The Nine Tailors (12 page)

“One moment, Doctor. I take it we may assume that the deceased died in consequence of one or some of these blows upon the skull?”

“No; I do not think that the blows were the cause of death.”

At this point an excited murmur ran round the little hall, and Lord Peter Wimsey was distinctly observed to rub his finger-tips lightly together with a gratified smile.

“Why do you say that, Dr. Baines?”

“Because, to the best of my judgment and belief, all the blows were inflicted after death. The hands also were removed after death, apparently with a short, heavy knife, such as a jack-knife.”

Further sensation; and Lord Peter Wimsey audibly observed: “Splendid!”

Dr. Baines added a number of technical reasons for his opinion, chiefly connected with the absence of any extravasation of blood and the general appearance of the skin; adding, with proper modesty, that he was, of course, not an expert and could only proffer his opinion for what it was worth.

“But why should anybody inflict such savage injuries on a dead body?”

“That,” said the doctor drily, “is outside my province. I am not a specialist in lunacy or neurosis.”

“That is true. Very well, then. In your opinion, what was the cause of death?”

“I do not know. On opening the abdomen I found the stomach, intestine, liver and spleen considerably decomposed, the kidneys, pancreas and oesophagus in a fairly good state of preservation.” (Here the doctor wandered off into medical detail.) “I could not see,” he resumed, “any superficial signs of disease or injury by poison. I, however, removed certain organs” (he enumerated them) “and placed them in sealed jars” (further technical details) “and propose dispatching them to-day for expert examination by Sir James Lubbock. I should expect to receive his report in about a fortnight’s time—possibly earlier.”

The coroner expressed himself satisfied with this suggestion, and then went on: “You mentioned injuries to the arms and ankles, Doctor; what was the nature of those?”

“The skin of the ankles seemed to have been very much broken and abraded—as though the ankles had been tightly bound with cord or rope which had cut through the socks. The arms also showed the pressure marks of a rope above the elbows. These injuries were undoubtedly inflicted before death.”

“You suggest that somebody tied the deceased up with ropes, and then, by some means or other, brought about his death?”

“I think that the deceased was undoubtedly tied up—either by another person or by himself. You may remember that there was a case in which a young man at one of the universities died in circumstances which suggested that he had himself bound his own wrists and arms.”

“In that case, the cause of death was suffocation, I believe?”

“I believe it was. I do not think that was the case here. l round nothing to indicate it.”

“You do not, I suppose, suggest that the deceased went so far as to bury himself?”

“No; I do not suggest that.”

“I am glad to hear it,” said the coroner, sarcastically. “Can you suggest any reason why, if a man had accidentally or intentionally killed himself by tying himself up—?”

“After tying himself up; the tying of the arms and ankles would not in themselves be likely to cause death.”

“After tying himself up—why somebody else should then come along, smash his face in and then bury him secretly?”

“I could suggest a variety of reasons; but I do not think that is my province.”

“You are very correct. Doctor.”

Dr. Baines bowed. “He might, I suppose, have perished of starvation, if he had tied himself up and been unable to free himself?”

“No doubt. Sir James Lubbock’s report will tell us that.”

“Have you anything further to tell us?”

“Only that, as a possible aid to identification, I have made as careful a note as I can—in view of the extensive mutilation of the jaws—of the number and condition of deceased’s teeth, and of the dental work done upon them at various times. I have handed this note over to Superintendent Blundell in order that he may issue an inquiry.”

“Thank you, Doctor; that will no doubt be very helpful.”

The coroner paused, glanced through his notes and then turned to the Superintendent.

“In the circumstances. Superintendent, it seems to me advisable to adjourn the inquest until you have completed your investigations. Shall we say, till to-day fortnight? Then, if you should see your way to making any charge against anybody in connection with this crime, or accident, or whatever it is, we may if you like adjourn the inquiry sine die.”

“I think that would be the best way, Mr. Compline.”

“Very well. Gentlemen, we will adjourn until today fortnight.”

The jury, a little puzzled and disappointed at not being asked for any opinion, filed slowly out from behind the long trestle table at which they had been seated—a table dedicated under happier circumstances, chiefly to parish teas.

“A beautiful case,” said Lord Peter, enthusiastically, to Mr. Venables. “Quite charming. I am uncommonly grateful to you for drawing my attention to it. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. I like your doctor.”

“We consider him a very able man.”

“You must introduce me to him; I feel that we should get on well together. The coroner doesn’t like him. Some trifling personal antagonism, no doubt. Why, here is my old friend Hezekiah! How do you do, Mr. Lavender? How’s Tailor Paul?”

There was general greeting. The Rector caught the arm of a tall, thin man hurrying past their little group.

“Just a moment. Will. I want to introduce you to Lord Peter Wimsey. Lord Peter, this is Will Thoday, whose bell you rang on your last visit.”

Hands were shaken. “Very sorry I was to miss that peal,” said Thoday. “But I was pretty bad, wasn’t I, Rector?”

“You were indeed. You don’t look to have quite got over it yet.”

“I’m all right, sir, except for being troubled by a bit of a cough. But that’ll pass away with the spring weather coming.”

“Well, you must take care of yourself. How’s Mary?”

“Fine, sir, thank you. She was for coming to this here inquest, but I said as it wasn’t no place for a woman. I’m thankful I got her to stop at home.”

Yes; the doctor’s evidence was very disagreeable. Children all right? That’s splendid. Tell your wife Mrs. Venables will be coming round to see her in a day or two. Yes, she’s very well, thank you—distressed, naturally, by all this sad business. Ah! There’s Dr. Baines. Doctor! Lord Peter Wimsey wants very much to make your acquaintance. You’d better come and have a cup of tea at the Rectory. Good day. Will, good day!... I don’t like the looks of that fellow,” added the Rector, as they turned towards the Rectory. “What do you think of him, Doctor?”

“He’s looking a bit white and strained to-day. Last week I thought he was a lot better, but he had a bad bout of it and he’s rather a nervous subject. You don’t expect farm-labourers to have nerves, do you. Lord Peter? But they’re human, like the rest of us.”

“And Thoday is a very superior man,” said the Rector, as though superiority conveyed a licence to keep a nervous system. “He used to farm his own land till these bad times set in. Now he works for Sir Henry—that is to say, he did. I’m sure I don’t know what will happen now, with only that poor child left at the Red House. I suppose the trustee will let the place, or put in a steward to run it for her. It doesn’t bring in very much these days, I fear.”

At this point a car overtook them and stopped a little way ahead. It proved to contain Superintendent Blundell and his assistants, and the Rector, apologising fussily for his remissness, made him and Wimsey acquainted with one another.

“Pleased to meet you, my lord. I’ve heard of you through my old friend Inspector Sugg. He’s retired now—did you know?—and got a nice little place the other side of Leamholt. He often talks about you. Says you used to pull his leg something cruel. This is a bad job, this is. Between you and me, my lord, what was it you were going to say when the coroner interrupted you—about this chap Driver’s not being a motor-mechanic?”

“I was going to say that he gave me the impression of having done most of his manual labour lately at Princetown or somewhere like that.”

“Ah!” said the Superintendent, thoughtfully. “Struck you that way, did he? How was that?”

“Eyes, voice, attitude—all characteristic, what?”

“Ah!” said the Superintendent again. “Ever heard of the Wilbraham emeralds, my lord?”

“Yes.”

“You know that Nobby Cranton’s out again? And it seems he ain’t reported himself lately, neither. Last heard of six months ago in London. They’ve been looking for him. Maybe we’ve found him. In any case, I wouldn’t be surprised if we was to hear of those emeralds again before very long.”

“Loud cheers!” said Wimsey. “I’m all for a treasure-hunt. This is confidential, of course?”

“If you please, my lord. You see, if somebody thought it worth while to kill Cranton and smash him up and bury him, and cut off his hands, where he keeps his fingerprints, there’s somebody in this village that knows something. And the less they think we guess, the more free they’ll act and speak. And that’s why, my lord, I was rather glad when the reverend gentleman suggested you coming down here. They’ll talk freer to you than to me—see?”

“Perfectly. I’m a terrific success at pottering round asking sloppy questions. And I can put away quite a lot of beer in a good cause.”

The Superintendent grinned, begged Wimsey to come and see him at any time, clambered into his car and drove off.

* * *

The great difficulty about any detective inquiry is knowing where to start. After some thought, Lord Peter made out the following list of queries:

1. Identity of the Corpse.
   
   1. Was it Cranton?—Wait for report on teeth and police report.
      
   2. Consider the question of the ten-centime piece and the French underclothing. Has Cranton been in France?
      When? If not Cranton, is anyone known in the village also known to have been in France at any period since the War?
      
   3. The destruction of the hands and features after death suggests that the murderer had an interest in making recognition impossible. If the body is Cranton, who knew Cranton (a) by sight? (b) personally?
      
   (Note: Deacon knew him; but Deacon is dead. Did Mary Thoday know him?) Many people must have seen him at the trial.
   
2. The Wilbraham Emeralds.
   
   1. Resulting from the above: Was Mary Thoday (formerly Mary Deacon, née Russell) really after all concerned in the theft?
      
   2. Who really had the emeralds—Deacon or Cranton?
      
   3. Where are the emeralds now? Did Cranton (if it was Cranton) come to Fenchurch St. Paul to look for them?
      
   4. If the answer to 3 is “Yes,” why did Cranton wait till now to make his search? Because some fresh information had lately reached him? Or merely because he was continuously in prison till just lately? (Ask the Superintendent.)
      
   5. What is the meaning of “Driver’s” interest in Batty Thomas and Tailor Paul? Is anything to be gained from a study of the bells and/or their mottoes?
      
3. The Crime.
   
   1. What did deceased die of? (Wait for experts’ report.)
      
   2. Who buried (and presumably also killed) him?
      
   3. Can any clue to the time of the burial be gained by looking up the weather reports? (Snow? rain? footprints?)
      
   4. Whereabouts did the murder take place? The churchyard? the church? somewhere in the village?
      
   5. If the sexton’s tools were used, who had access to them? (“Driver,” apparently, but who else?)
      

Quite a lot of questions, thought his lordship, and some of them unanswerable till outside reports came in. The matter of the bell-mottoes could, of course, be looked into at once. He sought the Rector and asked whether he could, without too much trouble, lay his hand on Woollcott’s
History of the Bells of Fenchurch St. Paul,
which he had once spoken about. The Rector thought he could, and after he had hunted through all his study shelves and enlisted the aid of Mrs. Venables and Emily, the book was in fact discovered in a small room devoted to the activities of the Clothing Club (“and how it could have got there. I cannot imagine!”). From this work Wimsey distilled the following facts, interesting to archaeologists, but not immediately suggestive of anything in the way of corpses or emeralds:

Batty Thomas
(No. 7. Weight 30½ cwt. Note: D). The oldest bell in the ring in her present form, and older still in her original metal. First cast by Thomas Belleyetere of Lynn in 1338. Re-cast, with additional metal by Abbot Thomas of Fenchurch (fl: 1356–1392) in 1380. (This abbot also built the tower and the greater part of the existing nave, though the aisle windows were enlarged in Perpendicular style by Abbot Martin
circ.
1423.)

Inscriptions:

Shoulder—NOLI + ESSE + INCREDVLVS + SED + FIDELIS +

Waist—O SANCTE THOMA.

Soundbow—ABBAT . THOMAS . SETT . MEE . HEARE . AND . BAD . MEE . RINGE . BOTH . LOVD . AND . CLEER. 1380.

No record of any other bells at this time, though there was probably at least one other. We know, however, that in the reign of Elizabeth there was a ring of five bells in D of which

John
(No. 3. Weight 8 cwt. Note: A) was the original treble. She bears the name of her founder, John Cole, an itinerant founder of the period.

Inscription:

Soundbow—JHON . COLE . MAD . MEE . JHON . PRESBYTER . PAYD . MEE . JHON . EVAGELIST . AID . MEE . MDLVII.

Jericho
(No. 4. Weight 8½ cwt. Note: G) was the No. 2 of the old peal, and her maker seems to have thought aggressively well of her.

Inscription:

Shoulder—FROM . IERICHO . TO . IOHN . AGROAT . Yr . IS . NOE . BELLE . CAN . BETTER . MY . NOTE . 1559.

Of the original No. 4, nothing is known. The original No. 3 (F sharp) was a poor bell, flat in pitch and weak in quality. In James I’s reign, this bell was further flattened by the grinding away of its inner surface so as to produce some sort of approximation to F natural, and the great tenor bell was added to make a ring of six in C.