Have His Carcase

‘Zo I wur. But shore’s a big. thing. A man couldn’t very well miss it. But that’s not to zay I could zee every vule on it playin’ at kiss-me-’and’

‘I see. Were you right out on the Grinders, then?’

‘Woes it matter where I wur? I weren’t speckylatin’ about corpses, nor yet what vemayles was after with their young men. I’ve got zummat more to do than zit about watchin’ bathin’ parties.’

‘What had you to do?’

That’s my business.’

‘Well, whatever your business was, it was out in the deep water off the Grinders?’

Mr Pollock was obstinately silent ‘Was anybody with you in the boat?’

‘No there weren’t.’

‘Then what was that grandson of yours doing?’

‘Oh, him? He was with me. I thought you meant was

there somebody else, that didn’t ought to have been there.’ ‘What do you mean by that?’ ‘Nothing, only perlicemen is a pack of vules, mostly.’

‘Where is your grandson?’

‘Over to Cork. Went last Zatterday, he did.’ ‘Cork,’ eh’ Smuggling goods into Ireland?’ Mr Pollock spat profusely. “Course not. Business. My business.!

‘Your, business seems to be rather mysterious, Pollock.

You’d better be careful. We’ll want to see that young man when he gets back. Anyway, you say that when the young lady saw you, you had come in, and were putting out again’ ‘Why not?’

‘What did you come in for?’ ‘That’s my business, ain’t it?’ The Superintendent gave it up.

‘At any rate, are you in a position to say whether you saw anybody, walking along the shore between your cottage and the Flat Iron?’

‘Yes, I am. I zee nobody. Not up to quarter to two, anyway. After that, I couldn’t swear one way nor, t’other, ‘avin’ my own business to mind, like I zaid.’

‘Did you see any other boat in the neighbourhood?’ ‘No, I didn’t’

‘Very,well. If your memory should improve in the next few days, you’d better let us know.’

Mr Pollock muttered something uncomplimentary, and removed himself.

Not an agreeable old gentleman,’ said Wimsey.

‘An old scoundrel,’ said Superintendent Glaisher. ‘And the worst of it is, you can’t believe a word he says. I’d like to know what he was really up to.’

‘Murdering Paul Alexis, perhaps?’ suggested the Inspector.

‘Or conveying the murderer to the scene of the crime for a consideration,’ added Wimsey. ‘That’s more likely, really. What motive should he have for murdering Alexis?’

‘There’s the three hundred pounds, my lord. We mustn’t forget that. I know I said it was suicide, and I still think so, but we’ve got a much better motive for a murder than we ‘had before.’

‘Always supposing Pollock knew about the £300. But how should he?’

‘See here,’ said the Superintendent. ‘Suppose Alexis was wanting to leave England.’

‘That’s what I say,’ interjected Umpelty.

‘And suppose he had hired Pollock to meet him somewhere off-shore with his boat and take him across to a yacht or something. And suppose, in paying Pollock, he’d happened to show him the rest, of the money. Couldn’t Pollock have put him ashore and cut his throat for him and made away with the gold?’

But why?’’ objected Umpelty. ‘Why put him ashore?’ Wouldn’t it have been easier to cut his throat aboard the boat and drop the body into the sea?’

‘No, it wouldn’t,’ said Wimsey, eagerly. ‘Ever seen ’em stick a pig, Inspector? Ever reckoned how much blood there was to the job? If Pollock had cut Alexis’ throat on board, it would take a devil of a lot of swabbing to get the boat properly clean again.’

‘That’s quite-true,’-said the-Superintendent. ‘But in any case, how about Pollock’s clothes? I’m afraid we haven’t got evidence enough to get a warrant and search his place for bloodstains.’

‘You: could wash ’em off oil-skins pretty easily, too,’ remarked Wimsey.

The two policemen acquiesced gloomily.

‘And if you stood behind your man and cut his throat that way, you’d stand a reasonable chance of not getting so very heavily splashed. It’s my belief the man was killed in the place where he was found, murder or no murder. And if you don’t mind, Superintendent, I’ve got a little suggestion which might work and tell us definitely whether it really was murder or suicide.’

He again outlined the suggestion, and the Superintendent nodded.

‘I see no objection whatever, my lord. Something might quite well come of it. In fact,’ said Mr Glaisher, ‘something of the same kind had passed through my own mind, as you might say. But I don’t mind it’s appearing to come from your lordship. Not at all.’

Wimsey grinned and went in search of Salcombe Hardy, the Morning Star reporter, whom he found, as he expected, taking refreshment, in the hotel bar. Most of the pressmen had withdrawn by this time, but Hardy, with a touching faith in Lord Peter, had clung to his post.