by Henry Wade
“Yes, sir; it was negative.”
“That hardly implies that the hyoscine was not administered that way”, said Mr. Justin.
“No, but it leaves the suggestion purely one of conjecture”, replied Carr.
“Please, gentlemen; we cannot have a discussion”, said Mr. Ellinstone. “Thank you, Mrs. Toumlin; that will do. We will now adjourn for luncheon till 2.15.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Tenant in Tail
DURING the luncheon interval Henry Carr was rather silent and Eustace formed the opinion that things were not going quite so well in the solicitor’s opinion as in his own. He did not mention the case during luncheon, as other people were present, but walking back to the court they were alone for a time and Eustace asked how things looked.
“Oh, quite all right; don’t you worry, Eustace”, said the solicitor, rousing himself from a reverie.
“Something’s worrying you, though.”
Carr glanced quickly at his companion.
“Well of course, there is one awkward fact that hasn’t been explained yet”, he said.
“Oh? What’s that?”
“Why, the fact that Desmond was murdered.”
“You mean . . . the hyoscine?”
“Yes. Somebody administered that; we don’t know who or how. Until that is known . . . well, we shan’t feel quite comfortable.”
“You don’t think it was suicide, then?”
“Not for a minute. How could he have got the stuff? I shall press the suggestion, of course.”
“But, Henry, even if it was murder; why should it be me? Nothing has been said so far that inculpates me.”
Henry was silent for a moment.
“Nothing has been said yet about possible motive”, he said quietly. “Of course, it may not be, but if that does come up, the inference is . . . rather awkward.”
Eustace flushed.
“But that’s most unfair”, he said. “I . . . I didn’t do it.”
Henry Carr patted his shoulder.
“I know, old man. I don’t want you to worry; I’m only having to think over possible dangers.”
They finished their walk in silence.
When the court re-opened the Coroner recalled Mrs. Toumlin to ask her where the chocolate peppermints came from. Mrs. Toumhn explained that they were ordered by herself from Dudeville’s, a fresh box whenever the supply was falling low. They were never given by anyone else and they were always the same kind.
Gladys Mason, the parlourmaid, was then called and questioned about what happened on the night of Desmond Hendel’s death. Her evidence bore out that of Mrs. Toumlin. She had not seen her master take a chocolate after dinner that night, but there was no particular reason why she should. She could not suggest any other way in which the hyoscine might have been given, but then she knew nothing about the stuff.
That was all the Coroner wanted from Gladys Mason, but Mr. Justin wished to ask some questions. On the two occasions on which Mr. Eustace Hendel had visited the flat in the absence of Mrs. Toumlin—that is to say, on Monday, 23rd September, and Tuesday, 1st October—what had Mr. Hendel’s attitude been? Had he pressed her to allow him to see his cousin—in spite of Mrs. Toumlin’s orders to the contrary?
“Not the first time, sir”, said Gladys, “—I don’t remember the date. The second time—the morning of the day Mr. Desmond died—he did seem rather pressing.”
“Can you be a little clearer about that?” asked Mr. Justin. “In what way did he seem pressing?”
“Well, sir, he was very nice and . . . and friendly. He smiled and that . . . well, it did seem as he was trying to wheedle me into letting him see Mr. Desmond.”
Mr. Justin leaned forward.
“Did he attempt to bribe you in any way, Miss Mason?”
Gladys blushed.
“Well, no, sir; not exactly. But I thought he might if I gave him any encouragement.”
Carr rose quickly to his feet.
“What does that mean?” he asked. “Did Mr. Hendel produce money and offer it to you?”
“Oh, no, sir.”
“Did he go so far as to produce money?”
“No, sir.”
“Then what did he do?”
“Well, sir; he had his hand in his pocket and he seemed to rattle some coins.”
“Rattle some coins!” Henry Carr looked at the jury, shrugged his shoulders. “And on that we have to listen to a suggestion of attempted bribery.”
He sat down with a flump. Mr. Justin, undeterred, resumed his questioning.
“And your orders were that Mr. Hendel was not to see your master?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then what happened?”
“He said he would wait till Mrs. Toumlin came back. I said he’d ’ave to wait in the hall, otherwise Mr. Desmond would know he was there. He said that didn’t matter and sat down. Then I telephoned to the Times Book Club to let Mrs. Toumlin know he was waiting and I gave him the paper and went back to me pantry.”
“And how long was Mr. Hendel waiting in the hall before Mrs. Toumlin returned?”
“I’m sure I couldn’t exactly say, sir, but it would be about a quarter of an hour.”
“And during that time he was alone in the hall.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you, Miss Mason.”
Carr again rose.
“You say he was alone. Where were you?”
“In me pantry.”
“The door of which is within a few feet of where Mr. Hendel was sitting?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And was that door open or shut?”
Gladys flushed and hesitated.
“I want an answer, please”, said Carr sternly. “Was it open or shut?”
“Open, sir.”
“Could you see Mr. Hendel through it?”
“No, sir.”
“But you could have heard if he had got up, walked about, opened a door, gone into another room?”
“I think so, sir.”
“And did he do any of these things?”
“I didn’t think he did, sir.”
“You didn’t think so? Perhaps it has been suggested to you that in fact he did and you have become uncertain? Now tell me, Miss Mason, on your oath, have you any real doubt in your mind about it?”
After a pause:
“No, sir”, said Gladys.
“Thank you.”
Eustace heaved a sigh of relief at the firmness of this answer, which could not fail, he thought, to have its effect upon the jury. The next moment he heard his own name called. With a shudder of apprehension at the ordeal that was before him he walked to the witness’s chair.
“Your full name is . . . ?”
“Eustace Hendel. I am a doctor, but I have not practised since 1926.”
There was a rustle of interest, perhaps of excitement through the room. It was on Henry Carr’s advice that Eustace had volunteered this information.
“It’s bound to come out,” he had said. “Better not have it dragged out of you, or have it revealed by the police.”
Guided by Mr. Ellinstone, Eustace explained his relationship to the deceased. He said that he had at first been interested in the young man himself and had thought he might help to keep him amused. He acknowledged frankly that he had particularly wanted to see Desmond alone on the morning of 1st October, the reason being that he had recently had an unpleasant interview with Lord Barradys, the head of the family, who—he had heard—had written to Desmond and advised him to exclude Eustace from any will that he might be making in view of his new position as heir-apparent to the title and estates. Eustace declared that he had thought Lord Barradys most unfair, prejudiced, in fact, by an old family feud with Eustace’s father and grandfather. He (Eustace) was not prepared to sit down mildly under such injustice and had determined to talk the matter out with Desmond. As soon as it was made clear to him by the parlourmaid that morning that Mrs. Toumlin really did not wish him to s
ee Desmond, he had said that he would wait till Mrs. Toumlin’s return. He had not attempted to bribe the girl, as had been suggested, and he had in fact remained in the hall, reading the paper, during the whole quarter of an hour that elapsed before Mrs. Toumlin arrived.
This frank declaration evidently took the wind out of the sails of the police. Mr. Justin held a long whispered conversation with Chief-Inspector Darnell, and when the Coroner had finished his examination the police solicitor only asked one question:
“You realized then, Mr. Hendel, that your cousin Desmond, if he lived long enough, might make a will prejudicial to your interests?”
It was a damaging question and, after his own story, Eustace could only answer that he had known that Desmond might make such a will, but that the implication ‘if he lived long enough’ had not been in his mind. It was not a very convincing answer and both Coroner and jury were quite evidently alive to that fact. But when Mr. Justin sat down Eustace felt that he had much to be thankful for; he had not been asked about the morphia, about the ‘Medical Jurisprudence’, about his transactions with the money-lenders; best of all, no mention had been made of what had happened in Scotland; it was there that he felt his real danger lay, because there alone had he been guilty.
After Eustace had returned to his place among the other Hendels, the Coroner spent some time looking through his notes, while the members of his jury coughed and whispered among themselves.
“He’s stuck,” murmured Henry Carr.
“What about?” asked Eustace.
“The hyoscine, I expect; they’ve not traced it yet.”
It was not long before the solicitor’s guess was proved to be right. The Coroner called Chief-Inspector Darnell.
“You are in charge of the investigations concerning this case?” asked Mr. Ellinstone.
“I am, sir.”
“Have you endeavoured to trace the hyoscine which has been found in the organs—trace the source of supply, that is?”
“I have, sir.”
“With any success?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Do you expect to be able to trace it?”
Chief-Inspector Darnell allowed himself a slight smile.
“I am quite sure I shall be able to trace it, sir,” he said.
Mr. Ellinstone turned towards the jury.
“I must remind you, members of the jury,” he said, “that the purpose of this enquiry is not only to arrive at a conclusion as to the cause of death, but also, if that cause is attributable to the criminal action of some other person, we have to endeavour to discover who that other person may be. This is not, as I have explained, a criminal court and no individual is before us upon trial; it will be open to you, when the time comes and among other possible verdicts, to return one of ‘murder by some person or persons unknown.’ That always appears to me an easy way out of a difficulty and one which is of little help to anybody. With the information before us at the present moment—that is, in the absence of any direct evidence as to how the hyoscine came to be taken by the deceased—it would clearly be almost impossible for you to give a verdict pointing to one person as being responsible for the young man’s death. I think it will be best, therefore, if I adjourn this inquest for another fortnight in order to give the police further time in which to prosecute their enquiries. Does that appear to you a convenient arrangement, Chief-Inspector?”
“Quite, sir,” replied the detective politely. It was clearly a matter of indifference to him what the Coroner and his court did. Magistrates and assizes were the only courts that interested the C.I.D.
“Well, then . . . oh, there’s one other question I meant to ask you, Mr. Darnell; it will, I think, just round off the enquiry up to this point. Have you formed an opinion as to the vehicle in which the hyoscine was administered?”
The detective frowned slightly. He would have preferred to let things go as they were for the present.
“I’ve formed an opinion, certainly, sir,” he said. “I can’t say I’ve got definite proof of it.”
“And that is?”
“The peppermint chocolates, sir. Strong enough flavour to conceal the taste of the hyoscine. Regular habit of the deceased, known to many people. Easy to obtain and easy to manipulate; all the poisoner would have to do would be to get hold of a similar chocolate from another source, take out the contents at his leisure, mix the hyoscine with the peppermint cream, put it back, seal up the chocolate, and at some time or other slip it into the box, from which deceased would in due course take it. It wouldn’t necessarily have to be done on the day on which the death occurred.”
The Coroner nodded.
“I see; yes, that sounds possible. You have not, I suppose, come across any other source of supply . . . of these chocolates, I mean?”
Again Chief-Inspector Darnell frowned. This time he was seriously annoyed. He had not intended to produce this particular piece of information at this stage. But he could not well conceal it now or it might be difficult for him to produce it later.
“I have come across one such chocolate, sir,” he said.
The tired jury sat up and took notice. Eustace held his breath.
“In Mr. Eustace Hendel’s flat, sir.”
There was a gasp, appearing to come from the whole room at once. Henry Carr looked sharply at Eustace, but as quickly turned away again. Eustace stared straight in front of him.
“Oh? Will you tell us about this, please, Chief-Inspector?”
“I visited Mr. Hendel’s flat on the Thursday following the Tuesday on which Mr. Desmond Hendel died. Mr. Eustace Hendel was out; he was in fact attending at this enquiry, sir. In Mr. Hendel’s flat I found a peppermint chocolate of the same type as those favoured by Mr. Desmond Hendel . . .”
“How can you tell it was the same type?”
“It was a Dudeville chocolate, sir. They all have the initial ‘D’ under them.”
“Where is this chocolate?”
“I can produce it, sir.”
“The jury must see it after the adjournment. Also the chocolates in the box sent for analysis.”
The Chief-Inspector bowed.
“Now; where did you find this chocolate?”
“In point of fact, it was given to me, sir.”
“Given to you? Who by?”
Even Coroners are human when it comes to grammar in moments of interest.
“By Mr. Hendel’s man, sir.”
Hamilton! Curse the fellow; a bloody traitor. Eustace found himself shivering with anger and apprehension.
“Why did he give it you?”
“I asked for it, sir. That is; I asked if he had seen anything of the kind. He had found it in the waste-paper basket on the Wednesday—the day after . . .”
“Sir, I must protest . . .” Henry Carr had risen quickly to his feet. “This is hearsay evidence. How can Chief-Inspector Darnell say where this chocolate was found or when it was found . . . or even if it was found?”
“You are quite right, Mr. Carr. This man . . . what is his name?”
“Hamilton, sir.”
“Hamilton must be called. In the meantime, Chief-Inspector, your statement is that you received a chocolate from a certain source, purporting to come from a certain place, and you will produce that chocolate when called upon?”
“That is so, sir.”
“Then we will adjourn till this day fortnight.”
The foreman of the jury rose to his feet.
“We’ve been talking this over, sir,” he said, “and we think that before we adjourn this time we should like to hear something about this will that’s been talked about—about the family estates presumably. It seems to us that that might establish a motive.”
“And anyone can go a long way in a fortnight,” remarked a female member of the jury, a thin, acidulated woman with a high voice.
“Please, madam, control yourself,” said the Coroner.
He looked round the room.
“Mr. Christendome is here,”
he said. “No doubt he can give us the information which the jury has asked for. The suggestion is, I think, a reasonable one.”
Eustace felt Henry Carr stiffen beside him, but he made no comment.
Mr. William Christendome, looking very old and shaken (thought Eustace), took the oath, and explained that he was senior partner of the firm of solicitors in whose hands the affairs of the senior branch of the Hendel family had been for nearly three-quarters of a century. Covering much the same ground as at the reading of Howard’s will, Mr. Christendome explained that the Hendel estates had been entailed by the second Lord Barradys upon his son Chandos, the present Lord Barradys, for life, and thereafter upon the heirs of his body.
“That refers only to real estate,” explained the solicitor, “which alone at that time was eligible for entail. After the Act of 1926, however, personal estate—that is, money, whether in the form of cash or securities—became equally eligible, and the present Lord Barradys took that fact into consideration when drawing up his will. As Lord Barradys is still alive, however, that is not a matter that can be discussed here.”
The Coroner nodded and Mr. Christendome, after gently blowing his nose on a fine linen handkerchief, continued.
“The position for some time remained quite straightforward. Lord Barradys’ only son, Albert, died in 1893 and his son Howard thereupon became tenant in tail, Lord Barradys, of course, remaining tenant for life. So matters continued until July of this year, when there came the first of the series of tragedies that have swept away all the direct descendants of Lord Barradys, and created a problem as to the entailed estate, which has been under constant consideration by Lord Barradys and the late Mr. Desmond Hendel right up to the moment of the latter’s death.”
There was complete silence in the court now; everyone was listening with intense interest.
“In July of this year,” continued Mr. Christendome, “Mr. Howard Hendel, teh tenant in tail, and his son, Harold, were accidentally and simultaneously drowned in Cornwall, and the body of Mr. Harold Hendel has never been recovered. Mr. Howard’s brother, Captain David Hendel, then became tenant in tail. He, however, met with a fatal accident while deerstalking in Scotland only last month, and the entail thus passed to his only son, Desmond, whose death is the subject of this enquiry.”