The Nine Tailors by Dorothy L. Sayers Read Free Book Online Page A

to tell Sir Henry.”
    Mr. Lavender pushed his chair back and quavered to his ancient feet.
    “In the midst of life,” he said solemnly, “we are in death. Terrible true that is, to be sure. If so be as you’ll kindly excuse me, ma’am, I’ll be leaving you now, and thank you kindly. Good mornin’ to you all. That were a fine peal as we rung, none the more for that, and now I’ll be gettin’ to work on old Tailor Paul again.”
    He shuffled sturdily out, and within five minutes they heard the deep and melancholy voice of the bell ringing, first the six tailors for a woman and then the quick strokes which announce the age of the dead. Wimsey counted them up to thirty-seven. Then they ceased, and were followed by the slow tolling of single strokes at half-minute intervals. In the dining-room, the silence was only broken by the shy sound of hearty feeders trying to finish their meal inconspicuously.
    The party broke up quietly. Mr. Wilderspin drew Wimsey to one side and explained that he had sent round to Mr. Ashton for a couple of farm-horses and a stout rope, and hoped to get the car out of the ditch in a very short time, and would then see what was needed in the way of repairs. If his lordship cared to step along to the smithy in an hour or so they could go into consultation about the matter. His (Mr. Wilderspin’s) son George was a great hand with motors having had considerable experience with farm engines, not to mention his own motor-bike. Mrs. Venables retired into the study to see that her husband had everything he wanted and to administer such consolation as she might for the calamity that had befallen the parish. Wimsey, knowing that his presence at Frog’s Bridge could not help and would probably only hinder the break-down team, begged his hostess not to trouble about him, and wandered out into the garden. At the back of the house, he discovered Joe Hinkins, polishing the Rector’s aged car. Joe accepted a cigarette, passed a few remarks about the ringing of the peal, and thence slid into conversation about the Thorpe family.
    “They live in the big red-brick house t’other side the village. A rich family they were once. They do say as they got their land through putting money into draining of the Fen long ago under the Earl of Bedford. You’d know all about that, my lord, I dare say. Anyhow, they reckon to be an old family hereabouts. Sir Charles, he was a fine, generous gentleman; did a lot of good in his time, though he wasn’t what you’d call a rich man, not by no means. They do say his father lost a lot of money up in London, but I don’t know how. But he farmed his land well, and it was a rare trouble to the village when he died along of the burglary.”
    “What burglary was that?”
    “Why, that was the necklace the mistress was talking about. It was when young Mr. Henry—that’s the present Sir Henry—was married. The year of the War, it was, in the spring—April 1914—I remember it very well. I was a youngster at the time, and their wedding-bells was the first long peal I ever rang. We gave them 5,040 Grandsire Triples, Holt’s Ten-part Peal—you’ll find the record of it in the church yonder, and there was a big supper at the Red House afterwards, and a lot of fine visitors came down for the wedding. The young lady was an orphan, you see, and some sort of connection with the family, and Mr. Henry being the heir they was married down here. Well, there was a lady come to stay in the house, and she had a wonderful fine emerald necklace—worth thousands and thousands of pounds it was—and the very night after the wedding, when Mr. Henry and his lady was just gone off for their honeymoon, the necklace was stole.”
    “Good lord!” said Wimsey. He sat down on the running-board of the car and looked as encouraging as he could.
    “You may say so,” said Mr. Hinkins, much gratified. “A big sensation it made at the time in the parish. And the worst part of it was, you see, that one