Lord Peter whistled.
“You’ve got me there, Parker. Even if he’d gone out to commit suicide he’d have taken those.”
“So you’d think – or the suicide would have happened the first time he started to cross the road. However, I didn’t overlook the possibility. I’ve got particulars of all today’s street accidents, and I can lay my hand on my heart and say that none of them is Sir Reuben. Besides, he took his latchkey with him, which looks as though he’d meant to come back.”
“Have you seen the men he dined with?”
“I found two of them at the club. They said that he seemed in the best of health and spirits, spoke of looking forward to joining Lady Levy later on – perhaps at Christmas – and referred with great satisfaction to this morning’s business transaction, in which one of them – a man called Anderson of Wyndham’s – was himself concerned.”
“Then up till about nine o’clock, anyhow, he had no apparent intention or expectation of disappearing.”
“None – unless he was a most consummate actor. Whatever happened to change his mind must have happened either at the mysterious appointment which he kept after dinner, or while he was in bed between midnight and 5.30 a.m.”
“Well, Bunter,” said Lord Peter, “what do you make of it?”
“Not in my department, my lord. Except that it is odd that a gentleman who was too flurried or unwell to fold his clothes as usual should remember to clean his teeth and put his boots out. Those are two things that quite frequently get overlooked, my lord.”
“If you mean anything personal, Bunter,” said Lord Peter, “I can only say that I think the speech an unworthy one. It’s a sweet little problem, Parker mine. Look here, I don’t want to butt in, but I should dearly love to see that bedroom tomorrow. ’Tis not that I mistrust thee, dear, but I should uncommonly like to see it. Say me not nay – take another drop of brandy and a Villar Villar, but say not, say not nay!”
“Of course you can come and see it – you’ll probably find lots of things I’ve overlooked,” said the other, equably, accepting the proffered hospitality.
“Parker, acushla, you’re an honour to Scotland Yard. I look at you, and Sugg appears a myth, a fable, an idiot-boy, spawned in a moonlight hour by some fantastic poet’s brain. Sugg is too perfect to be possible. What does he make of the body, by the way?”
“Sugg says,” replied Parker, with precision, “that the body died from a blow on the back of the neck. The doctor told him that. He says it’s been dead a day or two. The doctor told him that, too. He says it’s the body of a well-to-do Hebrew of about fifty. Anybody could have told him that. He says it’s ridiculous to suppose it came in through the window without anybody knowing anything about it. He says it probably walked in through the front door and was murdered by the household. He’s arrested the girl because she’s short and frail-looking and quite unequal to downing a tall and sturdy Semite with a poker. He’d arrest Thipps, only Thipps was away in Manchester all yesterday and the day before and didn’t come back till late last night – in fact, he wanted to arrest him till I reminded him that if the body had been a day or two dead, little Thipps couldn’t have done him in at 10.30 last night. But he’ll arrest him tomorrow as an accessory – and the old lady with the knitting, too, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Well, I’m glad the little man has so much of an alibi,” said Lord Peter, “though if you’re only glueing your faith to cadaveric lividity, rigidity, and all the other quiddities, you must be prepared to have some sceptical beast of a prosecuting counsel walk slap-bang through the medical evidence. Remember Impey Biggs defending in that Chelsea tea-shop affair? Six bloomin’ medicos contradictin’ each other in the box, an’ old Impey elocutin’ abnormal cases from Glaister and Dixon Mann till the eyes of the jury reeled in their heads! ‘Are you prepared to swear, Dr. Thingumtight, that the onset of rigor mortis indicates the hour of death without the possibility of error?’ ‘So far as my experience goes, in the majority of cases,’ says the doctor, all stiff. ‘Ah!’ says Biggs, ‘but this is a Court of Justice, Doctor, not a Parliamentary election. We can’t get on without a minority report. The law, Dr. Thingumtight, respects the rights of the minority, alive or dead.’ Some ass laughs, and old Biggs sticks his chest out and gets impressive. ‘Gentlemen, this is no laughing matter. My client – an upright and honourable gentleman – is being tried for his life – for his life, gentlemen – and it is the business of the prosecution to show his guilt – if they can – without a shadow of doubt. Now, Dr. Thingumtight, I ask you again, can you solemnly swear, without the least shadow of doubt, – probable, possible shadow of doubt – that this unhappy woman met her death neither sooner nor later than Thursday evening? A probable opinion? Gentlemen, we are not Jesuits, we are straightforward Englishmen. You cannot ask a British-born jury to convict any man on the authority of a probable opinion.’ Hum of applause.”
“Biggs’s man was guilty all the same,” said Parker.
“Of course he was. But he was acquitted all the same, an’ what you’ve just said is libel.” Wimsey walked over to the bookshelf and took down a volume of Medical Jurisprudence. “‘Rigor mortis – can only be stated in a very general way – many factors determine the result.’ Cautious brute. ‘On the average, however, stiffening will have begun – neck and jaw – 5 to 6 hours after death’ – m’m – ‘in all likelihood have passed off in the bulk of cases by the end of 36 hours. Under certain circumstances, however, it may appear unusually early, or be retarded unusually long!’ Helpful, ain’t it, Parker? ‘Brown-Séquard states… 3½ minutes after death…. In certain cases not until lapse of 16 hours after death… present as long as 21 days thereafter.’ Lord! ‘Modifying factors – age – muscular state – or febrile diseases – or where temperature of environment is high’ – and so on and so on – any bloomin’ thing. Never mind. You can run the argument for what it’s worth to Sugg. He won’t know any better.” He tossed the book away. “Come back to facts. What did you make of the body?”
“Well,” said the detective, “not very much – I was puzzled – frankly. I should say he had been a rich man, but self-made, and that his good fortune had come to him fairly recently.”
“Ah, you noticed the calluses on the hands – I thought you wouldn’t miss that.”
“Both his feet were badly blistered – he had been wearing tight shoes.”
“Walking a long way in them, too,” said Lord Peter, “to get such blisters as that. Didn’t that strike you as odd, in a person evidently well off?”
“Well, I don’t know. The blisters were two or three days old. He might have got stuck in the suburbs one night, perhaps – last train gone and no taxi – and had to walk home.”
“Possibly.”
“There were some little red marks all over his back and one leg I couldn’t quite account for.”
“I saw them.”
“What did you make of them?”
“I’ll tell you afterwards. Go on.”
“He was very long-sighted – oddly long-sighted for a man in the prime of life; the glasses were like a very old man’s. By the way, they had a very beautiful and remarkable chain of flat links chased with a pattern. It struck me he might be traced through it.”
“I’ve just put an advertisement in the Times about it,” said Lord Peter. “Go on.”
“He had had the glasses some time – they had been mended twice.”
“Beautiful, Parker, beautiful. Did you realize the importance of that?”
“Not specially, I’m afraid – why?”
“Never mind – go on.”
“He was probably a sullen, ill-tempered man – his nails were filed down to the quick as though he habitually bit them, and his fingers were bitten as well.