Have His Carcase

‘That’s so, my lord. All the same, I’d feel more enthusiastic, I don’t mind saying, if I had any sort of proof that there really was a murder committed. just at present it’s a bit thin, you’ll allow.’

‘So it is; but there are quite a lot of small things that point that way. Taken separately, they aren’t important, but taken together, they have a funny look. There’s the razor, and the gloves, and the return-ticket, and the good spirits Alexis was in on the day before his death. And now there’s this funny story of the mysterious gentleman who arrived at Darley in time to take a front seat for the crime, and then cleared off with such remarkable precautions to obscure his name and address.’

Inspector Umpelty’s reply was cut short by the ringing of his telephone. He listened for a moment to its mysterious cluckings, said ‘I’ll be along at once, sir,’’ and rang off.

‘Something else funny seems to have turned up,’ he said. ‘You’ll excuse me if I rush off; I’m wanted down at the Station.’

Chapter XI. The Evidence Of The Fisherman

‘There’s a fellow

With twisting root-like hair up to his eyes,

And they are streaked with red and starting out

Under their bristling brows; his crooked tusks

Part, like a hungry wolf’s, his cursing mouth;

His head. is frontless, and a swinish mane

Grows o’er his shoulders: brown and warty hands,

Like roots, with pointed nails. He is the man.’

— Fragment

Monday 22 June

WIMSEY had not very long to wait before hearing the latest development.’ He had returned to the Bellevue for lunch, and was having a preliminary refresher in the bar, when he felt a smart tap on his shoulder.

‘Lord,’ Inspector! How you startled me! All right, it’s a fair cop. What’s it for this time?’

‘I just dropped along to tell you the latest, my lord. I thought you’d like to hear it. It’s given us something to think about, I don’t mind telling you.’

‘Has it? You look quite agitated. I expect you’re out of practice. It is exhausting when you’re not used to it. Have one?’

‘Thank you, my lord. I don’t mind if I do. Now, look here you remember about our young friend’s banking account and the three hundred pounds?’

‘Sure thing.’

‘Well’ the Inspector dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper we’ve found out what he did with it.’

Wimsey registered expectation, but this was not enough. Inspector Umpelty evidently felt that he had got hold of a really choice morsel, and was not going to let it go without full dramatic honours.

‘I’ll buy it, Inspector.: What did he do with it?’.

‘Guess, my lord. You can have three guesses, and I bet you anything you like you don’t hit on it. Not in twenty guesses!’

‘Then I mustn’t waste your valuable time. Go on. Have a heart. Don’t keep me in such ghastly suspense. What did he do with it?’

‘He went,’ said the Inspector, ludicrously, ‘and turned it into gold.’

‘Into WHAT?’

‘Three hundred golden sovereigns — that’s what he turned it into. Three hundred round, golden jimmy o’ goblins.’

Wimsey stared blankly at him.

‘Three hundred — oh, look here, Inspector, a shock like this is more than frail flesh and blood can stand. There isn’t so much gold in the country. I haven’t seen more than ten gold sovereigns together since I fought at my grandpapa’s side at the Battle of Waterloo. Gold! How did he get it? How did he wangle it? They don’t hand it out to you at the banks nowadays. Did he rob the Mint?’

‘No, he didn’t. He changed notes for it quite honestly. But it’s a queer tale for all that. I’ll tell you how it was, and how we come to know of it. You may remember that there was a photograph of Alexis published in the newspapers last week?’

‘Yes, enlarged from that hotel group they took at the Gala Night last Christmas. I saw it.’

‘That’s right. Only one we could find; Alexis didn’t leave anything about. Well, yesterday we had a quaint old bird calling at the Station — Gladstone sort of collar, whiskery bits, four-in-hand tie, cotton gloves, square-crowned bowler, big green gamp — all complete. Said he lived up Princemoor

way. He pulls a newspaper out of his pocket and points to the, photograph. “I hear you want information about this poor young man,”‘ he pipes up. “Yes, we do,” says the Super, “you know anything about it, Dad?”

“Nothing at all about his death,” says the old boy, “but I had a very curious little transaction with him three weeks ago,” he says, “and I thought you perhaps ought to know about it,” he says. “Quite right, Dad,” says the Super. “Go ahead.” So he went ahead and told us all about it.