Dorothy Sayers - Have His Carcass

Leila Garland yawned dreadfully.

‘Louise has a daughter, anyhow,’ pursued Wimsey, wrapped up in his speculation. ‘And she marries another Russian. Presumably they are living in, Russia again now. Melanie is the daughter’s name, and the husband is Alexis Gregorovitch, and they are the parents of Paul Alexis, otherwise Goldschmidt, who is rescued from the Russian revolution, brought over to England and naturalised, becomes a hotel gigolo and is murdered on the Flat-Iron Rock — why?’

‘Goodness knows,’ said Leila, and yawned again.

Wimsey, making sure that Leila had really told him all she knew, gathered up his precious piece of paper and carried the whole problem away to Harriet.

‘But it’s simply silly,’ said that practical young woman when she saw it. ‘Even if Alexis’ great-great-grandmother had been married to Nicholas I fifty times over, he wouldn’t have been the heir to the throne. Why, there are heaps and heaps of people nearer than he was — the Grand-Duke Dimitri, for instance, and all sorts of people.’

‘Oh? Of course. But you can always persuade people into believing what they want to you know. Some sort of tradition about it must have been handed down in the family from old Charlotte — you know what people are when they get these genealogical bugs in their heads. I know a fellow who’s a draper’s assistant in Leeds; who very earnestly told me once that he ought really to be King’ of England, if he could only find the record of somebody’s marriage to Perkin Warbeck. The trifling accident of a few intervening changes of dynasty didn’t worry him at all. He really thought he had only to state his case in the House of Lords to have the crown handed to him on a gold plate. And as for all the other claimants, Alexis would probably be told that they’d all abdicated in his favour. Besides, if he really believed in this family tree of his, he’d say that his claim was better than theirs, and that his great-great-grandmother was the only legitimate descendant of Nicholas I. 1 don’t think there, was a Salic Law in Russia to prevent his claiming through the female line. Anyhow, it’s perfectly clear now how the trap was baited. If only we could get hold of the papers that Alexis sent to “Boris” But they’ll have been destroyed, as sure as eggs is eggs.’

Inspector Umpelty, accompanied by Chief Inspector Parker, of Scotland Yard, rang the bell at No. 17 Popcorn Street, Kensington, and was admitted without difficulty. It was obliging of Chief Inspector Parker to be taking a personal interest in the matter, though Umpelty felt he could have done with a less distinguished escort — but the, man was Lord Peter’s brother-in-law and no doubt felt a peculiar interest in the case. At any rate, Mr Parker seemed disposed to leave the provincial inspector a free hand with his inquiries

Mrs Morecambe tripped into the room, smiling graciously.

‘Good morning. Won’t you sit down? Is it something, about this Wilvercombe business again?’

‘Well, yes, madam. There appears to be some slight misunderstanding.’ The Inspector brought out a notebook and cleared his throat. ‘About this gentleman, Mr Henry Weldon, to whom you gave a lift on the Thursday morning. I think you said that you drove him in to the Market’ Square?’

‘Why, yes. It is the Market Square, isn’t it? Just outside the town, with a sort of green and a building with a clock on it?’

‘Oh!’ said Umpelty, disconcerted. ‘No; that’s not the Market Square — it’s the fair-ground, where they have the football matches and the flower show. Was that where you put him down?’

‘Why, yes. I’m sorry. I quite thought it was the Market Square.’

‘Well, it’s called the Old Market. But what they call the Market Square now is the square in the centre of the town, where the point-constable stands.’

‘Oh, I see. Well, I’m afraid I’ve been giving you misleading information.’ Mrs Morecambe smiled. ‘Is that a very dreadful offence?’

‘It might have serious consequences, of course,’ said the Inspector, ‘but nobody can’t help a genuine mistake. Still, I’m glad to have it cleared up. Now, just as a matter of routine, madam, what did you yourself do that morning in Wilvercombe?’

Mrs Morecambe considered, with her head on one side.

‘’Oh, I did some shopping, and I went to the Winter Gardens, and I had a cup of coffee at the Oriental Cafe nothing very special.’

‘Did you happen to buy any gentleman’s collars?’

‘Collars?’ Mrs Morecambe looked surprised. Really, Inspector, you seem to have been going ‘into my movements very thoroughly.’ Surely I’m not suspected of anything?’

‘Matter of routine, madam,’ replied the Inspector, stolidly; he licked his pencil.

‘Well, no, I didn’t buy any collars. I looked at some.’

‘Oh, you looked at some.

‘Yes; but they hadn’t the sort my husband wanted.’

‘Oh, I see. Do, you remember the name of the shop?’

‘Yes—. Rogers & something — Rogers & Peabody, I think.’

‘Now, madam.’ The Inspector looked up from his note-book and stared sternly, at her. ‘Would it surprise you to learn that the assistant at Rogers & Peabody’s says that a lady dressed in the same style as yourself and answering your description, bought the collars there that morning and had the parcel taken out to the car?’

‘It wouldn’t surprise me at all. He was a very stupid_ young man. He did take a parcel out to the car, but it wasn’t collars. It was ties. I went in twice — once for the ties, and then I remembered the collars and went back; but as they hadn’t got what I wanted, I left them. That would be about half-past twelve-I think, if the time is of any importance.’

The Inspector hesitated. It might — it might just be true. The most honest witness makes a mistake sometimes. He decided to let it go for the moment.

‘And you picked Mr Weldon up at the Old Market again?’

‘Yes. But when you say it was this Mr Weldon, Inspector, you’re putting, words into my mouth. I picked up somebody — a man with dark spectacles — but I didn’t know his name till he told me, and I didn’t recognise the man afterwards when I saw him without the spectacles. In fact I thought then, and I still think, that the man I picked up, had dark hair. The other man’s voice sounded much the same — but, after all, that isn’t a lot to go upon. I thought it must be he, because; he seemed to remember all about it, and knew the number of my car, but of course, if it came to swearing to his identity well!’ She shrugged her shoulders.

‘Quite so, madam.’ It was clear enough to the Inspector what was happening. Since the discovery of the real time of the murder had made the morning alibi more dangerous than useful, it was being ruthlessly jettisoned. More trouble, he thought sourly, and more checking-up of times and places. He thanked the lady politely for her helpful explanation, and then asked whether he might have a word with Mr Morecambe.

‘With my husband?’ Mrs Morecambe registered surprise. ‘I don’t think he will be able to tell you anything. He was not staying at Heathbury at the time, you know.’

The Inspector admitted that he was aware of the fact, and added, vaguely, that this was a purely, formal inquiry. ‘Part of our system,’ he explained, and obscurely connected with the fact that Mr Morecambe was the legal owner of the Bentley.

Mrs Morecambe smiled graciously. Well, Mr Morecambe was at home, as it happened. He had not, been very well, lately, but no doubt he would be ready to, assist the Inspector if it was really necessary. She would ask him to come down.

Inspector Umpelty indicated that this was not really necessary. He would be happy to accompany Mrs Morecambe to her husband’s room. At which precaution Chief Inspector Parker smiled: any necessary arrangements; between the Morecambes would surely have been perfected by this time.