Inspector Umpelty rose to his feet.
‘I’m sure we’re much obliged to: you, Mr Sullivan,’ he said. ‘We won’t detain you any longer.’
‘Sorry I couldn’t — do more for you. If ever I see that Vavasour fellow again I’ll let you know. But he’s probably come to grief. Sure it ain’t any trouble for little Kohn?’
‘We don’t think so, Mr Sullivan.’
‘She’s a good girl,’ insisted Mr Sullivan, ‘I’d hate to think of her going wrong. I know you’re think n’ me an old fool.
‘Far from it,’ said Wimsey.
They were let out through the private door, and picked their way down a narrow staircase in silence.
‘Vavasour, indeed!’—grunted the Inspector. ‘I’d like to know who he is and what he’s up to.. Think that fat idiot was en the game?
‘I’m sure he knows nothing about it,’ said Wimsey, ‘And if he says he knows nothing about Vavasour you may be pretty sure he’s not really a producer or anything genuinely theatrical. These people all know one another.’
‘Humph! Fat lot of help that is.’ ‘As you say. I wonder ‘Well?’
‘I wonder what made Horrocks think of Richard III’ ‘Thought the man looked a bad egg, I suppose. Wasn’t that the fellow who made up his mind to be a villain?’
‘He was. But I don’t somehow think Horrocks is quite the man to read villainy en someone’s face. I should say he was quite satisfied with the regrettable practice of typecasting. I’ve got something at the back of my mind, Inspector, and I can’t seem to get it out.’
The Inspector grunted and tripped over a packing-case as they emerged into the purlieus of Wardour Street.
Chapter XXIV. The Evidence Of The L.C.C Teacher
‘Such lily-livered, meek humanity.’
— Death’s Jest-Book
Monday, 29 June; Tuesday 30june
Paul Alexis was buried on the Monday, with many flowers and a large crowd of onlookers. Lord Peter was still in London with the Inspector, but he was suitably represented by Bunter, who had returned from Huntingdonshire, that morning and, ever efficient, had brought with him a handsome. wreath, suitably inscribed. Mrs Weldon was chief mourner, supported by Henry in solemn black, and the staff of the Resplendent sent a representative contingent and a floral emblem in the shape of a saxophone. The leader of the orchestra, an uncompromising realist, had suggested that the effigy of, a pair of dancing-pumps would have been more truly symbolic, but general opinion was against him, and there was, indeed a feeling that he had been actuated by professional jealousy. Miss Leila Garland made her appearance in restrained and modified weeds, and affronted Mrs Weldon by. casting an enormous bunch of Parma violets into the grave at the most affecting moment and being theatrically overcome and carried away in hysterics. The ceremony was fully reported, with photographs, in the National Press, and the dinner-tables of the Resplendent were so crowded that evening that it became necessary to serve a supplementary dinner in the Louis Quinze Saloon.
‘I suppose you will be leaving Wilvercombe now,’ said Harriet to Mrs Weldon. ‘It will always have sad memories for you.’
‘Indeed, my dear, ‘I shall not. I intend to stay here until the cloud is lifted from Paul’s memory. I know positively that he was murdered by a Soviet gang and it’s simply a disgrace that the police should let this kind of thing go on.’
‘I wish you would persuade my mother to leave,’ said Henry. Bad for her health to hang on here. You’ll be leaving yourself, I expect, before long.’
‘Probably.’
There seemed, in fact, to be little for anyone to stay on for. William Bright applied to the police for leave to depart and was accorded it, subject to an undertaking that he would, keep them informed of his whereabouts. He promptly retired to his lodgings at Seahampton, packed up, and started a trek northwards. ‘And it’s to be hoped,’ said Superintendent Glaisher, ‘that they’ll keep an eye on him. We can’t follow him through, all the counties in England. We’ve nothing against him.’
Wimsey and the Inspector, returning to, Wilvercombe on the Tuesday morning, were greeted with a piece of fresh information.
‘We’ve pulled in Perkins,’: said Superintendent Glaisher.
It appeared that Mr Julian Perkins, after leaving Darley and being driven to Wilvercombe in his hired car, had taken the train to: Seahampton and resumed his walking-tour at that point. About twenty miles out’ he had been knocked down by a motor lorry. As the result he had lain speechless and senseless for nearly a week in the local hospital. There was nothing in his travelling-pack to indicate his identity, and it was only when he began to sit up and take notice that anything was known about him. As soon as he was well enough for desultory chat, he discovered that his fellow-patients were discussing the Wilvercombe inquest, and he mentioned with a feeble sense of self-importance, that he had actually been in contract with the young lady who found the body. One of the nurses then called to mind that there had been a broadcast inquiry for somebody called Perkins in connection with that very case. The Wilvercombe police were communicated with, and P.C. Ormond had been sent over to interview Mr Perkins,
It was now clear enough, of course, why no reply to the S.O.S. message had been received from either Mr Perkins himself or from his associates at the time of broadcasting. It was now also made clear why nobody had made, any inquiry about Mr Perkin’s disappearance. Mr. Perkins was a teacher in an L.C.C. School, and had been granted leave of absence for one term on account of his health. He was unmarried, and an orphan with, no near relations, and he lived in a hostel in the neighbourhood of Tottenham Court ‘Road. He had left, the hostel in May, announcing that he was going on a tramping holiday and would have no settled, address. He would write from time to time, telling the staff of the hostel where to forward letters. As it happened, no letters had arrived for him since the last time he had written (on the 29th May, from Taunton). Consequently, nobody had thought to make any inquiry about him, and the S.O.S which mentioned only his surname had left it doubtful whether the Mr Perkins wanted by the police was the Mr Julian Perkins of the hostel. In any case, since nobody knew where he was supposed to be, there was no information that anybody could have supplied. The police got into touch with the hostel and had Mr Perkins’s mail sent down. It consisted of an advertisement from a cheap tailor, an invitation to secure a last-minute chance in the Irish Sweep, and a, letter from a pupil, all about Boy Scout activities.
Mr Julian Perkins seemed to be an unlikely sort of criminal, but one never knew. He was interviewed, propped up in bed in his little red hospital jacket, with his anxious and unshaven face surrounded with bandages, from which his large horn-rimmed glasses looked out with serio-comic effect.
‘So you abandoned your trip and walked back to Darley with this young lady,’ said Constable Ormond. ‘Now, why did you do that, sir?’