Whose Body (12 page)

“Not officially,” said Lord Peter. “I am investigating the matter privately, in the interests of one of the parties.”

Mr. Crimplesham rose to his feet.

“My good man,” he said, “this is a very impudent attempt, but blackmail is an indictable offence, and I advise you to leave my office before you commit yourself.” He rang the bell.

“I was afraid you'd take it like that,” said Lord Peter. “It looks as though this ought to have been my friend Detective Parker's job, after all.” He laid Parker's card on the table beside the specification, and added: “If you should wish to see me again, Mr. Crimplesham, before to-morrow morning, you will find me at the Minster Hotel.”

Mr. Crimplesham disdained to reply further than to direct the clerk who entered to “show this person out.”

In the entrance Lord Peter brushed against a tall young man who was just coming in, and who stared at him with surprised recognition. His face, however, aroused no memories in Lord Peter's mind, and the baffled gentleman, calling out Bunter from the newspaper shop, departed to his hotel to get a trunk-call through to Parker.

Meanwhile in the office, the meditations of the indignant Mr. Crimplesham were interrupted by the entrance of his junior partner.

“I say,” said the latter, “has somebody done something really wicked at last? Whatever brings such a distinguished amateur of crime on our sober doorstep?”

“I have been the victim of a vulgar attempt at blackmail,” said the lawyer; “an individual passing himself off as Lord Peter Wimsey——”

“But that
is
Lord Peter Wimsey,” said Mr. Wicks, “there's no mistaking him. I saw him give evidence in the Attenbury emerald case. He's a big little pot in his way, you know, and goes fishing with the head of Scotland Yard.”

“Oh dear,” said Mr. Crimplesham.

Fate arranged that the nerves of Mr. Crimplesham should be tried that afternoon. When, escorted by Mr. Wicks, he arrived at the Minster Hotel, he was informed by the porter that Lord Peter Wimsey had strolled out, mentioning that he thought of attending Evensong. “But his man is here, sir,” he added, “if you like to leave a message.”

Mr. Wicks thought that on the whole it would be well to leave a message. Mr. Bunter, on inquiry, was found to be sitting by the telephone, waiting for a trunk-call. As Mr. Wicks addressed him the bell rang, and Mr. Bunter, politely excusing himself, took down the receiver.

“Hullo!” he said. “Is that Mr. Parker? Oh, thanks! Exchange! Exchange! Sorry, can you put me through to Scotland Yard? Excuse me, gentlemen, keeping you waiting—Exchange! all right—Scotland Yard—Hullo! Is that Scotland Yard?—Is Inspector Parker round there?—Can I speak to him?—I shall have done in a moment, gentlemen.—Hullo! is that you, Mr. Parker? Lord Peter would be much obliged if you could find it convenient to step down to Salisbury, sir. Oh, no, sir, he's in excellent health, sir—just stepped round to hear Evensong, sir—oh, no, I think to-morrow morning would do excellently, sir, thank you, sir.”

I
T WAS,
in fact, inconvenient for Mr. Parker to leave London. He had had to go and see Lady Levy towards the end of the morning, and subsequently his plans for the day had been thrown out of gear and his movements delayed by the discovery that the adjourned inquest of Mr. Thipps's unknown visitor was to be held that afternoon, since nothing very definite seemed forthcoming from Inspector Sugg's inquiries. Jury and witnesses had been convened accordingly for three o'clock. Mr. Parker might altogether have missed the event, had he not run against Sugg that morning at the Yard and extracted the information from him as one would a reluctant tooth. Inspector Sugg, indeed, considered Mr. Parker rather interfering; moreover, he was hand-in-glove with Lord Peter Wimsey, and Inspector Sugg had no words for the interferingness of Lord Peter. He could not, however, when directly questioned, deny that there was to be an inquest that afternoon, nor could he prevent Mr. Parker from enjoying the inalienable right of any interested British citizen to be present. At a little before three, therefore, Mr. Parker was in his place, and amusing himself with watching the efforts of these persons who arrived after the room was packed to insinuate, bribe or bully themselves into a position of vantage. The Coroner, a medical man of precise habits and unimaginative aspect, arrived punctually, and looking peevishly round at the crowded assembly, directed all the windows to be opened, thus letting in a stream of drizzling fog upon the heads of the unfortunates on that side of the room. This caused a commotion and some expressions of disapproval, checked sternly by the Coroner, who said that with the influenza about again an unventilated room was a death-trap; that anybody who chose to object to open windows had the obvious remedy of leaving the court, and further, that if any disturbance was made he would clear the court. He then took a Formamint lozenge, and proceeded, after the usual preliminaries, to call up fourteen good and lawful persons and swear them diligently to inquire and a true presentment make of all matters touching the death of the gentleman with the pince-nez and to give a true verdict according to the evidence, so help them God. When an expostulation by a woman juror—an elderly lady in spectacles who kept a sweet-shop, and appeared to wish she was back there—had been summarily squashed by the Coroner, the jury departed to view the body. Mr. Parker gazed round again and identified the unhappy Mr. Thipps and the girl Gladys led into an adjoining room under the grim guard of the police. They were soon followed by a gaunt old lady in a bonnet and mantle. With her, in a wonderful fur coat and a motor bonnet of fascinating construction, came the Dowager Duchess of Denver, her quick, dark eyes darting hither and thither about the crowd. The next moment they had lighted on Mr. Parker, who had several times visited the Dower House, and she nodded to him, and spoke to a policeman. Before long, a way opened magically through the press, and Mr. Parker found himself accommodated with a front seat just behind the Duchess, who greeted him charmingly, and said: “What's happened to poor Peter?” Parker began to explain, and the Coroner glanced irritably in their direction. Somebody went up and whispered in his ear, at which he coughed, and took another Formamint.

“We came up by car,” said the Duchess—“so tiresome—such bad roads between Denver and Gunbury St. Walters—and there were people coming to lunch—I had to put them off—I couldn't let the old lady go alone could I? By the way, such an odd thing's happened about the Church Restoration Fund—the Vicar—oh, dear, here are these people coming back again; well, I'll tell you afterwards—do look at that woman looking shocked, and the girl in tweeds trying to look as if she sat on undraped gentlemen every day of her life—I don't mean that—corpses of course—but one finds oneself being so Elizabethan nowadays—what an awful little man the Coroner is, isn't he? He's looking daggers at me—do you think he'll dare to clear me out of the court or commit me for what-you-may-call-it?”

The first part of the evidence was not of great interest to Mr. Parker. The wretched Mr. Thipps, who had caught cold in gaol, deposed in an unhappy croak to having discovered the body, when he went to take his bath at eight o'clock. He had had such a shock, he had to sit down and send the girl for brandy. He had never seen the deceased before. He had no idea how he came there.

Yes, he had been in Manchester the day before. He had arrived at St. Pancras at ten o'clock. He had cloak-roomed his bag. At this point, Mr. Thipps became very red, unhappy and confused, and glanced nervously about the court.

“Now, Mr. Thipps,” said the Coroner, briskly, “we must have your movements quite clear. You must appreciate the importance of the matter. You have chosen to give evidence, which you need not have done, but having done so, you will find it best to be perfectly explicit.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Thipps faintly.

“Have you cautioned this witness, officer?” inquired the Coroner, turning sharply to Inspector Sugg.

The Inspector replied that he had told Mr. Thipps that anything he said might be used agin' him at his trial. Mr. Thipps became ashy, and said in a bleating voice that he 'adn't—hadn't meant to do anything that wasn't right.

This remark produced a mild sensation, and the Coroner became even more acidulated in manner than before.

“Is anybody representing Mr. Thipps?” he asked, irritably. “No? Did you not explain to him that he could—that he
ought
to be represented? You did not? Really, Inspector! Did you not know, Mr. Thipps, that you had a right to be legally represented?”

Mr. Thipps clung to a chair-back for support, and said “No” in a voice barely audible.

“It is incredible,” said the Coroner, “that so-called educated people should be so ignorant of the legal procedure of their own country. This places us in a very awkward position. I doubt, Inspector, whether I should permit the prisoner—Mr. Thipps—to give evidence at all. It is a delicate position.”

The perspiration stood on Mr. Thipps's forehead.

“Save us from our friends,” whispered the Duchess to Parker. “If that cough-drop-devouring creature had openly instructed those fourteen people—and what unfinished-looking faces they have—so characteristic, I always think, of the lower middle-class, rather like sheep, or calves' head (boiled, I mean), to bring in wilful murder against the poor little man, he couldn't have made himself plainer.”

“He can't let him incriminate himself, you know,” said Parker.

“Stuff!” said the Duchess. “How could the man incriminate himself when he never did anything in his life? You men never think of anything but your red tape.”

Meanwhile Mr. Thipps, wiping his brow with a handkerchief, had summoned up courage. He stood up with a kind of weak dignity, like a small white rabbit brought to bay.

“I would rather tell you,” he said, “though it's reely very unpleasant for a man in my position. But I reely couldn't have it thought for a moment that I'd committed this dreadful crime. I assure you, gentlemen, I
couldn't bear
that. No. I'd rather tell you the truth, though I'm afraid it places me in rather a—well, I'll tell you.”

“You fully understand the gravity of making such a statement, Mr. Thipps,” said the Coroner.

“Quite,” said Mr. Thipps. “It's all right—I—might I have a drink of water?”

“Take your time,” said the Coroner, at the same time robbing his remark of all conviction by an impatient glance at his watch.

“Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Thipps. “Well, then, it's true I got to St. Pancras at ten. But there was a man in the carriage with me. He'd got in at Leicester. I didn't recognise him at first, but he turned out to be an old school-fellow of mine.”

“What was this gentleman's name?” inquired the Coroner, his pencil poised.

Mr. Thipps shrank together visibly.

“I'm afraid I can't tell you that,” he said. “You see—that is, you
will
see—it would get him into trouble, and I couldn't do that—no, I reelly couldn't do that, not if my life depended on it. No!” he added, as the ominous pertinence of the last phrase smote upon him, “I'm sure I couldn't do that.”

“Well, well,” said the Coroner.

The Duchess leaned over to Parker again. “I'm beginning quite to admire the little man,” she said.

Mr. Thipps resumed.

“When we got to St. Pancras I was going home, but my friend said no. We hadn't met for a long time and we ought to—to make a night of it, was his expression. I fear I was weak, and let him over-persuade me to accompany him to one of his haunts. I use the word advisedly,” said Mr. Thipps, “and I assure you, sir, that if I had known beforehand where we were going I never would have set foot in the place.

“I cloak-roomed my bag, for he did not like the notion of our being encumbered with it, and we got into a taxicab and drove to the corner of Tottenham Court Road and Oxford Street. We then walked a little way and turned into a side street (I do not recollect which) where there was an open door, with the light shining out. There was a man at a counter and my friend bought some tickets, and I heard the man at the counter say something to him about 'Your friend,' meaning me, and my friend said, 'Oh, yes, he's been here before, haven't you, Alf?' (which was what they called me at school), though I assure you, sir”—here Mr. Thipps grew very earnest—“I never had, and nothing in the world should induce me to go to such a place again.”

“Well, we went down into a room underneath, where there were drinks, and my friend had several, and made me take one or two—though I am an abstemious man as a rule—and he talked to some other men and girls who were there—a very vulgar set of people, I thought them, though I wouldn't say but what some of the young ladies were nice-looking enough. One of them sat on my friend's knee and called him a slow old thing, and told him to come on—so we went into another room, where there were a lot of people dancing all these up-to-date dances. My friend went and danced, and I sat on the sofa. One of the young ladies came up to me and said, didn't I dance, and I said 'No,' so she said wouldn't I stand her a drink then. 'You'll stand us a drink then, darling,' that was what she said, and I said, 'Wasn't it after hours?' and she said that didn't matter. So I ordered the drink—a gin and bitters it was—for I didn't like not to, the young lady seemed to expect if of me and I felt it wouldn't be gentlemanly to refuse when she asked. But it went against my conscience—such a young girl as she was—and she put her arm round my neck afterwards and kissed me just like as if she was paying for the drink—and it reely went to my 'eart,” said Mr. Thipps, a little ambiguously, but with uncommon emphasis.

Here somebody at the back said, “Cheer-oh!” and a sound was heard as of the noisy smacking of lips.

“Remove the person who made that improper noise,” said the Coroner, with great indignation. “Go on, please, Mr. Thipps.”

“Well,” said Mr. Thipps, “about half-past twelve, as I should reckon, things began to get a bit lively, and I was looking for my friend to say good-night, not wishing to stay longer, as you will understand, when I saw him with one of the young ladies, and they seemed to be getting on altogether too well, if you follow me, my friend pulling the ribbons off her shoulder and the young lady laughing—and so on,” said Mr. Thipps, hurriedly, “so I thought I'd just slip quietly out, when I heard a scuffle and a shout—and before I knew what was happening there were half a dozen policemen in, and the lights went out, and everybody stampeding and shouting—quite horrid, it was. I was knocked down in the rush, and hit my head a nasty knock on a chair—that was where I got that bruise they asked me about—and I was dreadfully afraid I'd never get away and it would all come out, and perhaps my photograph in the papers, when someone caught hold of me—I think it was the young lady I'd given the gin and bitters to—and she said, 'This way,' and pushed me along a passage and out at the back somewhere. So I ran through some streets, and found myself in Goodge Street, and there I got a taxi and came home. I saw the account of the raid afterwards in the papers, and saw my friend had escaped, and so, as it wasn't the sort of thing I wanted made public, and I didn't want to get him into difficulties, I just said nothing. But that's the truth.”