by Richard Hull
The Inspector seemed unexpectedly interested. “Didn’t Thomas rather resent that?”
“He did. It took me a long while to calm him down after that remark. He wanted me to tell Latimer not to be rude to Miss Wyndham. But, with the greatest respect, Inspector, am I not wandering from the point?”
Even that failed to influence him—perhaps I had overacted in suggesting that it was I who was being irrelevant. “Not at all, sir. You interest me very much. Besides sir, if you will pardon my saying so, I must judge what concerns me and what does not.”
I remember looking ruefully at the piles of work on my table. Thanks to my industry the night before, Thomas was hard at work on the campaign for Tonescu, but there were others—Henriques for instance—and there were accounts to be examined, letters to answer and all the normal routine business.
But my glance was wasted; Inspector Hoopington continued to ask his questions. Now they were directed to what Thomas thought of Miss Wyndham, now to what Spencer thought of Thomas, occasionally to my views upon any or all of them. It was a dreadful examination because it pursued no ordered path, but zig-zagged wildly. So far as I could make out, Hoopington had no settled plan, no real guiding idea in his mind. He was just asking questions to learn the general gossip of the office and hoping that something would arise from it. On the whole it appeared as if nothing was emerging and all the while the minutes, which should have been devoted to profitable work, were passing. I got to hate the Inspector’s notebook and the dilatoriness it produced. I even contemplated making notes of all he said to see if so practical a demonstration would show him how tiresome his action was, but I was afraid as a piece of sarcasm it would be wasted.
The extraordinary thing was that in spite of his verbosity, he did not touch on the one thing of importance. Including Miss Wyndham and Thomas, there were five people in whom he was interested and he talked about the opinion of each of us for the other with one exception. He had not asked what Spencer and Latimer thought of each other—and that was the only one which mattered.
Eventually I had to bring it to his notice and by a somewhat direct remark at that.
But it was quite difficult to get him interested at all. “One thing at a time, if you please, Mr. Barraclough,” was his somewhat startling remark, considering that he had been talking about several things at once most of the morning, “we will come to the question of that later. I should prefer to finish the subject we have been discussing first.”
“And which of the subjects we have been discussing do you wish to finish?” I must admit I was a little rattled, although I was glad to hear that the word ‘finish’ was included in the Inspector’s vocabulary.
But the Inspector was quite imperturbable. We went back to the question of marriage—a very uninteresting subject.
Chapter Five
In the main, so far as I remember, that was an account of our first interview, and at the time I had no idea what the Inspector’s object was nor how far he was away from what I considered the truth.
Before I go into that and all the unpleasantness to which it led, perhaps it will be best to deal with the Inspector’s second line of approach.
If it was not the most important one, it had at any rate a definite connection with the matter in hand, and for that reason I was quite glad when he came to it. It concerned the question as to who had access to our stock of Galatz-si, and why there were two tins in Spencer’s drawer, one of which contained the crystals Tonescu had let us have and the other Flukil.
I had to explain that originally I had had in my possession most of what Tonescu had handed over to us although I had used nearly all that I had had in experimenting on the windscreen of my car. The rest was still in my drawer.
“So I had observed,” Hoopington interjected.
“Well, naturally, Inspector, if you will excuse my saying so. I suppose there is no doubt that both of them died as a result of swallowing Galatz-si, so I imagined that you would look at every source there was from which it could come.”
Rather annoyingly the Inspector did not answer most of this. I really wanted to be assured, although I was morally certain that it was the cause of death. In the case of Spencer there was just room for doubt. But instead of telling me by agreeing, he just went on. “And who had access to your drawer?”
“Actually I suppose anyone who could get into the room.”
“It was not locked?”
“No.” I refrained from pointing out that the Inspector must have been aware of that from his own personal knowledge.
“So anyone who cared could have got hold of it? Don’t you think”, he went on when I nodded assent, “that that was a trifle careless?”
“Really, Inspector, I had no idea that anyone wanted to poison either of them. Besides mine was not the only possible source of supply.”
But Hoopington never followed up a point logically so as to be finished with it. Instead he asked if I had considered the question of whether the amount left in my possession was diminished. To that I could not give him a definite answer. I thought that some had gone—in fact I was morally certain that it had, but I could not swear that the quantity had diminished.
Again the Inspector went off at a tangent. “Why are you morally certain?” he asked.
“Because the only other person who had any was Spencer and he had used nearly all his on the mirror. If you had known Spencer, Inspector, you would readily believe that he used more than was necessary—he was always extravagant—and he left only a little after splashing it over the surface of the glass. In fact he told me himself that he would want some more if any further test was to be made. Whereas I used on my windscreen only so much as M. Tonescu said was necessary. It was more economical and it was a more accurate test of the properties of the invention. Now, when I found Latimer lying here dead, I saw myself and of course you saw too, a considerable number of crystals scattered on the floor and on the table. It appeared to me that more was spilt than had been left in the tin that Spencer had. Therefore I am morally certain that some must have been taken from my stock.”
“I see. So your tin has probably been tampered with, and its existence was known to, and was accessible to all the members of the staff?”
“Yes. Accessible also, please remember, to Spencer and Latimer themselves.” It was tiresome to be forced to suggest so frequently what had obviously happened, but I was really not sure that the Inspector had seen the possibility which I envisaged. But Hoopington seemed barely interested.
“Now to turn to the question of the contents of Mr. Spencer’s drawer,” he went on as if I had said nothing. “There was generally a tin of this substance Flukil there?”
“Yes.”
“And that fact was known to all the staff?”
“I think so. Also Mr. Latimer.”
“Also to Mr. Latimer and yourself, sir,” the Inspector added unnecessarily. Of course I knew all about it. If I had not, how could I have given any information as to what other people knew?
“There was usually only one tin? And that was on the left hand side of the drawer?”
I nodded assent.
“Consider the question for a minute, sir. Did it resemble Galatz-si?”
“No. Both were whitish, but while Flukil was in rectangular tablets, the other substance consisted of crystals. But surely you have seen them both yourself?”
“I have,” was his irritating reply, “but I wished to confirm the point. It was never Mr. Spencer’s habit to break up the tablets of Flukil?”
“No. Why should he?”
“Precisely, sir. Yet the tablets in the tin in his drawer were broken up.”
It was the first fact that he had told me which was new to me, and I was anxious to show how willing I was to co-operate by making any helpful comment I could. “Then I suppose, Inspector, that you think that after Spencer had crushed the crystals down Latimer’s throat, he went back, and, feeling ill, had meant to take some Flukil—it did relieve headaches—bu
t accidentally picked up the tin of Galatz-si.”
“Which had been changed over to the other side of the drawer?”
It was then that I began to see that there was something in the Inspector’s mind, and that he was not just hoping that information would turn up.
“So you think that the tins were changed round deliberately so that he should make such a mistake?”
“Possibly. But would you, immediately after you had killed someone, take a headache cure? And if you did, would you put it in your tea?”
This at the time was also news to me, and I had to think again. Remember that so far I had not seen quite so clearly what Latimer’s plans had been, but as the Inspector’s questions were merely rhetorical, it seemed best to answer them by asking him something.
“So you think someone put the crystals into his tea and that there is no possibility that they came there by accident?”
“It is quite certain that they did not come from the tin in his drawer, because he had not touched that tin at all. Whoever altered them round carefully, ran a duster over them, because neither of them showed any fingerprints at all. It is therefore clear that the crystals which poisoned Mr. Spencer came from your stock, not his, or had been taken from his some time before. Your tin has plenty of finger marks on it, but so many that they blur each other. Therefore Mr. Spencer met his death because poison was put in his tea. Now I understand that it was known that he always left it to get cool. Therefore it could have been put in while he was talking to Mr. Latimer.”
“Or before,” I put in.
“Or before. In either case every member of the office staff had every opportunity to obtain the poison. Either Miss Wyndham or Thomas could put it in before they served the tea, or either of them, or for that matter, you yourself, could have put it in while it was standing cooling in his room. The only thing that is certain is that it was put in by someone.”
So all this was leading up to the fact that it was not suicide! Well, well, that was a point which only Inspector Hoopington would have thought it was necessary to prove.
“Let me make some suggestions, Inspector. It would be dangerous for anyone to put it in before, because whoever did so, could not be sure that Latimer or I would not take the particular cup.”
“You are sure that a cup was not handed to you?”
“No. Though I admit I always do take the nearest cup.”
“Precisely.” The Inspector seemed to think he had made a point.
“Then, as to putting it in after, although voices speaking in here cannot be heard in the outer office, and vice versa, the opening of any door can. Now I can assure you that I heard no one move about except Spencer, and if you want a check on my movements, I am sure that Miss Wyndham will tell you that except for hearing Spencer go to Latimer’s room, she heard no movements.”
“The opening and shutting of doors. Thank you, sir. That is a matter into which I shall certainly enquire.”
Very solemnly the Inspector wrote my remarks down, apparently unaware that he was being not a little impertinent in thus openly preparing to substantiate what I had told him as to my own movements. I think that it was while he was doing so, that the truth flashed across my mind. At any rate I think it was then that I suggested to him the course which events had taken.
“There is one point which perhaps has not been brought to your attention. Latimer made Miss Wyndham fetch some papers. Therefore he was left alone with what would certainly be Spencer’s cup of tea, being the only remaining one. There was nothing to prevent his putting in the crystals then—nothing whatever. Surely, Inspector, we have now got to the bottom of it!”
It took some while for the Inspector to understand what I meant, but eventually he managed to grasp my theory that Latimer had planned to murder Spencer and had in fact murdered him by poisoning his tea while Miss Wyndham was getting the schedule of dates for the Daily Mail, that Latimer had carefully avoided being ostensibly in possession of any Galatz-si, that it was Latimer who had altered the tins round in the hope of making it look as if it were suicide, an appearance which he had failed to create. But that Spencer had got his blow in first, only to fall a victim to Latimer’s scheme.
Even when I had explained this fully to the Inspector, so stupid was he that he refused to accept it. He had, of course, to own that it was a possibility, since not even he could refuse to admit that it fitted all the facts perfectly.
“All the same, sir, although as a theory, it has much to commend it, it must be tested out fully before I can accept it as final. Besides, we are a very long way from proof and I have in mind other possibilities which might cover it equally well.”
I must own that I found this a trifle annoying. It had not been a very difficult problem and I took very little credit for solving it, and none for thinking more rapidly than Inspector Hoopington, but still it would have been good sportsmanship on the part of the Inspector if he had freely admitted that he had been beaten and that his work was done for him.
But Hoopington proved himself to be no sportsman at all.
Because the solution had come from me, he must needs try to find some way of evading it. I knew very well that in time he would be forced to come round to my reasoned exposition, but meanwhile he was apparently going to take a very mean revenge for his defeat. He was going to continue to waste my time and to put up some other preposterous theory.
He started by asking questions about who had a duster. For some time I failed to see what his objective was, but ultimately I discovered that he was wondering who had wiped the fingerprints off the tin in Spencer’s drawer. Of course, Miss Wyndham does such dusting as is not done by the office cleaners and keeps something for the purpose, I believe, but why assume that a duster was necessary? Had not everybody got a handkerchief? The Inspector seemed quite aggrieved when I pointed this out.
Then we traversed all over again the statement that I had previously made to him about what I had heard while I was sitting in my room and Spencer was telling Latimer what he thought of him. I was on rather thin ice here really because I did not wish to say how much I knew of Spencer’s intentions, but it was quite simple to make rings round the Inspector. There was no difficulty, but it was an interminable interview. He even tried to find some questions to ask about my views and intentions in the event of Miss Wyndham being found to be married.
Chapter Six
Actually it was his final question on that subject which led me to find out in what direction his mind was moving.
He had ended by saying that he supposed that I shared Spencer’s views on that point and would immediately dismiss her. I had wearily replied that I should consider that problem when it arose and told him that as she did her work very badly as it was, any deterioration would be more than I could stand. “Typing is very important to us, especially accuracy, and that demands concentration. Consequently if Miss Wyndham were to have her attention distracted any further, I must admit that I should have to consider very seriously whether we could afford to retain her.”
On that, with abrupt alacrity, he had gone. The very pointlessness of concluding there had startled me into thinking, and, once I did, it was not long before his whole idea was revealed to me in its full ridiculousness. His ‘other possibilities’ seemed to consist of only one—but the Inspector was often inaccurate in his phraseology—and it was to my mind a very unlikely one.
Still it was of some value to have found out what it was. It seems hard to credit, but apparently he was considering the possibility of Thomas and Miss Wyndham having been jointly responsible—an absurd idea, because neither individually nor collectively had they the brains.
When I first saw where Hoopington’s questions were leading, I thought that those whom he suspected had no motive; subsequently, however, I was to learn that they had one, though an insufficient one, and it was this which was misleading Hoopington.
If he had listened to me from the start, it would have saved a great deal of trouble for all of us, bu
t the worst of exploring every avenue without a purpose is that it leads to waste of time and the following up of entirely irrelevant lines of thought.
It appears that on the very evening when my fellow directors had died, Hoopington had not been content to stop his investigations when he left the office soon after dismissing me with so little courtesy. He had thought it right to have a further interview with both Thomas and Miss Wyndham. It must have been an afterthought as it was his proposal that they should go home. Alternatively, perhaps he wanted first to get some food himself or to think over such facts as he knew already. Why he should not have waited until the next morning I do not know, but at any rate he went off to the address which he had already noted down as that of Miss Wyndham. It is just possible—but I am only guessing—that she had hesitated slightly when she gave it to him and that that was the reason why he decided to go there. At any rate it was not the address where she was living.
Of course I was not a spectator of the scene and it was only later on that I got a very brief account of what happened, but I gather that what occurred was something like this:
The door was opened by a middle-aged woman who replied to his request to see Miss Wyndham. “You must be something to do with the office where she works.”