by John Rhode
At one end of the room was a recess, with a window looking out at the back of the house, over an unkempt patch of garden. In this recess was a roll-top desk, with the top closed. Oldland noticed that the key was in the lock. This key was on a ring with three others of various kinds. Two of these were Yale keys.
Oldland, who had quick ears, heard the sound of hurried footsteps on the pavement. He returned to the hall, in time to confront Janet Harleston as she entered the house. ‘I’m sorry, Doctor,’ she said breathlessly. ‘But the parlourmaid said she couldn’t find the black case anywhere.’
‘No, I’m afraid you had your trouble for nothing. Miss Harleston,’ Oldland replied. ‘It was in my bag all the time. I found it just after you had gone.’
‘Oh, I’m so glad!’ she exclaimed. ‘How’s poor Victor? Is he any better?’
‘I’m sorry to say that your brother is dead, Miss Harleston,’ replied Oldland, with what seemed cruel curtness.
But amazement, rather than grief, appeared to be the effect caused by this bold statement. ‘Dead!’ she exclaimed incredulously. ‘But he was perfectly well when I took him his tea at half-past seven.’
‘That may be, Miss Harleston. You understand that, under the circumstances, I cannot give a death certificate, and that I shall have to communicate with the coroner?’
She shook her head helplessly. ‘I don’t know anything about these things, Doctor. Does that mean there’ll be an inquest?’
‘I’m afraid so. In any case, arrangements will have to be made to take the body to the mortuary. Have you any other relations alive, Miss Harleston?’
‘My mother and father are dead. But I have another brother. Philip, who lives in Kent. He’s my real brother, a year older than I am. He was here to supper yesterday evening. I’d better send him a wire to come up at once, hadn’t I?’
‘Plenty of time, plenty of time’ replied Oldland absently. He glanced at his watch. Past nine o’clock! His car and chauffeur would be waiting for him. He had a long round of visits to pay that morning. But he couldn’t leave this sinister house, yet. It was a damnable nuisance. ‘What was your brother’s occupation?’ he asked abruptly, more for the sake of continuing the conversation, than because he felt any interest in the matter.
‘He was a clerk in an accountant’s office. Slater & Knott is the name of the firm. Their offices are in Chancery Lane. Victor had been with them for years.’
‘Had he many friends in London?’
She shook her head. ‘No, Victor wasn’t the sort to make friends. He … Oh!’
Janet Harleston broke off with a sudden exclamation. She seemed suddenly to have remembered something, and Oldland glanced at her with a faint renewal of interest. ‘You were going to say?’ he suggested.
‘I was going to say that as far as I know, he hadn’t any friends, and then I remembered the man at the door, when I went to fetch you. I’ve been so upset, that I never thought of him again until this moment.’
Oldland might have pursued the subject, but at that moment the door bell rang insistently. ‘I’ll answer it,’ he said. ‘I expect it’s somebody for me.’ He walked swiftly to the door and opened it. On the threshold stood Superintendent Hanslet himself. ‘Morning, Doctor!’ he exclaimed cheerfully. ‘What’s the matter here?’
Oldland made no reply, but drew him inside and propelled him into the sitting-room. Janet, motionless in the hall, watched them with wide-open, frightened eyes, but said nothing. It was not until he and Hanslet were standing together in front of the sofa that Oldland spoke. ‘That’s what’s the matter,’ he said curtly.
Hanslet took a step forward, and bent over the body. ‘Dead?’ he asked.
‘Dead,’ replied Oldland grimly. ‘I was called in, and reached here at five-and-twenty minutes to nine. The man was then alive, but his condition was hopeless, and he died a few minutes later.’
‘What did he die of?’ asked Hanslet suspiciously.
‘Acute poisoning of some kind. And it appears that he lived alone with his half-sister, the girl you saw in the hall just now. The rest is up to you. I’ve got my work to attend to. You know where to find me if you want me.’
And before Hanslet could protest, he had slipped out of the house.
2
The superintendent shrugged his shoulders. He had always considered Oldland a bit eccentric, though he fully recognised his abilities. The two men had been acquainted for some few years.
Though Hanslet continued to stare at the body for some few moments, he did so more out of curiosity than in the hope of learning anything from it. He was fully prepared to accept Oldland’s statement. The problem before him would be simply expressed. The task of the police was to find out how the poison had been administered, and by whom.
Hanslet turned swiftly on his heel, and left the sitting-room, to find Janet still rooted to the spot where he had last seen her. ‘Allow me to introduce myself,’ he said. ‘I am Superintendent Hanslet of the Criminal Investigation Department. Acting upon information received, I have come here to make inquiries. To begin with, may I ask you your name?
She started, as though his words had awakened her from a deep reverie. ‘My name?’ she replied. ‘Janet Harleston.’
‘And the dead man was your brother?’
‘My half-brother, Victor Harleston. My father married twice. Both he and my mother have been dead for some years.’
‘You and your half-brother lived here alone?’
‘Yes. My father left the house to Victor. I stayed with him to look after him, since he was not married.’
‘I see. Now, will you tell me what you can of your brother’s illness? Everything that you can remember, please. But we need not stand here. I expect you would like to sit down?’
She led the way into the dining-room, and sat down stiffly upon one of the chairs which stood against the wall. Hanslet seated himself beside her. Before them were displayed the remains of the interrupted breakfast.
Janet began to speak without emotion, as though she were describing some remote event, entirely unconnected with herself. ‘I took him up his cup of tea at half-past seven, as I always do. He was all right then. I’m sure he was, for he looked just the same as he always did. I put his tray down by his bed …’
Hanslet interrupted her. ‘One moment, Miss Harleston. Did you speak to your brother when you took him his tea?’
‘I asked him if he was awake, before I opened his door, and he answered me.’
‘You didn’t ask him how he was, or any similar question?’
‘No,’ she replied sharply. ‘I didn’t speak to him while I was in his room.’
The tone of her voice did not escape Hanslet. It was clear to him that brother and sister had not been on the best of terms. But he did not comment on this. ‘What happened next?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. I went down to the kitchen to get breakfast. It was a little after eight when I brought it in here. Victor came down a few minutes later. I saw that he looked rather pale, and I noticed that he had a piece of sticking-plaster on his face. I asked him if he had cut himself shaving, and he said something about any fool being able to tell that, since he wasn’t in the habit of putting plaster on his face to improve his appearance. I saw that he was as grumpy as usual, and didn’t say any more.’
Hanslet made a mental note of that phrase, ‘as grumpy as usual.’ ‘You had no reason to think that your brother was seriously ill?’ he asked.
‘Not for a few minutes. I poured out his coffee and passed it to him. Usually he eats his breakfast and then drinks his coffee. This morning he took a piece of toast and a pat of butter, but though he broke the toast in half he didn’t eat any of it. And he didn’t eat any of the eggs and bacon I had done for him, either. He seemed impatient for his coffee to get cool, and, as soon as he could, he drank it all off at once.’
‘Had he previously drunk the cup of tea which you had brought him?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t been up to his ro
om since. I saw that his hand shook as he held the coffee-cup, and I wondered what was the matter. After he had drunk his coffee, he sat for a minute or two in his chair, twitching all over. Then he got up, as though he was so stiff that he could hardly move. He was so clumsy that he upset his chair. Then he staggered to the door, waving his arms and trying to speak. He was very sick as soon as he got into the hall, and then he swayed for a moment, and fell down flat. I ran out to him, and saw that he was very ill. He didn’t seem able to move, and he couldn’t speak. I thought he had a stroke, or something. So I ran out at once to fetch the doctor.’
‘Is Doctor Oldland your usual medical attendant?’
‘Oh, no. We had no regular doctor. Nobody has been ill in the house since my father died, and the doctor who attended him has gone away now. But I had often noticed Doctor Oldland’s plate when I was out shopping, and as he lives quite close, I went to him.’
‘Since there was nobody else in the house, you had to leave your brother alone while you went for the doctor?’
A puzzled look came into her face. ‘That’s the funny part about it,’ she said, using the adjective in its commonly perverted sense. ‘I opened the front door and ran out, almost colliding with a man who was coming up the steps. He said, “Excuse me, are you Miss Harleston? I’m a friend of your brother’s.” I told him that my brother had been suddenly taken ill, and that I was just going for the doctor. He replied that he would stay with him while I was gone. I ran on towards Doctor Oldland’s, and I was so upset about Victor that I never gave the man another thought.’
‘But you and Doctor Oldland found him when you came back, I suppose?’
‘No, that’s the funny thing about it. We didn’t, there was nobody here.’
‘Are you sure that this man actually entered the house?’
She hesitated. ‘I’m almost sure. You see, I was in a desperate hurry, and only stopped on the steps for a moment when he spoke to me. I feel pretty certain that he walked through the front door as I ran away, but I didn’t look back to see what had become of him. I’m sure I didn’t shut the door, and Doctor Oldland and I found it ajar when we got back here.’
‘I gather that this man was a stranger to you, Miss Harleston?’
‘I had never seen him before. He said he was a friend of my brother’s, which would have surprised me if I had had time to think, for I didn’t know that Victor had any friends. Oh! I’ve just thought! Perhaps he meant that he was a friend of Philip’s.’
‘Philip?’ Hanslet repeated inquiringly.
‘Yes, my real brother. He was here to supper last night, and perhaps this man thought that he had stayed for the night.’
‘Can you give any description of this man?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t. I shouldn’t know him again if I saw him. You understand how it was. I was thinking only of getting the doctor as soon as I could, and I didn’t take any notice of him.’
‘How long were you away from the house?’
‘Oh, not long. Not more than ten minutes, I should think. Doctor Oldland was very good, and came back with me at once.’
Hanslet nodded absently. He was rather puzzled as to his next move. He wanted this girl out of the house, and yet it was imperative that she should be kept under close observation. ‘Have you any friends in London?’ he asked.
‘No, I hardly know anybody. Victor didn’t like people coming to the house.’
‘I don’t like the idea of you staying here alone, after the shock you’ve had. You mentioned your brother Philip. Where does he live?’
‘At Lassingford, near Maidstone. He manages a fruit farm there. I could go to him. He asked me, yesterday evening, if I couldn’t go and stay with him for a few days. That’s what all the row was about.’
So there had been a row. Hanslet had already suspected as much. And then he had a bright idea. ‘Look here, Miss Harleston!’ he said. ‘I’m going to put you under the care of a friend of mine. He’ll send a message for you to your brother, and do anything else you want him to. Now, run upstairs and put on your hat, and we’ll go out and get a taxi.’
He watched her go upstairs and into a bedroom, the door of which she shut behind her. It might have been her brother’s room, but he had to take that risk. However, she appeared again a few minutes later, dressed to go out and carrying her bag. Hanslet met her at the foot of the stairs. ‘Perhaps you had better give me your keys,’ he suggested.
Without protest she handed over a bunch, which Hanslet put in his pocket. ‘Now, I’ll just write a note to this friend of mine,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll be ready to start.’
He took out his notebook, and scribbled a few lines on a blank leaf. ‘Dear Jimmy. This is Miss Janet Harleston. Keep your eye on her till further orders. Let her send any messages she likes, but secure a copy of them. She is not, at present, to be detained.’
They went out of the house together, and walked as far as the Fulham Road. Here Carling was still on duty. Hanslet beckoned to him, and drew him aside. ‘Get a taxi, and take this lady to the Yard,’ he said. ‘She’s not under arrest, so treat her as politely as you can. When you get there, ask for Inspector Waghom and give him this note.’
Carling saluted. A purring taxi was stopped, and he helped Janet into it, clambering in beside her. Hanslet watched them drive off. He went to a nearby telephone box, and put through two calls, one to the divisional police surgeon, the other to the police ambulance station. Then he returned to number eight, Matfield Street, where he went into the sitting-room and sat down in the most comfortable chair. He was in no hurry. Plenty of time to get things straight in his mind before he started looking about.
The case was a very simple one. The dead man and his sister had been the sole occupants of the house. That cleared a bit of complications out of the way, at the very start. There was no uncertainty as to the cause of death. Oldland had said that it had been due to acute poisoning. Oldland was a cautious chap. He would not have committed himself so definitely, if he had not been certain.
In such a case, there were three possibilities to be considered. In the first place, accident. For instance, Harleston might have put poison in his early tea, in mistake for his usual daily dose of Kruschen. In the second place, suicide. He might deliberately have poisoned himself, though this, on the face of it, seemed unlikely. And in the third and last place, murder. The poison might have been administered by somebody with intent to kill.
If the evidence pointed to murder, there was only one person upon whom suspicion could fall. His half-sister. Nobody else had had access to him, by her own admission. The visionary figure standing on the doorstep, even had he really existed, could have had no connection with the crime, since Harleston had obviously taken the poison before he appeared on the scene.
Hanslet had not been very favourably impressed by Janet Harleston. She had told her story readily enough. Almost too readily, perhaps. But she had displayed very little sign of grief at her brother’s death. She had almost given Hanslet the impression that the event was a relief to her. She showed a lack of half-sisterly feeling, to say the least of it. And, by her own confession, she had quarrelled with her brother, as recently as the previous day.
The superintendent rose from his chair, passed into the hall, and went upstairs. He opened the door of the room into which he had seen Janet go. Her bedroom, quite obviously, from the articles which it contained. This room had a window looking out over Matfield Street. Next to it was a smaller room, used as a box-room. On the other side of the landing were two doors, one leading into a bathroom and lavatory, the other into a second bedroom. Both these rooms had windows looking out at the back of the house, over the tiny plot of untended garden.
This second bedroom was certainly the one occupied by Victor Harleston. The bed was unmade, and his striped pyjamas had been carelessly thrown upon it. Hanslet’s eye was immediately caught by the tray which stood on the table beside the bed. This was obviously the tray upon which Janet Harleston had brought he
r brother’s early tea. Hanslet examined the objects which stood upon it. A tea-pot, about one-third full of tea, now cold. A cup and saucer, the former containing dregs. A sugar-basin, with a few lumps of sugar in it, and a milk-jug, about half-full.
Hanslet examined the room with considerable care. But he could find nothing unusual about it, nothing for instance, which might suggest poison. There was no bottle or other receptacle which seemed in any way suspicious. He passed into the bathroom. This was in a state of considerable disorder, but again it appeared to contain nothing suspicious. He went downstairs again. The ground floor of the house he had already explored, and he continued his way to the basement. Here he found a kitchen, pantry, scullery and larder. There was nothing in any of them beyond the usual food and appliances to be expected in such places.
He was still poking about when he was summoned by a loud knocking on the front door. His visitor proved to be the police surgeon, Doctor Bishop.
‘Well, Superintendent, what have you got here?’ the latter asked in a business-like tone.
‘Come inside,’ Hanslet replied, ‘and I’ll show you.’
The two went into the sitting-room where the body still lay. Doctor Bishop listened attentively to the superintendent’s account of what had happened.
‘Oldland,’ he said. ‘Yes, I know him. Very sound chap. If he said the man died of acute poisoning, you may take it that he did. Your trouble is I suppose, to find out where the poison came from.’
‘I’ve a pretty good idea of that already,’ Hanslet replied. ‘Look here, doctor. The man had a cup of tea soon after seven. He had nothing else until he drank a cup of coffee about half an hour later. Immediately after taking the coffee he was violently ill. No amount of poison in the coffee would act so quickly as that, would it?’