time toils after you in vain. That girl wasn’t crazy. She was the
most natural of us all. You send a girl in her teens into the room
where the woman she is keen on is sitting with her throat cut. She
won’t talk to you like a little lady. The evidence! Why do you
believe what people tell you about people? They’re always lying--by
accident if not on purpose. This matron don’t like the girl because
she worshipped the lady doctor. Therefore the girl is called abnormal
and jealous. Did you never hear of a girl in her teens worshipping a
teacher? It’s common form. Did you never hear of another teacher
being vicious about it? That’s just as common.”
“Do you mean the matron was jealous of them both?”
Reggie shrugged. “It hits you in the eye.”
“Good Gad!” said Lomas. “Do you suspect the matron?”
“I suspect the devil,” said Reggie gravely. “Lomas, my child, whoever
did that murder cut the woman’s throat and then sat down in her easy
chair and watched her die. I call that devilish.” And he told of the
blood-stains and the turned cushions.
“Good Gad,” said Lomas once more, “there’s some hate in that.”
“Not a nice murder. Also it stopped the children’s party.”
“You harp on that.” Lomas looked at him curiously. “Are you thinking
of the visitors?”
“I wonder,” Reggie murmured. “I wonder.”
“Here’s the list,” Lomas said, and Reggie came slowly to look. “Sir
George and Lady Bean, Lady Chantry, Mrs. Carroway,”--he ran his
pencil down--“all well-known, blameless busybodies, full of good
works. Nothing doing.”
“Crab Warnham,” said Reggie.
“Oh, Warnham: his wife took him, I suppose. She’s a saint, and he
eats out of her hand, they say. Well, he was a loose fish, of course,
but murder! I don’t see Warnham at that.”
“He has an eye for a woman.”
“Still? I dare say. But good Gad, he can’t have known this lady
doctor. Was she pretty?” Reggie nodded. “Well, we might look for a
link between them. Not likely, is it?”
“We’re catching at straws,” said Reggie sombrely.
Lomas pushed the papers away. “Confound it, it’s another case without
evidence. I suppose it can’t be suicide like that Bigod affair?”
Reggie, who was lighting a cigar, looked up and let the match burn
his fingers. “Not suicide. No,” he said. “Was Bigod’s?”
“Well, it was a deuced queer death by misadventure.”
“As you say.” Reggie nodded and wandered dreamily out.
This seems to have been the first time that anyone thought of
comparing the Bigod case to the orphanage murder. When the inquest on
the lady doctor was held the police had no more evidence to produce
than you have heard, and the jury returned a verdict of murder by
some person or persons unknown. Newspapers strove to enliven the dull
calm of the holiday season by declaiming against the inefficiency of
a police force which allowed murderers to remain anonymous, and
hashed up the Bigod case again to prove that the fall of Sir Humphrey
Bigod into his chalkpit, though called accidental, was just as
mysterious as the cut throat of Dr. Hall. And the Hon. Sidney Lomas
cursed the man who invented printing.
These assaults certainly did not disturb Reggie Fortune, who has
never cared what people say of him. With the help of Joan Amber he
found a quiet remote place for the unhappy girl suspected of the
murder (Lady Chantry was prettily angry with Miss Amber about that,
protesting that she wanted to look after Edith herself), and said he
was only in the case as a philanthropist. After which he gave all his
time to preparing his house and Miss Amber for married life. But the
lady found him dreamy.
It was in fact while he was showing her how the new colours in the
drawing-room looked under the new lighting that Dr. Eden called him
up. Dr. Eden has a general practice in Kensington. Dr. Eden wanted to
consult him about a case: most urgent: 3 King William’s Walk.
“May I take the car?” said Reggie to Joan. “He sounds rattled. You
can go on home afterwards. It’s not far from you either. I wonder who
lives at 3 King William’s Walk.”
“But it’s Mrs. Warnham!” she cried.
“Oh, my aunt!” said Reggie Fortune; and said no more.
And Joan Amber could not call him out of his thoughts. She was as
grave as he. Only when he was getting out of the car, “Be good to
her, dear,” she said gently. He kissed the hand on his arm.
The door was opened by a woman in evening-dress. “It is Mr. Fortune,
isn’t it? Please come in. It’s so kind of you to come.” She turned to
the maid in the background. “Tell Dr. Eden, Maggie. It’s my little
boy--and we are so anxious.”
“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Warnham.” Reggie took her hand and found it
cold. The face he remembered for its gentle calm was sternly set.
“What is the trouble?”
“Gerald went to a party this afternoon. He came home gloriously happy
and went to bed. He didn’t go to sleep at once, he was rather
excited, but he was quite well. Then he woke up crying with pain and
was very sick. I sent for Dr. Eden. It isn’t like Gerald to cry, Mr.
Fortune. And----”
A hoarse voice said “Catherine, you oughtn’t to be out there in the
cold.” Reggie saw the gaunt face of Captain Warnham looking round a
door at them.
“What does it matter?” she cried. “Dr. Eden doesn’t want me to be
with him, Mr. Fortune. He is still in pain. And I don’t think Dr.
Eden knows.”
Dr. Eden came down in time to hear that. A large young man, he stood
over them looking very awkward and uncomfortable.
“I’m sure Dr. Eden has done everything that can be done,” said Reggie
gently. “I’ll go up, please.” And they left the mother to her
husband, that flushed, gaunt face peering round the corner as they
kept step on the stairs.
“The child’s seven years old,” said Eden. “There’s no history of any
gastric trouble. Rather a good digestion. And then this--out of the
blue!” Reggie went into a nursery where a small boy lay huddled and
restless with all the apparatus of sickness by his bed. He raised a
pale face on which beads of sweat stood.
“Hallo, Gerald,” Reggie said quietly. “Mother sent me up to make you
all right again.” He took the child’s hand and felt for the pulse.
“I’m Mr. Fortune, your fortune, good fortune.” The child tried to
smile and Reggie’s hands moved over the uneasy body and all the while
he murmured softly nonsense talk. . . .
The child did not want him to go, but at last he went off with Eden
into a corner of the room. “Quite right to send for me,” he said
gravely, and Eden put his hand to his head. “I know. I know. It’s
horrible when it’s a child. One of the irritant poisons. Probably
arsenic. Have you given an emetic?”
“He’s been very sick. And he’s so weak.”
“I know. Have you got anything with you?”
“I sent home. But I didn’t care to----”
“I’ll do it. Sulphate of zinc. You go and send for a nurse. And find
some safe milk. I wouldn’t use the household stuff.”
“My God, Fortune! Surely it was at the party?”
“Not the household stuff,” Reggie repeated, and he went back to the
child. . . .
It was many hours afterwards that he came softly downstairs. In the
hall husband and wife met him. It seemed to him that it was the man
who had been crying. “Are you going away?” Mrs. Warnham said.
“There’s no more pain. He is asleep.”
Her eyes darkened. “You mean he’s--dead?” the man gasped.
“I hope he’ll live longer than any of us, Captain Warnham. But no one
must disturb him. The nurse will be watching, you know. And I’m sure
we all want to sleep sound--don’t we?” He was gone. But he stayed a
moment on the doorstep. He heard emotions within.
On the next afternoon Dr. Eden came into his laboratory at St.
Saviour’s. “One moment. One moment.” Reggie was bent over a notebook.
“When I go to hell they’ll set me doing sums.” He frowned at his
figures. “The third time is lucky. That’s plausible if it isn’t
right. Well, how’s our large patient?”
“He’s doing well. Quite easy and cheerful.”
Reggie stood up. “I think we might say, thank God.”
“Yes, rather. I thought he was gone last night, Fortune. He would
have been without you. It was wonderful how he bucked up in your
hands. You ought to have been a children’s specialist.”
“My dear chap! Oh, my dear chap! I’m the kind of fellow who would
always ought to have been something else. And so I’m doing sums in a
laboratory which God knows I’m not fit for.”
“Have you found out what it was?”
“Oh, arsenic, of course. Quite a fair dose he must have had. It’s
queer how they always will use arsenic.”
Eden stared at him. “What are we to do?” he said in a low voice.
“Fortune, I suppose it couldn’t have been accidental?”
“What is a child likely to eat in which he would find grains of
accidental arsenic?”
“Yes, but then---- I mean, who could want to kill that child?”
“That is the unknown quantity in the equation. But people do want to
murder children, quite nice children.”
Eden grew pale. “What do you mean? You know he’s not Warnham’s child.
Warnham’s his step-father.”
“Yes. Yes. Have you ever seen the two together?”
Eden hesitated. “He--well, he didn’t seem to take to Warnham. But I’d
have sworn Warnham was fond of him.”
“And that’s all quite natural, isn’t it? Well, well. I hope he’s in.”
“What do you mean to do?”
“Tell Mrs. Warnham--with her husband listening.”
Dr. Eden followed him out like a man going to be hanged.
Mrs. Warnham indeed met them in her hall. “Mr. Fortune,”--she took
his hand, she had won back her old calm, but her eyes grew dark as
she looked at him--“Gerald has been asking for you. And I want to
speak to you.”
“I shall be glad to talk over the case with you and Captain Warnham,”
said Reggie gravely. “I’ll see the small boy first, if you don’t
mind.” And the small boy kept his Mr. Fortune a long time.
Mrs. Warnham had her husband with her when the doctors came down. “I
say, Fortune,” Captain Warnham started up, “awfully good of you to
take so much trouble. I mean to say,”--he cleared his throat--“I feel
it, you know. How is the little beggar?”
“There’s no reason why he shouldn’t do well,” Reggie said slowly.
“But it’s a strange case. Captain Warnham. Yes, a strange case. You
may take it, there is no doubt the child was poisoned.”
“Poisoned!” Warnham cried out in that queer hoarse voice.
“You mean it was something Gerald shouldn’t have eaten?” Mrs. Warnham
said gently.
“It was arsenic, Captain Warnham. Not much more than an hour before
the time he felt ill, perhaps less, he had swallowed enough arsenic
to kill him.”
“I say, are you certain of all that? I mean to say, no doubt about
anything?” Warnham was flushed. “Arsenic--and the time--and the dose?
It’s pretty thick, you know.”
“There is no doubt. I have found arsenic. I can estimate the dose.
And arsenic acts within that time.”
“But I can’t believe it,” Mrs. Warnham said. “It would be too
horribly cruel. Mr. Fortune, couldn’t it have been accident?
Something in his food?”
“It was certainly in his food or drink. But not accident, Mrs.
Warnham. That is not possible.”
“I say, let’s have it all out, Fortune,” Warnham growled. “Do you
suspect anyone?”
“That’s rather for you, isn’t it?” said Reggie.
“Who could want to poison Gerald?” Mrs. Warnham cried.
“He says some one did,” Warnham growled.
“When do you suppose he took the stuff, Fortune? At the party or
after he came home?”
“What did he have when he came home?”
Warnham looked at his wife. “Only a little milk. He wouldn’t eat
anything,” she said. “And I tasted his milk, I remember. It was quite
nice.”
“That points to the party,” Eden said.
“But I can’t believe it. Who could want to poison Gerald?”
“I’ve seen some of the people who were there,” Eden frowned. “I don’t
believe there’s another child ill. Only this one of the whole party.”
“Yes. Yes. A strange case,” said Reggie. “Was there anyone there with
a grudge against you, Mrs. Warnham?”
“I don’t think there’s anyone with a grudge against me in the world.”
“I don’t believe there is, Catherine,” her husband looked at her.
“But damn it. Fortune found the stuff in the child. I say, Fortune,
what do you advise?”
“You’re sure of your own household? There’s nobody here jealous of
the child?”
Mrs. Warnham looked her distress. “I couldn’t, I couldn’t doubt
anybody. There isn’t any reason. You know, it doesn’t seem real.”
“And there it is,” Warnham growled.
“Yes. Well, I shouldn’t talk about it, you know. When he’s up again
take him right away, somewhere quiet. You’ll live with him yourself,
of course. That’s all safe. And I--well, I shan’t forget the case.
Good-bye.”
“Oh, Mr. Fortune----” she started up and caught his hands.
“Yes, yes, good-bye,” said Reggie, and got away. But as Warnham let
them out he felt Warnham’s lean hand grip into his arm.
“A little homely comfort would be grateful,” Reggie murmured. “Come
and have tea at the Academies, Eden. They keep a pleasing muffin.” He
sank down in his car at Eden’s side with a happy sigh.
But Eden’s brow was troubled. “Do you think the child will be safe
now, Fortune?” he said.
“Oh, I think so. If it was Warnham or Mrs. Warnham who poisoned
him----”
“Good Lord! You don’t think that?”
“They are frightened,” said Reggie placidly, “I frightened ’em quite
a lot. And if it was somebody else--the child is going away and Mrs.
Warnham will be eating and drinking everything he eats and drinks.
The small Gerald will be all right. There remains only the little
problem, who was it?”
“It’s a diabolical affair. Who could want to kill that child?”
“Diabolical is the word,” Reggie agreed. “And a little simple food is
what we need,” and they went into the club and through a long tea he
talked to Eden of rock gardens and Chinese nursery rhymes.
But when Eden, somewhat dazed by his appetite and the variety of his
conversation, was gone, he made for that corner of the club where
Lomas sat drinking tea made in the Russian manner. He pointed a
finger at the clear weak fluid. “It was sad and bad and mad and it
was not even sweet,” he complained. “Take care, Lomas. Think what’s
happened to Russia. You would never be happy as a Bolshevik.”
“I understand that the detective police force is the one institution
which has survived in Russia.”
“Put down that repulsive concoction and come and take the air.”
Lomas stared at him in horror. “Where’s your young lady? I thought
you were walking out. You’re a faithless fellow, Fortune. Go and walk
like a little gentleman.” But there was that in Reggie’s eye which
made him get up with a groan. “You’re the most ruthless man I know.”
The car moved away from the club and Reggie shrank under his rug as
the January east wind met them. “I hope you are cold,” said Lomas.
“What is it now?”
“It was nearly another anonymous murder,” and Reggie told him the
story.
“Diabolical,” said Lomas.
“Yes, I believe in the devil,” Reggie nodded.
“Who stood to gain by the child’s death? It’s clear enough. There’s
only Warnham. Mrs. Warnham was left a rich woman when her first
husband died, old Staveleigh. Every one knew that was why Warnham was
after her. But the bulk of the fortune would go to the child. So he
took the necessary action. Good Gad! We all knew Crab Warnham didn’t
stick at a trifle. But this----! Cold-blooded scoundrel. Can you make
a case of it?”
“I like you, Lomas. You’re so natural,” Reggie said. “That’s all
quite clear. And it’s all wrong. This case isn’t natural, you see. It
hath a devil.”
“Do you mean to say it wasn’t Warnham?”
“It wasn’t Warnham. I tried to frighten him. He was frightened. But
not for himself. Because the child has an enemy and he doesn’t know
who it is.”
“Oh, my dear fellow! He’s not a murderer because you like his face.”
“Who could like his face? No. The poison was given at the party where
Warnham wasn’t.”
“But why? What possible motive? Some homicidal lunatic goes to a
Kensington children’s party and picks out this one child to poison.
Not very credible, is it?”
“No, it’s diabolical. I didn’t say a lunatic. When you tell me what
lunacy is, we’ll discuss whether the poisoner was sane. But the
diabolical is getting a little too common, Lomas. There was Bigod:
young, healthy, well off, just engaged to a jolly girl. He falls into
a chalkpit and the jury says it was misadventure. There was the lady
doctor: young, clean living, not a ghost of a past, everybody liking
her. She is murdered and a girl who was very fond of her nearly goes
mad over it. Now there’s the small Gerald: a dear kid, his mother
worships him, his step-father’s mighty keen on him, everybody likes
him. Somebody tries to poison him and nearly brings it off.”
“What are you arguing, Fortune? It’s odd the cases should follow one
another. It’s deuced awkward we can’t clean them up. But what then?
They’re not really related. The people are unconnected. There’s a
different method of murder--if the Bigod case was murder. The only
common feature is that the man who attempted murder is not known.”
“You think so? Well, well. What I want to know is, was there any one
at Mrs. Lawley’s party in Kensington who was also at the Home of Help
party and also staying somewhere near the chalkpit when Bigod fell
into it. Put your men on to that.”
“Good Gad!” said Lomas. “But the cases are not comparable--not in the
same class. Different method--different kind of victim. What motive
could any creature have for picking out just these three to kill?”
Reggie looked at him. “Not nice murders, are they?” he said. “I could
guess--and I dare say we’ll only guess in the end.”
That night he was taking Miss Amber, poor girl, to a state dinner of
his relations. They had ten minutes together before the horrors of
the ceremony began and she was benign to him about the recovery of
the small Gerald. “It was dear of you to ring up and tell me. I love
Gerry. Poor Mrs. Warnham! I just had to go round to her and she was
sweet. But she has been frightened. You’re rather a wonderful person,
sir. I didn’t know you were a children’s doctor--as well as a million
other things. What was the matter? Mrs. Warnham didn’t tell us. It
must----”
“Who are ‘us,’ Joan?”
“Why, Lady Chantry was with her. She didn’t tell us what it really
was. After we came away Lady Chantry asked me if I knew.”
“But I’m afraid you don’t,” Reggie said. “Joan, I don’t want you to
talk about the small Gerry? Do you mind?”
“My dear, of course not.” Her eyes grew bigger. “But Reggie--the
boy’s going to be all right.”
“Yes. Yes. You’re rather a dear, you know.”
And at the dinner-table which then received them his family found him
of an unwonted solemnity. It was agreed, with surprise and
reluctance, that engagement had improved him: that there might be
some merit in Miss Amber after all.
A week went by. He had been separated from Miss Amber for one long
afternoon to give evidence in the case of the illegitimate Pekinese
when she rang him up on the telephone. Lady Chantry, she said, had
asked her to choose a day and bring Mr. Fortune to dine. Lady Chantry
did so want to know him.
“Does she, though?” said Mr. Fortune.
“She was so nice about it,” said the telephone. “And she really is a
good sort, Reggie. She’s always doing something kind.”
“Joan,” said Mr. Fortune, “you’re not to go into her house.”
“Reggie!” said the telephone.
“That’s that,” said Mr. Fortune. “I’ll speak to Lady Chantry.”
Lady Chantry was at home. She sat in her austerely pleasant
drawing-room, toasting a foot at the fire, a small foot which brought
out a pretty leg. Of course she was in black with some white about
her neck, but the loose gown had grace. She smiled at him and tossed
back her hair. Not a thread of white showed in its crisp brown and it
occurred to Reggie that he had never seen a woman of her age carry
off bobbed hair so well. What was her age? Her eyes were as bright as
a bird’s and her clear pallor was unfurrowed.
“So good of you, Mr. Fortune----”
“Miss Amber has just told me----”
They spoke together. She got the lead then. “It was kind of her to
let you know at once. But she’s always kind, isn’t she? I did so want
you to come, and make friends with me before you’re married, and it
will be very soon now, won’t it? Oh, but do let me give you some tea.”
“No tea, thank you.”
“Won’t you? Well, please ring the bell. I don’t know how men can
exist without tea. But most of them don’t now, do they? You’re almost
unique, you know. I suppose it’s the penalty of greatness.”
“I came round to say that Miss Amber won’t be able to dine with you,
Lady Chantry.”
It was a moment before she answered. “But that is too bad. She told
me she was sure you could find a day.”
“She can’t come,” said Reggie sharply.
“The man has spoken,” she laughed. “Oh, of course, she mustn’t go
behind that.” He was given a keen mocking glance. “And can’t you come
either, Mr. Fortune?”
“I have a great deal of work. Lady Chantry. It’s come rather
unexpectedly.”
“Indeed, you do look worried. I’m so sorry. I’m sure you ought to
take a rest, a long rest.” A servant came in. “Won’t you really have
some tea?”
“No, thank you. Goodbye, Lady Chantry.”
He went home and rang up Lomas. Lomas, like the father of Baby
Bunting, had gone a-hunting. Lomas was in Leicestershire.
Superintendent Bell replied: Did Bell know if they had anything new
about the unknown murderer?
“Inquiries are proceeding, sir,” said Superintendent Bell.
“Damn it, Bell, I’m not the House of Commons. Have you got anything?”
“Not what you’d call definite, sir, no.”
“You’ll say that on the Day of Judgment,” said Reggie.
It was on the next day that he found a telegram waiting for him when
he came home to dress for dinner:
Gerald ill again very anxious beg you will come sending car to meet
evening trains.
Warnham
Fernhurst
Blackover.
He scrambled into the last carriage of the half-past six as it drew
out of Waterloo.
Mrs. Warnham had faithfully obeyed his orders to take Gerald to a
quiet place. Blackover stands an equally uncomfortable distance from
two main lines, one of which throws out towards it a feeble and
spasmodic branch. After two changes Reggie arrived, cold and with a
railway sandwich rattling in his emptiness, on the dimly-lit platform
of Blackover. The porter of all work who took his ticket thought
there was a car outside.
In the dark station yard Reggie found only one: “Do you come from
Fernhurst?” he called, and the small chauffeur who was half inside
the bonnet shut it up and touched his cap and ran round to his seat.
They dashed off into the night, climbing up by narrow winding roads
through woodland. Nothing passed them, no house gave a gleam of
light. The car stopped on the crest of a hill and Reggie looked out.
He could see nothing but white frost and pines. The chauffeur was
getting down.
“What’s the trouble?” said Reggie, with his head out of window: and
slipped the catch and came out in a bundle.
The chauffeur’s face was the face of Lady Chantry. He saw it in the
flash of a pistol overhead as he closed with her. “I will, I will,”
she muttered, and fought him fiercely. Another shot went into the
pines. He wrenched her hand round. The third was fired into her face.
The struggling body fell away from him, limp.
He carried it into the rays of the headlights and looked close.
“That’s that,” he said with a shrug, and put it into the car.
He lit a cigar and listened. There was no sound anywhere but the
sough of the wind in the pines. He climbed into the chauffeur’s place
and drove away. At the next crossroads he took that which led north
and west, and so in a while came out on the Portsmouth road.
That night the frost gathered on a motor-car in a lane between
Hindhead and Shottermill. Mr. Fortune unobtrusively caught the last
train from Haslemere.
When he came out from a matinee with Joan Amber next day, the
newsboys were shouting “Motor Car Mystery.” Mr. Fortune did not buy a
paper.
It was on the morning of the second day that Scotland Yard sent for
him. Lomas was with Superintendent Bell. The two of them received him
with solemnity and curious eyes. Mr. Fortune was not pleased. “Dear
me, Lomas, can’t you keep the peace for a week at a time?” he
protested. “What is the reason for your existence?”
“I had all that for breakfast,” said Lomas. “Don’t talk like the
newspapers. Be original.”
“‘Another Mysterious Murder,’” Reggie murmured, quoting headlines.
“‘Scotland Yard Baffled Again,’ ‘Police Mandarins.’ No, you haven’t a
‘good Press,’ Lomas old thing.”
Lomas said something about the Press. “Do you know who that woman
chauffeur was, Fortune?”
“That wasn’t in the papers, was it?”
“You haven’t guessed?”
Again Reggie Fortune was aware of the grave curiosity in their eyes.
“Another of our mysterious murders,” he said dreamily. “I wonder. Are
you working out the series at last? I told you to look for some one
who was always present.”