The Nine Tailors lpw-11

by Dorothy L. Sayers

  Nobody being able to make very much sense out of Mr. Wilderspin’s revelations, the Rector was called, who said that he remembered having seen the man called Stephen Driver on one occasion when he was distributing the parish magazine at the smithy, but that Driver had said nothing then, or at any other time, about bells. The Rector then added his own evidence about finding the body and sending for the police and was dismissed in favour of the sexton.

  Mr. Gotobed was very voluble, repeating, with increased circumlocutory detail and reference to what he had said to Dick and Dick to him, the account he had originally given to the police. He then explained that Lady Thorpe’s grave had been dug on the 3rd of January and filled in on the 4th, immediately after the funeral.

  “Where do you keep your tools. Harry?”

  “In the coke-house, sir.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Well, sir, it’s down underneath the church — where Rector says the old cryp used to be. Makes a sight o’ work, that it du, a-carryin’ coke up and down they stairs and through the chancel and sweepin’ up arter it. You can’t ’elp it a-dribbling out o’ the scuttle, do as you like.”

  “Is the door kept locked?”

  “Oh, yes, sir, always kept locked. It’s the little door under the organ, sir. You can’t get to it without you have the key and the key of the west door as well. That is to say, either the key of the west door or one of the church keys, sir, if you take my meaning. I has the west door key, being ’andiest for me where I live, but either of the others would do as well.”

  “Where do you keep these keys?”

  “Hanging up in my kitchen, sir.”

  “Has anybody else got a key to the coke-house door?”

  “Yes, sir; Rector has all the keys.”

  “Nobody else?”

  “Not as I knows on, sir. Mr. Godfrey hasn’t them all, only the key of the cryp.”

  “I see. When these keys are in your kitchen, I suppose any of your family has access to them?”

  Well, sir, in a manner of speakin,’ yes, but I ’opes as now you ain’t tryin’ to put anything on me and my missus, nor yet Dick, let alone the children. I been sexton in this — eighty year follerin’ on Hezekiah, and none of us ain’t never yet been suspected of ’ittin’ strangers over the ’ead and buryin’ of them. Come to think of it, this chap Driver came round to my place one morning on a message, and ’ow do I know what he did? Not but what, if he’d a-took the keys I’d be bound to miss them; still, none the more for that…”

  “Come, come. Harry! Don’t talk nonsense. You don’t suppose this unfortunate man dug his own grave and buried himself? Don’t waste time.”

  (Laughter, and cries of “That’s a good ’un, Harry!”)

  “Silence, if you please. Nobody’s accusing you of anything. Have you in fact ever missed the keys at any time?”

  “No, sir” (sulkily).

  “Or ever noticed that your tools had been disturbed?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did you clean them after digging Lady Thorpe’s grave?”

  “’Course I cleaned ’em. I always leaves my tools clean.”

  “When did you use them next after that?”

  This puzzled Mr. Gotobed for a moment. The voice of Dick supplied helpfully: “Massey’s baby.”

  (“Don’t prompt the witness, please!”)

  “That’s right,” agreed Mr. Gotobed. “Massey’s baby it were, as you can see by the Register. And that ’ud be about a week later — Ah! just about.”

  “You found the tools clean and in their right place when you dug the grave for Mrs. Massey’s baby?”

  “I ain’t noticed nothing different.”

  “Not at any time since?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Very well. That will do. Constable Priest.”

  The constable, taking the oath briskly, informed the court of his having been called to the scene of action, having communicated with Superintendent Blundell, having assisted at the removal of the body and of having helped to search the clothes of the deceased. He then made way for the Superintendent, who corroborated his evidence and produced a brief list of the dead man’s belongings. These were: a suit of navy-blue serge of poor quality, much deteriorated by its burial in the earth, but apparently purchased fairly recently from a well-known firm of cheap outfitters; much-worn vest and pants, bearing (unexpectedly enough) the name of a French manufacturer; a khaki shirt (British army type); a pair of working-man’s boots, nearly new; a cheap spotted tie. In his pockets they had found a white cotton handkerchief; a packet of Woodbines; twenty-five shillings and eightpence in cash; a pocket-comb; a ten-centime piece; and a short length of stiff wire, bent at one end into a hook. The body had worn no overcoat.

  The French money and underclothing and the piece of wire were the only objects which seemed to suggest any kind of clue. Ezra Wilderspin was recalled, but could not bring to mind that Driver had ever said anything about France, beyond mentioning that he had served in the War; and the Superintendent, asked whether he thought the wire could be anything in the nature of a pick-lock, shook his head, and said it didn’t look like anything of that sort to him.

  The next witness was Dr. Baines, and his evidence produced the only real sensation of the day. He said:

  “I have examined the body of deceased and made an autopsy. I should judge the subject to be a man aged between 45 and 50. He appears to have been well-nourished and healthy. Taking into account the nature of the soil, which tends to retard putrefaction, the position of the body when found, that is, about two feet beneath the level of the churchyard and from three to four feet beneath the actual surface of the mound, I should judge the extent of decomposition found to indicate that deceased had been lying in the grave between three and four months. Decay does not proceed so rapidly in a buried body as in one exposed to the air, or in a clothed body as in a naked body. In this case, the internal organs and the soft tissues generally were all quite distinguishable and fairly well preserved. I made a careful examination and could discover no signs of external injury on any part of the body except upon the head, arms, wrists and ankles. The face had apparently been violently battered in with some blunt instrument, which had practically reduced all the anterior — that is, the front — part of the skull to splinters. I was not able to form any exact estimate of the number of blows inflicted, but they must have been numerous and heavy. On opening the abdomen—”

  “One moment, Doctor. I take it we may assume that the deceased died in consequence of one or some of these blows upon the skull?”

  “No; I do not think that the blows were the cause of death.”

  At this point an excited murmur ran round the little hall, and Lord Peter Wimsey was distinctly observed to rub his finger-tips lightly together with a gratified smile.

  “Why do you say that, Dr. Baines?”

  “Because, to the best of my judgment and belief, all the blows were inflicted after death. The hands also were removed after death, apparently with a short, heavy knife, such as a jack-knife.”

  Further sensation; and Lord Peter Wimsey audibly observed: “Splendid!”

  Dr. Baines added a number of technical reasons for his opinion, chiefly connected with the absence of any extravasation of blood and the general appearance of the skin; adding, with proper modesty, that he was, of course, not an expert and could only proffer his opinion for what it was worth.

  “But why should anybody inflict such savage injuries on a dead body?”

  “That,” said the doctor drily, “is outside my province. I am not a specialist in lunacy or neurosis.”

  “That is true. Very well, then. In your opinion, what was the cause of death?”

  “I do not know. On opening the abdomen I found the stomach, intestine, liver and spleen considerably decomposed, the kidneys, pancreas and oesophagus in a fairly good state of preservation.” (Here the doctor wandered off into medical detail.) “I could not see,” he resumed, “any superficial signs
of disease or injury by poison. I, however, removed certain organs” (he enumerated them) “and placed them in sealed jars” (further technical details) “and propose dispatching them to-day for expert examination by Sir James Lubbock. I should expect to receive his report in about a fortnight’s time — possibly earlier.”

  The coroner expressed himself satisfied with this suggestion, and then went on: “You mentioned injuries to the arms and ankles, Doctor; what was the nature of those?”

  “The skin of the ankles seemed to have been very much broken and abraded — as though the ankles had been tightly bound with cord or rope which had cut through the socks. The arms also showed the pressure marks of a rope above the elbows. These injuries were undoubtedly inflicted before death.”

  “You suggest that somebody tied the deceased up with ropes, and then, by some means or other, brought about his death?”

  “I think that the deceased was undoubtedly tied up — either by another person or by himself. You may remember that there was a case in which a young man at one of the universities died in circumstances which suggested that he had himself bound his own wrists and arms.”

  “In that case, the cause of death was suffocation, I believe?”

  “I believe it was. I do not think that was the case here. l round nothing to indicate it.”

  “You do not, I suppose, suggest that the deceased went so far as to bury himself?”

  “No; I do not suggest that.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” said the coroner, sarcastically. “Can you suggest any reason why, if a man had accidentally or intentionally killed himself by tying himself up—?”

  “After tying himself up; the tying of the arms and ankles would not in themselves be likely to cause death.”

  “After tying himself up — why somebody else should then come along, smash his face in and then bury him secretly?”

  “I could suggest a variety of reasons; but I do not think that is my province.”

  “You are very correct. Doctor.”

  Dr. Baines bowed. “He might, I suppose, have perished of starvation, if he had tied himself up and been unable to free himself?”

  “No doubt. Sir James Lubbock’s report will tell us that.”

  “Have you anything further to tell us?”

  “Only that, as a possible aid to identification, I have made as careful a note as I can — in view of the extensive mutilation of the jaws — of the number and condition of deceased’s teeth, and of the dental work done upon them at various times. I have handed this note over to Superintendent Blundell in order that he may issue an inquiry.”

  “Thank you, Doctor; that will no doubt be very helpful.”

  The coroner paused, glanced through his notes and then turned to the Superintendent.

  “In the circumstances. Superintendent, it seems to me advisable to adjourn the inquest until you have completed your investigations. Shall we say, till to-day fortnight? Then, if you should see your way to making any charge against anybody in connection with this crime, or accident, or whatever it is, we may if you like adjourn the inquiry sine die.”

  “I think that would be the best way, Mr. Compline.”

  “Very well. Gentlemen, we will adjourn until today fortnight.”

  The jury, a little puzzled and disappointed at not being asked for any opinion, filed slowly out from behind the long trestle table at which they had been seated — a table dedicated under happier circumstances, chiefly to parish teas.

  “A beautiful case,” said Lord Peter, enthusiastically, to Mr. Venables. “Quite charming. I am uncommonly grateful to you for drawing my attention to it. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. I like your doctor.”

  “We consider him a very able man.”

  “You must introduce me to him; I feel that we should get on well together. The coroner doesn’t like him. Some trifling personal antagonism, no doubt. Why, here is my old friend Hezekiah! How do you do, Mr. Lavender? How’s Tailor Paul?”

  There was general greeting. The Rector caught the arm of a tall, thin man hurrying past their little group.

  “Just a moment. Will. I want to introduce you to Lord Peter Wimsey. Lord Peter, this is Will Thoday, whose bell you rang on your last visit.”

  Hands were shaken. “Very sorry I was to miss that peal,” said Thoday. “But I was pretty bad, wasn’t I, Rector?”

  “You were indeed. You don’t look to have quite got over it yet.”

  “I’m all right, sir, except for being troubled by a bit of a cough. But that’ll pass away with the spring weather coming.”

  “Well, you must take care of yourself. How’s Mary?”

  “Fine, sir, thank you. She was for coming to this here inquest, but I said as it wasn’t no place for a woman. I’m thankful I got her to stop at home.”

  Yes; the doctor’s evidence was very disagreeable. Children all right? That’s splendid. Tell your wife Mrs. Venables will be coming round to see her in a day or two. Yes, she’s very well, thank you — distressed, naturally, by all this sad business. Ah! There’s Dr. Baines. Doctor! Lord Peter Wimsey wants very much to make your acquaintance. You’d better come and have a cup of tea at the Rectory. Good day. Will, good day!… I don’t like the looks of that fellow,” added the Rector, as they turned towards the Rectory. “What do you think of him, Doctor?”

  “He’s looking a bit white and strained to-day. Last week I thought he was a lot better, but he had a bad bout of it and he’s rather a nervous subject. You don’t expect farm-labourers to have nerves, do you. Lord Peter? But they’re human, like the rest of us.”

  “And Thoday is a very superior man,” said the Rector, as though superiority conveyed a licence to keep a nervous system. “He used to farm his own land till these bad times set in. Now he works for Sir Henry — that is to say, he did. I’m sure I don’t know what will happen now, with only that poor child left at the Red House. I suppose the trustee will let the place, or put in a steward to run it for her. It doesn’t bring in very much these days, I fear.”

  At this point a car overtook them and stopped a little way ahead. It proved to contain Superintendent Blundell and his assistants, and the Rector, apologising fussily for his remissness, made him and Wimsey acquainted with one another.

  “Pleased to meet you, my lord. I’ve heard of you through my old friend Inspector Sugg. He’s retired now — did you know? — and got a nice little place the other side of Leamholt. He often talks about you. Says you used to pull his leg something cruel. This is a bad job, this is. Between you and me, my lord, what was it you were going to say when the coroner interrupted you — about this chap Driver’s not being a motor-mechanic?”

  “I was going to say that he gave me the impression of having done most of his manual labour lately at Princetown or somewhere like that.”

  “Ah!” said the Superintendent, thoughtfully. “Struck you that way, did he? How was that?”

  “Eyes, voice, attitude — all characteristic, what?”

  “Ah!” said the Superintendent again. “Ever heard of the Wilbraham emeralds, my lord?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know that Nobby Cranton’s out again? And it seems he ain’t reported himself lately, neither. Last heard of six months ago in London. They’ve been looking for him. Maybe we’ve found him. In any case, I wouldn’t be surprised if we was to hear of those emeralds again before very long.”

  “Loud cheers!” said Wimsey. “I’m all for a treasure-hunt. This is confidential, of course?”

  “If you please, my lord. You see, if somebody thought it worth while to kill Cranton and smash him up and bury him, and cut off his hands, where he keeps his fingerprints, there’s somebody in this village that knows something. And the less they think we guess, the more free they’ll act and speak. And that’s why, my lord, I was rather glad when the reverend gentleman suggested you coming down here. They’ll talk freer to you than to me — see?”

  “Perfectly. I’m a terrific success at pottering r
ound asking sloppy questions. And I can put away quite a lot of beer in a good cause.”

  The Superintendent grinned, begged Wimsey to come and see him at any time, clambered into his car and drove off.

  * * *

  The great difficulty about any detective inquiry is knowing where to start. After some thought, Lord Peter made out the following list of queries:

  Identity of the Corpse.

  Was it Cranton? — Wait for report on teeth and police report.

  Consider the question of the ten-centime piece and the French underclothing. Has Cranton been in France?