straining ears could not distinguish a sound beyond the laboured ticking
of the hall clock beyond.
“I hear nothing,” he muttered to himself.
He had not long to wait. Half-way up the stairs something snapped off
like the miniature report of a toy pistol. Before the sound could
translate itself to the human brain another louder discharge had
swallowed it up and out of its echo a crackling fusillade again marked
the dying effects of the scattered explosive.
At the first crack Carrados had swept aside the screen. “Light,
Parkinson!” he cried.
An electric lantern flashed out and centred its circle of brilliance on
the stairs opposite. Its radiance pierced the nebulous balloon of violet
smoke that was rising to the roof and brought out every detail of the
wall beyond.
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Colonel Aynosforde, “there is a stone out. I
knew nothing of this.”
As he spoke the solid block of masonry slid back into its place and the
wall became as blankly impenetrable as before.
“Colonel Aynosforde,” said Carrados, after a hurried word with
Parkinson, “you know the house. Will you take my man and get round to
Dunstan’s workroom at once? A good deal depends upon securing him
immediately.”
“Am I to leave you here without any protection, sir?” inquired Parkinson
in mild rebellion.
“Not without any protection, thank you, Parkinson. I shall be in the
dark, remember.”
They had scarcely gone when Dr Tulloch came stumbling in from the hall
and the main stairs beyond, calling on Carrados as he bumped his way
past a succession of inopportune pieces of furniture.
“Are you there, Wynn?” he demanded, in high-strung irritation. “What the
devil’s happening? Aynosforde hasn’t left his room, we’ll swear, but
hasn’t the iodide gone off?”
“The iodide has gone off and Aynosforde has left his room, though not by
the door. Possibly he is back in it by now.”
“The deuce!” exclaimed Tulloch blankly. “What am I to do?”
“Return----” began Carrados, but before he could say more there was a
confused noise and a shout outside the window.
“We are saved further uncertainty,” said the blind man. “He has thrown
himself down into the moat.”
“He will be drowned!”
“Not if Swarbrick put the drag-rake where he was instructed, and if
those keepers are even passably expert,” replied Carrados imperturbably.
“After all, drowning.... But perhaps you had better go and see, Jim.”
In a few minutes men began to return to the dining hall as though where
the blind man was constituted their headquarters. Colonel Aynosforde and
Parkinson were the first, and immediately afterwards Swarbrick entered
from the opposite side, bringing a light.
“They’ve got him out,” exclaimed the colonel. “Upon my word, I don’t
know whether it’s for the best or the worst, Mr Carrados.” He turned to
the butler, who was lighting one after another of the candles of the
great hanging centre-pieces. “Did you know anything of a secret passage
giving access to these stairs, Swarbrick?” he inquired.
“Not personally, sir,” replied Swarbrick, “but we always understood that
formerly there was a passage and hiding chamber somewhere, though the
positions had been lost. We last had occasion to use it when we were
defeated at Naseby, sir.”
Carrados had walked to the stairs and was examining the wall.
“This would be the principal stairway, then?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, until we removed the Elizabethan gallery when we restored in
1712.”
“It is on the same plan as the ‘Priest’s Chamber’ at Lapwood. If you
investigate in the daylight, Colonel Aynosforde, you will find that you
command a view of both bridges when the stone is open. Very convenient
sometimes, I dare say.”
“Very, very,” assented the colonel absently. “Every moment,” he
explained, “I am dreading that Aunt Eleanor will make her appearance.
She must have been disturbed.”
“Oh, I took that into account,” said Tulloch, catching the remark as he
put his head in at the door and looked round. “I recommended a sleeping
draught when I was here last--no, this evening. We have got our man in
all right now,” he continued, “and if we can have a dry suit----”
“I will accompany you, sir,” said Swarbrick.
“Is he--violent?” asked the colonel, dropping his voice.
“Violent? Well,” admitted Tulloch, holding out two dripping objects that
he had been carrying, “we thought it just as well to cut his boots off.”
He threw them down in a corner and followed the butler out of the room.
Carrados took two pieces of shaped white paper from his pocket and ran
his fingers round the outlines. Then he picked up Dunstan Aynosforde’s
boots and submitted them to a similar scrutiny.
“Very exact, Parkinson,” he remarked approvingly.
“Thank you, sir,” replied Parkinson with modest pride.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
IV
The Mystery of the Poisoned Dish of Mushrooms
Some time during November of a recent year newspaper readers who are in
the habit of being attracted by curious items of quite negligible
importance might have followed the account of the tragedy of a St Abbots
schoolboy which appeared in the Press under the headings, “Fatal Dish of
Mushrooms,” “Are Toadstools Distinguishable?” or some similarly alluring
title.
The facts relating to the death of Charlie Winpole were simple and
straightforward and the jury sworn to the business of investigating the
cause had no hesitation in bringing in a verdict in accordance with the
medical evidence. The witnesses who had anything really material to
contribute were only two in number, Mrs Dupreen and Robert Wilberforce
Slark, M.D. A couple of hours would easily have disposed of every detail
of an inquiry that was generally admitted to have been a pure formality,
had not the contention of an interested person delayed the inevitable
conclusion by forcing the necessity of an adjournment.
Irene Dupreen testified that she was the widow of a physician and lived
at Hazlehurst, Chesset Avenue, St Abbots, with her brother. The deceased
was their nephew, an only child and an orphan, and was aged twelve. He
was a ward of Chancery and the Court had appointed her as guardian, with
an adequate provision for the expenses of his bringing up and education.
That allowance would, of course, cease with her nephew’s death.
Coming to the particulars of the case, Mrs Dupreen explained that for a
few days the boy had been suffering from a rather severe cold. She had
not thought it necessary to call in a doctor, recognising it as a mild
form of influenza. She had kept him from school and restricted him to
his bedroom. On the previous Wednesday, the day before his death, he was
quite convalescent, with a good pulse and a normal temperature, but as
the weather was cold she decided still to keep him in bed as a measure
of precaution. He had a fair appetite, but did not care for the lunch
they had, and so she had asked him, before going out in the afternoon,
if there was anything that he would especially fancy for his dinner. He
had thereupon expressed a partiality for mushrooms, of which he was
always very fond.
“I laughed and pulled his ear,” continued the witness, much affected at
her recollection, “and asked him if that was his idea of a suitable dish
for an invalid. But I didn’t think that it really mattered in the least
then, so I went to several shops about them. They all said that
mushrooms were over, but finally I found a few at Lackington’s, the
greengrocer in Park Road. I bought only half-a-pound; no one but Charlie
among us cared for them and I thought that they were already very dry
and rather dear.”
The connection between the mushrooms and the unfortunate boy’s death
seemed inevitable. When Mrs Dupreen went upstairs after dinner she found
Charlie apparently asleep and breathing soundly. She quietly removed the
tray and without disturbing him turned out the gas and closed the door.
In the middle of the night she was suddenly and startlingly awakened by
something. For a moment she remained confused, listening. Then a curious
sound coming from the direction of the boy’s bedroom drew her there. On
opening the door she was horrified to see her nephew lying on the floor
in a convulsed attitude. His eyes were open and widely dilated; one hand
clutched some bed-clothes which he had dragged down with him, and the
other still grasped the empty water-bottle that had been by his side.
She called loudly for help and her brother and then the servant
appeared. She sent the latter to a medicine cabinet for mustard leaves
and told her brother to get in the nearest available doctor. She had
already lifted Charlie on to the bed again. Before the doctor arrived,
which was in about half-an-hour, the boy was dead.
In answer to a question the witness stated that she had not seen her
nephew between the time she removed the tray and when she found him ill.
The only other person who had seen him within a few hours of his death
had been her brother, Philip Loudham, who had taken up Charlie’s dinner.
When he came down again he had made the remark: “The youngster seems
lively enough now.”
Dr Slark was the next witness. His evidence was to the effect that about
three-fifteen on the Thursday morning he was hurriedly called to
Hazlehurst by a gentleman whom he now knew to be Mr Philip Loudham. He
understood that the case was one of convulsions and went provided for
that contingency, but on his arrival he found the patient already dead.
From his own examination and from what he was told he had no hesitation
in diagnosing the case as one of agaric poisoning. He saw no reason to
suspect any of the food except the mushrooms, and all the symptoms
pointed to bhurine, the deadly principle of _Amanita Bhuroides_, or the
Black Cap, as it was popularly called, from its fancied resemblance to
the head-dress assumed by a judge in passing death sentence, coupled
with its sinister and well-merited reputation. It was always fatal.
Continuing his evidence, Dr Slark explained that only after maturity did
the Black Cap develop its distinctive appearance. Up to that stage it
had many of the characteristics of _Agaricus campestris_, or common
mushroom. It was true that the gills were paler than one would expect to
find, and there were other slight differences of a technical kind, but
all might easily be overlooked in the superficial glance of the
gatherer. The whole subject of edible and noxious fungi was a difficult
one and at present very imperfectly understood. He, personally, very
much doubted if true mushrooms were ever responsible for the cases of
poisoning which one occasionally saw attributed to them. Under
scientific examination he was satisfied that all would resolve
themselves into poisoning by one or other of the many noxious fungi that
could easily be mistaken for the edible varieties. It was possible to
prepare an artificial bed, plant it with proper spawn and be rewarded by
a crop of mushroom-like growth of undoubted virulence. On the other
hand, the injurious constituents of many poisonous fungi passed off in
the process of cooking. There was no handy way of discriminating between
the good and the bad except by the absolute identification of species.
The salt test and the silver-spoon test were all nonsense and the sooner
they were forgotten the better. Apparent mushrooms that were found in
woods or growing in the vicinity of trees or hedges should always be
regarded with the utmost suspicion.
Dr Slark’s evidence concluded the case so far as the subpœnaed witnesses
were concerned, but before addressing the jury the coroner announced
that another person had expressed a desire to be heard. There was no
reason why they should not accept any evidence that was tendered, and as
the applicant’s name had been mentioned in the case it was only right
that he should have the opportunity of replying publicly.
Mr Lackington thereupon entered the witness-box and was sworn. He stated
that he was a fruiterer and greengrocer, carrying on a business in Park
Road, St Abbots. He remembered Mrs Dupreen coming to his shop two days
before. The basket of mushrooms from which she was supplied consisted of
a small lot of about six pounds, brought in by a farmer from a
neighbouring village, with whom he had frequent dealings. All had been
disposed of and in no other case had illness resulted. It was a serious
matter to him as a tradesman to have his name associated with a case of
this kind. That was why he had come forward. Not only with regard to
mushrooms, but as a general result, people would become shy of dealing
with him if it was stated that he sold unwholesome goods.
The coroner, intervening at this point, remarked that he might as well
say that he would direct the jury that, in the event of their finding
the deceased to have died from the effects of the mushrooms or anything
contained among them, there was no evidence other than that the
occurrence was one of pure mischance.
Mr Lackington expressed his thanks for the assurance, but said that a
bad impression would still remain. He had been in business in St Abbots
for twenty-seven years and during that time he had handled some tons of
mushrooms without a single complaint before. He admitted, in answer to
the interrogation, that he had not actually examined every mushroom of
the half-pound sold to Mrs Dupreen, but he weighed them, and he was
confident that if a toadstool had been among them he would have detected
it. Might it not be a cooking utensil that was the cause?
Dr Slark shook his head and was understood to say that he could not
accept the suggestion.
Continuing, Mr Lackington then asked whether it was not possible that
the deceased, doubtless an inquiring, adventurous boy and as mischievous
as most of his kind, feeling quite well again and being confined to the
house, had got up in his aunt’s absence and taken something that would
explain this sad affair? They had heard of a medicine cabinet. What
about tablets of trional or veronal or something of that sort that might
perhaps look like sweets?----It was all very well for Dr Slark to laugh,
but this matter was a serious one for the witness.
Dr Slark apologised for smiling--he had not laughed--and gravely
remarked that the matter was a serious one for all concerned in the
inquiry. He admitted that the reference to trional and veronal in this
connection had, for the moment, caused him to forget the surroundings.
He would suggest that in the circumstances perhaps the coroner would
think it desirable to order a more detailed examination of the body to
be made.
After some further discussion the coroner, while remarking that in most
cases an analysis was quite unnecessary, decided that in view of what
had transpired it would be more satisfactory to have a complete autopsy
carried out. The inquest was accordingly adjourned.
A week later most of those who had taken part in the first inquiry
assembled again in the room of the St Abbots Town Hall which did duty
for the Coroner’s Court. Only one witness was heard and his evidence was
brief and conclusive.
Dr Herbert Ingpenny, consulting pathologist to St Martin’s Hospital,
stated that he had made an examination of the contents of the stomach
and viscera of the deceased. He found evidence of the presence of the
poison bhurine in sufficient quantity to account for the boy’s death,
and the symptoms, as described by Dr Slark and Mrs Dupreen in the course
of the previous hearing, were consistent with bhurine poisoning. Bhurine
did not occur naturally except as a constituent of _Amanita Bhuroides_.
One-fifth of a grain would be fatal to an adult; in other words, a
single fungus in the dish might poison three people. A child, especially
if experiencing the effects of a weakening illness, would be even more
susceptible. No other harmful substance was present.
Dr Ingpenny concluded by saying that he endorsed his colleague’s general
remarks on the subject of mushrooms and other fungi, and the jury, after
a plain direction from the coroner, forthwith brought in a verdict in
accordance with the medical evidence.
It was a foregone conclusion with anyone who knew the facts or had
followed the evidence. Yet five days later Philip Loudham was arrested
suddenly and charged with the astounding crime of having murdered his
nephew.
It is at this point that Max Carrados makes his first appearance in the
Winpole tragedy.
A few days after the arrest, being in a particularly urbane frame of
mind himself, and having several hours with no demands on them that
could not be fitly transferred to his subordinates, Mr Carlyle looked
round for some social entertainment and with a benevolent condescension
very opportunely remembered the existence of his niece living at Groat’s
Heath.
“Elsie will be delighted,” he assented to the suggestion. “She is rather
out of the world up there, I imagine. Now if I get there at four, put in
a couple of hours....”
Mrs Bellmark was certainly pleased, but she appeared to be still more
surprised, and behind that lay an effervescence of excitement that even
to Mr Carlyle’s complacent self-esteem seemed out of proportion to the
occasion. The reason could not be long withheld.
“Did you meet anyone, Uncle Louis?” was almost her first inquiry.
“Did I meet anyone?” repeated Mr Carlyle with his usual precision. “Um,
no, I cannot say that I met anyone particular. Of course----”
“I’ve had a visitor and he’s coming back again for tea. Guess who it is?
But you never will. Mr Carrados.”
“Max Carrados!” exclaimed her uncle in astonishment. “You don’t say so.
Why, bless my soul, Elsie, I’d almost forgotten that you knew him. It
seems years ago----What on earth is Max doing in Groat’s Heath?”
“That is the extraordinary thing about it,” replied Mrs Bellmark. “He
said that he had come up here to look for mushrooms.”
“Mushrooms?”
“Yes; that was what he said. He asked me if I knew of any woods about
here that he could go into and I told him of the one down Stonecut
Lane.”
“But don’t you know, my dear child,” exclaimed Mr Carlyle, “that
mushrooms growing in woods or even near trees are always to be regarded
with suspicion? They may look like mushrooms, but they are probably
poisonous.”
“I didn’t know,” admitted Mrs Bellmark; “but if they are, I imagine Mr
Carrados will know.”
“It scarcely sounds like it--going to a wood, you know. As it happens, I
have been looking up the subject lately. But, in any case, you say that
he is coming back here?”
“He asked me if he might call on his way home for a cup of tea, and of
course I said, ‘Of course.’”
“Of course,” also said Mr Carlyle. “Motoring, I suppose.”
“Yes, a big grey car. He had Mr Parkinson with him.”
Mr Carlyle was slightly puzzled, as he frequently was by his friend’s
proceedings, but it was not his custom to dwell on any topic that
involved an admission of inadequacy. The subject of Carrados and his
eccentric quest was therefore dismissed until the sound of a formidable
motor car dominating the atmosphere of the quiet suburban road was
almost immediately followed by the entrance of the blind amateur. With a
knowing look towards his niece Carlyle had taken up a position at the
farther end of the room, where he remained in almost breathless silence.
Carrados acknowledged the hostess’s smiling greeting and then nodded
familiarly in the direction of the playful guest.
“Well, Louis,” he remarked, “we’ve caught each other.”
Mrs Bellmark was perceptibly startled, but rippled musically at the
failure of the conspiracy.
“Extraordinary,” admitted Mr Carlyle, coming forward.
“Not so very,” was the dry reply. “Your friendly little maid”--to Mrs
Bellmark--“mentioned your visitor as she brought me in.”
“Is it a fact, Max,” demanded Mr Carlyle, “that you have been
to--er--Stonecut Wood to get mushrooms?”
“Mrs Bellmark told you?”
“Yes. And did you succeed?”
“Parkinson found something that he assured me looked just like
mushrooms.”
Mr Carlyle bestowed a triumphant glance on his niece.
“I should very much like to see these so-called mushrooms. Do you know,
it may be rather a good thing for you that I met you.”
“It is always a good thing for me to meet you,” replied Carrados. “You
shall see them. They are in the car. Perhaps I shall be able to take you
back to town?”
“If you are going very soon. No, no, Elsie”--in response to Mrs
Bellmark’s protesting “Oh!”--“I don’t want to influence Max, but I
really must tear myself away the moment after tea. I still have to clear
up some work on a rather important case I am just completing. It is
quite appropriate to the occasion, too. Do you know all about the
Winpole business, Max?”
“No,” admitted Carrados, without any appreciable show of interest. “Do
you, Louis?”
“Yes,” responded Mr Carlyle with crisp assurance, “yes, I think that I
may claim I do. In fact it was I who obtained the evidence that induced
the authorities to take up the case against Loudham.”
“Oh, do tell us all about it,” exclaimed Elsie. “I have only seen
something in the _Indicator_.”
Mr Carlyle shook his head, hemmed and looked wise, and then gave in.
“But not a word of this outside, Elsie,” he stipulated. “Some of the
evidence won’t be given until next week and it might be serious----”
“Not a syllable,” assented the lady. “How exciting! Go on.”
“Well, you know, of course, that the coroner’s jury--very rightly,
according to the evidence before them--brought in a verdict of
accidental death. In the circumstances it was a reflection on the
business methods or the care or the knowledge or whatever one may decide
of the man who sold the mushrooms, a greengrocer called Lackington. I
have seen Lackington, and with a rather remarkable pertinacity in the
face of the evidence he insists that he could not have made this fatal
blunder--that in weighing so small a quantity as half-a-pound, at any
rate, he would at once have spotted anything that wasn’t quite all
right.”
“But the doctor said, Uncle Louis----”
“Yes, my dear Elsie, we know what the doctor said, but, rightly or
wrongly, Lackington backs his experience and practical knowledge against
theoretical generalities. In ordinary circumstances nothing more would
have come of it, but it happens that Lackington has for a lodger a young
man on the staff of the local paper, and for a neighbour a
pharmaceutical chemist. These three men talked things over more than
once--Lackington restive under the damage that had been done to his
reputation, the journalist stimulating and keen for a newspaper
sensation, the chemist contributing his quota of practical knowledge. At
the end of a few days a fabric of circumstance had been woven which
might be serious or innocent according to the further development of the
suggestion and the manner in which it could be met. These were the chief
points of the attack:
“Mrs Dupreen’s allowance for the care and maintenance of Charlie Winpole
ceased with his death, as she had told the jury. What she did not
mention was that the deceased boy would have come into an inheritance of
some fifteen thousand pounds at age and that this fortune now fell in
equal shares to the lot of his two nearest relatives--Mrs Dupreen and
her brother Philip.
“Mrs Dupreen was by no means in easy circumstances. Philip Loudham was
equally poor and had no assured income. He had tried several forms of
business and now, at about thirty-five, was spending his time chiefly in
writing poems and painting watercolours, none of which brought him any
money so far as one could learn.
“Philip Loudham, it was admitted, took up the food round which the
tragedy centred.
“Philip Loudham was shown to be in debt and urgently in need of money.
There was supposed to be a lady in the case--I hope I need say no more,
Elsie.”
“Who is she?” asked Mrs Bellmark with poignant interest.
“We do not know yet. A married woman, it is rumoured, I regret to say.
It scarcely matters--certainly not to you, Elsie. To continue: