Have His Carcase Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Dorothy L. Sayers
was. There were, in fact, two people – a cripple and a smal girl.
Harriet eagerly asked where she could get hold of a car or a telephone.
‘You’l find that al right in the vilage, miss,’ said the cripple. ‘Leastways, it
ain’t what you’d cal a vilage, exactly, but Mr Hearn that keeps the grocery,
he’s got a telephone. This here’s Darley Halt, and Darley is about ten minutes’
walk. You’l find somebody there al right, miss, for certain. Excuse me a
minute, miss. Liz! the gates!’
The child ran out to open the gates to let through a smal boy leading an
immense cart-horse.
‘Is there a train coming through?’ asked Harriet, idly, as the gates were
pushed across the road again.
‘Not for half an hour, miss. We keeps the gates shut most times. There ain’t
a deal of traffic along this road, and they keeps the cattle from straying on to the
line. There’s a good many trains in the day. It’s the main line from Wilvercombe
to Heathbury. Of course, the expresses don’t stop here, only the locals, and
they only stops twice a day, except market days.’
‘No, I see.’ Harriet wondered why she was asking about the trains, and then
suddenly realised that, with her professional interest in time-tables, she was
instinctively checking up the ways and means of approaching the Grinders.
Train, car, boat – how had the dead man got there?
‘What time—?’
No, it didn’t matter. The police could check that up. She thanked the gate-
keeper, pushed her way through the side-wickets and strode on, with Mr
Perkins limping after her.
The road stil ran beside the coast, but the cliffs were gradualy sloped down
almost to sea-level. They saw a clump of trees and a hedge and a little lane,
curving away past the ruins of an abandoned cottage to a wide space of green
on which stood a tent, close by the sandy beach, with smoke going up from a
campers’ fire beside it. As they passed the head of this lane a man emerged
from it, carrying a petrol-tin. He wore a pair of old flannel slacks, and a khaki
shirt with sleeves roled up to the elbow. His soft hat was puled down rather
low over his eyes, which were further protected by a pair of dark spectacles.
Harriet stopped him and asked if they were anywhere near the vilage.
‘A few minutes farther on,’ he replied, briefly, but civily enough.
‘I want to telephone,’ went on Harriet. ‘I’m told I can do so at the grocer’s.
Is that right?’
‘Oh, yes. Just across on the other side of the green. You can’t mistake it. It’s
the only shop there is.’
‘Thank you. Oh, by the way – I suppose there isn’t a policeman in the
vilage?’
The man halted as he was about to turn away and stared at her, shading his
eyes from the sun’s glare. She noticed a snake tattooed in red and blue upon
his forearm, and wondered whether he might perhaps have been a sailor.
‘No, there’s no policeman living in Darley. We share a constable with the
next vilage, I believe – he floats round on a bicycle occasionaly. Anything
wrong?’
‘There’s been an accident along the coast,’ said Harriet. ‘I’ve found a dead
man.’
‘Good lord! Wel, you’d better telephone through to Wilvercombe.’
‘Yes, I wil, thanks. Come along, Mr Perkins. Oh! he’s gone on.’
Harriet caught up her companion, rather annoyed by his patent eagerness to
dissociate himself from her and her errand.
‘There’s no need to stop and speak to everybody,’ complained Mr Perkins,
peevishly. ‘I don’t like the look of that felow, and we’re quite near the place
now. I came through here this morning, you know.’
‘I only wanted to ask if there was a policeman,’ explained Harriet,
peaceably. She did not want to argue with Mr Perkins. She had other things to
think of. Cottages had begun to appear, smal, sturdy buildings, surrounded by
little patches of gay garden. The road turned suddenly inland, and she observed
with joy telegraph poles,
Harriet eagerly asked where she could get hold of a car or a telephone.
‘You’l find that al right in the vilage, miss,’ said the cripple. ‘Leastways, it
ain’t what you’d cal a vilage, exactly, but Mr Hearn that keeps the grocery,
he’s got a telephone. This here’s Darley Halt, and Darley is about ten minutes’
walk. You’l find somebody there al right, miss, for certain. Excuse me a
minute, miss. Liz! the gates!’
The child ran out to open the gates to let through a smal boy leading an
immense cart-horse.
‘Is there a train coming through?’ asked Harriet, idly, as the gates were
pushed across the road again.
‘Not for half an hour, miss. We keeps the gates shut most times. There ain’t
a deal of traffic along this road, and they keeps the cattle from straying on to the
line. There’s a good many trains in the day. It’s the main line from Wilvercombe
to Heathbury. Of course, the expresses don’t stop here, only the locals, and
they only stops twice a day, except market days.’
‘No, I see.’ Harriet wondered why she was asking about the trains, and then
suddenly realised that, with her professional interest in time-tables, she was
instinctively checking up the ways and means of approaching the Grinders.
Train, car, boat – how had the dead man got there?
‘What time—?’
No, it didn’t matter. The police could check that up. She thanked the gate-
keeper, pushed her way through the side-wickets and strode on, with Mr
Perkins limping after her.
The road stil ran beside the coast, but the cliffs were gradualy sloped down
almost to sea-level. They saw a clump of trees and a hedge and a little lane,
curving away past the ruins of an abandoned cottage to a wide space of green
on which stood a tent, close by the sandy beach, with smoke going up from a
campers’ fire beside it. As they passed the head of this lane a man emerged
from it, carrying a petrol-tin. He wore a pair of old flannel slacks, and a khaki
shirt with sleeves roled up to the elbow. His soft hat was puled down rather
low over his eyes, which were further protected by a pair of dark spectacles.
Harriet stopped him and asked if they were anywhere near the vilage.
‘A few minutes farther on,’ he replied, briefly, but civily enough.
‘I want to telephone,’ went on Harriet. ‘I’m told I can do so at the grocer’s.
Is that right?’
‘Oh, yes. Just across on the other side of the green. You can’t mistake it. It’s
the only shop there is.’
‘Thank you. Oh, by the way – I suppose there isn’t a policeman in the
vilage?’
The man halted as he was about to turn away and stared at her, shading his
eyes from the sun’s glare. She noticed a snake tattooed in red and blue upon
his forearm, and wondered whether he might perhaps have been a sailor.
‘No, there’s no policeman living in Darley. We share a constable with the
next vilage, I believe – he floats round on a bicycle occasionaly. Anything
wrong?’
‘There’s been an accident along the coast,’ said Harriet. ‘I’ve found a dead
man.’
‘Good lord! Wel, you’d better telephone through to Wilvercombe.’
‘Yes, I wil, thanks. Come along, Mr Perkins. Oh! he’s gone on.’
Harriet caught up her companion, rather annoyed by his patent eagerness to
dissociate himself from her and her errand.
‘There’s no need to stop and speak to everybody,’ complained Mr Perkins,
peevishly. ‘I don’t like the look of that felow, and we’re quite near the place
now. I came through here this morning, you know.’
‘I only wanted to ask if there was a policeman,’ explained Harriet,
peaceably. She did not want to argue with Mr Perkins. She had other things to
think of. Cottages had begun to appear, smal, sturdy buildings, surrounded by
little patches of gay garden. The road turned suddenly inland, and she observed
with joy telegraph poles,