Have His Carcase

To walk along a solitary shore with one’s heart’s idol in the calm of a summer’s afternoon may be classed as an agreeable occupation; but it loses much of its charm when the couple have to proceed, separated by the whole width of the beach, searching with, backs bent double and eyes fixed on the ground for something which neither can define and which in all probability is not there. Harriet, mystified, but resolutely believing that Wimsey had some idea in his mind, kept steady to her job; Wimsey, though he searched carefully, paused a good many times to scan sea and shore, and appeared to be computing distances and memorising landmarks. Each explorer carried a satchel in which to store treasure-trove, and the conversation, such as it was, rather resembled the dialogue of a Russian tragedy.’ Thus:

Harriet: Oy! Peter: Hullo!

(They meet, centre.)

Harriet: A boot! I’ve found a boot! Peter: Alas! alas! What boots it to repeat. Harriet: Hobnailed and frightfully ancient. Peter: Only one boot!

Harriet: Yes; if it had been two boots, it might mark the place where the murderer started to paddle.

Peter: One foot on sea and one on shore. The tide has risen and fallen ten times since then. It isn’t a good boot.

Harriet: No, it’s a bad boot.

Peter: It’s a rotten boot.

Harriet: Can I throw it away?

Peter. No; after all, it is a boot.

Harriet: It’s an awfully heavy boot.

Peter: I can’t help that, it’s a boot. Dr Thorndyke likes boots.

Harriet: Oh, death! where is thy sting? (They separate, Harriet carrying the boot.)’

Peter: Oy!

Harriet: Hullo! (They meet again.),

Peter: Here is an empty sardine-tin, and here is a broken bottle.

Harriet, Have you the pen of the gardener’s aunt?

Peter: No; but my (female) cousin has (some) ink, (some) paper and (some) papers (use du, de la, des, de l’ apostrophe).

Harriet: How long has the bottle been there?

Peter: The edges are much abraded by the action of the water.

Harriet: Do murderers eat sardines?

Peter: Do cats eat rats?

Harriet: I have, cut my foot on a razor-shell; Paul Alexis had his throat cut with a razor. Peter: The tide is going out. (They separate.)

Harriet (after a long and unproductive pause, meeting Peter with a sodden Gold Flake packet in one hand and half a Bible in the other) Dr Livingstone, I presume: Do murderers read the Bible?

Peter: Any book had served as well, Any book had stopped the bullet — that may be; I cannot tell

Harriet (reading) ‘Last of all the women died also — probably from backache.

Peter My back aches, and a drowsy numbness stills My brain, as though of hemlock—’

Harriet (suddenly practical) Look at the cigarette-card. Peter: It belongs to the new series. Harriet: Then it may be quite recent.

Peter (wearily): All right; keep it; we’ll call it a clue. How about the Holy Writ?

Harriet (in a marked manner): You can keep that; it might be good for you.

Peter: Very well. (In a still more marked manner) Shall we begin with the Song of Songs. Harriet: Get on with your job.

Peter: I am. How far have we come?

Harriet: How many leagues to Babylon?

Peter: We have walked a, mile and a half, and we are still in full view of the Flat-Iron. (They separate.)

Peter’ Oy!

Harriet: Hullo!

Peter: I just wanted to ask whether you’d given any further thought to that suggestion about marrying me.

Harriet (sarcastically): I suppose you were thinking how delightful it would be to go through life like this together? Peter: Well, not quite like this. Hand in hand was more my idea.

Harriet: What is that in your hand?

Peter: A dead starfish Harriet: Poor fish!

Peter: No ill-feeling, I trust. Harriet: Oh, dear no.

They toiled along, presently coming abreast of the spot where the lane led down from Pollock’s cottage. Here the beach became more shingly, with a number of biggish stones. Wimsey took the search more seriously here, scrutinising the stones above and around high-water mark very carefully, and even going part-of the way up the lane. He seemed not to find anything of importance, and they went on, noticing that the high ground hid the cottages from sight of the beach.

A few hundred yards farther on, Harriet gave tongue again.

‘Oy, oy, oy!

‘Hullo!’

‘I really have found something this time.’

Peter carne galloping down the sand.

‘If you’re pulling my leg, I’ll wring your neck. Let your Uncle Peter look… Ah!…, we are interested, distinctly interested.’

‘It ought to mean good luck, anyway.’

‘You’re holding it wrong way up; all the luck will drop out if, you’re not careful, and a black day it will be for — somebody. Hand it over.’

He, ran his fingers gently round the hoop of metal, clearing the sand away.