‘You always have a good reason for your actions, Bunter. May I ask why you have adopted this policy of modest self effacement?’
‘In case of your lordship’s subsequently desiring to have the person placed under, surveillance,’ suggested Bunted, ’it appeared to me to be preferable that he should not be in a position to recognise me.’
‘Oh!’ said Wimsey. ‘Am I to infer that the person presents a suspicious appearance? Or is this merely your native caution breaking out in an acute form? Well, perhaps you’re right. I’d better go up and interview the bloke. How about the police, by the way? We can’t very well keep this from them, can we?’
He deflected for a moment.
‘Better hear the story first. If I want you, I’ll’ phone down to the office. Have any drinks gone up?’
‘I fancy not, my lord.’
‘Strange self-restraint on Mr Hardy’s part. Tell them to bring up a bottle of Scotch and a siphon and some beer, for malt does more than Milton can to justify God’s ways to malt. At the moment there seem to be a good many things that call for justification, but perhaps I shall feel better about them when I’ve heard what Mr Bright has to tell me. Have at it!’
The moment Wimsey’s eyes fell. upon the visitor in his sitting-room he felt an interior conviction that his hopes were in a fair way, to be realised. Whatever the result, he had, at any rate, been upon the right track in the matter of the razor. Here were the sandy hair, the small stature, the indefinite crookedness of shoulder so graphically described by the Seahampton hairdresser. The man was dressed in a shabby-reach-me-down suit of blue serge, and held in his hands a limp felt hat, considerably the worse for wear. Wimsey noticed the soft skin and well-kept finger-nails, and the general air of poverty-stricken gentility.
‘Well, Mr Bright,’ said Hardy, as Wimsey entered, ‘here is the gentleman you want to see. Mr Bright won’t come across with his story to anybody but you, Wimsey, though, as.1 have explained to him, if he’s thinking of claiming the Morning Star reward, he’ll have to let me in on it.’
Mr Bright glanced nervously from one man to the other, and passed the tip of his tongue once or twice across his pallid lips.
‘I suppose that’s only fair,’ he said, in a subdued tone, ‘and I can assure you that the money is a consideration. But I am in a painful position, though I haven’t done any wilful harm. I’m sure if I had ever thought what the poor gentleman was going to do with the razor-’
‘Suppose we begin from the beginning,’ said Wimsey, throwing his hat upon a table and himself into a chair. ‘Come in! Oh, yes, drinks. What will you take, Mr Bright?’
‘It is very kind of your lordship,’ murmured Mr Bright, with humility, ‘but I’m afraid I — the fact is, when I saw that piece in the, paper I came away rather hurriedly. In fact, without my breakfast. I — that is to say — I am rather sensitive to alcohol taken upon an empty stomach.’
‘Bring up some sandwiches,’ said Wimsey to the waiter. ‘It is very good of you, Mr Bright, to have put yourself to so much inconvenience in the interests of justice.
‘Justice?’
‘?., mean, in order to help us with this inquiry. And of course, you must allow us to refund your expenses,’
‘Thank, you, my lord. I won’t say no. In fact,’ I am not in a position to refuse. I won’t disguise that my means are very limited. As a matter of fact,’ went on Mr Bright, with more frankness in the absence of the waiter, as a matter of fact, I had to go without any food in order to pay for my ticket. I don’t like making this confession. It’s very humiliating for a man who once had a flourishing business of his own. I hope you won’t think, gentlemen, that I have been accustomed to this kind of thing.’
‘Of course not,’ said Wimsey. Bad times may happen to anybody. Nobody thinks anything of that nowadays. Now, about this razor. By the way, your full name is-?’
‘William Bright, my lord. I’m a hairdresser by profession.
I used to have a business up Manchester way. But I lost money by an unfortunate speculation—’
‘Whereabouts in Manchester?’ put in Salcombe Hardy.
‘In Massingbird Street. But it’s all been pulled down now.
I don’t know if anybody would remember about it, I’m sure. It was before the War.’
‘Any War record?’ asked Hardy.
‘No.’ The hairdresser blushed painfully. ‘I’m not a robust man. I couldn’t get passed for active service.’
‘All right,’ said Wimsey. ‘About the razor. What are you doing now?’
‘Well, my lord, I am, as you might say, an itinerant hairdresser. I go from one place to the other, especially seaside towns during the season, and take temporary posts.’
‘Where did you work last?’
The man glanced up at him with his hunted eyes.
‘I haven’t had anything, really, for a long time. I tried to get work in Seahampton. In fact, I’m still trying. I went back there last Wednesday after trying Wilvercombe and Lesston Hoe. I had a week’s employment in Lesston Hoe. Ramage’s is the name of the place. I had to leave there—’
‘What for?’ Hardy was brusque. ‘there was trouble with a customer-’
‘Theft?’
‘Certainly not., He was a very quick-tempered gentleman. I had the misfortune to cut him slightly.’
‘Drunk and incompetent, eh?’ said Hardy. The small man seemed, to shrink together. ‘They said so, but on my word of honour-’
‘What, name were you going by there?’
‘Walters.’
‘Is Bright your real name?’
Under the lash of Hardy’s brutality, the story came out in all its sordid triviality. Alias after alias. A week’s trial here and there, and then dismissal on the same humiliating grounds. Not his fault. A glass of spirits affected him more than it did the ordinary person. Simpson was his real name, but he had used a great many since then. But to each name, the same reputation had stuck. It was his sad weakness,
which he had tried hard to overcome.
Hardy poured himself out a second glass of whisky, and carelessly left the bottle on the window-sill, out of Mr — Bright’s reach.
‘In the matter of the razor,’ said Wimsey, patiently.
‘Yes, my lord. I got that razor in Seahampton, from the place where I tried to get work. Merryweather, the name was. I needed a new razor, and he was willing to sell this one cheap.!
‘You’d better describe the razor,’ suggested Hardy.
‘Yes, sir. It was a Sheffield blade with a white handle, and it came originally from a retailer in Jermyn Street. It was a good razor, but a bit worn. I came on to Wilvercombe, but there was nothing doing here, except that Moreton, down on the Esplanade, said he might be requiring help later on. Then I went to Lesston Hoe. I told you about that. After trying one or two other places there, I came back here and tried Moreton again, but he had just engaged somebody. He would tell you about it, if you asked him There was nothing doing anywhere else. I grew very low in my spirits.’
Mr Bright paused and licked his lips again.