Have His Carcase

Sometimes, when I went round to see him, he’d have his door locked, and old Ma Lefranc said he was writing letters and wasn’t to be disturbed. Naturally, a girl doesn’t like her gentleman friend to behave like that. I mean, you do expect him to pay a little attention to you and not shut himself up writing letters when you come to see him. I mean, it wasn’t the sort of thing you could expect a girl to put up with.’

‘Of course you couldn’t baby,’ said Mr da Soto. Antoine smiled, and murmured unexpectedly:

‘Mail si quelqu’un venoit de la part de’Cassandre, Ouvre-luy tost la porte, et ne le fais attendre,

Soudain entre dans ma chambre, et me vien accoustrer.’

Harriet smiled back at him and then, struck with an idea, asked Leila:

‘When did the last of these letters arrive?’

‘I don’t know. I wasn’t friends with him any more after I got friendly with Luis. But I expect M Lefranc would tell you. There isn’t much goes on that M Lefranc doesn’t know about.’

‘Did you and Alexis live together when you were friendly?’ demanded Harriet,’ bluntly.

‘Of course not; what a dreadful thing to ask a girl.’

‘I mean, in the same house.’

‘Oh, no. We used to go and see each other quite often, but of course, after Luis and me became friends, I said for Paul that it would be better if we didn’t see each other any more. You see, Paul was so fond of me, and Luis would have been imagining things — wouldn’t you, Luis?’

‘You bet your life I would, honey.’

‘Haven’t you told the police about these: letters?”

‘No, I have not,’ replied Miss Garland, decidedly. ‘I don’t say I mightn’t have told them if they had asked properly, but the way that fat Umpelty went on, you’d have thought I wasn’t a respectable girl. So I said to him, “I know nothing about it,” I said, “and you’ve got nothing, against me,” 1 said, ‘and you can’t make me answer your silly questions unless you take me down to your dirty old police-station and charge me,” I said.’ Miss Garland’s carefully modulated tones escaped from control and became shrill. ‘And I said, “It wouldn’t be a scrap of good if you did,” I said, “because I know nothing about Paul Alexis and I haven’t seen him for months,” I said, “and you can ask anybody you like,” I said, “and what’s more, if you get bullying a respectable girl like this,” I said, “you’ll get yourself into trouble, Mr Rumpelty-Bumpelty,” I said, “so now you know where you, get off.” That’s what I said, and it’s a good thing there’s a law in this country to protect girls like I.’

‘Ain’t she the snail’s ankles?’ asked Mr da Soto admiringly.

There seemed to be no further information to be gathered from Leila Garland, whom Harriet put down in her own mind as ‘a regular little gold-digger and as vain as a monkey’. As for da Soto, he looked harmless enough, and did not seem to have any pressing reason for doing away with Alexis. One never knew, of course, with these slinky people of confused nationality, just as she was thinking this, da Soto drew out his watch.

‘You will excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. I have a rehearsal at two o’clock. As always, Tuesdays and Thursdays.

He bowed, and left them, with his lithe walk, between a lounge and a swagger. Had he deliberately mentioned Thursdays in order to direct attention to an alibi for Thursday, 28th? And how’ did he know the time for which an alibi was required? That particular detail had not been allowed to get into the papers, and it was not likely to do, so until the inquest. And yet — could one attach any importance to the remark? An alibi depending on an orchestra rehearsal was so easily established or refuted. Then an explanation occurred to her: the police would already have asked da Soto about his movement last Thursday. But surely they would not have emphasised the crucial time to that extent. They had agreed that the less anybody knew about the time the better — it would be helpful in the inquiry if anyone were to come, forward ostentatiously flourishing an alibi for two o’clock.

Harriet returned with, Antoine, still not quite knowing what to make of da Soto. It was still only a quarter past two; she had time to carry out a new plan which she had formed. She put some clothes in a suitcase and went round to interview’ Paul Alexis’ landlady, Mrs Lefranc.

The door of the cheap-looking lodging-house was opened to her by an ample personage with brazen hair, who was dressed in a pink wrapper, much-laddered artificial silk stockings and green velvet mules, and wore, about her heavily powdered neck a string of synthetic-amber beads hike pigeon’s eggs.

‘Good morning,’ said Harriet, ‘I’m looking for a room.’ The lady eyed her shrewdly and said: ‘Professional, dearie?’