Whose Body? - Dorothy L. Sayers (motivational books to read .TXT) đ
- Author: Dorothy L. Sayers
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âYouâve got me there, Wimsey; I never noticed it. Stillâold bad habits die hard.â
âRight oh! Put it down at that. Third point: Gentleman with the manicure and the brilliantine and all the rest of it suffers from fleas.â
âBy Jove, youâre right! Flea-bites. It never occurred to me.â
âNo doubt about it, old son. The marks were faint and old, but unmistakable.â
âOf course, now you mention it. Still, that might happen to anybody. I loosed a whopper in the best hotel in Lincoln the week before last. I hope it bit the next occupier!â
âOh, all these things might happen to anybodyâseparately. Fourth point: Gentleman who uses Parma violet for his hair, etc., etc., washes his body in strong carbolic soapâso strong that the smell hangs about twenty-four hours later.â
âCarbolic to get rid of the fleas.â
âI will say for you, Parker, youâve an answer for everything. Fifth point: Carefully got-up gentleman, with manicured, though masticated, finger-nails, has filthy black toe-nails which look as if they hadnât been cut for years.â
âAll of a piece with habits as indicated.â
âYes, I know, but such habits! Now, sixth and last point: This gentleman with the intermittently gentlemanly habits arrives in the middle of a pouring wet night, and apparently through the window, when he has already been twenty-four hours dead, and lies down quietly in Mr. Thippsâs bath, unseasonably dressed in a pair of pince-nez. Not a hair on his head is ruffledâthe hair has been cut so recently that there are quite a number of little short hairs stuck on his neck and the sides of the bathâand he has shaved so recently that there is a line of dried soap on his cheekââ
âWimsey!â
âWait a minuteâand dried soap in his mouth.â
Bunter got up and appeared suddenly at the detectiveâs elbow, the respectful man-servant all over.
âA little more brandy, sir?â he murmured.
âWimsey,â said Parker, âyou are making me feel cold all over.â He emptied his glassâstared at it as though he were surprised to find it empty, set it down, got up, walked across to the bookcase, turned round, stood with his back against it and said:
âLook here, Wimseyâyouâve been reading detective stories; youâre talking nonsense.â
âNo, I ainât,â said Lord Peter, sleepily, âuncommon good incident for a detective story, though, what? Bunter, weâll write one, and you shall illustrate it with photographs.â
âSoap in hisâRubbish!â said Parker. âIt was something elseâsome discolorationââ
âNo,â said Lord Peter, âthere were hairs as well. Bristly ones. He had a beard.â
He took his watch from his pocket, and drew out a couple of longish, stiff hairs, which he had imprisoned between the inner and the outer case.
Parker turned them over once or twice in his fingers, looked at them close to the light, examined them with a lens, handed them to the impassible Bunter, and said:
âDo you mean to tell me, Wimsey, that any man alive wouldââhe laughed harshlyââshave off his beard with his mouth open, and then go and get killed with his mouth full of hairs? Youâre mad.â
âI donât tell you so,â said Wimsey. âYou policemen are all alikeâonly one idea in your skulls. Blest if I can make out why youâre ever appointed. He was shaved after he was dead. Pretty, ainât it? Uncommonly jolly little job for the barber, what? Here, sit down, man, and donât be an ass, stumpinâ about the room like that. Worse things happen in war. This is only a blinkinâ old shillinâ shocker. But Iâll tell you what, Parker, weâre up against a criminalâthe criminalâthe real artist and blighter with imaginationâreal, artistic, finished stuff. Iâm enjoyinâ this, Parker.â
Lord Peter finished a Scarlatti sonata, and sat looking thoughtfully at his own hands. The fingers were long and muscular, with wide, flat joints and square tips. When he was playing, his rather hard grey eyes softened, and his long, indeterminate mouth hardened in compensation. At no other time had he any pretensions to good looks, and at all times he was spoilt by a long, narrow chin, and a long, receding forehead, accentuated by the brushed-back sleekness of his tow-coloured hair. Labour papers, softening down the chin, caricatured him as a typical aristocrat.
âThatâs a wonderful instrument,â said Parker.
âIt ainât so bad,â said Lord Peter, âbut Scarlatti wants a harpsichord. Pianoâs too modernâall thrills and overtones. No good for our job, Parker. Have you come to any conclusion?â
âThe man in the bath,â said Parker, methodically, âwas not a well-off man careful of his personal appearance. He was a labouring man, unemployed, but who had only recently lost his employment. He had been tramping about looking for a job when he met with his end. Somebody killed him and washed him and scented him and shaved him in order to disguise him, and put him into Thippsâs bath without leaving a trace. Conclusion: the murderer was a powerful man, since he killed him with a single blow on the neck, a man of cool head and masterly intellect, since he did all that ghastly business without leaving a mark, a man of wealth and refinement, since he had all the apparatus of an elegant toilet handy, and a man of bizarre, and almost perverted imagination, as is shown in the two horrible touches of putting the body in the bath and of adorning it with a pair of pince-nez.â
âHe is a poet of crime,â said Wimsey. âBy the way, your difficulty about the pince-nez is cleared up. Obviously, the pince-nez never belonged to the body.â
âThat only makes a fresh puzzle. One canât suppose the murderer left them in that obliging manner as a clue to his own identity.â
âWe can hardly suppose that; Iâm afraid this man possessed what most criminals lackâa sense of humour.â
âRather macabre humour.â
âTrue. But a man who can afford to be humorous at all in such circumstances is a terrible fellow. I wonder what he did with the body between the murder and depositing it chez Thipps. Then there are more questions. How did he get it there? And why? Was it brought in at the door, as Sugg of our heart suggests? or through the window, as we think, on the not very adequate testimony of a smudge on the window-sill? Had the murderer accomplices? Is little Thipps really in it, or the girl? It donât do to put the notion out of court merely because Sugg inclines to it. Even idiots occasionally speak the truth accidentally. If not, why was Thipps selected for such an abominable practical joke? Has anybody got a grudge against Thipps? Who are the people in the other flats? We must find out that. Does Thipps play the piano at midnight over their heads or damage the reputation of the staircase by bringing home dubiously respectable ladies? Are there unsuccessful architects thirsting for his blood? Damn it all, Parker, there must be a motive somewhere. Canât have a crime without a motive, you know.â
âA madmanââ suggested Parker, doubtfully.
âWith a deuced lot of method in his madness. He hasnât made a mistakeânot one, unless leaving hairs in the corpseâs mouth can be called a mistake. Well, anyhow, itâs not Levyâyouâre right there. I say, old thing, neither your man nor mine has left much clue to go upon, has he? And there donât seem to be any motives knockinâ about, either. And we seem to be two suits of clothes short in last nightâs work. Sir Reuben makes tracks without so much as a fig-leaf, and a mysterious individual turns up with a pince-nez, which is quite useless for purposes of decency. Dash it all! If only I had some good excuse for takinâ up this body case officiallyââ
The telephone bell rang. The silent Bunter, whom the other two had almost forgotten, padded across to it.
âItâs an elderly lady, my lord,â he said. âI think sheâs deafâI canât make her hear anything, but sheâs asking for your lordship.â
Lord Peter seized the receiver, and yelled into it a âHullo!â that might have cracked the vulcanite. He listened for some minutes with an incredulous smile, which gradually broadened into a grin of delight. At length he screamed: âAll right! all right!â several times, and rang off.
âBy Jove!â he announced, beaming, âsportinâ old bird! Itâs old Mrs. Thipps. Deaf as a post. Never used the âphone before. But determined. Perfect Napoleon. The incomparable Sugg has made a discovery and arrested little Thipps. Old lady abandoned in the flat. Thippsâs last shriek to her: âTell Lord Peter Wimsey.â Old girl undaunted. Wrestles with telephone book. Wakes up the people at the exchange. Wonât take no for an answer (not beinâ able to hear it), gets through, says: âWill I do what I can?â Says she would feel safe in the hands of a real gentleman. Oh, Parker, Parker! I could kiss her, I reely could, as Thipps says. Iâll write to her insteadâno, hang it, Parker, weâll go round. Bunter, get your infernal machine and the magnesium. I say, weâll all go into partnershipâpool the two cases and work âem out together. You shall see my body tonight, Parker, and Iâll look for your wandering Jew tomorrow. I feel so happy, I shall explode. O Sugg, Sugg, how art thou suggified! Bunter, my shoes. I say, Parker, I suppose yours are rubber-soled. Not? Tut, tut, you mustnât go out like that. Weâll lend you a pair. Gloves? Here. My stick, my torch, the lampblack, the forceps, knife, pill-boxesâall complete?â
âCertainly, my lord.â
âOh, Bunter, donât look so offended. I mean no harm. I believe in you, I trust youâwhat money have I got? Thatâll do. I knew a man once, Parker, who let a world-famous poisoner slip through his fingers because the machine on the Underground took nothing but pennies. There was a queue at the booking office and the man at the barrier stopped him, and while they were arguing about accepting a five-pound-note (which was all he had) for a twopenny ride to Baker Street, the criminal had sprung into a Circle train, and was next heard of in Constantinople, disguised as an elderly Church of England clergyman touring with his niece. Are we all ready? Go!â
They stepped out, Bunter carefully switching off the lights behind them.
As they emerged into the gloom and gleam of Piccadilly, Wimsey stopped short with a little exclamation.
âWait a second,â he said. âIâve thought of something. If Suggâs there heâll make trouble. I must short-circuit him.â
He ran back, and the other two men employed the few minutes of his absence in capturing a taxi.
Inspector Sugg and a subordinate Cerberus were on guard at 59, Queen Caroline Mansions, and showed no disposition to admit unofficial inquirers. Parker, indeed, they could not easily turn away, but Lord Peter found himself confronted with a surly manner and what Lord Beaconsfield described as a masterly inactivity. It was in vain that Lord Peter pleaded that he had been retained by Mrs. Thipps on behalf of her son.
âRetained!â said Inspector Sugg, with a snort. âSheâll be retained if she doesnât look out. Shouldnât wonder if she wasnât in it herself, only sheâs so deaf, sheâs no good for anything at all.â
âLook here, Inspector,â said Lord Peter, âwhatâs the use of beinâ so bally obstructive? Youâd much better let me inâyou know Iâll get there in the end. Dash it all, itâs not as if I was takinâ the bread out of your childrenâs mouths. Nobody paid me for finding Lord Attenburyâs emeralds for you.â
âItâs my duty to keep out the public,â said Inspector Sugg, morosely, âand itâs going to stay out.â
âI never said anything about your keeping out of the public,â said Lord Peter, easily, sitting down on the staircase to thrash the matter out
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