Stella put her parcels rather carefully down on the table, and replied after a slight pause: “Well, we practically knew that. What was it?”
“Nicotine. Same as uncle.”
She nodded. “Bound to be. Where are the police?”
“In the library, with mother. They wouldn't let me stay.”
“Have they found out what the poison was put into?”
“No. At least, I don't think so. They took away a lot of medicines and things from Aunt Harriet's room on Saturday. I suppose there hasn't been time to analyse them yet.”
Stella slowly pulled off her gloves, and smoothed out the fingers. “As long as they don't know how the stuff was given, there's no need for us to panic,” she said.
“No one's panicking,” he answered irritably. “But they'll go on motive. I tell you, I've thought it all out from A to Z. It was all right when uncle died. Anybody might have done it. But Aunt Harriet's death has narrowed the field down to two: myself and Mother. And the serious part of it is that we had motives for both murders. No one else had the slightest motive for murdering Aunt Harriet. It's no use blinking facts: one or other of us is going to be arrested—perhaps both of us.
“Don't be such an ass!” said Stella. “They can't prove anything against either of you—can they?”
Guy stopped pacing up and down, and came to a halt by the table, and stood facing his sister across it. “If you'll take the trouble to look at it fair and square you'll see they've got a nasty-looking case against us,” he said forcibly. “I was in a jam, and nothing would induce me to go to South America, so I poisoned uncle. Then I found that Aunt Harriet had left her money to me, and because I'm hard-up, I poisoned her, too.”
“No one would commit a murder for ,000,” said Stella.
“Wouldn't they just? Don't you believe it, my girl! People commit murders for much less.”
“At that rate, I might have murdered her because she made the house unbearable.”
“I don't think so. Of course, you might have murdered uncle because he threatened to ruin Fielding, but that isn't likely either, especially now it's all off between you. It's Mother the police suspect. She was dressing when they turned up, and I interviewed them first. The Superintendent asked me a whole lot of questions—damned awkward ones! Those blasted servants must have been talking. If you think it over, you can see for yourself how suspicious things must look. You remember the row Mother had with Uncle Gregory about me going to Brazil? Well, naturally, you do: it's the only real quarrel she ever had with him, and the whole household knows of it. But as I see it, it wouldn't matter so much about that if she hadn't so suddenly stopped having a row, and gone all honey-sweet to uncle.”
“Oh, that's just Mummy!” Stella said quickly. “Partly remembering she was a Christian, and partly hoping to coax uncle. Anyone who knows Mummy would recognise that act.”
“The point is the police don't know her. Why, good Lord, even I was surprised at her giving in so soon! And apparently she told the police she never took uncle seriously over the Brazilian business, and that's an obvious lie. I don't mind betting the servants are ready to swear she was more serious than she's ever been before. And you know what she is! She always believes things happened in exactly the way she wants to think they did, and consequently she comes out with the most idiotic fibs, which a babe in arms could see through.”
“Yes, but surely the police can't think that she'd murder Aunt Harriet simply for the sake of getting this house to herself?”
Guy brought his open palm down on the table. “Don't be such a thick-headed little fool! Don't you realise that uncle left a trust of ,000 a year for the upkeep of this place? Well, as things were, not only did Aunt Harriet run the show, but £2,000 was just about enough. With Aunt Harriet dead it's a good deal more than enough! Now do you see?”
“No, I don't,” said Stella stoutly. “The money wasn't going to be given to Aunt to spend as she liked.”
“Thanks, I know exactly how it was left. The trustees have to pay the rates and taxes, and that kind of thing, but the balance is paid into the Bank quarterly, and as long as it isn't overstepped, who's to say how it shall be spent?”
“Yes, I see that,” admitted Stella. “At the same time, it's a bit thick to think a thing like that about Mummy, whatever her faults may be.”
“It isn't what I think. It's what the police are going to think,” said Guy.
“Well, I should imagine they'd think twice before arresting her,” replied Stella. “If she'd wanted to murder Aunt Harriet she could surely have waited till uncle's death blew over. I mean, to do it now is absolutely asking for trouble!”
“No, I don't agree with you,” said Guy instantly. “If she did it, she probably thought it would be safer while the police were in a complete fog over uncle's death. Lots of people to suspect. If she'd waited she'd probably have been the only suspect. Something like that might have gone on in her mind.”
Stella gave a shiver. “It's too beastly. Shut up about it, for God's sake! What about that man Randall spoke of—I can't remember his name?”
“What man? Oh, that rubbish! I don't know: it sounded to me like Randall trying to be funny.”
“No, it wasn't. He meant it.”
“Well, if he did I can't see what it can have to do with Aunt Harriet's death.”
“No,” said Stella heavily. “Randall said that too.” She glanced towards the library-door. “How long has Mother been shut up with the police?”
“About twenty minutes.” Guy began to walk up and down again. “I can't make Mother out!” he said. “Generally she doesn't give away much. She didn't when uncle died. But this time she seems—badly rattled.”
“It's enough to rattle anybody.”
“Well, I wish to God she'd stop telling everybody how much she's going to miss Aunt, and how heartbroken she is!” said Guy explosively. “It rings so dam' false!”
Stella considered this. “Do you know, I'm not so sure of that? It's quite possible she does miss her.”
Guy stared at her. “They fought like cats!”
“Yes, I know, but—but they were awfully used to each other, and they often joined forces against uncle, or Aunt Gertrude, and if ever one of them was ill the other always rallied round at once.”
“Better if they hadn't!” Guy said significantly. “Oh, hell, why did Mother give Aunt a medicine of her own instead of sending for the doctor? And what possessed her to forbid anyone to go into Aunt's room? The servants all say that she impressed it on them that they weren't to disturb Aunt, and it came out today that she even forbade Mary to sweep the landing that morning.”
“Anyone would have done the same,” insisted Stella. “Aunt said she was sleepy, so naturally Mummy wouldn't let Mary fidget about outside her room.”
Guy started to reply, but broke off as the library-door was opened, and looked quickly round. Mrs Matthews stood holding the door-handle, and said in a faint voice: “Stella, I want you.”
Both her children at once went towards her. Stella slipped a sustaining arm round her waist, and said: “It's all right, Mummy; I'm here. What is it?”
Mrs Matthews led her into the library. “Darling child, I want you to think back carefully, and tell the Superintendent. Do you remember when poor Aunt Harriet was taken ill how you and I discussed whether we should send for Dr Fielding or not?”
“Yes, of course,” responded Stella, whose only recollection was of her mother stating that a doctor was quite unnecessary. She looked across the room to where Hannasyde stood, and met his searching gaze unflinchingly. “I didn't think it was in the least called-for.”
Hannasyde did not reply to her, but instead addressed her mother. “Mrs Matthews, this is quite useless. The fact remains that you did not send for a doctor, though it must surely have been obvious to a woman of your experience that your sister-in-law was very unwell indeed.”
Stella felt her mother's fingers tighten unconsciously on her own arm. “But it was
not obvious!” Mrs Matthews said, in a low, unsteady voice. “I knew she felt sick, and I saw that she was a bad colour, but I put that down to acute indigestion. She never had what I call a really healthy colour, never!”
“Mrs Matthews, your sister-in-law must have felt other symptoms than these. Did she not complain to you of cramp, or a creeping in her arms, or even of extreme cold in her feet and hands?”
“I can't remember her mentioning anything beyond sickness and giddiness. She may have said she felt chilly, but I should expect that. I gave her a hot-water bottle.”
“And yet,” said Hannasyde, “when Miss Matthews passed the butler in the hall, on her way up to her room, he was struck by her appearance, and thought that she seemed to be out of breath, as though she had been running.”
“So he says!” Guy interpolated scornfully. “Servants will make up any tale to create a sensation!”
“If he made it up, Mr Matthews, it is an odd coincidence that the shortness of breath which he described should be one of the symptoms of nicotine poisoning. Did you not notice it, Mrs Matthews?”
“If I did I should only have thought it due to faintness,” replied Mrs Matthews.
“Your sister-in-law did not complain to you of feeling very ill?”
Mrs Matthews gave a little tinkling laugh. “Poor Harriet was never one to minimise her own ailments,” she said. “I daresay that she may have said that she felt very bad, but I was so accustomed to her habit of exaggerating the least disorder, that I am afraid I didn't set a great deal of store by what she said. It seemed obvious to me that her stomach was thoroughly upset, and I did exactly what I should have done for one of my own children.”
The Superintendent's calm voice, with its undercurrent of implacability, broke in on this. “Yet Mrs Beecher, who had known Miss Matthews for seven and a half years, states that she was never one to give way easily.”
Mrs Matthews' eyes snapped. “Mrs Beecher knows nothing about it! It was hardly to be expected that my sister-in-law would confide in the cook. Stella, you know what an absurd fuss your aunt used to make if she had as much as a cold in her head, don't you?”
“Mrs Matthews, I am sure your daughter will corroborate any statement you ask her to, but you should realise that her testimony when prompted in that manner, is not likely to weigh with me.”
“It comes to this, Superintendent: you prefer to believe the servants' words sooner than mine!” said Mrs Matthews.
“It comes to this, Mrs Matthews: you have not been frank with me; you are still not being frank. It is only fair to tell you that I am not satisfied with your evidence. I must warn you that your continued refusal to remember circumstances which I am convinced cannot have slipped your memory may have very serious consequences.”
Guy, who had been standing quite still, with his back to the door, suddenly walked forward into the middle of the room, and said: “Stella, let mother sit down. Look here, Superintendent, my mother had nothing whatsoever to do with either of these murders, and I'm not going to stand by and see her bullied by you, or anyone else! What the Beechers say is utterly beside the point. They neither of them like my mother, and they're under notice to leave. My aunt didn't complain of any of the things you've mentioned to my sister and me at breakfast, and we neither of us thought that she looked particularly ill.”
“That is quite possible,” said Hannasyde. “Some little time elapsed between your seeing your aunt at breakfast and the butler's meeting her in the hall. I appreciate your feelings in the matter, Mr Matthews, but you are doing no good by this sort of interruption.”
“There's one thing you seem to be leaving out of account,” said Guy, disregarding this warning. “Both my sister and I can certify that my aunt complained of feeling ill at breakfast, before ever she had seen my mother. If you imagine there was nicotine in the medicine my mother gave her, I would remind you that it was given at least an hour after she began to feel ill—and, since you set so much store by what Beecher says—after he had met her in the hall, and been struck by her appearance.”
“I am quite aware of that, Mr Matthews.”
“It is utterly absurd,” said Mrs Matthews, pressing her handkerchief to her lips, “but the Superintendent seems to think that I could have put that dreadful poison into your aunt's early-morning teapot.” She gave a wan smile, and added: “If it were not such a painful thought, so wounding to one's feeling, I could laugh at it! I haven't the least idea what was done with the early tea-trays, and I didn't wake until the housemaid came into my room, so how I could have tampered with your aunt's teapot, I entirely fail to see.”
“You say that you only awoke when the maid came into your room, Mrs Matthews, but she states that you were already awake when she went in. Are you quite sure that you are telling me the truth?”
“I suppose,” said Mrs Matthews tragically, “that you are at liberty to insult me as much as you choose. It only remains for you to arrest me. Indeed, I am astonished that you haven't done so already.”
Hannasyde did not answer immediately, and Guy, who at the mention of the early tea had shot one swift, horrified look at his sister, now removed his hand from the back of his mother's chair, and said jerkily: “Nobody's going to arrest you, mother, I can assure you. You're very clever, Superintendent, but it was I who poisoned my aunt, not my mother.”
“Guy, you fool!” Stella cried.
He paid no attention to her, but looked squarely at Hannasyde. Mrs Matthews said tensely: “That's not true! Don't listen to him! I know it's not true!”
Hannasyde met Guy's bright, defiant eyes with an enigmatical look in his own. “How did you poison your aunt, Mr Matthews?”
“In her tea,” replied Guy. “The tea she had at breakfast. I was down first. I knew my sister always has coffee. When I told you I drank tea that day, I lied. I didn't. I drank coffee.”
“No, Guy, no!” said his mother. “You don't know what you're saying! Superintendent, my son is only trying to shield me! There's not a word of truth in what he says! You can see for yourself —”
“Did you also poison your uncle, Mr Matthews?” inquired Hannasyde.
“Yes, in the whiskey-and-soda,” replied Guy recklessly.
“Stop being theatrical!” Stella said angrily. “What good do you think you're doing, making dramatic gestures? You did not drink coffee that morning, or any other morning! You don't like coffee! You're behaving like someone in a penny novelette!”
Guy paid no heed to this, but continued to address the Superintendent. “Well, have you got a warrant for my arrest?” he demanded.
“No, I'm afraid I haven't,” replied Hannasyde.
“Then you'd better go and apply for one!” said Guy.
“When I am satisfied that I have sufficient grounds for doing so, I will,” promised Hannasyde.
“I don't know what more you want!” said Guy, in a somewhat flattened voice.
Sergeant Hemingway came into the room at that moment, and handed his superior a sealed envelope.
“Excuse me, please,” Hannasyde said formally, and tore open the envelope, and spread open the single sheet it contained. He ran his eye down the typewritten lines, and then looked up, and at Guy, who said at once: “You're wasting your time trying to badger my mother. I've told you what happened. Now get on with it, and arrest me!”
“I am sorry, Mr Matthews, but you have not shown me sufficient grounds for applying for a warrant for your arrest. You have stated that you put the poison in your aunt's tea, but Miss Matthews did not swallow the nicotine which killed her.”
These words produced a sudden, surprised silence. Guy broke it. “What do you mean, she didn't swallow it? She must have swallowed it!”
“Yes, I thought you didn't know quite as much about it as you pretended, Mr Matthews,” said Hannasyde. “The nicotine did not pass through the stomach. It was absorbed through the tissues of the mouth.” He held up the paper in his hand. “This is the analyst's report, which I've been waiting for. Th
e medium through which your aunt was poisoned was a tube of toothpaste.”
“A-tube-of-toothpaste?” Guy repeated, blankly, and then was silent.
Hannasyde folded the report again, and put it away in his pocketbook. The deliberation of his movements seemed to fascinate Stella; her eyes followed them in a kind of numb bewilderment while a jumble of thoughts chased one another through her brain. These found expression presently in one sentence, blurted out unwarily. “Then anyone might have done it!”
“I don't think so, Miss Matthews.”
Mrs Matthews said with something of her usual smoothness: “Stella darling, just sit down and be quiet. You don't know anything about this, my dear child, and you must not keep on interrupting.” She turned towards Hannasyde, and said graciously: “You see now how absurd your suspicions were, Superintendent. We won't say any more about it, however. Naturally I understand that your duty compels you to suspect everybody. But this is most amazing news! A tube of toothpaste! You mean, I suppose, that the poison was injected into it. A hypodermic syringe, no doubt. I don't think that anyone in this house owns such a thing. It is a very, very terrible thought that my poor sister-in-law should have —”
Guy made an impatient gesture, as though to silence her. “How was it done?” he asked. “Are you at liberty to tell us that?”
“Certainly,” said Hannasyde. “The poison was in all probability injected, as your mother seems to have realised, by means of a hypodermic syringe, inserted into the bottom end of the tube, and driven up a little way through the paste. The paste at the bottom of the tube is untainted, and it is obvious that the paste at the top end must also have been free from poison.”
Guy said softly: “By Jove, that's clever! It might have been done at any time, then. Aunt Harriet has been working her way down the tube for days, till at last she reached the poison! Gosh!”
“It's awful!” Stella said. “It's devilish!”
“One can only be thankful poor Harriet knew nothing about it,” remarked Mrs Matthews in a saintly voice.
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