“I beg your pardon, Polly,” said Wimsey.
“It’s all right,” said Mary, “I—as a matter of fact, it wouldn’t surprise me frightfully. Denis was always—I mean, he had rather Continental ideas about marriage and that sort of thing. I don’t think he’d have thought that mattered very much. He’d probably have said there was a time and place for everything.”
“One of those watertight compartment minds,” said Wimsey thoughtfully. Mr. Parker, despite his long acquaintance with the seamy side of things in London, had his brows set in a gloomy frown of as fierce a provincial disapproval as ever came from Barrow-in-Furness.
“If you can upset this Grimethorpe’s alibi,” said Sir Impey, fitting his right-hand fingertips neatly between the fingers of his left hand, “we might make some sort of a case of it. What do you think, Murbles?”
“After all,” said the solicitor, “Grimethorpe and the servant both admit that he, Grimethorpe, was not at Grider’s Hole on Wednesday night. If he can’t prove he was at Stapley he may have been at Riddlesdale.”
“By Jove!” cried Wimsey; “driven off alone, stopped somewhere, left the gee, sneaked back, met Cathcart, done him in, and toddled home next day with a tale about machinery.”
“Or he may even have been to Stapley,” put in Parker; “left early or gone late, and put in the murder on the way. We shall have to check the precise times very carefully.”
“Hurray!” cried Wimsey. “I think I’ll be gettin’ back to Riddlesdale.”
“I’d better stay here,” said Parker. “There may be something from Paris.”
“Right you are. Let me know the minute anything comes through. I say, old thing!”
“Yes?”
“Does it occur to you that what’s the matter with this case is that there are too many clues? Dozens of people with secrets and elopements bargin’ about all over the place—”
“I hate you, Peter,” said Lady Mary.
XI
Meribah
Oh-ho, my friend! You are gotten into Lob’s pond.
Jack the Giant-Killer
Lord Peter broke his journey north at York, whither the Duke of Denver had been transferred after the Assizes, owing to the imminent closing-down of Northallerton Gaol. By dint of judicious persuasion, Peter contrived to obtain an interview with his brother. He found him looking ill at ease, and pulled down by the prison atmosphere, but still unquenchably defiant.
“Bad luck, old man,” said Peter, “but you’re keepin’ your tail up fine. Beastly slow business, all this legal stuff, what? But it gives us time, an’ that’s all to the good.”
“It’s a confounded nuisance,” said his grace. “And I’d like to know what Murbles means. Comes down and tries to bully me—damned impudence! Anybody’d think he suspected me.”
“Look here, Jerry,” said his brother earnestly, “why can’t you let up on that alibi of yours? It’d help no end, you know. After all, if a fellow won’t say what he’s been doin’—”
“It ain’t my business to prove anything,” retorted his grace, with dignity. “They’ve got to show I was there, murderin’ the fellow. I’m not bound to say where I was. I’m presumed innocent, aren’t I, till they prove me guilty? I call it a disgrace. Here’s a murder committed, and they aren’t taking the slightest trouble to find the real criminal. I give ’em my word of honor, to say nothin’ of an oath, that I didn’t kill Cathcart—though, mind you, the swine deserved it—but they pay no attention. Meanwhile, the real man’s escapin’ at his confounded leisure. If I were only free, I’d make a fuss about it.”
“Well, why the devil don’t you cut it short, then?” urged Peter. “I don’t mean here and now to me”—with a glance at the warder, within earshot—“but to Murbles. Then we could get to work.”
“I wish you’d jolly well keep out of it,” grunted the Duke. “Isn’t it all damnable enough for Helen, poor girl, and mother, and everyone, without you makin’ it an opportunity to play Sherlock Holmes? I’d have thought you’d have had the decency to keep quiet, for the family’s sake. I may be in a damned rotten position, but I ain’t makin’ a public spectacle of myself, by Jove!”
“Hell!” said Lord Peter, with such vehemence that the wooden-faced warder actually jumped. “It’s you that’s makin’ the spectacle! It need never have started, but for you. Do you think I like havin’ my brother and sister dragged through the Courts, and reporters swarmin’ over the place, and paragraphs and news-bills with your name starin’ at me from every corner, and all this ghastly business, endin’ up in a great show in the House of Lords, with a lot of people togged up in scarlet and ermine, and all the rest of the damn-fool jiggery-pokery? People are beginnin’ to look oddly at me in the Club, and I can jolly well hear ’em whisperin’ that ‘Denver’s attitude looks jolly fishy, b’gad!’ Cut it out, Jerry.”
“Well, we’re in for it now,” said his brother, “and thank heaven there are still a few decent fellows left in the peerage who’ll know how to take a gentleman’s word, even if my own brother can’t see beyond his rotten legal evidence.”
As they stared angrily at one another, that mysterious sympathy of the flesh which we call family likeness sprang out from its hiding-place, stamping their totally dissimilar features with an elfish effect of mutual caricature. It was as though each saw himself in a distorting mirror, while the voices might have been one voice with its echo.
“Look here, old chap,” said Peter, recovering himself, “I’m frightfully sorry. I didn’t mean to let myself go like that. If you won’t say anything, you won’t. Anyhow, we’re all working like blazes, and we’re sure to find the right man before very long.”
“You’d better leave it to the police,” said Denver. “I know you like
