Lord Peter Views the Body (27 page)

    ‘Oh, look!’ broke in Gherkins. ‘Here’s a picture of a man being chopped up in little bits. What does it say about it?’

    ‘I thought you could read Latin.’

    ‘Well, but it’s all full of sort of pothooks. What do they mean?’

    ‘They’re just contractions,’ said Lord Peter patiently. ‘“
Solent quoque hujus insulæ cultores
” – It is the custom of the dwellers in this island, when they see their parents stricken in years and of no further use, to take them down into the market-place and sell them to the cannibals, who kill them and eat them for food. This they do also with younger persons when they fall into any desperate sickness.’

    ‘Ha, ha!’ said Mr Ffolliott. ‘Rather sharp practice on the poor cannibals. They never got anything but tough old joints or diseased meat, eh?’

    ‘The inhabitants seem to have had thoroughly advanced notions of business,’ agreed his lordship.

    The viscount was enthralled.

    ‘I
do
like this book,’ he said; ‘could I buy it out of my pocket-money, please?’

    ‘Another problem for uncles,’ thought Lord Peter, rapidly ransacking his recollections of the
Cosmographia
to determine whether any of its illustrations were indelicate; for he knew the duchess to be strait-laced. On consideration, he could only remember one that was dubious, and there was a sporting chance that the duchess might fail to light upon it.

    ‘Well,’ he said judicially, ‘in your place, Gherkins, I should be inclined to buy it. It’s in a bad state, as Mr Ffolliott has honourably told you – otherwise, of course, it would be exceedingly valuable; but, apart from the lost pages, it’s a very nice clean copy, and certainly worth five shillings to you, if you think of starting a collection.’

    Till that moment, the viscount had obviously been more impressed by the cannibals than by the state of the margins, but the idea of figuring next term at Mr Bultridge’s as a collector of rare editions had undeniable charm.

    ‘None of the other fellows collect books,’ he said; ‘they collect stamps, mostly. I think stamps are rather ordinary, don’t you, Uncle Peter? I was rather thinking of giving up stamps. Mr Porter, who takes us for history, has got a lot of books like yours, and he is a splendid man at footer.’

    Rightly interpreting this reference to Mr Porter, Lord Peter gave it as his opinion that book-collecting could be a perfectly manly pursuit. Girls, he said, practically never took it up, because it meant so much learning about dates and type-faces and other technicalities which called for a masculine brain.

    ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘it’s a very interesting book in itself, you know. Well worth dipping into.’

    ‘I’ll take it, please,’ said the viscount, blushing a little at transacting so important and expensive a piece of business; for the duchess did not encourage lavish spending by little boys, and was strict in the matter of allowances.

    Mr Ffolliott bowed, and took the
Cosmographia
away to wrap it up.

    ‘Are you all right for cash?’ enquired Lord Peter discreetly. ‘Or can I be of temporary assistance?’

    ‘No, thank you, uncle; I’ve got Aunt Mary’s half-crown and four shillings of my pocket-money, because, you see, with the measles happening, we didn’t have our dormitory spread, and I was saving up for that.’

    The business being settled in this gentlemanly manner, and the budding bibliophile taking personal and immediate charge of the stout, square volume, a taxi was chartered which, in due course of traffic delays, brought the
Cosmographia
to 110A Piccadilly.

‘And who, Bunter, is Mr Wilberforce Pope?’

    ‘I do not think we know the gentleman, my lord. He is asking to see your lordship for a few minutes on business.’

    ‘He probably wants me to find a lost dog for his maiden aunt. What it is to have acquired a reputation as a sleuth! Show him in. Gherkins, if this good gentleman’s business turns out to be private, you’d better retire into the dining-room.’

    ‘Yes, Uncle Peter,’ said the viscount dutifully. He was extended on his stomach on the library hearthrug, laboriously picking his way through the more exciting-looking bits of the
Cosmographia
, with the aid of Messrs Lewis & Short, whose monumental compilation he had hitherto looked upon as a barbarous invention for the annoyance of upper forms.

    Mr Wilberforce Pope turned out to be a rather plump, fair gentleman in the late thirties, with a prematurely bald forehead, horn-rimmed spectacles, and an engaging manner.

    ‘You will excuse my intrusion, won’t you?’ he began. ‘I’m sure you must think me a terrible nuisance. But I wormed your name and address out of Mr Ffolliott. Not his fault, really. You won’t blame him, will you? I positively badgered the poor man. Sat down on his doorstep and refused to go, though the boy was putting up the shutters. I’m afraid you will think me very silly when you know what it’s all about. But you really mustn’t hold poor Mr Ffolliott responsible, now, will you?’

    ‘Not at all,’ said his lordship. ‘I mean, I’m charmed and all that sort of thing. Something I can do for you about books? You’re a collector, perhaps? Will you have a drink or any thing?’

    ‘Well, no,’ said Mr Pope, with a faint giggle. ‘No, not exactly a collector, Thank you very much, just a spot – no, no, literally a spot. Thank you; no’ – he glanced round the bookshelves, with their rows of rich old leather bindings – ‘certainly not a collector. But I happen to be – er, interested – sentimentally interested – in a purchase you made yesterday. Really, such a very small matter. You will think it foolish. But I am told you are the present owner of a copy of Munster’s
Cosmographia
, which used to belong to my uncle, Dr Conyers.’

    Gherkins looked up suddenly, seeing that the conversation had a personal interest for him.

    ‘Well, that’s not quite correct,’ said Wimsey. ‘I was there at the time, but the actual purchaser is my nephew. Gerald, Mr Pope is interested in your
Cosmographia
. My nephew, Lord St George.’

    ‘How do you do, young man,’ said Mr Pope affably. ‘I see that the collecting spirit runs in the family. A great Latin scholar, too, I expect, eh? Ready to decline
jusjurandum
with the best of us? Ha, ha! And what are you going to do when you grow up? Be Lord Chancellor, eh? Now, I bet you think you’d rather be an engine-driver, what, what?’

    ‘No, thank you,’ said the viscount, with aloofness.

    ‘What, not an engine-driver? Well, now, I want you to be a real business man this time. Put through a book deal, you know. Your uncle will see I offer you a fair price, what? Ha, ha! Now, you see, that picture-book of yours has a great value for me that it wouldn’t have for anybody else. When
I
was a little boy of your age it was one of my very greatest joys. I used to have it to look at on Sundays. Ah, dear! the happy hours I used to spend with those quaint old engravings, and the funny old maps with the ships and salamanders and “
Hic dracones
”
–
you know what
that
means, I dare say. What does it mean?’

    ‘Here are dragons,’ said the viscount, unwillingly but still politely.

    ‘Quite right. I
knew
you were a scholar.’

    ‘It’s a very attractive book,’ said Lord Peter. ‘My nephew was quite entranced by the famous Cracow monster.’

    ‘Ah yes – a glorious monster, isn’t it?’ agreed Mr Pope, with enthusiasm. ‘Many’s the time I’ve fancied myself as Sir Lancelot or somebody on a white war horse, charging that monster, lance in rest, with the captive princess cheering me on. Ah! childhood! You’re living the happiest days of your life, young man. You won’t believe me, but you are.’

    ‘Now what is it exactly you want my nephew to do?’ enquired Lord Peter a little sharply.

    ‘Quite right, quite right. Well now, you know, my uncle, Dr Conyers, sold his library a few months ago. I was abroad at the time, and it was only yesterday, when I went down to Yelsall on a visit, that I learnt the dear old book had gone with the rest. I can’t tell you how distressed I was. I know it’s not valuable – a great many pages missing and all that – but I can’t bear to think of its being gone. So, purely from sentimental reasons, as I said, I hurried off to Ffolliott’s to see if I could get it back. I was quite upset to find I was too late, and gave poor Mr Ffolliott no peace till he told me the name of the purchaser. Now, you see, Lord St George, I’m here to make you an offer for the book. Come, now, double what you gave for it. That’s a good offer, isn’t it, Lord Peter? Ha, ha! And you will be doing me a very great kindness as well.’

    Viscount St George looked rather distressed, and turned appealingly to his uncle.

    ‘Well, Gerald,’ said Lord Peter, ‘it’s your affair, you know. What do you say?’

    The viscount stood first on one leg and then on the other. The career of a book collector evidently had its problems, like other careers.

    ‘If you please, Uncle Peter,’ he said, with embarrassment, ‘may I whisper?’

    ‘It’s not usually considered the thing to whisper, Gherkins, but you could ask Mr Pope for time to consider his offer. Or you could say you would prefer to consult me first. That would be quite in order.’

    ‘Then, if you don’t mind, Mr Pope, I should like to consult my uncle first.’

    ‘Certainly, certainly; ha, ha!’ said Mr Pope. ‘Very prudent to consult a collector of greater experience, what? Ah! the younger generation, eh, Lord Peter? Regular little business men, already.’

    ‘Excuse us, then, for one moment,’ said Lord Peter, and drew his nephew into the dining-room.

    ‘I say Uncle Peter,’ said the collector breathlessly, when the door was shut, ‘
need
I give him my book? I don’t think he’s a very nice man. I
hate
people who ask you to decline nouns for them.’

    ‘Certainly you needn’t, Gherkins, if you don’t want to. The book is yours, and you’ve a right to it.’

    ‘What would
you
do, uncle?’

    Before replying, Lord Peter, the most surprising manner, tiptoed gently to the door which communicated with the library and flung it suddenly open, in time to catch Mr Pope kneeling on the hearthrug intently turning over the pages of the coveted volume, which lay as the owner had left it. He started to his feet in a flurried manner as the door opened.

    ‘Do help yourself, Mr Pope, won’t you?’ cried Lord Peter hospitably, and closed the door again.

    ‘What is it, Uncle Peter?’

    ‘If you want my advice, Gherkins, I should be rather careful how you had any dealings with Mr Pope. I don’t think he’s telling the truth. He called those wood-cuts engravings – though, of course, that may be just his ignorance. But I can’t believe that he spent all his childhood’s Sunday afternoons studying those maps and picking out the dragons in them, because, as you may have noticed for yourself, old Munster put very few dragons into his maps. They’re mostly just plain maps – a bit queer to our ideas of geography, but perfectly straightforward. That was why I brought in the Cracow monster, and, you see, he thought it was some sort of dragon.’

    ‘Oh, I say, uncle! So you said that on purpose!’

    ‘If Mr Pope wants the
Cosmographia
, it’s for some reason he doesn’t want to tell us about. And, that being so, I wouldn’t be in too big a hurry to sell, if the book were mine. See?’

    ‘Do you mean there’s something frightfully valuable about the book, which we don’t know?’

    ‘Possibly.’

    ‘How exciting! It’s just like a story in the
Boys’ Friend Library
. What am I to say to him, uncle?’

    ‘Well, in your place I wouldn’t be dramatic or anything. I’d just say you’ve considered the matter, and you’ve taken a fancy to the book and have decided not to sell.
’
You thank him for his offer, of course.’

    ‘Yes – er, won’t you say it for me, uncle?’

    ‘I think it would look better if you did it yourself.’

    ’Yes, perhaps it would. Will he be very cross?’

    ‘Possibly,’ said Lord Peter, ‘but, if he is, he won’t let on. Ready?’

    The consulting committee accordingly returned to the library. Mr Pope had prudently retired from the hearthrug and was examining a distant bookcase.

    ‘Thank you very much for your offer, Mr Pope,’ said the viscount, striding stoutly up to him, ‘but I have considered it, and I have taken a – a – a fancy for the book and decided not to sell’

    ‘Sorry and all that,’ put in Lord Peter, ‘but my nephew’s adamant about it. No, it isn’t the price; he wants the book. Wish I could oblige you, but it isn’t in my hands. Won’t you take something else before you go? Really? Ring the bell, Gherkins. My man will see you to the lift.
Good
evening.’

    When the visitor had gone, Lord Peter returned and thoughtfully picked up the book.