Antidote to Venom

by Freeman Wills Crofts

  The chief constable nodded shortly.

  “I’ll put what I have to say in the form of questions. First, did the deceased require tongs or other instruments to steal the snake and use it for his experiments at his home? If so, and as none such were found, someone got rid of them. Was this person the deceased? If not, someone else was present and the idea of murder is introduced.

  “Now, with regard to the first question—” and French went on to state his views in detail.

  The Chief Constable seemed impressed. “I admit you’ve made a strong case,” he said, “but I don’t know that it’s entirely convincing. I agree with you that the stealing of the snake and conveying it to ‘Riverview’ would have required tongs or other apparatus. I’m not convinced that the experiments the deceased was carrying out would have done so, because we don’t know exactly what these were. It seems possible, for instance, that the deceased might merely have lowered a guinea pig into the cage and lifted it out again when it was bitten, which could have been done with a basket and cord. Upon this point I think we must therefore reserve judgment.”

  “I agree, sir,” French admitted.

  “Then I’m with you that if there was a tongs at ‘Riverview,’ someone other than the deceased removed it, but I’m not with you when you say that murder necessarily follows. I think another person can be introduced into the affair without involving murder. And here I would ask the question: did the deceased steal the snake?”

  “The balance of evidence seems to be against it.”

  “Quite: then why shouldn’t he have employed someone to do it for him? Look at it this way. Suppose he bribed one of the attendants to take the snake from the Zoo to his house. This man would probably use a tongs, but on putting the snake in Burnaby’s cage—probably one of those boxes—he would return the tongs. If not, the suggestion evidently intended—that the snake escaped—would have been negatived.”

  French had not thought of this, but he was not going to say so. “I admit that’s perfectly possible, sir, but personally I think it unlikely. Some objection was taken to the theory that the deceased had stolen the snake on the grounds of character: that he was too upright to do it. But it would certainly be much more strongly against his code to bribe a servant to steal from his employer, than to steal himself. Frankly, sir, from the evidence, I don’t believe he did it.”

  “Very well. Leave that for the moment and assume that your theory involves murder. Who do you think might have committed the crime?”

  “I had no evidence on that point, sir, but I knew that the deceased was well off and assumed he had an heir.”

  The Chief Constable turned to Rankin. “Tell him about that, Inspector.”

  “We thought of that as a motive for murder too, sir,” the young man answered. “The deceased was worth between twenty and twenty-five thousand pounds, so his heir had a strong motive for doing him in. We found the heir. He’s a nephew named Capper, a solicitor. He practises at Bursham, a town about forty miles from here. His practice is small and he lives in a rather poor way. So he had a doubly strong motive. But he was innocent. I went into his movements and he was in his house at the time of the death.”

  Here was a reversal of all French’s theories.

  “You’re sure of that, I suppose?” he asked, rather weakly.

  “Absolutely. The doctor rang him up as soon as the deceased died, which, as you remember, was not more than half an hour after he was bitten, and he answered from his home. He then went to a nearby garage for his car, which was there, waiting some repairs. All that was substantiated by various witnesses. No sir, there’s no doubt of his innocence.”

  “And you heard of no other suspect?”

  “None, sir.”

  This certainly was a blow to French. It was beginning to look as if his fear that he had made a fool of himself would be realised. How often, he thought, when he had suspected someone else of error, it had turned out that he himself was the one in fault. Poetic justice, he supposed, but unpleasant.

  He had been surprised at the uncanny readiness with which Stone had invited him down and heard his views. Now he began to wonder if the motive had been less admirable than he had supposed. Had Stone, for some reason jealous of the Yard and anxious to give it a snub, seized what he believed would prove an opportunity for doing so? It wasn’t very likely, perhaps, but it certainly was possible.

  But though French realised he might be wrong, he was not going to give way without a struggle. He considered the matter for a few moments, then with some misgivings embarked on a reply.

  “I appreciate what you say, sir, and you have thought of a good deal which hadn’t occurred to me. All the same, I still feel doubtful on the matter. Let me put it as I now see it.”

  Stone nodded and French went on with gradually increasing assurance. “My first point, modified by your remarks, now stands like this: If Burnaby alone had been concerned in the matter, he would have had a tongs or other apparatus. This would have been necessary to capture the snake and convey it to his house, as a man of his years could scarcely have carried one of the boxes all that distance. Once arrived at his house, it is surely unlikely that he would have gone back to replace the tongs, as that would involve a capability for plotting and deceit not in accordance with his character. If I’m right so far, the disappearance of the tongs seems to prove the presence of some other person.”

  “I don’t think you can say it proves it, though I admit the probability. But I point out that this other person need not have been a murderer.”

  “Very well, sir, suppose another person was involved. Who was that person? Either he was employed by the deceased to steal the snake, or else he was a murderer. If he had been a casual or innocent acquaintance, he would have come forward.”

  Stone nodded again.

  “From the point of view of character once more,” went on French, “it is unlikely that the deceased employed anyone for such a purpose. Therefore the balance of probability—I put it no higher—suggests the murderer.”

  “I agree with that so long as you keep it as a probability. But to my mind the probability is over-ruled by the fact that no possible suspect had a motive.”

  “I suggest, sir, we’re scarcely in a position to say that. However, we can easily test the point. If the deceased employed anyone to act for him, it should be easy to find it out. I don’t want to push the view, as it’s your case, not mine, but I think this is important. If someone stole the snake for him and replaced the tongs, I’d drop the case; if no one did, I should suspect murder and carry on.”

  It was now Stone’s turn to hesitate. “I have felt all along,” he said at last, “that the entire theory we are holding is inadequate. I am not satisfied that the deceased ever stole a snake or got anyone else to do it for him. I know it can be argued that for the sake of the greater good which success with his experiments would involve, he might have winked at the smaller evil, but even that does not accord with his character. This is why I asked you to come down, and if I could see that murder was possible, I should concentrate on it.”

  The man’s honesty was patent, and with a slight feeling of shame French mentally withdrew his former suspicions.

  “Your idea of finding out who stole the snake seems good to me,” went on Stone. “I’m inclined to agree that if we knew that, it would solve the major problem.”

  French was delighted. Certainly no snub either to himself or to the Yard was intended. He expressed his approval of the other’s views.

  “What about approaching it from the opposite angle?” he went on. “I mean, considering all those connected with the Zoo, who could have committed the theft?”

  “We’ve done so,” Stone returned, “though possibly not sufficiently completely. We took them in order, beginning with Surridge, the director, and going right down to the various labourers. But none of them had any motive that we could
discover.” Stone paused for a moment, but as French did not speak, he went on: “Very well; the next question is, can you stay and look into it for us? Rankin has unavoidably got behind in his routine work and it would be a convenience if you could spare the time. Of course, Rankin would help you.”

  This was better and better. It was what French had been hoping for. “You would have to consult Sir Mortimer, I’m afraid, sir,” he pointed out. “But it would only be a matter of form. We’re rather slack at present and he’s certain to agree.”

  So it happened that through the accident of his wife’s brother-in-law trying to make himself agreeable, French became involved in one of the strangest cases he had ever known in the entire course of his career.

  He spent the remainder of that day in reading all that had been written on the affair, visiting the Zoo and “Riverview,” getting a detailed knowledge of the locality, interviewing Dr. Marr, and making up a programme of future work.

  Fortified next morning by the arrival from the Yard of his “first aid” suitcase containing lenses, forceps, bottles, envelopes, note-books, camera, and similar aids to detection, he set to work on the first item of his programme. This was to compile a list of all those who might have been bribed by Burnaby to steal and hand over to him the snake and then to interview all on the list and form his own opinion of their personalities. For this he enlisted the aid of Peter Milliken, to whom Arthur introduced him. He would, as a matter of fact, have applied to George in the first instance, had not George gone that morning to London.

  “I don’t want it known that enquiries are being made, Milliken,” he explained. “I should just like to walk round with you while you speak to the various men; just to see what they’re like, you know.”

  “I understand, French. But you won’t get anywhere that way. Not one of these fellows would have done the job.”

  Milliken proved a useful ally. Under his guidance French talked to all the possible suspects, with entirely negative results.

  He was impressed with Milliken’s certainty that Burnaby could not himself have obtained the snake. The head keeper argued not from the moral view, but from the physical. To pick out one of four venomous snakes from a cage was a job requiring more skill than the broken old man possessed. This, reinforced so strongly his own and Stone’s view reached from other premises, that French felt he might definitely accept it.

  If he were right so far, it certainly strengthened the murder theory. But French was always afraid of too rapid work: it generally meant that he overlooked something. At this juncture, therefore, instead of reporting to Stone, he once more concentrated on the list of persons whom Burnaby might have bribed, wondering if by chance he had missed anyone.

  Presently he felt glad he had done so. In reading the dossier again he saw that there was another possible suspect. Cochrane! Had Cochrane been Burnaby’s tool?

  A search of the reports showed that Cochrane had been employed at the Zoo as a night watchman, had been dismissed for inattention to duty, and had evidently taken his discharge hard. His bitter frame of mind would make him a willing agent, as he would feel he would be getting some of his own back. So far satisfactory, French thought. But when he went on to read that Cochrane’s daughter was a day maid at “Riverview,” and that since his dismissal the man himself had worked there intermittently as a gardener and handyman, he grew very much more interested.

  He saw Rankin and put the matter to him. The Inspector was obviously impressed.

  “He’s started in business for himself,” Rankin explained. “I happened to notice him yesterday riding a cycle combination with ‘John Cochrane. Window Cleaner’ on it.”

  French looked at him. “Where did he get the money for that, do you suppose?” he asked.

  “Just what occurred to me, sir, when you spoke.”

  “Might be no harm to make a few enquiries,” French considered.

  “Yes, sir. Will you have Cochrane here and question him?”

  “Not for the moment, I think. Let’s trace the purchase of the combination. Can you put a man on to it?”

  “Certainly, sir. I’ll see to it at once.”

  Either police efficiency or good luck produced an early result. In less than two hours the information had been obtained.

  The combination consisted of a three-wheeled push cycle cart, carrying a long light sectional ladder and a box for cloths, etc. Cochrane had bought it, appearing alone in the transaction. He had paid cash—twenty-two one pound notes.

  “It’s not a big sum, sir,” Rankin pointed out. “He might have had it in the bank.”

  “He can say so if he had,” French answered shortly. “I think now we’d better have him in.”

  At nine o’clock that night French arrived at headquarters for the interview. Cochrane had just come, and after letting him wait for a little to induce the proper frame of mind, he was called into Rankin’s room.

  French was not greatly taken with either his manner or appearance. The man was strongly on the defensive and appeared to consider his summons a grievance. He was obviously unwilling to give information and suspicious of every question asked. All the same, French had to admit that he exhibited no actual signs of guilt.

  “It’s just a question or two,” Rankin began, French having left the interrogation to him. “You don’t have to answer unless you want to, but,” he smiled, “it’s always wise to help the police when you can.”

  “You ain’t got nothing on me at all,” Cochrane returned. “I ain’t done nothing and I don’t know w’y I should ’ave been brought ’ere like this.”

  “We’re not accusing you of anything. All we want to know is where you got the money you paid to Humphries for your cycle combination.”

  Cochrane looked surprised, but not specially uneasy. “Think I sneaked it, do you? Well, you’ve got it wrong this time. I got it puffectly reg’lar, so there.”

  “That’s all right,” Rankin returned easily. “I never suggested you sneaked it. But we’d be glad to know where you got it all the same.”

  “And if I don’t tell you? You said I didn’t ’ave to.”

  “If you don’t tell us we’ll begin to suspect something’s wrong. You can surely see that for yourself?”

  Cochrane didn’t reply. Rankin’s quiet manner was having its effect and he seemed to be slowly growing reassured.

  “I got it from the old professor, if you must know,” he said at last. “’E give it to me the week before ’e died.”

  “That’s all right: I’m not doubting you. Now if you will answer one more question, it’ll be all we’ll want. What did he give you the money for?”

  “To buy me blooming outfit,” the man answered, more promptly.

  “I didn’t mean that. I mean, why did he give it to you? Was he paying you for a service or what?”

  Again Cochrane grew aggressive. “No, ’e weren’t paying me for no service. W’en I worked for ’im ’e paid me me wages. But this weren’t for no blooming work.”

  “Then why did he give it?”

  “W’y did ’e give it?” Cochrane’s voice took on a truculent note. “W’y, just because ’e were a gent. ’E saw me threw out of a job there at the Zoo through ’ardly any fault of me own, an’ ’e saw I couldn’t get another job, an’ ’e just give it to me to get a start. An’ wot’s more, I didn’t ask ’im for it. ’E suggested it ’imself, ’e did.”

  “You mean he simply wanted to help you out of a hole?”

  “Isn’t that wot I say? ’E said I was to consider it a loan an’ I was to pay it back, if an’ w’en I could. An’ so I meant to, an’ would ’ave if ’e’d lived. But I’ll not pay it now, not to no one.”

  “Anyone else know about the gift?”

  “Not a blessed soul except me son an’ me wife an’ daughter, if they’re any good.”

  This seemed all that Cochrane could t
ell and he was got rid of with a word of thanks for his trouble.

  “I’ve been making inquiries about him since, sir,” Rankin went on when they were alone, “and he seems a quiet decent sort of man. He was dismissed for leaving his job as night watchman to go home and give medicine to his sick wife. I’m not excusing him, but it was different from leaving to get drink or something of that kind. Since then he’s really been trying to pick up a job, and there’s never been any hint of dishonesty against him.”

  “My impression was that he was speaking the truth,” French returned. He spoke a little absently. It had suddenly occurred to him that he had been to some extent putting the cart before the horse. He should have gone on at once to Item 2 on his programme, which ran: “Blaney-Heaton on what Burnaby was working at.” The professor’s evidence, he now saw, might give the test they required. It might, in fact, not only settle this matter of Cochrane’s part in the affair, but also the major question of whether or not Burnaby was experimenting with the snake.

  “I’ll go round and have a word with Professor Blaney-Heaton,” he told Rankin. “He examined those notes of the deceased’s, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, sir, he went through them carefully.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “‘Cortina,’ Bloomfield Park. No. 17 bus passes the door.”

  “Just ring him up, will you, and make an appointment. I’ll go now if he can see me.”

  Twenty minutes later French was ushered into the scientist’s library.

  “It’s all right, Chief Inspector,” Blaney-Heaton replied to his apologies for the hour of his call, “I’m a late bird myself. What can I do for you?”

  “What I wanted to know, sir, was the exact line of research upon which the deceased was working at the time of his death. I understand you looked over his papers, and I wondered whether you could answer the question?”

  Blaney-Heaton passed across a box of cigarettes, and when both men had lit up, he replied: “Yes, I think I can, but I’m afraid,” he added, with a slight smile, “it’s rather technical. Are you up in organic chemistry?”