up to a point — was that there certainly had at one time been a hairdresser’s establishment in Massingbird Street, Manchester. The proprietor’s name had been Simpson, and this agreed with Bright’s story; but Massingbird Street had long disappeared in the course of town-improvement and, as Bright himself had warned them, it was difficult to find anybody who remembered what Simpson the hairdresser had looked like.
‘He must have lived in Manchester all right, some time or other, was the Inspector’s conclusion, ‘or he wouldn’t know all about Massingbird Street; and it’s quite probable he may be Simpson as he says. But what he’s been doing with himself between then and now is quite another matter.’
A further item of police information concerned old Pollock and his boat. A young constable, who had only recently joined the Wilvercombe force and was therefore likely to be unknown to the local fisher-folk, had been sent, disguised as a holiday-maker, to dawdle about the beach near Darley, in company with his young lady, and persuade Pollock to take them, both out for a sail in his boat. The trip had been an uncomfortable one, owing, in the first place to the old fisherman’s extreme surliness and, in the second, to the young lady’s unfortunate tendency to mal de mer. They had asked to be taken out as near as possible to the seaward end of the Grinders reef, ’as the young lady was that keen to see them drag for the body. Pollock had grumbled a good deal, but had taken them. They had kept the shore in view the whole way, but had finished their outward trip at a point too far from shore to make out clearly the movements of the search-party, who, at that particular moment, seemed to be engaged on shore in the immediate neighbourhood of the Flat-Iron. They had asked Pollock to put in close by the rock, but he had refused very; definitely to do so. During the voyage, the constable had examined the boat as closely as he could for signs of anything unusual. He had gone so far as to lose a hypothetical half-crown and insist on having the bottom-boards up to see if it could have slipped below them. He had searched the musty space below thoroughly with a flash-light; and seen; no appearance of blood-stains. For the sake of verisimilitude he had pretended to find the half-crown, and for the sake of peace had handed it, to Pollock by way of a tip. On the whole the expedition had been disappointing, having yielded nothing but seasickness and a close-up view of a considerable number of lobster-pots.
A question about Alexis’ passport found the Inspector very much on his dignity. Did his lordship really suppose they had overlooked that obvious point? Alexis certainly had a passport, and, what was more, had had it visa’d within the last month. Where for? Why, for France, to be sure. But of course he could have got fresh visas from the Consul there, if he had wanted them.
‘That offers some support for the theory that our young friend intended to flit, eh?’
‘Yes, my lord. And if he was, going to some remote place in Central Europe, I daresay he’d have found, gold sovereigns a sight handier than notes. Though why he shouldn’t have taken currency notes and changed them in Paris I, don’t know. Still, there it is, and he must have had some idea in his mind. I don’t mind admitting, my lord, that I’m coming round a bit to your way of thinking. Here’s a man with what I might call a purpose in view — and that purpose isn’t suicide. And he had £300 in gold on him, and there’s plenty as ‘ud do murder for less than that. At least, we’re supposing he had it on him. We can’t tell till we find the body.’
‘If he was murdered for the sake of the gold, you won’t know even then,’ said Wimsey.
‘No, my lord, that’s a fact. Unless we, was to find the belt or what not he had it in. And even then, likely as not, the murderer would have taken belt and all.’ The Inspector looked unhappy. ‘But there might be papers or something to tell us — always supposing the murderer didn’t take them as well or the salt water hasn’t made pulp of them.’
‘D’you know,’ said Wimsey, ‘I feel inspired to make a prophecy. I think you’ll find that Alexis was murdered all right, but not for the sake of the money. I mean, not the £300.’
‘Why do you think that, my lord?’
Because,’’ said’ Wimsey, ‘you haven’t found the body.’
The Inspector scratched his head.
‘You don’t mean that somebody, came and took the body away? What should they want to do that for?’
‘What indeed? If my idea’s the right one, that’s the one thing they wouldn’t want to do. They’d want the body found
‘Why?’
‘Because the murder was not committed for the £300 in gold.’
But you said that was why the body hadn’t been found’
‘So it is.’
‘Your proper walk in life,’ said Inspector Umpelty, you’ll excuse me, my lord, is setting crossword puzzles. Say that again. They wanted the body found, because they didn’t murder him for the £300. And because they didn’t murder him for, the £300, we can’t find the body. Is that right?’
‘That’s right.’
The Inspector frowned heavily. Then a radiant smile illuminated his broad face. He smacked his hand jubilantly upon his thigh.
‘Of course, my lord! By George, you’re perfectly riight What mutts we were not to see that before. It’s as clear as daylight. It was just your way of putting it that muddled me up. I must try that one on the. Super. Bet you he won’t see through it first go off. They didn’t want the body found, no, that’s wrong. They did want the body found because. they did, didn’t—’
‘Try it in rhyme, suggested Wimsey.
Why did they want the body found?
They didn’t want three hundred pound.
They didn’t want three hundred pound,
And that’s why the body wasn’t found.
‘Very good, my lord,’ said the Inspector. ‘Why, you’re quite a poet.’ He drew out his note-book, and solemnly made an entry of the quatrain.
‘You could sing it very nicely to the tune of “Here we go round the mulberry-bush”,’ suggested Wimsey, ‘with the refrain, “All on a Thursday morning”_ Or it should be “Thursday afternoon”, but that’s just poetic licence. You have my permission to perform it at your next Police-concert. No fee’
‘You will have your joke, my lord.’ The Inspector smiled indulgently, but as Wimsey left the police-station he heard a deep voice laboriously humming—
Why did they want the body found, body found, body found,
Why did they want the body found
All of a Thur-ursday morning?
Wimsey went back to the Bellevue and found a note from Harriet, containing the substance of her conversation with Mrs Weldon. He frowned over it for a moment and then abruptly summoned Bunter.
‘Bunter, my man,’ said he, ‘I think it is time you took a trip to Huntingdonshire.’