Death at Breakfast

by John Rhode

  ‘The jury do not appear to have placed much reliance on Bocarmé’s words. He was condemned to death. His wife, either for sentimental reasons or because the evidence against her was not conclusive, was acquitted. How much poison Gustave swallowed, will, I suppose, never be known. But it was asserted at the trial, as Priestley mentioned the other evening, that his death occurred within five minutes of the administration of the poison.’

  ‘Thanks, doctor,’ said Hanslet warmly. ‘There are a good many points of interest in what you have told us. The parallel between Count Bocarmé and Philip Harleston seems fairly close. Bocarmé had studied the effects of nicotine poisoning. Philip had no need to study it. He knew all about nicotine, since he was familiar with its use. That seems to me to be additional evidence against him.’

  ‘The more he knew about the effects of nicotine, the less likely would he have been to abstract the whole tin,’ Oldland replied. ‘It was, when you come to think of it, the most senseless thing to do. At any moment, the police might inspect his books and compare it with the nicotine in stock. Even if he thought it wiser to take a whole tin, rather than abstract some of its contents, he could easily have falsified his book. Instead of this, he seems deliberately to have fabricated clues against himself.’

  Dr Priestley resumed his part in the conversation. ‘You told us, I think, Superintendent, that the shed in which the nicotine was kept showed no signs of having been broken into. On the other hand, the door of this shed was secured by an ordinary padlock. Our experience tells us that it is a perfectly simple matter for anybody to secure a key which would open such a fastener.’

  ‘I know, Professor,’ Hanslet replied. ‘The possibility exists that some individual outside the Harleston family opened the door and pinched the tin of nicotine. I’ll go so far as to admit that that removes the doctor’s objections. A casual thief would not risk opening one of the tins in the shed and abstracting some of its contents. He would pocket the whole tin and clear off. But I simply can’t imagine the existence of any such outside person.’

  ‘Perhaps you will explain why,’ Dr Priestley suggested.

  ‘I’ll try. To begin with, I’ll repeat what we know about Victor Harleston. He was a man with no friends. He never invited his colleagues to his home. He seems to have been very reticent about his private affairs. In fact, nobody but the members of his own family were in any way intimate with him. This seems to me to dispose of the idea of a murderer outside the family. Look at the knowledge that such an individual must have possessed. He must have been aware that Victor had a half-brother Philip, who was a fruit farmer and had nicotine in his possession. The exact place in which that nicotine was kept must have been known to him. In addition, there is the knowledge revealed by the contents of the letter. The fact that Mr Harleston had been engaged upon the audit of Novoshave Ltd. The fact that that firm were about to produce a new model razor. The letter of the alphabet which was to be assigned to that model. It seems incredible to me that anyone person should have known all these things with the exception of Philip and Janet. I won’t insist upon the lack of motive, Professor.’

  Dr Priestley seemed still unconvinced. ‘I appreciate your difficulties, Superintendent,’ he said. ‘But the reasons for your insistence upon Philip Harleston’s guilt fail to impress me. I do not for a moment assert his innocence. But were I a member of the jury empanelled for his trial, I could not conscientiously give an opinion in favour of his guilt upon the evidence which you have adduced.’

  ‘I know, Professor, that’s just my difficulty,’ Hanslet replied. ‘That’s really why I came to see you this evening.’

  ‘I can offer no suggestions,’ said Dr Priestley curtly. ‘You have a preconceived theory of Philip Harleston’s guilt. Your theory may be correct. You have ascertained certain facts and these facts appear to support it. But as the history of these obscure cases has so frequently demonstrated, it is necessary to ascertain all the facts before coming to a definite conclusion. Because, so far, you have been able to ascertain nothing of Victor Harleston’s past history, you assume that no such history exists. He may have had relations with individuals whose interest it is to keep silent. He may have engaged in enterprises of which the records have not yet been discovered. My advice to you is to question everybody with whom he was in any way connected. Incidents in his past life which may account for his murder may thus be revealed. And, if you personally have no time for such patient investigation, I should recommend you to employ Inspector Waghorn as your deputy.’

  II

  Clues in Abundance

  1

  Hanslet and Jimmy parted upon leaving Dr Priestley’s house. But, as they went their respective ways, the mind of each was still occupied with what he had heard. And perhaps the parallels of the Bocarmé case were uppermost.

  These parallels appealed to each in a different way. To Hanslet the relationship of the characters involved were of great interest. Here were a husband and wife who had conspired together to murder the latter’s brother. Well, in this Harleston affair, there were a brother and sister who had conspired together to murder their half-brother. The analogy seemed fairly close. And, looked at in the right way, it might prove instructive.

  One of the superintendent’s misgivings had been the relationship existing between the suspect and the murdered man. It seemed incredible that two decent people should conspire to murder a brother, even a half-brother. Their motive was easy to understand, but to Hanslet it had seemed doubtful whether that motive would ever have goaded them into murder.

  But now, Oldland’s account of the Bocarmé case had supplied a precedent. Here were two people, rather more than respectable, one might even say distinguished. Titled people, in fact, and Hanslet had a great respect for titles, even foreign ones. Yet they had certainly conspired to murder the countess’ brother under peculiar conditions of brutality. In the face of this precedent, one could not argue about natural affection, blood being thicker than water, and all that sort of thing. Philip Harleston might be supposed to have murdered his brother with as little compunction as the count had murdered Gustave.

  Philip was the culprit—there could be no shadow of doubt about that. It was all very well for the Professor and Oldland to theorise. Nobody knew better than Hanslet that the case against Philip was by no means proved. But, if one set Philip aside, where was one to look for a substitute? The difficulty of finding any other person with sufficient information as to Victor Harleston’s affairs was insuperable.

  Except, of course, Janet. That morning Hanslet had been convinced of her innocence. He now began to ask himself the reason for this conviction. The only answer he could find caused him to frown in displeasure. It had been a psychological, not a practical reason. That flash in her eyes when the subject of nicotine had been introduced. But then, all women were born actresses. How could the Superintendent be sure that her apparent horror had been genuine? He comforted himself with the thought that, sooner or later, he would contrive to force a confession from Philip. And that confession, carefully checked, would probably settle for good and all the question of Janet’s guilt. Having reached that point he went to bed and promptly fell asleep. His familiarity with the perplexities of detection was such that no problem, however obscure, had any longer the power to keep him awake.

  Jimmy was not so fortunate. He, too, had returned to his quarters considering the Bocarmé case and its application to the present affair. He was overjoyed at the indirect compliment which Dr Priestley had paid him. It showed that the old chap had appreciated his efforts, perhaps even his methods. Well, he would do his best to deserve his good opinion. He certainly would not allow himself to be caught napping, as he had been in that unfortunate Threlfall affair. With this spur to his ambition, Jimmy prepared to give his imagination full scope. The Bocarmé case, as expounded by Oldland, had impressed him enormously. The characters concerned in it seemed to offer fascinating study. He determined to attempt some psychological reconstruction of the crime
.

  To begin with the victim, the ill-starred Gustave. Jimmy saw him as a rather fretful invalid, hobbling about on the crutches rendered necessary by his amputated leg. He had inherited his father’s fortune, and he probably guarded his inheritance with considerable care. The future of his inadequately dowered sister must have been something of a problem to him. His delight when she married a man with the name and position of the count was probably proportionately great. Whether or not he had contributed to her dowry Jimmy had no idea. But, once married, the responsibility for her was no longer his but her husband’s. He saw no reason to finance the happy couple. He certainly was not prepared to put his hand in his pocket to pay the husband’s debts.

  And then there was that matter of his health. He had always been regarded by himself and others as delicate, and perhaps this had grown upon him. Very likely he had made himself out to be more of an invalid than was actually the case. Jimmy had met people like that. They liked to be petted and fussed over. Very likely Gustave’s chief topic of conversation had been his indifferent health. A man of means with only one leg and a delicate constitution would attract a lot of sympathy.

  But perhaps he had not considered the reaction upon his sister and her husband. Gustave, with his complaints and his crutches, had convinced them that he already had one foot in the grave. They expected his early death. Poor Gustave! It was very tragic that he should have to die so young. But, after all, one must try to make the best of things. Perhaps it would be a mercy if his sufferings were ended. And, well, a healthy couple were better fitted to enjoy the money than a crippled weakling.

  But Gustave’s hypochondria was miraculously cured. He met a girl, an impalpable and pathetic figure in the background of the tragedy. He suddenly realised that he was not so ill as he had always thought and been encouraged to think. The determination possessed him to be fit, as fit as a man with only one leg can be. He proposed to the girl and she accepted him. After that, for Gustave the future must have taken on a very different aspect. With a wife beside him, he might even become a useful member of society. It was reasonable to suppose that he would have children to whom he would leave his money. Gustave, on the night of his dinner at his brother-in-law’s chateau, was probably no longer the querulous invalid.

  Then came his sister, the countess. Jimmy saw her as an ambitious, designing woman. From the first she has been ashamed of her plebeian origin and had determined to capture a title. Among her assets was Gustave’s notorious ill-health. Anyone could see that he would not live very long. And then the money came naturally to her. Why, she could almost offer any man who married her a post-dated cheque.

  With the appearance on the horizon of the count, she saw a way of realising her ambitions. She was not likely to have been deceived as to his character or position. He might be a spendthrift, perhaps deeply in debt. His reputation in consequence might be none too savoury. But that hardly mattered, with Gustave’s money in prospect. He was a count, that was the main thing. And Madame la Comtesse had no doubts as to her ability to maintain her new dignity.

  Perhaps she received small subsidies from Gustave. Trifling loans to be repaid when her husband had extricated himself from his difficulties. The repayment of these loans need not be considered. Gustave could not hang on indefinitely. And then she would hold the purse strings. The count’s affairs could be settled as cheaply as possible, and there would be a comfortable balance with which to support a state worthy of her position.

  And then the bomb burst. Gustave appeared one fine day with incredible and devastating news. He felt better than ever before in his life. And, with a self-satisfaction which must have sent a chill of horror to his sister’s heart, he announced that he was about to get married.

  The subsequent conversation between husband and wife would have been instructive could one but have heard it. Probably there was as yet no whisper of assisting Gustave’s exit from this world. The immediate problem was the marriage. At all costs, it must be prevented. Once Gustave was married, his sister’s expectations vanished into thin air. But what was to be done? Gustave probably possessed the characteristic obstinacy of the invalid. It was no good trying to persuade him that a man with his disabilities ought not to get married. He simply would not have listened. No doubt it was the countess who hit upon the subtler method.

  So she set to work upon the anonymous letters. Jimmy could almost imagine their contents. Clever insinuations against the character of her brother’s fiancée, torturing to a man whose powers of observation were necessarily limited. But the countess expended her wit to no purpose. Gustave, inspired by love, or perhaps merely obstinacy, persisted in his intended marriage.

  Then came the point which appealed most fervently to Jimmy’s imagination. The insinuations having failed, more drastic measures must be undertaken. But which of them had first suggested murder? Jimmy thought it had probably been the countess. He believed that she possessed more intelligence than her husband, who was merely a tool, though a willing one, in her hands. Had she whispered at last that if Gustave would only die before his marriage, all would be well?

  Once the suggestion had been made, the crime developed between them, furtively, in fugitive allusion. Gustave’s constitution was notoriously delicate. He had to be careful what he ate, lest his food should disagree with him. Suppose he should take something which would disagree with him so violently that the disagreement would be fatal? Acting on her hint, the count went off to Belgium to study poisons and their actions. The countess, no doubt, remained at home, enthusiastically helping her brother in the preparations for his marriage.

  The count returned, equipped with the poison which he had chosen. It was a simple matter to stage the setting of the crime. Gustave was invited to dinner. It was to be a purely informal affair, a dîner à trois, as befitted the members of a family. It would be an opportunity to discuss the wedding, the honeymoon, a thousand intimate details. The children would be in the way, they and their governess should dine in another room. The servants, too, would be a hindrance to conversation. The three of them would be much happier waiting upon themselves. Gustave would enjoy himself better so.

  Jimmy saw the mind of the countess in these preliminaries. The necessary domestic arrangements would come naturally to her. Her plan succeeded, as she had known from the first that it must succeed. Gustave, once in that fatal dining-room, was at her mercy. Then came the crucial point. Which of them had actually administered the poison?

  Jimmy’s recent experiences had enlarged his knowledge of nicotine. As the instrument of a poisoner it had its advantages and disadvantages. Its advantages lay in the fact that a comparatively small dose would be almost immediately fatal. Its disadvantages lay in its taste and smell. Nobody whose taste was not atrophied would willingly consume it, however carefully it might be disguised. If Gustave were to be dosed with nicotine, the administration of that dose must necessarily be forcible.

  The scene was easy enough to picture. The actual moment had been prearranged between the count and countess. Probably when a fresh course was to be served. Gustave, having only one leg, would not be much use at removing plates and dishes. He would naturally remain in his chair while the host and hostess busied themselves between the table and the sideboard. Unobserved by Gustave, the count poured some of his poison from a bottle into a spoon. The countess watched him, then she approached Gustave, laid her hands upon his arms and whispered some affectionate sisterly message into his ear. Gustave found himself pinioned. And at that moment the count appeared before him with the spoon. With his free hand, his brother-in-law pushed his head back and forced his mouth open. Gustave might bite and struggle as he pleased. In his disabled condition, he was no match for the two of them. The countess watched him die with a satisfaction that she took no trouble to conceal. It was in keeping with her character, as Jimmy had imagined it, that she should have had the presence of mind to perceive the traces of the poison spilt on the crutches and to destroy them.

  Finall
y, Bocarmé himself, a sorry character from many points of view. That he had married the countess for love seemed to Jimmy very doubtful. He had, no doubt, ascertained very early in their acquaintance that her father was a rich man. That Gustave would inherit his money was a temporary inconvenience, nothing more. Gustave’s expectation of life was obviously not very great. He would die, and his sister would inherit the money. The prospect must have afforded considerable satisfaction, not only to Bocarmé, but to his creditors as well.

  Once married, Bocarmé must have regarded his brother-in-law with considerable impatience. His debts were increasing and his creditors growing more clamorous. And yet this confounded cripple with his perpetual complaints lived on from day to day. He probably blamed the countess for misrepresenting the case. It gradually became apparent to him that he had made a bad bargain. The announcement of Gustave’s intended marriage was the last straw. Even then, Jimmy thought, the count had not considered murder as a profitable speculation. He probably had no inconvenient scruples where crime was concerned. But his imagination did not rise to the commission of a murder expeditiously and safely. No doubt it was his wife who inspired him.

  The idea once implanted in his mind he set to work. His researches in Belgium convinced him that nicotine would be the best substance for his purpose. He secured a supply and undertook a series of preliminary experiments on the domestic animals. But even at this stage he must have committed some blunder. His mother somehow became suspicious. Perhaps the inexplicable decease of the cats and dogs seemed ominous to her. At all events, she conveyed a warning to the countess that something sinister was in the wind. The countess, knowing her husband’s intentions only too well, allowed this warning to pass unheeded. She probably satisfied her mother-in-law with some facile explanation, and almost certainly she warned her husband to be more careful.