Dorothy Sayers - Have His Carcass

‘Oh, yes. Just across on the other side of the green. You can’t mistake it. It’s the only shop there is.’

‘Thank you. Oh, by the way — I suppose there isn’t a policeman in the village?’

The man halted as he was about to turn away and stared at her, shading his eyes from the sun’s glare. She noticed a snake tattooed in red and blue upon his forearm, and wondered whether he might perhaps have been a sailor.

‘No, there’s no policeman living in Darley. We share a constable with the next village, I believe he floats round on a bicycle occasionally. Anything wrong?’

‘There’s been an accident along the coast,’ said Harriet. ‘I’ve found a dead man.’

‘Good lord! Well, you’d better telephone through to Wilvercombe.’

‘Yes, I will, thanks. Come along, Mr Perkins. Oh! he’s’ gone on.’

Harriet caught up her companion, rather annoyed by his patent eagerness to dissociate himself from her and her errand.

‘There’s no need to stop and speak to everybody,’ complained Mr Perkins, peevishly. ‘I don’t like the look of that fellow, and we’re quite near the place now. I came through here this morning, you know.’

‘

‘I only wanted to ask if there was a policeman,’ explained Harriet, peaceably. She did not want to argue with Mr Perkins. She had other things to think of. Cottages had begun to appear, small, sturdy buildings, surrounded by little patches of gay garden. The road turned suddenly inland, and she observed with joy telegraph poles, more houses and at length a little green, with a smithy at one corner and children playing cricket on the grass. In the centre of the green stood an ancient elm, with a seat round it and an ancient man basking in the sunshine; and on the opposite side was a shop, with ‘Geo. Hearn: Grocer, displayed on a sign above it.

‘Thank goodness!’ said Harriet.

She almost ran across the little green and into the village shop, which was festooned with boots and frying-pans, and appeared to sell everything from acid drops to corduroy trousers.

A bald-headed man advanced helpfully from behind a pyramid of canned goods.

‘Can I use your telephone, please?’

‘Certainly, miss; what number?’

‘I want the Wilvercombe police-station.

‘The police-station?’ The grocer looked puzzled almost shocked. ‘I’ll have to look up the number for you,’ he said, hesitatingly. ‘Will you step into the parlour, miss — and sir?’

‘Thank you,’ said Mr Perkins. ‘But really, — I mean — it’s — the lady’s business really. I mean to say — if there’s any sort of hotel hereabouts, I think I’d better — that is to say — er — good-evening.’

He melted unobtrusively out of the shop. Harriet, who had already forgotten his existence, followed the grocer into the back room and watched him with impatience as he put on his spectacles and struggled with the telephone directory.

Chapter III. The Evidence Of The Hotel

‘Little and grisly, or bony and big,

White, and clattering, grassy and yellow;

The partners are waiting, so strike up a jig,

Dance and be merry, for Death’s a droll fellow.

Where’s Death and his sweetheart? We want to begin’

— Death’s Jest-Book

Thursday, 18 June

IT WAS a quarter-past five when the grocer announced that Harriet’s call was through. Allowing for stoppages and for going out of her way to, the Brennerton Farm, she had covered rather more than four miles of the distance between ‘the Grinders and Wilvercombe in very nearly three hours. True, she had actually walked six miles or more, but she felt that a shocking amount of time had been wasted. Well, she had done her best, but fate had been against her.

‘Hullo!’ she said, wearily.

‘Hullo!’ said an official voice.

‘Is that the Wilvercombe police?’

‘Speaking. Who are you?’

‘I’m speaking from Mr Hearn’s shop at Darley. I want to tell you that this afternoon at about two o’clock I found the dead body of a man lying on the beach near the Grinders.’

‘Oh!’ said the voice. ‘One moment, please. Yes. The dead body of a man at the Grinders. Yes?’’

‘He’d got his throat cut,’ said Harriet.

‘Throat cut,’ said the official voice. ‘Yes?’ ‘I also found a razor,’ said Harriet.

‘A razor?’ The voice seemed rather pleased, she thought by this detail. ‘Who is it speaking?’ it went on..

‘My name is Vane, Miss Harriet Vane. I am on a walking tour, and happened to find him. Can you send someone out to fetch me, or shall I—?’

‘Just a moment. Name of Vane — V-A-N-E yes. Found at two o’clock, you say. You’re a bit late letting us know, aren’t you?’

Harriet explained that she had had difficulty in getting through to them.’

‘I see,’ said the voice. ‘All right, miss, we’ll be sending a car along. You just stay where you are till we come. You’ll have to go along with us and show us the body.’

‘I’m afraid there’ won’t be any body by now,’ said Harriet.

‘You see, it was down quite close to the sea, on that big rock, you know, and the tide-’

‘We’ll see to that, miss,’ replied the voice, confidently, as though the. Nautical Almanack might be expected to conform to police regulations. ‘The car’ll be along, in about ten minutes or so.’

The receiver clicked and was silent. Harriet replaced her end of the instrument and stood for a few minutes, hesitating.

Then she took the receiver off again.

‘Give me Ludgate 6000—quick as ever you can. Urgent press call. I must have it within five minutes.’

The operator began to make objections.

‘Listen that’s the number. of the Morning Star. It’s a priority call.’

‘Well,’ said the operator, dubiously, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

Harriet waited.

Three minutes passed — four — five — six. Then the bell rang. Harriet snatched the receiver down. ‘Morning Star.’

‘Give me the news-room — quick.’

Buzz click.

‘Morning Star news-editor.’

Harriet gathered herself together to cram her story into the fewest and most telling words.

‘I am speaking from Darley near Wilvercombe, The dead body of a man was found at two o’clock this afternoon all right. Ready? — On the coast this afternoon with his throat cut from ear to ear. The discovery was made by Miss Harriet Vane, the well-known detective novelist. Yes, that’s right — the Harriet Vane who was tried for murder two years ago…. Yes…. The dead man appears to be about twenty years of age — blue eyes — short dark beard — dressed in a dark-blue-lounge — suit with brown shoes and chamois-leather gloves…. A razor was found near the body — Probably suicide. Oh, yes, it might be murder, or call it mysterious circumstances.-. Yes…. ‘Miss Vane, who is on a walking-tour, gathering material for her forthcoming book, The Fountain-Pen Mystery, was obliged to walk for several miles before getting help…. No, the police haven’t seen the body yet… it’s probably under water by now, but I suppose they’ll get it at low tide. I’ll ring you later… Yes…. What? Oh, this is Miss Vane speaking…. Yes… No, I’m giving you this exclusively…. Well, I suppose it will be all over the place, presently, but I’m giving you my story exclusively… provided, of course, you give me a good show…. Yes, of course…. Oh! well, I suppose I shall be staying in Wilvercombe…. I don’t know; I’ll ring you up when I know where I’m staying… Right… right… Good-bye.’

As she rang off, she heard a car draw up to the door, and emerged through the little shop to encounter a large man in a grey suit, who began impatiently: ‘I am Inspector Umpelty. What’s all this about?’