I seemed to lie for a long time, wondering what had happened. Then, as people began to crowd round me, I felt a violent pain in my right arm and another, only a little less severe, in the fingers of my left hand. The doctor took me gently by the shoulders and pulled me to a sitting position. I looked up stupidly. Then the whole room swam round me and I was violently sick.
‘Lord! How beastly!’
It was Dixon who spoke first. I think even Amabel felt that he rather than I had committed a breach of good manners, for she darted to the table of refreshments and brought me some brandy. Meanwhile, Mrs Quisberg was wringing her hands and murmuring endearments.
‘Oh, the poor boy. Is he very much hurt, Doctor? Oh, I hope it’s not concussion of the brain. All right, Malcolm, dear. We’ll look after you. We’ll soon have you comfortable. Doctor, do you think you can do everything, or shall I ring up Dr McKenzie? Perhaps Nurse is still up.’
‘I’ll go and see,’ said Clarence.
‘She’s in the grey room,’ his mother shouted, as he went precipitately through the door.
‘The nurse can do nothing that I can’t do,’ said Dr Green, who still supported me. ‘Nor your Dr McKenzie either. Leave him to me.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I gasped, feeling oddly revived at the sound of the doctor’s voice. ‘I shall be better in a few minutes. Just leave me, will you?’
‘There’s only one place for you, and that’s bed,’ said the doctor. ‘Where’s his room, Letty?’
‘Next door to this – the bogy-hole. Oh, but let him have Axel’s room, or mine, now. And do you want Nurse?’
‘I hate all nurses,’ I said. ‘They make me feel ill. If Dr Green will help me to my room—’
He raised me to my feet, and to my great relief I found that I could walk without any difficulty. Evidently I still had legs, if not arms. Mrs Quisberg opened the door and went before us down the long corridor to my room. A big fire was burning, and a mound under the bedclothes denoted a hot-water bottle.
‘It does seem pitifully small,’ she said, looking round at the congested furniture, and shuddering.
I reassured her and the doctor bustled her away. He then took off my coat, waistcoat and shirt and examined my arms. Apart from a little bruising of the fingers of my left hand, my left arm was unhurt. My right arm, however, was very painful and had begun to swell from the elbow downwards, while I could not move the fingers of my right hand at all.
‘Broke your fall, you see. That’s the trouble,’ he muttered. ‘When you fall in future, always remember to let yourself go. You’ll do far less damage. Well, my boy, if I had a professional reputation (which, I’m glad to say, I haven’t), I’d stake it on your having broken no bones. An ordinary doctor wouldn’t know. He’d either hope for the best, if he was a country one, and do nothing, or if he was a Londoner, he’d hustle you off to a radiologist who’d charge you five guineas for a snapshot. Of course you can go to one if you like.’
‘I don’t in the least want to,’ I said.
‘Well, I’m an extraordinary doctor, and I’m positive there’s no need. Just a little soothing massage first – so – so – and so—’
As he spoke, his chubby fingers wandered lightly but skilfully over the painful area, and brought an amazing relief. Suddenly he chuckled.
‘You said you hoped you wouldn’t be a patient of mine; don’t you remember? Oh, these prophetic words spoken so lightly – these little kinks in the film of the future which get mixed up in the present! Don’t you like it? Isn’t it comforting? And what a thin skin! There now. No, lie quite still. I shan’t hurt you. Ssss!’
He made the noise of a man grooming a horse.
‘Now, have a little rest, while I fetch some balm and a bandage from my room. Shut your eyes and think of all the money you’ve made to-day, and don’t move.’
He went out, and in obedience to his orders, I began to wonder what was happening at the Carlton. Was ‘the deal through’, or was G—— trying to drive too hard a bargain? As the owner of three hundred Harrington Cobalts (for which I should have difficulty in paying) I felt Mr Quisberg ought to let me know as soon as he came in. But, of course, we were not to expect him till Christmas morning. Christmas! Stockings, holly, crackers, carols, too much plum-pudding, and the vague depression which even in childhood had seemed to surround the whole business – and the summer still so very far away.
I was embarking on one of those gently doleful reveries to which I am often liable, when the doctor came back, with his appliances.
‘First,’ he said, ‘I’m going to give you something to make you sleep. No protests, please. An ordinary doctor wouldn’t have thought of this. Your arm will become very painful in the night, and you won’t get much rest if you don’t do as I tell you. An ordinary doctor wouldn’t mind that, of course. He wouldn’t be interested in you. He’d be interested only in your case, and pain is the last thing which concerns him. I, on the other hand, think of everything, including your general well-being. Now drink this.’
I drank.
‘It will have effect in about half an hour. Now for the embrocation and the bandage, and a little look at your legs, to see if there’s any more trouble, and I’ll put you to bed. Your left hand will be well to-morrow, and your right arm – provided always that I am privileged to continue treating it – in three days, or less. But don’t try to use it just yet.’
As he spoke, he started on his programme. The bandage, though very tight, gave me a feeling of confidence, and I was delighted to think that my injuries were to be cured so soon. Was it faith-healing, I wondered? At all events, I put myself completely in his hands, while a slight drowsiness helped to blunt my critical sense.
‘May I come in?’
It was Mrs Quisberg again.
‘By all means,’ shouted the doctor, ‘if you wish to see him naked!’
She came in, undeterred, barely giving him time to throw something over me. But I was no longer uppermost in her thoughts.
‘Doctor,’ she said. ‘I wonder, could you spare me a little of the draught you’re giving Malcolm? It’s Mrs Harley, who’s having a fit of nerves or something. She says she’s afraid she won’t get any rest to-night. Being in a strange house seems to have upset her, or perhaps it was that noisy game and Malcolm’s fall. At any rate, she’s all trembly, and when I saw you come down with the drink—’
‘Oh, these women!’ he answered. ‘All right. Leave me five minutes and I’ll get you some.’
She smiled and looked down at me.
‘Isn’t he a boor? Well, dear, I do hope you’ll be comfortable. Is there nothing more I can do? A little brandy, do you think, Doctor, in case he feels faint?’
‘Certainly not,’ he said. ‘He’ll be asleep five minutes after I get his pyjamas on, and as I can’t do that – without offending the laws of propriety – as long as you are within sight, dear lady, perhaps you’ll say good night to Malcolm and wait for me outside.’
‘All right, but don’t keep me too long. I’ve got my patient to consider. Good night, Malcolm, dear, and sleep well.’
As she went out, the doctor made a face.
‘There now,’ he said, when he had tucked me up in bed, ‘go off to sleep at once, and don’t dare to move till I come to see you in the morning. Shall I hang up a Christmas stocking? No? Perhaps you’re right. It might tempt our hostess to come back and fill it. Hush-a-bye baby! Sweet dreams!’
He turned off the light and went out. As the door shut, I remember hearing him say, ‘Now what about this poor lady?’ and the voice of Mrs Quisberg in voluble reply. Then I fell asleep.
III. Discovery
Christmas Day – Dawn
I slept very soundly till an hour or so before dawn, and then dozed, becoming with each spell of wakefulness a little more conscious of discomfort in my right arm. By about half past seven I was in possession of my senses, and somewhat restless. The doctor had left the window-curtains pulled together the night before, thus violating one of
my habits, and I got out of bed to let the daylight in. It was a very misty morning and apart from a few gaunt trees near the window I could see nothing of the garden. Then suddenly I noticed, on the extreme right of my piece of balcony, a most peculiar shape resting obliquely against the railings. The top end was hidden from my view by a pillar which jutted out from the wall, but the end which rested on the stone floor looked like a bundle of underclothes. Very slowly I came to realise that it was a body.
I have sometimes wondered what my feelings would be on finding a body, and how much revulsion and horror the discovery would bring. In this instance I felt nothing but bewilderment and the wish to make further investigations. I tried the handle of the French window, but it was too stiff for me to open with my left hand. Then I paused irresolutely.
Clearly I needed Dr Green, and it was inadvisable that anyone else should share my knowledge till he had the situation in hand. I pulled down the blind again, got into bed and rang the bell. It was answered by Edwins, the footman.
‘Will you go to Dr Green, please,’ I said, ‘and tell him that I should like to see him at once. It’s most urgent. No, don’t bother about the blind. Go straight to the doctor, will you?’
He went out in some surprise, and in a few minutes I heard the doctor’s self-important footsteps echoing in the passage.
‘Well,’ he said rather impatiently, ‘what’s the trouble? Can’t you give me time to dress in peace?’
He was wearing shirt, trousers and a dressing-gown.
‘I haven’t asked you to come and see me,’ I said, as he approached the bed. ‘There’s a body on the balcony, and I can’t open the window to get at it.’
He looked at me in amazement.
‘Have you been having nightmares, young man?’
‘It’s quite true. I went to the window to pull up the blind, and saw—’
As I spoke, he went to the window himself, pulled up the blind, gave a guttural cry, opened the window and walked through it. After a moment’s indecision I got out of bed and threw a dressing-gown round my shoulders. As the doctor re-entered the room, carrying the human bundle, I said, ‘Ought you to have disturbed the position—’
‘Good Lord,’ he answered, ‘you’re living in a detective story. I can’t make my examination while the patient’s feet are tangled in the balcony railings, can I? I’ve got to be sure, first, that it is a corpse I’m handling. I am sure, as a matter of fact, though an ordinary doctor wouldn’t be. Keep away now. It isn’t a pretty sight, and I can’t do with you in hysterics. Get back to bed and look the other way.’
He put the body on the floor beside the fireplace, and without waiting to see the face I did as I was told.
‘It’s Mrs Harley,’ he said. ‘Broken neck. Dead.’
‘Oh, dear. I suppose she must have walked—’
‘In her sleep. Yes! I’ll telephone for their imbecile family doctor first, and then we’ll go to her room, if you will accompany me. You’re on guard now. You won’t scream if I lock you in for a minute or two? I’ll cover it with this.’
He pulled down my bedclothes, ripped off the sheet, and put it over the body. Then he took the key, went out and locked the door.
It was perhaps fortunate that it was early in the morning; for at such an hour my emotions are rarely acute. While shaving, I can forget even that I am in love. My chief feeling, I think, was one of annoyance. There we were, all gathered together for a Christmas party, and plunged suddenly into gloom and the menace of official inquiry. ‘This time, at least,’ I thought, with the memory of my aunt’s violent death in my mind, ‘it devolves on others to bear the burden of the arrangements. I can still be a petted invalid, inquisitive, importunate. And, of course, an accident is very different from murder. Unless perhaps it is suicide?’
Poor Mrs Harley – and her poor son, too. What a sad home-coming it would be for him after the night of high finance!
The key turned and the doctor came in again.
‘I routed McKenzie out and he’ll be here in half an hour. Meanwhile, shall we go upstairs?’
He helped me to put on my dressing-gown properly, opened the door, and locked it when we had left the room.
‘Do you know which her room was?’ I asked.
He looked at me sharply.
‘Of course I do. I had to take her a sedative last night. She was jumping about like an electric flea, poor woman. I thought I made it strong enough to give her eight hours’ good sleep.’
‘Mine wore off before seven,’ I said.
‘Perhaps the prescription was not quite up to strength.’
‘Can you walk in your sleep after taking a sleeping-draught?’
‘It depends on the draught. After a mild one such as that which I administered, it is quite possible – though unusual.’
‘In any case, I thought sleep-walkers never came to any harm.’
‘That is an old wives’ tale.’
‘How long has she been dead?’
He looked apprehensively at the landing above and below.
‘Sh! not so loud. After exposure to the cold, like that, I cannot say. Not more than eight hours, and not less than two. No doubt the good Dr McKenzie will be more precise in his verdict. Here we are.’
Mrs Harley’s room was immediately over mine, though it was larger and had two French windows, one corresponding to mine, and one to the right, over the drawing-room. This second window was wide open, and gave access to a very broad sill with low metal bars on the far side, which might have held a big window-box in position.
‘Did she sleep with her window open?’ I asked.
‘I suppose she must have done. I presume she slept, and we know she went to bed.’
He pointed to the tumbled bedclothes, partially thrown aside, and the dented pillow. I looked round the room. On the mantelpiece was a photograph of the dead woman’s son, in a leather frame. Her poor little evening dress and under-linen lay on a chair, while a quilted dressing-gown hung from one of the bed-posts. The sadness of the scene began to affect me, and so that the doctor should not see my distress I walked over to the window and looked out.
The garden was some fifty feet below me. If one jumped from the window, I thought, one might just clear the balcony outside my room. If one fell, one would be caught by it, impaled possibly on one of the spikes. Had Mrs Harley been impaled? I shuddered, partly at so painful an idea, and partly with cold, and was returning to the bed, when I was struck by the contrast between the fresh air outside and the air of the room.
‘Well?’ said the doctor, as I sniffed.
‘Do you smell anything?’ I asked.
‘No. Do you?’
‘Yes – something a little odd. My sense of smell is very acute.’
‘All your senses are very acute.’
I was beginning to glow at the compliment when he went on, ‘That’s partly what makes you such a nervy fellow. There’s nothing to be said for hyperaesthesia, let me tell you.’
‘At all events,’ I replied, somewhat testily, ‘it seems to give me an advantage over you now. The smell is like – like, chloroform or ether – some medical smell.’
The doctor grinned wickedly. ‘Allow me to congratulate you, Mr Warren, upon a most important discovery! Perhaps, however, I am more familiar with ladies’ bedrooms and their habits than you are. What you smell – I confess I can’t smell it, but no doubt you’re right – is Antaronyl, or a similar preparation.’ He then gave me a gross explanation of the uses to which Antaronyl could be put, and concluded, ‘I’ve no doubt we shall find a bottle among the poor lady’s effects, but I suppose we had better not derange them. Meanwhile, it is extremely cold and I am more than a little hungry. If you will go to my room, I will see to your arm and help you to dress. Then I will complete my own toilet. By that time Dr McKenzie should be here, or breakfast should be upon the table. Hurry up now, before the whole house is astir.’
He pushed me out of the room across the passage, and into his room which was im
mediately opposite and faced the road.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘you stay here in patience till I come back. I’ll lock Mrs Harley’s room and fetch your clothes. There’s a bathroom through this door. If you like to use it, you can, but you’ll find it hard to soap yourself with one hand.’
It was very true, and while the doctor was performing his errands about the house, I was only able to give myself a most ineffectual wash. I was drying myself in cold discomfort when I heard him come back.
‘Sorry,’ he said through the door. ‘I’d valet you if I had time. As it is, I’ve got to dress myself and rub your arm before this doctor of theirs comes on the scene. Now! Sit down there, and let me see the damage.’
He removed the bandage, and I was delighted to find that his patting and probing caused very little pain, while after a few minutes’ massage, I felt almost as if I could bend my wrist again.
‘I’ll put back the bandage,’ he said, ‘anyhow for to-day. And you must wear a sling for a bit. I don’t mind your moving the fingers, but be careful not to—’
There was a knock at the door and Edwins, the footman, came in.
‘If you please, sir, Dr McKenzie’s waiting below. I showed him into the dining-room because the fire’s going well there.’
‘Right! I will go to him at once. No, you stay and help Mr Warren to dress. Mr Warren had an accident while dancing in the drawing-room last night. I want you to fix him up with a sling. Do you know how to do it?’
‘Yes, sir. Had to wear one myself once.’
‘Most excellent.’
He gave me a nod and went out. For a while Edwins helped me without speaking. Then, finding my silence unbearable, he said suddenly, ‘Not a very merry start for Christmas, is it, sir?’
‘Good heavens,’ I answered. ‘I’d quite forgotten that it was Christmas Day.’
Crime at Christmas Page 3