He waited while the cows dawdled by and then let his clutch in with a bang which nearly shot the liquid refreshment to the floor.
‘You don’t catch me motoring for pleasure,’ said Mr Weldon. ‘I like fresh air – none of these beastly stuffy boxes and stinking petrol. Used to breed gees once – but the bottom’s dropped out of the market. Damned shame.’
Harriet agreed, and said she was so fond of horses. Life on a farm must be wonderful.
‘All right if you don’t have to make it pay,’ growled Mr Weldon.
‘I suppose it is rather hard nowadays.’
‘Damned hard,’ said Mr Weldon, adding, however, as though recollecting himself, ‘not that I have a lot to grumble at as things go.’
‘No? I’m glad of that. I mean, it’s nice for you to be able to leave your work and come down here. I suppose a really well-managed farm runs itself, so to speak.’
Mr Weldon glanced at her almost as though he suspected her of some hidden meaning. She smiled innocently at him, and he said:
‘Well – as a matter of fact, it’s a beastly nuisance. But what can one do? Couldn’t leave my mother all by herself in this hole.’
‘Of course not; I think it’s splendid of you to come and stand by her. And besides – well, I mean, it makes such a difference to have somebody really nice to talk to.’
‘Jolly of you to say that.’
‘I mean, it must make all the difference to your mother.’
‘Not to you, eh? Dukes and lords are good enough for you?’
‘Oh!’ Harriet wriggled her shoulders, ‘If you mean Lord Peter – he’s all right, of course, but he’s a little – you know what I mean.’
‘La-di-dah!’ said Mr Weldon. ‘What’s he want to wear that silly thing in his eye for?’
‘That’s just what I feel. It isn’t manly, is it?’
‘Lot of affected nonsense,’ said Mr Weldon. ‘Take that fellow away from his valet and his car and his evening togs, and where’d he be? Thinks he can ride, because he’s pottered round with a fashionable hunt, trampling down people’s crops and leaving the gates open. I’d like to see him –’
He broke off.
‘See him what?’
‘Oh, nothing. Don’t want to be rude to a friend of yours. I say, what’s he after down here?’
‘Well!’ Harriet smirked demurely behind the drooping brim of the preposterous hat. ‘He says he’s interested in this crime, or whatever it is.’
‘But you know better, eh?’ He nudged Harriet familiarly in the ribs. ‘I don’t blame the fellow for making the running while he can, but I do wish he wouldn’t raise false hopes in the old lady. That’s a dashed awkward hat of yours.’
‘Don’t you like it?’
‘It’s topping – suits you down to the ground, but it does keep a fellow at a distance. And I don’t want to shout, because my mother can hear. I say, Miss Vane.’
‘Yes?’
‘Listen!’ Henry pushed his face as far as possible under the guard of the hat and blew his confidence on to Harriet’s cheek. ‘I wish you’d do something for me.’
‘Of course, I’d do anything I could.’
‘That’s nice of you. Do persuade this Wimsey fellow to drop it. As long as she thinks there’s anything in that Bolshie idea of hers, she’ll hang on here like grim death. It isn’t good for her – morbid, you know. Besides, she’s making an ass of herself. I want to get her away and go back to my work.’
‘Yes, I see. I quite understand. I’ll do my best.’
‘Good girl!’ Henry patted her encouragingly on the thigh. ‘I knew you and I’d get on like a house on fire together.’
Harriet smiled.
‘I don’t know if I shall be able to persuade him. He doesn’t like taking advice. You know what men are.’
‘I bet you know all right. I don’t suppose there’s much you don’t know, by jove!’ Henry was obviously well aware that he was talking to a rather notorious young woman. He chuckled.
‘Don’t say I’ve said anything – just try what you can do. I bet you can twist him round your little finger if you try, eh?’
‘Oh, Mr Weldon! I hope I’m not one of those managing sort of women!’
‘You don’t need to be. You know how to get your own way, I bet. I know you could do anything you liked with me.’
‘You mustn’t talk like that.’
‘Mustn’t I? Can’t help it. You’ve got a way with you – haven’t you, eh?’
Harriet wished that he would not say ‘eh?’ so often. And she disliked the grossness of his voice and the coarseness of his skin and the little tufts of hair in his ears.
‘Don’t drive with one hand like that – suppose anything came along suddenly.’
Henry laughed and patted her leg again.
‘That’s all right, don’t you worry. I’ll look after you, and you’ll look after me, eh? Alliance, offensive and defensive – just between you and me, eh?’
‘Oh, rather!’
‘That’s fine. And when all this stupid business is over, you must come and look Mother and me up. She’s taken a great fancy to you. Get her to bring you along to my place. You’d like it. What about it?’
‘That would be lovely!’ (If Henry wanted to be vamped, she would vamp him.) ‘One gets so tired of the kind of men one meets in London, and the stuffy, restricted, literary kind of surroundings. I don’t suppose you ever come to London, Mr Weldon?’
‘Not often. Don’t care for the place.’
‘Oh! Then it’s no good asking you to call on me.’
‘Isn’t it, though? Of course I’d come and call on you like a shot. Some inducement, eh? Where do you live?’
‘I’ve got a little flat in Bloomsbury.’
‘All on your own?’
‘Yes.’
‘Isn’t that a bit lonesome?’
‘Oh! well, of course I have plenty of friends. And a woman who comes in for the day. I could give you tea if you cared to come along some time to cheer me up.’
‘That would be sweet of you. We could go and do a show together or something.’
‘I should enjoy that.’
No – Henry was really too easy. Surely even his colossal vanity could not suppose that he had really made a conquest. Yet there he sat, smiling away and almost audibly purring. No doubt he thought that Harriet Vane was any man’s game. He really imagined that, placed between Lord Peter and himself, a woman could possibly – well, why not? How was he to know? It wouldn’t be the first time that a woman had made a foolish choice. If anything, he was paying her the compliment of supposing that she was not mercenary. Or, horrid thought, did he expect her to be completely promiscuous?
That was it – he did! He was informing her now, in reasonably plain language, that somebody like himself would be a nice change for her and that he couldn’t make out what a fine woman like herself could see in a fellow like Wimsey. Rage rendered her speechless for a moment; then she began to feel amused. If he thought that, he could be made to believe anything. She could twist men round her little finger, could she? Then she would twist him. She would fool him to the top of his bent.
She begged him not to talk so loudly; Mrs Weldon would overhear him.
This reminder had its effect, and Henry ‘behaved himself’ until their arrival at the spot selected for the picnic compelled him to return to his former attitude of ordinary politeness.
The picnic itself passed off without any remarkable incident, and Henry did not succeed in getting Harriet to himself until the meal was over and they went to wash up the plates in a little brook that ran close by. Even then, Harriet was able to avoid his advances by sending him to do the washing while she stood by with a dish-cloth. She ordered him about prettily and he obeyed with delighted willingness, tucking up his sleeves and getting down to the job. However, the inevitable moment arrived when he returned with the clean plates and put them into her hands. Then, seizing his opportunity, he advanced upon her and clasped h
er with clumsy gallantry about the body. She dropped the plates and wriggled, pushing his arms away and bending her head down, so that the faithful and long-suffering hat was between them.
‘Damn it!’ said Henry. ‘You might let a fellow –’
It was then that Harriet became really frightened. She gave a scream which was no mockery, but a really determined yell, and followed it up with a box on the ear that was no butterfly kiss. Henry, astonished, relaxed his grasp for a moment. She broke away from him – and at that moment Mrs Weldon, attracted by the scream, came running to the top of the bank.
‘Whatever is the matter?’
‘I saw a snake!’ said Harriet, wildly. ‘I’m sure it was a viper.’
She screamed again, and so did Mrs Weldon who was terrified of snakes. Henry, grunting, picked up the fallen plates and told his mother not to be silly.
‘Come back to the car,’ said Mrs Weldon. ‘I won’t stay another moment in this horrid place.’
They went back to the car. Henry looked glum and injured; he felt that he had been badly treated, as indeed he had. But Harriet’s face was white enough to show that she had had a real shock, and she insisted on returning in the back of the car with Mrs Weldon, who made a great fuss over her with a smelling-bottle and ejaculations of horror and sympathy.
When they got back to Wilvercombe, Harriet was sufficiently recovered to thank Henry properly and apologise for having been so stupid. But she was still not quite herself, refused to come in to the hotel and insisted on walking back to her room at Mrs Lefranc’s. She would not allow Henry to go with her – she wouldn’t hear of it – she was quite all right – the walk would do her good. Henry, who was still offended, did not press the point. Harriet walked away, but not to Mrs Lefranc’s. She hastened to the nearest telephone-cabinet and rang up the Bellevue. Was Lord Peter Wimsey there? No, he was out; could they take a message? Yes. Would he please come round and see Miss Vane at once, the minute he came in? It was frightfully urgent. Certainly they would tell him. No, they would not forget.
Harriet went home, sat down on Paul Alexis’ chair and stared at Paul Alexis’ ikon. She really felt quite upset.
She had sat there for an hour, without removing her hat and gloves – just thinking, when there was a commotion on the staircase. Feet came up two steps at a time and the door burst open so hard upon the preliminary knock as to make the knock superfluous.
‘Hullo-ullo-ullo! Here we all are. What’s up? Anything exciting? So sorry I was out – Here! I say! Hold up! It’s all right, you know – at least, it is all right, isn’t it?’
He gently extricated his arm from Harriet’s frenzied grasp and shut the door.
‘Now then! My dear, what’s happened? You’re all of a doodah!’
‘Peter! I believe I’ve been kissed by a murderer.’
‘Have you? Well, it serves you right for letting anybody kiss you but me. Good Heavens! You raise all sorts of objections to a perfectly amiable and reasonably virtuous man like myself, and the next thing I hear is that you are wallowing in the disgusting embraces of a murderer. Upon my soul! I don’t know what the modern girl is coming to.’
‘He didn’t actually kiss me – he only hugged me.’
‘That’s what I said – I said “disgusting embraces”. And what is worse, you send urgent messages to my hotel, so that you can get me here to be gloated over. It is abominable. It is repulsive. Sit down. Take off that vulgar and idiotic hat and tell me who this low-down, bone-headed, bird-witted, dissipated murderer is who can’t even keep his mind on his murdering, but rushes about the country embracing and hugging painted-faced females that don’t belong to him.’
‘Very well. Prepare for a shock. It was Haviland Martin.’
‘Haviland Martin?’
‘Haviland Martin.’
Wimsey walked very deliberately to a table near the window, laid down his hat and stick upon it, drew forward a chair, placed Harriet in it, drew up a second chair, sat down in it himself, and said:
‘You win. I am astonished. I am thunderstruck. Kindly explain yourself. I thought you were out this afternoon with the Weldons.’
‘I was.’
‘Am I to understand that Haviland Martin is a friend of Henry Weldon’s?’
‘Haviland Martin is Henry Weldon.’
‘You have been wallowing in the embraces of Henry Weldon?’
‘Only in the interests of justice. Besides, I boxed his ears.’
‘Go on. Begin from the beginning.’
Harriet began from the beginning. Wimsey bore fairly well the story of the vamping of Henry Weldon, merely interjecting that he hoped the man wouldn’t make himself a nuisance later on, and listened patiently till she came to the incident of the plate-washing.
‘I was sort of wriggling – because I didn’t want him actually to kiss me, you know – and I looked down and saw his arm – it was round my waist, you understand –’
‘Yes, I grasped that.’
‘And I saw a snake tattooed all the way up his arm – just as it was up Martin’s. And then I suddenly remembered how his face had seemed kind of familiar when I first saw him – and then I realised who he was.’
‘Did you tell him so?’
‘No. I just yelled, and Mrs Weldon came up and asked what was the matter. So I said I’d seen a snake – it was the only thing I could think of; and of course it was true.’
‘What did Henry say?’
‘Nothing. He was rather grumpy. Of course, he thought I was just making a fuss about his kissing me, only he couldn’t tell his mother that.’
‘No – but do you suppose he put two and two together?’
‘I don’t think he did. I hope not.’
‘I hope not – or he may have bolted.’
‘I know. I ought to have stuck to him like glue. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t, Peter. Honestly, I was frightened. It was silly, but I saw Alexis with his throat cut and the blood running all over the place – it was horrible. And the idea that – ugh!’
‘Wait a moment. Let’s think this thing out. You’re sure you aren’t mistaken about the snake and that Weldon really is Martin?’
‘Yes. I’m sure he is. I can see it perfectly now. His profile’s the same, now I come to think of it, and his height and size, and his voice too. The hair’s different, of course, but he could easily have dyed that.’
‘So he could. And his hair looks as if it had been dyed recently, for the matter of that, and re-bleached. I thought it looked funny and dead. Well, if Weldon is Martin, there’s undoubtedly some funny business somewhere. But Harriet, do put it out of your mind that he’s a murderer. We’ve proved that Martin couldn’t possibly have done it. He couldn’t get to the place in time. Had you forgotten that?’
‘Yes – I believe I had forgotten it. It seemed so obvious, somehow, that if he was there at Darley, in disguise, he must have been up to something or other.’
‘Of course he was up to something or other. But what? He couldn’t be in two places at once, even if he was disguised at Beelzebub.’
‘No, he couldn’t – could he? Oh, what an idiot I am! I’ve been sitting here having the horrors, and wondering how in the world we could ever break it to Mrs Weldon.’
‘We may have to do that in any case, I’m afraid,’ said Wimsey, gravely. ‘It looks very much as if he had some hand in it, even if he didn’t do the throat-cutting part of it. The only thing is, if he wasn’t the actual murderer, why was he at Darley at all?’
‘Goodness knows!’
‘Something do do with the bay mare, that’s a certainty. But what? What was the point of the bay mare at all? It beats me, Harriet; it beats me.’
‘So it does me.’
‘Well, there’s only one thing to do.’
‘What’s that?’
‘To ask him.’
‘Ask him?’
‘Yes. We’ll ask him. It’s just conceivable that there’s some innocent explanation of the thing. And if we ask him abo
ut it, he’ll have to commit himself one way or another.’
‘Ye-es. That means open warfare.’
‘Not necessarily. We needn’t tell him all we suspect. I think you’d better leave this to me.’
‘I rather think I had. I’m afraid I haven’t handled Henry as well as I thought I was going to.’
‘I don’t know. You’ve got hold of a pretty valuable piece of information, anyhow. Don’t worry. We’ll turn friend Henry inside-out before we’ve done with him. I’ll just pop round to the Resplendent now, and see that he hasn’t taken alarm.’
He popped round accordingly, only to find that Henry, so far from bolting, was dining and playing Bridge with a party of other residents. Should he break in on them with his question? Or should he wait? Better wait, perhaps, and let the matter crop up quietly in conversation the next morning. He made a private arrangement with the night porter to give him the tip if Mr Weldon showed any signs of departing during the night, and retired to his own quarters to do some hard thinking.
XIX
THE EVIDENCE OF THE DISGUISED MOTORIST
‘Confess, or to the dungeon –
Pause!’
Death’s Jest-Book
Thursday, 25 June
Mr Weldon did not bolt. Wimsey had no difficulty in catching him the following morning, and was rather glad he had waited, for in the meantime he had received a letter from Chief Inspector Parker.
‘My Dear Peter,
‘What will you want next? I have got a little preliminary information for you, and if anything fresh turns up I will keep you posted.
‘First of all your Mr Haviland Martin is not a Bolshevik agent. He has had that account in Cambridge for quite a long time, and owns a small house, complete with lady, in the outskirts of the town. He took it, I believe, in 1925, and makes his appearance there from time to time, dark spectacles and all. He was recommended to the bank by one Mr Henry Weldon, of Leamhurst, Hunts, and there has never been any trouble with his account – a small one. He is thought to travel in something or other. All this suggests to me that the gentleman may be leading a double life, but you can put the Bolshevik theory out of your head.
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