The Problem of the Spiteful Spiritualist

by Roberta Rogow

  The spiky, mottled, spiny plants had been thrown about, their earthenware pots broken, and the soil dumped on the flagstone floor of the small extension of Treasure House that jutted out into the garden. A door at the end of the conservatory swung open in the late afternoon wind.

  “Be careful,” Dr. Doyle warned, as Inspector O’Ferrall stooped to pick up a shard of glass from the top of the pile of dirt and leaves. “If that is what I think it is, use gloves when you touch it.”

  “Do you mean …?” Inspector O’Ferrall stared at the mess.

  “As you yourself said, Captain Arkwright spoke at great length at one of our meetings on the efficacy of nicotine as an insecticide,” Dr. Doyle recalled. “I strongly suggest, Inspector, that we have found the source of the nicotine solution that killed Mrs. Cavanaugh.”

  “But that would implicate Miss Arkwright!” O’Ferrall was aghast. “I cannot believe—”

  “It may be that someone is trying to implicate Miss Amelia,” Mr. Dodgson said. “Are these doors ever locked? Could someone else have come in, taken Captain Arkwright’s handkerchief, and secreted it into his dresser, so that he would use it inadvertently?”

  “Sounds too complicated for me,” Inspector O’Ferrall said.

  Dr. Doyle squatted to finger the pile of dirt, moss, and leaves. Mr. Dodgson peered at the floor, then at the carpeted hallway beyond it.

  “I wish to examine Captain Arkwright’s study once again,” he declared. Dr. Doyle and Inspector O’Ferrall followed as the scholar paced down the hall to the study.

  “What the blazes …?” Inspector O’Ferrall, Dr. Doyle, and Mr. Dodgson stared at a scene that rivaled the previous night’s destruction of the sitting room.

  Every drawer in the elaborate desk had been opened, the contents tossed on the floor. The wooden cases of shells and butterflies had been smashed, their fragile contents added to the pile in the middle of the room. The books on the shelves had been tossed on top of the same pile, so that the heavy bookcases could be moved away from the wall. The only objects that remained in their places were the heavy brass vases flanking the fireplace, and the hideous shrunken head and snakeskin full of poisoned arrows on the mantelpiece.

  “Interesting,” Mr. Dodgson remarked.

  Dr. Doyle stepped carefully around the debris. “Well, O’Ferrall,” he said, “you can’t blame poor Ram for this! He was within sight of both Mr. Dodgson and myself from the moment we saw him in Portsmouth on the Camber Docks until you arrested him.”

  “Of course, Prince Jahal could have arranged for this,” Mr. Dodgson said. “In any case, the robbers once again left empty-handed.”

  “How can you be so sure?” O’Ferrall asked.

  “Because they have stamped on the papers in their fury.” Mr. Dodgson pointed to the scuff-marks on the pile.

  Dr. Doyle squatted to check the marks. “Not the same as last night,” he decided. “Last night’s lot wore rubber boots, of the sort used by fishermen. These are quite different, much smaller.”

  “Quite,” Mr. Dodgson observed. “Most interesting, don’t you agree, Dr. Doyle? And the condition of the drugget in the hallway, that, too, is suggestive. Also, the location of Miss Bedelia’s injury, and the destruction of the conservatory. Someone is searching desperately for those jewels, Inspector.”

  “Our friend from Rajitpur,” Inspector O’Ferrall said grimly. “I can smell his handiwork a mile away.”

  “What you smell is the scent of burning cannabis, otherwise known as hashish,” Mr. Dodgson corrected him. “If Captain Arkwright was in the sort of pain you suggest, Dr. Doyle, it is possible that he grew it and used it as an anesthetic. It is a rather penetrating scent, one which I recall from past experience.” His gaze met that of Dr. Doyle and Inspector O’Ferrall. “Oh, not personal experience,” he said hurriedly. “I have never indulged in such experimentation, although at one time some of my undergraduate students did.”

  “You don’t say,” O’Ferrall remarked dryly.

  “What is more, I suspect that Captain Arkwright’s interest in botany had a purely practical aspect. I am not an expert on exotic plants, but I recognize the word ‘ficus.’ Apparently Captain Arkwright was attempting to propagate the rubber plant in artificial conditions. There is a considerable sum of money laid aside as a prize for anyone who can do so. It is possible that his last expedition to Brazil was for the purpose of obtaining the seeds or cuttings of the rubber plant.”

  “That would explain part of the Captain’s disposition, and his secretive habits,” Dr. Doyle commented. “If he was trying to grow rubber, and there was a prize for it, he wouldn’t want anyone else to know what he was up to!”

  O’Ferrall’s bulldog jaw jutted out in bafflement. “But if that were the case, why destroy those plants? Why not take the damned things away and give them to the Royal Society, or whoever has charge of rubber trees?”

  “The Royal Botanical Gardens at Kew,” Mr. Dodgson murmured. “This puts an entirely new light on things,” he said, edging around the debris in the middle of the room. “The destruction last night was purposeful, but this … this is spiteful. Miss Arkwright’s manuscript represents hours, days of careful work, and someone has destroyed it, wantonly and maliciously. That is a dreadful thing, and it must not happen again. I strongly suggest, Inspector, that you have a guard posted, and perhaps there is some respectable female who would stay with Miss Arkwright and Miss Bedelia, since Mrs. Doyle will, of course, be dining with General Drayson and the Portsmouth Literary and Scientific Society tonight.”

  O’Ferrall nodded. “I’ll post a constable outside, and get Mrs. Pilkey from the jail. She’s the wardress, when we need one; widow of a Crimean veteran, followed the drum with him until he was killed. I wouldn’t like to be a burglar she finds in the house!”

  With this decision made, O’Ferrall went back into the sitting room, where he informed Amelia of the steps he had taken for her safety. “And when all this is over,” he added daringly, “may I call on you? There is something I must ask you …”

  “Not now,” Amelia admonished him.

  “But … can I hope …?”

  Amelia shook her head wordlessly. “Thank you for your kindness, Inspector. You really don’t have to send for Mrs. Pilkey, good woman though she may be. Bedelia and I can manage with Jenny and her mother. I must learn to be alone.”

  “You have Bedelia,” Touie pointed out.

  Amelia smiled wanly. “Oh, yes,” she said, her eyes blank gray pebbles in her pale face, “I have Bedelia.”

  Touie, Dr. Doyle, Mr. Dodgson, and Inspector O’Ferrall were shown out by the stalwart Jenny.

  “I’d better give you a lift back to the hotel,” O’Ferrall said. “I can’t wait to hear what Mr. Dodgson has to say at tonight’s dinner.”

  “Neither can I,” Mr. Dodgson murmured to himself, as the police brougham took them back to the Bush Hotel.

  CHAPTER 22

  It was seven-thirty, and Mr. Hill was getting worried. His cook (who also happened to be his wife) had expended all her skill on the repast for the Portsmouth Literary and Scientific Society and its distinguished guest, whose palate, she was told, was of the most refined nature. Accordingly, she had basted the chickens to within an inch of their lives. She had simmered the soup and added just a touch of herbs. She had braised a leg of veal, and concocted her smoothest gravy. And now it was going to be spoiled, because the guest of honor, this Mr. Dodgson, had gone chasing off down Elm Grove with the ubiquitous Dr. Doyle from next door, undoubtedly on another wild goose chase in the case of Captain Arkwright and his mysterious menage. Mr. Hill clenched his teeth in a ghastly grin and promised General Drayson that dinner would be served just as soon as Mr. Dodgson came down.

  Major-General Drayson was equally perturbed, checking his watch several times. He had sent notes to several of his closest friends, reminding them that Mr. Dodgson had decided to prolong his stay in Southsea long enough to address the meeting, which would otherwise have merely
been a social jollification in honor of the youngest and most enthusiastic member of the Portsmouth Literary and Scientific Society. An ordinary event had been miraculously transformed by the presence of this noted scholar and author, and General Drayson wanted to make the most of it. Now they were gathered, ten of the most respectable gentlemen in Southsea, to pay homage to the noted mathematician, and he was not there! A pretty fool he would look, Drayson thought, as he cast his eyes on the door, if the persnickety Mr. Dodgson should take it into his head to ignore the invitation, on the grounds of his infirmities.

  Major Hackaby, resplendent in his full regimentals, was more worried about dinner than about their tardy guest. His interest in mathematics was less than pressing, and he considered Mr. Dodgson a hopeless fussbudget and Dr. Doyle a pushing youngster who needed a set-down or two, but he had deliberately put off dining so that he could enjoy a good meal in convivial company before leaving for the rigors of the Northwest Frontier. The enticing odors wafting his way from the discreet door at the back of the room made his mouth water. Drayson’s cook was all very well, Hackaby thought, but Mrs. Hill was something else!

  The other gentlemen and ladies gathered in the private dining room chatted affably together. They all knew each other well; they included Mr. Lance, retired judge of the Indian courts; Dr. Cousin, of the Portsmouth Hospitals; and the Mayor of Portsmouth himself, the Honorable Mr. Edward Hide, who had put off an important business dinner of the Drapers’ Guild to attend. They were all pleased to acknowledge Dr. Doyle’s marriage; they were delighted for his sake that he had found a life partner so suited to his tastes as Miss Louisa Hawkins, now Mrs. Doyle, and they vicariously partook of his modest literary success, but when they received General Drayson’s notes that Mr. Dodgson would attend (a late decision on the gentleman’s part) they decided that any last-minute cancelations would be in bad taste.

  The guest of honor himself was worried. Dr. Doyle had gone up to Mr. Dodgson’s room at the Bush Hotel, leaving Touie to be charming to the other members of the Portsmouth Literary and Scientific Society and their wives, while he persuaded the recalcitrant scholar to make an appearance. Dr. Doyle had promised Mr. Dodgson that his lack of sartorial elegance would not be noticed. It was his conversation that was required.

  This, more than anything else, was enough to send Mr. Dodgson into a spate of sputtering apologies. He repeated over and over that he rarely went into company, that he disliked personal publicity, and that he would not speak as Mr. Lewis Carroll.

  “But it is as Mr. Dodgson, mathematician and author of Euclid and His Modern Rivals, that you are known here,” Dr. Doyle protested. “General Drayson has the greatest regard for your mathematical works. I doubt that he has even read your other writings. Besides”—he fired one last, desperate shot—“it will be a far better dinner than you would have gotten from Mother Hawkins. And you did accept his invitation this afternoon.”

  Mr. Dodgson considered this and relented. “I shall change my cravat,” he decided. “I do not wish to appear inhospitable or rude to your friends. And I am very hungry,” he added, as he followed Dr. Doyle down the stairs.

  There were two private dining rooms available at the Bush Hotel, connected by a pair of sliding doors, so that a small room could be made into a large one. The first of the two rooms had been arranged so that the ladies and gentlemen could assemble before dinner, and here the respectable members of the Steering Committee of the Ports-mouth Literary and Scientific Society and their well-dressed wives had gathered to await the appearance of the noted scholar who had so unexpectedly decided to grace their gathering with his presence.

  It was with a sigh of relief that Mr. Hill was able to announce, at seven-thirty-five, “Mr. Dodgson and Dr. Doyle.”

  General Drayson strode forth to greet them, hand outstretched. “Good evening, gentlemen. Mr. Dodgson, we had almost given up on you.”

  “Mr. Dodgson was not sure he would be welcome in his current attire,” Dr. Doyle said.

  “Nonsense!” bellowed the General, leading the scholar into the second room, where the groaning board had been reset to accommodate an extra guest.

  “Dr. Doyle and I have been occupied in this matter of Mrs. Cavanaugh,” Mr. Dodgson explained, nodding graciously to the assembled diners, who moved slowly into their appointed chairs, gentlemen alternating with ladies. Dr. Doyle began to edge toward the foot of the table, with Touie beside him.

  General Drayson motioned to the chair next to the guest of honor. “After all,” he said, as the young doctor slipped into the place usually reserved for the Mayor, “Mr. Dodgson is your friend. And we do have a small”—he harrumphed importantly—“presentation after the meal.”

  Dr. Doyle smiled weakly, and accepted the accolade. Mayor Hide, on the other hand, shrugged as if to say, Well, just this once, but don’t get above yourself, young man!, and took the seat assigned to him.

  Major Hackaby stroked his mustache and levered himself into the seat next to Mr. Dodgson. “Did you find any spirits?” he asked jovially, as the waiters began to set the soup plates out.

  “Only those in Captain Arkwright’s sea chest,” Dr. Doyle said, with a rueful laugh. “The man must have had a prodigious capacity for alcohol.”

  “He seems to have been an oddity all around,” Mr. Dodgson said. “I understand from Dr. Doyle that he attended meetings of your society, yet he seems to have spent his youth in pursuit of adventure.”

  “Some of his yarns partook of the proverbial sailors’ fish stories,” General Drayson commented. “For instance, he insisted that there were buried cities in the jungles of Central America that predated those of the Aztecs in Mexico.”

  “I noticed certain artifacts in his study,” Mr. Dodgson said.

  “And a hair-raising tale or two he could tell about them,” the Mayor said, spooning up his soup. “Not always for the ladies, ha-ha!” He glanced across the table at his wife, who pretended not to hear him.

  “Indeed.” Mr. Dodgson devoted himself to the consumption of his dinner. It was, he decided, a well-cooked and -presented repast, worthy of his attention. The fish was fresh; the chickens tender; the vegetables cooked to the precise point of toothsomeness demanded by a gentleman of advancing years.

  The conversation flowed around him. General Drayson attempted to address a few remarks to his noted guest, only to be gently rebuffed with a smile. Mr. Dodgson apparently did not speak while he ate.

  At last, with the fowls and veal consumed, the sweets and savory dispensed with, and the cloths removed, Mr. Hill himself brought out the port and glasses. General Drayson tapped on his glass for quiet.

  “Gentlemen, and ladies,” he said, standing. “The Queen!”

  There was a great rumbling of chairs as the Portsmouth Literary and Scientific Society stood for the loyal toast: “The Queen!”

  The rumbling was enhanced as Mr. Hill gently slid the connecting door between the two private dining rooms open, while the Steering Committee and their wives sat down. Mr. Hill stood beside the door, apologetically wringing his hands.

  General Drayson frowned at the hotelier. “I thought I told you that this was not our public meeting,” he said severely.

  Mr. Hill looked embarrassed. “It seems that word has got out that Mr. Dodgson was to join your company tonight, and there are a few people who have asked if they might, er, listen to what he has to say. And since, on other occasions, you have permitted the liberty …” He trailed off. General Drayson decided that a small audience would not be taken amiss, and might even entice a few more people to the general meetings of the Portsmouth Literary and Scientific Society.

  Mr. Dodgson eyed the group. It included Mr. Monks, the young Rajah and his cousin, Inspector O’Ferrall, and his faithful Sergeant Stafford. Mr. Dodgson gave wordless thanks that the argumentative and coarse Captain Cavanaugh and his silent companion had chosen not to attend.

  “Dr. Doyle, I am here only as your guest,” Mr. Dodgson said diffidently. “I thought you made t
hat clear.”

  General Drayson had the grace to redden. “Do not blame young Arthur here,” he said. “I must admit that I did mention to a few close friends …” He left off in confusion under the accusing gaze of the scholar.

  “I sincerely hope you did not tell these friends that Mr. Lewis Carroll was to address your society,” Mr. Dodgson said testily. “I abhor personal publicity. I attended this dinner only as a favor to my friend Dr. Doyle, who, I understand, is to be presented with a small token on the occasion of his marriage.”

  “And so he is,” General Drayson said, glad to take advantage of the lull in hostilities. He motioned to Mr. Hill, who came forward with a large silver serving-tray. “Arthur ….” the General said, “if I may call you by name … we are delighted to present this tray to you and your beautiful bride. May it always remind you of your friends here in Southsea.”

  A rumble of “Hear, hear,” and a spatter of gloved-handed applause accompanied Dr. Doyle’s acceptance of the wedding present.

  “I shall treasure this always,” Dr. Doyle said, gripping General Drayson by the hand. “Thank you, gentlemen.”

  Mr. Dodgson rose as Mr. Hill removed the decanter from the table. “I had not prepared any speech tonight,” he said. “I do not usually speak in public at all. However, on this happy occasion, I take the liberty of wishing Dr. Doyle and his good wife a long and happy married life, built on the foundation of mutual interests and affections. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the happy couple, Dr. and Mrs. Doyle.” He lifted his glass in a toast, which was shared by the well-wishers around the table. He began to sit, but General Drayson stopped him.

  “Mr. Dodgson,” the General said in his most pompous parade-ground manner, “we are truly honored by your presence at our board. I have been informed that you do not speak extempore, as it were, but would you be so kind as to instruct us in your system of logic?”

  Mr. Dodgson looked down the table at the expectant faces turned toward him. “I do not, as you say, speak in public often, but tonight I shall conclude that I am among friends, and that you will bear with me while I endeavor to explain a few small mathematical and logical puzzles.”