_Lord Peter Clears Trumps_
"Sleuths Incorporated's" report, when it came, might be summed up as
"Nothing doing and Major Fentiman convinced that there never will be
anything doing; opinion shared by Sleuths Incorporated." Lord Peter's
reply was: "Keep on watching and something will happen before the week
is out."
His lordship was justified. On the fourth evening, "Sleuths
Incorporated" reported again by telephone. The particular sleuth in
charge of the case had been duly relieved by Major Fentiman at 6
P.M. and had gone to get his dinner. On returning to his post
an hour later, he had been presented with a note left for him with
the ticket-collector at the stair-head. It ran: "Just seen Oliver
getting into taxi. Am following. Will communicate to refreshment-room.
Fentiman." The sleuth had perforce to return to the refreshment room
and hang about waiting for a further message. "But all the while,
my lord, the second man I put on as instructed by you, my lord, was
a-following the Major unbeknownst." Presently a call was put through
from Waterloo. "Oliver is on the Southampton train. I am following."
The sleuth hurried down to Waterloo, found the train gone and followed
on by the next. At Southampton he made inquiries and learned that
a gentleman answering to Fentiman's description had made a violent
disturbance as the Havre boat was just starting, and had been summarily
ejected at the instance of an elderly man whom he appeared to have
annoyed or attacked in some way. Further investigation among the Port
authorities made it clear that Fentiman had followed this person down,
made himself offensive on the train and been warned off by the guard,
collared his prey again on the gangway and tried to prevent him from
going aboard. The gentleman had produced his passport and pièces
d'identité, showing him to be a retired manufacturer of the name of
Postlethwaite, living at Kew. Fentiman had insisted that he was, on the
contrary, a man called Oliver, address and circumstances unknown, whose
testimony was wanted in some family matter. As Fentiman was unprovided
with a passport and appeared to have no official authority for stopping
and questioning travelers, and as his story seemed vague and his
manner agitated, the local police had decided to detain Fentiman.
Postlethwaite was allowed to proceed on his way, after leaving his
address in England and his destination, which, as he contended, and as
he produced papers and correspondence to prove, was Venice.
The sleuth went round to the police-station, where he found Fentiman,
apoplectic with fury, threatening proceedings for false imprisonment.
He was able to get him released, however, on bearing witness to
Fentiman's identity and good faith, and after persuading him to give a
promise to keep the peace. He had then reminded Fentiman that private
persons were not entitled to assault or arrest peaceable people against
whom no charge could be made, pointing out to him that his proper
course, when Oliver denied being Oliver, would have been to follow on
quietly and keep a watch on him, while communicating with Wimsey or
Mr. Murbles or Sleuths Incorporated. He added that he was himself now
waiting at Southampton for further instructions from Lord Peter. Should
he follow to Venice, or send his subordinate, or should he return to
London? In view of the frank behavior of Mr. Postlethwaite, it seemed
probable that a genuine mistake had been made as to identity, but
Fentiman insisted that he was not mistaken.
Lord Peter, holding the trunk line, considered for a moment. Then he
laughed.
"Where is Major Fentiman?" he asked.
"Returning to town, my lord. I have represented to him that I have now
all the necessary information to go upon, and that his presence in
Venice would only hamper my movements, now that he had made himself
known to the party."
"Quite so. Well, I think you might as well send your man on to Venice,
just in case it's a true bill. And listen".... He gave some further
instructions, ending with: "And ask Major Fentiman to come and see me
as soon as he arrives."
"Certainly, my lord."
"What price the gypsy's warning now?" said Lord Peter, as he
communicated this piece of intelligence to Bunter.
Major Fentiman came round to the flat that afternoon, in a whirl of
apology and indignation.
"I'm sorry, old man. It was damned stupid of me, but I lost my temper.
To hear that fellow calmly denying that he had ever seen me or poor
old grandfather, and coming out with his bits of evidence so pat, put
my bristles up. Of course, I see now that I made a mistake. I quite
realize that I ought to have followed him up quietly. But how was I to
know that he wouldn't answer to his name?"
"But you ought to have guessed when he didn't, that either you had made
a mistake or that he had some very good motive for trying to get away,"
said Wimsey.
"I wasn't accusing him of anything."
"Of course not, but he seems to have thought you were."
"But why?--I mean, when I first spoke to him, I just said, 'Mr. Oliver,
I think?' And he said, 'You are mistaken.' And I said, 'Surely not. My
name's Fentiman, and you knew my grandfather, old General Fentiman.'
And he said he hadn't the pleasure. So I explained that we wanted to
know where the old boy had spent the night before he died, and he
looked at me as if I was a lunatic. That annoyed me, and I said I knew
he was Oliver, and then he complained to the guard. And when I saw him
just trying to hop off like that, without giving us any help, and when
I thought about that half-million, it made me so mad I just collared
him. 'Oh, no, you don't,' I said--and that was how the fun began, don't
you see."
"I see perfectly," said Wimsey. "But don't _you_ see, that if he
really _is_ Oliver and has gone off in that elaborate manner, with
false passports and everything, he must have something important to
conceal."
Fentiman's jaw dropped.
"You don't mean--you don't mean there's anything funny about the death?
Oh! surely not."
"There must be something funny about Oliver, anyway, mustn't there? On
your own showing?"
"Well, if you look at it that way, I suppose there must. I tell you
what, he's probably got into some bother or other and is clearing out.
Debt, or a woman, or something. Of course that must be it. And I was
beastly inconvenient popping up like that. So he pushed me off. I see
it all now. Well, in that case, we'd better let him rip. We can't get
him back, and I daresay he won't be able to tell us anything after all."
"That's possible, of course. But when you bear in mind that he seems
to have disappeared from Gatti's, where you used to see him, almost
immediately after the General's death, doesn't it look rather as though
he was afraid of being connected up with that particular incident?"
Fentiman wriggled uncomfortably.
"Oh, but, hang it all! What could he have to do with the old man's
death?"
"I don't know. But I think we might try to find out."
"How?"
"Well, we might apply for an exhumation order."
"Dig him up!" cried Fentiman, scandalized.
"Yes. There was no post-mortem, you know."
"No, but Penberthy knew all about it and gave the certificate."
"Yes; but at that time there was no reason to suppose that anything was
wrong."
"And there isn't now."
"There are a number of peculiar circumstances, to say the least."
"There's only Oliver--and I may have been mistaken about him."
"But I thought you were so sure?"
"So I was. But--this is preposterous, Wimsey! Besides, think what a
scandal it would make!"
"Why should it? You are the executor. You can make a private
application and the whole thing can be done quite privately."
"Yes, but surely the Home Office would never consent, on such flimsy
grounds."
"I'll see that they do. They'll know I wouldn't be keen on anything
flimsy. Little bits of fluff were never in my line."
"Oh, do be serious. What reason can we give?"
"Quite apart from Oliver, we can give a very good one. We can say
that we want to examine the contents of the viscera to see how soon
the General died after taking his last meal. That might be of great
assistance in solving the question of the survivorship. And the law,
generally speaking, is nuts on what they call the orderly devolution of
property."
"Hold on! D'you mean to say you can tell when a bloke died just by
looking inside his tummy?"
"Not exactly, of course. But one might get an idea. If we found, that
is, that he'd only that moment swallowed his brekker, it would show
that he'd died not very long after arriving at the Club."
"Good lord!--that would be a poor look-out for me."
"It might be the other way, you know."
"I don't like it, Wimsey. It's very unpleasant. I wish to goodness we
could compromise on it."
"But the lady in the case won't compromise. You know that. We've got to
get at the facts somehow. I shall certainly get Murbles to suggest the
exhumation to Pritchard."
"Oh, lord! What'll _he_ do?"
"Pritchard? If he's an honest man and his client's an honest woman,
they'll support the application. If they don't, I shall fancy they've
something to conceal."
"I wouldn't put it past them. They're a low-down lot. But they can't do
anything without my consent, can they?"
"Not exactly--at least, not without a lot of trouble and publicity. But
if _you're_ an honest man, you'll give your consent. _You've_ nothing
to conceal, I suppose?"
"Of course not. Still, it seems rather----"
"They suspect us already of some kind of dirty work," persisted Wimsey.
"That brute Pritchard as good as told me so. I'm expecting every day to
hear that he has suggested exhumation off his own bat. I'd rather we
got in first with it."
"If that's the case, I suppose we must do it. But I can't believe it'll
do a bit of good, and it's sure to get round and make an upheaval.
Isn't there some other way--you're so darned clever----"
"Look here, Fentiman. Do you want to get at the facts? Or are you out
to collar the cash by hook or by crook? You may as well tell me frankly
which it is."
"Of course I want to get at the facts."
"Very well; I've told you the next step to take."
"Damn it all," said Fentiman, discontentedly; "I suppose it'll have to
be done, then. But I don't know whom to apply to or how to do it."
"Sit down, then, and I'll dictate the letter for you."
From this there was no escape, and Robert Fentiman did as he was told,
grumbling.
"There's George. I ought to consult him."
"It doesn't concern George, except indirectly. That's right. Now write
to Murbles, telling him what you're doing and instructing him to let
the other party know."
"Oughtn't we to consult about the whole thing with Murbles first?"
"I've already consulted Murbles, and he agrees it's the thing to do."
"These fellows would agree to anything that means fees and trouble."
"Just so. Still, solicitors are necessary evils. Is that finished?"
"Yes."
"Give the letters to me; I'll see they're posted. Now you needn't
worry any more about it. Murbles and I will see to it all, and the
detective-wallah is looking after Oliver all right, so you can run away
and play."
"You----"
"I'm sure you're going to say how good it is of me to take all this
trouble. Delighted, I'm sure. It's of no consequence. A pleasure, in
fact. Have a drink."
The disconcerted major refused the drink rather shortly and prepared to
depart.
"You mustn't think I'm not grateful, Wimsey, and all that. But it is
rather unseemly."
"With all your experience," said Wimsey, "you oughtn't to be so
sensitive about corpses. We've seen many things much unseemlier than a
nice, quiet little resurrection in a respectable cemetery."
"Oh, I don't care twopence about the corpse," retorted the Major, "but
the thing doesn't look well. That's all."
"Think of the money," grinned Wimsey, shutting the door of the flat
upon him.
He returned to the library, balancing the two letters in his hand.
"There's many a man now walking the streets of London," said he,
"through not clearing trumps. Take these letters to the post, Bunter.
And Mr. Parker will be dining here with me this evening. We will have
a _perdrix aux choux_ and a savory to follow, and you can bring up two
bottles of the Chambertin."
"Very good, my lord."
Wimsey's next proceeding was to write a little confidential note to
an official whom he knew very well at the Home Office. This done, he
returned to the telephone and asked for Penberthy's number.
"That you, Penberthy?... Wimsey speaking.... Look here, old man, you
know that Fentiman business?... Yes, well, we're applying for an
exhumation."
"For a _what_?"
"An exhumation. Nothing to do with your certificate. We know _that's_
all right. It's just by way of getting a bit more information about
when the beggar died."
He outlined his suggestion.
"Think there's something in it?"
"There might be, of course."
"Glad to hear you say that. I'm a layman in these matters, but it
occurred to me as a good idea."
"Very ingenious."
"I always was a bright lad. You'll have to be present, of course."
"Am I to do the autopsy?"
"If you like. Lubbock will do the analysis."
"Analysis of what?"
"Contents of the doings. Whether he had kidneys on toast or eggs and
bacon and all that."
"Oh, I see. I doubt if you'll get much from that, after all this time."
"Possibly not, but Lubbock had better have a squint at it."
"Yes, certainly. As I gave the certificate, it's better that my
findings should be checked by somebody."
"Exactly. I knew you'd feel that way. You quite understand about it?"
"Perfectly. Of course, if we'd had any idea there was going to be all
this uncertainty, I'd have made a post-mortem at the time."
"Naturally you would. Well, it can't be helped. All in the day's work.
I'll let you know when it's to be. I suppose the Home Office will send
somebody along. I thought I ought just to let you know about it."
"Very good of you. Yes. I'm glad to know. Hope nothing unpleasant will
come out."
"Thinking of your certificate?"
"Oh, well--no--I'm not worrying much about that. Though you never
know, of course. I was thinking of that rigor, you know. Seen Captain
Fentiman lately?"
"Yes. I didn't mention--"
"No. Better not, unless it becomes absolutely necessary. Well, I'll
hear from you later, then?"
"That's the idea. Good-bye."
That day was a day of incident.
About four o'clock a messenger arrived, panting, from Mr. Murbles. (Mr.
Murbles refused to have his chambers desecrated by a telephone.) Mr.
Murbles' compliments, and would Lord Peter be good enough to read this
note and let Mr. Murbles have an immediate answer.
The note ran:
"Dear Lord Peter,
"In re Fentiman deceased. Mr. Pritchard has called. He informs me
that his client is now willing to compromise on a division of the
money if the Court will permit. Before I consult my client, Major
Fentiman, I should be greatly obliged by your opinion as to how the
investigation stands at present.
"Yours faithfully,
"Jno. Murbles."
Lord Peter replied as follows:
"Dear Mr. Murbles,
"Re Fentiman deceased. Too late to compromise now, unless you are
willing to be party to a fraud. I warned you, you know. Robert has
applied for exhumation. Can you dine with me at 8?
"P. W."
Having sent this off his lordship rang for Bunter.
"Bunter, as you know, I seldom drink champagne. But I am inclined to do
so now. Bring a glass for yourself as well."
The cork popped merrily, and Lord Peter rose to his feet.
"Bunter," said he, "I give you a toast. The triumph of Instinct over
Reason!"