly inland, and she observed with joy telegraph poles, more houses and at length a little green, with a smithy at one corner and children playing cricket on the grass. In the centre of the green stood an ancient elm, with a seat round it and an ancient man basking in the sunshine; and on the opposite side was a shop, with ‘Geo. Hearn: Grocer, displayed on a sign above it.

‘Thank goodness!’ said Harriet.

She almost ran across the little green and into the village shop, which was festooned with boots and frying-pans, and appeared to sell everything from acid drops to corduroy trousers.

A bald-headed man advanced helpfully from behind a pyramid of canned goods.

‘Can I use your telephone, please?’

‘Certainly, miss; what number?’

‘I want the Wilvercombe police-station.

‘The police-station?’ The grocer looked puzzled almost shocked. ‘I’ll have to look up the number for you,’ he said, hesitatingly. ‘Will you step into the parlour, miss — and sir?’

‘Thank you,’ said Mr Perkins. ‘But really, — I mean — it’s — the lady’s business really. I mean to say — if there’s any sort of hotel hereabouts, I think I’d better — that is to say — er — good-evening.’

He melted unobtrusively out of the shop. Harriet, who had already forgotten his existence, followed the grocer into the back room and watched him with impatience as he put on his spectacles and struggled with the telephone directory.

Chapter III. The Evidence Of The Hotel

‘Little and grisly, or bony and big,

White, and clattering, grassy and yellow;

The partners are waiting, so strike up a jig,

Dance and be merry, for Death’s a droll fellow.

Where’s Death and his sweetheart? We want to begin’

— Death’s Jest-Book

Thursday, 18 June

IT WAS a quarter-past five when the grocer announced that Harriet’s call was through. Allowing for stoppages and for going out of her way to, the Brennerton Farm, she had covered rather more than four miles of the distance between ‘the Grinders and Wilvercombe in very nearly three hours. True, she had actually walked six miles or more, but she felt that a shocking amount of time had been wasted. Well, she had done her best, but fate had been against her.

‘Hullo!’ she said, wearily.

‘Hullo!’ said an official voice.

‘Is that the Wilvercombe police?’

‘Speaking. Who are you?’

‘I’m speaking from Mr Hearn’s shop at Darley. I want to tell you that this afternoon at about two o’clock I found the dead body of a man lying on the beach near the Grinders.’