‘That’s right. Me having a motor-bike, and having had trouble with the leads before, on account of the insulation having got worked through, like, against the radiator-fins, I said, “How about the H.T. leads?” And Mr Martin, he says, “That’s an idea,” and before I could say “knife” he whips the leads out of the clip and gets them off. “Let’s have a look, sir,” I says. “Never mind looking at the blasted things,” he says, “you can’t do no bloody good” begging your pardon—“by looking at ’em,” he, says. Shove a new pair in and look smart.” So I got a bit of H. T. wire out of my bag and I fixes up a new pair of leads and connects ’em up, and no sooner I done so than up she starts, sweet as a nut. What I think, my lord, there must have been a fault in the insulation, see? — what were giving an intermittent short the day before when Mr Martin complained of bad — running and starting, and somehow or other the wires might ha’ got fused together, and that made a dead short on the Thursday.’
‘Very likely,’ said Wimsey, ‘Did you actually examine the leads afterwards?’
Tom scratched his head:
‘Now you ask me,’ he said, ‘I don’t rightly know what happened to them leads. I recollect seem of Mr Martin a-dangling of them in his hand, but whether he took, ’em away or whether he left ’em I couldn’t say for certain.’
‘Ah!’ said Mr Polwhistle, triumphantly, ‘but I can, though. When Mr Martin went to start up the engine, he pushed them leads into his pocket, careless-like, and when he pulled out his, handkerchief to wipe the oil off of his fingers, them leads falls out on the grass. And I picks ’em up, — seeing as he wasn’t likely to be a-wantin’ of ’em and I drops ’em into my little bag, what I always carried, being a tidy-minded man and thinkin’ as a bit on ’em might come in useful one day for a motor-bike or such-like. And there they lays; to this day, if they ain’t been used for nothin’ since.’
‘I’d like to have a look at them.’
‘Nothing easier,’ said Mr Polwhistle, producing a small tool-bag and routing among a quantity of miscellaneous odds and ends. ‘Nothing easier, and here they do be, which just shows you what it is to be a tidy-minded man.’
Wimsey took the pair of leads from his hands.
‘H’m yes — they seem to be fused together just where they pass under the clip.’ He jerked the wires apart. ‘Nothing wrong with the insulation, though, apparently. Hullo hullo!’
He ran a finger lightly along one of the leads. ‘Here’s your trouble,’ he said.
Mr Polwhistle also ran his finger along and then withdrew it with a hasty exclamation. “That’s pretty sharp,’ he muttered. ‘What is it?’
‘I suggest that it’s the business end of a sewing-needle,’ said Wimsey. ‘Give us a sharp pen-knife, and we’ll soon see.’
When the insulation was opened up the cause of the short-circuit was abundantly plain. A needle had been passed through; the lead and broken off short, so as to leave no visible trace of its presence. When the two leads were in place side by side, it was clear that the needle would pass through both, thus effectively bridging the circuit and shorting the spark.
‘Well, there now!’ said Mr Polwhistle. ‘To think of that! That’s a nice, dirty trick to play on a gentleman. Who could a-done it beats me. How was it you missed seeing them two leads skewered together that way, Tom?’
‘Nobody could, positively see it when it was in place,’ said Wimsey., ‘It would be pushed up under the clip.’
‘And Mr Martin jerking the leads out that sudden,’ put in Tom, ’it stands to reason I couldn’t a-seen it. Of course, if I’d had ’em in my hands afterwards
He gazed reproachfully at Mr Polwhistle, who ignored the gaze.
‘It’s a wonder to me,’ said Mr. Polwhistle, ‘how you came to think of such a thing, my lord.’
‘I’ve seen it done before. It’s a very handy way of holding up a motor-cyclist at the beginning of a race, for example.’
‘And when you came here asking about them leads, did you expect to find that needle there, my lord?’
‘I didn’t, Tom. I’d made sure I shouldn’t find it. I came here on purpose to prove it wasn’t there. Look here, you two, don’t say a word about this to anybody.’
‘Not, my, lord? But we did surely ought to find out what young devil it is that was monkeying about with the gentleman’s car.’
‘No. I’ll take the thing up myself if it’s necessary. But it’s possible that this trick may have been played by somebody connected with that business up at the Flat-Iron, and it’s best not talked about. You see? Somebody who didn’t want Mr Martin to go to Wilvercombe that morning.’
‘I see, my lord. Very good. We won’t say a word. But that’s a queer thing, none the more for that.’ ‘It is,’ said Wimsey, ‘very queer.’
It was rather queerer than Mr Polwhistle quite realised, though a peculiar glint in Tom’s eye suggested that he at least was beginning to appreciate its full oddity. A needle thrust through the H.T. leads of a two-cylinder car does not produce intermittent firing or erratic running: it stops the ignition dead. Yet on the Wednesday, Mr Martin’s Morgan had been running (though not well) up to the moment of his return to Hinks’s Lane. And to Wimsey, who knew that Martin was Weldon, the whole thing seemed doubly inexplicable. Why had Weldon gone out of his way to hire a, Morgan for his little trip when, with a tent and luggage to carry, he would surely have found a larger vehicle more convenient?’ Was it another coincidence that he should have particularly asked for a two-cylinder vehicle, which could be put completely out of action with one sewing needle? True, a Morgan pays a smaller tax than a four-wheeled car, but then, Weldon was not paying the tax. It might cost a little less to hire, but, under the circumstances, why should Weldon skimp himself on a week’s car hire?
And yet and yet whichever way you took it, it was obviously to everybody’s interest to get Mr Weldon away to Wilvercombe, and not keep him hanging about Hinks’s Lane. Could it be a coincidence that some practical joker had chosen to put the Morgan out of action at that particular moment? Surely not. But then, who had done it? Somebody who wanted a witness at Darley? Somebody who did not want Weldon to carry out his investigations in Wilvercombe? And why had Weldon complained of bad running the day before? Another coincidence? An intermittent choke, perhaps, which had blown itself out since? Perhaps.
‘One thing was certain: that Henry Weldon, arriving incognito in dyed hair and dark spectacles to carry on a bit of detective work on his own, had contrived to involve himself in a tangle of coincidence and conjecture which looked almost like the work of a malignant and interfering demon.
Another thing seemed certain, too: that every theory Wimsey had so far formed about the case was utterly and madly wide of the mark.
Chapter XXX. The Evidence Of The Gentleman’s Gentleman
‘Just so they crossed, and turned, and came again.’
— The Second Brother