Mystery at Olympia

by John Rhode

  ‘And you never discovered who fired the shot?’

  ‘No. It wasn’t my husband. And that was all I cared about, since Nahum wasn’t hurt. Mrs Markle told me that. When my husband came home that night, he brought one of his friends with him, for a drink, and I knew from what they said that he had been playing bridge in a house not far from here, all the time.’

  ‘That must have been a great relief to you, Mrs Chantley. Now, to proceed to the following Monday. Did you keep your appointment with Mr Pershore?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. This is what happened. I had arranged to meet Nahum at the Addison Road entrance to Olympia at twelve o’clock, and lunch with him there. But just as I was going to start, my husband rang up from his office, and told me that his business appointment had fallen through, and that he was going to the Motor Show instead. He asked me if I would like to meet him there, but I told him that I couldn’t, as I had some calls to pay. I rang up Nahum at his office, but he wasn’t there, and I didn’t know where to catch him. So I thought it safest not to go to Olympia at all, and to explain why later.’

  Dr Priestley glanced at Hanslet, who was listening wide-eyed to this conversation. ‘Now, Mrs Chantley, you have told me that you saw Mr Pershore on Saturday evening,’ he said. ‘Had you seen him previously that week?’

  ‘Oh, yes, several times. I spent an hour or so with him in his study on Friday evening, after dinner, when my husband had gone out.’

  Dr Priestley nodded. ‘Yes, I thought that was probably the case. And you took him a bottle of olives, knowing that he ate one every night, did you not?’

  ‘Why, how can you possibly have known that?’ she exclaimed. ‘Yes, I took him some olives that evening. I often used to. Mrs Markle used to keep him supplied, but I liked him to have the ones I brought him. So did he. He always said they tasted better.’

  ‘Where did you get the olives, Mrs Chantley?’

  ‘Oh, from the grocer I always deal with. I always kept a bottle or two in my bedroom so that there would be one ready for me to give Nahum when he wanted it.’

  Hanslet had been fidgeting restlessly ever since the olives had been mentioned. He was on the point of interjecting a remark, but Dr Priestley quelled him with an almost savage look. ‘You took Mr Pershore a bottle of olives, Mrs Chantley,’ he said. ‘Did you notice anything peculiar about it?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. It seemed just the same as usual. Oh, now I come to think of it, I remember that this one wasn’t wrapped up in paper, as they usually are.’

  ‘What became of the bottle of olives which was already in the cupboard in Mr Pershore’s study?’

  ‘Oh, Nahum and I ate those, and I brought the empty bottle back with me, so that the servants at Firlands shouldn’t find it. Then we opened the bottle that I had brought. Nahum said we had better take out two or three, so that it would look just like the bottle that was there before. But neither of us could eat any more, so we threw them in the fire. I remember that they burnt with a funny smell, almost like garlic.’

  Dr Priestley got up and strolled across to the window. ‘Your garden is in excellent condition, Mrs Chantley,’ he said. ‘It is in great contrast to the garden at Firlands. But perhaps, unlike Mr Pershore, you are interested in gardening?’

  ‘Oh, it’s my husband’s hobby, not mine,’ she replied.

  ‘Indeed? A very exacting hobby. There is always something to be done in a garden. Those gravel paths, for instance, are most beautifully kept. Your husband must spend a considerable amount of time in weeding them?’

  ‘Oh, he uses a weed-killer. I know that, for he asked me to get him some a few weeks ago, and I had to sign my name in a book when I bought it.’

  Dr Priestley turned from the window and sat down again. ‘By the way, Mrs Chantley, what became of the car that Mr Pershore bought for your use?’

  ‘I don’t know. My husband sent it to Nahum’s executors, I believe.’

  ‘Your husband!’ Dr Priestley exclaimed. ‘How did he learn of its existence?’

  ‘I wish I knew!’ she replied. ‘I was utterly amazed when he spoke of it. But he’s like that. You never can tell what he knows and what he doesn’t. It happened on the Tuesday after Nahum’s death. My husband came home to lunch, a thing he very rarely does. And then he told me, quite casually, that he had heard at the office that Nahum was dead. He was quite nice about it, and said that he knew I should be sorry, as I had kept up my friendship for him, even though they had quarrelled.

  ‘I was never more astonished in my life, for I had no idea that he knew anything about my seeing Nahum. Even the shock of hearing of his death was nothing to that, at least not at the moment. I asked him what he meant, and he told me that he knew all about the car. But he seemed to think that Nahum had bought it for me to drive him about in. He didn’t know anything about my going over to Firlands in it.’ A sudden look of horror came into her face. ‘Oh, and you won’t tell him anything, will you?’ she added pleadingly.

  ‘No, I shall not tell him,’ Dr Priestley replied. ‘And I think I can promise that the superintendent will not do so either. Your husband undertook the disposal of the car?’

  ‘Yes. He said that now Nahum was dead, it must be returned to his executors. But I must not appear in the matter. It would never do for Betty Rissington or the Bryants to know that I had been driving Nahum about. They might say spiteful things. Fortunately, the car was in his name. It could be disposed of without any questions being asked, and my husband told me that he had made arrangements for doing so. I was to fetch the car, and drive it to the top of Putney Hill, where a man from the office would meet me and take it over. He wouldn’t tell me any more. I did what he told me, and that’s all I know about it.’

  ‘What time are you expecting your husband home this evening, Mrs Chantley?’

  ‘Oh, he’s usually home by six.’

  ‘Is the garage where you kept the car far from here?’

  ‘Not very far. About five or ten minutes walk.’

  ‘I wonder if you would mind showing it to me?’

  ‘I will if you like,’ she replied rather doubtfully. ‘But you won’t tell them who I really am, will you? It was Nahum’s idea that I should tell them that I was his niece, Betty Rissington.’

  ‘No, I will tell them nothing,’ Dr Priestley replied.

  ‘Well, then, I will go and put on a hat. I won’t keep you a moment.’ She rose to leave the room, and Hanslet sprang up to open the door for her. ‘What’s the game, Professor?’ he whispered, as soon as he heard her footsteps ascending the stairs.

  ‘This!’ replied Dr Priestley urgently. ‘We must make it impossible for her to communicate with her husband. That is why I am anxious to get her out of the house. While I am walking with her to the garage and back, you must communicate with the telephone exchange and see that the line is put out of order. Then we must watch this house and the post office, in case she attempts to send a telegram. Hush! Here she comes.’

  Dr Priestley seemed that afternoon to have lost much of his wonted activity. He managed to spin out his walk with Mrs Chantley until it occupied nearly half an hour. His companion was consumed with curiosity. She made many tentative endeavours to draw Dr Priestley, without any success. Until at last she was forced to put the matter bluntly. ‘I can’t understand how you came to know all about—about Nahum and me,’ she said. ‘You must be a friend of his, of course. It’s odd that he should never have mentioned you to me.’

  ‘I was not acquainted with Mr Pershore,’ Dr Priestley replied. ‘But you may rest assured that I did not learn your secret from any other human being.’

  And with this cryptic remark Mrs Chantley was forced to be content.

  Dr Priestley escorted her to her house, where Hanslet rejoined them. They then left together, and walked away. ‘She won’t be able to get in touch with her husband. I’ve seen to that,’ said Hanslet. ‘I’ve asked the local people to keep an eye on the house. Suppose we find a decent place to get something to eat?
I’m famished.’

  They picked up Harold, and then entered a quiet tea-shop, choosing a table where they could talk without being overheard. And then Hanslet took steps to satisfy his curiosity. ‘Whatever made you tumble to the fact that Mrs Chantley was the woman in the case, Professor?’ he asked.

  ‘It was not very difficult to do so,’ Dr Priestley replied. ‘The Chantleys, from the first moment that their name was mentioned, seemed worth bearing in mind. Mrs Markle, as you told me, was reluctant to discuss them. She was surprised when they attended the funeral, but could give no very convincing reason for her surprise. How much she knows it is difficult to say. But I should not be surprised to learn that she had some inkling of Mrs Chantley’s clandestine visits to Firlands.

  ‘At first, of course, I merely wondered what could be the reason for Mrs Markle’s reticence. She seemed willing enough to talk about any other subject. It was not until you described to me your conversation with Chantley that my suspicions were aroused. He expressed a dislike for gossip, but, in spite of this, he poured out a flood of intimate personal details, involving Mr Pershore, his house-hold, his friends and relations. It struck me then that he must know more about the case than he was willing to reveal.

  ‘The line he took with you was very clever. He did not know what you had already discovered from other sources. It was probable that you knew that some woman was in the habit of visiting Firlands, but that you were not aware of her identity. His object was to arouse the suspicion in your mind that she was Mrs Bryant.

  ‘There was another curious point about his conversation. He could not have learnt of the poisoned olives or the substituted inhalant from any external source. And yet, without any prompting on your part, he suggested a reason for Mrs Markle wishing to revenge herself upon her employer. This made me wonder whether he knew that the house contained evidence of attempts upon Pershore’s life. If he did know this, it would only be because he had been concerned in one at least of those attempts.

  ‘The next step was to examine his possible motive. He had, apparently, nothing to gain by Pershore’s death. On the other hand, one of the most powerful motives for murder is jealousy. This caused me to believe that a possibility existed that the woman seen by Hardisen was Mrs Chantley.

  ‘The car bought by Mr Pershore was the next clue. As I told you when you first mentioned it, I saw at once the probable use that had been made of it. The curious circumstances surrounding its disposal confirmed me in my belief. The woman, or the jealous party, would naturally be anxious to get rid of it, since, being registered in Pershore’s name, it was a clue connecting the woman with him.

  ‘The method adopted by Chantley of nullifying this clue was sufficiently ingenious. Once the car had been left at Bradshaw’s, only the most exhaustive inquiries could have traced it back to the garage here. And then it would have been learnt that it was in the name of Miss Rissington. This would not have helped your investigations, but would have presented you with a fresh puzzle which you might have found considerable difficulty in solving.’

  ‘You’re right there, Professor,’ said Hanslet. ‘How did you trace the car back, though?’

  ‘I did not trace it. I deduced where it might have been kept. The car had been bought to provide a means whereby a certain woman might visit Firlands. Of that I felt fairly certain. If that woman were Mrs Chantley, it was reasonable to suppose that the car had been kept at Surbiton. Quite obviously, she could not keep it at her own house. The most probable alternative seemed to be a public garage. I sent Harold down here this morning to make inquiries, and the result proved the correctness of my deduction.’

  Hanslet nodded. ‘Yes, it’s simple enough,’ he said. ‘I might have thought of it myself. And you were quite right. The discovery of the car has answered those questions of yours. We know now why Pershore went to the Motor Show. Not to look at the cars, but because he expected to meet Mrs Chantley there. And we know how the poisoned olives got into Pershore’s study. But we don’t know yet for certain who poisoned them. And I don’t know how you guessed the part that Mrs Chantley played.’

  ‘It was hardly guesswork. You were not satisfied with the evidence that any of the other persons in the case had put the olives in the cupboard. Eliminating them, my attention became fixed upon the woman seen by Hardisen. The precautions taken by Pershore to secure his privacy convinced me that this was by no means her first visit to Firlands. It seemed probable that the poisoned olives had been deposited on Friday. If it could be proved that the woman had visited the house on that day, a presumption was created that she had brought the olives with her. Mrs Chantley, on being questioned, admitted the fact at once.’

  ‘Yes, it’s easy enough to get the facts if you know who to ask for them. But how are we going to get proof of who put the poison into them?’

  ‘That should not present any insuperable difficulty,’ Dr Priestley replied.

  They killed time until half-past five, and then took up a position from which they could keep the Chantleys’ house under observation. Shortly before six a man walked up to the gate and let himself in. ‘That’s Chantley!’ Hanslet exclaimed.

  ‘Then we will interview him at once,’ replied Dr Priestley. They reached the front door a second or two after it had closed behind Chantley, and Hanslet knocked insistently upon it. Chantley himself opened it, and recognised the superintendent. ‘Hullo!’ he said. ‘Have you come to pay me another visit? I’m delighted to see you, and your friend. Come along into the library.’

  He led the way into that very comfortable room, in the centre of which was a wide flat desk. Chantley placed a couple of chairs on the farther side of it for his visitors, and sat down on the near side, facing them across the desk. He looked fixedly at them in turn. ‘Well, gentlemen, what can I do for you?’ he asked.

  It was Dr Priestley who replied. ‘When did you first discover that your wife was in the habit of visiting Mr Pershore?’ he asked.

  Chantley flushed angrily. ‘What authority have you for asking impertinent questions?’ he demanded.

  ‘The presence of Superintendent Hanslet gives me sufficient authority. I gather that you are unwilling to answer my question. But I may say that I have evidence that you were aware of this intimacy some little time before Pershore’s death.’

  ‘Have you, indeed?’ replied Chantley. ‘And may I ask what this evidence is?’

  ‘It consists of a bottle of olives, found in Mr Pershore’s study, into which a quantity of arsenic has been introduced.’

  In spite of Chantley’s self-control, the colour left his face, turning his cheeks a greenish white. But his reply was bold enough. ‘A bottle of olives?’ he exclaimed. ‘What nonsense are you talking?’

  ‘You force me to a full explanation. You had discovered your wife’s intimacy with Mr Pershore, and you determined to end this, and at the same time to be revenged upon him. You became aware that your wife was in the habit of taking him olives, which you knew, from your previous friendship with him, that he kept for his personal use. You had access to the olives before they were taken to Firlands, and you decided to use them as the instrument of your revenge.’

  Chantley uttered a forced laugh. ‘This is a magnificent fairy story,’ he said. ‘I don’t quite see the point of it, since the evidence at the inquest shows that whatever Pershore died of it most certainly wasn’t from eating olives.’

  ‘Had he continued to eat those particular olives, death would undoubtedly have ensued. You had procured an arsenical weed killer. Having opened a bottle of the olives which you found in your wife’s room, you injected some of the poison into each of them. Then you replaced the metal cap on the bottle, leaving no trace of it having been opened, beyond the trifling circumstance that you omitted to wrap it up in its original paper.

  ‘Your wife took this bottle of olives to Mr Pershore on the Friday preceding his death. He probably ate one of them that night, and another on Sunday. An incident, beyond your control, prevented him from eating on
e on Saturday. The amount of poison contained in two olives did not constitute a fatal dose. But that hardly mattered, since you had already devised an alternative means of achieving your object.’

  Chantley’s assurance was steadily ebbing. It was apparent to him that this detailed accusation was not made without full proof to support it. There was a moment or two of strained silence, and then he spoke, addressing the superintendent.

  ‘I don’t know how your friend discovered all this,’ he said. ‘But it’s no good denying it. I did find out that my wife used to go and see Pershore, and I decided to give them both a fright. I poisoned the olives, taking care to put only a small dose in each, so that he would have to take several before the poison began to take effect. I meant to wait until he got really ill, and then tell my wife what I had done, and why. They would have hushed the matter up, in their own interests. I certainly had no intention of letting things go as far as Pershore’s death.’

  Hanslet would have replied to this, but Dr Priestley forestalled him. ‘An ingenious move, Mr Chantley,’ he said. ‘By confessing to a crime which proved abortive, you think to avoid being charged with a crime which proved successful. As I say, an alternative means of accomplishing your object had occurred to you. And I think that the source of the suggestion is sufficiently obvious.’

  He rose, and walked up to one of the bookcases which surrounded the room. From this he selected a stout volume and returned with it to his chair. ‘Your library consists mainly of books dealing with travel and adventure, Mr Chantley,’ he continued remorselessly. ‘Yet I find among them a work dealing with an entirely different subject. How and when did you acquire this copy of the latest edition of Dixon Mann’s Forensic Medicine and Toxicology?’

  ‘That?’ replied Chantley uneasily. ‘Oh, a doctor friend of mine gave it to me, not long ago.’

  ‘Indeed? Surely rather a curious gift to a layman. Hardly the type of literature which would appeal to your normal taste, I should have thought. But, under the peculiar circumstances in which you were situated, you must have found it very useful. The effects of arsenic, and the necessary dose to produce those effects, are very fully described. No doubt you consulted this book before you tampered with the olives?’