by John Rhode
‘Well, Superintendent,’ he said, ‘to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?’
‘I’d like your advice, Professor,’ Hanslet replied. ‘We’ve got a lot further with the Harleston case since I saw you last. Jimmy here has made a very interesting discovery in Matfield Street and I’ve made an equally interesting one at Lassingford. I’d like to tell you.’
But Dr Priestley interrupted him. ‘You know my preference for accounts at first hand,’ he said. ‘Perhaps Inspector Waghorn will give us an account of his discovery in his own words.’
Thus encouraged, Jimmy told his story. He described the finding of the razor and its case. He gave a summary of the report upon the various objects submitted for analysis. Finally he repeated the conversation he had had with Mr Topliss of Novoshave and Mr Knott of Slater & Knott. Not forgetting, in the latter case, the statement of Harleston’s colleague Davies. He observed, not without a certain nervousness, that Harold Merefield at a nod from his employer was making notes of his remarks.
When he had finished Dr Priestley nodded, but made no comment. He merely glanced at Hanslet. ‘It is your turn now, Superintendent,’ he said.
Hanslet described his visit to Hart’s Farm and his discovery that a tin of nicotine was missing from there. But, unlike Jimmy, he was not content with a bare recital of the facts. ‘It’s as clear as it could be,’ he continued. ‘Neither Philip Harleston nor his sister made any pretence of sorrow for their half-brother’s death. In fact, they practically admitted that they were jolly glad he was out of the way. And as soon as I mentioned nicotine, the girl tumbled to it at once. Philip was too stupid to realise what I was after at first, but when I insisted upon looking at his stock of nicotine he simply fell to pieces. I’m expecting to hear every moment that he’s made a full confession.’
‘An expectation in which you possibly may be disappointed,’ remarked Dr Priestley acidly. ‘Since you are convinced of this young man’s guilt, I fail to see where my advice can be of service to you.’
‘In this way, Professor,’ Hanslet replied, in no way daunted by Dr Priestley’s tone. ‘As you say, he may not confess yet awhile. I’m not sure he isn’t too stupid to realise that he’s cornered. And I want to know if you have any suggestion how to trace the nicotine from Hart’s Farm to Matfield Street.’
Oldland, who had hitherto listened in silence, laughed softly.
‘That’s asking a good deal, isn’t it?’ he said.
But Dr Priestley paid no attention to him. ‘Before offering any suggestion, I should be interested to hear the theory which you have formed, Superintendent,’ he said.
‘Well, it’s fairly obvious what happened, I think,’ Hanslet replied. ‘Philip was dissatisfied with the way Victor treated Janet. He and Victor had already had words about it, but apparently to no effect. He’s rather a weak-minded individual, in my opinion. Criminals, I find, usually are. He thought it would be an excellent plan to get Victor out of the way. Janet and he would inherit the money and everybody would live happily ever after. But, like so many murderers, he forgot the police have an inconvenient habit of inquiring into suspicious deaths.
‘Having once decided to remove Victor, the means of doing so must have been fairly obvious to him. He had access to any amount of nicotine, and, as he admitted to me, he knew that it was a very dangerous poison. The nicotine was normally employed in destroying bugs on fruit trees. Surely a far better use for it would be in the removal of Victor.
‘But how was Victor to be induced to take the stuff? From my experience of that pot of tea the taste and smell would put anybody off. The intended victim would detect it, if it were mixed with his food or drink. So, then, he thought of another dodge. I’m surprised that so stupid a man should have shown so much ingenuity. I rather suspect that somebody else must have put him up to it.’
‘Then surely that somebody was an accessory before the fact?’ Dr Priestley inquired mildly.
‘Oh yes, I dare say,’ Hanslet replied. ‘But that isn’t the point at the moment—it’s the principle I’m after. Philip went into the first convenient shop, where he bought a Novoshave razor and a tube of shaving cream. He typed out the letter to Victor and put this in a parcel with his purchases. And then …’
Hanslet, catching Dr Priestley’s eye, stopped abruptly. The latter eyed him severely. ‘But this letter, I understand, was written on the headed paper of Novoshave Ltd.,’ he said.
‘That’s right, Professor,’ Hanslet replied. ‘I’ve got the letter here. Perhaps you’d like to see it.’
He produced the letter from his pocket and handed it to Dr Priestley, who read it through. ‘How do you account for Philip Harleston’s possession of this headed paper?’ he asked.
‘Easily enough,’ Hanslet replied triumphantly. ‘Victor had several sheets of it in his desk.’
But Dr Priestley seemed not yet satisfied. ‘There is another difficulty to be surmounted,’ he said. ‘Inspector Waghorn has told us that the production by Novoshave Ltd. of the new pattern razor has been kept a secret. How should Philip Harleston have known of this new pattern and of the letter of the alphabet to be assigned to it?’
Hanslet evaded a direct answer to this question. ‘That objection applies to anybody outside the firm of Novoshave,’ he said. ‘It’s a thousand pities that the paper in which the parcel was wrapped has escaped us. I wouldn’t mind betting that we should have found the Lassingford post-mark upon it. But I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. Before Philip packed up his parcel he played tricks with the contents. Jimmy has told you how the razor had been treated so that Victor would be certain to cut himself with it. The shaving cream was contained in an ordinary tube. All Philip had to do was to squeeze the cream out of the tube, mix the nicotine with it and put it back again.’
‘Here, hold on a minute, Mr Hanslet,’ Oldland exclaimed. ‘It would be easy enough to squeeze the cream out of the tube, but how the dickens do you suppose he got it back again?’
Hanslet chuckled. ‘And you an experienced motorist, Doctor?’ he replied. ‘But I’ll admit that point puzzled me for a bit. I haven’t tried it for myself, but I think it could be done this way. You get an ordinary motor car grease gun and fit it with an adaptor which you could screw on to the end of the tube. Then you squeeze out the cream, leaving the tube flat. You fill the grease gun with the mixture of cream and nicotine, screw the adaptor on to the tube and then use the gun in the ordinary way. The cream would be forced into the tube until it was as full as it was before.’
Dr Priestley nodded approvingly. ‘Yes, I think the operation could be carried out in that manner,’ he said.
‘Victor received the parcel when he came home to lunch on Saturday,’ Hanslet continued. ‘He opened it and no doubt he read the letter. Sooner or later he would try the suggested experiment. He was the sort of man who would not neglect a razor and a tube of shaving cream which he had secured for nothing. We know that he tried the experiment on Monday morning and that it proved fatal to him.’
‘That theory is to some extent conjectural,’ Dr Priestley remarked. ‘In spite of the most meticulous search neither you nor Inspector Waghorn have succeeded in finding either the tube of shaving cream or the towel used by Victor Harleston that morning.’
‘Because they have been deliberately removed,’ Hanslet replied. ‘Somebody was anxious to remove all traces of how the murder had been carried out and to substitute false clues. The false clues were meant to suggest that Victor had been poisoned by drinking nicotine in his early tea. This, of course, would throw suspicion upon Janet, but Philip may be too much of a fool to have seen that. His idea, I have no doubt, was to suggest that Victor had put some nicotine in himself and so committed suicide.’
Both Dr Priestley and Oldland looked incredulous, but the superintendent proceeded.
‘However that may be, it was essential that the real evidence should be made to disappear. The tube of shaving cream, if found, would have given the game away. The towel would certai
nly be smeared with it, and would be just as compromising. The razor, having been tampered with, would have afforded a valuable clue. Therefore it was necessary to remove these things. The shaving cream and towel were still in the bathroom, but Victor, apparently in a fit of temper, had flung the razor out of the window. And that bit of irritation on his part will probably hang his murderer.’
‘It is not clear to me, Superintendent, whom you suspect of having removed these things,’ said Dr Priestley coldly.
Hanslet hesitated. Since he had become convinced of Janet’s innocence, the difficulty of this point had not escaped him. ‘I’m not quite sure,’ he said. ‘It seems to me that there are two possible explanations. The first is this. Philip may have told his sister some cock-and-bull story. For instance, that he meant to play a practical joke on Victor. He had sent him a razor with which he would be certain to cut himself. Her part in the joke was to remove the apparatus before Victor had time to look round and ask questions. She went up to the bathroom while Victor was dressing, found the towel and the shaving cream, but of course, couldn’t find the razor.’
‘Not a very convincing theory,’ Dr Priestley observed. ‘It appears to me to involve several contradictions. One of these will be sufficient as an example. Miss Harleston told Inspector Waghorn that she had not been into the bathroom since her brother had shaved himself. At the same time she made this statement she had no idea that the cut on his face had any connection with his death. Why then, should she not have admitted that she had removed the towel and the shaving cream?’
‘I’m not altogether wrapped up in that theory myself, Professor,’ Hanslet replied. ‘And yet the alternative seems almost fanciful. It brings in the man whom Janet Harleston saw on the front doorstep. We have absolutely no confirmation of that man’s existence.’
Oldland put in a word. ‘She mentioned him to me quite independently, you must remember.’
‘Well, let’s suppose for the moment that he did exist,’ said Hanslet. ‘In that case we must assume that he was Philip’s accomplice. According to Janet Harleston, he told her that he was a friend of her brother’s. She appears to have assumed that he meant a friend of Victor’s, but he might easily have meant that he was a friend of Philip’s. Taking advantage of her absence, he went upstairs to the bathroom and abstracted the towel and shaving cream. At the same time, he put the nicotine into Victor’s tea pot and cup and also into Janet’s eau-de-Cologne. Having done that, he cleared off before Janet returned.’
‘I prefer your second theory, Superintendent,’ said Dr Priestley.
‘I don’t see how else you can account for his actions. If he was not an accomplice, he must have acted independently. And if he acted independently he must have been the murderer. In that case, can you suggest any imaginable motive for the crime?’
‘The motive of a crime is often the last particular to be ascertained,’ Dr Priestley replied. He picked up the letter, which until then had remained upon his desk. He read it through once more very carefully and then turned it over. He immediately perceived the pencil notes on the back of it, and these he studied with great deliberation. ‘I take it that you have observed these figures, Superintendent?’ he asked.
‘Oh yes, I’ve seen them,’ Hanslet replied. ‘Somebody seems to have made a calculation on the back of the letter. Mr Harleston probably. Just a casual note of no particular importance.’
Dr Priestley gave expression to one of his rare smiles. ‘It is difficult to say what may or may not prove to be of importance,’ he said. ‘This calculation, as you have no doubt perceived, involves comparatively large sums of money. Rather more than one would expect Victor Harleston to have at his disposal. I find it difficult to believe that they can be notes of his personal income.’
‘There’s no reason to suppose that they are. Harleston was an accountant, you must remember. He may have made these notes in connection with some audit that he was conducting.’
‘That may be so,’ said Dr Priestley. ‘But none the less, I believe that these notes would be worthy of your attention. When, and under what circumstances, were they made? Since we are bound to assume that this letter accompanied the parcel, they must have been made after its receipt.’
‘That may be so,’ Hanslet agreed. ‘But I can’t see that they can have any possible connection with his death.’
‘Even if they have not, they may indicate what was in Victor Harleston’s mind shortly before his death,’ Dr Priestley replied. He turned suddenly towards Jimmy. ‘What is your impression, Inspector?’ he asked.
Jimmy could find no answer to this sudden question. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t given the figures much thought, sir,’ he replied.
Curiously enough this rather lame answer seemed to satisfy Dr Priestley. He relapsed into silence, his eyes fixed dreamily upon the ceiling. Abruptly he seemed to awake from his lethargy. ‘What do you think about it, Oldland?’ he asked.
‘I hardly know what to think,’ Oldland replied. ‘There seem to me to be so many inexplicable points about the case, whatever theory one may adopt. About that missing tin of nicotine, Mr Hanslet. You saw the remaining three tins. What size were they?’
‘Oh, about as big as a tin holding fifty cigarettes,’ Hanslet replied.
‘A tin that size would hold the dickens of a lot of nicotine,’ said Oldland thoughtfully. ‘Enough to poison a good-sized parish. Now what on earth would Philip Harleston have wanted with such a quantity? If I had been Philip, this is how I should have set about the business. I should have opened one of the tins and taken out a couple of teaspoonfuls, which would have been quite enough for my purpose. I should have replaced these with an equal quantity of oil, and then shut up the tin again. Then, when you came to examine the book and the nicotine in stock, everything would have appeared correct.’
Despite Oldland’s glance in his direction, Dr Priestley made no comment. After a slight pause, the former continued. ‘I should be inclined to attach considerable importance to the disappearance of a whole tin. A couple of teaspoonfuls, I said. Why, a few drops of the pure alkaloid would have been sufficient. The other evening Priestley mentioned the case of Count Bocarmé. I don’t know whether you happen to be familiar with the details of that case, Mr Hanslet?’
‘I’m afraid I’m not,’ Hanslet replied shortly. ‘We haven’t time at the Yard for historical research, you know.’
‘I wasn’t familiar with it myself until I looked it up yesterday evening,’ said Oldland. ‘A brief account of my researches may be of interest, in the light of Victor Harleston’s death. Or perhaps you’d rather tell the story, Priestley?’
Dr Priestley shook his head and Oldland continued.
‘The case occurred in France in the year 1851. The people concerned were these, Count Bocarmé, his wife the countess, and her brother. The brother’s name was Gustave. It is rather curious that a brother and sister should have been concerned in this case, too.
‘To Gustave had been left the greater part of his father’s fortune. He had a weakly constitution and was probably tuberculous. As a boy he had had a leg amputated. The count and countess seemed to have expected that he would die young, in which case his fortune would have reverted to the countess. But instead of showing any signs on any early decease he flourished exceedingly. And, to the consternation of his sister and brother-in law, he proposed to get married.
‘This was a bit of a blow to the happy couple. The count was very much in debt and his only hope of extricating himself from his trouble was the reversion of Gustave’s fortune to his wife. On the evidence there seemed to be very little doubt that they conspired to murder Gustave. It transpired that the count’s mother had her suspicions. She warned Madame Bocarmé that her husband was up to no good, but the countess seemed to have disregarded this. Since she herself would benefit her disregard was not unnatural.
‘She seems, however, to have tried other expedients before embarking upon murder. She tried to break off Gustave’s engagement by writing ano
nymous letters to him concerning his fiancée. Since this rather clumsy method failed, she seemed to have agreed with her husband that Gustave’s death was the only way out of the difficulty. The plan having been decided upon, the next thing was to put it into execution. One fine day Gustave was invited to the count’s chateau to dine. The countess’ behaviour on that occasion seems to leave no doubt of her complicity. She arranged that the children and their governess should have their dinner in the school-room. She sent the servants out, saying that she and her husband could wait upon themselves. In the course of the trial, her husband asserted that it was she who actually administered the poison.
‘In any case, Gustave did not survive the dinner. The subsequent inquiry established the fact that he had, while alive, taken some substance which had had a corrosive effect on the soft palate, tongue and stomach. Moreover, his face was scratched and bruised. This was taken to indicate that he had put up some sort of resistance. A significant fact was that the count’s hands showed evident signs of having been deeply bitten and his nails showed traces of blood under the white.
‘The proceedings of the police were what the newspapers nowadays would term sensational. A chemist named Stas identified the poison found in the body as nicotine. The police exhumed and examined a number of bodies of animals buried in the garden of Bocarmé’s château, and found nicotine in them all. It was proved that the count had studied, in Belgium under a false name, the effects of nicotine poisoning, and that two flasks of liquid extract of nicotine known to be in his possession at the time of the murder had disappeared. In order to show the virulence and the rapidity of the action of the poison, Stas himself tried nicotine on three dogs, each of which died in under three minutes.
‘The theory advanced by the prosecution was that the nicotine had been forcibly poured into Gustave’s mouth. It was significant that his crutches, without which he was unable to move, were missing. The count, who appears to have been a pretty poor sort of creature, declared that his wife was responsible for their disappearance. They had been resting beside Gustave’s chair, and since some of the poison had been spilt upon them, his wife had taken them away and burnt them.