Harriet mentioned Mrs Lefranc’s theory that Alexis had committed suicide owing to the failure of unknown and important ‘speculations’. Mrs Weldon scouted the theory.
‘What could it matter to him, my dear? Paul knew perfectly well that when we were married I should settle my money on him with the exception, of course, of a little provision for Henry., Of course, in the ordinary way, Henry would get everything, and I am afraid he was a little upset when he heard that I was going to get married, but, you know, it was not right that he should feel like that. His father left him very well off and always; impressed upon him that he ought not to look for anything from me. After all, I was still quite a young woman when my husband died, and George — he was a very fair-minded man, I will say that for him — always said that I should be quite within my rights in spending my own father’s money as I liked and marrying again if I chose. And I have lent Henry a great deal of money, which he has never repaid. I told Henry, when I got engaged to Alexis, that I should make him a free gift of everything that I had lent him, and make a will, giving him the life-interest in £30,000, the capital of which was to go to Henry’s children, if he had any. If he hadn’t any, then the money was to come back to Paul, if Paul outlived Henry, because, of course, Paul was the younger man’
‘Were you going to settle all the rest on Mr Alexis?’
‘Why not, my dear? It was not as though I could have had any more children. But Paul didn’t like that idea he used to say, so charmingly and absurdly, that if I did that what would happen to me if he ran away and left me? No, what I was going to do was this. I was going to settle £30,000 on Paul when we were married. It would have been his, absolutely, of course — I shouldn’t like my husband to have to come and ask me for permission if he wanted to alter the investments or anything. Then, at my death, Henry would have had the income from the other £30,000 and his debts washed out, and Paul would have had all, the rest, which would have been about £100,000 altogether, including his own 30,000. Because, you see, Paul might have married again and had a family, and then he would need the money. I don’t see that there was anything unfair about that, do you?’
Harriet felt that a great deal might’ be said about an arrangement which cut off the only son with the life-interest on £30,000, with reversion to a young step-father, and left full control of over three times that sum to the step-father; and which also placed the hypothetical family of the son in a vastly inferior position to the equally hypothetical children of the step-father by a hypothetical new wife. Still, Mrs Weldon’s money was her own, and Alexis had at least stood between her and the major folly of stripping herself of every farthing in his favour. One expression had caught her attention, and she returned to it.
‘I think you showed considerable judgement,’ she said — not specifying whether the judgement was good or bad — it would be much better for your son, if he is inclined to squander his money, only to have the life interest in his share. Then he would always have something to fall back upon. I suppose that arrangement still holds ‘good under your present will.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Mrs Weldon. ‘At least, it will do so. I must confess that I have been a little remiss up to the present. I haven’t actually made a will. I have always enjoyed such wonderful health — but it will have to be done, of course. You know how one puts things off.’
The old story, thought Harriet. If all the wise wills projected in people’s minds were actually executed, there would be fewer fortunes inherited only to be thrown away. She reflected that if Mrs Weldon died the next day, Henry would step into sole control of something over £130,000
‘You know,’ she said, ‘I think I should make that will if I were you. Even the youngest and healthiest people may get run over or something.’
‘Yes, yes — you’re so very right. But now that poor Paul is dead, I don’t feel that I have the energy for business. It would matter more, of course, if Henry were married and had a family, but he says he doesn’t mean to marry, and if so, he may as well have the money first as last. There’s nobody else now. But I’m afraid I’m boring you, my dear, with all this chatter. You were asking about poor dear Paul, and I’ve been led away into telling you all these silly private affairs. What I was trying to say was that Paul simply, couldn’t have been worrying about speculations. He knew he was going to have plenty of money: Besides,’ added Mrs Weldon, with perfect justice, ‘you can’t speculate much without capital, can you? Money breeds money, as a stockbroker I once knew used to say, and Paul never had any money to start with I don’t think he would have known anything about speculating either; he was too romantic and unworldly, poor dear boy.’
‘Maybe,’ said Harriet to herself, ‘maybe. But he managed to get on the right side of the person who had it’ She was a little surprised. ‘Wealthy’ is a comparative term — she had imagined Mrs Weldon to possess, about three thousand a year. But if her money was decently invested — and she spoke as if it was — she must have at least twice that amount. A pauper like Alexis might be excused for wedding £130,000 at whatever price in convenience and self-respect; had he really intended the marriage; after all? And if, on the other hand, he had meant to forgo it and flee the country, what was the enormous threat or inducement which could make him abandon such a golden prospect for the much lesser glitter of three hundred sovereigns, genuine metal though they might be?
And Henry? Even when the death-duties had been subtracted, £130,000 was a pleasant sum, and men had done murder for less. Well, Lord Peter had undertaken to look into Henry’s affairs. She became aware that Mrs Weldon was talking.
‘What a curious face that Monsieur Antoine has,’ she was saying, ‘he seems to be a nice young man, though I’m sure he is far from robust. He spoke most kindly to me yesterday about Paul. He seems to have been very much attached to him, sincerely so.’
‘Oh, Antoine!’ thought Harriet, a little reproachfully. ‘ Then she remembered the mad mother and the imbecile brother and thought instead, ‘Poor Antoine!’ But the thought was still an unpleasant one.
‘It’s all very well for Lord Peter,’ she grumbled to herself, ‘he’s never wanted for anything.’ Why Lord Peter should be brought into the matter, she could not explain, but there is undoubtedly something irritating about the favourites of fortune.
In the meantime, that wayward sprig of the nobility was trying not to be idle. He was, in fact, hanging round the police-station, bothering the Inspector. The reports about Bright were coming in, and they fully corroborated his story, so far as they went. He had come to Wilvercombe, as he said, from a lodging-house in Seahampton, and by the train specified, and he was now living peacefully in a cheap room in Wilvercombe, without seeing any strangers and without showing the least sign of wanting to disappear. He had been taken over to Seahampton by the police on the previous day, and had been identified by Merryweather as the man to whom the Endicott razor had, been sold some time previously. In the course of a few hours, his movements for, the last few weeks had been successfully checked, and were as follows:
May 28th, Arrived in Ilfracombe from London. Four days’ employment. Dismissed as incompetent and intoxicated.
June 2nd. Arrived in Seahampton. Called at Merryweather’s and purchased razor. Five days in that town looking for employment (details checked).
June 8th. Wilvercombe. Called on Moreton, the barber on the Esplanade. Told that there might be a job later. Recommended to try Ramage’s in Lesston Hoe. Same day went on to Lesston Hoe; taken on by Ramage.
June 15th. Dismissed from Ramages drunk and incompetent. Returned to Wilvercombe; informed by Moreton that post was now filled (which it was not; but his reputation had preceded him by telephone). Tried one or two other shops without success. Slept that night in free lodging-house.
June 16th (Tuesday). Again tried for work; no result. Slept that night in workmen’s lodgings, where he arrived shortly after midnight. They were reluctant to admit him, but he showed a pound note to prove that he could pay for
his bed.
June 17th. Took 9.57 train to Seahampton. Called on hairdresser named Lyttleton and asked for work. Was told that Mr Lyttleton was away, but that he could call the following morning after 11.30. Visited two more hairdressers. Took a bed in lodging-house and spent the evening and night there in company with other residents.
June 18th (day o f Alexis’ death). Left the lodging-house at 10 a.m. and went directly to the Public Library, where ‘he had sat for an “hour in the Reading Room, studying the ‘Situations Vacant’ columns in various papers. ‘ The guardian of the Reading Room had identified him. He remembered Bright perfectly, on account of some questions he had asked about the dates of publication of the local papers, and also recollected showing him the shelf on which the local directory was kept. At eleven o’clock, Bright had asked whether the library clock was right as he had an appointment at 11.30. At 11.15 he had left, presumably to keep his appointment.
The appointment was, of course, with Lyttleton, who also had no difficulty in identifying Bright. Lyttleton had returned to Seahampton by the 11.20 train, and, on reaching his shop, had found Bright waiting to see him. He told Bright that he could come and try his hand if he liked, and could start at once. Bright had worked in the toilet-saloon until one o’clock, when he had gone out to lunch. He had returned just after two o’clock and had remained at his job for — the rest of the day. The proprietor had then decided that his work was not good enough, and paid him off. It was true that nobody was able to identify him at the small restaurant where he claimed to have lunched, but. it was perfectly clear that nothing short of a magic carpet could have transported him forty miles to the Flat-Iron and back in order to commit a murder at two o’clock. Whatever part Bright had played in the tragedy, it was not that of First Murderer.
With regard to Bright’s earlier history, they had made very little progress — principally because Bright himself did not even pretend to remember the various aliases under which he had passed from time to time in the. last few years.’ The only statement they had so far succeeded in confirming
up to a point — was that there certainly had at one time been a hairdresser’s establishment in Massingbird Street, Manchester. The proprietor’s name had been Simpson, and this agreed with Bright’s story; but Massingbird Street had long disappeared in the course of town-improvement and, as Bright himself had warned them, it was difficult to find anybody who remembered what Simpson the hairdresser had looked like.
‘He must have lived in Manchester all right, some time or other, was the Inspector’s conclusion, ‘or he wouldn’t know all about Massingbird Street; and it’s quite probable he may be Simpson as he says. But what he’s been doing with himself between then and now is quite another matter.’
A further item of police information concerned old Pollock and his boat. A young constable, who had only recently joined the Wilvercombe force and was therefore likely to be unknown to the local fisher-folk, had been sent, disguised as a holiday-maker, to dawdle about the beach near Darley, in company with his young lady, and persuade Pollock to take them, both out for a sail in his boat. The trip had been an uncomfortable one, owing, in the first place to the old fisherman’s extreme surliness and, in the second, to the young lady’s unfortunate tendency to mal de mer. They had asked to be taken out as near as possible to the seaward end of the Grinders reef, ’as the young lady was that keen to see them drag for the body. Pollock had grumbled a good deal, but had taken them. They had kept the shore in view the whole way, but had finished their outward trip at a point too far from shore to make out clearly the movements of the search-party, who, at that particular moment, seemed to be engaged on shore in the immediate neighbourhood of the Flat-Iron. They had asked Pollock to put in close by the rock, but he had refused very; definitely to do so. During the voyage, the constable had examined the boat as closely as he could for signs of anything unusual. He had gone so far as to lose a hypothetical half-crown and insist on having the bottom-boards up to see if it could have slipped below them. He had searched the musty space below thoroughly with a flash-light; and seen; no appearance of blood-stains. For the sake of verisimilitude he had pretended to find the half-crown, and for the sake of peace had handed it, to Pollock by way of a tip. On the whole the expedition had been disappointing, having yielded nothing but seasickness and a close-up view of a considerable number of lobster-pots.
A question about Alexis’ passport found the Inspector very much on his dignity. Did his lordship really suppose they had overlooked that obvious point? Alexis certainly had a passport, and, what was more, had had it visa’d within the last month. Where for? Why, for France, to be sure. But of course he could have got fresh visas from the Consul there, if he had wanted them.
‘That offers some support for the theory that our young friend intended to flit, eh?’
‘Yes, my lord. And if he was, going to some remote place in Central Europe, I daresay he’d have found, gold sovereigns a sight handier than notes. Though why he shouldn’t have taken currency notes and changed them in Paris I, don’t know. Still, there it is, and he must have had some idea in his mind. I don’t mind admitting, my lord, that I’m coming round a bit to your way of thinking. Here’s a man with what I might call a purpose in view — and that purpose isn’t suicide. And he had £300 in gold on him, and there’s plenty as ‘ud do murder for less than that. At least, we’re supposing he had it on him. We can’t tell till we find the body.’
‘If he was murdered for the sake of the gold, you won’t know even then,’ said Wimsey.
‘No, my lord, that’s a fact. Unless we, was to find the belt or what not he had it in. And even then, likely as not, the murderer would have taken belt and all.’ The Inspector looked unhappy. ‘But there might be papers or something to tell us — always supposing the murderer didn’t take them as well or the salt water hasn’t made pulp of them.’
‘D’you know,’ said Wimsey, ‘I feel inspired to make a prophecy. I think you’ll find that Alexis was murdered all right, but not for the sake of the money. I mean, not the £300.’
‘Why do you think that, my lord?’
Because,’’ said’ Wimsey, ‘you haven’t found the body.’
The Inspector scratched his head.
‘You don’t mean that somebody, came and took the body away? What should they want to do that for?’
‘What indeed? If my idea’s the right one, that’s the one thing they wouldn’t want to do. They’d want the body found
‘Why?’
‘Because the murder was not committed for the £300 in gold.’
But you said that was why the body hadn’t been found’
‘So it is.’
‘Your proper walk in life,’ said Inspector Umpelty, you’ll excuse me, my lord, is setting crossword puzzles. Say that again. They wanted the body found, because they didn’t murder him for the £300. And because they didn’t murder him for, the £300, we can’t find the body. Is that right?’
‘That’s right.’
The Inspector frowned heavily. Then a radiant smile illuminated his broad face. He smacked his hand jubilantly upon his thigh.
‘Of course, my lord! By George, you’re perfectly riight What mutts we were not to see that before. It’s as clear as daylight. It was just your way of putting it that muddled me up. I must try that one on the. Super. Bet you he won’t see through it first go off. They didn’t want the body found, no, that’s wrong. They did want the body found because. they did, didn’t—’
‘Try it in rhyme, suggested Wimsey.
Why did they want the body found?
They didn’t want three hundred pound.
They didn’t want three hundred pound,
And that’s why the body wasn’t found.
‘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-b
ush”,’ 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.
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