"T'ch! t'ch!" said Mr. Pond, clicking his tongue against his denture.
Miss Murchison looked up from her typewriter.
"Is anything the matter, Mr. Pond?"
"No, nothing," said the head-clerk, testily. "A foolish letter from a
foolish member of your sex, Miss Murchison."
"That's nothing new."
Mr. Pond frowned, conceiving the tone of his subordinate's voice to be
impertinent. He picked up the letter and its enclosure and took them
into the inner office.
Miss Murchison nipped swiftly across to his desk and glanced at the
registered envelope which lay upon it, open. The post-mark was 'Windle.'
"That's luck," said Miss Murchison, to herself. "Mr. Pond is a better
witness than I should be. I'm glad he opened it."
She regained her place. In a few minutes Mr. Pond emerged, smiling
slightly.
Five minutes later, Miss Murchison, who had been frowning over her
shorthand note-book, rose up and came over to him.
"Can you read shorthand, Mr. Pond?"
"No," said the head-clerk. "In my day it was not considered necessary."
"I can't make out this outline," said Miss Murchison. "It looks like
'give consent to,' but it may be only 'give consideration to'--there's
a difference, isn't there?"
"There certainly is," said Mr. Pond, drily.
"P'raps I'd better not risk it," said Miss Murchison. "It's got to go
off this morning. I'd better ask him."
Mr. Pond snorted--not for the first time--over the carelessness of the
female typist.
Miss Murchison walked briskly across the room and opened the inner door
without knocking--an informality which left Mr. Pond groaning again.
Mr. Urquhart was standing up with his back to the door, doing something
or other at the mantelpiece. He turned round sharply, with an
exclamation of annoyance.
"I have told you before, Miss Murchison, that I like you to knock
before entering."
"I am very sorry; I forgot."
"Don't let it happen again. What is it?"
He did not return to his desk, but stood leaning against the
mantelshelf. His sleek head, outlined against the drab-painted
panelling, was a little thrown back, as though--Miss Murchison
thought--he were protecting or defying somebody.
"I could not quite make out my shorthand note of your letter to Tewke &
Peabody," said Miss Murchison, "and I thought it better to come and ask
you."
"I wish," said Mr. Urquhart, fixing a stern eye upon her, "that you
would take your notes clearly at the time. If I am going too fast for
you, you should tell me so. It would save trouble in the end--wouldn't
it?"
Miss Murchison was reminded of a little set of rules which Lord Peter
Wimsey--half in jest and half in earnest--had once prepared for the
guidance of "The Cattery." Of Rule Seven, in particular, which ran:
"Always distrust the man who looks you straight in the eyes. He wants
to prevent you from seeing something. Look for it."
She shifted her eyes under her employer's gaze.
"I'm very sorry, Mr. Urquhart. I won't let it occur again," she
muttered. There was a curious dark line at the edge of the panelling
just behind the solicitor's head, as though the panel did not quite fit
its frame. She had never noticed it before.
"Well, now, what is the trouble?"
Miss Murchison asked her question, got her answer and retired. As she
went, she cast a glance over the desk. The will was not there.
She went back and finished her letters. When she took them in to be
signed, she seized the opportunity to look at the panelling again.
There was no dark line to be seen.
Miss Murchison left the office promptly at half-past four. She had
a feeling that it would be unwise to linger about the premises. She
walked briskly away through Hand Court, turned to the right along
Holborn, dived to the right again through Featherstone Buildings, made
a detour through Red Lion Street and debouched into Red Lion Square.
Within five minutes she was at her old walk round the square, and up
Princeton Street. Presently, from a safe distance, she saw Mr. Pond
come out, thin, stiff and stooping, and walk down Bedford Row towards
Chancery Lane Station. Before very long, Mr. Urquhart followed. He
stood a moment on the threshold, glancing to left and right, then came
straight across the street towards her. For a moment she thought he
had seen her, and she dived hurriedly behind a van that was standing
at the kerb. Under its shelter, she withdrew to the corner of the
street, where there is a butcher's shop, and scanned a windowful of
New Zealand lamb and chilled beef. Mr. Urquhart came nearer. His steps
grew louder--then paused. Miss Murchison glued her eyes on a round of
meat marked 4-1/2lb. 3/4d. A voice said: "Good-evening, Miss Murchison.
Choosing your supper-chop?"
"Oh! Good-evening, Mr. Urquhart. Yes--I was just wishing that
Providence had seen fit to provide more joints suitable for single
people."
"Yes--one gets tired of beef and mutton."
"And pork is apt to be indigestible."
"Just so. Well, you should cease to be single, Miss Murchison."
Miss Murchison giggled.
"But this is so sudden, Mr. Urquhart."
Mr. Urquhart flushed under his curious freckled skin.
"Good-night," he said abruptly, and with extreme coldness.
Miss Murchison laughed to herself as he strode off.
"Thought that would settle him. It's a great mistake to be familiar
with your subordinates. They take advantage of you."
She watched him out of sight on the far side of the Square, then
returned along Princeton Street, crossed Bedford Row and re-entered the
office building. The charwoman was just coming downstairs.
"Well, Mrs. Hodges, it's me again! Do you mind letting me in? I've lost
a pattern of silk. I think I must have left it in my desk, or dropped
it on the floor. Have you come across it?"
"No, miss, I ain't done your office yet."
"Then I'll have a hunt round for it. I want to get up to Bourne's
before half-past six. It's such a nuisance."
"Yes, miss, and such a crowd always with the buses and things. Here you
are, miss."
She opened the door, and Miss Murchison darted in.
"Shall I 'elp you to look for it, miss?"
"No, thank you, Mrs. Hodges, please don't bother. I don't expect it's
far off."
Mrs. Hodges took up a pail and went to fill it at a tap in the back
yard. As soon as her heavy steps had ascended again to the first floor,
Miss Murchison made for the inner office.
"I must and will see what's behind that panelling."
The houses in Bedford Row are Hogarthian in type, tall, symmetrical,
with the glamour of better days upon them. The panels in Mr. Urquhart's
room, though defaced by many coats of paint, were handsomely designed,
and over the mantelpiece ran a festoon of flowers and fruit, rather
florid for the period, with a ribbon and basket in the center. If the
panel was controlled by a concealed spring, the boss that moved it was
probably to be found among this decorative work. Pulling a chair to the
fireplace, Miss Murchison ran her fingers quickly over the festoon,
pushing and pressing with both hands, while keeping her ear cocked for
intruders.
This kind of investigation is easy for experts, but Miss Murchison's
knowledge of secret hiding places was only culled from sensational
literature; she could not find the trick of the thing. After nearly a
quarter of an hour, she began to despair.
Thump--thump--thump--Mrs. Hodges was coming downstairs.
Miss Murchison sprang away from the panelling so hastily that the chair
slipped, and she had to thrust hard at the wall to save herself. She
jumped down, restored the chair to its place, glanced up--and saw the
panel standing wide open.
At first she thought it was a miracle, but soon realised that in
slipping she had thrust sideways at the frame of the panel. A small
square of woodwork had slipped away sideways, and exposed an inner
panel with a keyhole in the middle.
She heard Mrs. Hodges in the outer room, but she was too excited to
bother about what Mrs. Hodges might be thinking. She pushed a heavy
chair across the door, so that nobody could enter without noise and
difficulty. In a moment Blindfold Bill's keys were in her hand--how
fortunate that she had not returned them! How fortunate, too, that Mr.
Urquhart had relied on the secrecy of the panel, and had not thought it
worth while to fit his cache with a patent lock!
A few moments' quick work with the keys, and the lock turned. She
pulled the little door open.
Inside was a bundle of papers. Miss Murchison ran them over--at
first quickly--then again, with a puzzled face. Receipts for
securities--Share certificates--Megatherium Trust--surely the names of
those investments were familiar--where had she...?
Suddenly Miss Murchison sat down, feeling quite faint, the bundle of
papers in her hand.
She realised now what had happened to Mrs. Wrayburn's money, which
Norman Urquhart had been handling under that confiding Deed of Trust,
and why the matter of the will was so important. Her head whirled. She
picked up a sheet of paper from the desk and began jotting down in
hurried shorthand the particulars of the various transactions of which
these documents were the evidence.
Somebody bumped at the door.
"Are you in here, miss?"
"Just a moment, Mrs. Hodges. I think I must have dropped it on the
floor in here."
She gave the big chair a sharp push, effectually closing the door.
She must hurry. Anyway she had got down enough to convince Lord Peter
that Mr. Urquhart's affairs needed looking into. She put the papers
back into the cupboard, in the exact place from which she had taken
them. The will was there, too, she noticed, laid on one side by itself.
She peered in. There was something else, tucked away at the back. She
thrust her hand in and pulled the mysterious object out. It was a white
paper packet, labelled with the name of a foreign chemist. The end had
been opened and tucked in again. She pulled the paper apart, and saw
that the packet contained about two ounces of a fine white powder.
Next to hidden treasure and mysterious documents, nothing is more full
of sensational suggestion than a packet of anonymous white powder. Miss
Murchison caught up another sheet of clean paper, tipped a thimbleful
of the powder into it, replaced the packet at the back of the
cupboard and re-locked the door with the skeleton key. With trembling
fingers she pushed the panel back into place, taking care to shut it
completely, so as to show no betraying dark line.
She rolled the chair away from the door and cried out gaily:
"I've got it, Mrs. Hodges!"
"There, now!" said Mrs. Hodges, appearing in the doorway.
"Just fancy!" said Miss Murchison. "I was looking through my patterns
when Mr. Urquhart rang, and this one must have stuck to my frock and
dropped on the floor in here."
She held up a small piece of silk triumphantly. She had torn it from
the lining of her bag in the course of the afternoon--a proof, if any
were needed, of her devotion to her work, for the bag was a good one.
"Dearie me," said Mrs. Hodges. "What a good thing you found it, wasn't
it, miss?"
"I nearly didn't," said Miss Murchison, "it was right in this
dark corner. Well, I must fly to get there before the shop shuts.
Good-night, Mrs. Hodges."
But long before the accommodating Messrs. Bourne & Hollingsworth had
closed their doors, Miss Murchison was ringing the second floor bell at
110a, Piccadilly.
* * * * *
She found a council in progress. There was the Hon. Freddy Arbuthnot,
looking amiable, Chief-Inspector Parker, looking worried, Lord Peter,
looking somnolent, and Bunter, who, having introduced her, retired to
a position on the fringe of the assembly and hovered there looking
correct.
"Have you brought us news, Miss Murchison? If so, you have come at the
exact right moment to find the eagles gathered together. Mr. Arbuthnot,
Chief-Inspector Parker, Miss Murchison. Now let's all sit down and
be happy together. Have you had tea? or will you absorb a spot of
something?"
Miss Murchison declined refreshment.
"H'm!" said Wimsey. "The patient refuses food. Her eyes glitter wildly.
The expression is anxious. The lips are parted. The fingers fumble
with the clasp of the bag. The symptoms point to an acute attack of
communicativeness. Tell us the worst, Miss Murchison."
Miss Murchison needed no urging. She told her adventures, and had the
pleasure of holding her audience enthralled from the first word to the
last. When she finally produced the screw of paper containing the white
powder, the sentiments of the company expressed themselves in a round
of applause, in which Bunter joined discreetly.
"Are you convinced, Charles?" asked Wimsey.
"I admit that I am heavily shaken," said Parker. "Of course, the powder
must be analysed--"
"It shall, embodied caution," said Wimsey. "Bunter, make ready the rack
and thumbscrew. Bunter has been taking lessons in Marsh's test, and
performs it to admiration. You know all about it too, Charles, don't
you?"
"Enough for a rough test."
"Carry on then, my children. In the meanwhile, let us sum up our
findings."
Bunter went out and Parker, who had been making entries in a note-book,
cleared his throat.
"Well," he said, "the matter stands, I take it, like this. You say that
Miss Vane is innocent, and you undertake to prove this by bringing a
convincing accusation against Norman Urquhart. So far, your evidence
against him is almost entirely concerned with motive, bolstered up by
proofs of intent to mislead enquiry. You say that your investigations
have brought the case against Urquhart to a point at which the police
can, and ought to, take it up, and I am inclined to agree with you.
I warn you, however, that you still have to establish evidence as to
means and opportunity."
"I know that. Tell us a new one."
"All right, as long as you know it. Very well. Now Philip Boyes and
Norman Urquhart are the only surviving relations of Mrs. Wrayburn,
or Cremorna Garden, who is rich, and has money to leave. A number
of years ago, Mrs. Wrayburn put all her affairs into the hands of
Urquhart's father, the only member of the family with whom she remained
on friendly terms. On his father's death, Norman Urquhart took over
those affairs himself, and in 1920, Mrs. Wrayburn executed a Deed of
Trust, giving him sole authority to handle her property. She also made
a will, dividing her property unequally between her two great-nephews.
Philip Boyes got all the real estate and £50,000, while Norman Urquhart
took whatever was left and was also sole executor. Norman Urquhart,
when questioned about this Will, deliberately told you an untruth,
saying that the bulk of the money was left to him, and even went so
far as to produce a document purporting to be a draft of such a will.
The pretended date of this draft is subsequent to that of the Will
discovered by Miss Climpson, but there is no doubt that the draft
itself was drawn out by Urquhart, certainly within the last three years
and probably within the last few days. Moreover, the fact that the
actual Will, though lying in a place accessible to Urquhart, was not
destroyed by him, suggests that it was not, in fact, superseded by any
subsequent testamentary disposition. By the way, Wimsey, why didn't he
simply take the will and destroy it? As the sole surviving heir, he
would then inherit without dispute."
"Perhaps it didn't occur to him. Or there might even be other relatives
surviving. How about that uncle in Australia?"
"True. At any rate he didn't destroy it. In 1925 Mrs. Wrayburn became
completely paralysed and imbecile, so that there was no possibility of
her ever enquiring into the disposition of her estate or making another
will.
"About this time, as we know from Mr. Arbuthnot, Urquhart took the
dangerous step of plunging into speculation. He made mistakes, lost
money, plunged more deeply to recover himself, and was involved to a
large extent in the great crash of Megatherium Trust, Ltd. He certainly
lost far more than he could possibly afford, and we now find, from
Miss Murchison's discoveries--of which I must say that I should hate
to have to take official notice--that he had been consistently abusing
his position as Trustee and employing Mrs. Wrayburn's money for his
private speculations. He deposited her holdings as security for large
loans, and embarked the money thus raised in the Megatherium and other
wild-cat schemes.
"As long as Mrs. Wrayburn lived, he was fairly safe, for he only had to
pay to her the sums necessary to keep up her house and establishment.
In fact, all the household bills and so on were settled by him as her
man of affairs under Power of Attorney, all salaries were paid by him,
and so long as he did this, it was nobody's business to ask what he had
done with the capital. But as soon as Mrs. Wrayburn died, he would have
to account to the other heir, Philip Boyes, for the capital which he
had misappropriated.
"Now in 1929, just about the time that Philip Boyes quarreled with
Miss Vane, Mrs. Wrayburn had a serious attack of illness and very
nearly died. The danger passed, but might recur at any moment. Almost
immediately afterwards we find him becoming friendly with Philip Boyes
and inviting him to stay at his house. While living with Urquhart,
Boyes has three attacks of illness, attributed by his doctor to
gastritis, but equally consistent with arsenical poisoning. In June
1929, Philip Boyes goes away to Wales and his health improves.
"While Philip Boyes is absent, Mrs. Wrayburn has another alarming
attack, and Urquhart hastens up to Windle, possibly with the idea of
destroying the will in case the worst happens. It does not happen, and
he comes back to London, just in time to receive Boyes on his return
from Wales. That night, Boyes is taken ill with symptoms similar to
those of the previous spring, but much more violent. After three days
he dies.
"Urquhart is now perfectly safe. As residuary legatee, he will receive,
at Mrs. Wrayburn's death, all the money bequeathed to Philip Boyes.
That is, he will not get it, because he has already taken it and
lost it, but he will no longer be called upon to produce it and his
fraudulent dealings will not be exposed.
"So far, the evidence as to motive is extremely cogent, and far more
convincing than the evidence against Miss Vane.
"But here is your snag, Wimsey. When and how was the poison
administered? We know that Miss Vane possessed arsenic and that she
could easily have given it to him without witnesses. But Urquhart's
only opportunity was at the dinner he shared with Boyes, and if
anything in this case is certain, it is that the poison was not
administered at that dinner. Everything which Boyes ate or drank was
equally eaten and drunk by Urquhart and the servants, with the single
exception of the burgundy, which was preserved and analysed and found
to be harmless."
"I know," said Wimsey, "but that is what is so suspicious. Did you
ever hear of a meal hedged round with such precautions? It's not
natural, Charles. There's the sherry, poured out by the maid from
the original bottle, the soup, fish and casseroled chicken--so
impossible to poison in one portion without poisoning the whole--the
omelette, so ostentatiously prepared at the table by the hands of the
victim--the wine, sealed up and marked--the remnants consumed in the
kitchen--you would think the man had gone out of his way to construct a
suspicion-proof meal. The wine is the final touch which makes the thing
incredible. Do you tell me that at that earliest moment when everybody
supposes the illness to be a natural one, and when the affectionate
cousin ought to be overwhelmed with anxiety for the sick man, it is
natural or believable that an innocent person's mind should fly to
accusations of poisoning? If he was innocent himself, then he suspected
something. If he did suspect, why didn't he tell the doctor and have
the patient's secretions and so on analysed? Why should he ever have
thought of protecting himself against accusation when no accusation had
been made, unless he knew that an accusation would be well-founded? And
then there's the business about the nurse."
"Exactly. The nurse did have her suspicions."
"If he knew about them, he ought to have taken steps to refute them
in the proper way. But I don't think he did know about them. I was
referring to what you told us today. The police have got in touch with
the nurse again, Miss Williams, and she tells them that Norman Urquhart
took special pains never to be left alone with the patient, and never
to give him any food or medicine, even when she herself was present.
Doesn't that argue a bad conscience?"
"You won't find any lawyer or jury to believe it, Peter."
"Yes, but look here, doesn't it strike you as funny? Listen to this,
Miss Murchison. One day the nurse was doing something or the other
in the room, and she had got the medicine there on the mantelpiece.
Something was said about it, and Boyes remarked, 'Oh, don't bother,
Nurse. Norman can give me my dope.' Does Norman say, 'Right-ho, old
man?' as you or I would? No! He says: 'No, I'll leave it to Nurse--I
might make a mess of it.' Pretty feeble, what?"
"Lots of people are nervous about looking after invalids," said Miss
Murchison.
"Yes, but most people can pour stuff out of a bottle into a glass.
Boyes wasn't _in extremis_--he was speaking quite rationally and all
that. I say the man was deliberately protecting himself."
"Possibly," said Parker, "but after all, old man, when _did_ he
administer the poison?"
"Probably not at the dinner at all," said Miss Murchison. "As you say,
the precautions seem rather obvious. They may have been intended to
make people concentrate on the dinner and forget other possibilities.
Did he have a whisky when he arrived or before he went out or anything?"
"Alas, he did not. Bunter has been cultivating Hannah Westlock almost
to breach of promise point, and she says that she opened the door to
Boyes on his arrival, that he went straight upstairs to his room, that
Urquhart was out at the time and only came in a quarter of an hour
before dinner-time, and that the two men met for the first time over
the famous glass of sherry in the library. The folding-doors between
the library and dining-room were open and Hannah was buzzing round the
whole time laying the table, and she is sure that Boyes had the sherry
and nothing but the sherry."
"Not so much as a digestive tablet?"
"Nothing."
"How about after dinner?"
"When they had finished the omelette, Urquhart said something about
coffee. Boyes looked at his watch and said, 'No time, old chap, I've
got to be getting along to Doughty Street.' Urquhart said he would
ring up a taxi, and went out to do so. Boyes folded up his napkin, got
up and went into the hall. Hannah followed and helped him on with his
coat. The taxi arrived. Boyes got in and off he went without seeing
Urquhart again."
"It seems to me," said Miss Murchison, "that Hannah is an exceedingly
important witness for Mr. Urquhart's defence. You don't think--I hardly
like to suggest it--but you don't think that Bunter is allowing his
feelings to overcome his judgment?"
"He says," replied Lord Peter, "that he believes Hannah to be a
sincerely religious woman. He has sat beside her in chapel and shared
her hymn-book."
"But that may be the merest hypocrisy," said Miss Murchison, rather
warmly, for she was militantly rationalist. "I don't trust these
unctuous people."
"I didn't offer that as a proof of Hannah's virtue," said Wimsey, "but
of Bunter's unsusceptibility."
"But he looks like a deacon himself."
"You've never seen Bunter off duty," said Lord Peter, darkly. "I have,
and I can assure you that a hymn-book would be about as softening to
his heart as neat whisky to an Anglo-Indian liver. No; if Bunter says
Hannah is honest, then she _is_ honest."
"Then that definitely cuts out the drinks and the dinner," said Miss
Murchison, unconvinced, but willing to be open-minded. "How about the
water-bottle in the bedroom?"
"The devil!" cried Wimsey. "That's one up to you, Miss Murchison. We
didn't think of that. The water-bottle--yes--a perfectly fruity idea.
You recollect, Charles, that in the Bravo case, it was suggested that
a disgruntled servant had put tartar emetic in the water-bottle. Oh,
Bunter--here you are! Next time you hold Hannah's hand, will you ask
her whether Mr. Boyes drank any water from his bedroom water-bottle
before dinner?"
"Pardon me, my lord, the possibility had already presented itself to my
mind."
"It had?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Do you never overlook anything, Bunter?"
"I endeavour to give satisfaction, my lord."
"Well then, don't talk like Jeeves. It irritates me. What about the
water-bottle?"
"I was about to observe, my lord, when this lady arrived, that I had
elicited a somewhat peculiar circumstance relating to the water-bottle."
"Now we're getting somewhere," said Parker, flattening out a new page
of his note-book.
"I would not go so far as to say that, sir. Hannah informed me that
she showed Mr. Boyes into his bedroom on his arrival and withdrew,
as it was her place to do. She had scarcely reached the head of the
staircase, when Mr. Boyes put his head out of the door and recalled
her. He then asked her to fill his water-bottle. She was considerably
astonished at this request, since she had a perfect recollection of
having previously filled it when she put the room in order."
"Could he have emptied it himself?" asked Parker, eagerly.
"Not into his interior, sir--there had not been time. Nor had the
drinking-glass been utilised. Moreover, the bottle was not merely
empty, but dry inside. Hannah apologised for the neglect, and
immediately rinsed out the bottle and filled it from the tap."
"Curious," said Parker. "But it's quite likely she never filled it at
all."
"Pardon me, sir. Hannah was so much surprised by the episode that she
mentioned it to Mrs. Pettican, the cook, who said that she distinctly
recollected seeing her fill the bottle that morning."
"Well, then," said Parker, "Urquhart or somebody must have emptied it
and dried it out. Now, why? What would one naturally do if one found
one's water-bottle empty?"
"Ring the bell," said Wimsey, promptly.
"Or shout for help," added Parker.
"Or," said Miss Murchison, "if one wasn't accustomed to be waited on,
one might use the water from the bedroom jug."
"Ah! ... of course Boyes was used to a more or less Bohemian life."
"But surely," said Wimsey, "that's idiotically roundabout. It would
be much simpler just to poison the water in the bottle. Why direct
attention to the thing by making it more difficult? Besides, you
couldn't count on the victim's using the jug-water--and, as a matter of
fact, he didn't."
"And he _was_ poisoned," said Miss Murchison, "so the poison wasn't
either in the jug or the bottle."
"No--I'm afraid there's nothing to be got out of the jug and bottle
department. Hollow, hollow, hollow all delight, Tennyson."
"All the same," said Parker, "that incident convinces me. It's too
complete, somehow. Wimsey's right; it's not natural for a defence to be
so perfect."
"My God," said Wimsey, "we have convinced Charles Parker. Nothing more
is needed. He is more adamantine than any jury."
"Yes," said Parker, modestly, "but I'm more logical, I think. And I'm
not being flustered by the Attorney-General. I should feel happier with
a little evidence of a more objective kind."
"You would. You want some real arsenic. Well, Bunter, what about it?"
"The apparatus is quite ready, my lord."
"Very good. Let us go and see if we can give Mr. Parker what he wants.
Lead and we follow."
In a small apartment usually devoted to Bunter's photographic work,
and furnished with a sink, a bench, and a bunsen burner, stood the
apparatus necessary for making a Marsh's test of arsenic. The distilled
water was already bubbling gently in the flask, and Bunter lifted the
little glass tube which lay across the flame of the burner.
"You will perceive, my lord," he observed, "that the apparatus is free
from contamination."
"I see nothing at all," said Freddy.
"That, as Sherlock Holmes would say, is what you may expect to see when
there is nothing there," said Wimsey, kindly. "Charles, you will pass
the water and the flask and the tube, old Uncle Tom Cobley and all as
being arsenic-free."
"I will."
"Wilt thou love, cherish, and keep her, in sickness or in
health--sorry! turned over two pages at once. Where's that powder?
Miss Murchison, you identify this sealed envelope as being the one you
brought from the office, complete with mysterious white powder from Mr.
Urquhart's secret hoard?"
"I do."
"Kiss the Book. Thank you. Now then--"
"Wait a sec," said Parker, "you haven't tested the envelope separately."
"That's true. There's always a snag somewhere. I suppose, Miss
Murchison, you haven't such a thing as another office envelope about
you?"
Miss Murchison blushed, and fumbled in her handbag.
"Well--there's a little note I scribbled this afternoon to a friend--"
"_In_ your employer's time, _on_ your employer's paper," said Wimsey.
"Oh, how right Diogenes was when he took his lantern to look for an
honest typist! Never mind. Let's have it. Who wills the end, wills the
means."
Miss Murchison extracted the envelope and freed it from the enclosure.
Bunter, receiving it respectfully on a developing dish, cut it into
small pieces which he dropped into the flask. The water bubbled
brightly, but the little tube still remained stainless from end to end.
"Does something begin to happen soon?" enquired Mr. Arbuthnot. "Because
I feel this show's a bit lackin' in pep, what?"
"If you don't sit still I shall take you out," retorted Wimsey. "Carry
on, Bunter. We'll pass the envelope."
Bunter accordingly opened the second envelope, and delicately dropped
the white powder into the wide mouth of the flask. All five heads bent
eagerly over the apparatus. And presently, definitely, magically,
a thin silver stain began to form in the tube where the flame
impinged upon it. Second by second it spread and darkened to a deep
brownish-black ring with a shining metallic centre.
"Oh, lovely, lovely," said Parker, with professional delight.
"Your lamp's smoking or something," said Freddy.
"Is that arsenic?" breathed Miss Murchison, gently.
"I hope so," said Wimsey, gently detaching the tube and holding it up
to the light. "It's either arsenic or antimony."
"Allow me, my lord. The addition of a small quantity of solute
chlorinated lime should decide the question beyond reach of cavil."
He performed this further test amid an anxious silence. The stain
dissolved out and vanished under the bleaching solution.
"Then it is arsenic," said Parker.
"Oh, yes," said Wimsey, nonchalantly, "of course it is arsenic. Didn't
I tell you?" His voice wavered a little with suppressed triumph.
"Is that all?" inquired Freddy, disappointed.
"Isn't it enough?" said Miss Murchison.
"Not quite," said Parker, "but it's a long way towards it. It proves
that Urquhart has arsenic in his possession, and by making an official
enquiry in France, we can probably find out whether this packet was
already in his possession last June. I notice, by the way, that it
is ordinary white arsenious acid, without any mixture of charcoal or
indigo, which agrees with what was found at the post-mortem. That's
satisfactory, but it would be even more satisfactory if we could
provide an opportunity for Urquhart to have administered it. So far,
all we have done is to demonstrate clearly that he couldn't have given
it to Boyes either before, during or after dinner, during the period
required for the symptoms to develop. I agree that an impossibility so
bolstered up by testimony is suspicious in itself, but, to convince a
jury, I should prefer something better than a _credo quia impossibile_."
"Riddle-me-right, and riddle-me-ree," said Wimsey, imperturbably.
"We've overlooked something, that's all. Probably something quite
obvious. Give me the statutory dressing-gown and ounce of shag, and I
will undertake to dispose of this little difficulty for you in a brace
of shakes. In the meantime, you will no doubt take steps to secure, in
an official and laborious manner, the evidence which our kind friends
here have already so ably gathered in by unconventional methods, and
will stand by to arrest the right man when the time comes?"
"I will," said Parker, "gladly. Apart from all personal considerations,
I'd far rather see that oily-haired fellow in the dock than any woman,
and if the Force has made a mistake, the sooner it's put right the
better for all concerned."
* * * * *
Wimsey sat late that night in the black-and-primrose library, with
the tall folios looking down at him. They represented the world's
accumulated hoard of mellow wisdom and poetical beauty, to say
nothing of thousands of pounds in cash. But all these counsellors sat
mute upon their shelves. Strewn on tables and chairs lay the bright
scarlet volumes of the Notable British Trials--Palmer, Pritchard,
Maybrick, Seddon, Armstrong, Madeleine Smith--the great practitioners
in arsenic--huddled together with the chief authorities on Forensic
Medicine and Toxicology.
The theatre-going crowds surged home in saloon and taxi, the lights
shone over the empty width of Piccadilly, the heavy night-lorries
rumbled slow and seldom over the black tarmac, the long night waned
and the reluctant winter dawn struggled wanly over the piled roofs of
London. Bunter, silent and anxious, sat in his kitchen, brewing coffee
on the stove and reading the same page of the "British Journal of
Photography" over and over again.
At half-past eight the library bell rang.
"My lord?"
"My bath, Bunter."
"Very good, my lord."
"And some coffee."
"Immediately, my lord."
"And put back all the books except these."
"Yes, my lord."
"I know now how it was done."
"Indeed, my lord? Permit me to offer my respectful congratulations."
"I've still got to prove it."
"A secondary consideration, my lord."
Wimsey yawned. When Bunter returned a minute or two later with the
coffee, he was asleep.
Bunter put the books quietly away, and looked with some curiosity
at the chosen few left open on the table. They were: "The Trial of
Florence Maybrick"; Dixon Mann's "Forensic Medicine and Toxicology";
a book with a German title which Bunter could not read; and A. E.
Housman's "A Shropshire Lad."
Bunter studied these for a few moments, and then slapped his thigh
softly.
"Why, of course!" he said under his breath, "why, what a mutton-headed
set of chumps we've all been!" He touched his master lightly on the
shoulder,
"Your coffee, my lord."