by John Rhode
Mr Mowbray occupied a dark and musty office in Lincoln’s Inn. Hanslet was received by an elderly clerk, who immediately told him that on no account could he see Mr Mowbray without an appointment. Hanslet, however, produced his card, and this had the usual effect. The clerk shuffled off with it into an inner office. He reappeared a few minutes later with the information that Mr Mowbray would make an exception to his invariable rule and see the superintendent at once.
Hanslet passed into the inner room and found himself confronted by a wizened old man with a peevish and distinctly unwelcoming expression. From his appearance Hanslet guessed that he had been interrupted in his quiet after-lunch doze. The lawyer glared at him.
‘Well, Superintendent,’ he wheezed, ‘what is your business?’
‘Not a particularly pleasant one, I’m afraid,’ Hanslet replied. ‘Mr Victor Harleston, of eight Matfield Street, was one of your clients, I believe?’
‘Was!’ exclaimed the lawyer. ‘Was? Is, you mean. What about him?’
‘He died under extremely suspicious circumstances about nine o’clock this morning,’ Hanslet replied equably.
‘Eh! What’s this?’ exclaimed the lawyer. ‘Why wasn’t I told about it before?’
‘The information has been conveyed to you at the earliest possible moment, Mr Mowbray. Perhaps you will be good enough to give me certain information respecting your late client.’
The lawyer looked at him obliquely. ‘I must first demand an explanation of the words you used just now,’ he replied. ‘Suspicious circumstances, I think you said. In what way were the circumstances of my client’s death suspicious?’
‘It is believed that Victor Harleston died as the result of acute poisoning,’ said Hanslet deliberately.
‘Then an inquest will be held?’ Mr Mowbray snapped.
‘That is so. It is in view of this inquest that I am asking for information.’
‘Well, what do you want to know?’
‘First of all I should like information as to Victor Harleston’s age, occupation, and so forth.’
‘Victor Harleston was forty-two. He has for many years been employed as a clerk by Messrs. Slater & Knott, Accountants, Chancery Lane. I have every reason to believe that his work has given his employers the fullest satisfaction.’
‘Did he possess means beyond his salary?’ Hanslet asked.
The lawyer glanced at him suspiciously. ‘He enjoys the proceeds of a trust established by his father,’ he replied.
‘Were there any conditions attaching to this?’
This question seemed to rouse the lawyer from his apathy. ‘A most ridiculous affair altogether,’ he exclaimed. ‘Victor’s father, Peter, was always doing the most unaccountable things. He made this foolish will without consulting me and I always told him that trouble would come of it.’
‘May I ask for an outline of the provisions of the will, Mr Mowbray?’
‘Well, I suppose you’ve a right to know,’ the lawyer replied ungraciously. ‘Peter Harleston began life as a van boy. After that he became an assistant in a greengrocer’s shop. He managed to save money and when his employer died he bought the business. He made a very good thing of it and at the time of his death he was the owner of the house in Matfield Street, and had other investments amounting to between ten and fifteen thousand pounds in all.
‘Peter Harleston married twice. By his first wife he had Victor and a girl who died young. By his second wife, he had a boy Philip and a year later a girl, Janet. Peter and his second wife died within a few months of one another, about three years ago.
‘Peter was one of those people who imagine that after they are gone their children will squander the money which they have so laboriously amassed. He imagined that he had found a way of preventing this. Victor was already in a good position in an accountant’s office. Philip he provided for by buying him a small share in a fruit farm which carried with it the position of manager. Victor as the eldest son and the one who took most after his father secured the lion’s share. Peter, in that ridiculous will of his, left him the house in Matfield Street, with reversion to Philip if Victor died without issue. The remainder of Peter’s estate was to be formed into a Trust so long as he provided a home for his half-sister Janet. Those were the testator’s actual words. There was no explanation of this exceedingly vague term. There was no provision made for Janet getting married or for her wishing to leave her half-brother’s roof of her own accord. Of course, had I been consulted I should never have allowed such lamentable looseness of expression.’
‘And in the event of Victor’s death?’ Hanslet suggested.
‘I’m coming to that, I’m coming to that,’ replied the lawyer testily. ‘In that case, the proceeds of the Trust were to be divided. If Victor had married, his widow, or, failing her, his children, were to receive one-third share. The remaining two-thirds were to be enjoyed by Philip and Janet in equal proportion. If Victor had not married, the proceeds of the Trust were to be divided equally between Philip and Janet.’
‘The three children were, of course, aware of the contents of their father’s will?’
‘Naturally. It was my business to inform them. In fact, Philip came to see me not long ago. He wished to know whether it would be possible for the Trustees to provide for his sister independently. He inquired as to Janet’s condition should she decline to continue to live with her half-brother.’
‘I should be interested to know what you told him.’ said Hanslet.
‘Told him! My dear sir, I could only refer him to the conditions of the will. Victor was to enjoy the proceeds of the Trust so long as he provided a home for Janet. Whether she availed herself of that home did not affect the issue. If she left it, Victor was under no obligation to support her. He would, however, be bound to re-admit her should she at any time decide to return.’
This Hanslet thought was sufficient for the moment. He took his leave of the lawyer, and, since he found himself in that neighbourhood, he decided to call upon Victor Harleston’s employers in Chancery Lane. He ascertained that the offices of Slater & Knott were situated in Cobalt Buildings, and proceeded thither. He was received by Mr Knott, a keen, alert looking man of between thirty and forty, who seemed very much surprised to hear of the sudden death of his employee.
‘Why, I’ve never known Harleston have a day’s illness,’ he exclaimed. ‘I couldn’t understand it when he didn’t turn up this morning. I don’t think he’s missed a day for years. In fact, if I didn’t hear in the course of the day, I intended to go round and see him after office hours and find out what was the matter.’
‘Has Victor Harleston seemed in his usual health and spirits lately?’ Hanslet asked.
Mr Knott smiled. ‘Health, yes,’ he replied. ‘As for spirit, well, he never displayed any exuberance in that respect. He was always a quiet, rather morose sort of chap who seemed to avoid his fellow-men. I have an idea that he disliked friendship because of the expense attached to it. So far as I know he never drank, and smoked only the cheapest cigarettes he could buy. He was the last person in the world to spend a penny when a halfpenny would do as well.’
‘He carried out his duties efficiently?’ Hanslet asked.
‘Perfectly. Like a machine without any imagination. In our profession that’s not a bad thing in its way. I suppose you’ve got the idea of suicide in your mind. I can only tell you straight out that I know of no reason why Harleston should have committed suicide. No financial or business reasons, I mean. But fellows like that who have no resources beyond themselves often do these unaccountable things.’
‘Can you tell me if Harleston has any connection with a firm of Novoshave in Oxford Street?’
Mr Knott looked at the superintendent, sharply. ‘May I ask what makes you ask that question?’
‘Only this. I found some of their headed notepaper in his desk at Matfield Street.’
Mr Knott seemed relieved. ‘Oh, is that all!’ he exclaimed. ‘Naturally, we don’t like discussing our client
’s business with anybody. I think I can account for the presence of that headed notepaper. We are the auditors to Novoshave Ltd. Harleston was employed upon the job most of last week at their offices and no doubt he took some of their paper home to work upon. He had no connection with Novoshave except as our employee.’
Hanslet rather perfunctorily asked one last question. ‘There was no suggestion that Harleston might lose his job, I suppose?’
Mr Knott shook his head. ‘Good heavens, no!’ he replied. ‘There was no reason why Harleston should not have stayed with us till the day of his death. We always found him a very useful man, so useful that we paid him a special bonus of a hundred pounds at the beginning of this year.’
From Chancery Lane Hanslet returned to Scotland Yard. On his desk he found a message awaiting him. It was as follows.
‘Dr Priestley would be glad if you could find it convenient to dine with him this evening. Oldland, who would like to see you, will be present.
H. MEREFIELD.’
Hanslet smiled. ‘So the Professor’s on the job already, is he?’ he muttered. ‘You bet I’ll go. But I’m afraid there isn’t enough meat in this case to suit the old boy’s appetite.’
4
Dr Priestley, who lived in a spacious if rather gloomy house in Westbourne Terrace, was, in his own line, a distinguished scientist. His name was hardly familiar to the general public, but to his fellow-savants he was very well known indeed. He was a man of considerable means and since his retirement from a professorship, he had devoted himself to scientific criticism. His articles and monographs, though usually couched in somewhat acrid terms, were treated with profound respect in the learned world.
But in addition to his scientific employment, he had a hobby. This hobby, which he liked to pursue in secret, was criminology. He maintained that criminology, properly treated, presented problems of absorbing interest to the scientist. Many years ago he had made Hanslet’s acquaintance. They had become fast friends and Hanslet got into the habit of laying his more difficult cases before the acute brain of the professor.
It happened that Dr Oldland was one of Dr Priestley’s oldest acquaintances. It was natural therefore that he and Hanslet should meet frequently at the professor’s house. The reason for the present invitation was fairly obvious. Oldland had told the professor about his experience of that morning, and some feature of his account had interested the latter. In any case dinner at the house in Westbourne Terrace was an event to be remembered. Hanslet was always ready to enjoy an excellent meal in such distinguished company.
So that evening at eight o’clock he sat down at the professor’s table. He found himself one of a party of four, the other two being Oldland and Dr Priestley’s secretary, Harold Merefield. The professor never encouraged the discussion of problems during dinner, holding that such a procedure might divert his guests’ attention from their food. It was not until the company was assembled in the study afterwards that he made any reference to the Harleston case.
‘Oldland tells me, Superintendent, that you and he met under rather peculiar circumstances this morning,’ he remarked.
‘We met because Oldland sent for me,’ Hanslet replied. ‘He had been called in to attend a suspiciously sudden case of poisoning and he seemed to think that I ought to know about it.’
‘It was a devilish awkward,’ said Oldland reminiscently, helping himself to a whisky and soda. ‘There was I, alone in the house with that girl and a remarkably suspicious looking corpse. I didn’t know what the dickens to do. If I went out to call the police I should have had to leave her alone. For all I knew, there might be evidence in the house that she would take the opportunity to destroy. So I hit upon the idea of sending her back to my place for a wholly imaginary black case, and employed her absence in telephoning to you. How did you get on after I left?’
Hanslet laughed. ‘So that was the dodge, was it? I was faced with the same difficulty. I got out of it by sending the girl to the Yard and putting her in charge of young Waghorn. You remember him, I expect, Professor?’
Dr Priestley nodded solemnly. ‘Yes, I remember him in connection with the Threlfall case.’
‘Well, having got rid of her, I started to have a look round,’ said Hanslet. ‘I sent for Dr Bishop, the police surgeon, to lend me a hand. We didn’t have far to look. Harleston’s early tea had been liberally doctored with nicotine.’
‘Nicotine!’ exclaimed Dr Priestley. ‘Why, the presence of the most minute quantity of nicotine would surely be detected by anybody with normal powers of taste and smell?’
‘I should have thought so,’ Hanslet replied. ‘The tea in the pot stank like a rank pipe. But there was the nicotine and there was the man dead of acute poisoning. I shall hear tomorrow what the post-mortem has revealed.’
‘I can tell you that now,’ said Oldland quietly. ‘The coroner asked Bishop to carry it out, and he, knowing that I had been called in, invited me to attend. At my suggestion we called in Grantham, the pathologist from the Home Office. The three of us set to work and, if you’re interested, I can tell you what we found.’
‘Not unnaturally, I’m profoundly interested,’ said Hanslet.
Oldland grinned. ‘Well, we found the nicotine all right,’ he said slowly. ‘There’s not a shadow of doubt that nicotine poisoning was the cause of Harleston’s death. But curiously enough, we didn’t find it where you might have expected. In his tummy, that is.’
‘Well, where did you find it?’ Hanslet asked impatiently.
‘Absorbed into his system. You may have noticed that the chap had a piece of sticking plaster on his face, suggesting that he had cut himself while shaving. Well, we removed that and found a nice clean cut underneath it. From the appearance of the edges of the cut we had no doubt that it was through this that the nicotine had been absorbed.
‘Now nicotine is one of the most virulent poisons known. Cases of fatal poisoning have been due to nicotine being absorbed through the unbroken skin. A very small quantity taken internally produces rapid death. Priestley will bear me out in that.’
‘Nicotine is known to be extremely rapid in its action,’ Dr Priestley remarked. ‘In the celebrated case of Count Bocarmé, who poisoned his wife’s brother with nicotine which he prepared for the purpose, death took place in five minutes.’
‘Since in this case the poisoning was by absorption, death was rather less rapid than that,’ said Oldland. ‘How the nicotine came in contact with the cut, I can’t say.’
Hanslet looked in bewilderment from one to the other. ‘There was nicotine in the teapot,’ he said stubbornly. ‘Somebody drank a cup of tea from that pot and there seems no doubt that it was Harleston.’
Oldland shrugged his shoulders. ‘I can’t help it,’ he replied. ‘There was practically no trace of nicotine in the man’s stomach. Grantham carried off the contents for analysis, of course, but I’m willing to bet anything you like that he won’t find more than a trace. Whereas the tissues in the neighbourhood of the cut were literally impregnated with nicotine.’
‘You mean that he can’t have drunk the tea?’ Hanslet asked.
‘Not if it was so saturated with nicotine as you suggest. I may as well say that Bishop told me about the tea, and the absence of nicotine in the stomach troubled him as much as it does you. The only theory he could suggest was this. Harleston had not drunk the tea owing to its offensive taste and smell. On the other hand, after he had cut himself, he applied some of the leaves to his face in an attempt to stop the bleeding. I believe that people do employ tea-leaves for that purpose.’
‘Well,’ Hanslet exclaimed, ‘somebody must have put it there,’ Oldland agreed readily enough. ‘But where did she get it from? That’s the question.’
‘What is nicotine used for?’ Hanslet asked.
Dr Priestley glanced towards his secretary. ‘Will you get down the Chemical Encyclopaedia, please, Harold?’ he said. ‘Thank you. Now will you turn to the article on nicotine, and extract from it the answer to the
Superintendent’s question?’
Harold turned over the pages of the volume until he found what he wanted. After a moment or two he began to read. ‘Nicotine is soluble in water, alcohol and ether, and preparations of it are extensively used for horticultural purposes as an insecticide, also as a dip for the destruction of ticks and other pests on the wool of sheep.’
Oldland nodded. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Almost every gardener uses nicotine in some form or another. Fruit growers especially. They make a wash from it with which they spray their trees.’
Hanslet suddenly stiffened in his chair. ‘Fruit growers!’ he exclaimed. ‘Do they, by jove! I learnt this morning that young Philip Harleston is the manager of a fruit farm.’
‘That certainly suggests the possible source of the nicotine,’ Oldland remarked. ‘You found some more of the stuff mixed with the girl’s eau-de-Cologne, Bishop tells me.’
‘Yes, on her dressing table. I’ve been wondering whether the mixture was made in the hope that the eau-de-Cologne would drown the smell of the nicotine.’
‘It’s possible,’ said Oldland shortly. ‘By the way, did the girl say anything to you about a man at the door?’
Hanslet appeared rather astonished at this question. ‘Oh, she mentioned him to you, did she?’ he said. ‘I was inclined to think that rather nebulous individual was an afterthought.’
‘She didn’t mention him to me until we had had some conversation together. And then she mentioned him quite suddenly, and I think genuinely.’
‘You’d have thought it would have been the first thing she would have talked about,’ Hanslet objected. ‘Dash it all, a stranger on the doorstep just at the critical moment when she was going out to fetch the doctor! According to her account, this stranger volunteered to come in and look after her brother while she was away. Yet, when she returned, he wasn’t there and she showed no astonishment.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Oldland replied. ‘You must remember her mind was fully occupied with her brother. The momentary incident of the stranger might well have slipped her memory.’