‘Very good, my lord.’
‘You will go to a place called Leamhurst, and find out all about Mr Henry Weldon, who owns a farm there.’ ‘Certainly, my lord.’
‘It’s only a small village, so you must have some reason for going there. I suggest that you purchase or hire a car and are benighted, owing to some intricate kind of engine trouble:
‘Precisely, my lord.’
‘Here is £30. If you want more, let me know.’ ‘Very good, my lord.’
‘You will, naturally, stay at the principal pub and pursue your inquiries in the bar.’
‘Naturally, my lord.’ ‘
‘You will find out everything you can about Mr Weldon, and, in particular, what his financial standing and reputation may be.’
‘Quite so, my lord.’
‘You will be as quick as you can about it, and return here as soon as possible.’
‘Very good, my lord.’—
‘You will start immediately.’ ‘Very good, my lord.’
‘Then be off!’
‘Very good, my lord. Your lordship’s dress-shirts are in the second drawer and the silk socks in the tray on the right-hand side of the wardrobe, with the dress-ties just above them.’
‘Very good, Bunter,’ said Wimsey, mechanically.
Ten minutes later, Mr Bunter, suitcase in hand, was on his way to the railway-station.
Chapter XVIII. The Evidence Of The Snake
‘There is a little, hairy, green-eyed snake,
Of voice like to the woody nightingale,
And ever singing pitifully sweet,
That nestles in the barry bones of Death,
And is his dearest friend and playfellow.’
— Death’s Jest-Book
Wednesday, 24 June
ON LEAVING the Turkish baths, Miss Harriet Vane went out on a shopping expedition. This was her second venture of the kind since her arrival in Wilvercombe, and on both occasions her purchases were dictated by the desire of pleasing a man. On this occasion, she wanted an afternoon frock. And why? She was going out for a picnic.
She had picnicked before, with Lord Peter; and for him the old tweed skirt and well-worn jumper had been good enough. But today, these garments would not do. Her appointment was with Mrs Weldon and Henry.
The curious inhibitions which caused her to be abrupt, harsh, and irritating with Lord Peter did not seem to trouble her in dealing with Henry Weldon. For him she produced a latent strain of sweet womanliness which would have surprised Wimsey. She now selected a slinky garment, composed of what male writers call ‘some soft, clinging material, with a corsage which outlined the figure and a skirt which waved tempestuously about her ankles. She enhanced its appeal with an oversized hat of which one side obscured her face and tickled her shoulder, while the other was turned back to reveal a bunch of black ringlets, skilfully curled into position by the head hairdresser at the Resplendent. High-heeled beige shoes and sheer silk stockings, with embroidered gloves and a hand-bag completed this alluring toilette, so eminently unsuitable for picnicking. In addition, she made up her face with just so much artful restraint as to suggest enormous experience aping an impossible innocence, and, thus embellished, presently took her place beside Henry in the driving-seat of Mrs Weldon’s large saloon. Mrs Weldon sat at the back of the car, with a luxurious tea-basket at her feet and a case of liquid refreshment beside her.
Henry seemed gratified by the efforts made to please him, and by Miss Vane’s openly expressed admiration of his driving. This was of a showy and ill-tempered kind, and involved ‘putting the wind up’ other users of the road. Harriet had herself driven cars, and suffered as all drivers do when being driven, but even when Henry rounded a corner very wide at fifty miles an hour and crammed a motor-cyclist into the ditch, she merely remarked (with some truth) that the speed made her feel quite nervous.
Mr Weldon, braking violently at the unexpected sight of a herd of cows nearly under his radiator, and crashing his gears as he changed down, smiled indulgently.
‘No point in these damned machines of you don’t make ’em move,’ he said. ‘Not like a horse — no life in,’em. Only useful for getting from one place to another.’
He waited while the cows dawdled by and then let his clutch in with a bang which nearly shot the liquid refreshment to the floor.
‘You don’t catch me motoring for pleasure,’ said Mr Weldon. ‘I like fresh air none of these beastly stuffy boxes and stinking petrol. Used to breed geese once — but the bottom’s dropped out of the market. Damned shame.’
Harriet agreed, and said she was so fond of horses. Life on a farm must be wonderful.
‘All right if you don’t have to make it pay,’ growled Mr Weldon.
‘I suppose it is rather hard nowadays.’
‘Damned hard,’ said Mr Weldon, adding, however — as though recollecting himself, ‘not that I have a lot to grumble at as things go:
‘No? I’m glad of that. I mean, it’s nice for you to be able to leave your work and come down here. I suppose a really well-managed farm runs itself, so to speak.’
Mr Weldon glanced at her almost as though he suspected her of some hidden meaning. She smiled innocently at him, and he said:
Well — as a matter of fact, it’s a beastly nuisance. But what can one do? Couldn’t leave my mother all by herself in this hole.’
‘Of course not; I think it’s splendid of you to come and stand by her. And besides — well, I mean, it makes such a difference to have somebody really nice to talk to.’
‘Jolly of you to say that.’
‘I mean, it must make all the difference to your mother.’ ‘Not to you, eh? Dukes and lords are good enough’ for you?
‘Oh!’ Harriet wriggled her shoulders. ‘If you mean Lord Peter he’s all right, of course, but he’s a little you know what I mean.’
‘La-di-dah!’ said Mr Weldon. ‘What’s he want to wear that silly thing in his eye for?’
‘That’s just what I feel. It isn’t manly, is it?’
‘Lot of affected nonsense,’ said Mr Weldon. Take that fellow away from his valet and his car and his evening togs, and where’d he be? Thinks he can ride, because he’s pottered round with a fashionable hunt, trampling down people’s crops and leaving the gates open. I’d like to see him—’
He broke off.
‘See him what?’
‘Oh, nothing. Don’t want to be rude to a friend of yours. I say, what’s he after down here?’
‘Well!’ Harriet smirked demurely behind the drooping brim of the preposterous hat. ‘He says he’s interested in this crime, or whatever it is.’
‘But you know better, eh?’ He nudged Harriet familiarly in the ribs. ‘I don’t blame the fellow for making the running while he can, but I do wish he wouldn’t raise false hopes in the old lady. That’s a dashed awkward hat of yours.’