by Carola Dunn
The maid went straight to an open door on their left and announced dramatically, “It’s the detectives, sir. From Scotland Yard.”
“Yes, yes,” said a testy voice, “show them in.”
Dr. Harris was a small man with a grey Edwardian beard and moustache. He peered at his visitors over half-glasses, then stood up behind a knee-hole desk littered with papers held down by a stethoscope, an otoscope, and a box of tongue-depressors.
“Detective Chief Inspector Fletcher, sir.” Alec offered his warrant card.
The doctor waved it away with a “Yes, yes, they rang up from the police station. What can I do for you?”
He sat down, and Alec took that as an invitation to seat himself on one of the two elderly mismatched chairs opposite him. A good thing he hadn’t sent Tom, he thought. The chair might not have survived. Ernie Piper remained on his feet, his back to one of the bookcases stuffed with ancient medical tomes. Another held dusty box files, squeezed in in such a way as to make extracting any particular one a major exercise. Loose papers jammed the space between each row of files and the shelf above. A chaise longue covered with faded American cloth presumably served as the examination couch.
“Doctor, we have evidence that yesterday you prescribed a sedative, specifically potassium bromide, to Miss Lorna Birtwhistle.”
“Yes, yes, she has trouble sleeping. Not uncommon in females of a certain age. Miss Birtwhistle has been taking it for a couple of years now without any ill effects. Yesterday I merely renewed her prescription.”
“A couple of years? Can you give me a precise date when she started … taking the stuff?”
Harris looked helplessly at the surface of his desk, then round the room. “Well, no, as it happens I can’t at present lay my hands on the information. Miss Birtwhistle has been my patient for many years, you know, and one can’t be expected to keep notes forever. I do remember that when she asked for it, she reminded me that she had taken it for a short period some thirty years ago. It was trouble with her nerves at that time, I recollect. A brother believed to be dead unexpectedly returned…” He waved his hands. “Something of the sort.”
So Lorna had got the idea of sedating Humphrey from her own long-ago experience with bromide. “Have you ever prescribed any other sedative for Miss Birtwhistle, Doctor?”
“No, no, certainly not.” He glanced at the window. “The sun’s over the yardarm, I see. May I offer you…?”
“No, thank you, sir.”
“You’ll excuse me if I pour myself a drop. I usually have a little something at this hour.” He took a flask from a bottom drawer and poured an amber liquid into the cap with a liver-spotted hand that shook slightly. Age, or earlier libations, rather than nerves, Alec diagnosed.
“You haven’t, for instance, prescribed chloral hydrate for Miss Birtwhistle?”
“Certainly not. It’s most inadvisable to mix sedatives.”
“Or for anyone else in the household?”
“She’s the only Birtwhistle who’s a patient of mine. I could hardly fail to note such a name.”
“How about Olney? Or Sutherby?”
Harris shook his head, uncertainly. “No, no, if the address was … was Eagle Farm, I would have made the connection. No,” he said with sudden vigour, “I’m afraid that is all I can tell you, Mr. … Inspector.”
Alec thanked him, and they left.
“Not a good witness,” Piper said disapprovingly as they turned towards the police station. “I bet I could find Miss Birtwhistle’s records in all that mess. If he kept any.”
“I expect you could, Ernie, but not without going through a lot of other people’s confidential medical records. It’s questionable whether we could get a warrant, even if we had more reason to suspect the woman of the chloral poisoning as well.”
“You don’t, Chief?”
“I’m inclined not to. The bromide had the rationale of a mixture of spite and the money motive, making her life easier by increasing the household income. By killing him, she’d lose the financial benefit.”
“It’s going to be hard to prove she wasn’t taking the stuff herself, isn’t it. That she was feeding it to the old man.”
DC Ernest Piper, as well as his excellent memory for detail, had the ability to see the big picture, to extrapolate, and to develop tenable theories. He was due to take his sergeant’s exams soon. Alec fully expected to see him continue to climb the promotion ladder thereafter.
“It won’t be easy,” he agreed. “But we have means, and opportunity— Someone said she usually makes breakfast—”
“Miss Olney, Chief.”
“Yes, and Daisy, too, before you arrived. Early morning is when he must have been taking it, to keep him dopy during the day. And Lorna’s got a motive, always useful in persuading a jury, though we don’t have to prove it. Add her effort to destroy the powders a few hours after obtaining them, and we can already put together a pretty convincing circumstantial case.”
“She’ll say when he died she was afraid someone might’ve given him an overdose of the same stuff. I s’pose she knew the police had been called in?”
“You haven’t had a chance to read all the reports yet, have you? They’re extremely spotty as yet. But Daisy did say in her written report that she and Mrs. Sutherby woke Lorna to tell her her brother was dead and the police were on their way. Daisy happened to notice that the grate was empty at that time. I should think Lorna did the burning as soon as they left her.”
“That’s why you don’t think she did the chloral as well?”
“That’s part of it, yes. Well, here we are. You to the chemists’ now, and I to see what I can get out of Miss Lorna Birtwhistle.”
“Sure you don’t need me to take notes, Chief?” Piper said hopefully.
“I would like to have you to take notes, but it’s more important to find the source of that chloral. I know you can do it if anyone can. If Matlock doesn’t have a competent shorthand writer on hand, I’ll just have to manage without.”
Matlock, not having its own detective division, did not have its own shorthand writer. Superintendent Aves, cock-a-hoop over what he perceived as a victorious encounter with the press, offered to send for one from Derby.
“How long would it take, sir?”
“Shouldn’t be more than an hour or so. It depends whether he’s on duty, and which train he catches. You can have a bite to eat in the meantime.”
“Derby has a couple of girl stenographers, too,” Inspector Kennedy put in. “Maybe one of them would be better, seeing the suspect is female.”
“Women don’t belong in the police,” said Aves dogmatically.
“Mr. Kennedy has a point.” Alec tried to be diplomatic. “I must admit, in this particular case, I should be happier with another female present. Circumstances are such that I’m going to have to try to get a confession out of Miss Birtwhistle. Both the press and defence lawyers have been known to allege intimidation if a lone woman is confronted by two men.”
“All right,” sighed the superintendent, “have it your way. See if one of the girls can be sent over here quickly, Kennedy.”
“Sir.” Kennedy saluted.
“Mr. Kennedy,” Alec said as the inspector turned to leave the room, “would you arrange something to eat for Miss Birtwhistle, please? Keeping her waiting is one thing, especially as with luck the pathologist will ring with results before I see her. But we don’t want her complaining of being starved.”
Alec certainly wasn’t starved. Aves took him to the Crown, where he was evidently well known, and treated him to an excellent lunch. They were about to embark on cheese and biscuits when PC Phipps came in with a message that Alec was wanted urgently on the telephone.
Excusing himself, he hurried back to the police station. Dr. Jordan was on the line from Derby.
“You’ll be getting my written report by the end of the day, Chief Inspector, and you already know that Birtwhistle died, unmistakably, of an overdose of chloral hydrate. But
I thought you’d want to know that, after I was informed about the possibility of the overuse of potassium bromide, I went back to my notes. I found slight but definite indications of bromism. Let me just add, nothing I found postmortem would have been sufficiently apparent on normal examination to have aroused more than vague suspicion in Dr. Knox.”
“Thank you, Doctor. Did you receive the substance I sent you?”
“Yes, I was just coming to that. The test is simple and quick. It’s potassium bromide, as you expected.”
Alec was pleased: much better to face Miss Birtwhistle with fact in place of assumptions.
One thing remained to be done before he tackled her. While he was out, Worrall had rung up and left a message asking to speak to him. Wondering what had been going on “meanwhile, back at the ranch,” Alec asked the operator to connect him to Eyrie Farm.
TWENTY-NINE
After DI Worrall had dismissed MacGillivray, Daisy asked whether he wanted her notes of the interview typed. As far as she could see, the gentleman’s gentleman had contributed absolutely nothing to the investigation.
“Don’t trouble yourself, Mrs. Fletcher. He didn’t say anything worth tuppence. I scribbled down a couple of points to mention to the Chief Inspector later and that’ll do.”
“What’s next?”
“I’m off to the west wing to see how the search is going and whether Mr. Norman’s come in yet. If not, I’ll tell Mrs. Sutherby she can have her office back, for the present at least, and you’re welcome to go and join everyone in the hall. You won’t tell ’em anything you shouldn’t, I’m sure.”
“Of course not,” Daisy said indignantly, then felt a twinge of guilt as she recalled one or two occasions when she had told people things she shouldn’t; always for an excellent reason, naturally.
She wasn’t at all sure whether she wanted to join the others, especially if Sybil wasn’t going to be there. How would they feel about her working with the police? On the other hand, the innocent should be grateful for her assistance in finding the guilty. It was possible that she’d be able to guess which was which and thus point Alec in the right direction.
Simon? Ruby? Myra? They all seemed so unlikely and Daisy refused to consider Sybil or Roger Knox. It must have been Lorna, or Norman, or the two together.…
And Norman was still a complete enigma. She hoped Worrall would return with him in tow, but it was Sybil who came in.
“Daisy, the inspector asked me to tell you that Norman hasn’t appeared yet, but they’ve finished searching the house and they’re not keeping everyone together any longer. He said I could come and get on with my writing, though I shan’t get much done before lunch anyway. Is it true that Lorna’s been arrested?”
“Sorry, I can’t say. I promised Worrall; not to mention that Alec would have my blood if I spoke a word out of place.”
“We saw her going off in the police car with your husband.”
“As they always write in the papers, she’s ‘helping the police with their enquiries.’ That’s all I can tell you, so please don’t ask me.”
“Oh, very well, I won’t, but the others are bound to.”
“I shan’t give them any information, either. I’ve a good mind to retreat to my room and lock the door.”
“Don’t do that!”
Daisy laughed. “I didn’t mean it. I’m much too hungry for lunch.”
“If you really want to escape,” Sybil said anxiously, “and I wouldn’t blame you, surely there wouldn’t be any objection now to your driving down to Matlock.”
“I’m not going to desert you.”
“I’m so sorry your visit has turned out so horribly.” She was near tears.
“It was to investigate a sinister mystery that you invited me. I have only myself to blame for accepting.”
“Yes, but I never dreamt—”
“Exactly. You couldn’t anticipate someone going off the rails and doing in your employer while I was here. I know you were fond of him, Sybil, but do buck up. Ruby’s in no state to hold things together. Lorna’s been carted off to the police station. Neither Myra nor Simon is capable of keeping the household on an even keel.”
“Daisy, I can’t run the household! I’ve never had to learn how.”
“You’ll have to when you marry Roger.”
“He has a housekeeper.”
“So do I, but even the best housekeeper needs guidance to make everything run smoothly. You are going to marry him, then.”
“Yes. Independence does rather lose its lustre when one loses one’s job. I do love him, and I know he’ll be a good husband and father, it’s just…”
Though Daisy had expected Sybil’s answer, it gave her a twinge of unease. Alec might see it as reinforcing Roger Knox’s motive for doing in Humphrey. She told herself not to be silly, Alec had more or less dismissed the doctor as a suspect.
More or less: He hadn’t crossed him off his list.
“It’s just,” she finished Sybil’s sentence, “that getting married feels like changing from a person into an appendage. The doctor’s wife. Believe me, I understand. You’ll just have to keep writing. It’s bound to come out, at least in publishing circles, that you were responsible for the great success of ‘Eli Hawke,’ so you already have a good footing.”
“I suppose so.” Sybil sounded doubtful. “But that’s not going to help me to take the place of Ruby and Lorna right now, with both of them out of the picture.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to, that’s not what I meant. It’s more that Simon and Myra need you to be a good example, an example of steadiness. Perhaps just getting on with the book you have to finish would be the best way. I don’t know. But wait till after lunch. It’s ages since Betty and Etta were asked to make sandwiches. Let’s go and see what they’re up to.”
Entering the hall, they found only Simon and Neil Carey. Carey, lounging by the fire, apparently quite happy doing nothing, stood up and lounged against the mantelpiece. Simon was staring moodily out of one of the small front windows. He turned at the sound of footsteps.
“It’s going to rain.” He came towards them. “Mrs. Fletcher, what’s going on? All I can get out of the coppers is that Aunt Lorna is helping the police with their enquiries. A fat lot that tells me.”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you any more.”
“Has she been arrested?”
“Simon, don’t pester. Daisy is bound by an oath of secrecy. Where’s Myra?”
“She went up to Mother, to see if she wants something to eat. She’s becoming positively filial.” His words were flippant but his tone was anxious.
“Sarcasm does not become you, boyo,” his friend admonished him lazily.
“I didn’t mean it that way. She’s being very good with mother, a regular brick. Behaving better than I am, I dare say. I still just can’t quite take it in, Father’s being…” His voice cracked.
Daisy hastily distracted him: “Where’s Mr. Ilkton?”
“Dogging Myra’s footsteps.” Neil grinned.
Restored by scorn, Simon said, “It’s nauseating, the way he moons about after her. He was a little more discreet about it while Father … But now, he hardly lets her out of his sight.”
“I hope he hasn’t followed her into Ruby’s room!” Sybil exclaimed.
“I’m sure he wouldn’t,” Daisy said soothingly.
“He offered to fetch a tray from the kitchen for Mother if she doesn’t want to come down.”
Neil snorted. “Sure and it’s himself had never seen the inside of a kitchen before he came here. What a man will stoop to for love!” He held up his hand as Simon started to speak. “Hush! I feel a play coming on.”
“Not about us? Neil, you can’t do that.”
“An artist takes his material where he finds it.”
Daisy and Sybil left them arguing and made for the kitchen to see what the maids had done about lunch. The room was wonderfully warm from the coal-fired range. They found on the table a tray piled wit
h sandwiches, great doorsteps consisting of thick slabs of bread, roughly buttered, with a slice of either cheese or cold meat slapped between. Nearby was a piece of paper held down by a ladle.
Over Sybil’s shoulder, Daisy read the painstaking printing: “Are Tom brung a missige from Mam us got to go home. Acos of Perlees. So us went.” “Went” was crossed out, with “going” substituted.
“Bother!” said Sybil. “Just when we really need them. I suppose Norman must have told the Hendreds. Oh dear, I’m sure Ruby won’t be able to manage one of those monstrous objects.” She waved at the sandwiches.
“I will, even if I have to take the top slice off to get it in my mouth.” Daisy sniffed. “I can’t smell potatoes baking. They must have left before they put them in the oven.”
“At least they scrubbed them. There’s a bowlful here in the sink. They’ll do for dinner.”
“Where’s the larder? Perhaps there’s some soup left from yesterday’s lunch that would be better for Ruby.”
“I’ll look.” Sybil opened a door and disappeared within. Her voice echoed back, “Yes, there’s quite a bit of the leek soup left. Let’s heat up all of it.”
Daisy decided to take the top slices of bread off several sandwiches, remove the crusts, cut them into triangles, and serve them with the soup. They were busying themselves about these tasks when Myra came in, Ilkton on her heels.
“Mrs. Fletcher, Sybil, you’re not supposed to do kitchen work! Where are Betta and Etty?”
“They went home. Mrs. Hendred doesn’t care for police in the house.”
“Nor do I,” Ilkton muttered.
“Nor do any of us,” Sybil said sharply, “considering the cause.”
“But they’ll go away now, because Aunt Lorna’s been arrested,” Myra said cheerfully. She sniffed at the pot Sybil was stirring. “Is that soup? That’s just the thing for Aunt Ruby. I’m sure I’ll be able to persuade her to eat a bit. She can’t face sandwiches.” Taking a second look at the sandwiches, she giggled. “Especially if those are them. No wonder the aunts don’t let the girls do much in the kitchen.”