That on my birth have smiled,
said Lord Peter, and taught me to be bestially impertinent when I choose. Cat!
Two a.m. saw Lord Peter Wimsey arrive in a friends car at the Dower House, Denver Castle, in company with a deaf and aged lady and an antique portmanteau.
Its very nice to see you, dear, said the Dowager Duchess, placidly. She was a small, plump woman, with perfectly white hair and exquisite hands. In feature she was as unlike her second son as she was like him in character; her black eyes twinkled cheerfully, and her manners and movements were marked with a neat and rapid decision. She wore a charming wrap from Libertys, and sat watching Lord Peter eat cold beef and cheese as though his arrival in such incongruous circumstances and company were the most ordinary event possible, which with him, indeed, it was.
Have you got the old lady to bed? asked Lord Peter.
Oh, yes, dear. Such a striking old person, isnt she? And very courageous. She tells me she has never been in a motor-car before. But she thinks you a very nice lad, dear that careful of her, you remind her of her own son. Poor little Mr. Thipps whatever made your friend the inspector think he could have murdered anybody?
My friend the inspector no, no more, thank you, Mother is determined to prove that the intrusive person in Thippss bath is Sir Reuben Levy, who disappeared mysteriously from his house last night. His line of reasoning is: Weve lost a middle-aged gentleman without any clothes on in Park Lane; weve found a middle-aged gentleman without any clothes on in Battersea. Therefore theyre one and the same person, Q.E.D., and put little Thipps in quod.
Youre very elliptical, dear, said the Duchess, mildly. Why should Mr. Thipps be arrested even if they are the same?
Sugg must arrest somebody, said Lord Peter, but there is one odd little bit of evidence come out which goes a long way to support Suggs theory, only that I know it to be no go by the evidence of my own eyes. Last night at about 9.15 a young woman was strollin up the Battersea Park Road for purposes best known to herself, when she saw a gentleman in a fur coat and top-hat saunterin along under an umbrella, lookin at the names of all the streets. He looked a bit out of place, so, not bein a shy girl, you see, she walked up to him, and said: Good-evening. Can you tell me, please, says the mysterious stranger, whether this street leads into Prince of Wales Road? She said it did, and further asked him in a jocular manner what he was doing with himself and all the rest of it, only she wasnt altogether so explicit about that part of the conversation, because she was unburdenin her heart to Sugg, dyou see, and hes paid by a grateful country to have very pure, high-minded ideals, what? Anyway, the old boy said he couldnt attend to her just then as he had an appointment. Ive got to go and see a man, my dear, was how she said he put it, and he walked on up Alexandra Avenue towards Prince of Wales Road. She was starin after him, still rather surprised, when she was joined by a friend of hers, who said: Its no good wasting your time with him thats Levy I knew him when I lived in the West End, and the girls used to call him Peagreen Incorruptible friends name suppressed, owing to implications of story, but girl vouches for what was said. She thought no more about it till the milkman brought news this morning of the excitement at Queen Caroline Mansions; then she went round, though not likin the police as a rule, and asked the man there whether the dead gentleman had a beard and glasses. Told he had glasses but no beard, she incautiously said: Oh, then, it isnt him, and the man said: Isnt who? and collared her. Thats her story. Suggs delighted, of course, and quodded Thipps on the strength of it.
Dear me, said the Duchess, I hope the poor girl wont get into trouble.
Shouldnt think so, said Lord Peter. Thipps is the one thats going to get it in the neck. Besides, hes done a silly thing. I got that out of Sugg, too, though he was sittin tight on the information. Seems Thipps got into a confusion about the train he took back from Manchester. Said first he got home at 10.30. Then they pumped Gladys Horrocks, who let out he wasnt back till after 11.45. Then Thipps, bein asked to explain the discrepancy, stammers and bungles and says, first, that he missed the train. Then Sugg makes inquiries at St. Pancras and discovers that he left a bag in the cloakroom there at ten. Thipps, again asked to explain, stammers worse an says he walked about for a few hours met a friend cant say who didnt meet a friend cant say what he did with his time cant explain why he didnt go back for his bag cant say what time he did get in cant explain how he got a bruise on his forehead. In fact, cant explain himself at all. Gladys Horrocks interrogated again. Says, this time, Thipps came in at 10.30. Then admits she didnt hear him come in. Cant say why she didnt hear him come in. Cant say why she said first of all that she did hear him. Bursts into tears. Contradicts herself. Everybodys suspicion roused. Quod em both.
As you put it, dear, said the Duchess, it all sounds very confusing, and not quite respectable. Poor little Mr. Thipps would be terribly upset by anything that wasnt respectable.
I wonder what he did with himself, said Lord Peter thoughtfully. I really dont think he was committing a murder. Besides, I believe the fellow has been dead a day or two, though it dont do to build too much on doctors evidence. Its an entertainin little problem.
Very curious, dear. But so sad about poor Sir Reuben. I must write a few lines to Lady Levy; I used to know her quite well, you know, dear, down in Hampshire, when she was a girl. Christine Ford, she was then, and I remember so well the dreadful trouble there was about her marrying a Jew. That was before he made his money, of course, in that oil business out in America. The family wanted her to marry Julian Freke, who did so well afterwards and was connected with the family, but she fell in love with this Mr. Levy and eloped with him. He was very handsome, then, you know, dear, in a foreign-looking way, but he hadnt any means, and the Fords didnt like his religion. Of course were all Jews nowadays, and they wouldnt have minded so much if hed pretended to be something else, like that Mr. Simons we met at Mrs. Porchesters, who always tells everybody that he got his nose in Italy at the Renaissance, and claims to be descended somehow or other from La Bella Simonetta so foolish, you know, dear as if anybody believed it; and Im sure some Jews are very good people, and personally Id much rather they believed something, though of course it must be very inconvenient, what with not working on Saturdays and circumcising the poor little babies and everything depending on the new moon and that funny kind of meat they have with such a slang-sounding name, and never being able to have bacon for breakfast. Still, there it was, and it was much better for the girl to marry him if she was really fond of him, though I believe young Freke was really devoted to her, and theyre still great friends. Not that there was ever a real engagement, only a sort of understanding with her father, but hes never married, you know, and lives all by himself in that big house next to the hospital, though hes very rich and distinguished now, and I know ever so many people have tried to get hold of him there was Lady Mainwaring wanted him for that eldest girl of hers, though I remember saying at the time it was no use expecting a surgeon to be taken in by a figure that was all padding they have so many opportunities of judging, you know, dear.
Lady Levy seems to have had the knack of makin people devoted to her, said Peter. Look at the pea-green incorruptible Levy.
Thats quite true, dear; she was a most delightful girl, and they say her daughter is just like her. I rather lost sight of them when she married, and you know your father didnt care much about business people, but I know everybody always said they were a model couple. In fact it was a proverb that Sir Reuben was as well loved at home as he was hated abroad. I dont mean in foreign countries, you know, dear just the proverbial way of putting things like a saint abroad and a devil at home only the other way on, reminding one of the Pilgrims Progress.
Yes, said Peter, I daresay the old man made one or two enemies.
Dozens, dear such a dreadful place, the City, isnt it? Everybody Ishmaels together though I dont suppose Sir Reuben would like to be called that, would he? Doesnt it mean illegitimate, or not a proper Jew, anyway? I always did get confused with those Old Testament characters.
Lord Peter laughed and yawned.
I think Ill turn in for an hour or two, he said. I must be back in town at eight Parkers coming to breakfast.
The Duchess looked at the clock, which marked five minutes to three.
Ill send up your breakfast at half-past six, dear, she said. I hope youll find everything all right. I told them just to slip a hot-water bottle in; those linen sheets are so chilly; you can put it out if its in your way.
Chapter IV
So there it is, Parker, said Lord Peter, pushing his coffee-cup aside and lighting his after-breakfast pipe; you may find it leads you to something, though it dont seem to get me any further with my bathroom problem. Did you do anything more at that after I left?
No; but Ive been on the roof this morning.
The deuce you have what an energetic devil you are! I say, Parker, I think this co-operative scheme is an uncommonly good one. Its much easier to work on someone elses job than ones own gives one that delightful feelin of interferin and bossin about, combined with the glorious sensation that another fellow is takin all ones own work off ones hands. You scratch my back and Ill scratch yours, what? Did you find anything?
Not very much. I looked for any footmarks of course, but naturally, with all this rain, there wasnt a sign. Of course, if this were a detective story, thered have been a convenient shower exactly an hour before the crime and a beautiful set of marks which could only have come there between two and three in the morning, but this being real life in a London November, you might as well expect footprints in Niagara. I searched the roofs right along and came to the jolly conclusion that any person in any blessed flat in the blessed row might have done it. All the staircases open on to the roof and the leads are quite flat; you can walk along as easy as along Shaftesbury Avenue. Still, Ive got some evidence that the body did walk along there.
Whats that?
Parker brought out his pocketbook and extracted a few shreds of material, which he laid before his friend.
One was caught in the gutter just above Thippss bathroom window, another in a crack of the stone parapet just over it, and the rest came from the chimney-stack behind, where they had caught in an iron stanchion. What do you make of them?
Lord Peter scrutinized them very carefully through his lens.
Interesting, he said, damned interesting. Have you developed those plates, Bunter? he added, as that discreet assistant came in with the post.
Yes, my lord.
Caught anything?
I dont know whether to call it anything or not, my lord, said Bunter, dubiously. Ill bring the prints in.
Do, said Wimsey. Hallo! heres our advertisement about the gold chain in the Times very nice it looks: Write, phone or call 110, Piccadilly. Perhaps it would have been safer to put a box number, though I always think that the franker you are with people, the more youre likely to deceive em; so unused is the modern world to the open hand and the guileless heart, what?
But you dont think the fellow who left that chain on the body is going to give himself away by coming here and inquiring about it?
I dont, fathead, said Lord Peter, with the easy politeness of the real aristocracy; thats why Ive tried to get hold of the jeweller who originally sold the chain. See? He pointed to the paragraph. Its not an old chain hardly worn at all. Oh, thanks, Bunter. Now, see here, Parker, these are the finger-marks you noticed yesterday on the window-sash and on the far edge of the bath. Id overlooked them; I give you full credit for the discovery, I crawl, I grovel, my name is Watson, and you need not say what you were just going to say, because I admit it all. Now we shall Hullo, hullo, hullo!
The three men stared at the photographs.
The criminal, said Lord Peter, bitterly, climbed over the roofs in the wet and not unnaturally got soot on his fingers. He arranged the body in the bath, and wiped away all traces of himself except two, which he obligingly left to show us how to do our job. We learn from a smudge on the floor that he wore india rubber boots, and from this admirable set of finger-prints on the edge of the bath that he had the usual number of fingers and wore rubber gloves. Thats the kind of man he is. Take the fool away, gentlemen.
He put the prints aside, and returned to an examination of the shreds of material in his hand. Suddenly he whistled softly.
Do you make anything of these, Parker?
They seemed to me to be ravellings of some coarse cotton stuff a sheet, perhaps, or an improvised rope.
Yes, said Lord Peter yes. It may be a mistake it may be our mistake. I wonder. Tell me, dyou think these tiny threads are long enough and strong enough to hang a man?
He was silent, his long eyes narrowing into slits behind the smoke of his pipe.
What do you suggest doing this morning? asked Parker.
Well, said Lord Peter, it seems to me its about time I took a hand in your job. Lets go round to Park Lane and see what larks Sir Reuben Levy was up to in bed last night.
And now, Mrs. Pemming, if you would be so kind as to give me a blanket, said Mr. Bunter, coming down into the kitchen, and permit of me hanging a sheet across the lower part of this window, and drawing the screen across here, so so as to shut off any reflections, if you understand me, well get to work.
Sir Reuben Levys cook, with her eye upon Mr. Bunters gentlemanly and well-tailored appearance, hastened to produce what was necessary. Her visitor placed on the table a basket, containing a water-bottle, a silver-backed hair-brush, a pair of boots, a small roll of linoleum, and the Letters of a Self-made Merchant to His Son, bound in polished morocco. He drew an umbrella from beneath his arm and added it to the collection. He then advanced a ponderous photographic machine and set it up in the neighbourhood of the kitchen range; then, spreading a newspaper over the fair, scrubbed surface of the table, he began to roll up his sleeves and insinuate himself into a pair of surgical gloves. Sir Reuben Levys valet, entering at the moment and finding him thus engaged, put aside the kitchenmaid, who was staring from a front-row position, and inspected the apparatus critically. Mr. Bunter nodded brightly to him, and uncorked a small bottle of grey powder.
Odd sort of fish, your employer, isnt he? said the valet, carelessly.
Very singular, indeed, said Mr. Bunter. Now, my dear, he added, ingratiatingly, to the kitchen-maid, I wonder if youd just pour a little of this grey powder over the edge of the bottle while Im holding it and the same with this boot here, at the top thank you, Miss what is your name? Price? Oh, but youve got another name besides Price, havent you? Mabel, eh? Thats a name Im uncommonly partial to thats very nicely done, youve a steady hand, Miss Mabel see that? Thats the finger marks three there, and two here, and smudged over in both places. No, dont you touch em, my dear, or youll rub the bloom off. Well stand em up here till theyre ready to have their portraits taken. Now then, lets take the hair-brush next. Perhaps, Mrs. Pemming, youd like to lift him up very carefully by the bristles.