Have His Carcase

It was with very great difficulty that Wimsey detached the Colonel’s mind from the events of the Great War and led it back to the subject of razors. Once his attention was captured, however, Colonel Belfridge proved to be a good and reliable witness.

He remembered the pair of razors perfectly. Had a lot of trouble with those razors, hr’rm, woof! Razors were not what they had been in his young days. Nothing was, sir, dammit! Steel wouldn’t stand up to the work. What with these damned foreigners and mass-production, our industries were going to the dogs. He remembered, during the Boer War..’

Wimsey, after a quarter of an hour, mentioned the subject of razors.

‘Ha yes,’ said the Colonel, smoothing his vast white moustache down and up at the ends with a vast, curving gesture. ‘Ha, hr’rm, yes! The razors; of course: ‘ Now, what do you want to know about, there?’

‘Have you still got them, sir?’

‘No, sir, I have not. I got rid of them, sir. A poor lot they were, too. I told Endicott I was surprised at his stocking such inferior stuff. Wanted re-setting every other week. But it’s the same story with all of ’em. Can’t get a decent blade anywhere nowadays. And we shan’t sir, we shan’t, unless we get a strong Conservative Government — I say, a strong Government, sir, that will have the guts to protect the iron and steel industry. But will they do it? No, damme, sir they’re afraid of losing their miserable votes. Flapper votes!’ How can you expect a pack of women to understand the importance of iron and steel? Tell me that, ha, hr’rm!’

Wimsey asked what he had done with the razors.

‘Gave ’em to the gardener,’ said the Colonel. ‘Very decent man. Comes in twice a week. Wife and family. War pensioner with a game leg. Helps with the dogs. Quite a good man. Name of Summers.’’

‘When was that, sir?’

‘What? Oh! when did I give “em to him, you mean. Let me see, now, let me see. That was after Diana had whelped — near thing that — nearly lost her that time, poor bitch. She died two years ago — killed — run over by a damned motorcyclist. Best bitch I ever had. I had him up in court for it — made him pay. Careless young devil. No consideration for anybody. And now they’ve abolished the speed-limit—,

Wimsey reminded the Colonel that they were talking about razors.

After further consideration, the Colonel narrowed down the period to the year 1926. He was sure about it, because of the spaniel’s illness, which had given Summers considerable trouble. He had made the man a present of money, and had added the razors, having just purchased a new pair for himself. Owing to the illness of the mother, only one puppy out of the litter had been successfully reared, and that was Stamford Royal, who had proved a very good dog. A reference to the stud-book clinched the date conclusively.

Wimsey thanked the Colonel, and asked whether he could interview Summers.

By all means. It was not one of Summers’ days, but he lived in a little cottage near the bridge. Wimsey, could go and see him and mention the Colonel’s name. Should the Colonel walk down with Wimsey?

Lord Peter was grateful, but begged the Colonel would not take the trouble. (He felt, indeed, that Summers might be more communicative in Colonel Belfridge’s absence.) With some trouble, he disengaged himself from the old soldier’s offers of hospitality, and purred away through the picturesque streets of Stamford to the cottage by the bridge.

Summers was an easy man to question — alert, prompt and exact. It was very kind of Colonel Belfridge to give him the razors. He himself could not make use of them, preferring the safety instrument, but of course he had not told the Colonel that, not wishing to hurt his feelings. He had given the razors to his sister’s husband, who kept a hairdressing establishment in Seahampton.

Seahampton! Less than 50 miles from Wilvercombe! Had Wimsey, struck it lucky with his very first shot? He was turning away, when it occurred to him to ask whether there was any special mark by which either of the razors might be recognised.

Yes, there was. One of them had been accidentally dropped on the stone floor of the cottage and there was a slight, a very slight crack across the ivory. You wouldn’t hardly notice it without you looked closely. The other razor was, so far as Summers knew, quite perfect.

Wimsey thanked his informant and rewarded him suitably. He returned to the car and set his course southward.

He had always thought Stamford a beautiful town and now, with its grey stone houses and oriel windows bathed in the mellow afternoon sunshine, it seemed to him the loveliest jewel in the English crown.

He, slept that night in Seahampton, and on the Sunday morning set forth in search of Summers’ brother-in-law, whose name was Merryweather — a name of happy omen. The shop turned out to be a small one, in the neighbourhood of the docks. Mr Merryweather lived above his premises, and was delighted to give Wimsey information about the razors.