It was somewhere in the neighbourhood of half-past three when the
opportunity to interview those three persons was finally vouchsafed
him; and it may be recorded at once that the meeting did some
violence to his emotions. In short, he found Mr. James Drake (far
from being the frank-faced, impulsive, lovable young pepper-pot which
his actions and words would seem to stand sponsor for) a rather
retiring young man of the "pale and studious" order, absolutely
lacking in personal magnetism, and about the last person in the world
one would expect to do the "all for love" business of the average
hero in the manner he had done. On the other hand, he found the
Earl of Fallowfield an exceedingly frank, pleasant-mannered, rather
boyish-looking gentleman, whose many attractions rendered it easy
to understand why the late Mr. Jefferson P. Drake had conceived
such a warm affection for him, and was at such pains to have him
ever by his side. It seemed, indeed, difficult to believe that he
could possibly be the father of Lady Marjorie Wynde, for his manner
and appearance were so youthful as to make him appear to be nothing
closer than an elder brother. The doctor--that eminent Harley Street
light, Mr. John Strangeways Hague--he found to be full of Harley
Street manners and Harley Street ideas, eminently polite, eminently
cold, and about as pleased to meet a detective police officer as he
would be to find an organ-grinder sitting on his doorstep.
"Have you come to any conclusions as to the means of death, Doctor?"
asked Cleek after he had been shown into the Stone Drum, where the
body of the dead man still lay and where the local coroner and
the local J. P. were conducting a sort of preliminary examination
prior to the regulation inquest, which must, of course, follow. "The
general appearance would suggest asphyxia, if asphyxia were possible."
"Which it is not," volunteered Doctor Hague, with the geniality of
a snowball. "You have probably observed that the many slits in the
wall permit of free ventilation; and asphyxia with free ventilation
is an impossibility."
"Quite so," agreed Cleek placidly. "But if by any chance those
slits could have been closed from the outside--I observe that at
some period and for some purpose Mr. Drake has made use of a charcoal
furnace"--indicating it by a wave of the hand--"and apparently with
no other vent to carry off the fumes than that supplied by the
slits. Now if they were closed and the charcoal left burning, the
result would be an atmosphere charged with carbon monoxide gas,
and a little more than one per cent. of that in the air of a room
deprived of ventilation would, in a short time, prove fatal to any
person breathing that air."
The doctor twitched round an inquiring eye, and looked him over from
head to foot.
"Yes," he said, remembering that, after all, there were Board
Schools, and even the humblest might sometimes learn, parrot-like,
to repeat the "things that are in books." "But we happen to know
that the slits were not closed and that neither carbon oxide nor
carbon monoxide was the cause of death."
"You have taken samples of the blood, of course, to establish that
fact beyond question, as one could so readily do?" ventured Cleek
suavely. "The test for carbon monoxide is so simple and so very
certain that error is impossible. It combines so tensely, if one
may put it that way, with the blood, that the colouring of the red
corpuscles is utterly overcome and destroyed."
"My good sir, those are elementary facts of which I do not stand in
need of a reminder."
"Quite so, quite so. But in my profession, Doctor, one stands in
constant need of 'reminders.' A speck, a spot, a pin-prick--each
and all are significant, and----But is this not a slight abrasion
on the temple here?" bending over and, with his glass, examining a
minute reddish speck upon the dead man's face. "Hum-m-m! I see, I
see! Have you investigated this thing, Doctor? It is interesting."
"I fail to see the point of interest, then," replied Doctor Hague,
bending over and examining the spot. "The skin is scarcely more than
abraded--evidently by the finger nail scratching off the head of some
infinitesimal pustule."
"Possibly," agreed Cleek, "but on the other hand, it may be something
of a totally different character--for one thing, the possible point
at which contact was established between the man's blood and
something of a poisonous character. An injection of cyanide of
potassium, for instance, would cause death, and account in a
measure for this suggestion of asphyxia conveyed by the expression of
the features."
"True, my good sir; but have the goodness to ask yourself who
could get into the place to administer such hypodermic? And, if
self-administered, what can have become of the syringe? If thrown
from one of the bowman's slits, it could only have fallen upon the
roof of the wing, and I assure you that was searched most thoroughly
long before your arrival. I don't think you will go so far as to
suggest that it was shot in, attached to some steel missile capable
of making a wound; for no such missile is, as you see, embedded in
the flesh nor was one lying anywhere about the floor. The cyanide of
potassium theory is ingenious, but I'm afraid it won't hold water."
"Hold water!" The phrase brought Cleek's thoughts harking back to
what he had been told regarding the little puddle of water lying
on the floor, and of a sudden his eyes narrowed, and the curious
one-sided smile travelled up his cheek.
"No, I suppose not," he said, replying to the doctor's remark.
"Besides, your test tubes would have settled that when it settled the
carbon monoxide question. Had cyanide been present, the specimens
of blood would have been clotted and blue."
Of a sudden it seemed to dawn upon the doctor that this didn't smack
quite so much of Board School intelligence as he had fancied, and,
facing round, he looked at Cleek with a new-born interest.
"I beg your pardon," he said, "but I don't think I caught your name,
Mr.--er--er----"
"Cleek, Doctor; Hamilton Cleek, at your service."
"Good Lord! That is, I--er--er--my dear sir, my dear Mr. Cleek, if
there is any intelligence I can possibly supply, pray command me."
"With pleasure, Doctor, and thank you very much indeed for the kind
offer. I have been told that there was a little puddle of water on
the floor at the time the murder was discovered, also that you took a
sample of it for analysis. As I don't see any sign of that puddle
now, would you mind telling me what that analysis established. I
have heard, I may tell you, that you found the water to contain no
poisonous substance; but I should be obliged if you can tell me if
it was water drawn from a well or such as might have been taken
from a river or pond."
"As a matter of fact, my dear Mr. Cleek, I don't think it came from
any of the three."
"Hum-m-m! A manufactured mineral water, then?"
"No, not that, either. If it had been raining and there was any
hole or leak in this roof, I should have said it was rainwater that
had dripped in and formed a little puddle on the floor. If it had
been winter, I should have said it was the result of melted snow.
As a matter of fact, I incline more to the latter theory than to any
other, although it is absurd, of course, to think of snow being
obtainable anywhere in England in the month of July."
"Quite so, quite so--unless--it doesn't matter. That's all, thank
you, Doctor, and very many thanks."
"A word, please, Mr. Cleek," interposed the doctor as he turned to
move away and leave him. "I am afraid I was not very communicative
nor very cordial when you asked me if I had any idea of the means
employed to bring about the unfortunate man's death; may I hope
that you will be better mannered than I, Mr. Cleek, if I ask you if
you have? Thanks, very much. Then, have you?"
"Yes," said Cleek. "And so, too, will you, if you will make a second
blood test, with the specimens you have, at a period of about
forty-eight hours after the time of decease. It will take quite
that before the presence of the thing manifests itself under the
influence of any known process or responds to any known test. And
even then it will only be detected by a faintly alcoholic odour
and excessively bitter taste. The man has been murdered--done to
death by that devil's drug woorali, if I am not mistaken. But who
administered it and _how_ it was administered are things I can't
tell you yet."
"Woorali! Woorali! That is the basis of the drug curarin, produced
by Roulin and Boussingault in 1828 from a combination of the allied
poisons known to the savages of South America and of the tropics by
the names of corroval and vao, is it not?"
"Yes. And a fiend's thing it is, too. A mere scratch from anything
steeped in it is enough to kill an ox almost immediately. The
favourite 'native' manner of using the hellish thing is by means of
a thorn and a blowpipe. But no such method has been employed in
this case. No thorn nor, indeed, any other projectile has entered
the flesh, nor is there one lying anywhere about the floor. Be
sure I looked, Doctor, the instant I suspected that woorali had
been used. Pardon me, but that must be all for the present. I
have other fish to fry."