Lord Peter Views the Body (21 page)

    ‘Just so, just so,’ said the magistrate, a little impatiently. ‘Well, you taxed him with it, and he confessed?’

    ‘He did. I am sorry to say he showed no remorse at all. He even laughed. It was a most painful interview.’

    ‘I am sure it must have been,’ said Mrs Frobisher-Pym sympathetically.

    ‘We must go and see Mr Burdock,’ said the magistrate, rising. ‘Whatever old Burdock may or may not have intended by that iniquitous will of his, it’s quite evident that Hubbard and Mortimer and Rawlinson were entirely in the wrong. Upon my word, I’ve no idea whether it’s an indictable offence to steal a body. I must look it up. But I should say it was. If there is any property in a corpse, it must belong to the family or the executors. And in case, it’s sacrilege, to say nothing of the scandal in the parish. I must say, Hancock, it won’t do us any good in the eyes of the Nonconformists. However, no doubt you realise that. Well, it’s an unpleasant job, and the sooner we tackle it the better. I’ll run over to the vicarage with you and help you to break it to the Burdocks. How about you, Wimsey? You were right, after all, and I think Burdock owes you an apology.’

    ‘Oh, I’ll keep out of it,’ said Wimsey. ‘I shan’t be exactly
persona grata
, don’t you know. It’s going to mean a deuce of a big financial loss to the Haviland Burdocks.’

    ‘So it is. Most unpleasant. Well, perhaps you’re right. Come along, vicar.’

    Wimsey and his hostess sat discussing the matter by the fire for half an hour or so, when Mr Frobisher-Pym suddenly put his head in and said:

    ‘I say, Wimsey – we’re all going over to Mortimer’s. I wish you’d come and drive the car. Merridew always has the day off on Sunday, and I don’t care about driving at night, particularly in this fog.’

    ‘Right you are,’ said Wimsey. He ran upstairs, and came down in a few moments wearing a heavy leather flying-coat, and with a parcel under his arm. He greeted the Burdocks briefly, climbed into the driving-seat, and was soon steering cautiously through the mist along the Herriotting Road.

    He smiled a little grimly to himself as they came up under the trees to the spot where the phantom coach had passed him. As they passed the gate through which the ingenious apparition had vanished, he indulged himself by pointing it out, and was rewarded by hearing a snarl from Haviland. At the well-remembered fork, he took the right-hand turning into Frimpton and drove steadily for six miles or so, till a warning shout from Mr Frobisher-Pym summoned him to look out for the turning up to Mortimer’s.

    Mr Mortimer’s house, with its extensive stabling and farm buildings, stood about two miles back from the main road. In the darkness Wimsey could see little of it; but he noticed that the ground-floor windows were all lit up, and, when the door opened to the magistrate’s imperative ring, a loud burst of laughter from the interior gave evidence that Mr Mortimer was not taking his misdoings too seriously.

    ‘Is Mr Mortimer at home?’ demanded Mr Frobisher-Pym, in the tone of a man not to be trifled with.

    ‘Yes, sir. Will you come in, please?’

    They stepped into a large, old-fashioned hall, brilliantly lit, and made cosy with a heavy oak screen across the door. As Wimsey advanced, blinking, from the darkness, he saw a large, thick-set man, with a ruddy face, advancing with hand outstretched in welcome.

    ‘Frobisher-Pym! By Jove! how decent of you to come over! We’ve got some old friends of yours here. Oh!’ (in a slightly altered tone) ‘Burdock! Well, well—’

    ‘Damn you!’ said Haviland Burdock, thrusting furiously past the magistrate, who was trying to hold him back, ‘Damn you, you swine! Chuck this bloody farce. What have you done with the body?’

    ‘The body, eh?’ said Mr Mortimer, retreating in some confusion.

    ‘Yes, curse you! Your friend Hubbard’s split. It’s no good denying it. What the devil do you mean by it? You’ve got the body here somewhere. Where is it? Hand it over!’

    He strode threateningly round the screen into the lamplight. A tall, thin man rose up unexpectedly from the depths of an armchair and confronted him.

    ‘Hold hard, old man!’

    ‘Good God! said Haviland, stepping heavily back on Wimsey’s toes. ‘Martin!’

    ‘Sure,’ said the other. ‘Here I am. Come back like a bad halfpenny. How are you?’

    ‘So
you’re
at the bottom of this!’ stormed Haviland. ‘I might have known it. You damned, dirty hound! I suppose you think it’s decent to drag your father out of his coffin and tote him about the country like a circus. It’s degrading. It’s disgusting. It’s abominable. You must be perfectly dead to all decent feeling. You don’t deny it, I suppose?’

    ‘I say, Burdock!’ expostulated Mortimer.

    ‘Shut up, curse you!’ said Haviland. ‘I’ll deal with you in a minute. Now, look here, Martin, I’m not going to stand any more of this disgraceful behaviour. You’ll give up that body, and—’

    ‘Just a moment, just a moment,’ said Martin. He stood, smiling a little, his hands thrust into the pockets of his dinner-jacket. ‘This
éclaircissement
seems to be rather public. Who are all these people? Oh, it’s the vicar, I see. I’m afraid we owe you a little explanation, vicar. And, er—’

    ‘This is Lord Peter Wimsey,’ put in Mr Frobisher-Pym, ‘who discovered your – I’m afraid, Burdock, I must agree with your brother in calling it your disgraceful plot.’

    ‘Oh, Lord!’ said Martin. ‘I say, Mortimer, you didn’t know you were up against Lord Peter Wimsey, did you? No wonder the cat got out of the bag. The man’s known to be a perfect Sherlock. However, I seem to have got home at the crucial moment, so there’s no harm done. Diana, this is Lord Peter Wimsey – my wife.’

    A young and pretty woman in a black evening dress greeted Wimsey with a shy smile, and turned deprecatingly to her brother-in-law.

    ‘Haviland, we want to explain—’

    He paid no attention to her.

    ‘Now then, Martin, the game’s up.’

    ‘I think it is, Haviland. But why make all this racket?’

    ‘Racket! I like that. You take your own father’s body out of its coffin—’

    ‘No, no, Haviland. I knew nothing about it. I swear that. I only got the news of his death a few days ago. We were right out in the wilds, filming a show in the Pyrenees, and I came straight back as soon as I could get away. Mortimer here, with Rawlinson and Hubbard, staged the whole show by themselves. I never heard a word about it till yesterday morning in Paris, when I found his letter waiting at my old digs. Honestly, Haviland, I had nothing to do with it. Why should I? I didn’t need to.’

    ‘What do you mean?’

    ‘Well, if I’d been here, I should only have had to speak to stop the funeral altogether. Why on earth should I have gone to the trouble of stealing the body? Quite apart from the irreverence and all that. As it is, when Mortimer told me about it, I must say I was a bit revolted at the idea, though I appreciated the kindness and the trouble they’d been to on my account. I think Mr Hancock has most cause for wrath, really. But Mortimer has been as careful as possible, sir – really he has. He has placed the old governor quite reverently and decently in what used to be the chapel, and put flowers round him and so on. You will be quite satisfied, I’m sure.’

    ‘Yes, yes,’ said Mortimer. ‘No disrespect intended, don’t you know. Come and see him.’

    ‘This is dreadful,’ said the vicar helplessly.

    ‘They had to do the best they could, don’t you see, in my absence,’ said Mortimer. ‘As soon as I can, I’ll make proper arrangements for a suitable tomb – above ground, of course. Or possibly cremation would fit the case.’

    ‘What!’ gasped Haviland. ‘Do you mean to say you imagine I’m going to let my father stay unburied, simply because of your disgusting greed about money?’

    ‘My dear chap, do you think I’m going to let you put him underground, simply to enable you to grab my property?’

    ‘I’m the executor of his will, and I say he shall be buried whether you like it or not!’

    ‘And
I’m
an executor too – and I say he shan’t be buried. He can be kept absolutely decently above ground, and he shall be.’

    ‘But hear me,’ said the vicar, distracted between these two disagreeable and angry young men.

    ‘I’ll see what Graham says about you,’ bawled Haviland.

    ‘Oh, yes – the honest lawyer, Graham,’ sneered Martin. ‘
He
knew what was in the will, didn’t he? I suppose he didn’t mention it to
you
, by any chance?’

    ‘He did not,’ retorted Haviland. ‘He knew too well the sort of skunk
you
were to say anything about it. Not content with disgracing us with your miserable, blackmailing marriage—’

    ‘Mr Burdock, Mr Burdock—’

    ‘Take care, Haviland!’

    ‘You have no more decency—’

    ‘Stop it!’

    ‘Than to steal your father’s body and my money so that you and your damned wife can carry on your loose-living, beastly ways with a parcel of film-actors and chorus-girls—’

    ‘Now then, Haviland. Keep your tongue off my wife and my friends. How about your own? Somebody told me Winnie’d been going the pace pretty well – next door to bankruptcy, aren’t you, with the gees and the tables and God knows what! No wonder you want to do your brother out of his money. I never thought much of you, Haviland, but by God—’

    ‘One moment!’

    Mr Frobisher-Pym at last succeeded in asserting himself, partly through the habit of authority, and partly because the brothers had shouted themselves breathless.

    ‘One moment, Martin. I will call you so, because I have known you a long time, and your father too. I understand your anger at the things Haviland has said. They were unpardonable, as I am sure he will realise when he comes to his right mind. But you must remember that he has been greatly shocked and upset – as we all have been – by this very very painful business. And it is not fair to say that Haviland has tried to “do you out” of anything. He knew nothing about this iniquitous will, and he naturally saw to it that the funeral arrangements were carried out in the usual way. You must settle the future amicably between you, just as you would have done had the will not been accidentally mislaid. Now, Martin – and Haviland too – think it over. My dear boys, this scene is simply appalling. It really must not happen. Surely the estate can be divided up in a friendly manner between you. It is horrible that an old man’s body should be a bone of contention between his own sons, just over a matter of money.’

    ‘I’m sorry,’ said Martin. ‘I forgot myself. You’re quite right, sir. Look here, Haviland, forget it. I’ll let you have half the money—’

    ‘Half the money! But it’s all mine.
You’ll
let me have half? How damned generous! My own money!’

    ‘No, old man. It’s mine at the moment. The governor’s not buried yet, you know. That’s right, isn’t it, Mr Frobisher-Pym?’

    ‘Yes; the money is yours, legally, at this moment. You must see that, Haviland. But your brother offers you half, and—’

    ‘Half! I’m damned if I’ll take half. The man’s tried to swindle me out of it. I’ll send for the police, and have him put in gaol for robbing the Church. You see if I don’t. Give me the telephone.’

    ‘Excuse me,’ said Wimsey. ‘I don’t want to butt in on your family affairs any more than I have already, but I really don’t advise you to send for the police.’

    ‘
You
don’t, eh? What the hell’s it got to do with you?’

    ‘Well,’ said Wimsey deprecatingly, ‘if this will business comes into court, I shall probably have to give evidence, because I was the bird who found the thing, don’t you see?’

    ‘Well, then?’

    ‘Well, then. They might ask how long the will was supposed to have been where I found it.’

    Haviland appeared to swallow something which obstructed his speech.

    ‘What about it, curse you!’

    ‘Yes. Well, you see, it’s rather odd when you come to think of it. I mean, your late father must have hidden that will in the bookcase before he went abroad. That was – how long ago? Three years? Five years?’

    ‘About four years.’

    ‘Quite. And since then your bright caretaker has let the damp get into the library, hasn’t she? No fires, and the window getting broken and so on. Ruinous to the books. Very distressin’ to anybody like myself, you know. Yes. Well, supposin’ they asked that question about the will – and you said it had been there in the damp for four years. Wouldn’t they think it a bit funny if I told ’em that there was a big damp stain like a grinning face on the end of the bookshelf, and a big, damp, grinning face on the jolly old
Nüremberg Chronicle
to correspond with it, and no stain on the will which had been sittin’ for four years between the two?’

    Mrs Haviland screamed suddenly. ‘Haviland! You fool! You utter fool!’

    ‘Shut up!’

    Haviland snapped round at his wife with a cry of rage, and she collapsed into a chair, with her hand snatched to her mouth.