Excellent Intentions

by Richard Hull

  “At nine-forty-five, then, Mr. Cargate having finished his breakfast, went to his library. Miss Knox Forster came in as the clock struck, with a punctuality that was characteristic, to take down any letters which he might wish to have typed concerning his important financial transactions.”

  Blayton carefully glossed over the fact that they were all entirely gambling transactions of a highly speculative nature, of no value to anyone except Cargate himself, and really unnecessary even to him since he had already quite as much money as he ought to have wanted. But then, as Macpherson had implied to Fenby, if you start collecting things there is no limit to the amount which you can spend.

  “The business in which Mr. Cargate was engaged was exceptionally long that morning so that Miss Knox Forster had only just finished receiving her instructions when, at a quarter to eleven, the butler announced that the Reverend Mr. Yockleton had called. Mr. Yockleton and Mr. Cargate left the library together at 11.30, but the three-quarters of an hour which then elapsed was not unimportant.

  “Having seen the vicar off the premises, Mr. Cargate returned to the library where he remained by himself until about noon when, as was his custom on a fine day, he went out into the garden until luncheon at one o’clock. By about quarter to two he was back again in the library and he did not leave it again, except for the few moments during which he fetched Mr. Macpherson’s stock book of stamps, until after tea—which was served to him in the library. Indeed at 5.0 p.m. he was still there, for he contented himself with beckoning to his gardener, whose name is Hardy, but who is generally known as Hardy Hall, a name which the Court may find convenient to use as distinguishing him from the witness Hardy Baker—who also derives his sobriquet from his method of earning his living—”

  “Am I to understand that the name of the witness that you are going to call is Hardy or Baker?” Mr. Justice Smith had conceived an intense dislike to a sentence which was winding away interminably in parenthesis. He knew perfectly well what Blayton meant, but an imp of perverseness in him insisted that he should demand an explanation. The provision of it at any rate allowed counsel for the Crown, after giving explanations as to the peculiarities of Scotney End nomenclature, to start the sentence again.

  “Beckoned, as I say, Hardy Hall, the gardener, to the window and handed out to him the bottle of poison. You will hear from this witness’s own lips that it was impossible for anyone to have access to the potassium cyanide after that.”

  “You were instructed to take this wasps’ nest?”

  “I was.”

  “You were to use the potassium cyanide which Mr. Cargate was going to give you?”

  “He was going to give me some stuff—I don’t rightly know what it is called—and I was to use that.”

  “You knew how to use it?”

  “There be a mortal lot of wopses round the Hall.”

  “You mean that this is not the first time that you have taken a wasps’ nest?”

  “Nor the twentieth. Why, in 1935, when it was so dry that there weren’t no water left in the village pump and folks had to dip buckets in the moat round the Hall, I took over a dozen nests. It was a good year for wasps, that was.”

  “I see. I suppose you explained to Mr. Cargate that you knew all about it?”

  “I did.”

  “And he left it all to you?”

  “After a bit of talk he did. Mr. Cargate always thought he knew more than anyone else about everything.”

  “So he gave you directions when he gave you the bottle?”

  “He’d done that before.”

  “Before?”

  “Yes, in the morning. When Vicar had left.”

  “That would be about half-past eleven.”

  “No. It would be just before twelve.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. It was rightly just on my dinner-time. Leastways it would be when I’d finished what I was doing. But Mr. Cargate, he didn’t worry about other people’s dinner-times. So I had to leave tying up the hollyhocks till after. I was right busy too and didn’t want to have my time wasted being told about things I’d known since afore I was breeched.”

  “Quite. But he did give you some instructions?”

  “He did. He puts his head out of the window and he says ‘Oh, Hardy’, in that rather funny sort of way he had as if speaking to you was rather an effort and hurt a bit. I likes myself to be treated as if I was a human being, but he didn’t seem to see it. ‘Oh, Hardy,’ he says, ‘I’ve got the stuff. I want you to fetch it to-night and then you must use it like this—’ Well, I cut him short on that, because I knew. So I says—”

  “Just a minute, Mr. Hardy. He pointed to the bottle?”

  “That’s right, on the window-sill it was. I could see the label from outside through the pane.”

  “You are quite sure of that?”

  “Absolutely. So I said—”

  “You told him you knew all about it, isn’t that so? Now, it was actually at about five o’clock that he gave it to you.”

  “It was. I was coming up to ask him for it.”

  “The bottle was in the same place?”

  “Yes.”

  “Exactly the same place? In your opinion it had not been moved at all?”

  “Not so far as I knows.”

  “Supposing it had been moved, do you think that fact would have caught your eye?”

  “Almost certain to.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Hardy. Then you took it away with you? And what did you do with it then?”

  “I took very good care of it.”

  “Because it was labelled ‘Poison’? Very wise of you. But just how did you do that?”

  “I hid it in my tool shed till I wanted it in the evening. Tool shed’s locked every night in case of tramps and I will say for Mr. Cargate that he’d let me have a new key. Besides that, I put it away right at the back, same as I always do lest someone should come round interfering. No one would find it easily unless they knew where to look.”

  “You took all these precautions in case some unauthorized person got hold of the poison?”

  “That be right. I was always taught to be careful of nasty things like that.”

  “This was just after five o’clock?”

  “It was. I locked up and went off to my tea. Then in the evening I came back and fetched it, and went and took wasps’ nest. Then I put it back again safe.”

  “You didn’t use it all?”

  “No. Mr. Cargate knew mighty little about wasps’ nests whatever he may have said and he’d bought a sight too much of it. So I put it back and locked it up again, and a mottal nuisance it was because I couldn’t get Mr. Cargate the next morning to take it back. I did try to speak to him, but he was busy, what with going up to London and so forth, so I had to keep the tool shed locked till I could get him. And of course I never did that because he was killed that day. So I kept it until the police chap came and right glad I was to give it to him.”

  “You had to keep the tool shed locked until you got rid of the poison?”

  “That’s what I’ve been telling you.”

  “I just wanted to make it quite clear. Now, you never gave any of the poison to anyone during that time?” A violent shake of the head, coupled with an amazed look, was the only answer. “No one asked you for any?”

  “Of course not. Why, whatever are you a-thinking of?”

  “And the bottle was never disturbed?”

  “It were always where I put it.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Hardy.”

  Mr. Vernon got up to cross-examine on behalf of the defence.

  “Which way did you put the bottle down when it was in the shed?”

  “Behind a sight of other things. Small tools and twine, and stuff for spraying things and such-like.”

  “I see. With the label facin
g towards you so that you could see it and be warned by it?”

  “Label was clear anyhow.”

  “It showed up pretty distinctly in whatever position the bottle was? So that in the shed it did not matter whether it faced anyone looking for it or not?” A series of nods. “But are you certain whether it was facing you or not?”

  Hardy scratched his head.

  “I’m not rightly certain. I think it were.”

  “Yet, although you are not certain as to its exact position when it was in your care, you are positive as to exactly how it stood when you saw it through glass and it did not really matter to you how it stood?”

  “It were dark in the shed.”

  “And light on the window-sill; so that the bright label would show up more clearly, even if it was actually not facing you but facing away from you into the library?”

  “It were facing me.”

  “When you saw it the first time, at twelve o’clock, you were in a hurry to get away to your dinner?”

  “I was.”

  “And are you quite sure that when you saw it the second time at five o’clock, it was in exactly the same place?”

  “I believe it were.”

  “You believe it. I’m sure you do, but are you absolutely certain? Might it not have been moved quite a small fraction without your noticing? Supposing that somebody had picked it up and put it down again as far as possible in the same place, would you have known that?”

  “Perhaps not.”

  “Exactly, Mr. Hardy. Now, to turn to your tool shed. Do you usually keep it locked? I don’t mean all night; I mean during the day-time when you are working there?”

  “Not when I’m working. I locks it when I goes away.”

  “Very prudent. But the next morning, after you had taken this wasps’ nest; are you sure that you locked it then?”

  “I was very careful that morning, ’cos you see the stuff was inside.”

  “I see. Thank you, Mr. Hardy.” Vernon thought that he had better be satisfied with the little that he had got.

  “Just a minute, Mr. Hardy.” Blayton was on his feet again. “You told us that on both occasions the bottle was facing you. Can you give any reason why you are certain of that?”

  A moment’s pause ensued while Blayton wondered if he could extract the information that he wanted without asking a question so leading that it might cause his lordship to intervene. Slowly, however, an idea seemed to be coming to Hardy.

  “It must have been facing me. How else could I have read the word ‘Poison’?”

  “That is all, thank you.” Blayton, with a sigh of relief, sat down.

  “Not quite, I am afraid.” Vernon was up again. “That is, my lord, if you will allow me to put a few further questions arising out of what has just been elicited by my learned friend? You have seen,” he went on as Mr. Justice Smith nodded assent, “a label of that colour before with the word ‘poison’ on it?”

  “I’ve taken many wopses’ nests that way.”

  “And you were expecting to be given this poison?”

  “Mr. Cargate had told me he would get it.”

  “Thank you. I believe that that really is all now.”

  Wisely or unwisely Fenby had never seriously considered the doubts which Vernon was later on to develop as to the possibility of Hardy Hall being right at least as to his statement that from five o’clock onwards the potassium cyanide had been available for himself only.

  The possibility that the gardener was himself concerned could not of course be entirely dismissed as absolutely out of the question; still, it was so improbable that virtually it could be ignored. For one thing a very few enquiries showed that while he might have got at the poison, he could not have obtained access to the snuff. There was undoubtedly the possibility of collusion with, for example, Raikes, but, for the time being, Fenby thought that he might safely confine himself to the period between 9.45 a.m. and 5.0 p.m.

  During that time he would want to find out all that he could about the movements of all the people concerned and also of two things, namely the bottle of potassium cyanide and the snuffbox itself. It would, he felt, be best to begin with the people since in the course of that the things might fit themselves into place, and perhaps the easiest person on whom to start was Miss Knox Forster herself. She would for one thing be certain to answer clearly; for another she would provide a yard-stick with which to clarify what other people had been doing—incidentally Cargate’s own movements would be discovered from what she said—and finally, if she consented, no one else could very well refuse.

  It proved at least to be an idea that was quite simple to carry out in one respect—Miss Knox Forster herself not only was quite prepared to do it, she had apparently been expecting it.

  “In fact ever since you turned up, I have been marshalling my thoughts so as to give you an orderly description. From 9.45 until the vicar was shown in I was taking down letters and so forth—that was the normal routine. It usually went on longer but Mr. Yockleton came at about a quarter to eleven and stayed until nearly half-past. I spent about half an hour of that in typing some of the letters which had been dictated to me and then, so as to be handy when I was wanted, because the vicar had interrupted us before Mr. Cargate had finished, I got some flowers from the garden and started to do the roses in the hall. It’s not a job that I always do—to tell you the truth I do it rather badly—but there were dead things on the oak table in the middle, and I was afraid that if Mr. Cargate saw them there might be an explosion. Explosions were pretty frequent in that direction.

  “Therefore I saw Mr. Yockleton leave. Mr. Cargate walked out with him and as to what was happening, perhaps you will ask him. Anything I know is only a rumour, but I think that there had been another explosion starting with the parish and ending with the snuffbox.”

  “Oh, where was that then?”

  “Raikes had brought it back while I was dictating letters and it was on the side table, I think. No, on the desk by Mr. Cargate’s right hand. That is when I left. I think Mr. Cargate picked it up himself later and I forget where he put it down. The same place, I think, but I don’t remember properly.”

  “This bottle with the potassium cyanide must have looked odd beside it.” Fenby tried to sound casual.

  “Oh, you want to know about that too, do you? It was on the window-sill all day I believe. At least I saw it there when I went out to get some roses. You could see it from the garden.”

  Fenby nodded.

  “I think you said that Mr. Cargate walked away with Mr. Yockleton, didn’t you? Did he come back again?”

  “Oh, yes, in quite a few minutes. Between five and ten I should say. Then he came back again and stayed in the library until midday.”

  “Just a minute. During those few minutes anyone could have gone into the library?”

  Miss Knox Forster thought a minute.

  “In a way, yes. But either I or Raikes, who was going backwards and forwards to the dining-room, were about most of the time, and anyone quite strange I think we must have noticed. One of the maids would not have excited comment but I don’t remember seeing one.”

  “How long an interval do you think that there was when neither of you were there?”

  “Let me see. I was in the hall when Mr. Cargate went out. Then I went to get one more rose from that bed there.” She pointed to where on the lawn in front of the windows of the library some low bushes of deep crimson roses were growing sturdily in the heavy clay soil. “It took a little searching to find just what I wanted as I had picked some from there already and I didn’t want to spoil the appearance of the bed. Perhaps it took a minute and a half. Raikes had been in the dining-room when I went out. Just as I came back he went out through the door.” She pointed to the back of the hall and added that as he must have passed through the hall it lessened the time when anyone could go
unobserved into the library.

  “After that,” she went on, “I finished doing that bowl there—the crimson shows up well against the panelling, doesn’t it?—and went to see if the ones in the drawing-room were all right. None of them had died, so I came back just as Mr. Cargate returned.”

  “I see.” Fenby looked round the big hall. The door of the dining-room was on the right as you came in at the front door facing that leading into the library. On the same side as the library, a little farther on, was the door to the drawing-room, opposite which the hall widened out to the right and gave access both to the stairs with their old oak balustrade, and to a small room beyond the dining-room which Miss Knox Forster explained was her sitting-room and in which she worked. The table on which stood the bowl of roses had been placed in the centre of the broader part of the hall, and by it Fenby went and stood.

  It was a fairly long oak, gate-legged table so that while anyone standing at the end nearest to the drawing-room could see the doors of both the library and the dining-room, anyone at the far end was prevented by the angle of the wall from seeing more than part of the library door. All the same a figure coming out of the library would probably be visible—that is, unless whoever stood there was too intent on arranging the roses. As for the door leading to the kitchen, it faced the front door and could be seen from any point in the hall.

  “I don’t believe,” Fenby said, “that anyone could go into the library without your noticing it.”

  “Not while I was here.”

  “Now, could anyone go in without being observed by Raikes in the dining-room?”

  “I should think, yes, but let’s look.”

  Fenby walked into the dining-room and at once saw that Miss Knox Forster was right. The door was opposite to that of the library, it was true, but it was at the side of the room so that while Raikes had been moving round the table he would have seen the part of the hall outside the drawing-room, but he could not have looked into the library unless he had moved from the table to the door.

  A buzzing attracted Fenby to the window on which a quantity of wasps showed that not all the wasps’ nests round Scotney End Hall had been taken.