Mr Endicott’s house at Ealing was easily found. The owner was at home, and the presentation of the ham and reciprocal offer of a glass of old sherry proceeded with the cheerful dignity suitable to an exchange of gifts among equal, but friendly potentates. Lord Peter inspected the collection of papier-mache trays, conversed agreeably about golf — handicaps; and then, without unseemly haste, opened up the subject of his inquiry,
‘I’ve just come across one of your razors, Endicott, in rather peculiar circumstances. I wonder if you could tell me anything about it?’
Mr Endicott, with a gracious smile upon his rosy countenance, poured out another glass of the sherry and said he would be happy to assist if he could.
Wimsey described the make and appearance of the razor, and asked if it would be possible to trace the buyer.
‘Ah!’ said Mr Endicott. ‘With an ivory handle, you say. Well, now, it’s rather fortunate it should be one of that lot, because we only had the three dozen of them, most of our customers preferring black handles. Yes; I can tell you a bit about them. That particular razor came in during the War—1916, I think it was. It wasn’t too easy to get a first-class blade just then, but these were very good. Still, the white handle was against them, and I remember we were glad when we were able to send off a dozen of them to an old customer in Bombay. Captain Francis Egerton, that was. He asked us to send some out for himself and friends. That would be in 1920.’
‘Bombay? That’s a bit far off. But you never know. How about the rest?’
Mr Endicott, who seemed to have a memory like an encyclopaedia, plunged his thoughts into the past. and said:
‘Well, there was Commander Mellon; he had two of them. But it wouldn’t be him, because his ship was blown up and sank with all hands and his kit went down with him. In 1917, that would be. A very gallant gentleman, was the Commander, and of good family. One of the Dorset Mellons. The Duke of Wetherby: he had one, and he was telling me the other day that he still had it; it wouldn’t be him. And Mr Pritchard: he had a remarkable, experience with his; his personal man went off his head and attacked him with his own razor, but, fortunately Mr Pritchard was able to overpower him. They brought him in guilty of attempted murder but insane, and the razor was an exhibit at the trial. I know Mr Pritchard came in afterwards and bought a new razor, a black one, because the other had struck the back of a chair during the struggle and had a piece chipped out of the edge, and he said he was going to keep it as a memento of the narrowest shave of his life. That was very good, I thought. Mr Pritchard was always; a very amusing gentleman. Colonel Grimes: he had one, but he had to abandon all his kit in the Retreat over the Marne — I couldn’t say what happened to that one. He liked that razor and came back for another one similar, and he has it yet. That makes six out of the second dozen. What happened to the others? — Oh, I know! There was a very funny story about one of them. Young Mr Ratcliffe — the Hon. Henry Ratcliffe — he came in one day in a great state. “Endicott” he said, “just you look at my razor!”
“Bless me, sir!” I said, “it looks as if somebody had been sawing wood with it.”
“That’s a very near guess, Endicott,” he said. “My sister-in-law and some of that bright crowd of hers in her studio got the idea that they’d, have some private theatricals and used my best razor to cut out the scenery with. My goodness, he was wild about it! Of course the blade was ruined for ever; he had a different one after that, a very fine French razor which we were trying out at the time. Then, ah, yes! There was poor Lord Blackfriars. A sad business that was. He married one of these film-stars, and she ran through his money and went off with a dago — you’ll remember that, my lord. Blew his brains out, poor gentleman. He left his pair of razors to his personal man, who wouldn’t part with them on any account. Major Hartley had two and so did Colonel Beifridge. They’ve left Town and gone to live in the country. I could give you their, addresses. Sir John Westlock well, now, I couldn’t say for certain about him. There was some sort of trouble and he went abroad, at the time of the Megatherium Scandal. Early — in the twenties, wasn’t it? My memory isn’t what it was. He had a pair of razors. Very fond of a good blade, he was, and looked after it very carefully. Mr Alec Baring that was sad, too. They said it was in the family, but I always thought that flying crash had something to do with it. I suppose they wouldn’t let him have razors where he is now. He only had one of that set, as a replacement for one he left in an hotel. How many does that make? Sixteen altogether, not counting the dozen that went to Bombay. Well, that’s nearly the lot, because I gave a round half-dozen to my late head-assistant when we broke up the business.. He has an establishment of his own in Eastbourne, and is doing very well there, I’m told. Twenty-two. Now, what about the last pair?’
Mr Endicott scratched his head with a gained look. ‘Sometimes I think I’m beginning to fail a bit,’ he said, ‘though my handicap is getting shorter and my wind’s as, good as ever it was. Now, who did have that pair of razors? Well, there! Could it have been Sir William Jones? No, it couldn’t. Or the Marquis of? No. Stop a minute. That was the pair Sir Harry Ringwood bought for his son — young Mr Ringwood up at Magdalen College. I knew I hadn’t seen them about. He had them in 1925, and the young gentleman went out to British East Africa under the Colonial Office when he left the University. There! I knew I should get it in time. That’s the lot, my lord.’
‘Endicott,’ said Lord Peter, ‘I think you’re marvellous. You’re the youngest man of your age I ever struck, and I should like to meet your wine-merchant.’
Mr Endicott, gratified, pushed the decanter across the table and mentioned the name of the vendor.
‘A lot of these people we can dismiss at once,’ said Lord Peter. ‘Colonel Grimes is a problem — goodness knows what happened to the kit he left in France, but I expect somebody out there got hold of it. The razor may have returned to this country. He’s a possibility. Major Hartley and Colonel Belfridge will have to be traced. I shouldn’t think it would be Sir John Westlock. If he was a careful sort of blighter, he probably took his razors with him and cherished them. We’ll have to inquire about poor Baring. His razor may have been sold or given away. And we might just ask about young Ringwood, though we can probably count him out. Then there’s your head-assistant. Would he be likely to have sold any of them, do you think?’
‘Well, no, my lord; I shouldn’t think he would. He told me that he should keep them for his own use and for use on his own premises. He liked having the old name on them, you see. But for sale to his customers, he would have his razors marked with his own name. That has a certain value, you see, my lord. It’s only if you’re in a good way of business and can order in razors in three-dozen lots that you get
your own name put on them. He started off very well with a new three dozen Kropp blades, for he told me all about it, and, things being equal, those are what he would supply his customers with.’
‘Quite. Any likelihood of his selling the others secondhand?’