“Well?”
“The Archbishop of Canterbury. A haughty prelate, Blundell. An arbitrary prince. But I don’t suppose they’ll think about him, somehow. I think you may risk him.”
“Oh, indeed! And how about Mr. Mussolini and the Emperor of Japan?”
“Negligible. Negligible,” replied his lordship, with a wave of the hand. “Likewise the Bishop of Rome. But get on to it, Blundell, get on to it.”
“I mean to,” said Mr. Blundell, with emphasis. “They’ll not get out of the country, that’s a certainty.”
“So it is, so it is. Of course, they’ll be back here by tomorrow fortnight, but that will be too late. How soon do you expect Jim Thoday back? End of the month? Be sure he doesn’t give you the slip. I’ve an idea he may try to.”
“You think he’s our man?”
“I don’t know, I tell you. I don’t want him to be. I rather hope it’s Cranton.”
“Poor old Cranton,” said the Superintendent, perversely, “I rather hope it isn’t. I don’t like to see a perfectly good jewel-thief stepping out of his regular line, so to speak. It’s disconcerting, that’s what it is. Besides, the man’s ill. However, we shall see about that. I’ll get on to this Cobbleigh business and settle it.”
“Right!” said Wimsey. “And I think, after all, I’ll ring up the Archbishop. You never know.”
“Dotty!” said Mr. Blundell to himself. “Or pulling my leg. One or the other.”
* * *
Lord Peter Wimsey communicated with the Archbishop, and appeared to be satisfied with the result. He also wrote to Hilary Thorpe, giving her an account of the finding of the emeralds. “So you see,” he said, “your Sherlocking was very successful. How pleased Uncle Edward will be.”
Hilary’s reply informed him that old Mrs. Wilbraham had taken the necklace and restored the money paid in compensation — all without comment or apology. Lord Peter haunted the Rectory like an unhappy ghost. The Superintendent had gone to town in pursuit of the Thodays. On Thursday things began to happen again.
Telegram from Commissaire Rosier to Superintendent Blundelclass="underline"
Suzanne Legros no knowledge Cobbleigh identifies photograph in sealed envelope as her husband identification supported by mayor here do you desire further action.
Telegram from Superintendent Blundell to Lord Peter Wimsey:
Suzanne Legros rejects Cobbleigh identifies sealed photograph who is it unable trace Thodays in London.
Telegram from Superintendent Blundell to Commissaire Rosier:
Please return papers immediately detain Legros pending further information.
Telegram from Lord Peter Wimsey to Superintendent Blundelclass="underline"
Surely you know by this time try all churches registrars.
Telegram from Superintendent Blundell to Lord Peter Wimsey:
Vicar St. Andrews Bloomsbury says asked perform marriage by licence William Thoday Mary Deacon both of that parish was it Deacon.
Telegram from Lord Peter Wimsey to Superintendent Blundelclass="underline"
Yes of course you juggins charge Cranton at once.
Telegram from Superintendent Blundell to Lord Peter Wimsey:
Agree juggins but why charge Granton Thodays found and detained for inquiry.
Telegram from Lord Peter Wimsey to Superintendent Blundelclass="underline"
Charge Cranton first joining you in town.
After dispatching this wire, Lord Peter summoned Bunter to pack up his belongings and asked for a private interview with Mr. Venables, from which both men emerged looking distressed and uneasy.
“So I think I’d better go,” said Wimsey. “I rather wish I hadn’t come buttin’ into this. Some things may be better left alone, don’t you think? My sympathies are all in the wrong place and I don’t like it. I know all about not doing evil that good may come. It’s doin’ good that evil may come that is so embarrassin’.”
“My dear boy,” said the Rector, “it does not do for us to take too much thought for the morrow. It is better to follow the truth and leave the result in the hand of God. He can foresee where we cannot, because He knows all’ the facts.”
“And never has to argue ahead of His data, as Sherlock Holmes would say? Well, padre, I dare say you’re right. Probably I’m tryin’ to be too clever. That’s me every time. I’m sorry to have made so much unpleasantness, anyhow. And I really would rather go away now. I’ve got that silly modern squeamishness that doesn’t like watchin’ people suffer. Thanks awfully for everything. Goodbye.”
* * *
Before leaving Fenchurch St. Paul, he went and stood in the churchyard. The grave of the unknown victim still stood raw and black amid the grass, but the grave of Sir Henry and Lady Thorpe had been roofed in with green turves. Not far away there was an ancient box tomb; Hezekiah Lavender was seated on the slab, carefully cleaning the letters of the inscription. Wimsey went over and shook hands with the old man.
“Makin’ old Samuel fine and clean for the summer,” said Hezekiah. “Ah! Beaten old Samuel by ten good year, I have. I says to Rector, ‘Lay me aside old Samuel,’ I says, ‘for everybody to see as I beaten him.’ An’ I got Rector’s promise. Ah! so I have. But they don’t write no sech beautiful poetry these here times.”
He laid a gouty finger on the inscription, which ran:
Here lies the Body of SAMUEL SNELL
That for fifty Years pulled the Tenor Bell.
Through Changes of this Mortal Race
He Laid his Blows and Kept his Place
Till Death that Changes all did Come
To Hunt him Down and Call him Home.
His Wheel is broke his Rope is Slackt
His Clapper Mute his Metal Crackt,
Yet when the great Call summons him from Ground
He shall be Raised up Tuneable and Sound.
MDCXCVIII.
Aged 76 years
“Ringing Tailor Paul seems to be a healthy occupation,” said Wimsey. “His servants live to a ripe old age, what?”
“Ah!” said Hezekiah. “So they du, young man, so they du, if so be they’re faithful to ’un an’ don’t go a-angerin’ on ’un. They bells du know well who’s a-haulin’ of ’un. Wunnerful understandin’ they is. They can’t abide a wicked man. They lays in wait to overthrow ’un. But old Tailor Paul can’t say I ain’t done well by her an she allus done well by me. Make righteousness your course bell, my lord, an’ keep a-follerin’ on her an’ she’ll see you through your changes till Death calls you to stand. Yew ain’t no call to be afeard o’ the bells if so be as yew follows righteousness.”