THE SECOND PART
LORD PETER IS CALLED INTO THE HUNT
Hunting is the first part of change ringing which it is necessary to understand.
TROYTE On Change-Ringing.
“MY DEAR LORD PETER (wrote the Rector),—
“Since your delightful visit to us in January, I have frequently wondered, with a sense of confusion, what you must have thought of us for not realising how distinguished an exponent of the methods of Sherlock Holmes we were entertaining beneath our roof. Living so very much out of the world, and reading only The Times and the Spectator, we are apt, I fear, to become somewhat narrow in our interests. It was only when my wife wrote to her cousin Mrs. Smith (whom you may know, perhaps, as she lives in Kensington) and mentioned your stay with us, that we were informed, by Mrs. Smith’s reply, what manner of man our guest was.
“In the hope that you will pardon our lamentable ignorance, I venture to write and ask you to give us some your advice out of your great experience. This afternoon we ‘have been jerked rudely out of the noiseless tenor of our way,’ by a most mysterious and shocking occurrence. On opening the grave of the late Lady Thorpe to receive the body of her husband — whose sad death you no doubt saw in the Obituary columns of the daily press — our sexton was horrified to discover the dead body of a completely strange man, who appears to have come by his end in some violent and criminal manner. His face has been terribly mutilated, and — what seems even more shocking the poor fellow’s hands have been cut right off at the wrists! Our local police have, of course, the matter in hand, but the sad affair is of peculiar and painful interest to me (being in some sort connected with our parish church), and I am somewhat at a loss to know how I, personally, should proceed. My wife, with her usual great practical ability, suggested that we should seek your aid and advice, and Superintendent Blundell of Leamholt, with whom I have just had an interview, most obligingly says that he will give you every facility for investigation should you care to look into the matter personally. I hardly like to suggest to so busy a man that you should actually come and conduct your investigations on the spot, but, in case you thought of doing so, I need not say how heartily welcome you would be at the Rectory.
“Forgive me if this letter is somewhat meandering and confused; I am writing in some perturbation of mind. I may add that our Ringers retain a most pleasant and grateful recollection of the help you gave us with our famous peal, and would, I am sure, wish me to remember them to you. “With kindest regards from my wife and myself,
“Most sincerely yours,
“THEODORE VENABLES.”
“P.S. — My wife reminds me to tell you that the inquest is at 2 o’clock on Saturday.”
This letter, dispatched on the Friday morning, reached Lord Peter by the first post on Saturday. He wired that he would start for Fenchurch St. Paul at once, joyfully cancelled a number of social engagements, and at 2 o’clock was seated in the Parish Room, in company with a larger proportion of the local population than had probably ever gathered beneath one roof since the spoliation of the Abbey.
The coroner, a florid-faced country lawyer, who seemed to be personally acquainted with everybody present, got to work with the air of an immensely busy person, every moment of whose time was of value.
“Come now, gentlemen…. No talking over there if you please… all the jury this way…. Sparkes, give out these Testaments to the jury… choose a foreman, please…. Oh! you have chosen Mr. Donnington… very good…. Come along, Alf… take the Book in your right hand… diligently inquire… Sovereign Lord the King… man unknown… body… view… skill and knowledge… help you God… kiss the Book… sit down… table over there… now the rest of you… take the Book in your right hand… your right hand, Mr. Pratt… don’t you know your left hand from your right, Wally?… No laughing, please, we’ve no time to waste… same oath that your foreman… you and each of you severally to keep… help you God… kiss the Book… on that bench by Alf Donnington…. Now then, you know what we’re here for… inquire how this man came by his death… witnesses to identity… understand no witnesses to identity… Yes, Superintendent?… Oh, I see… why didn’t you say so? Very well… this way, please…. I beg your pardon, sir?… Lord Peter… do you mind saying that again… Whimsy?… Oh, no H… just so… Wimsey’ with an E… quite… occupation?… what?… Well, we’d better say, Gentleman… now then, my lord, you say you can offer evidence as to identity?”
“Not exactly, but I rather think…”
“One moment, please… take the Book in your right hand… evidence… inquiry… truth, whole truth and nothing but the truth… kiss the Book… yes… name, address, occupation we’ve got all that…. If you can’t keep that baby quiet, Mrs. Leach, you’ll have to take it out.. Yes?”
“I have been taken to see the body, and, from my observation I think it possible that I saw this man on January 1st last. I do not know who he was, but if it is the same man he stopped my car about half a mile beyond the bridge by the sluice and asked the way to Fenchurch St. Paul. I never saw him again, and had never seen him before to my knowledge.”
“What makes you think it may be the same man?”
“The fact that he is dark and bearded and that the man I saw also appeared to be wearing a dark blue suit similar to that worn by deceased. I say ‘appeared,’ because he was wearing an overcoat, and I only saw the legs of his trousers. He seemed to be about fifty years of age, spoke in a low voice with a London accent and was of fairly good address. He told me that he was a motor-mechanic and was looking for work. In my opinion, however…”
“One moment. You say you recognise the beard and the suit. Can you swear…?”
“I cannot swear that I definitely recognise them. I say that the man I saw resembled the deceased in these respects.”
“You cannot identify his features?”
“No; they are too much mutilated.”
“Very well. Thank you. Are there any more witnesses to identity?”
The blacksmith rose up rather sheepishly. “Come right up to the table, please. Take the Book… truth… truth… truth… Name Ezra Wilderspin. Well now, Ezra, what have you got to say?”
“Well, sir, if I was to say I recognised the deceased, I should be telling a lie. But it’s a fact that he ain’t unlike a chap that come along, same as his lordship here says, last New Year’s Day a-looking for a job along of me. Said he was a motor-mechanic out o’ work. Well, I told him I might do with a man as knowed somethin’ about motors, so I takes him on and gives him a trial. He did his work pretty well, near as I could judge, for three days, livin’ in our place, and then, all of a sudden, off he goes in the middle of the night and we never seen no more of him.”
“What night was that?”
“Same day as they buried her ladyship it was…”
Here a chorus of voices broke in: “January 4th, Ezra! that’s when it were.”
“That’s right. Saturday, January 4th, so ’twere.”