The Dressing Table Murder

by Cassandra Chan

  Both Gibbons and O'Leary frowned. "But that's much slower," said Gibbons. "And I think it would have blinded her first—"

  "No, no," broke in Bethancourt. "You don't understand. That sort of eyeliner needs water to be applied. You have to wet the brush first. But there was no water on the dressing table. Therefore," he paused significantly, "she must have licked the brush to wet it. And the brush, of course, had cyanide all over it by then."

  ***

  Back at Scotland Yard, Bethancourt repeated his explanation twice—once with pantomime—while the eyeliner was analyzed and found to contain cyanide.

  "The eyeliner is bung full of it," said the chemist with satisfaction. "And the brush is covered, too. Only about twenty milligrams, but that's all it would take for someone as small as she was."

  "That leaves little doubt," said Gibbons. "It had to be the husband. Who else would know that she habitually licked the brush?"

  "That's a point," said Bethancourt. "It will still be tough going in court. Any decent defense counsel will manage to explain why twenty other people would know."

  "And would have the opportunity between one morning and the next?" said Gibbons. "And it will be cinched if we can trace cyanide to his possession. We've not done much about that—thinking, you see, since he had an alibi, there wasn't much use in it. We've a good chance of turning something up. After all, cyanide isn't an easy thing to get hold of."

  "If you can do that, the case is sewn up. As it is, it's not bad—not with that motive tacked on."

  Gibbons grinned. "You've been brilliant, Phillip. As usual."

  "It came to me watching Marla being made up this morning," Bethancourt began and then he stopped with an anxious expression. "My God, what time is it?"

  "Just on six."

  "Lord!" Bethancourt leapt from his chair. "If I hurry I can manage only being ten minutes late. Damn rush hour traffic! No, bless it—I can tell her I got caught in a jam. I'll ring you later, Jack. Cerberus, come."

  Gibbons, with an amused grin, watched his friend careen out the door and down the hall.

  ***

  Some weeks later, Jack Gibbons shed his overcoat in Bethancourt's hallway and proceeded to the living room, where he was met by the agreeable sight of both Cerberus and Marla curled up together before a roaring fire.

  "Whisky?" suggested Bethancourt, and Gibbons nodded and followed him to the drinks cabinet.

  "They got a conviction this afternoon, you know," said Gibbons in an undertone.

  "I heard on the radio," said Bethancourt, pouring. "I wanted to be there, but Marla only just back from that ski shoot this morning and she didn't want to go."

  Gibbons glanced back at the girl beside the dog and at the firelight glinting in her hair.

  "They said on the radio the jury didn't take long."

  "No, once we had traced the cyanide to his possession, it was pretty clear-cut. They were back inside of two hours."

  "Then here's to us."

  "We make a good team," nodded Gibbons, knocking his glass gently against Bethancourt's.