Georgette Heyer_Inspector Hannasyde 02

by Here's Poison Behold

  ‘She’s upset. But the woman’s such a mass of insincerity it’s very hard to know what to make of her.’

  ‘That’s where psychology comes in,’ said the Sergeant.

  ‘I’m looking for motive, thanks. She had one for murdering Gregory Matthews, but to poison a woman because you want her share of the house seems too thin.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said the Sergeant ruminatingly. ‘Some of the nastiest murders we’ve handled were committed because of some reason no one in their senses would think big enough. But what I’d like to know, Chief, is where our precious Hyde fits in now?’

  Hannasyde shook his head. ‘It’s beyond me. Perhaps he doesn’t; perhaps we’ve been wasting our time looking for him.’ He glanced round the room. ‘Hemingway, I want every conceivable thing poison could have been put into. Collect them, will you? Pills, and medicines, and face-creams, and lotions.’

  ‘Right!’ said the Sergeant briskly. ‘But we don’t know that it was poison yet, do we?’

  ‘You heard what Fielding had to say. He’s seen one case of nicotine poisoning, and he thinks this is another.’

  ‘Well, if he’s right there’s someone pretty ruthless at work,’ remarked the Sergeant. ‘And what’s more it hasn’t made the case any easier. Of course, if it was Mrs Matthews the thing straightens out at once, but it knocks out Hyde, and it knocks out young Randall. And somehow, Chief, that doesn’t satisfy me. Hyde’s a blinking mystery, and I’m naturally suspicious of mysteries; and young Randall’s hiding something.’ He had walked over to the washstand, and was inspecting a bottle of mouth-wash. ‘But why did either of them want to do in a harmless old body like Miss Matthews? It doesn’t make sense. What about this gargle? Do you want it?’

  ‘Yes, and that tube of ointment.’

  ‘It isn’t ointment,’ said the Sergeant. ‘It’s toothpaste. There’s another one here too, but that’s empty.’

  ‘Take it, anyway. I’m not leaving anything to chance this time.’

  ‘Just as you say, Super,’ said the Sergeant. ‘But if you ask me the likeliest place for poison was in the tea, or in that medicine you say Mrs Matthews gave the old girl.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Hannasyde, ‘but we’ve got to try everything. The tea-things were washed up hours ago, and so was the medicine-glass.’ He stopped, and then said suddenly: ‘Aren’t tea-leaves kept sometimes to lay the dust when the floors are swept?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said the Sergeant, and put down the tin of cough-lozenges he had picked up. ‘I’ll see if I can get hold of today’s little lot.’

  But he came back presently, and shook his head. ‘They don’t hold with it,’ he said shortly. ‘Mostly use an Electrolux. You know, you can begin to understand why people talk about the curse of the machine-age, can’t you? Tea-leaves burned with all the other rubbish.’ He began to pack into his attaché-case all the pots and the bottles which Hannasyde had collected. ‘Lot of talk going on in the servants’ quarters,’ he said. ‘They don’t like Mrs Matthews. Seems to have been a fair amount of what you might call friction going on ever since the old man died. They say Miss Stella’s clearing out because she wouldn’t live with her aunt. The cook can’t stand Mrs M., but at the same time she says that Harriet M. has been carrying on like a lunatic this last week. Gone potty on economy. I think there’s a case against Mrs M. all right.’

  On their way downstairs again they met Edward Rumbold, who was awaiting them in the hall. He said: ‘You’re leaving now, Superintendent? Mrs Matthews would rather like to know when you expect to hear the result of the post-mortem.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that,’ replied Hannasyde. ‘Not very long, I think.’ He looked Rumbold over, and asked: ‘Are you a close friend of the family, Mr Rumbold?’

  ‘I live next door,’ Rumbold answered. ‘I think I may say that I am a fairly close friend.’

  ‘Did you know the late Mr Matthews well?’

  Rumbold smiled faintly. ‘I doubt whether anyone did, Superintendent. I certainly knew him.’

  ‘Perhaps you can help me over a small matter,’ Hannasyde said. ‘Did Mr Matthews ever make any mention to you of any business in which he was interested?’

  Rumbold frowned. ‘I don’t think I quite understand. Do you mean some speculative venture? He did once or twice ask my opinion of investments he thought of making.’

  ‘No, that wasn’t what I meant. You don’t know whether he was engaged in any business which his family didn’t know about?’

  ‘He never mentioned it to me if he was,’ answered Rumbold. ‘What sort of a business?’

  ‘That I can’t tell you. I thought it possible Mr Matthews might have confided in you.’

  Rumbold shook his head. ‘No, he never spoke of anything like that.’

  Hannasyde sighed, and said: ‘He seems to have been very reticent. Tell me, did you happen to see him on the day he died?’

  ‘No, I was away. I only got back last week.’

  ‘Oh, I see!’ Hannasyde said. ‘Never mind, then: it doesn’t much matter.’

  Edward Rumbold, rejoining the family in the library, made no mention of his conversation with the Superintendent, but merely said that Hannasyde had not told him when he expected to receive the analyst’s report.

  ‘What does it matter?’ Stella said impatiently. ‘What’s the use of blinking facts? We know she was poisoned!’

  ‘My dear child, we do not know anything of the sort,’ said Mrs Matthews. ‘Please try to control yourself !’

  ‘Why did you pretend you couldn’t remember who had washed that medicine-glass?’ Stella demanded. ‘Mother, why?’

  Mrs Matthews arranged her pleats again. ‘Really, Stella!’ she protested. ‘I should have thought you must have known that my memory is not my strongest point. I have had far more important things to think about today than who washed up a glass.’

  ‘You always do it yourself ! You told me so!’

  ‘Very well, dear, no doubt I did wash it, then. It is not a very vital matter, after all.’

  Stella was silenced, and turned away. Guy said, as though he had been rehearsing it: ‘I suppose you know that Aunt Harriet’s money comes to me?’

  ‘Money!’ said Mrs Matthews sharply. ‘She had none to speak of. Don’t be so foolish, Guy! And I don’t think it’s quite nice of you, dear boy, to think about what poor Harriet may or may not have left you when she’s only been dead –’

  ‘There’s about four thousand,’ Guy interrupted. ‘God knows I could do with it, too!’

  Stella made a choking sound, and went hastily out of the room. The telephone on the hall-table caught her eye. She stood still, looking at it, and then, as though of impulse, picked up the receiver, and gave a number.

  In a little while a precise voice answered her. Stella asked if she could speak to Mr Matthews.

  ‘Mr Matthews is not at home, madam,’ answered the precise voice.

  ‘Oh!’ said Stella. ‘When do you expect him back?’

  ‘I couldn’t say, madam. Can I take a message?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t – Yes! Ask him to ring Miss Stella Matthews up as soon as he comes in, will you, please?’

  She put the receiver down again, and turned to find that Guy had followed her out of the library, and was standing staring at her.

  ‘What on earth do you want with Randall?’ Guy demanded.

  Stella flushed. ‘He’s the head of the family, and he said he was going to see this through. Besides, he knows something.’

  ‘He’d like us to think he does,’ said Guy scornfully. ‘And if you can tell me what the devil could make him want to dispose of Aunt Harriet you’re darned clever. I thought he might have had a hand in uncle’s death, though I still can’t see how, but setting aside the fact that he wasn’t here when aunt died, why should he do it?’

  ‘I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think he did do it. But everything’s like a nightmare, and at least he’s sane.’ She gripped her hands together nervously
. ‘Why did you come out with all that rubbish about Aunt Harriet’s money?’

  Guy laughed. ‘Well, it’s perfectly true, and it’s bound to come out, so why should I try and conceal it?’

  ‘Guy, you won’t do anything silly, will you?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘I’m not likely to. You keep your hair on,’ he said, and walked away towards the morning-room.

  It was not until after dinner that Randall rang up. As soon as she heard his soft voice Stella said: ‘Oh, it’s you at last! Where have you been? I –’

  ‘At the races, sweetheart. And what do you want with my unworthy self ?’

  ‘Randall, the most ghastly thing’s happened. Aunt Harriet’s dead!’

  There was a slight pause. ‘Aunt Harriet is what?’ asked Randall.

  ‘Dead,’ Stella repeated. ‘This morning. And they think it’s poison.’ The silence that greeted this pronouncement was so prolonged that she said: ‘Are you there? They think she was poisoned, I tell you!’

  ‘I heard you,’ said Randall. ‘I am somewhat taken aback. Who are “they”, may I ask?’

  ‘Deryk Fielding, and of course the police. I can’t tell you it all over the phone. There’s a post-mortem being done.’

  ‘And what, my lamb, do you expect me to do?’ inquired Randall.

  ‘You said you were going to see the thing through!’

  ‘What a rash statement!’

  ‘Couldn’t you come down?’ Stella said impatiently.

  ‘I could, but I’m not going to. Tomorrow I might. Do you want me?’

  ‘I want you to clear it up. You said –’

  ‘My sweet, you can forget what I said. If Aunt Harriet has been poisoned, nothing I said is of any value. I will come down and see you tomorrow.’

  With this she had to be content. She did not tell her mother that Randall was coming, and she hoped that his visit might take place whilst Mrs Matthews was at Church. But Mrs Matthews returned from Church, bringing Edward Rumbold with her before any sign of Randall had been seen, and it was not until nearly half-past twelve that the Mercédès swung into the drive and Randall came into the house.

  Mrs Matthews, who did not look as though she had slept much during the night, was describing to Mr Rumbold the atmosphere of peace which she said had descended on her in Church, but she broke off as Randall entered the room, and looked anything but peaceful. ‘Randall!’ she said. ‘I suppose one might have expected you.’

  ‘One might, but apparently one didn’t,’ said Randall. ‘Do not let me interrupt you, my dear aunt. I am always interested in your spiritual experiences.’

  ‘Matthews, your aunt has had a great shock,’ Rumbold said quietly.

  ‘We have all had a great shock,’ agreed Randall. ‘Are you very much upset, my dear Aunt Zoë? I am sure that well-meaning Superintendent is.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’ inquired Rumbold.

  ‘Well,’ said Randall, critically surveying his own tie in the mirror over the mantelpiece, ‘when last I saw him he was busily concocting a case against a person unknown.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Stella asked. ‘Are you just trying to be funny?’

  ‘My precious! At this solemn hour?’ Randall met her eyes in the mirror, and looked beyond her reflection to where he could see Mrs Matthews, seated beside Rumbold on the sofa.

  ‘Then what – who is the unknown person?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, darling,’ said Randall, still not satisfied with the set of his tie. ‘Naturally, no one knows. His name is Hyde – John Hyde. Do you know a John Hyde, Aunt Zoë?’

  ‘No, Randall, I do not, nor do I pretend to know what you are talking about.’

  ‘What has this John Hyde of yours to do with Miss Matthews’ death?’ asked Rumbold. ‘Who is he? I mean –’

  ‘That is what the police want to know,’ said Randall. ‘They have been hunting for him high and low. Not that he had anything to do with my poor Aunt Harriet’s untimely end. He’s dead, you know.’

  ‘He’s dead?’ repeated Rumbold.

  ‘Or, rather,’ pursued Randall, ‘a notice of his death appeared in the paper several days ago.’

  Rumbold stared at him. ‘A notice of his death appeared in the paper?’ he said. ‘But – My dear Matthews, what are you talking about? First you say the police are hunting for this person called Hyde, and then you say that a notice of his death has been published. Which do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, both!’ said Randall, turning away from the mirror and facing him. ‘The police are so disbelieving. They don’t think Hyde is dead. In fact, unless I am much mistaken they suspect him of having murdered Uncle Gregory and gone into hiding. So you see, Aunt Harriet’s death must be very upsetting to them. It abolishes Hyde.’

  Stella, who had been following this dialogue in some bewilderment, said: ‘But what has someone we’ve never even heard of got to do with it? I mean, what had he to do with uncle, and why should he have murdered him?’

  ‘Why, indeed?’ said Randall.

  ‘Yes, but what makes the police suspect him?’

  ‘Well, he’s vanished, you see.’

  ‘Yes, but –’

  ‘Darling, don’t keep on saying “yes, but.” Use your intelligence. The police don’t like people to vanish. It isn’t seemly.’

  ‘That’s all very well,’ said Rumbold, ‘but the police must have had some reason for suspecting him other than his disappearance – or death, whichever it was.’

  ‘Oh, they had,’ agreed Randall. ‘They discovered that uncle had had dealings with him. So they went to call on him, and he wasn’t there. Then they went to look for his papers, and they weren’t there either.’

  ‘Weren’t where?’ asked Rumbold.

  ‘In a safe-deposit. All very mysterious. You ask the Superintendent.’

  Mrs Matthews heaved a weary sigh. ‘I can’t see what any of this rigmarole has to do with your aunt’s death, Randall.’

  ‘As usual, my dear Aunt Zoë, you hit the nail on the head. It has nothing whatsoever to do with it.’

  ‘Then why do you waste time discussing it?’ she said. ‘Surely –’

  ‘Just to create a diversion,’ said Randall sweetly. ‘But I’ll discuss Aunt Harriet’s death instead if you prefer it. When and how did she die?’

  Mrs Matthews shuddered. ‘I am sorry, Randall. I am afraid I can’t bring myself to talk about it.’

  ‘Then my little cousin Stella shall tell me all about it,’ said Randall, and turned to her. ‘Would you like to drive slowly round the heath, my pet, and unburden yourself to me?’

  ‘All right,’ Stella said, after a moment’s hesitation. ‘You’ve got to know, anyway. I’ll go and put a hat on.’

  Guy looked up quickly. ‘Look here, Stella –’ he began, and then stopped, uncertain how to proceed.

  Randall said kindly: ‘You mustn’t be shy of me, little cousin. Naturally you want to warn her not to say any-thing indiscreet.’

  This left Guy without a word to say. He glared at Randall, who smiled and opened the door for Stella to pass out.

  She did not keep him waiting long while she put on her hat, but soon came out to the car, and got in beside him. ‘Thank God to be out of it for half-an-hour!’ she said. ‘It’s absolutely awful, Randall.’

  ‘Yes, I didn’t flatter myself you came for the pleasure of my company,’ he returned, letting in the clutch.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.’

  ‘My sweet, you’re not yourself. You mustn’t let it get on your nerves, you know.’

  She gave a reluctant laugh. ‘Well, it is on them. You’ve got to help, Randall.’

  He did not answer for a moment, and then he said with a marked drawl: ‘What leads you to suppose that I can help?’

  ‘You did. You practically said you knew something.’

  ‘Your imagination runs away with you, my pet. I said I didn’t want the mystery to be solved.’

  ‘Well, it’s got to be!’ said Stella fiercel
y.

  ‘I’m very much afraid that it may be,’ said Randall.

  ‘Randall, what is it you know? Why do you say you’re afraid it may be? You didn’t kill Aunt Harriet!’

  ‘Certainly not,’ he replied calmly. ‘In fact, I regard Aunt Harriet’s death as an entirely needless complication. You had better tell me how it happened.’

  ‘Well, she said she didn’t feel well at breakfast. Dinner the evening before had been about the worst ever, and Guy suggested it might have something to do with it.’

  ‘By way of being helpful, or mere airy persiflage?’ inquired Randall.

  ‘Airy persiflage. Your style,’ said Stella.

  ‘You must learn to appreciate me better, darling. My style is unique.’

  ‘All right. Just as well if it is. Anyway, aunt was annoyed and she ate some bacon, by way of proving that the sardine hadn’t upset her.’

  ‘One moment,’ interposed Randall. ‘I like to have things clear. Does the sardine play a major part in the story? Because if so I should wish to have its rôle carefully explained to me.’

  ‘No, it was the savoury at dinner, that’s all.’

  ‘If it was really all, Aunt Harriet’s economy must have reached a staggering pitch,’ commented Randall.

  Stella gave a spurt of laughter, but became instantly sober again. ‘Randall, you mustn’t joke. It isn’t funny. And it’s beastly of you to laugh at – at a thing like this.’

  ‘Acquit me, darling. I only wanted to raise a laugh out of you.’

  She turned her head to look at him. ‘Why?’

  He smiled. ‘Such a solemn Stella. I don’t like it. But go on with this entrancing story.’

  ‘Well, there isn’t much more. Apparently she felt worse after breakfast, and went up to tell Mummy she wasn’t well. Mummy put her back to bed, and gave her some dope, and – and she felt sleepy. And Mummy looked into her room about twelve o’clock, only she seemed to be fast asleep, so Mummy didn’t disturb her, and at lunch-time I went up to her, and – and she was dead.’

  Randall shot the car forward past a lorry, and slackened speed again. ‘And now tell me all the bits you’ve left out,’ he said.