By what ingratiating means Mr. Bunter had contrived to turn the
delivery of a note into the acceptance of an invitation to tea was
best known to himself. At half-past four on the day which ended
so cheerfully for Lord Peter, he was seated in the kitchen of Mr.
Urquhart's house, toasting crumpets. He had been trained to a great
pitch of dexterity in the preparation of crumpets, and if he was
somewhat lavish in the matter of butter, that hurt nobody except Mr.
Urquhart. It was natural that the conversation should turn to the
subject of murder. Nothing goes so well with a hot fire and buttered
crumpets as a wet day without and a good dose of comfortable horrors
within. The heavier the lashing of the rain and the ghastlier the
details, the better the flavour seems to be. On the present occasion,
all the ingredients of an enjoyable party were present in full force.
"'Orrible white, he looked, when he came in," said Mrs. Pettican the
cook. "I see him when they sent for me to bring up the 'ot bottles.
Three of them, they 'ad, one to his feet and one to his back and the
big rubber one to 'is stummick. White and shiverin', he was, and that
dreadful sick, you never would believe. And he groaned pitiful."
"Green, he looked to me, Cook," said Hannah Westlock, "or you might
perhaps call it a greenish-yellow. I thought it was jaundice a-coming
on--more like them attacks he had in the Spring."
"He was a bad colour then," agreed Mrs. Pettican, "but nothink like to
what he was that last time. And the pains and cramps in his legs was
agonising. That struck Nurse Williams very forcible--a nice young woman
she was, and not stuck-up like some as I could name. 'Mrs. Pettican,'
she said to me, which I call it better manners than callin' you Cook
as they mostly do, as though they paid your wages for the right of
callin' you out of your name--'Mrs. Pettican,' said she, 'never did
I see anythink to equal them cramps except in one other case that
was the dead spit of this one,' she said, 'and you mark my words,
Mrs. Pettican, them cramps ain't there for nothin'. Ah! little did I
understand her meanin' at the time."
"That's a regular feature of these arsenical cases, or so his lordship
tells me," replied Bunter. "A very distressing symptom. Had he ever had
anything of the sort before?"
"Not what you could call cramps," said Hannah, "though I remember when
he was ill in the Spring he complained of getting the fidgets in the
hands and feet. Something like pins-and-needles, by what I understood
him to say. It was a worrit to him, because he was finishing one of his
articles in a hurry, and what with that and his eyes being so bad, the
writing was a trial to him, poor thing."
"From what the gentleman for the prosecution said, talking it out
with Sir James Lubbock," said Mr. Bunter, "I gathered that those
pins-and-needles, and bad eyes and so on, were a sign he'd been given
arsenic regularly, if I may so phrase it."
"A dreadful wicked woman she must 'a' been," said Mrs. Pettican, "--'ev
another crumpet, do, Mr. Bunter--a-torturin' of the poor soul that
long-winded way. Bashin' on the 'ed or the 'asty use of a carvin' knife
when roused I can understand, but the 'orrors of slow poisonin' is the
work of a fiend in 'uman form, in my opinion."
"Fiend is the only word, Mrs. Pettican," agreed the visitor.
"And the wickedness of it," said Hannah, "quite apart from the causing
of a painful death to a fellow-being. Why, it's only the mercy of
Providence we weren't all brought under suspicion."
"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Pettican. "Why, when master told us about them
diggin' poor Mr. Boyes up and findin' him full of that there nasty
arsenic, it give me sech a turn, I felt as if the room was a-goin'
round like the gallopin' 'orses at the roundabouts. 'Oh, sir!' I ses,
'what, in our 'ouse!' That's what I ses, and he ses, 'Mrs. Pettican,'
he ses, 'I sincerely hope not.'"
Mrs. Pettican, having imparted this Macbeth-like flavour to the story,
was pleased with it, and added:
"Yes, that's what I said to 'im. 'In our 'ouse.' I said, and I'm sure
I never slep' a wink for three nights afterwards, what with the police
and the fright and one thing and another."
"But of course you had no difficulty in proving that it hadn't happened
in this house?" suggested Bunter. "Miss Westlock gave her evidence so
beautifully at the trial, I'm sure she made it clear as clear could be
to judge and jury. The judge congratulated you, Miss Westlock, and I'm
sure he didn't say nearly enough--so plainly and well as you spoke up
before the whole court."
"Well, I never was one to be shy," confessed Hannah, "and then, what
with going through it all so careful with the master and then with the
police, I knew what the questions would be and was prepared, as you
might say."
"I wonder you could speak so exactly to every little detail, all that
time ago," said Bunter, with admiration.
"Well, you see, Mr. Bunter, the very morning after Mr. Boyes was took
ill, master comes down to us and he says, sitting in that chair ever
so friendly, just as you might be yourself, 'I'm afraid Mr. Boyes is
very ill,' he says. 'He thinks he must have ate something as disagreed
with him,' he says, 'and perhaps as it might be the chicken. So I
want you and Cook,' he says, 'to run through with me everything we
had for dinner last night to see if we can think what it could have
been.' 'Well, sir,' I said, 'I don't see that Mr. Boyes could have ate
anything unwholesome here, for Cook and me had just the same, put aside
yourself, sir, and it was all as sweet and good as it could be,' I
said."
"And I said the same," said the Cook. "Sech a plain, simple dinner as
it was, too--no oysters nor mussels nor anything of that sort, as it's
well known shell-fish is poison to some people's stummicks, but a good
stren'thenin' drop o' soup, and a bit of nice fish and a casseroled
chicken with turnips and carrots done in the gravy, and a omelette, wot
could be lighter and better? Not but there's people as can't relish
eggs in any form, my own mother was just the same, give her so much as
a cake what had bin made with a egg in it and she'd be that sick and
come out all over spots like nettle-rash, you'd be surprised. But Mr.
Boyes was a great gentleman for eggs, and omelettes was his particular
favourite."
"Yes, he made the omelette himself that very night, didn't he?"
"He did," said Hannah, "and well I remember it, for Mr. Urquhart asked
particular after the eggs, was they new-laid, and I reminded him they
was some he had brought in himself that afternoon from that shop on
the corner of Lamb's Conduit Street where they always have them fresh
from the farm, and I reminded him that one of them was a little cracked
and he'd said, 'We'll use that in the omelette tonight, Hannah,' and I
brought out a clean bowl from the kitchen and put them straight in--the
cracked one and three more besides, and never touched them again till
I brought them to table. 'And what's more, sir,' I said, 'there's the
other eight still here out of the dozen, and you can see for yourself
they're as good and fresh as they can be.' Didn't I, Cook?"
"Yes, Hannah. And as for the chicken, that was a little beauty. It
was that young and tender, I says to Hannah at the time as it seemed
a shame to casserole it, for it would 'ave roasted beautiful. But Mr.
Urquhart is very partial to a casseroled chicken; he says as there's
more flavour to 'em that way, and I dunno but what he's right."
"If done with a good beef stock," pronounced Mr. Bunter, judicially,
"the vegetables well packed in layers, on a foundation of bacon, not
too fat, and the whole well seasoned with salt, pepper and paprika,
there are few dishes to beat a casseroled chicken. For my own part I
would recommend a soupçon of garlic, but I am aware that such is not
agreeable to all tastes."
"I can't a-bear the smell or sight of the stuff," said Mrs. Pettican,
frankly, "but as for the rest I'm with you, always allowing that the
giblets is added to the stock, and I would personally favour mushrooms
when in season, but not them tinned or bottled sorts as looks pretty
but has no more taste to 'em than boot-buttons if so much. But the
secret is in the cooking, as you know well, Mr. Bunter, the lid being
kep' well sealed down to 'old the flavour and the cookin' bein' slow
to make the juices perambulate through _and_ through each other as you
might say. I'm not denyin' as sech is very 'ighly enjoyable, and so
Hannah and me found it, though fond of a good roast fowl also, when
well-basted with a good rich stuffing to rejuice the dryness. But as to
roasting it, Mr. Urquhart wouldn't hear of it, and bein' as it's him
that pays the bills, he has the right to give his orders."
"Well," said Bunter, "it's certain if there had been anything
unwholesome about the casserole, you and Miss Westlock could scarcely
have escaped it."
"No, indeed," said Hannah, "for I won't conceal that, being blessed
with hearty appetites, we finished it every bit, except a little piece
I gave to the cat. Mr. Urquhart asked to see the remains of it next
day, and seemed quite put out to find it was all gone and the dish
washed up--as though any washing-up was ever left over-night in _this_
kitchen."
"I couldn't a-bear myself if I had to begin the day with dirty dishes,"
said Mrs. Pettican. "There was a drop of the soup left--not much, jest
a wee drain, and Mr. Urquhart took that up to show to the doctor, and
he tasted it and said it was very good, so Nurse Williams told us,
though she didn't have none of it herself."
"And as for the burgundy," said Hannah Westlock, "which was the only
thing Mr. Boyes had to himself, like, Mr. Urquhart told me to cork it
up tight and keep it. And just as well we did, because, of course, the
police asked to see it when the time came."
"It was very far-seeing of Mr. Urquhart to take such precautions," said
Bunter, "when there wasn't any thought at the time but that the poor
man died naturally."
"That's what Nurse Williams said," replied Hannah, "but we put it down
to him being a solicitor and knowing what ought to be done in a case
of sudden death. Very particular he was, too--got me to put a bit of
sticking-plaster over the mouth of the bottle and write my initials on
it, so that it shouldn't be opened accidental. Nurse Williams always
said he expected an inquest, but Dr. Weare being there to speak to Mr.
Boyes having had these kind of bilious attacks all his life, of course
there was no question raised about giving the certificate."
"Of course not," said Bunter, "but it's very fortunate as it turns out
that Mr. Urquhart should have understood his duty so well. Many's the
case his lordship has seen in which an innocent man has been brought
near to the gallows for lack of a simple little precaution like that."
"And when I think how near Mr. Urquhart was to being away from 'ome at
the time," said Mrs. Pettican, "the thought fair gives me palpitations.
Called away, he was, to that tiresome old woman what's always a-dying
and never dies. Why, he's there now--Mrs. Wrayburn, up in Windle. Rich
as Sneezes, she is, by all accounts, and no good to nobody, for she's
gone quite childish, so they say. A wicked old woman she was, too, in
'er day, and 'er other relations wouldn't 'ave nothink to do with 'er,
only Mr. Urquhart, and I don't suppose 'e wouldn't, neither, only 'e's
her solicitor and it's his duty so to do."
"Duty does not always lie in pleasant places," commented Mr. Bunter,
"as you and I well know, Mrs. Pettican."
"Them that are rich," said Hannah Westlock, "find no difficulty about
getting their duties performed for them. Which I will make bold to say,
Mrs. Wrayburn would not have done if she had been poor, great-aunt or
no great-aunt, knowing Mr. Urquhart."
"Ah!" said Bunter.
"I pass no comments," said Miss Westlock, "but you and me, Mr. Bunter,
know how the world goes."
"I suppose Mr. Urquhart stands to gain something when the old woman
does peg out," suggested Bunter.
"That's as may be; he's not a talker," said Hannah, "but it stands to
reason he wouldn't be always giving up his time and tearing off to
Westmorland for nothing. Though I wouldn't care myself to put my hand
to money that's wickedly come by. It would not bring a blessing with
it, Mr. Bunter."
"It's easy talking, my girl, when you ain't likely to be put in the way
of temptation," said Mrs. Pettican. "There's many great families in
the Kingdom what never would a bin 'eard of if somebody 'adn't bin a
little easier in their ways than what we've bin brought up to. There's
skelintons in a many cupboards if the truth was known."
"Ah!" said Bunter, "I believe you. I've seen diamond necklaces and fur
coats that should have been labelled Wages of Sin if deeds done in the
dark were to be proclaimed upon the house-tops, Mrs. Pettican. And
there are families that hold their heads high that wouldn't ever have
existed but for some king or other taking his amusements on the wrong
side of the blanket as the old saying goes."
"They say as some that was high up wasn't too high to take notice of
old Mrs. Wrayburn in her young days," said Hannah, darkly. "Queen
Victoria wouldn't never allow her to act before the Royal Family--she
knew too much about her goings-on."
"An actress, was she?"
"And a very beautiful one, they say, though I can't rightly recollect
what her stage name was," mused Mrs. Pettican. "It was a queer one, I
know--'Yde Park, or somethink of that. This Wrayburn as she married,
'e was nobody--jest to kiver up the scandal that's what she married
'im for. Two children she 'ad--but 'ose I would not take it upon me
to say--and they both died in the cholera, which no doubt it was a
judgment."
"That's not what Mr. Boyes called it," said Hannah, with a
self-righteous sniff. "The devil took care of his own, that was his way
of putting it."
"Ah! he talked careless," said Mrs. Pettican, "and no wonder, seeing
the folks he lived with. But he'd a sobered down in time if he'd bin
spared. A very pleasant way he 'ad with 'im when 'e liked. Come in
here, he would, and chat upon one thing and another, very amusing-like."
"You're too soft with the gentlemen, Mrs. Pettican," said Hannah.
"Anyone as has taking ways and poor health is ewe-lambs to you."
"So Mr. Boyes knew all about Mrs. Wrayburn?"
"Oh, yes--it was all in the family, you see, and no doubt Mr. Urquhart
would a told him more than he'd say to us. Which train did Mr. Urquhart
say he was a-comin' by, Hannah?"
"He said dinner for half-past seven. That'll be the six-thirty, I
should think."
Mrs. Pettican glanced at the clock and Bunter, taking this as a hint,
rose and made his farewells.
"And I 'opes as you'll come again, Mr. Bunter," said the Cook,
graciously. "The master makes no objections to respectable gentlemen
visitors at tea-time. Wednesday is my 'arf-day."
"Mine is Friday," added Hannah, "and every other Sunday. If you
should be Evangelical, Mr. Bunter, the Rev. Crawford in Judd Street
is a beautiful preacher. But maybe you'll be going out of town for
Christmas."
Mr. Bunter replied that that season would undoubtedly be spent at
Duke's Denver, and departed in a shining halo of vicarious splendour.