Antidote to Venom

by Freeman Wills Crofts

  The more French thought over it, the more heartily he found himself in agreement. It would be a difficult and dangerous job: particularly as presumably the snake must not be hurt. Both nerve and skill would be required.

  But if so, was Peter Milliken’s belief so very absurd? Could the broken-down old scientist really have accomplished it? French grew slightly more interested.

  “What evidence of old Burnaby’s condition was given at the inquest?” he asked.

  Arthur paused in thought. “A number could have given it,” he said presently, “but I don’t know exactly who did. There was the doctor, Dr. Marr, and the director of the Zoo, Mr. Surridge, and Nesbit, one of the keepers in the snake-house, as well as Peter. It mightn’t exactly be Nesbit’s or Peter’s place to say anything, but it would be Marr’s. If he had thought the old boy couldn’t have done it, he’d have said so.”

  French was not so sure. It would depend on the personalities of the coroner and doctor. If the latter had been throwing his weight about and had been snubbed for it, he might close up on points of opinion and answer only what he was asked.

  “What sort of man is Marr?”

  “One of the best,” Arthur answered, with enthusiasm. “Straight and decent and always out to do anyone a good turn. And very successful in his cases. People like him and trust him and he does them good.”

  Then he wouldn’t be likely to get on his high horse and hold back information on the ground that it hadn’t been asked for. It would be interesting to know just what he had said.

  “Was the case well reported?”

  Arthur smiled triumphantly. “I thought it would interest you,” he returned, “and I brought up the Birmington Times in case you’d like to see it. The report is pretty full because everyone was interested. There was the scare, you see, that the snake was loose in the town, and if you ask me, most people were really frightened about it.”

  French nodded. “Very good of you, I’m sure. Yes, I’d be interested to look over it. You don’t happen to know if the police have accepted the inquest verdict?”

  “I don’t. I thought they would do so automatically.”

  “Not necessarily. But, of course, it’s usual.”

  “Is that so? Well, I can’t tell you. I’m not in their inner councils.”

  Later that evening French read the report. The case appeared to have been well handled by the coroner and the police evidence was just what might have been expected. There was no question of glossing over the deceased’s poor state of health: in fact, this was stressed. The point that the old man might not have been able to commit the theft had been made by the coroner himself, and the jury could not have failed to appreciate it. Yet it hadn’t weighed with them in bringing in their verdict. Peter Milliken was entitled to his opinion, but in this case he must have been wrong.

  French presently dismissed the matter from his mind and turned to his usual Saturday evening pursuits. But that night as he lay awake the affair recurred to him. An unusual case, he thought, and dramatic too. For many people snakes had a kind of morbid fascination, and the idea of this poor old man meeting so horrible a fate alone and in darkness would set the average person shuddering.

  French wondered what exactly had happened during that fatal period. Apparently just as Burnaby left, or was about to leave, his house, he was struck. Probably he had been looking if the snake was all right, and in some way had allowed it to escape. Probably again he had caught it by the neck, and the easiest way to get rid of so embarrassing a burden would be to drop it into the barrel. Being alone, he would think his best chance would be to hurry to the doctor’s. Yes, this seemed reasonable and was doubtless the view held by the coroner.

  French was rather annoyed to find that the affair had taken hold of his mind just as if it were one of his own cases. He could neither sleep nor could he banish it from his thoughts. In spite of himself he continued turning over the facts and weighing their bearing one upon another.

  Suddenly a point occurred to him which up till then he had missed, and a faint excitement stirred in his mind as he considered its implications. He switched on his light, and creeping softly downstairs, found Arthur’s paper and took it back to bed. Once again he read the evidence. Then after some more thought he put the paper aside, switched off the light, and composed himself to sleep.

  On Monday when he had dealt with his letters and reckoned that the Assistant Commissioner, Sir Mortimer Ellison, had done the same, he rang him up and asked for an interview.

  “Well, French, what’s the trouble?” he was greeted, on reaching his superior’s room.

  French laid his newspaper on the other’s desk. “Have you read that case, sir?” he asked, quietly.

  Sir Mortimer looked at him searchingly as he took the paper. “Not in any detail,” he answered. “What of it?”

  “May I outline the case to you, sir?”

  The Assistant Commissioner made a gesture of dismay. “If it’s absolutely unavoidable,” he breathed gently.

  French knew his chief. He grinned appreciatively. “I don’t know that it is,” he returned, “but I should like to put up a point, if you don’t mind.”

  “I do mind, but a lot you care about that. However, I see you won’t be happy till you get it off your chest. Go ahead.”

  French, well satisfied, went ahead. Long practice had enabled him to condense his stories into the minimum of words. Sir Mortimer sat motionless during the recital, his heavy lids lowered over his eyes as if he were half asleep. But French knew he was anything but asleep. He was aware that he was listening keenly, and that his alert brain was checking up and docketing the facts as he heard them.

  “Well?” he said, as French came to an end.

  “Just one point struck me, sir. There were no snake tongs found at ‘Riverview.’ ”

  Sir Mortimer gave him another exceedingly keen glance and once more dropped to his languishing position. “How do you know?” he asked, presently.

  “I don’t, of course, know absolutely,” French admitted, “but it seems to follow from the facts given. The house was obviously searched by Inspector Rankin, and if he had found a pair of tongs I can’t believe he wouldn’t have mentioned it. It would have been highly material evidence and of great use in supporting his case.”

  “There might have been something else.”

  “You mean some other tool in which the snake could have been carried?”

  “Yes: a bag or box or net.”

  “I should think the same argument would apply. If there had been anything which would have done the job Rankin would have brought it forward.”

  For some seconds silence reigned. Then Sir Mortimer again looked up. “’Pon my soul, French, I believe you’re right. However, don’t let’s have any misunderstandings. Just put what you mean into words.”

  “I looked at it like this, sir. To convey the snake from the Zoo to ‘Riverview’ some apparatus was necessary. I imagine, though of course I can’t be sure, that this must have been a tongs, because some way of handling the snake at ‘Riverview’ would probably have been necessary. Remember also that the snake’s neck was bruised from tongs having been used. If I’m right and there was a tongs, and it wasn’t found, someone must have taken it away. Who was this? Obviously not the deceased. Therefore someone else was present who did remove it.”

  “It’s not certain.”

  “No, sir, I admit it’s not certain. But I put it to you that it’s sufficiently suggestive to warrant investigation.”

  Again Sir Mortimer remained silent for a moment. “Have you worked out a theory on those lines?”

  “To a certain extent, sir; of course, quite tentatively. I suggest someone wanted the old man out of the way, and knowing of his researches, decided he could use a snake with a good chance of avoiding suspicion. This person, I suggest, stole the snake, and—”

 
“Incidentally you’re meeting the difficulty that the deceased hadn’t the nerve to do so.”

  “Quite so, sir. I suggest X stole the snake, and knowing of the old man’s chess-playing habits, was waiting for him to set out on that Wednesday night, when, mind you, the house was empty. I suggest he carried the snake in the tongs and held it out towards the deceased, and that it was while the deceased was trying to ward it off that he got bitten.”

  “It’s not a nice idea, French.”

  “So nasty, sir, that if anyone has done it, he shouldn’t get off with it.”

  “Agreed. Very well: carry on.”

  “Now think of X’s position. He has committed his murder in safety because the old man hasn’t seen him in the dark, and in any case will almost certainly become unconscious before meeting anyone. But X has the snake and the tongs on his hands. What is he to do with them?”

  “He has already thought of the barrel?”

  “I assume so, sir. But that covers the snake only. He will have to decide whether to throw the tongs in too, or remove them. I believe he finds himself forced to remove them. His whole object is to suggest that the deceased allowed the snake to escape from whatever receptacle he was keeping it in, and leaving the tongs in the pool would give this idea away. If he could leave the tongs in the house beside the snake’s receptacle it might help him all right. But he probably is unable to get into the house or perhaps doesn’t know where the snake has been kept.”

  “And motive?”

  “We don’t know it. But my informant tells me the deceased was well to do and someone must have stood to gain by his death.”

  “It’s all very hypothetical.”

  “I know, sir, and what I wanted this interview for was to ask if you thought that on such hypothetical evidence any action should be taken?”

  Sir Mortimer’s eyes flickered again. “Now, I confess you’ve got me puzzled. You know very well we can’t interfere.”

  “I wondered, sir, if you thought the point should be put up to the Birmington force?”

  Once again there was a pause, this time longer than before. “It’s difficult to imagine them overlooking it,” Sir Mortimer said at last, “though, I agree, it’s possible. Your suggestion is to ask if a tongs or other apparatus was found?”

  French shook his head. “Hardly, sir, I think. To interfere like that would probably annoy them. I wondered if you would consider writing that the point was raised by one of your people and that you pass the idea on for what it’s worth.”

  “Pure altruism?”

  French grinned again. “As a matter of fact the case was put up to me by my wife’s brother-in-law, who is a brother of the head keeper at the Zoo. That’s how I became interested.”

  The Assistant Commissioner rubbed his chin. “I can see them in Birmington frightfully hurt in their little feelings,” he murmured. “I should be myself, you know, if the positions were reversed.”

  “No, sir, I don’t believe that,” French returned firmly, though with a twinkling eye. “You’d be glad of anything that helped you to the truth.”

  “If threats don’t work, try flattery? Well, I never was proof against that. I’ll write the C.C. a private note.”

  French returned to his room with rather mixed feelings. He was by no means sure he had not simply made a fool of himself. It was not his business to interfere where his opinion had not been asked, and now that his urge was satisfied, he wondered why he had done so. Of course, it was true that no one who had carried out a ghastly murder should get off with it, but then he was not a keeper of the country’s morals. However, since Sir Mortimer had accepted his suggestion there couldn’t be so much wrong with it, and in any case the matter was now out of his hands and he need waste no more time over it.

  In spite of these admirable sentiments the case did remain a good deal in his thoughts. He wondered what reception the A.C.’s letter had received, and if the officer who had been in charge was fuming with malice and hatred against the Yard. He didn’t expect to hear anything more about the affair, which would probably be closed by a polite but noncommittal acknowledgement.

  However, to his surprise, next afternoon his forebodings were agreeably dispelled. Just before leaving for home he received a summons to the A. C.’s room.

  He found him in conversation with an alert looking young police officer. “This is Inspector Rankin of the Birmington City Police,” Sir Mortimer explained. “He’s all het up over the brick you’ve thrown, so I rang for you to come and cool him down.”

  The startled inspector seemed about to offer a shocked protest, but catching sight of the twinkle in French’s eye, he caught himself up in time.

  “It’s just about knocked the whole of our case into a cocked hat, sir,” he smiled, in his turn, doing his best to play up to this novel method of conducting business. “Our C.C. sent me up to talk the thing over with you.”

  “We only put up the idea,” French pointed out, tactfully.

  “The fact is, sir,” the newcomer looked from one to the other, “that I thought of murder at first, but afterwards it seemed so certain that it was accident that I dropped the murder idea. Having done that, you can understand that I stopped looking for suspicious circumstances.”

  “Very natural: I should have done the same myself,” Sir Mortimer agreed, easily. “But the chief inspector here is the very devil. You can’t get anything past him. Better take Rankin to your room, French, and have your talk.”

  French took an instantaneous liking to the young inspector. Instead of showing resentment, he seemed grateful for French’s idea and was clearly out to get any help he could with his case. Moreover, he was efficient also: eager about his work and with the details of what had happened at his finger ends.

  “There were no tongs in the case at all, sir,” he explained. “None were found at ‘Riverview’ and none were missing from the Zoo. We found no bag or net which could have been used to carry the snake. There were three boxes in the deceased’s study which would have held it, but we could get no evidence that they had.”

  “There would have been enough air in them?”

  “The expert thought so. We assumed the snake had been in one of them, because there was nowhere else it could have been kept.”

  “Were they fastened?”

  “One was locked. The other two were unfastened, though the lids were closed.”

  “Could the snake have pushed up the lid and got out?”

  “The expert thought so, but he wouldn’t say for sure.”

  “And you concluded?”

  “We concluded that the snake had done what you suggest: that through a mistake the box hadn’t been locked, and that it pushed itself out under the lid. The deceased had found it as he was about to start for his chess, and had been bitten.”

  “It certainly sounds reasonable.”

  “But I think, sir, your argument about the tongs upsets it.”

  “What, then, do you propose? Will you reopen the case or let it go?”

  “About that, sir, the Chief Constable wondered if you would be good enough to come down and have a look round and then talk it over with us? That’s really what he sent me up to ask. If by any chance the thing was murder, he’s very set on getting the man.”

  Though French made no immediate reply, he was really delighted. The case had taken hold of him and he felt he should be interested to see it through. From a more humanitarian point of view he also would be set on getting the man, even if there were no interesting features in the problem. Yes, he would like to go, and he was sure Sir Mortimer would raise no objection.

  In this he was correct. The A.C. agreed at once to the proposal, and it was decided that he should accompany Rankin on the evening train back to Birmington, the formal application then following in punctilious accord with official procedure.

  Chapter XVI


  Venom: In the Conference

  Next morning French was early at police headquarters, where a conference on the Burnaby case was to be held. Rankin was waiting for him and took him to his room.

  “You can’t meet the super, sir, as he’s in hospital for an operation,” he explained, “but the Chief Constable, Mr. Stone, will take his place. He said he’d be ready about ten.”

  “That’ll suit me,” said French. “It’ll give me time to read over the inquest depositions.”

  “I’ve got everything here, sir. Perhaps you’d care to use the super’s room?”

  “No,” French returned, “I’m all right where I am. You get along with your work and don’t mind me; then if I want to ask you anything, I’ll have you within reach.”

  The favourable impression Rankin had made on French was still further strengthened when he came to examine the dossier. The reports were clear, concise, and neatly put together, and what was much rarer, were admirably indexed. The photographs, though few, were illuminating, and when French had finished the file he felt he knew fairly accurately what had taken place.

  Chief Constable Stone, who presently received them, was a complete contrast to Sir Mortimer Ellison. He was a tall, powerfully built man with a heavy face and rather sombre expression. His manner was official, and though he was polite to French, he was not in the least cordial. With the briefest of introductions he settled down in a cold impersonal way to the business of the meeting.

  “I understand from your letter, Chief Inspector, that you have made certain deductions from the fact that no snake tongs was found on the deceased’s premises. I should like to hear you discuss this point, as if I became convinced that there was any indication of murder, I should have no hesitation in re-opening the case. Perhaps you would give us your ideas.”

  French had expected a question of this kind and was prepared for it. “Certainly, sir,” he answered, “but you must please bear in mind that my conclusion was reached from a newspaper report only, and that in making it I recognised that further information might modify it considerably.”