“For God's sake don't talk as though she were a sheep being driven to the slaughter-house!” exclaimed Stella, quite pale with disgust.
“Stella dear, you forget yourself,” said Mrs Matthews repressively. She transferred her attention to the Superintendent. “One is terribly shocked, of course, but what my son says is right. This appalling thing may have been done at any time.”
“But not, Mrs Matthews, by any person,” replied Hannasyde.
She spread out her hands. “Anyone who was familiar with this house could have found the opportunity to do it, Superintendent.”
“Possibly,” agreed Hannasyde. “But few people can have had any motive for killing Miss Matthews.”
Guy muttered: “O God, we're just where we were before!”
“Ah, Superintendent,” said Mrs Matthews, sadly shaking her head. “What, after all, do we know of each other's lives? Even I who was so close to my poor sister-in-law would hesitate to say that she had no enemies of whom I knew nothing. She was a strange, eccentric woman! I have sometimes wondered whether there might not have been something in the past to account for many of her oddities. So often an apparently warped nature —”
“If you, who were so close to her, do not know of anything sinister in her past, I think we may assume that there was nothing,” interrupted Hannasyde, with an inflection of contempt in his voice. “The discovery of the medium through which the poison was administered has not enlarged the field of suspects, as a moment's reflection will, I think, show you.”
Stella grasped a chairback, and said desperately: “But not one of us three had a motive for killing Aunt Harriet! Not a real motive! This is like a nightmare! Things don't happen like this! Leave me alone, mother: I won't be quiet!” She shook off her mother's hand, laid warningly on her arm, and said, trembling: “I don't pretend to know who did it. Perhaps she knew something that—that made her dangerous. Supposing it were something about that man you're looking for—the one who disappeared?”
“Well?” said Hannasyde.
“Oh, I don't know!” she said wretchedly. “How can I know? But why don't you try and find out? My cousin told us about that man, and how you believe he had something to do with my uncle's death. Perhaps Aunt knew something about him. After all, we haven't always lived here; we don't know what may have happened in the past. My mother is quite right! You didn't know my uncle, or how Aunt Harriet hated him. Perhaps she was in a plot to murder him, and then—oh, I know this sounds far-fetched, but it isn't as far-fetched as thinking that my mother could murder aunt in that awful, coldblooded way just to get this house to herself!” Her voice broke, but she controlled it and added: “I had as strong a motive as my mother!”
“So had I,” said Guy. “A much stronger one than either of yours, too.”
“No, that isn't true,” Stella answered. “You were the only one who really liked Aunt Harriet! You always stood up for her when Mummy and I ran her down. And she didn't interfere with you. She was awfully fond of you!”
“So much so that she left me her money. Don't forget that bit,” interrupted Guy.
“You didn't want her money! Superintendent, it's all rubbish about my aunt's money! She only had quite a little, and now that Uncle Gregory's dead my brother can do what he likes with his own capital!” She stopped short, aware of the implication of her own words, and grew whiter than ever. “No. I don't mean—I didn't —”
The door opened. “What a charming reunion!” remarked a mellifluous voice. “I'm so glad. I'm not too late to join in. I should not have liked to have missed the dear Superintendent.”
“Oh, Randall!” gasped Stella, and released the chairback, and fled towards him, and clung to his arm.
He looked down at her with a curious lift to his brows. Guy, staring in astonishment at his sister's behaviour, saw a gleam in the blue eyes, hard to interpret.
Randall laid his hand on Stella's, but only to remove it from his sleeve. “My precious, you really must have some regard for my clothes,” he said with gentle reproach. “Much as I love you, I cannot permit you to maul this particular coat.” He drew her hand through his arm, and walked forward with her, his fingers still lightly clasping hers. “Now what has been happening to upset my little cousin Stella?” he inquired of the room at large. “Have you been accusing her of murdering my late aunt, Superintendent?”
“No,” said Hannasyde, “I have not.”
“You had better tell me all about it,” said Randall amiably. “I can see that you are all of you—ah, pregnant with news.”
“Really, Randall!” protested Mrs Matthews.
“They've found out what the poison was put into,” said Guy.
“Have they indeed? Well, that's very nice,” said Randall. “And what was it put into?”
“A tube of toothpaste,” answered Guy.
Randall had led Stella to a chair, and seemed to be more interested in seeing her comfortably settled into it than in Guy's disclosure. It was just a moment before he spoke, and then he merely said: “Really? Some ingenious brain at work, apparently.”
“That's exactly what I was thinking,” said Guy. “Damned ingenious!”
Randall turned away from Stella, and regarded Guy with veiled amusement. “Well, don't stop,” he said encouragingly. “What else were you thinking?”
“I don't know that I was thinking of anything else,” said Guy slowly.
“Physical disability, or cousinly forbearance?” inquired Randall, taking a cigarette out of his case and setting it between his lips.
“Neither. But Stella was saying just as you came in that perhaps Aunt Harriet was mixed up in some way with that missing fellow you told us about. Perhaps she knew too much, and that was why she was poisoned.”
Randall lit his cigarette. “On no account miss tomorrow's instalment of this thrilling story,” he murmured. “What do you call it, sweetheart? The Hand of Death? I can see that the Superintendent is positively spellbound. And so Aunt Harriet carried her secret with her to the grave! Well, well!”
“It isn't funny!” snapped Guy.
“Not in the least; it's maudlin,” said Randall crushingly.
“I don't see why there shouldn't be something in it. After all —”
Randall moaned, and covered his eyes with his hand. “My poor little cousin, have you no sense of the ludicrous?”
“Randall, there might have been something we didn't know about,” Stella said in a low voice.
He glanced down at her. “In Aunt Harriet's life? Pull yourself together, darling.”
It was at this moment that Mrs Lupton sailed into the room, swept a look round, and said in a portentous voice: “I thought as much!”
“That's very interesting,” said Randall, turning towards her immediately. “As much as what?”
“I have not come here to bandy words with you, Randall, but to find out what has been going on in this house. From the presence of these two gentlemen I deduce that my unfortunate sister, incredible as it may seem, was indeed poisoned. I demand to be told exactly what has happened!”
“Well, at the moment,” said Randall, “we are discussing an entrancing theory that your unfortunate sister was murdered because she was in possession of some hideous secret.”
Mrs Lupton cast a withering glance upon him. “Harriet was never able to keep a secret in her life,” she said. “I do not know who was responsible for this piece of nonsense, but I may say that I strongly object to it.” She glared at Hannasyde. “Have you found out how my sister was poisoned, or are you going to tell me that you are still in the dark?”
“Your sister was poisoned through the medium of a tube of toothpaste,” answered Hannasyde, who had drawn a little way back from the group, and had been silently watching and listening.
Mrs Lupton repeated: “A tube of toothpaste? I never heard of such a thing!”
“What a valuable contribution to our symposium!” remarked Randall.
“Who did it?” demanded Mrs Lupton sternl
y. “That is what I wish to know! That is what has got to be found out! Good heavens, do you realise that not one but two murders have been committed, and not one thing has been done about it?”
“My dear aunt, "them," not "it," ” corrected Randall in a pained voice.
“I am forced to look the facts in the face,” continued Mrs Lupton, disregarding this interruption, “and disagreeable though it may be, I am not one to shirk the truth. My brother and my sister have been murdered in cold blood, and I know of only one person who could have done it, or who had a motive for doing it!”
Mrs Matthews rose to her feet. “If you mean me, Gertrude, pray do not hesitate to say so!” she begged. “I am becoming quite accustomed to having the most heartless and wicked accusations made against me! But I should very much like to know how I am supposed to have got hold of any nicotine!”
“We all know how morbidly interested you are in anything to do with illness or medicine,” returned Mrs Lupton. “No doubt you could have found out, had you wanted to, where to obtain nicotine.”
Stella sat up suddenly. “You don't buy nicotine,” she said. “You extract it from tobacco. Deryk Fielding told me so. Mother wouldn't have known how to do that.”
“If it comes to that,” said Guy, “who would know, except Fielding himself?” He looked quickly up, and across the room at his cousin, his eyes narrow all at once. “Or—you, Randall!”
Randall was unperturbed by this attack. He merely tipped the ash off the end of his cigarette, and said: “Somehow I thought it wouldn't be long before I was identified with the mysterious killer of Stella's little bedtime story.”
Mrs Lupton fixed him with a cold, appraising stare. “Yes,” she said slowly, “that is perfectly true, though what reason you could have had for poisoning your Aunt Harriet I fail to see. But perhaps the Superintendent is not aware that you were training to be a doctor when your father died?”
“Yes, Mrs Lupton, I am aware of that,” Hannasyde replied.
“I do not say that it has necessarily any bearing on this case,” said Mrs Lupton fairly. “But the fact remains that you have a certain medical knowledge. You had also the strongest motive of anyone for murdering your uncle Gregory.”
Stella said, grasping the arms of her chair: “No! No, he hasn't. He doesn't want uncle's money. He told me himself he was going to get rid of it.”
An astonished silence greeted her words. Hannasyde, closely watching Randall, saw a flicker of annoyance in his face, and caught the gleam of warning in the look he flashed at Stella.
Guy broke the silence. “You—don't—want—uncle's—money?” he repeated. “What rot! I never heard such a tale!”
He burst out laughing, but Hannasyde's voice cut through his laughter. “That is very interesting, Mr Matthews. May I know why you don't want your inheritance?”
“It's as plain as a pikestaff!” said Guy scornfully. “He said it so that no one should suspect him of having poisoned uncle.”
“Thank you,” said Hannasyde. “But I spoke to your cousin, Mr Matthews, not to you.”
Randall was frowningly regarding the tip of his cigarette. He raised his eyes when Hannasyde spoke, and answered pensively: “Well, do you know, I like to shock my family now and then, my dear Superintendent.”
“You did not by any chance mean what you said to Miss Stella Matthews?”
Randall's lip curled sardonically. “Is it possible that anyone could wish to be rid of a large fortune?” he said mockingly. “The answer is to be read in my relatives' expressive countenances. They are more profoundly shocked than if it had been proved to them that I murdered my uncle and my aunt.” He moved towards the table and put his cigarette out in the ashtray that stood on it. “However, what I mean to do with my inheritance is not in the least relevant to the matter on hand. You mustn't think that I don't know how much you would like my deplorable relatives to continue their artless and revealing discussions, but—I think not, Superintendent: I think not! Let us stick to my aunt's death, shall we? You do not really believe that I had any hand in that—ah, setting aside my cousin Stella's engaging theory, of course. You suspect, and so does my dear Aunt Gertrude, that my clever Aunt Zoë is the guilty party. I don't blame you in the least. I will even go so far as to say that I don't blame my dear Aunt Gertrude either. With her own fair hands my clever aunt built up the case against herself, and I must say it does her credit. It worries you, doesn't it, Superintendent? My Aunt Harriet's death has upset a cherished theory of your own; in fact, it is quite out of order.”
He paused, but Hannasyde only said: “Go on, Mr Matthews.”
“It worried me too,” Randall said. “But I have slightly the advantage of you. I know more about the eccentricities of my family. I admit, I was quite at sea until I heard how the poison had been administered. But an idea has occurred to me.” He looked round the room. “Do any of you know what became of Uncle Gregory's tube of toothpaste?” he inquired.
No one answered for a moment; blank faces stared at him. Then Stella's chair rasped on the polished floor as she suddenly sprang up.
“Randall!” she gasped. “You're perfectly right! Aunt Harriet took it!”
“I thought as much,” said Randall.
Mrs Matthews said in a stupefied way: “Harriet took Gregory's toothpaste? To use? Well, really! How very distasteful!”
“Are you sure of this, Miss Matthews?” Hannasyde asked.
“Yes. Oh, perfectly sure! I'd forgotten all about it until my cousin asked that question. Then I remembered at once. It was the very day we found uncle's body. My aunt had his room turned out, and I met her on the landing, carrying all sorts of oddments she'd collected. I can't remember what they were—I know she had uncle's faceflannel, which she said would do for a cleaning rag, and I distinctly remember her showing me a tube of toothpaste. It was half-used, and she said she saw no reason to waste it, and was going to use it herself when she'd finished her own.”
Sergeant Hemingway, who had been till now a silent but an intensely interested auditor, said: “That accounts for the empty tube we found, Superintendent. She'd only just come to the end of it. It puzzled me a bit, that empty one being left on the wash-stand when it looked as though she'd been using the other for several days.”
Hannasyde nodded. Guy blurted out: “Then—then Aunt Harriet's death was a pure accident?”
Mrs Lupton drew a deep breath. “If this story is true, I can only say that it is a judgment on Harriet!” she announced. “I warned her that her exaggerated economies would come to no good. She would not listen to me, and here is the result! It puts me out of all patience. I am utterly disgusted!”
“Gertrude dear, remember that you are speaking of the dead,” said Mrs Matthews reproachfully.
Hannasyde was still looking at Stella. “Miss Matthews, can you remember what time it was when you met your aunt on the landing?”
Stella thought for a minute. “Well, I don't think I can, quite. I know it was before lunch. Somewhere about twelve—but I wouldn't swear to it. It might have been later.”
“Not earlier?”
“No, I'm sure it wasn't earlier.”
“Until your aunt went to turn it out, was your uncle's bathroom locked?”
She shook her head. “Oh no! His bedroom wasn't either.”
“Could anyone have gone into the bathroom without being seen, do you think?”
“Yes, easily, I should imagine. Why should—oh! To take that tube away, and burn it!” She looked round, puzzled. “But no one did. Then—then it looks as though it wasn't anyone living in the house, doesn't it?”
“We don't know that Fielding didn't try,” said Guy. “But he didn't get the chance, because Beecher went up to uncle's room with him.”
“I'm sure it wasn't Deryk,” answered Stella shortly.
“Well, what about Randall?” said Guy. “Just as a matter of interest, dear cousin Randall, what were you doing on the landing that day I found you talking to Stella at the top of t
he stairs?”
“Just talking to Stella at the top of the stairs, dear cousin Guy,” replied Randall blandly.
“Stella, what had he been up to?”
Stella glanced fleetingly at Randall, and saw that he was watching her with a faint smile. “I don't know,” she said. “You had better ask him. Anyway, Randall hadn't been near the house for days” — She stopped, and her eyes widened.
“Exactly!” said Guy triumphantly. “Randall hadn't been near the house for days, and therefore Randall never even came under suspicion. But the poison could have been put into the toothpaste at any time, and none of Randall's perfect alibis exist any longer. He hasn't got an alibi!”
Chapter Fourteen
Everyone but Stella looked at Randall. Stella cried hotly: “You're a rotten little cad, Guy! Randall never tried to cast suspicion on to you! Randall's said every spiteful, low-down thing —”
“Yes, because half the time we asked for it! But he didn't try and do the dirty on you, and you know it!”
“What the devil's the matter with you?” demanded Guy, surprised into forgetfulness of his surroundings. “You yourself said he was an amiable snake!”
A low laugh escaped the subject of this argument. “My sweet, did you really?” said Randall. “What a classic phrase!”
“I daresay I did once, but —”
“Oh, don't take it back!” said Randall. “I like it. And don't bite your little brother's head off either. That isn't a bit necessary. It is perfectly true—one might say obvious—that I have no alibi, but then Superintendent Hannasyde, who is quite as quick in the uptake as Guy, if not quicker, probably realised that for himself some time ago. If you look carefully at him you will observe a slight hint of annoyance—one might almost say chagrin—in his face. That is because he, unlike Guy, has also realised that my entry into the ranks of suspects hasn't eliminated all other suspects, but has merely enlarged the field.”
Hannasyde had listened to this with an unmoved countenance. He said in his impersonal way: “That is quite true, Mr Matthews. But at the same time —”
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