"There's another thing. Freke's got another side-issue. He likes crime. In that criminology book of his he gloats over a hardened murderer. I've read it, and I've seen the admiration simply glaring out between the lines whenever he writes about a callous and successful criminal. He reserves his contempt for the victims or the penitents or the men who lose their heads and get found out. His heroes are Edmond de la Pommerais, who persuaded his mistress into becoming an accessory to her own murder, and George Joseph Smith of Brides-in-a-bath fame, who could make passionate love to his wife in the night and carry out his plot to murder her in the morning. After all, he thinks conscience is a sort of vermiform appendix. Chop it out and you'll feel all the better. Freke isn't troubled by the usual conscientious deterrent. Witness his own hand in his books. Now again. The man who went to Levy's house in his place knew the house: Freke knew the house; he was a red-haired man, smaller than Levy, but not much smaller, since he could wear his clothes without appearing ludicrous: you have seen Freke–you know his height–about five-foot-eleven, I suppose, and his auburn mane; he probably wore surgical gloves: Freke is a surgeon; he was a methodical and daring man: surgeons are obliged to be both daring and methodical. Now take the other side. The man who got hold of the Battersea corpse had to have access to dead bodies. Freke obviously had access to dead bodies. He had to be cool and quick and callous about handling a dead body. Surgeons are all that. He had to be a strong man to carry the body across the roofs and dump it in at Thipps's window. Freke is a powerful man and a member of the Alpine Club. He probably wore surgical gloves and he let the body down from the roof with a surgical bandage. This points to a surgeon again. He undoubtedly lived in the neighbourhood. Freke lives next door. The girl you interviewed heard a bump on the roof of the end house. That is the house next to Freke's. Every time we look at Freke, he leads somewhere, whereas Milligan and Thipps and Crimplesham and all the other people we've honoured with our suspicion simply led nowhere."
"Yes; but it's not quite so simple as you make out. What was Levy doing in that surreptitious way at Freke's on Monday night?"
"Well, you have Freke's explanation."
"Rot, Wimsey. You said yourself it wouldn't do."
"Excellent. It won't do. Therefore Freke was lying. Why should he lie about it, unless he had some object in hiding the truth?"
"Well, but why mention it at all?"
"Because Levy, contrary to all expectation, had been seen at the corner of the road. That was a nasty accident for Freke. He thought it best to be beforehand with an explanation–of sorts. He reckoned, of course, on nobody's ever connecting Levy with Battersea Park."
"Well, then, we come back to the first question: Why did Levy go there?"
"I don't know, but he was got there somehow. Why did Freke buy all those Peruvian Oil shares?"
"I don't know," said Parker in his turn.
"Anyway," went on Wimsey, "Freke expected him, and made arrangement to let him in himself, so that Cummings shouldn't see who the caller was."
"But the caller left again at ten."
"Oh, Charles! I did not expect this of you. This is the purest Suggery! Who saw him go? Somebody said 'Good-night' and walked away down the street. And you believe it was Levy because Freke didn't go out of his way to explain that it wasn't."
"D'you mean that Freke walked cheerfully out of the house to Park Lane, and left Levy behind–dead or alive–for Cummings to find?"
"We have Cummings's word that he did nothing of the sort. A few minutes after the steps walked away from the house, Freke rang the library bell and told Cummings to shut up for the night."
"Then–"
"Well–there's a side door to the house, I suppose–in fact, you know there is–Cummings said so–through the hospital."
"Yes–well, where was Levy?"
"Levy went up into the library and never came down. You've been in Freke's library. Where would you have put him?"
"In my bedroom next door."
"Then that's where he did put him."
"But suppose the man went in to turn down the bed?"
"Beds are turned down by the housekeeper, earlier than ten o'clock."
"Yes... But Cummings heard Freke about the house all night."
"He heard him go in and out two or three times. He'd expect him to do that, anyway."
"Do you mean to say Freke got all that job finished before three in the morning?"
"Why not?"
"Quick work."
"Well, call it quick work. Besides, why three? Cummings never saw him again till he called him for eight o'clock breakfast."
"But he was having a bath at three."
"I don't say he didn't get back from Park Lane before three. But I don't suppose Cummings went and looked through the bathroom keyhole to see if he was in the bath."
Parker considered again.
"How about Crimplesham's pince-nez?" he asked.
"That is a bit mysterious," said Lord Peter.
"And why Thipps's bathroom?"
"Why, indeed? Pure accident, perhaps–or pure devilry."
"Do you think all this elaborate scheme could have been put together in a night, Wimsey?"
"Far from it. It was conceived as soon as that man who bore a superficial resemblance to Levy came into the workhouse. He had several days."
"I see."
"Freke gave himself away at the inquest. He and Grimbold disagreed about the length of the man's illness. If a small man (comparatively speaking) like Grimbold presumes to disagree with a man like Freke, it's because he is sure of his ground."
"Then–if your theory is sound–Freke made a mistake."
"Yes. A very slight one. He was guarding, with unnecessary caution, against starting a train of thought in the mind of anybody–say, the workhouse doctor. Up till then he'd been reckoning on the fact that people don't think a second time about anything (a body, say) that's once been accounted for."
"What made him lose his head?"
"A chain of unforeseen accidents. Levy's having been recognized–my mother's son having foolishly advertised in the
Times
his connection with the Battersea end of the mystery–Detective Parker (whose photograph has been a little prominent in the illustrated press lately) seen sitting next door to the Duchess of Denver at the inquest. His aim in life was to prevent the two ends of the problem from linking up. And there were two of the links, literally side by side. Many criminals are wrecked by over-caution."
Parker was silent.
* Lord Peter was not without authority for his opinion: "With respect to the alleged motive, it is of great importance to see whether there was a motive for committing such a crime, or whether there was not, or whether there is an improbability of its having been committed so strong as not to be overpowered by positive evidence. But
if there be any motive which can be assigned, I am bound to tell you that the inadequacy of that motive is of little importance.
We know, from the experience of criminal courts, that atrocious crimes of this sort have been committed from very slight motives;
not merely from malice and revenge,
but to gain a small pecuniary advantage, and to drive off for a time pressing difficulties."–L. C. J. Campbell, summing up in Reg. v. Palmer, Shorthand Report, p. 308 C. C. C., May, 1856, Sess. Pa. 5. (Italics mine. D. L. S.)
XI
"A regular pea-souper, by Jove," said Lord Peter.
Parker grunted, and struggled irritably into an overcoat.
"It affords me, if I may say so, the greatest satisfaction," continued the noble lord, "that in a collaboration like ours all the uninteresting and disagreeable routine work is done by you."
Parker grunted again.
"Do you anticipate any difficulty about the warrant?" enquired Lord Peter.
Parker grunted a third time.
"I suppose you've seen to it that all this business is kept quiet?"
"Of course."
"You've muzzled the workhouse people?"
"Of course."
"And the police?"
"Yes."
"Because, if you haven't, there'll probably be nobody to arrest."
"My dear Wimsey, do you think I'm a fool?"
"I had no such hope."
Parker grunted finally and departed.