‘Don’t bother; I’ll run down and see him. Just one other thing. Was any of the customers you’ve mentioned a clumsy handed fellow who took a lot out of his razor and was always sending it back to be re-set?’
Mr Endicott chuckled.
‘Ah! now you’re talking,’ he said. ‘Colonel Belfridge — oh, dear! oh, dear! He, was a terribly hard man on his razors — is still, for all I know. Time and again he’d say to me, “‘Pon my word, Endicott, I don’t know what you do to my razors. They won’t keep their edge a week. Steel isn’t what is was before the War.” But it wasn’t the steel, or the War either. He was always the same. I think he took the edge off with the strop, instead of putting it on; I do indeed. He didn’t keep a man, you know. The Colonel belongs to one of our best families, but not a wealthy man, by any means. A very fine soldier, I believe.’
‘One of the old school, eh?’ said Wimsey. ‘Good-hearted but peppery. I know. Where did you say he was living now?’
‘Stamford,’ replied Mr Endicott, promptly. ‘He sent me a card last Christmas. Very kind of him, I thought it, to remember me. But my old customers are very thoughtful in those ways. They know I value their kind remembrance.
Well, my lord, I am; exceedingly pleased to have seen you,’ he added, as Wimsey rose and took up his hat, ‘and I’m sure I hope I may have been of some assistance to you. You keep very fit, I hope. You’re looking well.’
‘I’m getting old,’ said Lord Peter.; ‘My hair is turning grey over the temples.’
Mr Endicott emitted a concerned cluck.
‘But that’s’ nothing,’ he hastened to assure his visitor. ‘Many ladies think it looks more distinguished that way. Not getting thin on top, I hope and trust.”
‘Not that I know of. Take a look at it’
Mr Endicott pushed the straw-coloured thatch apart and peered earnestly at the roots.
‘No sign of it,’ he pronounced, confidently, ‘Never saw a healthier scalp. At the same time, my lord, if you should notice any slight weakening or falling-off, let me know, I should be proud to advise you. I’ve still got the recipe for Endicott’s Special Tonic, and.though I say so myself, I’ve never’ found anything: to beat it’
Wimsey laughed, and promised to call on Mr Endicott for help at the first symptom of trouble. The old barber saw him to the door, clasping his hand affectionately and begging him to come again. Mrs Endicott would be so sorry to have missed him.
Seated behind the steering-wheel, Wimsey debated the three courses open to him. He could go to Eastbourne; he could go to Stamford; he could return to Wilvercombe. A natural inclination pointed to Wilvercombe. It was, surely, only justifiable to return at once to the scene of the crime, if it was a crime. The fact that Harriet was also there was a purely accidental complication. On the other hand, his obvious duty was to clear up this razor business as quickly as possible. Musing, he drove to his own flat in Piccadilly, where he found his man, Bunter, mounting photographs in a large album.
To Bunter he laid bare his problem, requesting his advice. Bunter, revolving the matter in his mind, took a little time for consideration and then delivered himself respectfully of his opinion.
‘In your lordship’s place, my lord, I fancy I should be inclined to go to Stamford. For a variety of reasons.’
‘You would, would you?’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘Well, perhaps you are right, Bunter.’
‘Yes, thank you, my lord. Would your lordship wish me to accompany you?’
‘No,’ said Wimsey. ‘You’ can go down to Eastbourne.’ ‘Very good, my lord.’
‘Tomorrow morning. I shall stay the night in Town. You might send off a telegram for me — no, on second thoughts, I’ll send it myself.’
Telegram from Lord Peter Wimsey to Miss Harriet Vane:
FOLLOWING RAZOR CLUE TO STAMFORD REFUSE RESEMBLE THRILLER HERO WHO HANGS ROUND HEROINE TO NEGLECT OF DUTY BUT WILL YOU MARRY ME — PETER.
Telegram from Miss Harriet Vane to Lord Peter Wimsey:
GOOD HUNTING CERTAINLY NOT, SOME DEVELOPMENTS HERE — VANE.
Chapter VII. The Evidence Of The Gigolos
‘A worthless life, A life ridiculous.
— Death’s Jest-Book
Friday, 19 June — Evening
Miss HARRIET VANE, in a claret-coloured frock, swayed round the dance-lounge of the Hotel Resplendent in the arms of Mr Antoine, the fair-haired gigolo.
‘I’m afraid I am not a.very good dancer,’ she remarked, apologetically.
Mr Antoine, who was, rather surprisingly, neither Jew nor South-American dago, nor Central European mongrel, but French, clasped her a very little more firmly in his competent professional arm, and replied:
‘You dance very correctly, mademoiselle. It is only the entrain that is a little lacking. It is possible that you are awaiting the perfect partner. When the heart dances with the feet, then it will be a merveille.’ He met her eyes with a delicately calculated expression of encouragement.
‘Is that the kind of thing you have to say to all these old ladies?’ asked Harriet, smiling.
Antoine opened his eyes a trifle and then, mocking back to her mockery, said:
‘I am afraid so. That is part of our job, you know.’
‘It must be very tedious.’
Antoine contrived to shrug his exquisite shoulders without in anyway affecting the lithe grace of his motion.
‘Que voulez-vous? All work has its tedious moments, which are repaid by those that are more agreeable. One may say truthfully to mademoiselle what might in another case be a mere politeness.!
‘Don’t bother about me,’, said Harriet. ‘There’s something else I want to talk about. I wanted to ask you about Mr Alexis.’
‘Ce pauvre Alexis! It was mademoiselle who found him, I understand?’
‘Yes. I just wondered what sort of person he was, and why he should have done away with himself like that.’
‘Ahl that is what we are all wondering. It is, no doubt, the Russian temperament’
‘I had heard’—Harriet felt that she must tread cautiously here. ‘that he was engaged’ to be married.’ ‘Oh, yes — to the English lady. That was understood.’
‘Was he happy about it?’
‘Mademoiselle, Alexis was poor and the English lady is very rich. It was advantageous to him to marry her. At first, no doubt, it might offer a little desagrement, but afterwards — you understand, mademoiselle, these matters arrange themselves.’
You don’t think that he suddenly felt he couldn’t face it, and took this way out?’
‘That is difficult to say, but — no, I do not think so. He had, after all, only to go away. He was a very good dancer — and very popular. He would easily have found another situation, provided his health would permit him to continue.’
‘I wondered whether there was any other attachment; to make things more difficult.’
‘From what he said to us, mademoiselle, I know of nothing which could not easily have been arranged.’
‘Women like him, I suppose?’ demanded Harriet, bluntly. Antoine’s smile was a sufficient answer. ‘There wasn’t any disappointment of any kind?’ ‘I did not hear of any. But of course, one does not tell
one’s friends everything.!
‘Of course not. I don’t mean to be inquisitive, but it all seems to me rather odd.’
The music stopped.
‘What is the arrangement?’ asked Harriet. ‘Do we go on or have you other engagements?’
‘There is no reason why we should not continue for the next dance. After that, unless mademoiselle wishes to make a special arrangement with the management, — I am expected to attend to my other patrons.’
‘No,’ said Harriet, ‘I don’t want to upset things. Is there any reason why you and the two young ladies should not have a little supper with me later on?’
‘None at all. It is very kind; very amiable. Leave it to me, mademoiselle. I will arrange it all. It is natural that made
moiselle should take an interest!
‘Yes, but I don’t want the, manager to think that I’m interrogating his staff behind his back.’
‘N’ayez pas peur, je m’en charge. I will ask you to dance again in a little time, and then I will tell you what I have contrived!
He handed her back to her table with a smile, and she saw him gather up a vast and billowy lady in a tightly fitting gown and move smoothly away with her, the eternal semi-sensuous smile fixed upon his lips as though it was painted there.
About six dances later, the smile reappeared beside her, and Antoine, guiding her steps through a waltz, informed her that — if, at 11.30, when the dancing was over, she would be good enough to seek out a small restaurant a few streets away, he, with Doris and Charis, would be there to meet her. It was only a small restaurant, but very good, and the proprietor knew them very well; moreover, Antoine himself lodged in the little hotel, attached to the restaurant and would give himself the pleasure of offering mademoiselle a glass of wine. They would be private there, and could speak quite freely. Harriet assented, with the proviso that she should pay for the supper, and accordingly, shortly before midnight, found herself seated on a red-plush settee beneath a row of gilded mirrors, over a pleasant little supper of the Continental sort.
Doris the blonde and Charis the brunette were only too delighted to discuss the affairs of the late Mr Alexis. Doris appeared to be the official confidante; she could give inside information about her late partner’s affairs of the heart. He had had a girl — oh, yes; but some weeks earlier this connection had come to an end rather mysteriously. It was nothing to do with Mrs Weldon. That matter had been, in Mr Micawber’s phrase, already ‘provided for’. No; it was apparently a breaking-off by mutual consent, and nobody seemed to have been much upset by it. Certainly not Alexis, who, though expressing a great deal of conventional, regret, had seemed, to be rather pleased about it, as though he had brought’ off a smart piece of business. And since then, the young lady in, question had been seen going about with another man, who was supposed to be a friend of Alexis.
‘And if you ask me,’ said Doris, in a voice whose fundamental cockney was overlaid by a veneer of intense refinement, ‘Alexis pushed her off on to this chap on purpose, to get her out of the way of his other little plans.’
‘What other little plans?’
‘I’m sure I don’t know. But he had something up his sleeve these last few weeks. Very grand he was about it; I’m sure one was almost afraid to speak to his high-mightiness. “You’ll see,” he said, “just you wait a little bit.”
“Well, I’m sure,” I said, “I have no wish to intrude. You can keep your secrets,” I said, “for I don’t want to know them.” It’s my belief he was up to some game or other. Whatever it was, he was like a dog with two tails about it.’
Mrs Weldon too, thought Harriet, had said the same thing. Alexis was going to have some news for her — though Mrs Weldon had put her own interpretation on the remark. Harriet put out another feeler of inquiry.
‘Marriage-licence?’ said Charis. ‘Oh, no! he wouldn’t be putting up any flags about that. He couldn’t very well like the idea of marrying that dreadful old woman. Well, it serves her right now. She’s got left. I think that sort of thing is disgusting.’
‘I am sorry for her,’ said Antoine.
‘Oh, you are always sorry for people. I do think it’s beastly. I think these horrible fat men are beastly, too, always pawing a girl about. If Greely wasn’t a decent sort, I’d chuck the whole thing, but I will say he does see to it that they behave themselves. But an old woman’— Charis, superb in her vigorous youth, expressed contempt by voice and gesture.
‘I suppose,’ suggested Harriet, ‘that Alexis wanted to feel safe and settled financially. I mean, a dancer can’t go on dancing all his life; can he? Particularly if he isn’t very strong.’
She spoke with hesitation, but to her relief Antoine immediately and emphatically agreed with her.
‘You are right. While we are young and gay it is all very good. But presently the head grows bald, the legs grow stiff, and — finish! The manager says, “It is all very well, you are a good dancer, but my clients prefer a younger man, hein? Then good-bye the first-class establishment. We go, what you call, down the hill. I tell you, it is a great temptation when somebody comes and says, “Look! You have only to marry me and I will make you rich and comfortable for life.” And what is it? Only to tell lies to one’s wife every night instead of to twenty or thirty silly old ladies. Both are done for money — where is the difference?’
‘Yes, I suppose we shall all come to it,’ said Charis, with a grimace. ‘Only, from the way Alexis talked, you’d think he’d have wanted a little more poetry about it. All that rubbish about his noble birth and fallen fortunes — like something out of those stories he was so potty about. Quite a hero of romance, according to him. Always wanted to take the spot-light, did Mr Paul Alexis. You’d think he did the floor a favour by dancing on it. And then the fairy prince comes down to marrying an old woman for her money.’
‘Oh, he wasn’t so bad,’ protested Doris. ‘You oughtn’t to talk that way, dear. It’s not so easy for we dancers, the way everybody treats us like dirt. Though they’re willing enough to take advantage of you if you give them half a chance. Why shouldn’t Alexis, or any of us, get a bit of our own back? Anyhow, he’s dead, poor boy, and you oughtn’t to run him down.’
‘Ah, voila said Antoine. ‘He is dead. Why is he dead? One does not cut one’s throat pour s’amuser.’
‘That’s another thing,’ said Charis, ‘that I can’t quite make out. The minute I heard about it, I said to myself, “That’s not like Alexis,” He hadn’t the nerve to do a thing like that. Why, he was terrified of pricking his little finger. ‘You needn’t frown, dear, Alexis was a regular namby-pamby, and if he was dead ten times over it wouldn’t make any difference. You used to laugh at him yourself. “I cannot climb that step-ladder, I am afraid to fall. “I do not like to go to the dentist, he might pull my teeth out.”
“Do not shake me when I am cutting the bread, I might, cut my fingers.”
“Really, Mr Alexis,” I used to say to him, “anybody would thing you were made of glass.
‘I know what mademoiselle is thinking,’ said Antoine, his melancholy mouth curling. ‘She thinks: “Voila! that is the gigolo. He is not a man, he is a doll stuffed with sawdust.” He is bought, he is sold, and sometimes there is an unpleasantness. Then the English husband, he say, “Well, what can you expect? This fellow, he is a nasty piece of work. He lives on foolish women and he does not play the cricket.” Sometimes it is not very nice, but one must live. Que voulez-vous? Ce n’est pas rigolo que d’etre gigolo.’
Harriet blushed.
‘I wasn’t thinking that,’ she said. ‘
‘But you were, mademoiselle, and it is very natural.’
‘Antoine doesn’t play cricket,’ put in Doris, kindly, ‘but he plays tennis and swims very well.’
‘It is not me that is in question,’ said Antoine. ‘And truly, I cannot understand this business of throat-cutting. It is not reasonable. Why did Alexis go all that distance away? He never walked; he found the walking fatigued him. If he had decided to suicide himself, he would have done it at home.’
‘And he’d have taken some sleeping-stuff,’ said Doris, nodding her golden head. ‘I know that, because he showed it to me once, when he was in one of his blue fits. “That is my way out of the bad world,” he said, and he talked a lot of poetry. I told him not to be silly — and of course, in half an hour he had got over it. He was like that. But cutting his throat with a razor — no!’
‘That’s awfully interesting,’ said Harriet. ‘By the way,’ she went on, remembering her conversation with Wimsey, ‘did he have anything the matter with his skin? I mean, did he always have to wear gloves, or anything of that sort?’
Oh, no,’ said Antoine. ‘The gigolo must not have things the matter with his skin. Tha
t would: not do at all. Alexis had very elegant hands. He was vain of them.’
‘He said his skin was sensitive, and that’s why he didn’t shave,’ put in Doris.
‘Ah, yes! I can tell you about that,’ Antoine took up his cue. ‘When he came here about a year ago he asked for a job. Mr Greely he say to me, “See him dance. Because, you see, mademoiselle, the other dancer had just left us, all of a sudden, comme ca — without the proper notice. I see him dance and I say to Mr Greely, “That is very good.” The manager say, “Very well, I take you on trial a little time, but I must not have the beard. The ladies will not like it. It is unheard of, a gigolo with a beard,” Alexis say, ‘But if I shave the beard I come out all over buttons.
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