Part 13 (2/2)
”Levy went up into the library and never came down. You've been in Freke's library. Where would you have put him?”
”In my bedroom next door.”
”Then that's where he did put him.””But suppose the man went in to turn down the bed?”
”Beds are turned down by the housekeeper, earlier than ten o'clock.”
”Yes... But c.u.mmings heard Freke about the house all night.”
”He heard him go in and out two or three times. He'd expect him to do that, anyway.”
”Do you mean to say Freke got all that job finished before three in the morning?”
”Why not?”
”Quick work.”
”Well, call it quick work. Besides, why three? c.u.mmings never saw him again till he called him for eight o'clock breakfast.”
”But he was having a bath at three.”
”I don't say he didn't get back from Park Lane before three. But I don't suppose c.u.mmings went and looked through the bathroom keyhole to see if he was in the bath.”
Parker considered again.
”How about Crimplesham's pince-nez?” he asked.
”That is a bit mysterious,” said Lord Peter.
”And why Thipps's bathroom?”
”Why, indeed? Pure accident, perhaps--or pure devilry.”
”Do you think all this elaborate scheme could have been put together in a night, Wimsey?”
”Far from it. It was conceived as soon as that man who bore a superficial resemblance to Levy came into the workhouse. He had several days.””I see.”
”Freke gave himself away at the inquest. He and Grimbold disagreed about the length of the man's illness. If a small man (comparatively speaking) like Grimbold presumes to disagree with a man like Freke, it's because he is sure of his ground.”
”Then--if your theory is sound--Freke made a mistake.”
”Yes. A very slight one. He was guarding, with unnecessary caution, against starting a train of thought in the mind of anybody--say, the workhouse doctor. Up till then he'd been reckoning on the fact that people don't think a second time about anything (a body, say) that's once been accounted for.”
”What made him lose his head?”
”A chain of unforeseen accidents. Levy's having been recognized--my mother's son having foolishly advertised in the Times his connection with the Battersea end of the mystery--Detective Parker (whose photograph has been a little prominent in the ill.u.s.trated press lately) seen sitting next door to the d.u.c.h.ess of Denver at the inquest. His aim in life was to prevent the two ends of the problem from linking up. And there were two of the links, literally side by side. Many criminals are wrecked by over-caution.”
Parker was silent.
* Lord Peter was not without authority for his opinion: ”With respect to the alleged motive, it is of great importance to see whether there was a motive for committing such a crime, or whether there was not, or whether there is an improbability of its having been committed so strong as not to be overpowered by positive evidence.
But if there be any motive which can be a.s.signed, I am bound to tell you that the inadequacy of that motive is of little importance. We know, from the experience of criminal courts, that atrocious crimes of this sort have been committed from very slight motives; not merely from malice and revenge, but to gain a small pecuniary advantage, and to drive off for a time pressing difficulties.”--L. C. J. Campbell, summing up in Reg. v. Palmer, Shorthand Report, p. 308 C. C. C., May, 1856, Sess. Pa. 5. (Italics mine. D. L. S.) XI”A regular pea-souper, by Jove,” said Lord Peter.
Parker grunted, and struggled irritably into an overcoat.
”It affords me, if I may say so, the greatest satisfaction,” continued the n.o.ble lord, ”that in a collaboration like ours all the uninteresting and disagreeable routine work is done by you.”
Parker grunted again.
”Do you antic.i.p.ate any difficulty about the warrant?” enquired Lord Peter.
Parker grunted a third time.
”I suppose you've seen to it that all this business is kept quiet?”
”Of course.”
”You've muzzled the workhouse people?”
”Of course.”
”And the police?”
”Yes.”
”Because, if you haven't, there'll probably be n.o.body to arrest.”
”My dear Wimsey, do you think I'm a fool?”
”I had no such hope.”
Parker grunted finally and departed.
Lord Peter settled down to a perusal of his Dante. It afforded him no solace. Lord Peter was hampered in his career as a private detective by a public-school education. Despite Parker's admonitions, he was not always able to discount it.
His mind had been warped in its young growth by ”Raffles” and ”Sherlock Holmes,” or the sentiments for which they stand. He belonged to a family whichhad never shot a fox.
”I am an amateur,” said Lord Peter.
Nevertheless, while communing with Dante, he made up his mind.
In the afternoon he found himself in Harley Street. Sir Julian Freke might be consulted about one's nerves from two till four on Tuesdays and Fridays. Lord Peter rang the bell.
”Have you an appointment, sir?” enquired the man who opened the door.
”No,” said Lord Peter, ”but will you give Sir Julian my card? I think it possible he may see me without one.”
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