by Iain Pears
Much to my surprise, Stahl seemed almost happy to see us when we dragged ourselves up his stairs and walked into his cramped and smelly lodging off Turl Street a quarter of an hour later. The prospect of demonstrating his ingenuity and skill to an appreciative audience was too much to resist, although he did his best to be churlish. Everything was ready: candles, bowls, bottles of various liquids, six little piles of powder – the stuff which he had extracted from the bottle – and chemicals Lower had purchased and sent round to him.
‘Now, I hope you’re going to behave yourself, and not waste my time prattling.’ He glared at us while Lower assured him that we would observe as quietly as possible – a statement which neither he nor Stahl believed for a moment.
The preliminaries done, Stahl settled down to work. As an example of chemical technique, it was fascinating to watch; and while he talked, I found my distaste slipping away in admiration at his ingenuity and methodical approach. The problem, he said, waving at the piles of powder, was perfectly simple. How do we determine what this sediment drawn from the brandy bottle is? We can look at it, but that demonstrates nothing, as many substances are white and can be reduced to powder. We can weigh it, but considering the amount of impurities present, that would prove little. We can taste it, and compare the taste to other things, but that operation – quite apart from the fact that it might be dangerous – would help little unless it had a unique and recognisable taste. From mere visual evidence we cannot say more than that the sediment is a whitish powder.
So, he said, warming to his theme, we must test it a little further: if, for example, we dissolved it in a little sal ammoniack, the mixture might respond in several ways: it might change colour, or it might give off heat, or it might effervesce. The powder might dissolve, or float or sink, still solid, to the bottom of the liquid. If we repeated the experiment with another substance, and it reached in a similar fashion, could we then say that the two were the same?
I was about to reply in the affirmative, when he waved his finger at us. No, he said. Of course not. If they reacted differently, then indeed we might conclude that the two substances were not identical. But if they reacted in the same fashion, all we could say was that they were two substances which, when mixed with sal ammoniack, responded in the same way.
He paused while we digested this, then resumed once more. ‘Now, you are thinking’, he said, ‘how can we possibly ascertain what this material is? And the answer is simple: we cannot. I told you this last week. Whatever you may think there can be no certainty. We can only say that accumulated evidence indicates the strong likelihood that it is such and such a substance.’
I had not yet had much experience of law courts in England, but I knew that, if someone like Stahl went into a Venetian trial and spoke like that, the side he was supporting might as well abandon all hope.
‘So, how do we do this?’ He was asking rhetorically, waving his finger in the air. ‘We repeat the experimentation again and again and if, after every repeated experiment, the two substances match in their reaction, then we can conclude that the chances of their not being the same shrink to the point where to maintain they are different is unreasonable. Are you with me?’
I nodded. Lower didn’t bother.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Now, I have in the last few days performed my experiments on a dozen or more substances, and have reached my conclusions. I am prepared here only to demonstrate them: I have not the time to go through the whole process with you. I have here glasses containing five different substances, and we will add our powder one by one to all five, then begin the process of comparison. Now, the first is a little spirit of sal ammoniack,’ – he poured a small amount of powder in as he spoke – ‘the second contains lixivium of tartar, then spirit of vitriol, spirit of salt and lastly, syrup of violets. I also have here a piece of hot iron. I hope you see the logic of this, Dr Lower?’
Lower nodded.
‘Perhaps, then you would explain to our friend, here?’
Lower sighed. ‘This isn’t a lesson, you know.’
‘I like people to understand the experimental method. Too many doctors do not; they merely prescribe potions without the slightest reason to think they might work.’
Lower groaned, then gave way. ‘What he is doing’, he said, ‘is subjecting the powders to all variants of matter. As you know, the essential principles of natural things are salt and earth, which are passive, and water, spirit and oil, which are active. The combination of ingredients he has chosen consequently covers all of these, and should provide an overall picture of every variety of matter. He is also testing heat, which is quite illogical of him, as he does not believe that fire is a natural element.’
Stahl grinned. ‘No, I do not. The idea that all matter contains a quantity of fire which can be released on heating I find unlikely. However, this is quite enough chatter. If your friend has got that into his pretty little head, we might begin.’
He peered at us closely to see he had our attention, then rubbed his hands together and picked up the first bowl, holding it to the light so we could see clearly.
‘The sal ammoniack first of all. You see it has produced particles of a pale sediment with no other apparent movement. Hmm?’
He handed it over for our inspection and we agreed that the other substance he was showing us produced the same result.
‘Now, lixivium of tartar. A white cloud in the middle of the liquid, suspended equidistantly between the surface and the bottom.’
Again, the other substance behaved in the same fashion.
‘Vitriol. A precipitation producing hard crystals forming on the side of the glass. A matching result again.’
‘Salt.’ He paused and examined the bowl carefully. ‘A slight creamy precipitation, but so slight you might miss it entirely.
‘Violets. How pretty. A tincture of pale green. Most attractive. Two of them, in fact, as my chosen substance has produced the same result. I hope you are beginning to be convinced.’
He grunted at us in a satisfied fashion, then picked up a pinch of each powder and threw them separately on to the red hot iron. We watched as they hissed, and gave off thick white fumes. Stahl sniffed at them, then grunted again. ‘No flame in either case. Slight smell of – what would you say? – garlic.’
He poured some water on the iron to cool it down, then casually tossed it out of the window, so it could lie on the ground and not poison us. ‘And there we are. We needn’t waste any more time. We have now run a total of six separate tests, and in each case the material you brought me in the brandy bottle reacts in the same way as this substance here. As an experimentalist of chemistry, gentleman, I offer you my opinion that the material in the bottle is indeed unlikely not to be the same.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Lower, finally losing patience. ‘But what is this other substance of yours?’
‘Ah,’ said Stahl. ‘The crucial point. My apologies for my little piece of drama. It is called white arsenic. Formerly used as a face powder by the more foolish and vanitous of women, and quite deadly in large quantities. I can prove that as well, for I did one other test.
‘I have notes on all this, by the way,’ he said, as he opened up two paper packages. ‘Two cats,’ he said, picking the creatures up by the tails. ‘One white, one black. Both perfectly healthy last night when I caught them. I fed one two grains of the powder from the bottle, and the other the same amount of arsenic, both dissolved in a little milk. Both beasts are, as you see, quite dead.
‘You’d better take both of them,’ Stahl continued. ‘As you appear to have been messing around in Dr Grove’s intestines, you may want to have a look at theirs as well. You never know.’
We thanked him profusely for his kindness and Lower, gripping a tail in each hand, wandered off to the laboratory to anatomise the beasts.
‘And what is your opinion of that?’ he asked as we strolled along the High Street in the direction of Christ Church once more. Having established that the substance in
the bottle was indeed arsenic – or, to be correct, that it consistently behaved like arsenic and never behaved unlike arsenic, so that it could reasonably be said to be arsenic-like – and, moreover, that a cat, when fed the substance, died in a manner very similar to the way that a cat fed with arsenic died, we were but one step away from an alarming conclusion.
‘Fascinating,’ I said. ‘Ingenious, and thoroughly satisfying in both method and execution. But I must reserve my final opinion until we have seen inside those cats. The syllogism you obviously have in mind is as yet incomplete.’
‘Arsenic in the bottle, and Grove dead. But did arsenic kill Grove? You are quite right. But you suspect as well as I what conclusions the cats’ intestines will indicate.’
I nodded.
‘We have everything to suggest Grove was murdered except for the one necessary factor.’
‘Which is?’ I asked as we trailed through the unfinished and unworthy entrance to the college and walked through the vast but equally unfinished quadrangle.
‘We don’t have a reason, and that is the most important thing. It is Stahl’s problem with the why and the how, if you like. There is no point working out how it was done if we cannot say why. Fact of crime, and motive for committing it are all that is needed: the rest is unimportant detail. Cui prodest scelus, is fecit. He who profits by villainy, has perpetrated it.’
‘Ovid?’
‘Seneca.’
‘I believe’, I said a little impatiently, ‘that you are trying to say something.’
‘I am. Just as Stahl can work out how chemicals mix with each other but has no idea why, so it is with us. We now know how Grove died, but we do not know why. Who might possibly have wanted to take so much trouble to kill him?’
‘Causa latet, vis est notissima,’ I quoted back, and was pleased for once to have foxed him.
‘“The cause is hidden . . .”? Suetonius?’
‘“But the effect is clear.” Ovid again. You should know that one. We have, at least, established fact – if the cats are as we suspect. The rest is not in our field.’
He nodded. ‘Considering your method of reasoning about your blood, I find that strange. You have completely reversed yourself. In one case, you had a hypothesis and saw no need for prior evidence. In this case, you have the evidence and see no need for a hypothesis.’
‘I could just as easily say that you have done the same. Besides, I do not dismiss the need for explanation. I merely say that it is not our job to formulate it.’
‘That is true,’ he conceded, ‘and maybe my discontent is vanity. But I feel that unless our philosophy can also answer the important questions as well, it is unlikely to change much. Both why and how. If science confines itself to how, then I doubt it will ever be taken seriously. Do you wish to attend the cats?’
I shook my head. ‘I would love to. But I should go and see my patient.’
‘Very well. Perhaps you will join me at Boyle’s when you have finished? And this evening I have a great treat. We must not allow ourselves to become overburdened by experiment. Diversion is also necessary, I think. By the way, I wish to ask you something.’
‘And that is?’
‘Periodically, I make a circuit of the countryside; Boyle mentioned it when you arrived, if you remember. As I can’t practise in the town, I have to go outside to earn a little money, and I am very short at the moment. It is a Christian charity, and quite profitable, which is a fine combination. I set up a room on market days, hang out a sign, and wait for the pennies to roll in. I was going to leave tomorrow. There is to be a hanging out Aylesbury way, and I want to bid for the corpse. Would you like to come? There will be more than enough work for both of us. You can rent a horse for a week, see the country. Can you pull teeth?’
I bridled at the idea. ‘Certainly not,’ I said.
‘No? It’s easy. I’ll be taking some pliers, and you can practise if you wish.’
‘That’s not what I meant. I mean that I am not a barber. Forgive me for saying so, but I risk my father’s wrath in acting the doctor and there are depths to which I will not sink.’
For once Lower was not offended. ‘You’re not going to be much use, then,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Listen, I am going to towns of a few hundred souls at most. Villagers come from miles around and they want full treatment. They want to be bled, purged, lanced, have their piles rubbed and their teeth out. This isn’t Venice, where you can send them to the barber’s shop next door. You’ll be the only properly trained person they will see for another year, unless some wandering charlatan passes through. So if you come with me, you leave your dignity behind, as I will. No one will see, and I promise not to tell your father. They want a tooth out, you reach for the pliers. You’ll enjoy it; you’ll never have such appreciative patients again.’
‘What about my patient? I really don’t want to come back to find her dead.’
Lower frowned. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. But she doesn’t need any attention, does she? I mean, you can’t do much except wait and see whether she lives. And if you gave her more treatment that would spoil the experiment.’
‘That’s true.’
‘I could ask Locke to look in on her. I noticed you didn’t take to him much, but he’s a fine fellow really, and a good physician. We’ll only be away five or six days.’
I was doubtful, and did not want someone like Locke informed of my work, although as I knew Lower had a high regard for the man I refrained from saying so. ‘Let me think about it,’ I said. ‘And I’ll tell you this evening.’
‘Fine. Now, these cats await me. And then I suppose we ought to see the magistrate to tell him what we have discovered. Not, I suspect, that he will be very interested.’
Thus, three hours later, we knocked on the door of the magistrate’s house in Holywell to inform him that, as far as the opinion of two doctors was concerned, Dr Robert Grove had died of arsenic poisoning. The stomachs and entrails of the cats were quite definite on this point; there was absolutely no difference between them and, in addition, the excoriation closely matched that which we had noted in Grove’s own. The conclusion was inescapable by any theoretical approach, whether it be that of Monsieur Descartes or Lord Bacon.
Sir John Fulgrove saw us after only a very short delay; we were ushered into the room he used as his study and as an impromptu courtroom for deciding minor matters. He seemed a worried man, which was no great surprise. Someone like Woodward could make life very unpleasant for any lay official, even a magistrate, who incurred his wrath. Investigating a death was tantamount to alleging murder; Sir John now had to come up with a convincing case to lay before the coroner’s court; and for that he needed someone to accuse.
When we told him of our investigations and conclusions, he leant forward in his chair straining to understand what we were saying. I felt quite sorry for him; the matter was, after all, exceptionally delicate. To his credit, he questioned us closely both as to our methods and the logic of our conclusions, and made us explain several times the more complicated procedures until he understood them properly.
‘It is your belief, then, that Dr Grove died as a result of drinking arsenic dissolved in the bottle of brandy. Is that the case?’
Lower – who did all of the talking – nodded. ‘It is.’
‘Yet you will not speculate as to how the arsenic came to be in the bottle? Could he have put it there himself?’
‘Doubtful. He had been warned only that evening of its dangers, and said he would never use it again. As for the bottle, Mr Cola here might be able to assist on that point.’
So I explained how I had seen Grove pick up the bottle at the foot of the stairs as he escorted me to the gate. I added, however, that I was not certain it was the same bottle, and naturally I did not know whether the poison was already in it.
‘Yet is this poison used medicinally? You were treating him, Mr Cole?’
‘Cola.’
Lower explained how it was sometimes used, but never in suc
h quantities, and I said how I had done little more than wash away the medicine he was using, so that the eye might heal itself.
‘You were treating him, you dined with him that evening, and you were probably the last person to see him before he died?’
I agreed evenly that this might well be the case. The magistrate grunted. ‘This arsenic,’ he continued, ‘what is it, exactly?’
‘It is a powder,’ Lower said. ‘Derived from a mineral composed of sulphur and caustic salts. It is both expensive and often quite difficult to find. It comes from silver mines in Germany. Or it can be made by subliming orpiment with salts. In other words . . .’
‘Thank you,’ the magistrate said, holding up his hands to fend off one of Lower’s lectures. ‘Thank you. What I mean is, where is it obtained? Do apothecaries sell it, for example? Is it part of the materia medica of physicians?’
‘Oh, I see. On the whole, I think, physicians do not keep it about them. It is used only rarely, and as I say, it is expensive. Ordinarily they would apply to an apothecary when it was needed.’
‘Thank you, indeed.’ The magistrate’s brow furrowed in thought as he considered what we had just told him. ‘I do not see how your information, valuable though it might be, could possibly be of use should this ever come to a trial. I understand its value, of course, but I doubt that a jury would. You know, Lower, what these men are like, often enough. If a case depended on such flimsy stuff, they would be certain to acquit whomever we charged.’
Lower looked displeased, but admitted that Sir John was correct.
‘Tell me, Mister Cole . . .’
‘Cola.’
‘Cola. You are Italian, I believe?’
I said I was.
‘A doctor yourself?’
I replied that I had studied physick but was not qualified, and had no intention of practising for a living. My father, I continued, did not want . . .