Have His Carcase by Dorothy L. Sayers

Author:Dorothy L. Sayers [Sayers, Dorothy L.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: Mystery, Classics, Fiction
ISBN: 9781453258910
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XVIII

THE EVIDENCE OF THE SNAKE

There is a little, hairy, green-eyed snake,

Of voice like to the woody nightingale,

And ever singing pitifully sweet,

That nestles in the bárry bones of Death,

And is his dearest friend and playfellow.’

Death’s Jest-Book

WEDNESDAY, 24 JUNE

ON LEAVING THE TURKISH BATHS, Miss Harriet Vane went out on a shopping expedition. This was her second venture of the kind since her arrival in Wilvercombe, and on both occasions her purchases were dictated by the desire of pleasing a man. On this occasion, she wanted an afternoon frock. And why? She was going out for a picnic.

She had picnicked before, with Lord Peter; and for him the old tweed skirt and well-worn jumper had been good enough. But today, these garments would not do. Her appointment was with Mrs Weldon and Henry.

The curious inhibitions which caused her to be abrupt, harsh, and irritating with Lord Peter did not seem to trouble her in dealing with Henry Weldon. For him she produced a latent strain of sweet womanliness which would have surprised Wimsey. She now selected a slinky garment, composed of what male writers call ‘some soft, clinging material,’ with a corsage which outlined the figure and a skirt which waved tempestuously about her ankles. She enhanced its appeal with an oversized hat of which one side obscured her face and tickled her shoulder, while the other was turned back to reveal a bunch of black ringlets, skilfully curled into position by the head hairdresser at the Resplendent. High-heeled beige shoes and sheer silk stockings, with embroidered gloves and a hand-bag completed this alluring toilette, so eminently unsuitable for picnicking. In addition, she made up her face with just so much artful restraint as to suggest enormous experience aping an impossible innocence, and, thus embellished, presently took her place beside Henry, in the driving-seat of Mrs Weldon’s large saloon. Mrs Weldon sat at the back of the car, with a luxurious tea-basket at her feet and a case of liquid refreshment beside her.

Henry seemed gratified by the efforts made to please him, and by Miss Vane’s openly expressed admiration of his driving. This was of a showy and ill-tempered kind, and involved ‘putting the wind up’ other users of the road. Harriet had herself driven cars, and suffered as all drivers do when being driven, but even when Henry rounded a corner very wide at fifty miles an hour and crammed a motor-cyclist into the ditch, she merely remarked (with some truth) that the speed made her feel quite nervous.

Mr Weldon, braking violently at the unexpected sight of a herd of cows nearly under his radiator, and crashing his gears as he changed down, smiled indulgently.

‘No point in these damned machines of you don’t make ’em move,’ he said. ‘Not like a horse—no life in ’em. Only useful for getting from one place to another.’

He waited while the cows dawdled by and then let his clutch in with a bang which nearly shot the liquid refreshment to the floor.

‘You don’t catch me motoring for pleasure,’ said Mr Weldon.

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