Have His Carcase

‘Very good, my lord,’ said the Inspector. ‘Why, you’re quite a poet.’ He drew out his note-book, and solemnly made an entry of the quatrain.

‘You could sing it very nicely to the tune of “Here we go round the mulberry-bush”,’ suggested Wimsey, ‘with the refrain, “All on a Thursday morning”_ Or it should be “Thursday afternoon”, but that’s just poetic licence. You have my permission to perform it at your next Police-concert. No fee’

‘You will have your joke, my lord.’ The Inspector smiled indulgently, but as Wimsey left the police-station he heard a deep voice laboriously humming—

Why did they want the body found, body found, body found,

Why did they want the body found

All of a Thur-ursday morning?

Wimsey went back to the Bellevue and found a note from Harriet, containing the substance of her conversation with Mrs Weldon. He frowned over it for a moment and then abruptly summoned Bunter.

‘Bunter, my man,’ said he, ‘I think it is time you took a trip to Huntingdonshire.’

‘Very good, my lord.’

‘You will go to a place called Leamhurst, and find out all about Mr Henry Weldon, who owns a farm there.’ ‘Certainly, my lord.’

‘It’s only a small village, so you must have some reason for going there. I suggest that you purchase or hire a car and are benighted, owing to some intricate kind of engine trouble:

‘Precisely, my lord.’

‘Here is £30. If you want more, let me know.’ ‘Very good, my lord.’

‘You will, naturally, stay at the principal pub and pursue your inquiries in the bar.’

‘Naturally, my lord.’ ‘

‘You will find out everything you can about Mr Weldon, and, in particular, what his financial standing and reputation may be.’

‘Quite so, my lord.’

‘You will be as quick as you can about it, and return here as soon as possible.’

‘Very good, my lord.’—

‘You will start immediately.’ ‘Very good, my lord.’

‘Then be off!’

‘Very good, my lord. Your lordship’s dress-shirts are in the second drawer and the silk socks in the tray on the right-hand side of the wardrobe, with the dress-ties just above them.’

‘Very good, Bunter,’ said Wimsey, mechanically.

Ten minutes later, Mr Bunter, suitcase in hand, was on his way to the railway-station.

Chapter XVIII. The Evidence Of The Snake

‘There is a little, hairy, green-eyed snake,

Of voice like to the woody nightingale,

And ever singing pitifully sweet,

That nestles in the barry bones of Death,

And is his dearest friend and playfellow.’

— Death’s Jest-Book

Wednesday, 24 June

ON LEAVING the Turkish baths, Miss Harriet Vane went out on a shopping expedition. This was her second venture of the kind since her arrival in Wilvercombe, and on both occasions her purchases were dictated by the desire of pleasing a man. On this occasion, she wanted an afternoon frock. And why? She was going out for a picnic.

She had picnicked before, with Lord Peter; and for him the old tweed skirt and well-worn jumper had been good enough. But today, these garments would not do. Her appointment was with Mrs Weldon and Henry.

The curious inhibitions which caused her to be abrupt, harsh, and irritating with Lord Peter did not seem to trouble her in dealing with Henry Weldon. For him she produced a latent strain of sweet womanliness which would have surprised Wimsey. She now selected a slinky garment, composed of what male writers call ‘some soft, clinging material, with a corsage which outlined the figure and a skirt which waved tempestuously about her ankles. She enhanced its appeal with an oversized hat of which one side obscured her face and tickled her shoulder, while the other was turned back to reveal a bunch of black ringlets, skilfully curled into position by the head hairdresser at the Resplendent. High-heeled beige shoes and sheer silk stockings, with embroidered gloves and a hand-bag completed this alluring toilette, so eminently unsuitable for picnicking. In addition, she made up her face with just so much artful restraint as to suggest enormous experience aping an impossible innocence, and, thus embellished, presently took her place beside Henry in the driving-seat of Mrs Weldon’s large saloon. Mrs Weldon sat at the back of the car, with a luxurious tea-basket at her feet and a case of liquid refreshment beside her.