Dorothy Sayers - The Nine Tailors

“Hue and cry. Didn’t want to be caught with it on him. He may have parked it somewhere when he drove off, meaning to come back and fetch it later. You never know. But the longer I look at these photographs, the more positive I feel that the man I met was Cranton. The official description agrees, too — colour of eyes and all that. And if the corpse isn’t Cranton, what’s become of him?”

“There you are,” said Mr. Blundell. “I don’t see as we can do much more till we get the reports from London. Except, of course, as regards the burying. We ought to be able to get a line on that. And what you say about Miss Thorpe’s notion — I mean, as to the wreaths and that — may have something in it. Will you have a chat with this Mrs. Gates, or shall I? I think you’d better tackle Mr. Ashton. You’ve got a good excuse for seeing him, and if I went there officially, it might put somebody on his guard. It’s a nuisance, the churchyard being so far from the village. Even the Rectory doesn’t overlook it properly, on account of the shrubbery.”

“No doubt that circumstance was in the mind of the murderer. You mustn’t quarrel with your bread and butter, Superintendent. No difficulty, no fun.”

“Fun?” said the Superintendent. “Well, my lord, it’s nice to be you. How about Gates?”

“You’d better do Gates. If Miss Thorpe’s leaving tomorrow, I can’t very well call without looking a nosey parker. And Mr. Thorpe doesn’t approve of me. I daresay he’s issued an order: No Information. But you can invoke all the terrors of the law.”

“Not much, I can’t. Judges’ rules and be damned. But I’ll have a try. And then there’s—”

“Yes, there’s Will Thoday.”

“Ah!… but if Miss Thorpe’s right, he’s out of it. He was laid up in bed from New Year’s Eve till the i4th January. I know that for certain. But somebody in his house may have noticed something. It’ll be a bit of a job getting anything out of them, though. They’ve had a taste of the dock once, and they’ll get frightened, ten to one, the minute they see me.”

“You needn’t worry about that. You can’t very well frighten them worse than they’re frightened already. Go and read the Burial Service to them and watch their reactions.”

“Oh!” said the Superintendent. “Religion’s a bit out of my line, except on Sundays. All right — I’ll take on that part of it. Maybe, if I don’t mention that dratted necklace… but there, my mind’s that full of it, it’ll be a mercy if it don’t slip out.”

Which shows that policemen, like other people, are at the mercy of their sub-conscious preoccupations.

THE FOURTH PART

LORD PETER DODGES WITH MR. BLUNDELL AND PASSES HIM

“Dodging “is taking a retrograde movement, or moving a place backwards out of the ordinary hunting course… She will be seen to dodge with a bell, and pass a bell alternately throughout her whole work.

TROYTE.

“Well now, ma’am,” said Superintendent Blundell.

“Well, officer?” retorted Mrs. Gates.

It is said, I do not know with how much reason, that the plain bobby considers “officer” a more complimentary form of address than “my man,” or even “constable”; while some people, of the Disraelian school of thought, affirm that an unmerited “Sergeant” is not taken amiss. But when a highly-refined lady, with a grey glacé gown and a grey glacé eye, addresses a full-blown Superintendent in plain clothes as “officer,” the effect is not soothing, and is not meant to be so. At this rate, thought Mr. Blundell, he might just as well have sent a uniformed inspector, and had done with it.

“We should be greatly obliged, ma’am,” pursued Mr. Blundell, “for your kind assistance in this little matter.”

“A little matter?” said Mrs. Gates. “Since when have murder and sacrilege been considered little matters in Leamholt? Considering that you have had nothing to do tor the last twenty years but run in a few drunken labourers on market days, you seem to take your new responsibilities very coolly. In my opinion, you ought to call in the assistance of Scotland Yard. But I suppose, since being patronised by the aristocracy, you consider yourself quite competent to deal with any description of crime.”

“It does not lie with me, ma’am, to refer anything to Scotland Yard. That is a matter for the Chief Constable.”

“Indeed?” said Mrs. Gates, not in the least disconcerted. “They why does the Chief Constable not attend to the business himself? I should prefer to deal directly with him.”

The Superintendent explained patiently that the interrogation of witnesses was not, properly speaking, the duty of the Chief Constable. “And why should I be supposed to be a witness? I know nothing about these disgraceful proceedings.”

“Certainly not, ma’am. But we require a little information about the late Lady Thorpe’s grave, and we thought that a lady with your powers of observation would be in a position to assist us.”

“In what way?”

“From information received, ma’am, it appears probable that the outrage may have been committed within a very short period after Lady Thorpe’s funeral. I understand that you were a frequent visitor at the graveside after the melancholy event—”

“Indeed? And who told you that?”

“We have received information to that effect, ma’am.”

“Quite so. But from. whom?”

“That is the formula we usually employ, ma’am,” said Mr. Blundell, with a dim instinct that the mention of Hilary would only make bad worse. “I take it, that is a fact, is it not?”

“Why should it not be a fact? Even in these days, some respect may be paid to the dead, I trust.”

“Very proper indeed, ma’am. Now can you tell me whether, on any occasion when you visited the grave, the wreaths presented the appearance of having been disturbed, or the earth shifted about, or anything of that kind?”

“Not,” said Mrs. Gates, “unless you refer to the extremely rude and vulgar behaviour of that Mrs. Coppins. Considering that she is a Nonconformist, you would think she would have more delicacy than to come into the churchyard at all. And the wreath itself was in the worst possible taste. I suppose she was entitled to send one if she liked, considering the great and many favours she had always received from Sir Charles’ family. But there was no necessity whatever for anything so large and ostentatious. Pink hot-house lilies in January were entirely out of place. For a person in her position, a simple bunch of chrysanthemums would have been ample to show respect, without going out of her way to draw attention to herself.”

“Just so, ma’am,” said the Superintendent.

“Merely because,” pursued Mrs. Gates, “I am here in a dependent position, that does not mean that I could not have afforded a floral tribute quite as large and expensive as Mrs. Coppins’. But although Sir Charles and his lady, and Sir Henry and the late Lady Thorpe after them, were always good enough to treat me rather as a friend than a servant, I know what is due to my position, and should never have dreamed of allowing my modest offering to compete in any way with those of the Family.”

“Certainly not, ma’am,” agreed the Superintendent, heartily.

“I don’t know what you mean by ‘Certainly not,’” retorted Mrs. Gates. “The Family themselves would have raised no objection, for I may say that they have always looked on me as one of themselves, and seeing that I have been housekeeper here thirty years, it is scarcely surprising that they should.”

“Very natural indeed, ma’am. I only meant that a lady like yourself would, of course, take the lead in setting an example of good taste and propriety, and so forth. My wife,” added Mr. Blundell, lying with great determination and an appearance of the utmost good faith, “my wife is always accustomed to say to our girls, that for an example of ladylike behaviour, they cannot do better than look up to Mrs. Gates of the Red House at Fenchurch. Not”—(for Mrs. Gates looked a little offended)—“that Mrs. Blundell would presume to think our Betty and Ann in any way equal to you, ma’am, being only one of them in the post-office and the other a clerk in Mr. Compline’s office but it does young people no harm to look well above themselves, ma’am, and my wife always says that if they will model themselves upon Queen Mary, or — since they cannot have very much opportunity of studying her Gracious Majesty’s behaviour — upon Mrs. Gates of the Red House, they can’t fail to grow up a credit to their parents, ma’am.”