‘Quite right,’ said Wimsey. ‘Unlike Mr Weldon, you can spot the petitio elenchi. But look here, if Alexis was seen alive on the road between half-past ten and half-past eleven and was dead at two o’clock, then he must have died during the period covered by the alibis; that’s certain. And I think we can get it down a bit closer. Jem Pollock and his grandad puzzled us by saying that they thought they saw the man lying down on the rock well before two o’clock. In that case, he was probably dead already. We now know that they were in all likelihood speaking the truth, and so we need not now imagine them to be accomplices in the crime. You can whittle the period during which death must have occurred down to about two hours — say from 11.30, when Alexis could have reached the rock, to about 1.30, when the Pollocks first set eyes on the body. That ought to be near enough for you — especially as you can trace the weapon quite definitely to the hands of one of the accomplices. I suppose you can’t find that the razor was sent anywhere by post for Weldon to get hold of?’
‘We’ve tried that, but we couldn’t find anything.’
‘No. I shouldn’t wonder if Weldon’s trip to Wilvercombe on the Wednesday was made for the purpose of picking up, the razor. It could so easily have been left somewhere for him. Of course, Morecambe took good care not to be in Wilvercombe that day himself, the cunning devil — but what could be easier than to deposit a little parcel at a tobacconist’s or somewhere to be called for by his friend Mr Jones? I suggest that you look, into that, Inspector.’
‘I will, my lord. There’s just one thing. I can’t see why Weldon and Morecambe should have been so surprised about the inquest evidence. Wouldn’t Alexis have told them about this disability of his? If he thought it proved his descent from the Romanovs, you’d think he’d have mentioned it first thing!
‘Oh, no, you wouldn’t. It’s pretty clear that Alexis disguised that little matter very jealously. It’s not a recommendation to — a man who wants to lead a successful revolution that he is liable to be laid up at any moment by a painful and incurable disease. Nor would it be exactly an inducement to ‘Feodora” to marry him, if he was known to be a “bleeder”. No, poor devil, he must have been terrified the whole time for fear they should find it out.’
‘Yes, I see. It’s natural, when you come to think of it.”
‘If you exhume the body,’ said Wimsey, ‘you will very likely find the characteristic thickening of the joints that accompanies; haemophilia. And I daresay you might get conclusive evidence by inquiring among the people who knew Alexis in London and America. I’m pretty sure he had the disease.’
‘It’s funny,’ said Harriet, ‘the way all this worked out for Weldon & Co. They had such good luck in one way and such bad luck in another. I mean: first of all they laid a fairly good plot, which turned on an alibi and a disguise. Then I came along unexpectedly and bust up the disguise. That was bad luck, But at the same time I produced a lot of unnecessary cleverness and observation which gave them a far better alibi for a totally different time, which was good luck. Then they lost the body, owing to the £300 in gold, which would have been a beastly nuisance for them. But again I barged in with evidence and photographs, and so drew attention to the death, and got the body found again. Then, when, to their horror, their original lovely alibi turned out to be useless and dangerous, along comes poor little Perkins — who of course is as innocent as any sucking-pig — to give them a cast-iron alibi for the wrong time. We found the horseshoe, which would have pretty well cooked their goose, but for the astonishing bit of luck over the bloodclotting affair. And so on. It’s been an incredible muddle. And it’s all my, fault, really. If I hadn’t been so bright and brainy nobody would ever have known anything about the condition of the blood at all, and we should have taken it for granted that Alexis had died long before I came on the scene. It’s so complicated, I really don’t know whether my being there helped or hindered.’
‘It’s so complicated,’ said the Inspector with a groan, ‘that I don’t believe we’ll get any jury to believe it. Besides there’s the Chief Constable. I’ll bet you anything you like he’ll pooh-pooh the whole thing. He’ll still say that after all we haven’t proved it wasn’t suicide, and we’d better let it go at that. He’s as mad as a dog with us for arresting those people anyhow, and if I come along with this story about haemo— what-you-call, he’ll have fifty thousand fits. See here, my lord, if we do prosecute, d’you really think we’ve a hope in Hades?’
‘I’ll tell you this,’ said Harriet: ‘Last night, Mrs Weldon consented to dance with M. Antoine, and Henry didn’t like it at all. If you let Henry Weldon and Morecambe loose again, what premium would you take on those two lives — Antoine’s and Mrs Weldon’s?’
There was silence after the Inspector left them..
‘Well!’ said Harriet at last.
‘Well,’ said Wimsey, ‘isn’t that a damned awful, bitter, bloody farce? The old fool who wanted a lover and the young fool who wanted an empire. One throat cut and three people hanged, and £130,000 going begging for the next man who likes to sell his body and soul for it. God! What a jape! King Death has asses’ ears with a vengeance.’
He got up.
‘Let’s clear out of this,’ he said. ‘Get your things packed and leave your address with the police and come on up to town. I’m fed to the back teeth.’
‘Yes, let’s go. I’m terrified of meeting Mrs; Weldon. I don’t want to see Antoine. It’s all frightening and disgusting. We’ll go home.’
‘Right-ho! We’ll go home. We’lclass="underline" dine in Piccadilly. Damn it,’ said Wimsey, savagely, ‘I always, did hate watering-places!’
The End