Have His Carcase

To say ‘Yes’ was tempting but unsafe. Mrs Lefranc hooked as though what she did not know about professionals could have been written on a threepenny bit. Besides, Harriet was becoming well-known in Wilvercombe — she could scarcely hope to hide her identity for ever.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I write books. In fact, Mrs Lefranc, I’m the person who found poor Mr Alexis last week. I’ve been staying at the Resplendent, but it’s terribly expensive, and I thought, if your room was still vacant, I might be able to take it.’

‘Well, there!’ said Mrs Lefranc. She, opened the door a little wider, but seemed to be divided between suspicion and curiosity. ‘Well, there! I hardly know what to say. You ain’t one of these journalists?’

‘Oh, dear, no,’ replied Harriet.

‘Because,’ said Mrs Lefranc,’ ‘with those fellers you never know where you are. Worried to death I’ve been with them, poking their long noses into my private affairs:; But of course you can’t help but feel an interest, dearie, can you, seeing it was you that found him, poor boy. Come along in. Excuse my negleegy, won’t you? If I’m not up and down, up and down, keeping an eye on that girl, I don’t know where we’d all be. I don’t get time to posh myself up of a morning. How, long would you be wanting the room.for?’

‘I don’t quite know. It depends on when they have the inquest?’

‘Ah, yes — and they’ve got to find him first, poor lamb, ain’t they? You know, I’ve got such a warm heart, I can’t sleep at nights for thinking of him washing about in all that nasty sea. Mind the coal-scuttle, dearie; the times I tell that girl; not too leave it on the stairs. It’s a lovely room on the first floor — quite the best in the house, and you’ll find the bed comfortable. Poor Mr Alexis always said it was like a home to him and I’m sure he was like, a son to me.’

Mrs Lefranc led the way up, her green mules flapping and displaying large holes in the heels of her stockings.

There, dearie!’ said Mrs Lefranc, throwing open the door. ‘I’m sure you couldn’t find better in Wilvercombe, and it’s nice and quiet you’ll be able to do your writing beautiful. I’ve had it all cleaned up and his clothes and things put away — and if you was to dislike his books and bits of things about, I could easy put them to the one side. But there! I daresay you won’t mind them. It’s not as if he’d died in this room, is it, poor soul? And I’m sure Mr Alexis was far too much the gentleman to commit a rash act on anybody’s premises. That kind of thing do give a place a bad name, there’s no denying it, and one is apt to be blamed for things as aren’t in any woman’s control, try’ as she may to make her visitors happy. But as to the books, well, of course, if it had been anything infectious they’d have to have been destroyed, though as to who they belong to now I don’t know, I’m sure and the police can’t tell me either, and I daresay they’ve as, much right here as anywhere, with me being like a mother to him this year past and more. But anything infectious, there is not, for he never was subject to any such complaint, enjoying good health as a rule, barring the pain in his joints which he had to lay up for at times, and the agony he went through was cruel. I’m sure my heart bled for him, and the amount of antipyrin he took for it would surprise you and he never would have a doctor. But there! I don’t blame him. My sister had the rheumatics something cruel and the amount she spent on doctors’ and electric treatment and nothing to show for it, except, her knee swelled up like a pumpkin. And she lost the use of the limb altogether, which was a cruel thing for a woman in her profession. A trapeze-artist, she was; I’ve got her photograph in. my room; if you would like to see it one day, dearie, and the wreaths her old pals sent to her, funeral was beautiful to see. Covered the hearse, they did, and they had to have an extra carriage on purpose for them. But as I was saying, if you don’t care about the books I’ll take them away.’ I’m not going to have that Weldon woman or Leila Garland — the little cat coming here trying to get hold of them.’

The room was pleasant enough — large and airy and much cleaner than Harriet could have hoped from Mrs Lefranc’s appearance. The furniture was, of course, hideous, but, though shabby, solid and in good order. The books were just as Inspector Umpelty had described them: mainly novels in cheap editions, with’ some Russian paper-backs and a few volumes of Russian Court memoirs. The only striking relic of the former tenant was a very beautiful little ikon hung at the head of the bed — certainly old and probably valuable.

For form’s sake Harriet entered upon a long haggle with Mrs Lefranc about terms, emerging victorious with an inclusive charge of two and a half guineas per week, or twelve shillings and find yourself.