“Yes, but we did not go to visit Mrs Wells weeks ago.”
“You think the visit gave somebody a fright and he hurried up and killed the kid he had sent into the shop to buy the rapier for him?”
“It could well be so, except that I am surprised the boy was allowed to live so long. As you point out, Mrs Wells sold the rapier weeks ago. Her records were very clear, and there had been several sales noted down in her ledger since she sold the weapon in question.”
“Do you really think there is anything in your arsenic theory?”
“I think the analyst will take precautionary measures on the strength of the shaven head and the evidence of the extremely well-clipped finger and toenails, that is all.”
“Of course it’s easy enough to get hold of arsenic,” said Jonathan. “Rather stupid of murderers to use it, because, if poisoning is suspected, arsenic is just about the first thing people think of. You only need a tin of weedkiller or insecticide in the garden shed to become an immediate suspect. It used to be in flypapers and the paint on children’s toys, and it’s still in some colours and dyes and in wallpapers. Taxidermists use it and it’s put into sheep-dip—remember the case of that woman who got off because her brute of a husband had an open cut on his hand when he was dipping sheep?—and there is arsenic in rat-poisons and ant-repellants, apart from its proper use in medicine.”
“Let us abandon the subject of arsenic and discuss another one.”
“I’ll get away from arsenic if you wish. To me it’s very strange you should have been so much impressed by the purchase of that rapier. So far, there is nothing whatever to connect the dead boy with our play. The fact that a boy mentioned amateur theatricals to Mrs Wells doesn’t really mean a thing. There are hundreds of amateur dramatic societies up and down the country. Are you sure you haven’t got a bee in your bonnet, aunt, dear?”
“Mrs Wells was inclined to think that the dagger Detective-Inspector Conway showed her at the police station had been cut down from the rapier she sold several weeks ago. The hilt had been slightly altered, it is true, but I think only a strong inclination towards caution made her unwilling to commit herself and declare that the dagger had been made from her rapier.”
“Would it help if the rest of the rapier was found? The lower part of the blade must be somewhere. Matter, they say, is indestructible, and I should think that steel is even more indestructible than most things.”
“The discovery of the rest of the blade would help, I daresay, if we could trace the possessor of it or, if it has been discarded, who threw it away. The next thing will be the inquest. I wonder whether it will disclose the identity of the dead boy? Until that is known, the police cannot get much further.”
“We’re doing our best, ma’am,” said Conway, when she put the point to him. “Nobody has come forward to say that a youth of about that age is missing. We’re treating this as a case of murder, but suicide can’t be ruled out, although I’d say he was a bit past the age when teenagers usually go in for it. We’ve rounded up the town gangs, but got nowhere, and we’ve tried remand homes and Borstals for anybody who has absconded and not been traced, but we haven’t turned up a thing. We shall have to get the inquest adjourned, although not for the same reason as the last one.”
“What was he wearing?”
“The usual casual outfit, jeans and a T-shirt, Y-front briefs, no socks, but what had been very expensive shoes until the sea-water ruined ’em. We are convinced he was murdered, though, because the left shoe was on the wrong foot and vice versa.”
“ ‘And madly crammed a right-hand foot into a left-hand shoe’,” quoted Dame Beatrice sadly. “Yes, indeed, that does appear to indicate murder. Was the stab-wound made through the clothing?”
“No, ma’am. The doctors say he was naked when he was stabbed, so it must be murder and somebody clothed the corpse but forgot to make the necessary holes in the clothing.”
Chapter 15
Identification of a Dead Boy
“What, out of hearing?—gone?—no sound, no word?”
« ^ »
The police had made a very thorough job of rounding up the local skinheads and these, for once, proved only too anxious to cooperate with what they regarded ordinarily as the enemy.
The leaders of the Side Kicks, the Diamonds and the Saints having been winkled out and taken to the police station to ‘help with enquiries’, it fell to the leader of the Saints to make a pertinent observation. He began by removing a T-shirt ornamented with a skull and crossbones and displaying a meagre torso which was also decorated after a fashion.
“Look,” he said, “we don’t own the guy without he’s got our mark on him.” He pointed to the tattooed design of a star inside a circle on his left breast. “Our members has to cross their hearts and swear on that,” he said, “so if he ain’t got the Lucky Star on his chest, he ain’t one of our members. See what I mean?”
It turned out that there were marks on the dead boy’s body, but they were small wounds, three in all, one on the left breast, one lower down on the ribs, the third on the abdomen near the navel. None resembled the initiation marks of the gangs. The Side Kicks had theirs in the form of a letter K on the right buttock, the Diamonds were branded on the back of the left hand with the emblem of that suit of cards, and subsequent checking of the gang members confirmed the asseverations of the three leaders. The dead youth did not figure among their initiates.
Dame Beatrice bided her time while all this was going on and then produced Mrs Wells once more. Shown a copy of the photograph which, after the failure of the inquisition on the street gangs, the police were proposing to exhibit, Mrs Wells shook her head.
“It could be,” she said. “There’s something about the mouth reminds me, but the boy I saw had hair and without the hair I couldn’t possibly say.”
“Almost to his collar, I think you told us,” said Dame Beatrice. She took out a soft black pencil and gave the photograph a slightly ragged fringe on the forehead and a hairstyle of the required length. The result was
