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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/78157-0.txt b/78157-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7805111 --- /dev/null +++ b/78157-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9895 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78157 *** + + + + + STRONG POISON + + BY DOROTHY L. SAYERS + + STRONG POISON + _Copyright 1930 by Dorothy L. Sayers Fleming_ + + + _"Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Rendal, my son? + Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young man?" + "--O I dined with my sweetheart, Mother, make my bed soon, + For I'm sick to the heart and I fain wad lie down."_ + + _"Oh that was strong poison, Lord Rendal, my son, + O that was strong poison, my handsome young man," + "--O yes, I am poisoned, Mother; make my bed soon, + For I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wad lie down."_ + + _Old Ballad_ + + + + + CHAPTER I + + +There were crimson roses on the bench; they looked like splashes of +blood. + +The judge was an old man; so old, he seemed to have outlived time and +change and death. His parrot-face and parrot-voice were dry, like his +old, heavily-veined hands. His scarlet robe clashed harshly with the +crimson of the roses. He had sat for three days in the stuffy court, +but he showed no sign of fatigue. + +He did not look at the prisoner as he gathered his notes into a neat +sheaf and turned to address the jury, but the prisoner looked at him. +Her eyes, like dark smudges under the heavy square brows, seemed +equally without fear and without hope. They waited. + +"Members of the jury--" + +The patient old eyes seemed to sum them up and take stock of their +united intelligence. Three respectable tradesmen--a tall, argumentative +one, a stout, embarrassed one with a drooping moustache, and an unhappy +one with a bad cold; a director of a large company, anxious not to +waste valuable time; a publican, incongruously cheerful; two youngish +men of the artisan class; a nondescript, elderly man, of educated +appearance, who might have been anything; an artist with a red beard +disguising a weak chin; three women--an elderly spinster, a stout +capable woman who kept a sweet-shop, and a harassed wife and mother +whose thoughts seemed to be continually straying to her abandoned +hearth. + +"Members of the jury--you have listened with great patience and +attention to the evidence in this very distressing case, and it is now +my duty to sum up the facts and arguments which have been put before +you by the learned Attorney-General and by the learned Counsel for the +Defence, and to put them in order as clearly as possible, so as to help +you in forming your decision. + +"But first of all, perhaps I ought to say a few words with regard to +that decision itself. You know, I am sure, that it is a great principle +of English law that every accused person is held to be innocent unless +and until he is proved otherwise. It is not necessary for him, or her, +to prove innocence; it is, in the modern slang phrase, 'up to' the +Crown to prove guilt, and unless you are quite satisfied that the Crown +has done this beyond all reasonable doubt, it is your duty to return +a verdict of 'Not Guilty.' That does not necessarily mean that the +prisoner has established her innocence by proof; it simply means that +the Crown has failed to produce in your minds an undoubted conviction +of her guilt." + +Salcombe Hardy, lifting his drowned-violet eyes for a moment from his +reporter's note-book, scribbled two words on a slip of paper and pushed +them over to Waffles Newton. "Judge hostile." Waffles nodded. They were +old hounds on this blood-trail. + +The judge creaked on. + +"You may perhaps wish to hear from me exactly what is meant by those +words 'reasonable doubt.' They mean, just so much doubt as you might +have in every-day life about an ordinary matter of business. This is +a case of murder, and it might be natural for you to think that, in +such a case, the words mean more than this. But that is not so. They +do not mean that you must cast about for fantastical solutions of what +seems to you plain and simple. They do not mean those nightmare doubts +which sometimes torment us at four o'clock in the morning when we have +not slept very well. They only mean that the proof must be such as you +would accept about a plain matter of buying and selling, or some such +commonplace transaction. You must not strain your belief in favour of +the prisoner any more, of course, than you must accept proof of her +guilt without the most careful scrutiny. + +"Having said just these few words, so that you may not feel too much +overwhelmed by the heavy responsibility laid upon you by your duty to +the State, I will now begin at the beginning and try to place the story +that we have heard, as clearly as possible before you. + +"The case for the Crown is that the prisoner, Harriet Vane, murdered +Philip Boyes by poisoning him with arsenic. I need not detain you by +going through the proofs offered by Sir James Lubbock and the other +doctors who have given evidence as to the cause of death. The Crown +say he died of arsenical poisoning, and the defence do not dispute it. +The evidence is, therefore, that the death was due to arsenic, and you +must accept that as a fact. The only question that remains for you is +whether, in fact, that arsenic was deliberately administered by the +prisoner with intent to murder. + +"The deceased, Philip Boyes, was, as you have heard, a writer. He was +thirty-six years old, and he had published five novels and a large +number of essays and articles. All these literary works were of what is +sometimes called an 'advanced' type. They preached doctrines which may +seem to some of us immoral or seditious, such as atheism, and anarchy, +and what is known as free love. His private life appears to have been +conducted, for some time at least, in accordance with these doctrines. + +"At any rate, at some time in the year 1927, he became acquainted with +Harriet Vane. They met in some of those artistic and literary circles +where 'advanced' topics are discussed, and after a time they became +very friendly. The prisoner is also a novelist by profession, and it is +very important to remember that she is a writer of so-called 'mystery' +or 'detective' stories, such as deal with various ingenious methods of +committing murder and other crimes. + +"You have heard the prisoner in the witness-box, and you have heard +the various people who came forward to give evidence as to her +character. You have been told that she is a young woman of great +ability, brought up on strictly religious principles, who, through no +fault of her own was left, at the age of twenty-three, to make her own +way in the world. Since that time--and she is now twenty-nine years +old--she has worked industriously to keep herself, and it is very +much to her credit that she has, by her own exertions, made herself +independent in a legitimate way, owing nothing to anybody and accepting +help from no one. + +"She has told us herself, with great candour, how she became deeply +attached to Philip Boyes, and how, for a considerable time, she held +out against his persuasions to live with him in an irregular manner. +There was, in fact, no reason at all why he should not have married +her honourably; but apparently he represented himself as being +conscientiously opposed to any formal marriage. You have the evidence +of Sylvia Marriott and Eiluned Price that the prisoner was made very +unhappy by this attitude which he chose to take up, and you have heard +also that he was a very handsome and attractive man, whom any woman +might have found it difficult to resist. + +"At any rate, in March of 1928, the prisoner, worn out, as she tells +us, by his unceasing importunities, gave in, and consented to live on +terms of intimacy with him, outside the bonds of marriage. + +"Now you may feel, and quite properly, that this was a very wrong thing +to do. You may, after making all allowances for this young woman's +unprotected position, still feel that she was a person of unstable +moral character. You will not be led away by the false glamour which +certain writers contrive to throw about 'free love,' into thinking +that this was anything but an ordinary, vulgar act of misbehavior. Sir +Impey Biggs, very rightly using all his great eloquence on behalf of +his client, has painted this action of Harriet Vane's in very rosy +colours; he has spoken of unselfish sacrifice and self-immolation, +and has reminded you that, in such a situation, the woman always has +to pay more heavily than the man. You will not, I am sure, pay too +much attention to this. You know quite well the difference between +right and wrong in such matters, and you may think that, if Harriet +Vane had not become to a certain extent corrupted by the unwholesome +influences among which she lived, she would have shown a truer heroism +by dismissing Philip Boyes from her society. + +"But, on the other hand, you must be careful not to attach the wrong +kind of importance to this lapse. It is one thing for a man or woman +to live an immoral life, and quite another thing to commit murder. +You may perhaps think that one step into the path of wrongdoing makes +the next one easier, but you must not give too much weight to that +consideration. You are entitled to take it into account, but you must +not be too much prejudiced." + +The judge paused for a moment, and Freddy Arbuthnot jerked an elbow +into the ribs of Lord Peter Wimsey, who appeared to be a prey to gloom. + +"I should jolly well hope not. Damn it, if every little game led to +murder, they'd be hanging half of us for doin' in the other half." + +"And which half would _you_ be in?" enquired his lordship, fixing him +for a moment with a cold eye and then returning his glance to the dock. + +"Victim," said the Hon. Freddy, "victim. Me for the corpse in the +library." + +"Philip Boyes and the prisoner lived together in this fashion," went +on the judge, "for nearly a year. Various friends have testified that +they appeared to live on terms of the greatest mutual affection. Miss +Price said that, although Harriet Vane obviously felt her unfortunate +position very acutely--cutting herself off from her family friends and +refusing to thrust herself into company where her social outlawry +might cause embarrassment and so on--yet she was extremely loyal to her +lover and expressed herself proud and happy to be his companion. + +"Nevertheless, in February 1929 there was a quarrel, and the couple +separated. It is not denied that the quarrel took place. Mr. and Mrs. +Dyer, who occupy the flat immediately above Philip Boyes', say that +they heard loud talking in angry voices, the man swearing and the woman +crying, and that the next day, Harriet Vane packed up all her things +and left the house for good. The curious feature in the case, and one +which you must consider very carefully, is the reason assigned for the +quarrel. As to this, the only evidence we have is the prisoner's own. +According to Miss Marriott, with whom Harriet Vane took refuge after +the separation, the prisoner steadily refused to give any information +on the subject, saying only that she had been painfully deceived by +Boyes and never wished to hear his name spoken again. + +"Now it might be supposed from this that Boyes had given the prisoner +cause for grievance against him, by unfaithfulness, or unkindness, or +simply by a continued refusal to regularise the situation in the eyes +of the world. But the prisoner absolutely denies this. According to +her statement--and on this point her evidence is confirmed by a letter +which Philip Boyes wrote to his father--Boyes did at length offer her +legal marriage, and this was the cause of the quarrel. You may think +this a very remarkable statement to make, but that is the prisoner's +evidence on oath. + +"It would be natural for you to think that this proposal of marriage +takes away any suggestion that the prisoner had a cause of grievance +against Boyes. Anyone would say that, under such circumstances, she +could have no motive for wishing to murder this young man, but rather +the contrary. Still, there is the fact of the quarrel, and the prisoner +herself states that this honourable, though belated, proposal was +unwelcome to her. She does not say--as she might very reasonably +say, and as her counsel has most forcefully and impressively said for +her, that this marriage-offer completely does away with any pretext +for enmity on her part towards Philip Boyes. Sir Impey Biggs says so, +but that is not what the prisoner says. She says--and you must try +to put yourselves in her place and understand her point of view if +you can--that she was angry with Boyes because, after persuading her +against her will to adopt his principles of conduct, he then renounced +those principles and so, as she says, 'made a fool of her.' + +"Well, that is for you to consider: whether the offer which was in fact +made could reasonably be construed into a motive for murder. I must +impress upon you that no other motive has been suggested in evidence." + +At this point the elderly spinster on the jury was seen to be making a +note--a vigorous note, to judge from the action of her pencil on the +paper. Lord Peter Wimsey shook his head slowly two or three times and +muttered something under his breath. + +"After this," said the judge, "nothing particular seems to have +happened to these two people for three months or so, except that +Harriet Vane left Miss Marriott's house and took a small flat of her +own in Doughty Street, while Philip Boyes, on the contrary, finding +his solitary life depressing, accepted the invitation of his cousin, +Mr. Norman Urquhart, to stay at the latter's house in Woburn Square. +Although living in the same quarter of London, Boyes and the accused +do not seem to have met very often after the separation. Once or twice +there was an accidental encounter at the house of a friend. The dates +of these occasions cannot be ascertained with any certainty--they were +informal parties--but there is some evidence that there was a meeting +towards the end of March, another in the second week in April, and a +third some time in May. These times are worth noting, though, as the +exact day is left doubtful, you must not attach too much importance to +them. + +"However, we now come to a date of the very greatest importance. On +April 10th, a young woman, who has been identified as Harriet Vane, +entered the chemist's shop kept by Mr. Brown in Southampton Row, and +purchased two ounces of commercial arsenic, saying that she needed it +to destroy rats. She signed the poison-book in the name of Mary Slater, +and the handwriting has been identified as that of the prisoner. +Moreover, the prisoner herself admits having made this purchase, +for certain reasons of her own. For this reason it is comparatively +unimportant--but you may think it worth noting--that the housekeeper +of the flats where Harriet Vane lives has come here and told you that +there are no rats on the premises, and never have been in the whole +time of her residence there. + +"On May 5th. we have another purchase of arsenic. The prisoner, as she +herself states, this time procured a tin of arsenical weed-killer, of +the same brand that was mentioned in the Kidwelly poisoning case. This +time she gave the name of Edith Waters. There is no garden attached to +the flats where she lives, nor could there be any conceivable use for +weed-killer on the premises. + +"On various occasions also, during the period from the middle of +March to the beginning of May, the prisoner purchased other poisons, +including prussic acid (ostensibly for photographic purposes) and +strychnine. There was also an attempt to obtain aconitine, which was +not successful. A different shop was approached and a different name +given in each case. The arsenic is the only poison which directly +concerns this case, but these other purchases are of some importance, +as throwing light on the prisoner's activities at this time. + +"The prisoner has given an explanation of these purchases which you +must consider for what it is worth. She says that she was engaged at +that time in writing a novel about poisoning, and that she bought the +drugs in order to prove by experiment how easy it was for an ordinary +person to get hold of deadly poisons. In proof of this, her publisher, +Mr. Trufoot, has produced the manuscript of the book. You have had it +in your hands, and you will be given it again, if you like, when I have +finished my summing-up, to look at in your own room. Passages were read +out to you, showing that the subject of the book was murder by arsenic, +and there is a description in it of a young woman going to a chemist's +shop and buying a considerable quantity of this deadly substance. And I +must mention here what I should have mentioned before, namely, that the +arsenic purchased from Mr. Brown was the ordinary commercial arsenic, +which is coloured with charcoal or indigo, as the law requires, in +order that it may not be mistaken for sugar or any other innocent +substance." + +Salcombe Hardy groaned: "How long, O Lord, how long shall we have to +listen to all this tripe about commercial arsenic? Murderers learn it +now at their mother's knee." + +"I particularly want you to remember those dates--I will give them to +you again--the 10th. April and the 5th. May." (The Jury wrote them +down. Lord Peter Wimsey murmured: "They all wrote down on their slates, +'She doesn't believe there's an atom of meaning in it.'" The Hon. +Freddy said "What? What?" and the judge turned over another page of his +notes.) + +"About this time, Philip Boyes began to suffer from renewed attacks of +a gastric trouble to which he had been subject from time to time during +his life. You have read the evidence of Dr. Green, who attended him +for something of the sort during his University career. That is some +time ago; but there is also Dr. Weare, who, in 1925 prescribed for a +similar attack. Not grave illnesses, but painful and exhausting, with +sickness and so on, and aching in the limbs. Plenty of people have such +troubles from time to time. Still, there is a coincidence of dates here +which may be significant. We get these attacks--noted in Dr. Weare's +case-book--one on the 31st. of March, one on the 15th. of April and one +on the 12th. of May. Three sets of coincidences--as you may perhaps +think them to be--Harriet Vane and Philip Boyes meet 'towards the end +of March,' and he has an attack of gastritis on March 31st; on 10th. +April Harriet Vane purchases two ounces of arsenic--they meet again +'in the second week in April,' and on April 15th, he has another +attack; on 5th. May, there is the purchase of weed-killer--'some time +in May' there is another meeting, and on the 12th. May he is taken +ill for the third time. You may think that is rather curious, but you +must not forget that the Crown have failed to prove any purchase of +arsenic before the meeting in March. You must bear that in mind when +considering this point. + +"After the third attack--the one in May--the doctor advises Boyes to +go away for a change, and he selects the north-west corner of Wales. +He goes to Harlech, and spends a very pleasant time there and is much +better. But he has a friend to accompany him, Mr. Ryland Vaughan, whom +you have seen, and this friend says that 'Philip was not happy'. In +fact, Mr. Vaughan formed the opinion that he was fretting after Harriet +Vane. His bodily health improved, but he grew mentally depressed. And +so on June 16th, we find him writing a letter to Miss Vane. Now that is +an important letter, so I will read it to you once more: + + 'Dear Harriet, + + Life is an utter mess-up. I can't stick it out here any longer. + I've decided to cut adrift and take a trip out West. But before I + go, I want to see you once again and find out if it isn't possible + to put things straight again. You must do as you like, of course, + but I still cannot understand the attitude you take up. If I can't + make you see the thing in the right perspective this time I'll + chuck it for good. I shall be in town on the 20th. Let me have a + line to say when I can come round. + + Yours, + P.' + +"Now that, as you have realised, is a most ambiguous letter. Sir +Impey Biggs, with arguments of great weight, has suggested that by +the expressions 'cut adrift and take a trip out west,' 'I can't stick +it out here,' and 'chuck it for good,' the writer was expressing +his intention to make away with himself if he could not effect a +reconciliation with the accused. He points out that 'to go west' +is a well-known metaphor for dying, and that, of course, may be +convincing to you. But Mr. Urquhart, when examined on the subject by +the Attorney-General, said that he supposed the letter to refer to a +project which he himself had suggested to the deceased, of taking a +voyage across the Atlantic to Barbados, by way of change of scene. +And the learned Attorney-General makes this other point that when the +writer says, 'I can't stick it out _here_ any longer,' he means, here +in Britain, or perhaps merely 'here at Harlech,' and that if the phrase +had reference to suicide it would read simply, 'I can't stick it out +any longer.' + +"No doubt you have formed your own opinion on this point. It is +important to note that the deceased asks for an appointment on the +20th. The reply to this letter is before us; it reads: + + 'Dear Phil, + + You can come round at 9.30 on the 20th. if you like, but you + certainly will not make me change my mind.' + +"And it is signed simply 'M.' A very cold letter, you may think--almost +hostile in tone. And yet the appointment is made for 9.30. + +"I shall not have to keep your attention very much longer, but I do ask +for it at this point, specially--though you have been attending most +patiently and industriously all the time--because we now come to the +actual day of the death itself." + +The old man clasped his hands one over the other upon the sheaf of +notes and leaned a little forward. He had it all in his head, though +he had known nothing of it until the last three days. He had not +reached the time to babble of green fields and childhood ways; he still +had firm hold of the present; he held it pinned down flat under his +wrinkled fingers with their grey, chalky nails. + +"Philip Boyes and Mr. Vaughan came back to town together on the evening +of the 19th, and there would seem to be no doubt at all that Boyes was +then in the best of health. Boyes spent the night with Mr. Vaughan, and +they breakfasted together in the usual way upon bacon and eggs, toast, +marmalade and coffee. At 11 o'clock Boyes had a Guinness, observing +that, according to the advertisements it was 'Good for you.' At 1 +o'clock he ate a hearty lunch at his club, and in the afternoon he +played several sets at tennis with Mr. Vaughan and some other friends. +During the game the remark was made by one of the players that Harlech +had done Boyes good, and he replied that he was feeling fitter than he +had done for many months. + +"At half-past seven he went round to have dinner with his cousin, Mr. +Norman Urquhart. Nothing at all unusual in his manner or appearance was +noticed, either by Mr. Urquhart or by the maid who waited at table. +Dinner was served at 8 o'clock exactly, and I think it would be a good +thing if you were to write down that time (if you have not already done +so) and also the list of things eaten and drunk. + +"The two cousins dined alone together, and first, by way of cocktail, +each had a glass of sherry. The wine was a fine Oleroso of 1847, +and the maid decanted it from a fresh bottle and poured it into the +glasses as they sat in the library. Mr. Urquhart retains the dignified +old-fashioned custom of having the maid in attendance throughout the +meal, so that we have here the advantage of two witnesses during this +part of the evening. You saw the maid, Hannah Westlock, in the box, and +I think you will say she gave the impression of being a sensible and +observant witness. + +"Well, there was the sherry. Then came a cup of cold bouillon, served +by Hannah Westlock from the tureen on the sideboard. It was very +strong, good soup, set to a clear jelly. Both men had some, and, after +dinner, the bouillon was finished by the cook and Miss Westlock in the +kitchen. + +"After the soup came a piece of turbot with sauce. The portions were +again carved at the sideboard, the sauce-boat was handed to each in +turn, and the dish was then sent out to be finished in the kitchen. + +"Then came a _poulet en casserole_--that is, chicken cut up and stewed +slowly with vegetables in a fireproof cooking utensil. Both men had +some of this, and the maids finished the dish. + +"The final course was a sweet omelette, which was made at the table +in a chafing-dish by Philip Boyes himself. Both Mr. Urquhart and his +cousin were very particular about eating an omelette the moment it came +from the pan--and a very good rule it is, and I advise you all to treat +omelettes in the same way and never to allow them to stand, or they +will get tough. Four eggs were brought to the table in their shells, +and Mr. Urquhart broke them one by one into a bowl, adding sugar from +a sifter. Then he handed the bowl to Mr. Boyes, saying: 'You're the +real dab at omelettes, Philip--I'll leave this to you'. Philip Boyes +then beat the eggs and sugar together, cooked the omelette in the +chafing-dish, filled it with hot jam, which was brought in by Hannah +Westlock, and then himself divided it into two portions, giving one to +Mr. Urquhart and taking the remainder himself. + +"I have been a little careful to remind you of all these things, to +show that we have good proof that every dish served at dinner was +partaken of by two people at least, and in most cases by four. The +omelette--the only dish which did not go out to the kitchen--was +prepared by Philip Boyes himself and shared by his cousin. Neither +Mr. Urquhart, Miss Westlock nor the cook, Mrs. Pettican, felt any +ill-effects from this meal. + +"I should mention also that there was one article of diet which was +partaken of by Philip Boyes alone, and that was a bottle of Burgundy. +It was a fine old Corton, and was brought to the table in its original +bottle. Mr. Urquhart drew the cork and then handed the bottle intact to +Philip Boyes, saying that he himself would not take any--he had been +advised not to drink at mealtimes. Philip Boyes drank two glassfuls +and the remainder of the bottle was fortunately preserved. As you +have already heard, the wine was later analysed and found to be quite +harmless. + +"This brings us to 9 o'clock. After dinner, coffee is offered, but +Boyes excuses himself on the ground that he does not care for Turkish +coffee, and moreover will probably be given coffee by Harriet Vane. At +9.15 Boyes leaves Mr. Urquhart's house in Woburn Square, and is driven +in a taxi to the house where Miss Vane has her flat, No. 100 Doughty +Street--a distance of about half a mile. We have it from Harriet Vane +herself, from Mrs. Bright, a resident in the ground floor flat, and +from Police Constable D.1234 who was passing along the street at the +time, that he was standing on the doorstep, ringing the prisoner's +bell, at 25 minutes past 9. She was on the look-out for him and let him +in immediately. + +"Now, as the interview was naturally a private one, we have no account +of it to go upon but that of the prisoner. She has told us that as soon +as he came in, she offered him 'a cup of coffee which was standing +ready upon the gas-ring.' Now, when the learned Attorney-General +heard the prisoner say that, he immediately asked what the coffee was +standing ready in. The prisoner, apparently not quite understanding the +purport of the question, replied 'in the fender, to keep hot.' When +the question was repeated more clearly, she explained that the coffee +was made in a saucepan, and that it was this which was placed upon the +gas-ring in the fender. The Attorney-General then drew the prisoner's +attention to her previous statement made to the police, in which +this expression appeared: 'I had a cup of coffee ready for him on his +arrival.' You will see at once the importance of this. If the cups of +coffee were prepared and poured out separately before the arrival of +the deceased, there was every opportunity to place poison in one of the +cups beforehand and offer the prepared cup to Philip Boyes; but if the +coffee was poured out from the saucepan in the deceased's presence, +the opportunity would be rather less, though of course the thing might +easily be done while Boyes' attention was momentarily distracted. The +prisoner explained that in her statement she used the phrase 'a cup +of coffee' merely as denoting 'a certain quantity of coffee.' You +yourselves will be able to judge whether that is a usual and natural +form of expression. The deceased is said by her to have taken no milk +or sugar in his coffee, and you have the testimony of Mr. Urquhart +and Mr. Vaughan that it was his usual habit to drink his after-dinner +coffee black and unsweetened. + +"According to the prisoner's evidence, the interview was not a +satisfactory one. Reproaches were uttered on both sides, and at 10 +o'clock or thereabouts, the deceased expressed his intention of leaving +her. She says that he appeared uneasy and remarked that he was not +feeling well, adding that her behaviour had greatly upset him. + +"At ten minutes past ten--and I want you to note these times very +carefully, the taxi-driver Burke, who was standing on the rank in +Guilford Street, was approached by Philip Boyes and told to take him +to Woburn Square. He says that Boyes spoke in a hurried and abrupt +tone, like that of a person in distress of mind or body. When the taxi +stopped before Mr. Urquhart's house, Boyes did not get out, and Burke +opened the door to see what was the matter. He found the deceased +huddled in a corner with his hand pressed over his stomach and his +face pale and covered with perspiration. He asked him whether he was +ill, and the deceased replied: 'Yes, rotten.' Burke helped him out +and rang the bell, supporting him with one arm as they stood on the +doorstep. Hannah Westlock opened the door. Philip Boyes seemed hardly +able to walk; his body was bent almost double, and he sank groaning +into a hall-chair and asked for brandy. She brought him a stiff +brandy-and-soda from the dining-room, and after drinking this, Boyes +recovered sufficiently to take money from his pocket and pay for the +taxi. + +"As he still seemed very ill, Hannah Westlock summoned Mr. Urquhart +from the library. He said to Boyes, 'Hullo, old man--what's the matter +with you?' Boyes replied, 'God knows! I feel awful. It can't have +been the chicken.' Mr. Urquhart said he hoped not, he hadn't noticed +anything wrong with it, and Boyes answered, No, he supposed it was one +of his usual attacks, but he'd never felt anything like this before. He +was taken upstairs to bed, and Dr. Grainger was summoned by telephone, +as being the nearest physician available. + +"Before the doctor's arrival, the patient vomited violently, and +thereafter continued to vomit persistently. Dr. Grainger diagnosed the +trouble as acute gastritis. There was a high temperature and rapid +pulse, and the patient's abdomen was acutely painful to pressure, but +the doctor found nothing indicative of any trouble in the nature of +appendicitis or peritonitis. He therefore went back to his surgery, +and made up a soothing medicine to control the vomiting--a mixture of +bicarbonate of potash, tincture of oranges, and chloroform--no other +drugs. + +"Next day the vomiting still persisted, and Dr. Weare was called in to +consult with Dr. Grainger, as he was well acquainted with the patient's +constitution." + +Here the judge paused and glanced at the clock. + +"Time is getting on, and as the medical evidence has still to be passed +in review, I will adjourn the Court now for lunch." + +"He would," said the Hon. Freddy, "just at the beastliest moment when +everybody's appetite is thoroughly taken away. Come on, Wimsey, let's +go and fold a chop into the system, shall we?--Hullo!" + +Wimsey had pushed past without heeding him, and was making his way down +into the body of the court, where Sir Impey Biggs stood conferring with +his juniors. + +"Seems to be in a bit of a stew," said Mr. Arbuthnot, meditatively. +"Gone to put an alternative theory of some kind, I expect. Wonder why +I came to this bally show. Tedious, don't you know, and the girl's not +even pretty. Don't think I'll come back after grub." + +He struggled out, and found himself face to face with the Dowager +Duchess of Denver. + +"Come and have lunch, Duchess," said Freddy, hopefully. He liked the +Dowager. + +"I'm waiting for Peter, thanks, Freddy. Such an interesting case and +interesting people, too, don't you think, though what the jury make of +it I don't know, with faces like hams most of them, except the artist, +who wouldn't have any features at all if it wasn't for that dreadful +tie and his beard, looking like Christ, only not really Christ but one +of those Italian ones in a pink frock and blue top thing. Isn't that +Peter's Miss Climpson on the jury, how does she get there, I wonder?" + +"He's put her into a house somewhere round about, I fancy," said +Freddy, "with a typewriting office to look after and live over the shop +and run those comic charity stunts of his. Funny old soul, isn't she? +Stepped out of a magazine of the 'nineties. But she seems to suit his +work all right and all that." + +"Yes--such a good thing too, answering all those shady advertisements +and then getting the people shown up and so courageous too, some of +them the horridest oily people, and murderers I shouldn't wonder with +automatic thingummies and life-preservers in every pocket, and very +likely a gas-oven full of bones like Landru, so clever, wasn't he? And +really _such_ women--born murderees as somebody says--quite pig-faced +but not of course deserving it and possibly the photographs don't do +them justice, poor things." + +The Duchess was even more rambling than usual, thought Freddy, and as +she spoke her eyes wandered to her son with a kind of anxiety unusual +in her. + +"Top-hole to see old Wimsey back, isn't it?" he said, with simple +kindliness. "Wonderful how keen he is on this sort of thing, don't you +know. Rampages off the minute he gets home like the jolly old war-horse +sniffing the T.N.T. Regularly up to the eyes in it." + +"Well, it's one of Chief-Inspector Parker's cases, and they're such +great friends, you know, quite like David and Beersheba--or do I mean +Daniel?" + +Wimsey joined them at this complicated moment, and tucked his mother's +arm affectionately in his own. + +"Frightfully sorry to keep you waiting, Mater, but I had to say a word +to Biggy. He's having a rotten time, and that old Jeffreys of a judge +looks as though he was getting measured for a black cap. I'm going home +to burn my books. Dangerous to know too much about poisons, don't you +think? Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape +the old Bailey." + +"The young woman doesn't seem to have tried that recipe, does she?" +remarked Freddy. + +"You ought to be on the jury," retorted Wimsey, with unusual acidity, +"I bet that's what they're all saying at this moment. I'm convinced +that that foreman is a teetotaller--I saw ginger-beer going into the +jury-room, and I only hope it explodes and blows his inside through the +top of his skull." + +"All right, all right," returned Mr. Arbuthnot, soothingly, "what you +want is a drink." + + + + + CHAPTER II + + +The scramble for places subsided; the jury returned; the prisoner +reappeared in the dock suddenly, like a jack-in-the-box; the judge +resumed his seat. Some petals had spilt from the roses. The old voice +took up its tale where it had left off. + +"Members of the jury--there is no need, I think, for me to recall the +course of Philip Boyes' illness in great detail. The nurse was called +in on June 21st, and during that day the doctors visited the patient +three times. His condition grew steadily worse. There was persistent +vomiting and diarrhoea, and he could not keep any food or medicine +down at all. On the day after, the 22nd, he was worse still--in great +pain, the pulse growing weaker, and the skin about the mouth getting +dry and peeling off. The doctors gave him every attention, but could +do nothing for him. His father was summoned, and when he arrived he +found his son conscious, but unable to lift himself. He was able to +speak, however, and in the presence of his father and Nurse Williams +he made the remark, 'I'm going out, Dad, and I'm glad to be through +with it. Harriet'll be rid of me now--I didn't know she hated me quite +so much.' Now that was a very remarkable speech, and we have heard +two very different interpretations put upon it. It is for you to say +whether, in your opinion, he meant: 'She has succeeded in getting rid +of me; I didn't know she hated me enough to poison me,' or whether he +meant, 'When I realised she hated me so much, I decided I did not want +to live any longer'--or whether, perhaps, he meant neither of these +things. When people are very ill, they sometimes get fantastic ideas, +and sometimes they wander in their minds; perhaps you may feel that it +is not profitable to take too much for granted. Still, those words are +part of the evidence, and you are entitled to take them into account. + +"During the night he became gradually weaker and lost consciousness, +and at 3 o'clock in the morning he died, without ever regaining it. +That was on the 23rd. of June. + +"Now, up to this time, no suspicion of any kind had been aroused. +Both Dr. Grainger and Dr. Weare formed the opinion that the cause +of death was acute gastritis, and we need not blame them for coming +to this conclusion, because it was quite consistent both with the +symptoms of the illness and with the past history of the patient. A +death-certificate was given in the usual way, and the funeral took +place on the 28th. + +"Well, then something happened which frequently does happen in cases +of this kind, and that is that somebody begins to talk. It was Nurse +Williams who talked in this particular case, and while you will +probably think that this was a very wrong and a very indiscreet thing +for a nurse to do, yet, as it turns out, it was a good thing that she +did. Of course, she ought to have told Dr. Weare or Dr. Grainger of +her suspicions at the time, but she did not do this, and we may at +least feel glad to know that, in the doctors' opinions, even if she +had done so, and if they had discovered that the illness was caused +by arsenic, they would not have been able to do anything more to save +the life of this unfortunate man. At any rate, what happened was that +Nurse Williams was sent, during the last week of June, to nurse another +patient of Dr. Weare's, who happened to belong to the same literary +set in Bloomsbury as Philip Boyes and Harriet Vane, and while she was +there, she spoke about Philip Boyes, and said that, in her opinion, +the illness looked very much like poisoning, and she even mentioned +the word arsenic. Well, you know how a thing like that gets about. +One person tells another and it is discussed at tea-parties, or what +are known, I believe, as cocktail parties, and very soon a story gets +spread about, and people mention names and take sides. Miss Marriott +and Miss Price were told about it, and it also got to the ears of Mr. +Vaughan. Now Mr. Vaughan had been greatly distressed and surprised by +Philip Boyes' death, especially as he had been with him in Wales, and +knew how much he had improved in health while on his holiday, and he +also felt very strongly that Harriet Vane had behaved badly about the +love-affair. Mr. Vaughan felt that some action ought to be taken about +the matter, and went to Mr. Urquhart and put the story before him. +Now Mr. Urquhart is a solicitor, and is therefore inclined to take a +cautious view of rumours and suspicions, and he warned Mr. Vaughan that +it was not wise to go about making accusations against people, for fear +of an action for libel. At the same time, he naturally felt uneasy +that such a thing should be said about a relation who had died in his +house. He took the course--the very sensible course--of consulting Dr. +Weare and suggesting that, if he was quite certain that the illness +was due to gastritis and nothing else, he should take steps to rebuke +Nurse Williams and put an end to the talk. Dr. Weare was naturally very +much surprised and upset to hear what was being said, but, since the +suggestion had been made, he could not deny that--taking the symptoms +only into account--there was just the bare possibility of something of +the sort, because, as you have already heard in the medical evidence, +the symptoms of arsenical poisoning and of acute gastritis are really +indistinguishable. + +"When this was communicated to Mr. Vaughan, he was confirmed in his +suspicions, and wrote to the elder Mr. Boyes suggesting an enquiry. Mr. +Boyes was naturally very much shocked, and said at once that the matter +should be taken up. He had known of the liaison with Harriet Vane, and +had noticed that she did not come to enquire after Philip Boyes, nor +attend the funeral, and this had struck him as heartless behaviour. In +the end, the police were communicated with and an exhumation order +obtained. + +"You have heard the result of the analysis made by Sir James Lubbock +and Mr. Stephen Fordyce. There was a great deal of discussion about +methods of analysis and the way that arsenic behaves in the body and so +on, but, I think we need not trouble too much about those fine details. +The chief points in the evidence seemed to me to be these, which you +may note down if you care to do so. + +"The analysts took certain organs of the body--the stomach, intestines, +kidneys, liver and so on, and analyzed portions of these and found +that they all contained arsenic. They were able to weigh the quantity +of arsenic found in these various portions, and they calculated from +that the quantity of arsenic present in the whole body. Then they had +to allow so much for the amount of arsenic eliminated from the body by +the vomiting and diarrhoea and also through the kidneys, because the +kidneys play a very large part in the elimination of this particular +poison. After making allowance for all these things, they formed the +opinion that a large and fatal dose of arsenic--four or five grains, +perhaps, had been taken about three days before the death. + +"I do not know whether you quite followed all the technical arguments +about this. I will try to tell you the chief points as I understood +them. The nature of arsenic is to pass through the body very quickly, +especially if it is taken with food or immediately following a meal, +because the arsenic irritates the lining of the internal organs and +speeds up the process of elimination. The action would be quicker if +the arsenic were taken in liquid than if it were taken in the form of a +powder. Where arsenic was taken with, or immediately on top of a meal, +nearly the whole of it would be evacuated within twenty-four hours +after the onset of the illness. So you see that, although the actual +quantities found in the body may seem to you and me very small indeed, +the mere fact that they were found there at all, after three days of +persistent vomiting and diarrhoea and so on, points to a large dose +having been taken at some time. + +"Now there was a great deal of discussion about the time at which the +symptoms first set in. It is suggested by the defence that Philip +Boyes may have taken the arsenic himself at some time between leaving +Harriet Vane's flat and hailing the taxi in Guilford Street; and they +bring forward books which show that in many cases the onset of symptoms +takes place in a very short time after taking the arsenic--a quarter +of an hour, I think, was the shortest time mentioned where the arsenic +was taken in liquid form. Now the prisoner's statement--and we have no +other--is that Philip Boyes left her at 10 o'clock, and at ten minutes +past he was in Guilford Street. He was then looking ill. It would not +take many minutes to drive to Woburn Square at that hour of night, +and by the time he got there, he was already in acute pain and hardly +able to stand. Now Guilford Street is a very short way from Doughty +Street--perhaps three minutes' walk--and you must ask yourselves, +if the prisoner's statement is correct, what he did with those ten +minutes. Did he occupy himself in going to some quiet spot and taking +a dose of arsenic, which he must in that case have brought with him in +anticipation of an unfavourable interview with the prisoner? And I may +remind you here, that the defence have brought no evidence to show that +Philip Boyes ever bought any arsenic, or had access to any arsenic. +That is not to say he could not have obtained it--the purchases made +by Harriet Vane show that the law about the sale of poisons is not +always as effective as one would like it to be--but the fact remains +that the defence have not been able to show that the deceased ever had +arsenic in his possession. And while we are on this subject, I will +mention that, curiously enough, the analysts could find no traces of +the charcoal, or indigo, with which commercial arsenic is supposed to +be mixed. Whether it was bought by the prisoner or by the deceased +himself, you would expect to find traces of the colouring matter. But +you may think it likely that all such traces would be removed from the +body by the vomiting and purging which took place. + +"As regards the suggestion of suicide, you will have to ask yourselves +about those ten minutes--whether Boyes was taking a dose of arsenic, or +whether, as is also possible, he felt unwell and sat down somewhere to +recover himself, or whether, perhaps, he was merely roaming about in +the vague way we sometimes do when we are feeling upset and unhappy. +Or you may think that the prisoner was mistaken, or not speaking the +truth, about the time he left the flat. + +"You have also the prisoner's statement that Boyes mentioned, before he +left her, that he was feeling unwell. If you think this had anything to +do with the arsenic, it of course disposes of the suggestion that he +took poison after leaving the flat. + +"Then, when one looks into it, one finds that this question about the +onset of symptoms is left very vague. Various doctors came here and +told you about their own experiences and the cases quoted by medical +authorities in books, and you will have noticed that there is no +certainty at all about the time when the symptoms may be expected to +appear. Sometimes it is a quarter of an hour or half an hour, sometimes +two hours, sometimes as much as five or six, and, I believe, in one +case as much as seven hours after taking the poison." + +Here the Attorney-General rose respectfully and said: "In that case, me +lud, I think I am right in saying that the poison was taken on an empty +stomach." + +"Thank you, I am much obliged to you for the reminder. That was a case +in which the poison was taken on an empty stomach. I only mention these +cases to show that we are dealing with a very uncertain phenomenon, +and that is why I was particular to remind you of all the occasions on +which Philip Boyes took food during the day--the 20th of June, since +there is always the possibility that you may have to take them into +consideration." + +"A beast, but a just beast," murmured Lord Peter Wimsey. + +"I have purposely left out of consideration until now another point +which arose out of the analysis, and that is the presence of arsenic +in the hair. The deceased had curly hair, which he wore rather long; +the front portion, when straightened out, measured about six or seven +inches in places. Now, in this hair, arsenic was found, at the end +closest to the head. It did not extend to the tips of the longest hair, +but it was found near the roots, and Sir James Lubbock says that the +quantity was greater than could be accounted for in any natural way. +Occasionally, quite normal people are found to have minute traces of +arsenic in the hair and skin and so on, but not to the amount found +here. That is Sir James' opinion. + +"Now you have been told--and the medical witnesses all agree in +this--that if a person takes arsenic, a certain proportion of it will +be deposited in the skin, nails and hair. It will be deposited in the +root of the hair, and as the hair grows, the arsenic will be carried +along with the growth of the hair, so that you get a rough idea, +from seeing the position of the arsenic in the hair, how long the +administration of arsenic has been going on. There was a good deal of +discussion about this, but I think there was a fairly general agreement +that, if you took a dose of arsenic, you might expect to find traces +of it in the hair, close to the scalp, after about ten weeks. Hair +grows at the rate of about six inches in a year, and the arsenic will +grow out with it till it reaches the far end and is cut off. I am sure +that the ladies on the jury will understand this very well, because +I believe that the same thing occurs in the case of what is termed a +'permanent wave.' The wave is made in a certain portion of the hair, +and after a time it grows out, and the hair near the scalp comes +up straight and has to be waved again. You can tell by the position +of the wave, how long ago the waving was done. In the same way, if +a finger-nail is bruised, the discolouration will gradually grow up +the nail until it reaches the point where you can cut it off with the +scissors. + +"Now it has been said that the presence of arsenic in and about +the roots of Philip Boyes' hair indicates that he must have taken +arsenic three months at least before his death. You will consider +what importance is to be attached to this in view of the prisoner's +purchases of arsenic in April and May, and of the deceased's attacks of +sickness in March, April and May. The quarrel with the prisoner took +place in February; he was ill in March and he died in June. There are +five months between the quarrel and the death, and four months between +the first illness and the death, and you may think that there is some +significance in these dates. + +"We now come to the enquiries made by the police. When suspicion +was aroused, detectives investigated Harriet Vane's movements and +subsequently went to her flat to take a statement from her. When they +told her that Boyes was found to have died of arsenic poisoning, she +appeared very much surprised, and said, 'Arsenic? What an extraordinary +thing!' And then, she laughed, and said, 'Why, I am writing a book all +about arsenic poisoning.' They asked her about the purchases of arsenic +and other poisons which she had made and she admitted them quite +readily and at once gave the same explanation that she gave here in +court. They asked what she had done with the poisons, and she replied +that she had burnt them because they were dangerous things to have +about. The flat was searched, but no poisons of any kind were found, +except such things as aspirin and a few ordinary medicines of that +kind. She absolutely denied having administered arsenic or any kind +of poison to Philip Boyes. She was asked whether the arsenic could +possibly have got into the coffee by accident, and replied that that +was quite impossible, as she had destroyed all the poisons before the +end of May." + +Here Sir Impey Biggs interposed and begged with submission to suggest +that his lordship should remind the jury of the evidence given by Mr. +Challoner. + +"Certainly, Sir Impey, I am obliged to you. You remember that Mr. +Challoner is Harriet Vane's literary agent. He came here to tell us +that he had discussed with her as long ago as last December the subject +of her forthcoming book, and she then told him that it was to be about +poisons, and very probably about arsenic. So you may think it is a +point in the prisoner's favour that this intention of studying the +purchase and administration of arsenic was already in her mind some +time before the quarrel with Philip Boyes took place. She evidently +gave considerable thought to the subject, for there were a number of +books on her shelves dealing with forensic medicine and toxicology, +and also the reports of several famous poison trials, including the +Madeleine Smith case, the Seddon case and the Armstrong case--all of +which were cases of arsenical poisoning. + +"Well, I think that is the case as it is presented to you. This woman +is charged with having murdered her former lover by arsenic. He +undoubtedly did take arsenic, and if you are satisfied that she gave it +to him with intent to injure or kill him, and that he died of it, then +it is your duty to find her guilty of murder. + +"Sir Impey Biggs, in his able and eloquent speech, has put it to you +that she had very little motive for such a murder, but I am bound to +tell you that murders are very often committed for what seem to be +most inadequate motives--if, indeed, any motive can be called adequate +for such a crime. Especially where the parties are husband and wife, +or have lived together as husband and wife, there are likely to be +passionate feelings which may tend to crimes of violence in persons +with inadequate moral standards and of unbalanced mind. + +"The prisoner had the means--the arsenic--she had the expert knowledge, +and she had the opportunity to administer it. The defence say that this +is not enough. They say the Crown must go further and prove that the +poison could not have been taken in any other way--by accident, or with +suicidal intent. That is for you to judge. If you feel that there is +any reasonable doubt that the prisoner gave this poison to Philip Boyes +deliberately, you must bring her in Not Guilty of murder. You are not +bound to decide how it was given, if it was not given by her. Consider +the circumstances of the case as a whole, and say what conclusion you +have come to." + + + + + CHAPTER III + + +"They won't be long, I shouldn't think," said Waffles Newton, "it's +pretty damned obvious. Look here, old man, I'm going to push my stuff +in. Will you let me know what happens?" + +"Sure," said Salcombe Hardy, "if you don't mind dropping mine in at our +place as you go. You couldn't send me a drink by 'phone, could you? My +mouth's like the bottom of a parrot's cage." He looked at his watch. +"We shall miss the 6.30 edition, I'm afraid, unless they hurry up. The +old man is careful but he's damned slow." + +"They can't in decency not make a pretence of consulting about it," +said Newton. "I give them twenty minutes. They'll want a smoke. So do +I. I'll be back at ten to, in case." + +He wriggled his way out. Cuthbert Logan, who reported for a morning +paper, and was a man of more leisure, settled down to write up a +word-picture of the trial. He was a phlegmatic and sober person and +could write as comfortably in court as anywhere else. He liked to be +on the spot when things happened, and to note down glances, tones of +voice, colour effects and so forth. His copy was always entertaining, +and sometimes even distinguished. + +Freddy Arbuthnot, who had not, after all, gone home after lunch, +thought it was time to do so now. He fidgeted, and Wimsey frowned at +him. The Dowager Duchess made her way along the benches and squeezed +in next to Lord Peter. Sir Impey Biggs, having watched over his +client's interests to the last, disappeared, chatting cheerfully to +the Attorney-General, and followed by the smaller legal fry. The dock +was deserted. On the bench the red roses stood solitary, their petals +dropping. + +Chief-Inspector Parker, disengaging himself from a group of friends, +came slowly up through the crowd and greeted the Dowager. "And what do +you think of it, Peter?" he added, turning to Wimsey, "rather neatly +got up, eh?" + +"Charles," said Wimsey, "you ought not to be allowed out without me. +You've made a mistake, old man." + +"Made a mistake?" + +"She didn't do it." + +"Oh, come!" + +"She did not do it. It's very convincing and water-tight, but it's all +wrong." + +"You don't really think that." + +"I do." + +Parker looked distressed. He had confidence in Wimsey's judgment, and, +in spite of his own interior certainty, he felt shaken. + +"My dear man, where's the flaw in it?" + +"There isn't one. It's damnably knife-proof. There's nothing wrong +about it at all, except that the girl's innocent." + +"You're turning into a common or garden psychologist," said Parker, +with an uneasy laugh, "isn't he, Duchess?" + +"I wish I had known that girl," replied the Dowager, in her usual +indirect manner, "so interesting and a really remarkable face, though +perhaps not strictly good-looking, and all the more interesting for +that, because good-looking people are so often cows. I have been +reading one of her books, really quite good and so well-written, and +I didn't guess the murderer till page 200, rather clever, because I +usually do it about page 15. So very curious to write books about +crimes and then be accused of a crime one's self, some people might +say it was a judgment. I wonder whether, if she didn't do it, she has +spotted the murderer herself? I don't suppose detective writers detect +much in real life, do they, except Edgar Wallace of course, who always +seems to be everywhere and dear Conan Doyle and the black man what was +his name and of course the Slater person, such a scandal, though now I +come to think of it that was in Scotland where they have such very odd +laws about everything particularly getting married. Well, I suppose we +shall soon know now, not the truth, necessarily, but what the jury have +made of it." + +"Yes; they are being rather longer than I expected. But, I say, Wimsey, +I wish you'd tell me--" + +"Too late, too late, you cannot enter now. I have locked my heart in +a silver box and pinned it wi' a golden pin. Nobody's opinion matters +now, except the jury's. I expect Miss Climpson is telling 'em all about +it. When once she starts she doesn't stop for an hour or two." + +"Well, they've been half-an-hour now," said Parker. + +"Still waiting?" said Salcombe Hardy, returning to the press-table. + +"Yes--so this is what you call twenty minutes! Three-quarters of an +hour, I make it." + +"They've been out an hour-and-a-half," said a girl to her fiancé, just +behind Wimsey. "What can they be discussing?" + +"Perhaps they don't think she did it after all." + +"What nonsense! Of course she did it. You could see it by her face. +Hard, that's what I call it, and she never once cried or anything." + +"Oh, I dunno," said the young man. + +"You don't mean to say you admired her, Frank?" + +"Oh, well, I dunno. But she didn't look to me like a murderess." + +"And how do you know what a murderess looks like? Have you ever met +one?" + +"Well, I've seen them at Madame Tussaud's." + +"Oh, wax-works. Everybody looks like a murderer in a wax-works." + +"Well, p'raps they do. Have a choc." + +"Two hours and a quarter," said Waffles Newton, impatiently. "They +must have gone to sleep. Have to be a special edition. What happens if +they are all night about it?" + +"We sit here all night, that's all." + +"Well, it's my turn for a drink. Let me know, will you?" + +"Right-ho!" + +"I've been talking to one of the ushers," said the Man Who Knows the +Ropes, importantly, to a friend. "The judge has just sent round to the +jury to ask if he can help them in any way." + +"Has he? And what did they say?" + +"I don't know." + +"They've been out three hours and a half now," whispered the girl +behind Wimsey. "I'm getting fearfully hungry." + +"Are you, darling? Shall we go?" + +"No--I want to hear the verdict. We've waited so long now, we may as +well stop on." + +"Well, I'll go out and get some sandwiches." + +"Oh, that would be nice. But don't be long, because I'm sure I shall +get hysterics when I hear the sentence." + +"I'll be as quick as ever I can. Be glad you're not the jury--they're +not allowed anything at all." + +"What, nothing to eat or drink?" + +"Not a thing. I don't think they're supposed to have light or fire +either." + +"Poor things! But it's central-heated, isn't it?" + +"It's hot enough here, anyway. I'll be glad of a breath of fresh air." + +Five hours. + +"There's a terrific crowd in the street," said the Man Who Knows the +Ropes, returning from a reconnaissance. "Some people started booing +the prisoner and a bunch of men attacked them, and one fellow has been +carried off in an ambulance." + +"Really, how amusing! Look! There's Mr. Urquhart; he's come back. I'm +so sorry for him, aren't you? It must be horrid having somebody die in +your house." + +"He's talking to the Attorney-General. They've all had a proper dinner, +of course." + +"The Attorney-General isn't as handsome as Sir Impey Biggs. Is it true +he keeps canaries?" + +"The Attorney-General?" + +"No, Sir Impey." + +"Yes, quite true. He takes prizes with them." + +"What a funny idea!" + +"Bear up, Freddy," said Lord Peter Wimsey. "I perceive movements. They +are coming, my own, my sweet, were it never so airy a tread." + +The court rose to its feet. The judge took his seat. The prisoner, very +white in the electricity, reappeared in the dock. The door leading to +the jury-room opened. + +"Look at their faces," said the fiancée, "they say if it's going to be +Guilty they never look at the prisoner. Oh, Archie, hold my hand!" + +The Clerk of Assizes addressed the jury in tones in which formality +struggled with reproach. + +"Members of the jury, have you all agreed upon your verdict?" + +The foreman rose with an injured and irritable countenance. + +"I am sorry to say that we find it impossible to come to an agreement." + +A prolonged gasp and murmur went round the court. The judge leaned +forward, very courteous and not in the least fatigued. + +"Do you think that with a little more time you may be able to reach an +agreement?" + +"I'm afraid not, my lord." The foreman glanced savagely at one corner +of the jury-box, where the elderly spinster sat with her head bowed +and her hands tightly clasped. "I see no prospect at all of our ever +agreeing." + +"Can I assist you in any way?" + +"No, thank you, my lord. We quite understand the evidence, but we +cannot agree about it." + +"That is unfortunate. I think perhaps you had better try again, and +then, if you are still unable to come to a decision, you must come back +and tell me. In the meantime, if my knowledge of the law can be of any +assistance to you, it is, of course, quite at your disposal." + +The jury stumbled sullenly away. The judge trailed his scarlet robes +out at the back of the bench. The murmur of conversation rose and +swelled into a loud rumble. + +"By jove," said Freddy Arbuthnot, "I believe it's your Miss Climpson +that's holdin' the jolly old show up, Wimsey. Did you see how the +foreman glared at her?" + +"Good egg," said Wimsey, "oh, excellent, excellent egg! She has a +fearfully tough conscience--she may stick it out yet." + +"I believe you've been corrupting the jury, Wimsey. Did you signal to +her or something?" + +"I didn't," said Wimsey. "Believe me or believe me not, I refrained +from so much as a lifted eyebrow." + +"And he himself has said it," muttered Freddy, "and it's greatly to his +credit. But it's damned hard on people who want their dinners." + +Six hours. Six hours and a half. + +"At last!" + +As the jury filed back for the second time, they showed signs of wear +and tear. The harassed woman had been crying and was still choking into +her handkerchief. The man with the bad cold looked nearly dead. The +artist's hair was rumpled into an untidy bush. The company director +and the foreman looked as though they would have liked to strangle +somebody, and the elderly spinster had her eyes shut and her lips +moving as though she were praying. + +"Members of the jury, are you agreed upon your verdict?" + +"No; we are quite sure that it is impossible for us ever to agree." + +"You are quite sure?" said the judge. "I do not wish to hurry you in +any way. I am quite prepared to wait here as long as ever you like." + +The snarl of the company director was audible even in the gallery. The +foreman controlled himself, and replied in a voice ragged with temper +and exhaustion. + +"We shall never agree, my lord--not if we were to stay here till +Doomsday." + +"That is very unfortunate," said the judge, "but in that case, of +course, there is nothing for it but to discharge you and order a fresh +trial. I feel sure that you have all done your best and that you have +brought all the resources of your intelligence and conscience to bear +on this matter to which you have listened with so much patient and +zealous attention. You are discharged, and you are entitled to be +excused from all further jury service for the next twelve years." + +Almost before the further formalities were completed, and while the +judge's robes still flared in the dark little doorway, Wimsey had +scrambled down into the well of the court. He caught the defending +counsel by the gown. + +"Biggy--well done! You've got another chance. Let me in on this and +we'll pull it off." + +"You think so, Wimsey? I don't mind confessing that we've done better +than I ever expected." + +"We'll do better still next time. I say, Biggy, swear me in as a clerk +or something. I want to interview her." + +"Who, my client?" + +"Yes, I've got a hunch about this case. We've got to get her off, and I +know it can be done." + +"Well, come and see me tomorrow. I must go and speak to her now. I'll +be in my chambers at ten. Good-night." + +Wimsey darted off and rushed round to the side-door, from which the +jury were emerging. Last of them all, her hat askew and her mackintosh +dragged awkwardly round her shoulders, came the elderly spinster. +Wimsey dashed up to her and seized her hand. + +"Miss Climpson!" + +"Oh, Lord Peter. Oh, dear! What a dreadful day it has been. Do you +know, it was me that caused the trouble, mostly, though two of them +most bravely backed me up, and oh, Lord Peter, I hope I haven't done +wrong, but I couldn't, no I _couldn't_ in conscience say she had done +it when I was sure she hadn't, could I? Oh, dear, oh, dear!" + +"You're absolutely right. She didn't do it, and thank God you stood up +to them and gave her another chance. I'm going to prove she didn't do +it. And I'm going to take you out to dinner, and--I say, Miss Climpson!" + +"Yes?" + +"I hope you won't mind, because I haven't shaved since this morning, +but I'm going to take you round the next quiet corner and kiss you." + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + +The following day was a Sunday, but Sir Impey Biggs cancelled an +engagement to play golf (with the less regret as it was pouring cats +and dogs), and held an extraordinary council of war. + +"Well, now, Wimsey," said the advocate, "what is your idea about this? +May I introduce Mr. Crofts of Crofts & Cooper, solicitors for the +defence." + +"My idea is that Miss Vane didn't do it," said Wimsey. "I dare say +that's an idea which has already occurred to you, but with the weight +of my great mind behind it, no doubt it strikes the imagination more +forcibly." + +Mr. Crofts, not being quite clear whether this was funny or fatuous, +smiled deferentially. + +"Quite so," said Sir Impey, "but I should be interested to know how +many of the jury saw it in that light." + +"Well, I can tell you that, at least, because I know one of them. One +woman and half a woman and about three-quarters of a man." + +"Meaning precisely?" + +"Well, the woman I know stuck out for it that Miss Vane wasn't that +sort of person. They bullied her a good deal, of course, because she +couldn't lay a finger on any real weakness in the chain of evidence, +but she said the prisoner's demeanour was part of the evidence and that +she was entitled to take that into consideration. Fortunately, she is +a tough, thin, elderly woman with a sound digestion and a militant +High-Church conscience of remarkable staying-power, and her wind is +excellent. She let 'em all gallop themselves dead, and then said she +still didn't believe it and wasn't going to say she did." + +"Very useful," said Sir Impey. "A person who can believe all the +articles of the Christian faith is not going to boggle over a trifle of +adverse evidence. But we can never hope for a whole jury-box full of +ecclesiastical diehards. How about the other woman and the man?" + +"Well, the woman was rather unexpected. She was the stout, prosperous +party who keeps a sweet-shop. She said she didn't think the case +was proved, and that it was perfectly possible that Boyes had taken +the stuff himself, or that his cousin had given it to him. She was +influenced, rather oddly, by the fact that she had attended one or two +arsenic trials, and had not been satisfied by the verdict in some other +cases--notably the Seddon trial. She has no opinion of men in general +(she has buried her third) and she disbelieves all expert evidence on +principle. She said that, personally, she thought Miss Vane might have +done it, but she wouldn't really hang a dog on medical evidence. At +first she was ready to vote with the majority, but she took a dislike +to the foreman, who tried to bear her down by his male authority, and +eventually she said she was going to back up my friend Miss Climpson." + +Sir Impey laughed. + +"Very interesting. I wish we always got this inside information about +juries. We sweat like hell to prepare evidence, and then one person +makes up her mind on what isn't really evidence at all, and another +supports her on the ground that evidence can't be relied on. How about +the man?" + +"The man was the artist, and the only person who really understood +the kind of life these people were leading. He believed your client's +version of the quarrel, and said that, if the girl really felt like +that about the man, the last thing she would want to do would be to +kill him. She'd rather stand back and watch him ache, like the man +with the hollow tooth in the comic song. He was also able to believe +the whole story about purchasing the poisons, which to the others, of +course, seemed extremely feeble. He also said that Boyes, from what he +had heard, was a conceited prig, and that anybody who disposed of him +was doing a public service. He had had the misfortune to read some of +his books, and considered the man an excrescence and a public nuisance. +Actually he thought it more than likely that he had committed suicide, +and if anybody was prepared to take that point of view he was ready to +second it. He also alarmed the jury by saying that he was accustomed to +late hours and a stale atmosphere, and had not the slightest objection +to sitting up all night. Miss Climpson also said that, in a righteous +cause, a little personal discomfort was a trifle, and added that her +religion had trained her to fasting. At that point, the third woman had +hysterics and another man, who had an important deal to put through +next day, lost his temper, so, to prevent bodily violence, the foreman +said he thought they had better agree to disagree. So that's how it +was." + +"Well, they've given us another chance," said Mr. Crofts, "so it's all +to the good. It can't come on now till the next sessions, which gives +us about a month, and we'll probably get Bancroft next time, who's not +such a severe judge as Crossley. The thing is, can we do anything to +improve the look of our case?" + +"I'm going to have a strenuous go at it," said Wimsey. "There must +_be_ evidence somewhere, you know. I know you've all worked like +beavers, but I'm going to work like a king beaver. And I've got one big +advantage over the rest of you." + +"More brains?" suggested Sir Impey, grinning. + +"No--I should hate to suggest that, Biggy. But I do believe in Miss +Vane's innocence." + +"Damn it, Wimsey, didn't my eloquent speeches convince you that I was a +whole-hearted believer?" + +"Of course they did. I nearly shed tears. Here's old Biggy, I said to +myself, going to retire from the Bar and cut his throat if this verdict +goes against him, because he won't believe in British justice any +more. No--it's your triumph at having secured a disagreement that gives +you away, old horse. More than you expected. You said so. By the way, +if it's not a rude question, who's paying you, Biggy?" + +"Crofts and Cooper," said Sir Impey, slyly. + +"They're in the thing for their health, I take it?" + +"No, Lord Peter. As a matter of fact, the costs in this case are being +borne by Miss Vane's publishers and by a--well, a certain newspaper, +which is running her new book as a serial. They expect a scoop as the +result of all this. But frankly, I don't quite know what they'll say +to the expense of a fresh trial. I'm expecting to hear from them this +morning." + +"The vultures," said Wimsey. "Well, they'd better carry on, but tell +'em I'll see they're guaranteed. Don't bring my name in, though." + +"This is very generous--" + +"Not at all. I wouldn't lose the fun of all this for the world. Sort +of case I fairly wallow in. But in return you must do something for +me. I want to see Miss Vane. You must get me passed in as part of your +outfit, so that I can hear her version of the story in reasonable +privacy. Get me?" + +"I expect that can be done," said Sir Impey. "In the meantime you have +nothing to suggest?" + +"Haven't had time yet. But I'll fish out something, don't you worry. +I've already started to undermine the confidence of the police. +Chief-Inspector Parker has gone home to twine willow-wreaths for his +own tomb-stone." + +"You'll be careful," said Sir Impey. "Anything we can discover will +come in much more effectively if the prosecution don't know of it +beforehand." + +"I'll walk as on egg-shells. But if I find the real murderer (if any), +you won't object to my having him or her arrested, I take it?" + +"No; I won't object to that. The police may. Well, gentlemen, if +there's nothing further at the moment, we'd better adjourn the +meeting. You'll get Lord Peter the facilities he wants, Mr. Crofts?" + + * * * * * + +Mr. Crofts exerted himself with energy, and on the following morning, +Lord Peter presented himself at the gates of Holloway Gaol, with his +credentials. + +"Oh, yes, my lord. You are to be treated on the same footing as the +prisoner's solicitor. Yes, we have had a separate communication from +the police and that will be quite all right, my lord. The warder will +take you down, and explain the regulations to you." + +Wimsey was conducted through a number of bare corridors to a small room +with a glass door. There was a long deal table in it and a couple of +repellent chairs, one at either end of the table. + +"Here you are, my lord. You sit at one end and the prisoner at the +other, and you must be careful not to move from your seats, nor to pass +any object over the table. I shall be outside and see you through the +glass, my lord, but I shan't be able to overhear nothing. If you will +take a seat, they'll bring the prisoner in, my lord." + +Wimsey sat down and waited, a prey to curious sensations. Presently +there was a noise of footsteps, and the prisoner was brought in, +attended by a female wardress. She took the chair opposite to Wimsey, +the wardress withdrew and the door was shut. Wimsey, who had risen, +cleared his throat. + +"Good afternoon, Miss Vane," he said, unimpressively. + +The prisoner looked at him. + +"Please sit down," she said, in the curious, deep voice which had +attracted him in Court. "You are Lord Peter Wimsey, I believe, and have +come from Mr. Crofts." + +"Yes," said Wimsey. Her steady gaze was unnerving him. "Yes, I--er--I +heard the case and all that, and--er--I thought there might be +something I could do, don't you know." + +"That was very good of you," said the prisoner. + +"Not at all, not at all, dash it! I mean to say, I rather enjoy +investigating things, if you know what I mean." + +"I know. Being a writer of detective stories, I have naturally studied +your career with interest." + +She smiled suddenly at him and his heart turned to water. + +"Well, that's rather a good thing in a way, because you'll understand +that I'm not really such an ass as I'm looking at present." + +That made her laugh. + +"You're not looking an ass--at least, not more so than any gentleman +should under the circumstances. The background doesn't altogether suit +your style, but you are a very refreshing sight. And I'm really very +grateful to you, though I'm afraid I'm rather a hopeless case." + +"Don't say that. It can't be hopeless, unless you actually did it, and +I know you didn't." + +"Well, I didn't, as a matter of fact. But I feel it's like one book I +wrote, in which I invented such a perfectly water-tight crime that I +couldn't devise any way for my detective to prove it, and had to fall +back on the murderer's confession." + +"If necessary, we'll do the same. You don't happen to know who the +murderer is, I suppose?" + +"I don't think there is one. I really believe Philip took the stuff +himself. He was rather a defeatist sort of person, you know." + +"I suppose he took your separation pretty hard?" + +"Well, I daresay it was partly that. But I think it was more that he +didn't feel he was sufficiently appreciated. He was apt to think that +people were in league to spoil his chances." + +"And were they?" + +"No, I don't think so. But I do think he offended a great many people. +He was rather apt to demand things as a right--and that annoys people, +you know." + +"Yes, I see. Did he get on all right with his cousin?" + +"Oh, yes; though of course he always said it was no more than Mr. +Urquhart's duty to look after him. Mr. Urquhart is fairly well off, as +he has quite a big professional connection, but Philip really had no +claim on him, as it wasn't family money or anything. His idea was that +great artists deserved to be boarded and lodged at the expense of the +ordinary man." + +Wimsey was fairly well acquainted with this variety of the artistic +temperament. He was struck, however, by the tone of the reply, which +was tinged, he thought, with bitterness and even some contempt. He put +his next question with some hesitation. + +"Forgive my asking, but--you were very fond of Philip Boyes?" + +"I must have been, mustn't I--under the circumstances?" + +"Not necessarily," said Wimsey, boldly, "you might have been sorry for +him--or bewitched by him--or even badgered to death by him." + +"All those things." + +Wimsey considered for a moment. + +"Were you friends?" + +"No." The word broke out with a kind of repressed savagery that +startled him. "Philip wasn't the sort of man to make a friend of a +woman. He wanted devotion. I gave him that. I did, you know. But I +couldn't stand being made a fool of. I couldn't stand being put on +probation, like an office-boy, to see if I was good enough to be +condescended to. I quite thought he was honest when he said he didn't +believe in marriage--and then it turned out that it was a test, to see +whether my devotion was abject enough. Well, it wasn't. I didn't like +having matrimony offered as a bad-conduct prize." + +"I don't blame you," said Wimsey. + +"Don't you?" + +"No. It sounds to me as if the fellow was a prig--not to say a bit of +a cad. Like that horrid man who pretended to be a landscape-painter +and then embarrassed the unfortunate young woman with the burden of +an honour unto which she was not born. I've no doubt he made himself +perfectly intolerable about it, with his ancient oaks and family plate, +and the curtseying tenantry and all the rest of it." + +Harriet Vane laughed once more. + +"Yes--it's ridiculous--but humiliating too. Well, there it is. I +thought Philip had made both himself and me ridiculous, and the minute +I saw that--well, the whole thing simply shut down--flop!" + +She sketched a gesture of finality. + +"I quite see that," said Wimsey. "Such a Victorian attitude, too, for +a man with advanced ideas. He for God only, she for God in him, and so +on. Well, I'm glad you feel like that about it." + +"Are you? It's not going to be exactly helpful in the present crisis." + +"No; I was looking beyond that. What I mean to say is, when all this is +over, I want to marry you, if you can put up with me and all that." + +Harriet Vane, who had been smiling at him, frowned, and an indefinable +expression of distaste came into her eyes. + +"Oh, are you another of them? That makes forty-seven." + +"Forty-seven what?" asked Wimsey, much taken aback. + +"Proposals. They come in by every post. I suppose there are a lot of +imbeciles who want to marry anybody who's at all notorious." + +"Oh," said Wimsey. "Dear me, that makes it very awkward. As a matter of +fact, you know, I don't need any notoriety. I can get into the papers +off my own bat. It's no treat to me. Perhaps I'd better not mention it +again." + +His voice sounded hurt, and the girl eyed him rather remorsefully. + +"I'm sorry--but one gets rather a bruised sort of feeling in my +position. There have been so many beastlinesses." + +"I know," said Lord Peter. "It was stupid of me--" + +"No, I think it was stupid of me. But why--?" + +"Why? Oh, well--I thought you'd be rather an attractive person to +marry. That's all. I mean, I sort of took a fancy to you. I can't tell +you why. There's no rule about it, you know." + +"I see. Well, it's very nice of you." + +"I wish you wouldn't sound as if you thought it was rather funny. I +know I've got a silly face, but I can't help that. As a matter of +fact, I'd like somebody I could talk sensibly to, who would make life +interesting. And I could give you a lot of plots for your books, if +that's any inducement." + +"But you wouldn't want a wife who wrote books, would you?" + +"But I should; it would be great fun. So much more interesting than +the ordinary kind that is only keen on clothes and people. Though of +course, clothes and people are all right too, in moderation. I don't +mean to say I object to clothes." + +"And how about the old oaks and the family plate?" + +"Oh, you wouldn't be bothered with them. My brother does all that. I +collect first editions and incunabula, which is a little tedious of +me, but you wouldn't need to bother with them either unless you liked." + +"I don't mean that. What would your family think about it?" + +"Oh, my mother's the only one that counts, and she likes you very much +from what she's seen of you." + +"So you had me inspected?" + +"No--dash it all, I seem to be saying all the wrong things today. I +was absolutely stunned that first day in court, and I rushed off to +my mater, who's an absolute dear, and the kind of person who really +understands things, and I said, 'Look here! here's the absolutely one +and only woman, and she's being put through a simply ghastly awful +business and for God's sake come and hold my hand!' You simply don't +know how foul it was." + +"That does sound rather rotten. I'm sorry I was brutal. But, by the +way, you're bearing in mind, aren't you, that I've had a lover?" + +"Oh, yes. So have I, if it comes to that. In fact, several. It's +the sort of thing that might happen to anybody. I can produce quite +good testimonials. I'm told I make love rather nicely--only I'm at a +disadvantage at the moment. One can't be very convincing at the other +end of a table with a bloke looking in at the door." + +"I will take your word for it. But, however entrancing it is to wander +unchecked through a garden of bright images, are we not enticing +your mind from another subject of almost equal importance? It seems +probable--" + +"And if you can quote _Kai Lung_, we should certainly get on together." + +"It seems very probable that I shall not survive to make the +experiment." + +"Don't be so damned discouraging," said Wimsey. "I have already +carefully explained to you that this time _I_ am investigating this +business. Anybody would think you had no confidence in me." + +"People have been wrongly condemned before now." + +"Exactly; simply because I wasn't there." + +"I never thought of that." + +"Think of it now. You will find it very beautiful and inspiring. It +might even help to distinguish me from the other forty-six, if you +should happen to mislay my features, or anything. Oh, by the way--I +don't positively repel you or anything like that, do I? Because, if I +do, I'll take my name off the waiting-list at once." + +"No," said Harriet Vane, kindly and a little sadly. "No, you don't +repel me." + +"I don't remind you of white slugs or make you go goose-flesh all +over?" + +"Certainly not." + +"I'm glad of that. Any minor alterations, like parting the old mane, or +growing a tooth-brush, or cashiering the eye-glass, you know, I should +be happy to undertake, if it suited your ideas." + +"Don't," said Miss Vane, "please don't alter yourself in any +particular." + +"You really mean that?" Wimsey flushed a little. "I hope it doesn't +mean that nothing I could do would make me even passable. I'll come +in a different set of garments each time, so as to give you a good +all-round idea of the subject. Bunter--my man, you know--will see to +that. He has excellent taste in ties, and socks, and things like that. +Well, I suppose I ought to be going. You--er--you'll think it over, +won't you, if you have a minute to spare. There's no hurry. Only don't +hesitate to say if you think you couldn't stick it at any price. I'm +not trying to blackmail you into matrimony, you know. I mean, I should +investigate this for the fun of the thing, whatever happened, don't you +see." + +"It's very good of you--" + +"No, no, not at all. It's my hobby. Not proposing to people, I don't +mean, but investigating things. Well, cheer-frightfully-ho and all +that. And I'll call again, if I may." + +"I will give the footman orders to admit you," said the prisoner, +gravely; "you will always find me at home." + + * * * * * + +Wimsey walked down the dingy street with a feeling of being almost +light-headed. + +"I do believe I'll pull it off--she's sore, of course--no wonder, after +that rotten brute--but she doesn't feel repelled--one couldn't cope +with being repulsive--her skin is like honey--she ought to wear deep +red--and old garnets--and lots of rings, rather old-fashioned ones--I +could take a house, of course--poor kid, I would damn well work to make +it up to her--she's got a sense of humour too--brains--one wouldn't be +dull--one would wake up, and there'd be a whole day for jolly things +to happen in--and then one would come home and go to bed--that would be +jolly, too--and while she was writing, I could go out and mess round, +so we shouldn't either of us be dull--I wonder if Bunter was right +about this suit--it's a little dark, I always think, but the line is +good--" + +He paused before a shop window to get a surreptitious view of his own +reflection. A large coloured window-bill caught his eye:-- + + GREAT SPECIAL OFFER + ONE MONTH ONLY + +"Oh, God!" he said softly, sobered at once. "One month--four +weeks--thirty-one days. There isn't much time. And I don't know where +to begin." + + + + + CHAPTER V + + +"Well now," said Wimsey, "why do people kill people?" + +He was sitting in Miss Katharine Climpson's private office. The +establishment was ostensibly a typing bureau, and indeed there were +three efficient female typists who did very excellent work for authors +and men of science from time to time. Apparently the business was +a large and flourishing one, for work frequently had to be refused +on the ground that the staff was working at full pressure. But on +other floors of the building there were other activities. All the +employees were women--mostly elderly, but a few still young and +attractive--and if the private register in the steel safe had been +consulted, it would have been seen that all these women were of the +class unkindly known as "superfluous." There were spinsters with +small fixed incomes, or no incomes at all; widows without family; +women deserted by peripatetic husbands and living on a restricted +alimony, who, previous to their engagement by Miss Climpson, had had +no resources but bridge and boarding-house gossip. There were retired +and disappointed school-teachers; out-of-work actresses; courageous +people who had failed with hat-shops and tea-parlours; and even a few +Bright Young Things, for whom the cocktail-party and the night-club +had grown boring. These women seemed to spend most of their time in +answering advertisements. Unmarried gentlemen who desired to meet +ladies possessed of competences, with a view to matrimony; sprightly +sexagenarians, who wanted housekeepers for remote country districts; +ingenious gentlemen with financial schemes on the look-out for capital; +literary gentlemen, anxious for female collaborators; plausible +gentlemen about to engage talent for productions in the provinces; +benevolent gentlemen, who could tell people how to make money in +their spare time--gentlemen such as these were very liable to receive +applications from members of Miss Climpson's staff. It may have been +coincidence that these gentlemen so very often had the misfortune +to appear shortly afterwards before the magistrate on charges of +fraud, blackmail or attempted procuration, but it is a fact that Miss +Climpson's office boasted a private telephone-line to Scotland Yard, +and that few of her ladies were quite so unprotected as they appeared. +It is also a fact that the money which paid for the rent and upkeep +of the premises might, by zealous enquirers, have been traced to Lord +Peter Wimsey's banking account. His lordship was somewhat reticent +about this venture of his, but occasionally, when closeted with +Chief-Inspector Parker or other intimate friends, referred to it as "My +Cattery." + +Miss Climpson poured out a cup of tea before replying. She wore a +quantity of little bangles on her spare, lace-covered wrists, and they +chinked aggressively with every movement. + +"I really don't know," she said, apparently taking the problem as +a psychological one, "it is so _dangerous_, as well as so terribly +_wicked_, one wonders that anybody has the _effrontery_ to undertake +it. And very often they gain so _little_ by it." + +"That's what I mean," said Wimsey, "what do they set out to gain? Of +course, some people seem to do it for the fun of the thing, like that +German female, what's her name, who enjoyed seeing people die." + +"Such a _strange_ taste," said Miss Climpson. "No sugar, I think?--You +know, dear Lord Peter, it has been my melancholy duty to attend +_many_ death-beds, and, though a number of them--such as my dear +father's--were _most_ Christian and beautiful, I could not call +them _fun_. People have very different ideas of fun, of course, +and personally I have never greatly cared for George Robey, though +Charlie Chaplin always makes me laugh--still, you know, there are +_disagreeable details_ attending _any_ death-bed which one would think +could hardly be to anybody's taste, however depraved." + +"I quite agree with you," said Wimsey. "But it must be fun, in one +sense, to feel that you can control the issues of life and death, don't +you know." + +"That is an _infringement_ upon the prerogative of the Creator," said +Miss Climpson. + +"But rather jolly to know yourself divine, so to speak. Up above the +world so high, like a tea-tray in the sky. I admit the fascination. +But for practical purposes that theory is the devil--I beg your +pardon, Miss Climpson, respect for sacred personages--I mean, it's +unsatisfactory, because it would suit one person just as well as +another. If I've got to find a homicidal maniac, I may as well cut my +throat at once." + +"Don't say _that_," pleaded Miss Climpson, "even in jest. Your work +here--so good, so valuable--would be worth living for in spite of the +_saddest_ personal disappointments. And I have known jokes of that kind +turn out very badly, in the most surprising ways. There was a young man +we used to know, who was given to talking in a sadly _random_ way--a +long time ago, dear Lord Peter, while you were still in the nursery, +but young men were wild, even then, whatever they say now about the +'eighties--and he said one day to my poor, dear Mother, 'Mrs. Climpson, +if I don't make a good bag today, I shall shoot myself' (for he was +very fond of sport), and he went out with his gun and as he was getting +over a stile, he caught the trigger in the hedge and the gun went +off and blew his head to pieces. I was quite a girl, and it upset me +_dreadfully_, because he was a very handsome young man, with whiskers +which we all admired very much, though today they would be smiled at, +and they were burnt _right off_ him with the explosion, and a shocking +hole in the side of his head, so they said, for of course I was not +allowed to see him." + +"Poor chap," said his lordship. "Well, let's dismiss homicidal mania +from our minds for the moment. What else do people kill people for?" + +"There is--passion," said Miss Climpson, with a slight initial +hesitation at the word, "for I should not like to call it _love_, when +it is so unregulated." + +"That is the explanation put forward by the prosecution," said Wimsey. +"I don't accept it." + +"Certainly not. But--it might be possible, might it not, that there was +some other unfortunate young woman who was attached to this Mr. Boyes, +and felt vindictively towards him?" + +"Yes, or a man who was jealous. But the time is the difficulty. You've +got to have some plausible pretext for giving a bloke arsenic. You +can't just catch him standing on a doorstep, and say, 'Here, have a +drink of this,' can you?" + +"But there were ten minutes unaccounted for," said Miss Climpson, +shrewdly. "Might he not have entered some public-house for refreshment, +and there met an enemy?" + +"By jove, that's a possibility." Wimsey made a note, and shook his +head dubiously. "But it's rather a coincidence. Unless there was a +previous appointment to meet there. Still, it's worth looking into. At +any rate, it's obvious that Mr. Urquhart's house and Miss Vane's flat +were not the only conceivable places where Boyes might have eaten or +drunk between seven and 10.10 that evening. Very well: under the head +'Passion' we find 1) Miss Vane (ruled out ex hypothesi), 2) jealous +lover, 3) ditto rival. Place, Public-house (query). Now we go on to the +next motive, and that's Money. A very good motive for murdering anybody +who has any, but a poor one in Boyes' case. Still, let us say, Money. +I can think of three sub-headings for that: 1) Robbery from the person +(very improbable); 2) insurance; 3) inheritance." + +"What a clear mind you have," said Miss Climpson. + +"When I die you will find 'Efficiency' written on my heart. I don't +know what money Boyes had on him, but I shouldn't think it was much. +Urquhart and Vaughan might know; still, it's not very important, +because arsenic isn't a sensible drug to use on anyone you want to rob. +It takes a long time, comparatively, to begin business, and it doesn't +make the victim helpless enough. Unless we suppose the taxi-driver +drugged and robbed him, there was no one who could possibly profit by +such a silly crime." + +Miss Climpson agreed, and buttered a second tea-cake. + +"Then, insurance. Now we come to the region of the possible. Was Boyes +insured? It doesn't seem to have occurred to anybody to find out. +Probably he wasn't. Literary blokes have very little forethought, and +are careless about trifles like premiums. But one ought to know. Who +might have an insurable interest? His father, his cousin (possibly), +other relations (if any), his children (if any) and--I suppose--Miss +Vane, if he took out the policy while he was living with her. Also, +anybody who may have lent him money on the strength of such insurance. +Plenty of possibilities there. I'm feeling better already, Miss +Climpson, fitter and brighter in every way. Either I'm getting a line +on the thing, or else it's your tea. That's a good, stout-looking pot. +Has it got any more in it?" + +"Yes, indeed," said Miss Climpson, eagerly. "My dear father used to say +I was a great hand at getting the _utmost_ out of a tea-pot. The secret +is to _fill_ up as you _go_ and never empty the pot completely." + +"Inheritance," pursued Lord Peter. "Had he anything to leave? Not much, +I shouldn't think. I'd better hop round and see his publisher. Or had +he lately come into anything? His father or cousin would know. The +father is a parson--'slashing trade, that,' as the naughty bully says +to the new boy in one of Dean Farrar's books. He has a thread-bare +look. I shouldn't think there was much money in the family. Still, you +never know. Somebody might have left Boyes a fortune for his _beaux +yeux_ or out of admiration for his books. If so, to whom did Boyes +leave it? Query: did he make a will? But surely the defence must have +thought of these things. I am getting depressed again." + +"Have a sandwich," said Miss Climpson. + +"Thank you," said Wimsey, "or some hay. There is nothing like it when +you are feeling faint, as the White King truly remarked. Well, that +more or less disposes of the money motive. There remains Blackmail." + +Miss Climpson, whose professional connection with the Cattery had +taught her something about blackmail, assented with a sigh. + +"Who was this fellow Boyes?" enquired Wimsey rhetorically. "I know +nothing about him. He may have been a blackguard of the deepest dye. +He may have known unmentionable things about all his friends. Why not? +Or he may have been writing a book to show somebody up, so that he had +to be suppressed at all costs. Dash it all, his cousin's a solicitor. +Suppose he has been embezzling Trust deeds or something, and Boyes was +threatening to split on him? He'd been living in Urquhart's house, and +had every opportunity for finding out. Urquhart drops some arsenic into +his soup, and--Ah! there's the snag. He puts arsenic into the soup and +eats it himself. That's awkward. I'm afraid Hannah Westlock's evidence +rather knocks that on the head. We shall have to fall back on the +mysterious stranger in the pub." + +He considered a little, and then said: + +"And there's suicide, of course, which is what I'm really rather +inclined to believe in. Arsenic is tomfool stuff to commit suicide +with, but it has been done. There was the duc de Praslin, for +instance--if his _was_ suicide. Only, where's the bottle?" + +"The bottle?" + +"Well, he must have carried it in something. It might be in a paper, if +he took the powdered form, though that would be awkward. Did anybody +look for a bottle or paper?" + +"Where would they look for it?" asked Miss Climpson. + +"That's the rub. If it wasn't on him, it would be anywhere round +about Doughty Street, and it's going to be a job looking for a +bottle or paper that was chucked away six months ago. I do loathe +suicides--they're so difficult to prove. Oh, well, faint heart never +won so much as a scrap of paper. Now look here, Miss Climpson. We've +got about a month to work this out in. The Michaelmas Term ends on the +21st; this is the 15th. They can't very well bring it up before then, +and the Hilary term starts on January 12th. They'll probably take it +early, unless we can show reason for delay. Four weeks to get fresh +evidence. Will you reserve the best efforts of yourself and the staff? +I don't know yet what I shall want, but I shall probably want something +done." + +"Of course I will, Lord Peter. You know that it is only _too_ great a +pleasure to do _anything_ for you--even if the whole office were not +your own property, which it _is_. Only let me know, at _any_ minute of +the night or day, and I will do my _very_ best to help you." + +Wimsey thanked her, made a few enquiries about the work of the bureau +and departed. He hailed a taxi and was immediately driven to Scotland +Yard. + + * * * * * + +Chief Detective-Inspector Parker was, as usual, delighted to see Lord +Peter, but there was a worried expression on his plain though pleasant +face as he greeted his visitor. + +"What is it, Peter? The Vane case again?" + +"Yes. You've come a mucker over this, old man, you really have." + +"Well, I don't know. It looked pretty straightforward to us." + +"Charles, acushla, distrust the straightforward case, the man who +looks you straight in the eyes, and the tip straight from the horse's +mouth. Only the most guileful deceiver can afford to be so aggressively +straight. Even the path of the light is curved--or so they tell us. +For God's sake, old man, do what you can to put the thing right before +next assizes. If you don't, I'll never forgive you. Damn it, you don't +_want_ to hang the wrong person, do you?--especially a woman and all +that." + +"Have a fag," said Parker. "You're looking quite wild about the eyes. +What have you been doing with yourself? I'm sorry if we've got the +wrong pig by the ear, but it's the defence's business to point out +where we're wrong, and I can't say they put up a very convincing show." + +"No, confound them. Biggy did his best, but that fool and beast Crofts +gave him no materials at all. Blast his ugly eyes! I know the brute +thinks she did it. I hope he will fry in hell and be served up with +cayenne pepper on a red-hot dish!" + +"What eloquence!" said Parker, unimpressed. "Anybody would think you'd +gone goopy over the girl." + +"That's a damned friendly way to talk," said Wimsey, bitterly. +"When you went off the deep end about my sister, I may have been +unsympathetic--I daresay I was--but I swear I didn't dance on your +tenderest feelings and call your manly devotion 'going goopy over +a girl.' I don't know where you pick up such expressions, as the +clergyman's wife said to the parrot. 'Goopy,' indeed! I never heard +anything so vulgar!" + +"Good lord," exclaimed Parker, "you don't seriously say--" + +"Oh, no!" retorted Wimsey, bitterly. "I'm not expected to be serious. +A buffoon, that's what I am. I now know exactly what Jack Point feels +like. I used to think the 'Yeomen' sentimental tosh, but it is all too +true. Would you like to see me dance in motley?" + +"I'm sorry," said Parker, taking his cue rather from the tone than the +words. "If it's like that, I'm damned sorry, old man. But what can I +do?" + +"Now you're talking. Look here--the most likely thing is that this +unsavoury blighter Boyes committed suicide. The unspeakable defence +haven't been able to trace any arsenic to his possession--but then they +probably couldn't trace a herd of black cattle over a snow-bound field +in broad noon-day with a microscope. I want your people to take it up." + +"Boyes--query arsenic," said Parker, making a note on a pad. "Anything +else?" + +"Yes. Find out if Boyes visited any pub. in the neighbourhood of +Doughty Street between, say, 9.50 and 10.10 on the night of June +20th--if he met anybody, and what he took to drink." + +"It shall be done. Boyes--query pub." Parker made another note. "Yes?" + +"Thirdly, if any bottle or paper that might have contained arsenic was +picked up in that district." + +"Oh, indeed? And would you like me to trace the 'bus ticket dropped +by Mrs. Brown outside Selfridge's in the last Christmas rush? No use +making it too easy." + +"A bottle is more likely than a paper," went on Wimsey, ignoring him, +"because I think the arsenic must have been taken in liquid form to +work so quickly." + +Parker made no further protest, but noted down "Boyes--Doughty +Street--query bottle," and paused expectantly. + +"Yes?" + +"That's all for the moment. By the way, I should try the garden in +Mecklenburgh Square. A thing might lie quite a long time under those +bushes." + +"Very well. I'll do my best. And if you find out anything which really +proves that we've been on the wrong tack, you'll let us know, won't +you? We don't want to make large and ignominious public mistakes." + +"Well--I've just earnestly promised the defence that I'll do no such +thing. But if I spot the criminal, I'll let you arrest him." + +"Thanks for small mercies. Well, good luck! Funny for you and me to be +on opposite sides, isn't it?" + +"Very," said Wimsey. "I'm sorry about it, but it's your own fault." + +"You shouldn't have been out of England. By the way--" + +"Yes?" + +"You realise that probably all our young friend did during those +missing ten minutes was to stand about in Theobalds Road or somewhere, +looking for a stray taxi." + +"Oh, shut up!" said Wimsey, crossly, and went out. + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + +The next day dawned bright and fair, and Wimsey felt a certain +exhilaration as he purred down to Tweedling Parva. "Mrs. Merdle" the +car, so called because, like that celebrated lady, she was averse to +"row," was sparking merrily on all twelve cylinders, and there was a +touch of frost in the air. These things conduce to high spirits. + +Wimsey reached his destination about 10 o'clock, and was directed to +the vicarage, one of those large, rambling and unnecessary structures +which swallow the incumbent's income during his life and land his +survivors with a heavy bill for dilapidations as soon as he is dead. + +The Rev. Arthur Boyes was at home, and would be happy to see Lord Peter +Wimsey. + +The clergyman was a tall, faded man, with lines of worry deeply +engraved upon his face, and mild blue eyes a little bewildered by the +disappointing difficulty of things in general. His black coat was old, +and hung in depressed folds from his stooping, narrow shoulders. He +gave Wimsey a thin hand and begged him to be seated. + +Lord Peter found it a little difficult to explain his errand. His +name evidently aroused no associations in the mind of this gentle and +unworldly parson. He decided not to mention his hobby of criminal +investigation, but to represent himself, with equal truth, as a friend +of the prisoner's. That might be painful, but it would be at least +intelligible. Accordingly, he began, with some hesitation: + +"I'm fearfully sorry to trouble you, especially as it's all so very +distressin' and all that, but it's about the death of your son, and the +trial and so on. Please don't think I'm wanting to make an interfering +nuisance of myself, but I'm deeply interested--personally interested. +You see, I know Miss Vane--I--in fact I like her very much, don't you +know, and I can't help thinking there's a mistake somewhere and--and I +should like to get it put right if possible." + +"Oh--oh, yes!" said Mr. Boyes. He carefully polished a pair of +pince-nez and balanced them on his nose, where they sat crookedly. He +peered at Wimsey and seemed not to dislike what he saw, for he went on: + +"Poor misguided girl! I assure you, I have no vindictive feelings--that +is to say, nobody would be more happy than myself to know that she was +innocent of this dreadful thing. Indeed, Lord Peter, even if she were +guilty, it would give me great pain to see her suffer the penalty. +Whatever we do, we cannot bring back the dead to life, and one would +infinitely prefer to leave all vengeance in the hand of Him to whom it +belongs. Certainly, nothing could be more terrible than to take the +life of an innocent person. It would haunt me to the end of my days if +I thought there were the least likelihood of it. And I confess that, +when I saw Miss Vane in court, I had grievous doubts whether the police +had done rightly in accusing her." + +"Thank you," said Wimsey, "it is very kind of you to say that. It makes +the job much easier. Excuse me, you say, 'when you saw her in court.' +You hadn't met her previously?" + +"No. I knew, of course, that my unhappy son had formed an illicit +connection with a young woman, but--I could not bring myself to see +her--and indeed, I believe that she, with very proper feeling, refused +to allow Philip to bring her into contact with any of his relations. +Lord Peter, you are a younger man than I am, you belong to my son's +generation, and you will perhaps understand that--though he was not +bad, not depraved, I will never think that--yet somehow there was not +that full confidence between us which there should be between father +and son. No doubt I was much to blame. If only his mother had lived--" + +"My dear sir," mumbled Wimsey, "I perfectly understand. It often +happens. In fact, it's continually happening. The post-war generation +and so on. Lots of people go off the rails a bit--no real harm in 'em +at all. Just can't see eye to eye with the older people. It generally +wears off in time. Nobody really to blame. Wild oats and, er, all that +sort of thing." + +"I could not approve," said Mr. Boyes, sadly, "of ideas so opposed to +religion and morality--perhaps I spoke my mind too openly. If I had +sympathised more--" + +"It can't be done," said Wimsey. "People have to work it out for +themselves. And, when they write books and so on, and get into that set +of people, they tend to express themselves rather noisily, if you see +what I mean." + +"Maybe, maybe. But I reproach myself. Still, this does not help you at +all. Forgive me. If there is any mistake and the jury were evidently +not satisfied, we must use all our endeavours to put it right. How can +I assist?" + +"Well, first of all," said Wimsey, "and I'm afraid this is rather a +hateful question, did your son ever say anything, or write anything to +you which might lead you to think that he--was tired of his life or +anything of that kind? I'm sorry." + +"No, no--not at all. I was, of course, asked the same question by the +police and by the counsel for the defence. I can truly say that such an +idea never occurred to me. There was nothing at all to suggest it." + +"Not even when he parted company with Miss Vane?" + +"Not even then. In fact, I gathered that he was rather more angry than +despondent. I must say that it was a surprise to me to hear that, after +all that had passed between them, she was unwilling to marry him. I +still fail to comprehend it. Her refusal must have come as a great +shock to him. He wrote so cheerfully to me about it beforehand. Perhaps +you remember the letter?" He fumbled in an untidy drawer. "I have it +here, if you would like to look at it." + +"If you would just read the passage, sir," suggested Wimsey. + +"Yes, oh, certainly. Let me see. Yes. 'Your morality will be pleased +to hear, Dad, that I have determined to regularise the situation, as +the good people say.' He had a careless way of speaking and writing +sometimes, poor boy, which doesn't do justice to his good heart. Dear +me. Yes. 'My young woman is a good little soul, and I have made up my +mind to do the thing properly. She really deserves it, and I hope that +when everything is made respectable, you will extend your paternal +recognition to her. I won't ask you to officiate--as you know, the +registrar's office is more in my line, and though she was brought up in +the odour of sanctity, like myself, I don't think she will insist on +the Voice that Breathed o'er Eden. I will let you know when it's to be, +so that you can come and give us your blessing (quâ father if not quâ +parson) if you should feel so disposed.' You see, Lord Peter, he quite +meant to do the right thing, and I was touched that he should wish for +my presence." + +"Quite so," said Lord Peter, and thought, "If only that young man were +alive, how dearly I should love to kick his bottom for him." + +"Well, then there is another letter, saying that the marriage had +fallen through. Here it is. 'Dear Dad--sorry, but I'm afraid your +congratulations must be returned with thanks. The wedding is off, and +the bride has run away. There's no need to go into the story. Harriet +has succeeded in making a fool of herself and me, so there's no more to +be said.' Then later I heard that he had not been feeling well--but all +that you know already." + +"Did he suggest any reason for these illnesses of his?" + +"Oh, no--we took it for granted that it was a recurrence of the old +gastric trouble. He was never a very robust lad. He wrote in very +hopeful mood from Harlech, saying that he was much better, and +mentioning his plan of a voyage to Barbados." + +"He did?" + +"Yes. I thought it would do him a great deal of good, and take his mind +off other things. He spoke of it only as a vague project, not as though +anything were settled." + +"Did he say anything more about Miss Vane?" + +"He never mentioned her name to me again until he lay dying." + +"Yes--and what did you think of what he said then?" + +"I didn't know what to think. We had no idea of any poisoning then, +naturally, and I fancied it must refer to the quarrel between them that +had caused the separation." + +"I see. Well now, Mr. Boyes. Supposing it was not self-destruction--" + +"I really do not think it could have been." + +"Now is there anybody else at all who could have an interest in his +death?" + +"Who could there be?" + +"No--no other woman, for instance?" + +"I never heard of any. And I think I should have done. He was not +secretive about these things, Lord Peter. He was remarkably open and +straightforward." + +"Yes," commented Wimsey internally, "liked to swagger about it, I +suppose. Anything to give pain. Damn the fellow." Aloud he merely said: +"There are other possibilities. Did he, for instance, make a will?" + +"He did. Not that he had much to leave, poor boy. His books were very +cleverly written--he had a fine intellect, Lord Peter--but they did +not bring him in any great sums of money. I helped him with a little +allowance, and he managed on that and on what he made from his articles +in the periodicals." + +"He left his copyrights to somebody, though, I take it?" + +"Yes. He wished to leave them to me, but I was obliged to tell him that +I could not accept the bequest. You see, I did not approve of his +opinions, and I should not have thought it right to profit by them. No; +he left them to his friend Mr. Vaughan." + +"Oh!--may I ask when this will was made?" + +"It is dated at the period of his visit to Wales. I believe that before +that he had made one leaving everything to Miss Vane." + +"Indeed!" said Wimsey. "I suppose she knew about it." His mind reviewed +a number of contradictory possibilities, and he added: "But it would +not amount to an important sum, in any case?" + +"Oh, no. If my son made £50 a year by his books, that was the utmost. +Though they tell me," added the old gentleman, with a sad smile, "that, +after this, his new book will do better." + +"Very likely," said Wimsey. "Provided you get into the papers, the +delightful reading public don't mind what it's for. Still--Well, that's +that. I gather he would have no private money to leave?" + +"Nothing whatever. There has never been any money in our family, Lord +Peter, nor yet in my wife's. We're quite the proverbial Church mice." +He smiled faintly at this little clerical jest. "Except, I suppose, for +Cremorna Garden." + +"For--I beg your pardon?" + +"My wife's aunt, the notorious Cremorna Garden of the 'sixties." + +"Good lord, yes--the actress?" + +"Yes. But she, of course, was never, never mentioned. One did not +enquire into the way she got her money. No worse than others, I dare +say--but in those days we were very easily shocked. We have seen and +heard nothing of her for well over fifty years. I believe she is quite +childish now." + +"By jove! I'd no idea she was still alive!" + +"Yes, I believe she is, though she must be well over ninety. Certainly +Philip never had any money from her." + +"Well, that rules money out. Was your son's life insured, by any +chance?" + +"Not that I ever heard of. We found no policy among his papers, and so +far as I know, nobody has made any claim." + +"He left no debts?" + +"Only trifling ones--tradesmen's accounts and so on. Perhaps fifty +pounds' worth altogether." + +"Thank you so much," said Wimsey, rising, "that has cleared the ground +a good deal." + +"I am afraid it has not got you much farther." + +"It tells me where not to look, at any rate," said Wimsey, "and that +all saves time, you know. It's frightfully decent of you to be bothered +with me." + +"Not at all. Ask me anything you want to know. Nobody would be more +glad than myself to see that unfortunate young woman cleared." + +Wimsey again thanked him and took his leave. He was a mile up the +road before a regretful thought overtook him. He turned Mrs. Merdle's +bonnet round, skimmed back to the church, stuffed a handful of treasury +notes with some difficulty into the mouth of a box labelled "Church +expenses," and resumed his way to town. + + * * * * * + +As he manoeuvred the car through the City, a thought struck him, and +instead of heading for Piccadilly, where he lived, he turned off into +a street south of the Strand, in which was situated the establishment +of Messrs. Grimsby & Cole, who published the works of Mr. Philip Boyes. +After a little delay, he was shown into Mr. Cole's office. + +Mr. Cole was a stout and cheerful person, and was much interested to +hear that the notorious Lord Peter Wimsey was concerning himself with +the affairs of the equally notorious Mr. Boyes. Wimsey represented +that, as a collector of First Editions, he would be glad to secure +copies of all Philip Boyes' works. Mr. Cole regretted extremely that +he could not help him, and, under the influence of an expensive cigar, +became quite confidential. + +"Without wishing to seem callous, my dear Lord Peter," he said, +throwing himself back in his chair, and creasing his three chins into +six or seven as he did so, "between you and me, Mr. Boyes could not +have done better for himself than to go and get murdered like this. +Every copy was sold out a week after the result of the exhumation +became known, two large editions of his last book were disposed of +before the trial came on--at the original price of 7/6, and the +libraries clamoured so for the early volumes that we had to reprint +the lot. Unfortunately we had not kept the type standing, and the +printers had to work night and day, but we did it. We are rushing the +three-and-sixpennies through the binders' now, and the shilling edition +is arranged for. Positively, I don't think you could get a First +Edition in London for love or money. We have nothing here but our own +file copies, but we are putting out a special memorial edition, with +portraits, on hand-made paper, limited and numbered, at a guinea. Not +the same thing of course, but--" + +Wimsey begged to put his name down for a set at a guinea a-piece, +adding: + +"Sad and all that, don't you know, that the author can't benefit by it, +what?" + +"Deeply distressing," agreed Mr. Cole, compressing his fat cheeks by +two longitudinal folds from the nostril to the mouth. "And sadder still +that there can be no more work to come from him. A very talented young +man, Lord Peter. We shall always feel a melancholy pride, Mr. Grimsby +and myself, in knowing that we recognised his quality, before there was +any likelihood of financial remuneration. A _succès d'estime_, that was +all, until this very grievous occurrence. But when the work is good, it +is not our habit to boggle about monetary returns." + +"Ah, well!" said Wimsey, "it sometimes pays to cast your bread upon +the waters. Quite religious, isn't it--you know, the bit about +'plenteously bringing out good works may of thee be plenteously +rewarded.' Twenty-fifth after Trinity." + +"Quite," said Mr. Cole, with a certain lack of enthusiasm, possibly +because he was imperfectly acquainted with the book of Common Prayer, +or possibly because he detected a hint of mockery in the other's tone. +"Well, I have very much enjoyed this chat. I am sorry I can do nothing +for you about First Editions." + +Wimsey begged him not to mention it, and with a cordial farewell ran +hastily down the stairs. + +His next visit was to the office of Mr. Challoner, Harriet Vane's +agent. Challoner was an abrupt, dark, militant-looking little man, with +untidy hair and thick spectacles. + +"Boom?" said he, when Wimsey had introduced himself and mentioned +his interest in Miss Vane. "Yes, of course there is a boom. Rather +disgusting, really, but one can't help that. We have to do our best +for our client, whatever the circumstances. Miss Vane's books have +always sold reasonably well--round about the three or four thousand +mark in this country--but of course this business has stimulated things +enormously. The last book has gone to three new editions, and the new +one has sold seven thousand before publication." + +"Financially, all to the good, eh?" + +"Oh, yes--but frankly I don't know whether these artificial sales do +very much good to an author's reputation in the long run. Up like a +rocket, down like the stick, you know. When Miss Vane is released--" + +"I am glad you say 'when.'" + +"I am not allowing myself to contemplate any other possibility. But +_when_ that happens, public interest will be liable to die down very +quickly. I am, of course, securing the most advantageous contracts I +possibly can at the moment, to cover the next three or four books, but +I can only really control the advances. The actual receipts will depend +on the sales, and that is where I foresee a slump. I am, however, +doing well with serial rights, which are important from the point of +view of immediate returns." + +"On the whole, as a business man, you are not altogether glad that this +has happened?" + +"Taking the long view, I am not. Personally, I need not say that I am +extremely grieved, and feel quite positive that there is some mistake." + +"That's my idea," said Wimsey. + +"From what I know of your lordship, I may say that your interest and +assistance are the best stroke of luck Miss Vane could have had." + +"Oh, thanks--thanks very much, I say--this arsenic book--you couldn't +let me have a squint at it, I suppose?" + +"Certainly, if it would help you." He touched a bell. "Miss Warburton, +bring me a set of galleys of '_Death in the Pot_.' Trufoot's are +pushing publication on as fast as possible. The book was still +unfinished when the arrest took place. With rare energy and courage, +Miss Vane has put the finishing touches and corrected the proofs +herself. Of course, everything had to go through the hands of the +prison authorities. However, we were anxious to conceal nothing. She +certainly knows all about arsenic, poor girl. These are complete, are +they, Miss Warburton? Here you are. Is there anything else?" + +"Only one thing. What do you think of Messrs. Grimsby & Cole?" + +"I never contemplate them," said Mr. Challoner. "Not thinking of doing +anything with them, are you, Lord Peter?" + +"Well, I don't know that I am--seriously." + +"If you do, read your contract carefully. I won't say, bring it to us--" + +"If ever I do publish with Grimsby & Cole," said Lord Peter, "I'll +promise to do it through you." + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + +Lord Peter Wimsey almost bounced into Holloway Prison next morning. +Harriet Vane greeted him with a kind of rueful smile. + +"So you've reappeared?" + +"Good lord, yes! Surely you expected me to. I fancied I'd left that +impression. I say--I've thought of a good plot for a detective story." + +"Really?" + +"Top-hole. You know, the sort people bring out and say, 'I've often +thought of doing it myself, if I could only find time to sit down and +write it.' I gather that sitting down is all that is necessary for +producing masterpieces. Just a moment, though. I must get through my +business first. Let me see--" He made believe to consult a note-book. +"Ah, yes. Do you happen to know whether Philip Boyes made a will?" + +"I believe he did, when we were living together." + +"In whose favour?" + +"Oh, in mine. Not that he had much to leave, poor man. It was chiefly +that he wanted a literary executor." + +"Are you, in point of fact, his executrix now?" + +"Good heavens! I never thought of that. I took it for granted he would +have altered it when we parted. I think he must have, or I should have +heard about it when he died, shouldn't I?" + +She looked candidly at him, and Wimsey felt a little uncomfortable. + +"You didn't _know_ he had altered it, then? Before he died, I mean?" + +"I never thought a word more about it, as a matter of fact. If I had +thought--of course I should have assumed it. Why?" + +"Nothing," said Wimsey. "Only I'm rather glad the will wasn't brought +up at the thingummy bob." + +"Meaning the trial? You needn't be so delicate about mentioning it. You +mean, if I had thought I was still his heir, I might have murdered him +for his money. But it didn't amount to a hill of beans, you know. I was +making four times as much as he was." + +"Oh, yes. It was only this silly plot I'd got in my mind. But it _is_ +rather silly, now I come to think of it." + +"Tell me." + +"Well, you see--" Wimsey choked a little, and then rattled his idea out +with an exaggerated lightness. + +"Well--it's about a girl (or a man would do, but we'll call it a girl) +who writes novels--crime stories, in fact. And she has a--a friend who +also writes. Neither of them best-sellers, you see, but just ordinary +novelists." + +"Yes? That's a kind of thing that might happen." + +"And the friend makes a will, leaving his money--receipts from books +and so on--to the girl." + +"I see." + +"And the girl--who has got rather fed up with him, you know, thinks of +a grand scoop, that will make both of them best-sellers." + +"Oh, yes?" + +"Yes. She polishes him off by the same method she has used in her +latest crime-thriller." + +"A daring stroke," said Miss Vane, with grave approval. + +"Yes. And of course, his books immediately become best-sellers. And she +grabs the pool." + +"That's really ingenious. An entirely new motive for murder--the thing +I've been looking for for years. But don't you think it would be a +little dangerous? She might even be suspected of the murder." + +"Then _her_ books would become best-sellers, too." + +"How true that is! But possibly she wouldn't live to enjoy the profits." + +"That, of course," said Wimsey, "is the snag." + +"Because, unless she were suspected and arrested and tried, the scoop +would only half come off." + +"There you are," said Wimsey. "But, as an experienced mystery-monger, +couldn't you think of a way round that?" + +"I daresay. She might prove an ingenious alibi, for instance. Or, if +she were very wicked, manage to push the blame on somebody else. Or +lead people to suppose that her friend had made away with himself." + +"Too vague," said Wimsey. "How would she do that?" + +"I can't say, off-hand. I'll give it careful thought and let you know. +Or--here's an idea!" + +"Yes?" + +"She is a person with a monomania--no, no--not a homicidal one. That's +dull, and not really fair to the reader. But there is somebody she +wishes to benefit--somebody, say a father, mother, sister, lover or +cause, that badly needs money. She makes a will in his, her or its +favour, and lets herself be hanged for the crime, knowing that the +beloved object will then come in for the money. How's that?" + +"Great!" cried Wimsey, carried away. "Only--wait a minute. They +wouldn't give her the friend's money, would they? You're not allowed to +profit by a crime." + +"Oh, hang! That's true. It would only be her own money, then. She +could make that over by a deed of gift. Yes--look! If she did that +immediately after the murder--a deed of gift of everything she +possessed--that would include everything she came into under the +friend's will. It would then all go direct to the beloved object, and I +don't believe the law could stop it!" + +She faced him with dancing eyes. + +"See here," said Wimsey. "You're not safe. You're too clever by half. +But, I say, it's a good plot, isn't it?" + +"It's a winner! Shall we write it?" + +"By jove, let's!" + +"Only, you know, I'm afraid we shan't get the chance." + +"You're not to say that. Of course we're going to write it. Damn it, +what am I here for? Even if I could be reconciled to losing you, I +couldn't lose the chance of writing my best-seller!" + +"But what you've done so far is to provide me with a very convincing +motive for murder. I don't know that that's going to help us a great +lot." + +"What I've done," said Wimsey, "is to prove that that was not the +motive, anyway." + +"Why?" + +"You wouldn't have told me if it had been. You would have gently led me +away from the subject. And besides--" + +"Well?" + +"Well, I've seen Mr. Cole of Grimsby & Cole, and I know who is going to +get the major part of Philip Boyes' profits. And I don't somehow fancy +that he is the beloved object." + +"No?" said Miss Vane, "and why not? Don't you know that I passionately +dote on every chin on his face?" + +"If it's chins you admire," said Wimsey, "I will try to grow some, +though it will be rather hard work. Anyway, keep smiling--it suits you." + + * * * * * + +"It's all very well, though," he thought to himself, when the gates +had closed behind him. "Bright back-chat cheers the patient, but gets +us no forrarder. How about this fellow Urquhart? He looked all right +in court, but you never can tell. I think I'd better pop round and see +him." + +He presented himself accordingly in Woburn Square, but was +disappointed. Mr. Urquhart had been called away to a sick relative. +It was not Hannah Westlock who answered the door, but a stout elderly +woman, whom Wimsey supposed to be the cook. He would have liked to +question her, but felt that Mr. Urquhart would hardly receive him well +if he discovered that his servants had been pumped behind his back. He +therefore contented himself with enquiring how long Mr. Urquhart was +likely to be away. + +"I couldn't rightly say, sir. I understand it depends how the sick lady +gets on. If she gets over it, he'll be back at once, for I know he is +very busy just now. If she should pass away, he would be engaged some +time, with settling up the estate." + +"I see," said Wimsey. "It's a bit awkward, because I wanted to speak to +him rather urgently. You couldn't give me his address, by any chance?" + +"Well, sir, I don't rightly know if Mr. Urquhart would wish it. If +it's a matter of business, sir, they could give you information at his +office in Bedford Row." + +"Thanks very much," said Wimsey, noting down the number. "I'll call +there. Possibly they'd be able to do what I want without bothering him." + +"Yes, sir. Who should I say called?" + +Wimsey handed over his card, writing at the top, "In re R. v. Vane," +and added: + +"But there is a chance he may be back quite soon?" + +"Oh, yes, sir. Last time he wasn't away more than a couple of days, and +a merciful providence I am sure that was, with poor Mr. Boyes dying in +that dreadful manner." + +"Yes, indeed," said Wimsey, delighted to find the subject introducing +itself of its own accord. "That must have been a shocking upset for you +all." + +"Well, there," said the cook, "I don't hardly like to think of it, even +now. A gentleman dying in the house like that, and poisoned too, when +one's had the cooking of his dinner--it do seem to bring it home to +one, like." + +"It wasn't the dinner that was at fault, anyway," said Wimsey, genially. + +"Oh, dear, no, sir--we proved that most careful. Not that any accident +could happen in my kitchen--I should like to see it! But people do say +such things if they get half a chance. Still, there wasn't a thing ate +but master and Hannah and I had some of it, and very thankful I was +for that, I needn't tell you." + +"You must be; I am sure." Wimsey was framing a further enquiry, when +the violent ringing of the area bell interrupted them. + +"There's that butcher," said the cook, "you'll excuse me, sir. The +parlour-maid's in bed with the influenza, and I'm single-handed this +morning. I'll tell Mr. Urquhart you called." + +She shut the door, and Wimsey departed for Bedford Row, where he was +received by an elderly clerk, who made no difficulty about supplying +Mr. Urquhart's address. + +"Here it is, my lord. Care of Mrs. Wrayburn, Appleford, Windle, +Westmorland. But I shouldn't think he would be very long away. In the +meantime, could we do anything for you?" + +"No, thanks. I rather wanted to see him personally, don't you know. As +a matter of fact, it's about that very sad death of his cousin, Mr. +Philip Boyes." + +"Indeed, my lord? Shocking affair, that. Mr. Urquhart was greatly upset, +with it happening in his own house. A very fine young man, was Mr. +Boyes. He and Mr. Urquhart were great friends, and he took it greatly +to heart. Were you present at the trial, my lord?" + +"Yes. What did you think of the verdict?" + +The clerk pursed up his lips. + +"I don't mind saying I was surprised. It seemed to me a very clear +case. But juries are very unreliable, especially now-a-days, with women +on them. We see a good deal of the fair sex in this profession," said +the clerk, with a sly smile, "and very few of them are remarkable for +possessing the legal mind." + +"How true that is," said Wimsey. "If it wasn't for them, though, +there'd be much less litigation, so it's all good for business." + +"Ha, ha! Very good, my lord. Well, we have to take things as they +come, but in my opinion--I'm an old-fashioned man--the ladies were most +adorable when they adorned and inspired and did not take an active part +in affairs. Here's our young lady clerk--I don't say she wasn't a good +worker--but a whim comes over her and away she goes to get married, +leaving me in the lurch, just when Mr. Urquhart is away. Now, with a +young man, marriage steadies him, and makes him stick closer to his +job, but with a young woman, it's the other way about. It's right she +should get married, but it's inconvenient, and in a solicitor's office +one can't get temporary assistance very well. Some of the work is +confidential, of course, and in any case, an atmosphere of permanence +is desirable." + +Wimsey sympathised with the head-clerk's grievance, and bade him an +affable good-morning. There is a telephone box in Bedford Row, and he +darted into it and immediately rang up Miss Climpson. + +"Lord Peter Wimsey speaking--oh, hullo, Miss Climpson! How is +everything? All bright and beautiful? Good!--Yes, now listen. There's +a vacancy for a confidential female clerk at Mr. Norman Urquhart's, the +solicitor's, in Bedford Row--Have you got anybody?--Oh, good!--Yes, +send them all along--I particularly want to get someone in there--Oh, +no! no special enquiry--just to pick up any gossip about the +Vane business--Yes, pick out the steadiest-looking, not too much +face-powder, and see that their skirts are the regulation four inches +below the knee--the head-clerk's in charge, and the last girl left to +be married, so he's feeling anti-sex-appeal. Right-ho! Get her in and +I'll give her her instructions. Bless you, may your shadow never grow +bulkier!" + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + +"Bunter!" + +"My lord?" + +Wimsey tapped with his fingers a letter he had just received. + +"Do you feel at your brightest and most truly fascinating? Does a +livelier iris, winter weather notwithstanding, shine upon the burnished +Bunter? Have you got that sort of conquering feeling? The Don Juan +touch, so to speak?" + +Bunter, balancing the breakfast tray on his fingers, coughed +deprecatingly. + +"You have a good, upstanding, impressive figure, if I may say so," +pursued Wimsey, "a bold and roving eye when off duty, a ready tongue, +Bunter--and, I am persuaded, you have a way with you. What more should +any cook or house-parlourmaid want?" + +"I am always happy," replied Bunter, "to exert myself to the best of my +capacity in your lordship's service." + +"I am aware of it," admitted his lordship. "Again and again I say +to myself, Wimsey, this cannot last. One of these days this worthy +man will cast off the yoke of servitude and settle down in a pub. or +something, but nothing happens. Still, morning by morning, my coffee +is brought, my bath is prepared, my razor laid out, my ties and socks +sorted and my bacon and eggs brought to me in a lordly dish. No matter. +This time I demand a more perilous devotion--perilous for us both, +my Bunter, for if you were to be carried away, a helpless martyr to +matrimony, who then would bring my coffee, prepare my bath, lay out my +razor and perform all those other sacrificial rites? And yet--" + +"Who is the party, my lord?" + +"There are two of them, Bunter, two ladies lived in a bower, Binnorie, +O Binnorie! The parlourmaid you have seen. Her name is Hannah Westlock. +A woman in her thirties, I fancy, and not ill-favored. The other, the +cook--I cannot lisp the tender syllables of her name, for I do not know +it, but doubtless it is Gertrude, Cecily, Magdalen, Margaret, Rosalys +or some other sweet symphonious sound--a fine woman, Bunter, on the +mature side, perhaps, but none the worse for that." + +"Certainly not, my lord. If I may say so, the woman of ripe years and +queenly figure is frequently more susceptible to delicate attentions +than the giddy and thoughtless young beauty." + +"True. Let us suppose, Bunter, that you were to be the bearer of a +courteous missive to one Mr. Norman Urquhart of Woburn Square. Could +you, in the short space of time at your disposal, insinuate yourself, +snakelike, as it were, into the bosom of the household?" + +"If you desire it, my lord, I will endeavour to insinuate myself to +your lordship's satisfaction." + +"Noble fellow. In case of an action for breach, or any consequence +of that description, the charges will, of course, be borne by the +management." + +"I am obliged to your lordship. When would your lordship wish me to +commence?" + +"As soon as I have written a note to Mr. Urquhart. I will ring." + +"Very good, my lord." + +Wimsey moved over to the writing-desk. After a few moments he looked +up, a little peevishly. + +"Bunter, I have a sensation of being hovered over. I do not like it. +It is unusual and it unnerves me. I implore you not to hover. Is the +proposition distasteful, or do you want me to get a new hat? What is +troubling your conscience?" + +"I beg your lordship's pardon. It had occurred to my mind to ask your +lordship, with every respect--" + +"Oh, God, Bunter--don't break it gently. I can't bear it. Stab and end +the creature--to the heft! What is it?" + +"I wished to ask you, my lord, whether your lordship thought of making +any changes in your establishment?" + +Wimsey laid down his pen and stared at the man. + +"Changes, Bunter? When I have just so eloquently expressed to you my +undying attachment to the loved routine of coffee, bath, razor, socks, +eggs and bacon and the old, familiar faces? You're not giving me +warning, are you?" + +"No, indeed, my lord. I should be very sorry to leave your lordship's +service. But I had thought it possible that, if your lordship was about +to contract new ties--" + +"I _knew_ it was something in the haberdashery line! By all means, +Bunter, if you think it necessary. Had you any particular pattern in +mind?" + +"Your lordship misunderstands me. I referred to domestic ties, my lord. +Sometimes, when a gentleman reorganizes his household on a matrimonial +basis, the lady may prefer to have a voice in the selection of the +gentleman's personal attendant, in which case--" + +"Bunter!" said Wimsey, considerably startled, "may I ask where you have +contracted these ideas?" + +"I ventured to draw an inference, my lord." + +"This comes of training people to be detectives. Have I been nourishing +a sleuth-hound on my own hearth-stone? May I ask if you have gone so +far as to give a name to the lady?" + +"Yes, my lord." + +There was a pause. + +"Well?" said Wimsey, in a rather subdued tone, "what about it, Bunter?" + +"A very agreeable lady, if I may say so, my lord." + +"It strikes you that way, does it? The circumstances are unusual, of +course." + +"Yes, my lord. I might perhaps make so bold as to call them romantic." + +"You may make so bold as to call them damnable, Bunter." + +"Yes, my lord," said Bunter, in a tone of sympathy. + +"You won't desert the ship, Bunter?" + +"Not on any account, my lord." + +"Then don't come frightening me again. My nerves are not what they +were. Here is the note. Take it round and do your best." + +"Very good, my lord." + +"Oh, and, Bunter." + +"My lord?" + +"It seems that I am being obvious. I have no wish to be anything of the +kind. If you see me being obvious, will you drop me a hint?" + +"Certainly, my lord." + +Bunter faded gently out, and Wimsey stepped anxiously to the mirror. + +"I can't see anything," he said to himself. "No lily on my cheek with +anguish moist and fever-dew. I suppose, though, it's hopeless to try +and deceive Bunter. Never mind. Business must come first. I've stopped +one, two, three, four earths. What next? How about this fellow Vaughan?" + + * * * * * + +When Wimsey had any researches to do in Bohemia, it was his custom +to enlist the help of Miss Marjorie Phelps. She made figurines in +porcelain for a living, and was therefore usually to be found either in +her studio or in some one else's studio. A telephone-call at 10 a.m. +would probably catch her scrambling eggs over her own gas-stove. It +was true that there had been passages, about the time of the Bellona +Club affair,[1] between her and Lord Peter which made it a little +embarrassing and unkind to bring her in on the subject of Harriet Vane, +but with so little time in which to pick and choose his tools, Wimsey +was past worrying about gentlemanly scruples. He put the call through +and was relieved to hear an answering "Hullo!" + +[Footnote 1: See "The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club," published +1928.] + +"Hullo, Marjorie! This is Peter Wimsey. How goes it?" + +"Oh, fine, thanks. Glad to hear your melodious voice again. What can I +do for the Lord High Investigator?" + +"Do you know one Vaughan, who is mixed up in the Philip Boyes murder +mystery?" + +"Oh, Peter! Are you on to that? How gorgeous! Which side are you +taking?" + +"For the defence." + +"Hurray!" + +"Why this pomp of jubilee?" + +"Well, it's much more exciting and difficult, isn't it?" + +"I'm afraid it is. Do you know Miss Vane, by the way?" + +"Yes and no. I've seen her with the Boyes-Vaughan crowd." + +"Like her?" + +"So-so." + +"Like him? Boyes, I mean?" + +"Never stirred a heart-beat." + +"I said, did you like him?" + +"One didn't. One either fell for him or not. He wasn't the merry +bright-eyed pal of the period, you know." + +"Oh! What's Vaughan?" + +"Hanger-on." + +"Oh?" + +"House-dog. Nothing must interfere with the expansion of my friend the +genius. That sort." + +"Oh!" + +"Don't keep saying 'Oh!' Do you want to meet the man Vaughan?" + +"If it's not too much trouble." + +"Well, turn up tonight with a taxi and we'll go the rounds. We're +certain to drop across him somewhere. Also the rival gang, if you want +them--Harriet Vane's supporters." + +"Those girls who gave evidence?" + +"Yes. You'll like Eiluned Price, I think. She scorns everything in +trousers, but she's a good friend at a pinch." + +"I'll come, Marjorie. Will you dine with me?" + +"Peter, I'd adore to, but I don't think I will. I've got an awful lot +to do." + +"Right-ho! I'll roll round about nine, then." + +Accordingly, at 9 o'clock, Wimsey found himself in a taxi with Marjorie +Phelps, headed for a round of the studios. + +"I've been doing some intensive telephoning," said Marjorie, "and +I think we shall find him at the Kropotkys'. They are pro-Boyes, +Bolshevik and musical, and their drinks are bad, but their Russian tea +is safe. Does the taxi wait?" + +"Yes; it sounds as if we might want to beat a retreat." + +"Well, it's nice to be rich. It's down the court here, on the right, +over the Petrovitchs' stable. Better let me grope first." + +They stumbled up a narrow and encumbered stair, at the top of which a +fine confused noise of a piano, strings and the clashing of kitchen +utensils announced that some sort of entertainment was in progress. + +Marjorie hammered loudly on a door, and, without waiting for an answer, +flung it open. Wimsey, entering on her heels, was struck in the face, +as by an open hand, by a thick muffling wave of heat, sound, smoke and +the smell of frying. + +It was a very small room, dimly lit by a single electric bulb, +smothered in a lantern of painted glass, and it was packed to +suffocation with people, whose silk legs, bare arms and pallid faces +loomed at him like glow-worms out of the obscurity. Coiling wreaths +of tobacco-smoke swam slowly to and fro in the midst. In one corner +an anthracite stove, glowing red and mephitical, vied with a roaring +gas-oven in another corner to raise the atmosphere to roasting-pitch. +On the stove stood a vast and steaming kettle; on a side-table stood +a vast and steaming samovar; over the gas, a dim figure stood turning +sausages in a pan with a fork, while an assistant attended to something +in the oven, which Wimsey, whose nose was selective, identified +among the other fragrant elements in this compound atmosphere, and +identified rightly, as kippers. At the piano, which stood just inside +the door, a young man with bushy red hair was playing something of +a Czecho-Slovakian flavour, to a violin obligato by an extremely +loose-jointed person of indeterminate sex in a Fair-Isle jumper. Nobody +looked round at their entrance. Marjorie picked her way over the +scattered limbs on the floor and, selecting a lean young woman in red, +bawled into her ear. The young woman nodded and beckoned to Wimsey. He +negotiated a passage and was introduced to the lean woman by the simple +formula: "Here's Peter--this is Nina Kropotky." + +"So pleased," shouted Madame Kropotky through the clamour. "Sit by +me. Vanya will get you something to drink. It is beautiful, yes? That +is Stanislas--such a genius--his new work on the Piccadilly Tube +Station--great, n'est-ce pas? Five days he was continually travelling +upon the escalator to absorb the tone-values." + +"Colossal!" yelled Wimsey. + +"So--you think? Ah! you can appreciate! You understand it is really +for the big orchestra. On the piano it is nothing. It needs the brass, +the effects, the timpani--b'rrrrrrr! So! But one seizes the form, the +outline! Ah! it finishes! Superb! Magnificent!" + +The enormous clatter ceased. The pianist mopped his face and glared +haggardly round. The violinist put down its instrument and stood up, +revealing itself, by its legs, to be female. The room exploded into +conversation. Madame Kropotky leapt over her seated guests and embraced +the perspiring Stanislas on both cheeks. The frying-pan was lifted +from the stove in a fusillade of spitting fat, a shriek went up for +'Vanya!' and presently a cadaverous face was pushed down to Wimsey's, +and a deep guttural voice barked at him: "What will you drink?" while +simultaneously a plate of kippers came hovering perilously over his +shoulder. + +"Thanks," said Wimsey, "I have just dined--just _dined_," he roared +despairingly, "full up, complet!" + +Marjorie came to the rescue with a shriller voice and more determined +refusal. + +"Take those dreadful things away, Vanya. They make me sick. Give us +some tea, tea, tea!" + +"Tea!" echoed the cadaverous man, "they want tea! What do you think of +Stanislas' tone-poem? Strong, modern, eh? The soul of rebellion in the +crowd--the clash, the revolt at the heart of the machinery. It gives +the bourgeois something to think of, oh, yes!" + +"Bah!" said a voice in Wimsey's ear, as the cadaverous man turned away, +"it is nothing. Bourgeois music. Programme music. Pretty!--You should +hear Vrilovitch's 'Ecstasy on the letter Z.' That is pure vibration +with no antiquated pattern in it. Stanislas--he thinks much of himself, +but it is old as the hills--you can sense the resolution at the back +of all his discords. Mere harmony in camouflage. Nothing in it. But +he takes them all in because he has red hair and reveals his bony +structure." + +The speaker certainly did not err along these lines, for he was as bald +and round as a billiard-ball. Wimsey replied soothingly: + +"Well, what can you do with the wretched and antiquated instruments of +our orchestra? A diatonic scale, bah! Thirteen miserable, bourgeois +semi-tones, pooh! To express the infinite complexity of modern emotion, +you need a scale of thirty-two notes to the octave." + +"But why cling to the octave?" said the fat man. "Till you can cast +away the octave and its sentimental associations, you walk in fetters +of convention." + +"That's the spirit!" said Wimsey. "I would dispense with all definite +notes. After all, the cat does not need them for his midnight +melodies, powerful and expressive as they are. The love-hunger of the +stallion takes no account of octave or interval in giving forth the cry +of passion. It is only man, trammelled by a stultifying convention--Oh, +hullo, Marjorie, sorry--what is it?" + +"Come and talk to Ryland Vaughan," said Marjorie. "I have told him you +are a tremendous admirer of Philip Boyes' books. Have you read them?" + +"Some of them. But I think I'm getting light-headed." + +"You'll feel worse in an hour or so. So you'd better come now." She +steered him to a remote spot near the gas-oven, where an extremely +elongated man was sitting curled up on a floor cushion, eating caviare +out of a jar with a pickle-fork. He greeted Wimsey with a sort of +lugubrious enthusiasm. + +"Hell of a place," he said, "hell of a business altogether. This +stove's too hot. Have a drink. What the devil else can one do? I come +here, because Philip used to come here. Habit, you know. I hate it, but +there's nowhere else to go." + +"You knew him very well, of course," said Wimsey, seating himself in a +waste-paper basket, and wishing he was wearing a bathing-suit. + +"I was his only real friend," said Ryland Vaughan, mournfully. "All the +rest only cared to pick his brains. Apes! parrots! all the bloody lot +of them." + +"I've read his books and thought them very fine," said Wimsey, with +some sincerity. "But he seemed to me an unhappy soul." + +"Nobody understood him," said Vaughan. "They called him difficult--who +wouldn't be difficult with so much to fight against? They sucked the +blood out of him, and his damned thieves of publishers took every +blasted coin they could lay their hands on. And then that bitch of a +woman poisoned him. My God, what a life!" + +"Yes, but what made her do it--if she did do it?" + +"Oh, she did it all right. Sheer, beastly spite and jealousy, that's +all there was to it. Just because she couldn't write anything but +tripe herself. Harriet Vane's got the bug all these damned women have +got--fancy they can do things. They hate a man and they hate his work. +You'd think it would have been enough for her to help and look after a +genius like Phil, wouldn't you? Why, damn it, he used to ask her advice +about his work, her advice, good lord!" + +"Did he take it?" + +"Take it? She wouldn't give it. Told him she never gave opinions on +other authors' work. _Other_ authors! The impudence of it! Of course +she was out of things among us all, but why couldn't she realise the +difference between her mind and his? Of course it was hopeless from +the start for Philip to get entangled with that kind of woman. Genius +must be served, not argued with. I warned him at the time, but he was +infatuated. And then, to want to marry her--" + +"Why did he?" asked Wimsey. + +"Remains of parsonical upbringing, I suppose. It was really pitiful. +Besides, I think that fellow Urquhart did a lot of mischief. Sleek +family lawyer--d'you know him?" + +"No." + +"He got hold of him--put up to it by the family, I imagine. I saw +the influence creeping over Phil long before the real trouble began. +Perhaps it's a good thing he's dead. It would have been ghastly to +watch him turn conventional and settle down." + +"When did this cousin start getting hold of him, then?" + +"Oh--about two years ago--a little more, perhaps. Asked him to dinner +and that sort of thing. The minute I saw him I knew he was out to ruin +Philip, body and soul. What he wanted--what Phil wanted, I mean--was +freedom and room to turn about in, but what with the woman and the +cousin and the father in the background--oh, well! It's no use crying +about it now. His work is left, and that's the best part of him. He's +left me that to look after, at least. Harriet Vane didn't get her +finger in that pie, after all." + +"I'm sure it's absolutely safe in your hands," said Wimsey. + +"But when one thinks what there might have been," said Vaughan, turning +his blood-shot eyes miserably on Lord Peter, "it's enough to make one +cut one's throat, isn't it?" + +Wimsey expressed agreement. + +"By the way," he said, "you were with him all that last day, till he +went to his cousin's. You don't think he had anything on him in the +way of--poison or anything? I don't want to seem unkind--but he was +unhappy--it would be rotten to think that he--" + +"No," said Vaughan, "no. That I'll swear he never did. He would have +told me--he trusted me in those last days. I shared all his thoughts. +He was miserably hurt by that damned woman, but he wouldn't have gone +without telling me or saying good-bye. And besides--he wouldn't have +chosen that way. Why should he? I could have given him--" + +He checked himself, and glanced at Wimsey, but, seeing nothing in his +face beyond sympathetic attention, went on: + +"I remember talking to him about drugs. Hyoscine--veronal--all that +sort of thing. He said, 'If ever I want to go out, Ryland, you'll show +me the way.' And I would have--if he'd really wanted it. But arsenic! +Philip, who loved beauty so much--do you think he would have chosen +arsenic?--the suburban poisoner's outfit? That's absolutely impossible." + +"It's not an agreeable sort of thing to take, certainly," said Wimsey. + +"Look here," said Vaughan, hoarsely and impressively--he had been +putting a constant succession of brandies on top of the caviare, and +was beginning to lose his reserve--"Look here! See this!" He pulled +a small bottle from his breast-pocket. "That's waiting, till I've +finished editing Phil's books. It's a comfort to have it there to +look at, you know. Peaceful. Go out through the ivory gate--that's +classical--they brought me up on the classics. These people would +laugh at a fellow, but you needn't tell them I said it--funny, the +way it sticks--'tendebantque manus ripae ulterioris amore, ulterioris +amore'--what's that bit about the souls thronging thick as leaves in +Vallombrosa--no, that's Milton--'amorioris ultore'--ultoriore--damn +it--poor Phil!" + +Here Mr. Vaughan burst into tears and patted the little bottle. + +Wimsey, whose head and ears were thumping as though he were sitting +in an engine-room, got up softly and withdrew. Somebody had begun a +Hungarian song and the stove was white-hot. He made signals of distress +to Marjorie, who was sitting in a corner with a group of men. One of +them appeared to be reading his own poems with his mouth nearly in her +ear, and another was sketching something on the back of an envelope, to +the accompaniment of yelps of merriment from the rest. The noise they +made disconcerted the singer, who stopped in the middle of a bar, and +cried angrily: + +"Ach! this noise! these interruptions! they are intolerable! I lose +myself! Stop! I begin all over again, from the beginning." + +Marjorie sprang up, apologising. + +"I'm a brute--I'm not keeping your menagerie in order, Nina--we're +being perfect nuisances. Forgive me, Marya, I'm in a bad temper. I'd +better pick up Peter and toddle away. Come and sing to me another day, +darling, when I'm feeling better and there is more room for my feelings +to expand. Good-night, Nina--we've enjoyed it frightfully--and, Boris, +that poem's the best thing you've done, only I couldn't hear it +properly. Peter, tell them what a rotten mood I'm in tonight and take +me home." + +"That's right," said Wimsey, "nervy, you know--bad effect on the +manners and so on." + +"Manners," said a bearded gentleman suddenly and loudly, "are for the +bourgeois." + +"Quite right," said Wimsey. "Beastly bad form, and gives you +repressions in the what-not. Come on, Marjorie, or we shall all be +getting polite." + +"I begin again," said the singer, "from the beginning." + +"Whew!" said Wimsey, on the staircase. + +"Yes, I know. I think I'm a perfect martyr to put up with it. Anyway, +you've seen Vaughan. Nice dopey specimen, isn't he?" + +"Yes, but I don't think he murdered Philip Boyes, do you? I had to see +him to make sure. Where do we go next?" + +"We'll try Joey Trimbles. That's the stronghold of the opposition show." + +Joey Trimbles occupied a studio over a mews. Here there was the same +crowd, the same smoke, more kippers, still more drinks and still more +heat and conversation. In addition there was a blaze of electric light, +a gramophone, five dogs and a strong smell of oil-paints. Sylvia +Marriott was expected. Wimsey found himself involved in a discussion +of free love, D. H. Lawrence, the prurience of prudery and the immoral +significance of long skirts. In time, however, he was rescued by the +arrival of a masculine-looking middle-aged woman with a sinister +smile and a pack of cards, who proceeded to tell everybody's fortune. +The company gathered around her, and at the same time a girl came in +and announced that Sylvia had sprained her ankle and couldn't come. +Everybody said warmly, "Oh, how sickening, poor dear!" and forgot the +subject immediately. + +"We'll scoot off," said Marjorie. "Never mind about saying good-bye. +Nobody marks you. It's good luck about Sylvia, because she'll be at +home and can't escape us. I sometimes wish they'd all sprain their +ankles. And yet, you know, nearly all those people are doing very good +work. Even the Kropotky crowd. I used to enjoy this kind of thing +myself, once." + +"We're getting old, you and I," said Wimsey. "Sorry, that's rude. But +do you know, I'm getting on for forty, Marjorie." + +"You wear well. But you are looking a bit fagged tonight, Peter dear. +What's the matter?" + +"Nothing at all but middle-age." + +"You'll be settling down if you're not careful." + +"Oh, I've been settled for years." + +"With Bunter and the books. I envy you sometimes, Peter." + +Wimsey said nothing. Marjorie looked at him almost in alarm, and tucked +her arm in his. + +"Peter--do please be happy. I mean, you've always been the comfortable +sort of person that nothing could touch. Don't alter, will you?" + +That was the second time Wimsey had been asked not to alter himself; +the first time, the request had exalted him; this time, it terrified +him. As the taxi lurched along the rainy Embankment, he felt for +the first time the dull and angry helplessness which is the first +warning stroke of the triumph of mutability. Like the poisoned Athulf +in the _Fool's Tragedy_, he could have cried, "Oh, I am changing, +changing, fearfully changing." Whether his present enterprise failed +or succeeded, things would never be the same again. It was not that +his heart would be broken by a disastrous love--he had outlived +the luxurious agonies of youthful blood, and in this very freedom +from illusion he recognised the loss of something. From now on, +every hour of light-heartedness would be, not a prerogative but an +achievement--one more axe or case-bottle or fowling-piece, rescued, +Crusoe-fashion, from a sinking ship. + +For the first time, too, he doubted his own power to carry through +what he had undertaken. His personal feelings had been involved before +this in his investigations, but they had never before clouded his +mind. He was fumbling--grasping uncertainly here and there at fugitive +and mocking possibilities. He asked questions at random, doubtful +of his object, and the shortness of the time, which would once have +stimulated, now frightened and confused him. + +"I'm sorry, Marjorie," he said, rousing himself, "I'm afraid I'm being +damned dull. Oxygen-starvation, probably. D'you mind if we have the +window down a bit? That's better. Give me good food and a little air +to breathe and I will caper, goat-like, to a dishonourable old age. +People will point me out, as I creep, bald and yellow and supported by +discreet corsetry, into the night-clubs of my great-grandchildren, and +they'll say, 'Look, darling! that's the wicked Lord Peter, celebrated +for never having spoken a reasonable word for the last ninety-six +years. He was the only aristocrat who escaped the guillotine in the +revolution of 1960. We keep him as a pet for the children.' And I +shall wag my head and display my up-to-date dentures and say, 'Ah, ha! +They don't have the fun we used to have in my young days, the poor, +well-regulated creatures!'" + +"There won't be any night-clubs then for you to creep into, if they're +as disciplined as all that." + +"Oh, yes--nature will have her revenge. They will slink away from the +Government Communal Games to play solitaire in catacombs over a bowl of +unsterilised skim-milk. Is this the place?" + +"Yes; I hope there's someone to let us in at the bottom, if Sylvia's +bust her leg. Yes--I hear footsteps. Oh, it's you, Eiluned; how's +Sylvia?" + +"Pretty all right, only swelled up--the ankle, that is. Coming up?" + +"Is she visible?" + +"Yes, perfectly respectable." + +"Good, because I'm bringing Lord Peter Wimsey up, too." + +"Oh," said the girl. "How do you do? You detect things, don't you? Have +you come for the body or anything?" + +"Lord Peter's looking into Harriet Vane's business for her." + +"Is he? That's good. Glad somebody's doing something about it." She was +a short, stout girl with a pugnacious nose and a twinkle. "What do you +say it was? I say he did it himself. He was the self-pitying sort, +you know. Hullo, Syl--here's Marjorie, with a bloke who's going to get +Harriet out of jug." + +"Produce him instantly!" was the reply from within. The door opened +upon a small bed-sitting room, furnished with the severest simplicity, +and inhabited by a pale, spectacled young woman in a Morris chair, her +bandaged foot stretched out upon a packing-case. + +"I can't get up, because, as Jenny Wren said, my back's bad and my +leg's queer. Who's the champion, Marjorie?" + +Wimsey was introduced, and Eiluned Price immediately inquired, rather +truculently: + +"Can he drink coffee, Marjorie? Or does he require masculine +refreshment?" + +"He's perfectly godly, righteous and sober, and drinks anything but +cocoa and fizzy lemonade." + +"Oh! I only asked because some of your male belongings need +stimulating, and we haven't got the wherewithal, and the pub's just +closing." + +She stumped over to a cupboard, and Sylvia said: + +"Don't mind Eiluned; she likes to treat 'em rough. Tell me, Lord Peter, +have you found any clues or anything?" + +"I don't know," said Wimsey. "I've put a few ferrets down a few holes. +I hope something may come up the other end." + +"Have you seen the cousin yet--the Urquhart creature?" + +"Got an appointment with him for tomorrow. Why?" + +"Sylvia's theory is that he did it," said Eiluned. + +"That's interesting. Why?" + +"Female intuition," said Eiluned, bluntly. "She doesn't like the way he +does his hair." + +"I only said he was too sleek to be true," protested Sylvia. "And who +else could it have been? I'm sure it wasn't Ryland Vaughan; he's an +obnoxious ass, but he is genuinely heart-broken about it all." + +Eiluned sniffed scornfully, and departed to fill a kettle at a tap on +the landing. + +"And whatever Eiluned thinks, I can't believe Phil Boyes did it +himself." + +"Why not?" asked Wimsey. + +"He talked such a lot," said Sylvia. "And he really had too high an +opinion of himself. I don't think he would have wilfully deprived the +world of the privilege of reading his books." + +"He would," said Eiluned. "He'd do it out of spite, to make the +grown-ups sorry. No, thanks," as Wimsey advanced to carry the kettle, +"I'm quite capable of carrying six pints of water." + +"Crushed again!" said Wimsey. + +"Eiluned disapproves of conventional courtesies between the sexes," +said Marjorie. + +"Very well," replied Wimsey, amiably. "I will adopt an attitude +of passive decoration. Have you any idea, Miss Marriott, why this +over-sleek solicitor should wish to make away with his cousin?" + +"Not the faintest. I merely proceed on the old Sherlock Holmes basis, +that when you have eliminated the impossible, then whatever remains, +however improbable, must be true." + +"Dupin said that before Sherlock. I grant the conclusion, but in this +case I question the premises. No sugar, thank you." + +"I thought all men liked to make their coffee into syrup." + +"Yes, but then I am very unusual. Haven't you noticed it?" + +"I haven't had much time to observe you, but I'll count the coffee as a +point in your favour." + +"Thanks frightfully. I say--can you people tell me just what was Miss +Vane's reaction to the murder?" + +"Well--" Sylvia considered a moment. "When he died--she was upset, of +course--" + +"She was startled," said Miss Price, "but it's my opinion she was +thankful to be rid of him. And no wonder. Selfish beast! He'd made use +of her and nagged her to death for a year and insulted her at the end. +And he was one of your greedy sort that wouldn't let go. She _was_ +glad, Sylvia--what's the good of denying it?" + +"Yes, perhaps. It was a relief to know he was finished with. But she +didn't know then that he'd been murdered." + +"No. The murder spoilt it a bit--if it was a murder, which I don't +believe. Philip Boyes was always determined to be a victim, and it was +very irritating of him to succeed in the end. I believe that's what he +did it for." + +"People do do that kind of thing," said Wimsey, thoughtfully. "But it's +difficult to prove. I mean, a jury is much more inclined to believe in +some tangible sort of reason, like money. But I can't find any money in +this case." + +Eiluned laughed. + +"No, there never was much money, except what Harriet made. The +ridiculous public didn't appreciate Phil Boyes. He couldn't forgive her +that, you know." + +"Didn't it come in useful?" + +"Of course, but he resented it all the same. She ought to have been +ministering to his work, not making money for them both with her own +independent trash. But that's men all over." + +"You haven't much opinion of us, what?" + +"I've known too many borrowers," said Eiluned Price, "and too many that +wanted their hands held. All the same, the women are just as bad, or +they wouldn't put up with it. Thank Heaven, I've never borrowed and +never lent--except to women, and they pay back." + +"People who work hard usually do pay back, I fancy," said Wimsey, +"--except geniuses." + +"Women geniuses don't get coddled," said Miss Price, grimly, "so they +learn not to expect it." + +"We're getting rather off the subject, aren't we?" said Marjorie. + +"No," replied Wimsey, "I'm getting a certain amount of light on the +central figures in the problem--what journalists like to call the +protagonists." His mouth gave a wry little twist. "One gets a lot of +illumination in that fierce light that beats upon a scaffold." + +"Don't say that," pleaded Sylvia. + +A telephone rang somewhere outside, and Eiluned Price went out to +answer it. + +"Eiluned's anti-man," said Sylvia, "but she's a very reliable person." + +Wimsey nodded. + +"But she's wrong about Phil--she couldn't stick him, naturally, and +she's apt to think--" + +"It's for you, Lord Peter," said Eiluned, returning. "Fly at once--all +is known. You're wanted by Scotland Yard." + +Wimsey hastened out. + +"That you, Peter? I've been scouring London for you. We've found the +pub." + +"Never!" + +"Fact. And we're on the track of a packet of white powder." + +"Good God!" + +"Can you run down first thing tomorrow? We may have it for you." + +"I will skip like a ram and hop like a high hill. We'll beat you yet, +Mr. Bleeding Chief-Inspector Parker." + +"I hope you will," said Parker, amiably, and rang off. + +Wimsey pranced back into the room. + +"Miss Price's price has gone to odds on," he announced. "It's suicide, +fifty to one and no takers. I am going to grin like a dog and run about +the city." + +"I'm sorry I can't join you," said Sylvia Marriott, "but I'm glad if +I'm wrong." + +"I'm glad I'm right," said Eiluned Price, stolidly. + +"And you are right and I am right and everything is quite all right," +said Wimsey. + +Marjorie Phelps looked at him and said nothing. She suddenly felt as +though something inside her had been put through a wringer. + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + +By what ingratiating means Mr. Bunter had contrived to turn the +delivery of a note into the acceptance of an invitation to tea was +best known to himself. At half-past four on the day which ended +so cheerfully for Lord Peter, he was seated in the kitchen of Mr. +Urquhart's house, toasting crumpets. He had been trained to a great +pitch of dexterity in the preparation of crumpets, and if he was +somewhat lavish in the matter of butter, that hurt nobody except Mr. +Urquhart. It was natural that the conversation should turn to the +subject of murder. Nothing goes so well with a hot fire and buttered +crumpets as a wet day without and a good dose of comfortable horrors +within. The heavier the lashing of the rain and the ghastlier the +details, the better the flavour seems to be. On the present occasion, +all the ingredients of an enjoyable party were present in full force. + +"'Orrible white, he looked, when he came in," said Mrs. Pettican the +cook. "I see him when they sent for me to bring up the 'ot bottles. +Three of them, they 'ad, one to his feet and one to his back and the +big rubber one to 'is stummick. White and shiverin', he was, and that +dreadful sick, you never would believe. And he groaned pitiful." + +"Green, he looked to me, Cook," said Hannah Westlock, "or you might +perhaps call it a greenish-yellow. I thought it was jaundice a-coming +on--more like them attacks he had in the Spring." + +"He was a bad colour then," agreed Mrs. Pettican, "but nothink like to +what he was that last time. And the pains and cramps in his legs was +agonising. That struck Nurse Williams very forcible--a nice young woman +she was, and not stuck-up like some as I could name. 'Mrs. Pettican,' +she said to me, which I call it better manners than callin' you Cook +as they mostly do, as though they paid your wages for the right of +callin' you out of your name--'Mrs. Pettican,' said she, 'never did +I see anythink to equal them cramps except in one other case that +was the dead spit of this one,' she said, 'and you mark my words, +Mrs. Pettican, them cramps ain't there for nothin'. Ah! little did I +understand her meanin' at the time." + +"That's a regular feature of these arsenical cases, or so his lordship +tells me," replied Bunter. "A very distressing symptom. Had he ever had +anything of the sort before?" + +"Not what you could call cramps," said Hannah, "though I remember when +he was ill in the Spring he complained of getting the fidgets in the +hands and feet. Something like pins-and-needles, by what I understood +him to say. It was a worrit to him, because he was finishing one of his +articles in a hurry, and what with that and his eyes being so bad, the +writing was a trial to him, poor thing." + +"From what the gentleman for the prosecution said, talking it out +with Sir James Lubbock," said Mr. Bunter, "I gathered that those +pins-and-needles, and bad eyes and so on, were a sign he'd been given +arsenic regularly, if I may so phrase it." + +"A dreadful wicked woman she must 'a' been," said Mrs. Pettican, "--'ev +another crumpet, do, Mr. Bunter--a-torturin' of the poor soul that +long-winded way. Bashin' on the 'ed or the 'asty use of a carvin' knife +when roused I can understand, but the 'orrors of slow poisonin' is the +work of a fiend in 'uman form, in my opinion." + +"Fiend is the only word, Mrs. Pettican," agreed the visitor. + +"And the wickedness of it," said Hannah, "quite apart from the causing +of a painful death to a fellow-being. Why, it's only the mercy of +Providence we weren't all brought under suspicion." + +"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Pettican. "Why, when master told us about them +diggin' poor Mr. Boyes up and findin' him full of that there nasty +arsenic, it give me sech a turn, I felt as if the room was a-goin' +round like the gallopin' 'orses at the roundabouts. 'Oh, sir!' I ses, +'what, in our 'ouse!' That's what I ses, and he ses, 'Mrs. Pettican,' +he ses, 'I sincerely hope not.'" + +Mrs. Pettican, having imparted this Macbeth-like flavour to the story, +was pleased with it, and added: + +"Yes, that's what I said to 'im. 'In our 'ouse.' I said, and I'm sure +I never slep' a wink for three nights afterwards, what with the police +and the fright and one thing and another." + +"But of course you had no difficulty in proving that it hadn't happened +in this house?" suggested Bunter. "Miss Westlock gave her evidence so +beautifully at the trial, I'm sure she made it clear as clear could be +to judge and jury. The judge congratulated you, Miss Westlock, and I'm +sure he didn't say nearly enough--so plainly and well as you spoke up +before the whole court." + +"Well, I never was one to be shy," confessed Hannah, "and then, what +with going through it all so careful with the master and then with the +police, I knew what the questions would be and was prepared, as you +might say." + +"I wonder you could speak so exactly to every little detail, all that +time ago," said Bunter, with admiration. + +"Well, you see, Mr. Bunter, the very morning after Mr. Boyes was took +ill, master comes down to us and he says, sitting in that chair ever +so friendly, just as you might be yourself, 'I'm afraid Mr. Boyes is +very ill,' he says. 'He thinks he must have ate something as disagreed +with him,' he says, 'and perhaps as it might be the chicken. So I +want you and Cook,' he says, 'to run through with me everything we +had for dinner last night to see if we can think what it could have +been.' 'Well, sir,' I said, 'I don't see that Mr. Boyes could have ate +anything unwholesome here, for Cook and me had just the same, put aside +yourself, sir, and it was all as sweet and good as it could be,' I +said." + +"And I said the same," said the Cook. "Sech a plain, simple dinner as +it was, too--no oysters nor mussels nor anything of that sort, as it's +well known shell-fish is poison to some people's stummicks, but a good +stren'thenin' drop o' soup, and a bit of nice fish and a casseroled +chicken with turnips and carrots done in the gravy, and a omelette, wot +could be lighter and better? Not but there's people as can't relish +eggs in any form, my own mother was just the same, give her so much as +a cake what had bin made with a egg in it and she'd be that sick and +come out all over spots like nettle-rash, you'd be surprised. But Mr. +Boyes was a great gentleman for eggs, and omelettes was his particular +favourite." + +"Yes, he made the omelette himself that very night, didn't he?" + +"He did," said Hannah, "and well I remember it, for Mr. Urquhart asked +particular after the eggs, was they new-laid, and I reminded him they +was some he had brought in himself that afternoon from that shop on +the corner of Lamb's Conduit Street where they always have them fresh +from the farm, and I reminded him that one of them was a little cracked +and he'd said, 'We'll use that in the omelette tonight, Hannah,' and I +brought out a clean bowl from the kitchen and put them straight in--the +cracked one and three more besides, and never touched them again till +I brought them to table. 'And what's more, sir,' I said, 'there's the +other eight still here out of the dozen, and you can see for yourself +they're as good and fresh as they can be.' Didn't I, Cook?" + +"Yes, Hannah. And as for the chicken, that was a little beauty. It +was that young and tender, I says to Hannah at the time as it seemed +a shame to casserole it, for it would 'ave roasted beautiful. But Mr. +Urquhart is very partial to a casseroled chicken; he says as there's +more flavour to 'em that way, and I dunno but what he's right." + +"If done with a good beef stock," pronounced Mr. Bunter, judicially, +"the vegetables well packed in layers, on a foundation of bacon, not +too fat, and the whole well seasoned with salt, pepper and paprika, +there are few dishes to beat a casseroled chicken. For my own part I +would recommend a soupçon of garlic, but I am aware that such is not +agreeable to all tastes." + +"I can't a-bear the smell or sight of the stuff," said Mrs. Pettican, +frankly, "but as for the rest I'm with you, always allowing that the +giblets is added to the stock, and I would personally favour mushrooms +when in season, but not them tinned or bottled sorts as looks pretty +but has no more taste to 'em than boot-buttons if so much. But the +secret is in the cooking, as you know well, Mr. Bunter, the lid being +kep' well sealed down to 'old the flavour and the cookin' bein' slow +to make the juices perambulate through _and_ through each other as you +might say. I'm not denyin' as sech is very 'ighly enjoyable, and so +Hannah and me found it, though fond of a good roast fowl also, when +well-basted with a good rich stuffing to rejuice the dryness. But as to +roasting it, Mr. Urquhart wouldn't hear of it, and bein' as it's him +that pays the bills, he has the right to give his orders." + +"Well," said Bunter, "it's certain if there had been anything +unwholesome about the casserole, you and Miss Westlock could scarcely +have escaped it." + +"No, indeed," said Hannah, "for I won't conceal that, being blessed +with hearty appetites, we finished it every bit, except a little piece +I gave to the cat. Mr. Urquhart asked to see the remains of it next +day, and seemed quite put out to find it was all gone and the dish +washed up--as though any washing-up was ever left over-night in _this_ +kitchen." + +"I couldn't a-bear myself if I had to begin the day with dirty dishes," +said Mrs. Pettican. "There was a drop of the soup left--not much, jest +a wee drain, and Mr. Urquhart took that up to show to the doctor, and +he tasted it and said it was very good, so Nurse Williams told us, +though she didn't have none of it herself." + +"And as for the burgundy," said Hannah Westlock, "which was the only +thing Mr. Boyes had to himself, like, Mr. Urquhart told me to cork it +up tight and keep it. And just as well we did, because, of course, the +police asked to see it when the time came." + +"It was very far-seeing of Mr. Urquhart to take such precautions," said +Bunter, "when there wasn't any thought at the time but that the poor +man died naturally." + +"That's what Nurse Williams said," replied Hannah, "but we put it down +to him being a solicitor and knowing what ought to be done in a case +of sudden death. Very particular he was, too--got me to put a bit of +sticking-plaster over the mouth of the bottle and write my initials on +it, so that it shouldn't be opened accidental. Nurse Williams always +said he expected an inquest, but Dr. Weare being there to speak to Mr. +Boyes having had these kind of bilious attacks all his life, of course +there was no question raised about giving the certificate." + +"Of course not," said Bunter, "but it's very fortunate as it turns out +that Mr. Urquhart should have understood his duty so well. Many's the +case his lordship has seen in which an innocent man has been brought +near to the gallows for lack of a simple little precaution like that." + +"And when I think how near Mr. Urquhart was to being away from 'ome at +the time," said Mrs. Pettican, "the thought fair gives me palpitations. +Called away, he was, to that tiresome old woman what's always a-dying +and never dies. Why, he's there now--Mrs. Wrayburn, up in Windle. Rich +as Sneezes, she is, by all accounts, and no good to nobody, for she's +gone quite childish, so they say. A wicked old woman she was, too, in +'er day, and 'er other relations wouldn't 'ave nothink to do with 'er, +only Mr. Urquhart, and I don't suppose 'e wouldn't, neither, only 'e's +her solicitor and it's his duty so to do." + +"Duty does not always lie in pleasant places," commented Mr. Bunter, +"as you and I well know, Mrs. Pettican." + +"Them that are rich," said Hannah Westlock, "find no difficulty about +getting their duties performed for them. Which I will make bold to say, +Mrs. Wrayburn would not have done if she had been poor, great-aunt or +no great-aunt, knowing Mr. Urquhart." + +"Ah!" said Bunter. + +"I pass no comments," said Miss Westlock, "but you and me, Mr. Bunter, +know how the world goes." + +"I suppose Mr. Urquhart stands to gain something when the old woman +does peg out," suggested Bunter. + +"That's as may be; he's not a talker," said Hannah, "but it stands to +reason he wouldn't be always giving up his time and tearing off to +Westmorland for nothing. Though I wouldn't care myself to put my hand +to money that's wickedly come by. It would not bring a blessing with +it, Mr. Bunter." + +"It's easy talking, my girl, when you ain't likely to be put in the way +of temptation," said Mrs. Pettican. "There's many great families in +the Kingdom what never would a bin 'eard of if somebody 'adn't bin a +little easier in their ways than what we've bin brought up to. There's +skelintons in a many cupboards if the truth was known." + +"Ah!" said Bunter, "I believe you. I've seen diamond necklaces and fur +coats that should have been labelled Wages of Sin if deeds done in the +dark were to be proclaimed upon the house-tops, Mrs. Pettican. And +there are families that hold their heads high that wouldn't ever have +existed but for some king or other taking his amusements on the wrong +side of the blanket as the old saying goes." + +"They say as some that was high up wasn't too high to take notice of +old Mrs. Wrayburn in her young days," said Hannah, darkly. "Queen +Victoria wouldn't never allow her to act before the Royal Family--she +knew too much about her goings-on." + +"An actress, was she?" + +"And a very beautiful one, they say, though I can't rightly recollect +what her stage name was," mused Mrs. Pettican. "It was a queer one, I +know--'Yde Park, or somethink of that. This Wrayburn as she married, +'e was nobody--jest to kiver up the scandal that's what she married +'im for. Two children she 'ad--but 'ose I would not take it upon me +to say--and they both died in the cholera, which no doubt it was a +judgment." + +"That's not what Mr. Boyes called it," said Hannah, with a +self-righteous sniff. "The devil took care of his own, that was his way +of putting it." + +"Ah! he talked careless," said Mrs. Pettican, "and no wonder, seeing +the folks he lived with. But he'd a sobered down in time if he'd bin +spared. A very pleasant way he 'ad with 'im when 'e liked. Come in +here, he would, and chat upon one thing and another, very amusing-like." + +"You're too soft with the gentlemen, Mrs. Pettican," said Hannah. +"Anyone as has taking ways and poor health is ewe-lambs to you." + +"So Mr. Boyes knew all about Mrs. Wrayburn?" + +"Oh, yes--it was all in the family, you see, and no doubt Mr. Urquhart +would a told him more than he'd say to us. Which train did Mr. Urquhart +say he was a-comin' by, Hannah?" + +"He said dinner for half-past seven. That'll be the six-thirty, I +should think." + +Mrs. Pettican glanced at the clock and Bunter, taking this as a hint, +rose and made his farewells. + +"And I 'opes as you'll come again, Mr. Bunter," said the Cook, +graciously. "The master makes no objections to respectable gentlemen +visitors at tea-time. Wednesday is my 'arf-day." + +"Mine is Friday," added Hannah, "and every other Sunday. If you +should be Evangelical, Mr. Bunter, the Rev. Crawford in Judd Street +is a beautiful preacher. But maybe you'll be going out of town for +Christmas." + +Mr. Bunter replied that that season would undoubtedly be spent at +Duke's Denver, and departed in a shining halo of vicarious splendour. + + + + + CHAPTER X + + +"Here you are, Peter," said Chief-Inspector Parker, "and here is the +lady you are anxious to meet. Mrs. Bulfinch, allow me to introduce Lord +Peter Wimsey." + +"Pleased, I am sure," said Mrs. Bulfinch. She giggled, and dabbed her +large, blonde face with powder. + +"Mrs. Bulfinch, before her union with Mr. Bulfinch, was the life and +soul of the saloon bar at the Nine Rings in Grays Inn Road," said Mr. +Parker, "and well-known to all for her charm and wit." + +"Go on," said Mrs. Bulfinch, "you're a one, aren't you? Don't you pay +no attention to him, your lordship. You know what these police fellows +are." + +"Sad dogs," said Wimsey, shaking his head. "But I don't need his +testimonials, I can trust my own eyes and ears, Mrs. Bulfinch, and I +can only say that, if I had had the happiness to make your acquaintance +before it was too late, it would have been my life-time's ambition to +wipe Mr. Bulfinch's eye." + +"You're every bit as bad as he is," said Mrs. Bulfinch, highly +gratified, "and what Bulfinch would say to you I _don't_ know. Quite +upset, he was, when the officer came round to ask me to pop along +to the Yard. 'I don't like it, Gracie,' he says, 'we've always bin +respectable in this house and no trouble with disorderlies nor drinks +after hours, and once you get among them fellows you don't know the +things you may be asked.' 'Don't be so soft,' I tells him, 'the boys +all know me and they haven't got nothing against me, and if it's just +to tell them about the gentleman that left the packet behind him at the +Rings, I haven't no objection to tell them, having nothing to reproach +myself with. What'd they think,' I said, 'if I refused to go? Ten to +one they'd think there was something funny about it.' 'Well,' he says, +'I'm coming with you.' 'Oh, are you?' I says, 'and how about the new +barman you was going to engage this morning? For,' I said, 'serve in +the jug and bottle I will not, never having been accustomed to it, so +you can do as you like.' So I came away and left him to it. Mind you, I +like him for it. I ain't saying nothing against Bulfinch, but police or +no police, I reckon I know how to take care of myself." + +"Quite so," said Parker, patiently. "Mr. Bulfinch need feel no alarm. +All we want you to do is to tell us, to the best of your recollection, +about that young man you spoke of and help us to find the white-paper +packet. You may be able to save an innocent person from being +convicted, and I am sure your husband could not object to that." + +"Poor thing!" said Mrs. Bulfinch, "I'm sure when I read the account of +the trial I said to Bulfinch--" + +"Just a moment. If you wouldn't mind beginning at the beginning, Mrs. +Bulfinch, Lord Peter would understand better what you have to tell us." + +"Why, of course. Well, my lord, before I was married I was barmaid +at the Nine Rings, as the Chief-Inspector says. Miss Montague I was +then--it's a better name than Bulfinch, and I was almost sorry to say +good-bye to it, but there! a girl has to make a lot of sacrifices when +she marries and one more or less is nothing to signify. I never worked +there but in the saloon bar, for I wouldn't undertake the four-ale +business, it not being a refined neighbourhood, though there's a lot of +very nice legal gentlemen drops in of an evening on the saloon side. +Well, as I was saying, I was working there up to my marriage, which was +last August Bank Holiday, and I remember one evening a gentleman coming +in--" + +"Could you remember the date, do you think?" + +"Not within a day or so I couldn't, for I wouldn't wish to swear to a +fib, but it wasn't far off the longest day, for I remember making that +same remark to the gentleman for something to say, you know." + +"That's near enough," said Parker. "Round about June 20th, or 21st, or +something like that?" + +"That's right, as near as I can speak to it. And as to the time of +night, that I _can_ tell you--knowing how keen you 'tecs always are on +the hands of the clock." Mrs. Bulfinch giggled again and looked archly +round for applause. "There was a gentleman sitting there--I didn't +know him, he was a stranger to the district--and he asked what was +our closing hour and I told him 11 o'clock, and he said, 'Thank God! +I thought I was going to be turned out at 10.30,' and I looked at the +clock and said, 'Oh, you're all right, anyhow, sir; we always keep that +clock a quarter of an hour fast.' The clock said twenty past, so I know +it must have been five past ten really. So we got talking a bit about +these prohibitionists and the way they had been trying it on again to +get our licensing-hour altered to half-past ten, only we had a good +friend on the Bench in Mr. Judkins, and while we was discussing it, I +remember so well, the door was pushed open hurried-like and a young +gentleman comes in, almost falls in, I might say, and he calls, 'Give +me a double brandy, quick.' Well, I didn't like to serve him all at +once, he looked so white and queer, I thought he'd had one or two over +the eight already, and the boss was most particular about that sort of +thing. Still, he spoke all right--quite clear and not repeating himself +nor nothing, and his eyes, though they did look a bit funny, weren't +fixed-like, if you understand me. We get to size folks up pretty well +in our business, you know. He sort of held on to the bar, all scrunched +up together and bent double, and he says, 'Make it a stiff one, there's +a good girl, I'm feeling awful bad.' The gentleman I'd been talking +to, he says to him, 'Hold up,' he says, 'what's the matter?' and the +gentleman says, 'I'm going to be ill.' And he puts his hands across his +waistcoat like so!" + +Mrs. Bulfinch clasped her waist and rolled her big blue eyes +dramatically. + +"Well, then I see he wasn't drunk, so I mixed him a double Martell with +just a splash of soda and he gulps it down, and says, 'That's better.' +And the other gentleman puts his arm round him and helps him to a seat. +There was a good many other people in the bar, but they didn't notice +much, being full of the racing news. Presently the gentleman asks me +for a glass of water, and I fetched it to him, and he says: 'Sorry if +I frightened you, but I've just had a bad shock, and it must have gone +to my inside. I'm subject to gastric trouble,' he says, 'and any worry +or shock always affects my stomach. However,' he says, 'perhaps this +will stop it.' And he takes out a white paper packet with some powder +in it, and drops it into the glass of water and stirs it up with a +fountain-pen and drinks it off." + +"Did it fizz or anything?" asked Wimsey. + +"No; it was just a plain powder, and it took a bit of a time to mix. He +drank it off and said, 'That settles it,' or 'That'll settle it,' or +something of that sort. And then he says, 'Thanks very much. I'm better +now and I'd better get home in case it takes me again.' And he raised +his hat--he was quite the gentleman--and off he goes." + +"How much powder do you think he put in?" + +"Oh, a good dollop. He didn't measure it or anything, just shot it in +out of the packet. Near a dessert spoonful it might have been." + +"And what happened to the packet?" prompted Parker. + +"Ah, there you are." Mrs. Bulfinch took a glance at Wimsey's face and +seemed pleased with the effect she was producing. + +"We'd just got the last customer out--about five past eleven, that +would be, and George was locking the door, when I see something white +on the seat. Somebody's handkerchief I thought it was, but when I +picked it up, I see it was the paper packet. So I said to George, +'Hullo! the gentleman's left his medicine behind him.' So George +asked what gentleman, and I told him, and he said, 'What is it?' and +I looked, but the label had been torn off. It was just one of them +chemist's packets, you know, with the ends turned up and a label stuck +across, but there wasn't a bit of the label left." + +"You couldn't even see whether it had been printed in black or in red?" + +"Well, now." Mrs. Bulfinch considered. "Well, no, I couldn't say that. +Now you mention it, I do seem to recollect that there was something red +about the packet, somewhere, but I can't clearly call it to mind. I +wouldn't swear. I know there wasn't any name or printing of any kind, +because I looked to see what it was." + +"You didn't try tasting it, I suppose?" + +"Not me. It might have been poison or something. I tell you, he was a +funny-looking customer." (Parker and Wimsey exchanged glances.) + +"Was that what you thought at the time?" enquired Wimsey, "or did it +only occur to you later on--after you'd read about the case, you know?" + +"I thought it at the time, of course," retorted Mrs. Bulfinch, +snappishly. "Aren't I telling you that's why I didn't taste it? I said +so to George at the time, what's more. Besides, if it wasn't poison, +it might be 'snow' or something. 'Best not touch it,' that's what I +said to George, and he said 'Chuck it in the fire.' But I wouldn't +have that. The gentleman might have come back for it. So I stuck it up +on the shelf behind the bar, where they keep the spirits, and never +thought of it again from that day to yesterday, when your policeman +came round about it." + +"It's been looked for there," said Parker, "but they can't seem to find +it anywhere." + +"Well, I don't know about that. I put it there and I left the Rings +in August, so what's gone with it I can't say. Daresay they threw it +away when they were cleaning. Wait a bit, though--I'm wrong when I +say I never thought about it again. I did just wonder about it when I +read the report of the trial in the _News of the World_, and I said +to George, 'I wouldn't be surprised if that was the gentleman who +came into the Rings one night and seemed so poorly--just fancy!' I +said--just like that. And George said, 'Now don't you get fancies, +Gracie my girl; you don't want to get mixed up in a police case.' +George has always held his head high, you see." + +"It's a pity you didn't come forward with this story," said Parker, +severely. + +"Well, how was I to know it was important? The taxi-driver had seen him +a few minutes afterwards and he was ill then, so the powder couldn't +have had anything to do with it, if it was him, which I couldn't swear +to. And anyhow, I didn't see about it till the trial was all over and +finished with." + +"There will be a new trial, though," said Parker, "and you may have to +give evidence at that." + +"You know where to find me," said Mrs. Bulfinch, with spirit. "I shan't +run away." + +"We're very much obliged to you for coming now," added Wimsey, +pleasantly. + +"Don't mention it," said the lady. "Is that all you want, Mr. +Chief-Inspector?" + +"That's all at present. If we find the packet, we may ask you to +identify it. And, by the way, it's advisable not to discuss these +matters with your friends, Mrs. Bulfinch. Sometimes ladies get talking, +and one thing leads to another, and in the end they remember incidents +that never took place at all. You understand." + +"I never was one for talking," said Mrs. Bulfinch, offended. "And it's +my opinion, when it comes to putting two-and-two together to make five +of 'em, the ladies aren't in it with the gentlemen." + +"I may pass this on to the solicitors for the defence, I suppose?" +said Wimsey, when the witness had departed. + +"Of course," said Parker, "that's why I asked you to come and hear +it--for what it's worth. Meanwhile, we shall of course have a good hunt +for the packet." + +"Yes," said Wimsey, thoughtfully, "yes--you will have to do +that--naturally." + + * * * * * + +Mr. Crofts did not look best pleased when this story was handed on to +him. + +"I warned you, Lord Peter," he said, "what might come of showing our +hand to the police. Now they've got hold of this incident, they will +have every opportunity to turn it to their own advantage. Why didn't +you leave it to us to make the investigation?" + +"Damn it," said Wimsey angrily, "it was left to you for about three +months and you did absolutely nothing. The police dug it up in three +days. Time's important in this case, you know." + +"Very likely, but don't you see that the police won't rest now till +they've found this precious packet?" + +"Well?" + +"Well, and suppose it isn't arsenic at all? If you'd left it in our +hands, we could have sprung the thing on them at the last moment, when +it was too late to make enquiries, and then we should have knocked the +bottom out of the prosecution. Give the jury Mrs. Bulfinch's story as +it stands and they'd have to admit there was some evidence that the +deceased poisoned himself. But now, of course, the police will find or +fake something and show that the powder was perfectly harmless." + +"And supposing they find it and it _is_ arsenic?" + +"In _that_ case, of course," said Mr. Crofts, "we shall get an +acquittal. But do you believe in that possibility, my lord?" + +"It's perfectly evident that _you_ don't," said Wimsey, hotly. "In +fact, you think your client's guilty. Well, I don't." + +Mr. Crofts shrugged his shoulders. + +"In our client's interests," he said, "we are bound to look at the +unfavourable side of all evidence, so as to anticipate the points that +are likely to be made by the prosecution. I repeat, my lord, that you +have acted indiscreetly." + +"Look here," said Wimsey, "I'm not out for a verdict of 'Not Proven.' +As far as Miss Vane's honour and happiness are concerned, she might as +well be found guilty as acquitted on a mere element of doubt. I want to +see her absolutely cleared and the blame fixed in the right quarter. I +don't want any shadow of doubt about it." + +"Highly desirable, my lord," agreed the solicitor, "but you will +allow me to remind you that it is not merely a question of honour or +happiness, but of saving Miss Vane's neck from the gallows." + +"And I say," said Wimsey, "that it would be better for her to be hanged +outright than to live and have everybody think her a murderess who got +off by a fluke." + +"Indeed?" said Mr. Crofts, "I fear that is not an attitude that the +defence can very well adopt. May I ask if it is adopted by Miss Vane +herself?" + +"I shouldn't be surprised if it was," said Wimsey. "But she's innocent, +and I'll make you damn well believe it before I've done." + +"Excellent, excellent," said Mr. Crofts, suavely, "nobody will be +more delighted than myself. But I repeat that, in my humble opinion, +your lordship will be wiser not to betray too many confidences to +Chief-Inspector Parker." + + * * * * * + +Wimsey was still simmering inwardly from this encounter when he entered +Mr. Urquhart's office in Bedford Row. The head-clerk remembered him and +greeted him with the deference due to an exalted and expected visitor. +He begged his lordship to take a seat for a moment, and vanished into +an inner office. + +A woman typist, with a strong, ugly, rather masculine face, looked up +from her machine as the door closed, and nodded abruptly to Lord Peter. +Wimsey recognized her as one of the "Cattery," and put a commendatory +mental note against Miss Climpson's name for quick and efficient +organisation. No words passed, however, and in a few moments the +head-clerk returned and begged Lord Peter to step inside. + +Norman Urquhart rose from his desk and held out a friendly hand +of greeting. Wimsey had seen him at the trial, and noted his neat +dress, thick, smooth dark hair and general appearance of brisk and +business-like respectability. Seeing him now more closely, he noticed +that he was rather older than he had appeared at a distance. He put +him down as being somewhere about the middle forties. His skin was +pale and curiously clear, except for a number of little freckles, like +sun-spots, rather unexpected at that time of the year, and in a man +whose appearance conveyed no other suggestion of an out-door life. The +eyes, dark and shrewd, looked a little tired, and were bistred about +the orbits, as though anxiety were not unknown to them. + +The solicitor welcomed his guest in a high, pleasant voice and asked +what he could do for him. + +Wimsey explained that he was interested in the Vane poisoning trial, +and that he had the authority of Messrs. Crofts & Cooper to come and +bother Mr. Urquhart with questions, adding, as usual, that he was +afraid he was being a nuisance. + +"Not at all, Lord Peter, not at all. I'm only too delighted to help +you in any way, though really I'm afraid you have heard all I know. +Naturally, I was very much taken aback by the result of the autopsy, +and rather relieved, I must admit, to find that no suspicion was likely +to be thrown on me, under the rather peculiar circumstances." + +"Frightfully tryin' for you," agreed Wimsey. "But you seem to have +taken the most admirable precautions at the time." + +"Well, you know, I suppose we lawyers get into a habit of taking +precautions. Not that I had any idea of poison at the time--or, +needless to say, I should have insisted on an enquiry then and +there. What was in my mind was more in the nature of some kind of +food-poisoning; not botulism, the symptoms were all wrong for that, but +some contamination from cooking utensils or from some bacillus in the +food itself. I am glad it turned out not to be that, though the reality +was infinitely worse in one way. I suppose, really, in all cases of +sudden and unaccountable illness, an analysis of the secretions ought +to be made as a routine part of the business, but Dr. Weare appeared +perfectly satisfied, and I trusted entirely to his judgment." + +"Obviously," said Wimsey. "One doesn't naturally jump to the idea that +people are bein' murdered--though I dare say it happens more often than +one is apt to suppose." + +"It probably does, and if I'd ever had the handling of a criminal case, +the suspicion might have occurred to me, but my work is almost entirely +conveyancing and that sort of business--and probate and divorce and so +on." + +"Talkin' of probate," said Wimsey, carelessly, "had Mr. Boyes any sort +of financial expectations?" + +"None at all that I know of. His father is by no means well off--the +usual country parson with a small stipend and a huge Vicarage +and tumble-down Church. In fact, the whole family belongs to the +unfortunate professional middle-class--over-taxed and with very little +financial stamina. I shouldn't think there were more than a few hundred +pounds to come to Philip Boyes, even if he had outlived the lot of +them." + +"I had an idea there was a rich aunt somewhere." + +"Oh, no--unless you're thinking of old Cremorna Garden. She's a +great-aunt, on the mother's side. But she hasn't had anything to do +with them for very many years." + +At this moment Lord Peter had one of those bursts of illumination which +come suddenly when two unrelated facts make contact in the mind. In +the excitement of hearing Parker's news about the white paper packet, +he had paid insufficient attention to Bunter's account of the tea-party +with Hannah Westlock and Mrs. Pettican, but now he remembered something +about an actress, with a name like ''Yde Park or something of that.' +The readjustment made itself so smoothly and mechanically in his mind +that his next question followed almost without a pause. + +"Isn't that Mrs. Wrayburn of Windle in Westmorland?" + +"Yes," said Mr. Urquhart. "I've just been up to see her, as a matter of +fact. Of course, yes, you wrote to me there. She's been quite childish, +poor old lady, for the last five years or so. A wretched life--dragging +on like that, a misery to herself and everybody else. It always seems +to me a cruel thing that one may not put these poor old people out of +the way, as one would a favourite animal--but the law will not let us +be so merciful." + +"Yes, we'd be hauled over the coals by the N.S.P.C.A. if we let a cat +linger on in misery," said Wimsey. "Silly, isn't it? But it's all of +a piece with the people who write to the papers about keepin' dogs in +draughty kennels and don't give a hoot--or a penny--to stop landlords +allowin' a family of thirteen to sleep in an undrained cellar with no +glass in the windows and no windows to put it in. It really makes me +quite cross, sometimes, though I'm a peaceful sort of idiot as a rule. +Poor old Cremorna Garden--she must be gettin' on now, though. Surely +she can't last much longer." + +"As a matter of fact, we all thought she'd gone the other day. Her +heart is giving out--she's over ninety, poor soul, and she gets these +attacks from time to time. But there's amazing vitality in some of +these ancient ladies." + +"I suppose you're about her only living relation now." + +"I suppose I am, except for an uncle of mine in Australia." Mr. +Urquhart accepted the fact of the relationship without enquiring how +Wimsey came to know about it. "Not that my being there can do her any +good. But I'm her man of business, too, so it's just as well I should +be on the spot when anything happens." + +"Oh, quite, quite. And being her man of business, of course you know +how she has left her money." + +"Well, yes, of course. Though I don't quite see, if you'll forgive my +saying so, what that has to do with the present problem." + +"Why, don't you see," said Wimsey, "it just occurred to me that Philip +Boyes might have got himself into some kind of financial mess-up--it +happens to the best of men--and have, well, taken the short way out of +it. But, if he had any expectations from Mrs. Wrayburn, and the old +girl, I mean, the poor old lady, was so near shuffling off this mortal +thingummy, why, then, don't you know, he would have waited, or raised +the wind on the strength of a post-obit or something or the other. You +get my meaning, what?" + +"Oh, I see--you are trying to make out a case for suicide. Well, I +agree with you that it's the most hopeful defense for Miss Vane's +friends to put up, and as far as that goes, I can support you. +Inasmuch, that is, as Mrs. Wrayburn did not leave Philip anything. Nor, +so far as I know, had he the smallest reason to suppose she would do +so." + +"You're positive of that?" + +"Quite. As a matter of fact," Mr. Urquhart hesitated, "well, I may as +well tell you that he asked me about it one day, and I was obliged to +tell him that he hadn't the least chance of getting anything from her." + +"Oh--he did actually ask?" + +"Well, yes, he did." + +"That's rather a point, isn't it? How long ago would that be?" + +"Oh--about eighteen months ago, I fancy. I couldn't be sure." + +"And as Mrs. Wrayburn is now childish, I suppose he couldn't entertain +any hope that she would ever alter the will?" + +"Not the slightest." + +"No, I see. Well, I think we might make something of that. Great +disappointment, of course--one would make out that he had counted a +good deal upon it. Is it much, by the way?" + +"Pretty fair--about seventy or eighty thousand." + +"Very sickening, to think of all that good stuff going west and not +getting a look-in one's self. By the way, how about you? Don't you get +anything? I beg your pardon, fearfully inquisitive and all that, but +I mean to say, considering you've been looking after her for years +and are her only available relation so to speak, it would be a trifle +thick, what?" + +The solicitor frowned, and Wimsey apologised. + +"I know, I know--I've been fearfully impudent. It's a failing of mine. +And anyhow, it'll all be in the papers when the old lady does pop +off, so I don't know why I should be so anxious to pump you. Wash it +out--I'm sorry." + +"There's no real reason why you shouldn't know," said Mr. Urquhart, +slowly, "though one's professional instinct is to avoid disclosing +one's clients' affairs. As a matter of fact, I am the legatee myself." + +"Oh?" said Wimsey, in a disappointed voice. "But in that case--that +rather weakens the story, doesn't it? I mean to say, your cousin might +very well have felt, in that case, that he could look to you for--that +is--of course I don't know what your ideas might have been--" + +Mr. Urquhart shook his head. + +"I see what you are driving at, and it is a very natural thought. +But actually, such a disposal of the money would have been directly +contrary to the expressed wish of the testatrix. Even if I could +legally have made it over, I should have been morally bound not to do +so, and I had to make that clear to Philip. I might, of course, have +assisted him with casual gifts of money from time to time, but, to tell +the truth, I should hardly have cared to do so. In my opinion, the +only hope of salvation for Philip would have been to make his way by +his own work. He was a little inclined--though I don't like speaking +ill of the dead--to--to rely too much on other people." + +"Ah, quite. No doubt that was Mrs. Wrayburn's idea also?" + +"Not exactly. No. It went rather deeper than that. She considered that +she had been badly treated by her family. In short, well, as we have +gone so far, I don't mind giving you her _ipsissima verba_." + +He rang a bell on his desk. + +"I haven't got the will itself here, but I have the draft. Oh, +Miss Murchison, would you kindly bring me in the deed-box labelled +'Wrayburn'? Mr. Pond will show it to you. It isn't heavy." + +The lady from the "Cattery" departed silently in quest of the box. + +"This is all rather irregular, Lord Peter," went on Mr. Urquhart, "but +there are times when too much discretion is as bad as too little, and +I should like you to see exactly why I was forced to take up this +rather uncompromising attitude towards my cousin. Ah, thank you, Miss +Murchison." + +He opened the deed-box with a key attached to a bunch which he took +from his trousers' pocket, and turned over a quantity of papers. Wimsey +watched him with the expression of a rather foolish terrier who expects +a tit-bit. + +"Dear, dear," ejaculated the solicitor, "it doesn't seem to be--oh! of +course, how forgetful of me. I'm so sorry, it's in my safe at home. I +got it out for reference last June, when the previous alarm occurred +about Mrs. Wrayburn's illness, and in the confusion which followed on +my cousin's death I quite forgot to bring it back. However, the gist of +it was--" + +"Never mind," said Wimsey, "there's no hurry. If I called at your house +tomorrow, perhaps I could see it then." + +"By all means, if you think it important. I do apologise for my +carelessness. In the meantime, is there anything else I can tell you +about the matter?" + +Wimsey asked a few questions, covering the ground already traversed by +Bunter in his investigations, and took his departure. Miss Murchison +was again at work in the outer office. She did not look up as he passed. + +"Curious," mused Wimsey, as he pattered along Bedford Row, "everybody +is so remarkably helpful about this case. They cheerfully answer +questions which one has no right to ask and burst into explanations +in the most unnecessary manner. None of them seem to have anything to +conceal. It's quite astonishing. Perhaps the fellow really did commit +suicide. I hope he did. I wish I could question _him_. I'd put him +through it, blast him. I've got about fifteen different analyses of his +character already--all different.... It's very ungentlemanly to commit +suicide without leaving a note to say you've done it--gets people into +trouble. When I blow my brains out--" + +He stopped. + +"I hope I shan't want to," he said. "I hope I shan't need to want to. +Mother wouldn't like it, and it's messy. But I'm beginning to dislike +this job of getting people hanged. It's damnable for their friends.... +I won't think about hanging. It's unnerving." + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + +Wimsey presented himself at Mr. Urquhart's house at 9 o'clock the next +morning, and found that gentleman at breakfast. + +"I thought I might catch you before you went down to the office," said +his lordship, apologetically. "Thanks awfully, I've had my morning +nosebag. No, really, thanks--I never drink before eleven. Bad for the +inside." + +"Well, I've found the draft for you," said Mr. Urquhart pleasantly. +"You can cast your eye over it while I drink my coffee, if you'll +excuse my going on. It exposes the family skeleton a little, but it's +all ancient history now." + +He fetched a sheet of typescript from a side-table and handed it +to Wimsey, who noticed, mechanically, that it had been typed on a +Woodstock machine, with a chipped lower case p, and an A slightly out +of alignment. + +"I'd better make quite clear the family connection of the Boyes's and +the Urquharts's," he went on, returning to the breakfast-table, "so +that you will understand the will. The common ancestor is old John +Hubbard, a highly respectable banker at the beginning of the last +century. He lived in Nottingham, and the bank, as usual in those days, +was a private, family concern. He had three daughters, Jane, Mary and +Rosanna. He educated them well, and they ought to have been heiresses +in a mild way, but the old boy made the usual mistakes, speculated +unwisely, allowed his clients too much rope--the old story. The bank +broke, and the daughters were left penniless. The eldest, Jane, married +a man called Henry Brown. He was a schoolmaster and very poor and +quite repellantly moral. They had one daughter, Julia, who eventually +married a curate, the Rev. Arthur Boyes, and was the mother of Philip +Boyes. The second daughter, Mary, did rather better financially, +though socially she married beneath her. She accepted the hand of one +Josiah Urquhart, who was engaged in the lace-trade. This was a blow to +the old people, but Josiah came originally of a fairly decent family, +and was a most worthy person, so they made the best of it. Mary had a +son, Charles Urquhart, who contrived to break away from the degrading +associations of trade. He entered a solicitor's office, did well, and +finally became a partner in the firm. He was my father, and I am his +successor in the legal business. + +"The third daughter, Rosanna, was made of different stuff. She was very +beautiful, a remarkably fine singer, a graceful dancer and altogether a +particularly attractive and spoilt young person. To the horror of her +parents she ran away and went on the stage. They erased her name from +the family Bible. She determined to justify their worst suspicions. She +became the spoilt darling of fashionable London. Under her stage name +of Cremorna Garden, she went from one disreputable triumph to another. +And, mind you, she had brains--nothing of the Nell Gwyn business about +her. She was the take-it-and-keep-it sort. She took everything--money, +jewels, apartments meublés, horses, carriages, all the rest of it, +and turned it into good consolidated funds. She was never prodigal of +anything except her person, which she considered to be a sufficient +return for all favours, and I daresay it was. I never saw her till she +was an old woman, but before she had the stroke which destroyed her +brain and body, she still kept the remains of remarkable beauty. She +was a shrewd old woman in her way, and grasping. She had those tight +little hands, plump and narrow, that give nothing away--except for cash +down. You know the sort. + +"Well, the long and the short of it was that the eldest sister, +Jane--the one who married the schoolmaster--would have nothing to do +with the family black sheep. She and her husband wrapped themselves +up in their virtue and shuddered when they saw the disgraceful name +of Cremorna Garden billed outside the Olympic or the Adelphi. They +returned her letters unopened and forbade her the house, and the climax +was reached when Henry Brown tried to have her turned out of the Church +on the occasion of his wife's funeral. + +"My grand-parents were less strait-laced. They didn't call on her +and didn't invite her, but they occasionally took a box for her +performances and they sent her a card for their son's wedding, and were +polite in a distant kind of way. In consequence, she kept up a civil +acquaintance with my father, and eventually put her business into his +hands. He took the view that property was property, however acquired, +and said that if a lawyer refused to handle dirty money he would have +to show half his clients the door. + +"The old lady never forgot or forgave anything. The very mention of +the Brown-Boyes connection made her foam at the mouth. Hence, when she +came to make her will, she put in that paragraph you have before you +now. I pointed out to her that Philip Boyes had had nothing to do with +the persecution, as, indeed, neither had Arthur Boyes, but the old sore +rankled still, and she wouldn't hear a word in his favour. So I drew up +the will as she wanted it; if I hadn't, somebody else would have done +so, you know." + +Wimsey nodded, and gave his attention to the will, which was dated +eight years previously. It appointed Norman Urquhart as sole executor, +and, after a few legacies to servants and to theatrical charities, it +ran as follows:-- + +"All the rest of my property whatsoever and wheresoever situated I give +to my great-nephew Norman Urquhart of Bedford Row Solicitor for his +lifetime and at his death to be equally divided among his legitimate +issue but if the said Norman Urquhart should decease without legitimate +issue the said property to pass to (here followed the names of the +charities previously specified). And I make this disposition of my +property in token of gratitude for the consideration shown to me by +my said great-nephew Norman Urquhart and his father the late Charles +Urquhart throughout their lives and to ensure that no part of my +property shall come into the hands of my great-nephew Philip Boyes or +his descendants. And to this end and to mark my sense of the inhuman +treatment meted out to me by the family of the said Philip Boyes I +enjoin upon the said Norman Urquhart as my dying wish that he neither +give, lend or convey to the said Philip Boyes any part of the income +derived from the said property enjoyed by him the said Norman Urquhart +during his lifetime nor employ the same to assist the said Philip Boyes +in any manner whatsoever." + +"H'm!" said Wimsey, "that's pretty clear, and pretty vindictive." + +"Yes, it is--but what are you to do with old ladies who won't listen +to reason? She looked pretty sharply to see that I had got the wording +fierce enough before she would put her name to it." + +"It must have depressed Philip Boyes all right," said Wimsey. "Thank +you--I'm glad I've seen that; it makes the suicide theory a good deal +more probable." + +In theory it might do so, but the theory did not square as well as +Wimsey could have wished with what he had heard about the character +of Philip Boyes. Personally, he was inclined to put more faith in the +idea that the final interview with Harriet had been the deciding factor +in the suicide. But this, too, was not quite satisfactory. He could +not believe that Philip had felt that particular kind of affection +for Harriet Vane. Perhaps, though, it was merely that he did not want +to think well of the man. His emotions were, he feared, clouding his +judgment a little. + +He went back home and read the proofs of Harriet's novel. Undoubtedly +she could write well, but undoubtedly she knew only too much about the +administration of arsenic. Moreover, the book was about two artists +who lived in Bloomsbury and led an ideal existence, full of love and +laughter and poverty, till somebody unkindly poisoned the young man +and left the young woman inconsolable and passionately resolved to +avenge him. Wimsey ground his teeth and went down to Holloway Gaol, +where he very nearly made a jealous exhibition of himself. Fortunately, +his sense of humour came to the rescue when he had cross-examined his +client to the verge of exhaustion and tears. + +"I'm sorry," he said; "the fact is, I'm most damnably jealous of this +fellow Boyes. I oughtn't to be, but I am." + +"That's just it," said Harriet, "and you always would be." + +"And if I was, I shouldn't be fit to live with. Is that it?" + +"You would be very unhappy. Quite apart from all the other drawbacks." + +"But, look here," said Wimsey, "if you married me I shouldn't be +jealous, because then I should know that you really liked me and all +that." + +"You think you wouldn't be. But you would." + +"Should I? Oh, surely not. Why should I? It's just the same as if I +married a widow. Are all second husbands jealous?" + +"I don't know. But it's not quite the same. You'd never really trust +me, and we should be wretched." + +"But damn it all," said Wimsey, "if you would once say you cared a bit +about me it would be all right. I should believe that. It's because you +won't say it that I imagine all sorts of things." + +"You would go on imagining things in spite of yourself. You couldn't +give me a square deal. No man ever does." + +"Never?" + +"Well, hardly ever." + +"That would be rotten," said Wimsey, seriously. "Of course, if I turned +out to be that sort of idiot, things would be pretty hopeless. I know +what you mean. I knew a bloke once who got that jealous bug. If his +wife wasn't always hanging round his neck, he said it showed he meant +nothing to her, and if she did express her affection he called her a +hypocrite. It got quite impossible, and she ran away with somebody she +didn't care twopence for, and he went about saying that he had been +right about her all along. But everybody else said it was his own silly +fault. It's all very complicated. The advantage seems to be with the +person who gets jealous first. Perhaps you could manage to be jealous +of me. I wish you would, because it would prove that you took a bit of +interest in me. Shall I give you some details of my hideous past?" + +"Please don't." + +"Why not?" + +"I don't want to know about all the other people." + +"Don't you, by jove? I think that's rather hopeful. I mean, if you +just felt like a mother to me, you would be anxious to be helpful and +understanding. I loathe being helped and understood. And, after all, +there was nothing in any of them--except Barbara, of course." + +"Who was Barbara?" asked Harriet, quickly. + +"Oh, a girl. I owe her quite a lot, really," replied Wimsey, musingly. +"When she married the other fellow, I took up sleuthing as a cure for +wounded feelings, and it's really been great fun, take it all in all. +Dear me, yes--I was very much bowled over that time. I even took a +special course in logic for her sake." + +"Good gracious!" + +"For the pleasure of repeating 'Barbara celarent darii ferio +baralipton.' There was a kind of mysterious romantic lilt about the +thing which was somehow expressive of passion. Many a moonlight night +have I murmured it to the nightingales which haunt the gardens of St. +Johns--though, of course, I was a Balliol man myself, but the buildings +are adjacent." + +"If anybody ever marries you, it will be for the pleasure of hearing +you talk piffle," said Harriet, severely. + +"A humiliating reason, but better than no reason at all." + +"I used to piffle rather well myself," said Harriet, with tears in her +eyes, "but it's got knocked out of me. You know--I was really meant to +be a cheerful person--all this gloom and suspicion isn't the real me. +But I've lost my nerve, somehow." + +"No wonder, poor kid. But you'll get over it. Just keep on smiling, and +leave it to Uncle Peter." + +When Wimsey got home, he found a note awaiting him. + + Dear Lord Peter, + + As you saw, I got the job. Miss Climpson sent six of us, all with + different stories and testimonials, of course, and Mr. Pond (the + head-clerk) engaged me, subject to Mr. Urquhart's approval. + + I've only been here a couple of days, so there isn't very much I + can tell you about my employer, personally, except that he has a + sweet tooth and keeps secret stores of chocolate cream and Turkish + delight in his desk, which he surreptitiously munches while he is + dictating. He seems pleasant enough. + + But there's just one thing. I fancy it would be interesting to + investigate his financial activities. I've done a good bit one + way and another with stockbroking, you know, and yesterday in his + absence I took a call for him which I wasn't meant to hear. It + wouldn't have told the ordinary person anything, but it did me, + because I knew something about the man at the other end. Find out + if Mr. U. had been doing anything with the Megatherium Trust before + their big crash. + + Further reports when anything turns up. + + Yours sincerely, + Joan Murchison. + +"Megatherium Trust?" said Wimsey. "That's a nice thing for a +respectable solicitor to get mixed up with. I'll ask Freddy Arbuthnot. +He's an ass about everything except stocks and shares, but he does +understand them, for some ungodly reason." + +He read the letter again, mechanically noting that it was typed on a +Woodstock machine, with a chipped lower case p, and a capital A that +was out of alignment. + +Suddenly he woke up and read it a third time, noticing by no means +mechanically, the chipped p and the irregular capital A. + +Then he sat down, wrote a line on a sheet of paper, folded it, +addressed it to Miss Murchison and sent Bunter out to post it. + +For the first time, in this annoying case, he felt the vague stirring +of the waters as a living idea emerged slowly and darkly from the +innermost deeps of his mind. + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + +Wimsey was accustomed to say, when he was an old man and more talkative +even than usual, that the recollection of that Christmas at Duke's +Denver had haunted him in nightmares, every night regularly, for the +following twenty years. But it is possible that he remembered it with +advantages. There is no doubt that it tried his temper severely. It +began inauspiciously at the tea-table, when Mrs. "Freak" Dimsworthy +fluted out in her high, overriding voice: "And is it true, Lord Peter +dear, that you are defending that frightful poisoning woman?" The +question acted like the drawing of a champagne cork. The whole party's +bottled-up curiosity about the Vane case creamed over in one windy gust +of stinging froth. + +"I've no doubt she did it, and I don't blame her," said Captain Tommy +Bates, "perfectly foul blighter. Has his photograph on the dust-cover +of his books, you know, that's the sort of squit he was. Wonderful, +the rotters these high-brow females will fall for. The whole lot of +'em ought to be poisoned like rats. Look at the harm they do to the +country." + +"But he was a very fine writer," protested Mrs. Featherstone, a lady +in her thirties, whose violently compressed figure suggested that she +was engaged in a perpetual struggle to compute her weight in terms of +the first syllables of her name rather than the last. "His books are +positively Gallic in their audacity and restraint. Audacity is not +rare--but that perfect concision of style is a gift which--" + +"Oh, if you like dirt," interrupted the Captain, rather rudely. + +"I wouldn't call it that," said Mrs. Featherstone. "He is frank, of +course, and that is what people in this country will not forgive. It +is part of our national hypocrisy. But the beauty of the writing puts +it all on a higher plane." + +"Well, I wouldn't have the muck in the house," said the Captain, +firmly. "I caught Hilda with it, and I said, 'Now you send that book +straight back to the library.' I don't often interfere, but one must +draw the line somewhere." + +"How did you know what it was like?" asked Wimsey, innocently. + +"Why, James Douglas' article in the _Express_ was good enough for me," +said Captain Bates. "The paragraphs he quoted were filthy, positively +filthy." + +"Well, it's a good thing we've all read them," said Wimsey. "Forewarned +is forearmed." + +"We owe a great debt of gratitude to the press," said the Dowager +Duchess, "so kind of them to pick out all the plums for us and save the +trouble of reading the books, don't you think, and such a joy for the +poor dear people who can't afford seven-and-sixpence, or even a library +subscription, I suppose, though I'm sure that works out cheaply enough +if one is a quick reader. Not that the cheap ones will take those books +for I asked my maid, such a superior girl and so keen on improving her +mind, which is more than I can say for most of my friends, but no doubt +it is all due to free education for the people and I suspect her in my +heart of voting Labour though I never ask because I don't think it's +fair, and besides, if I did, I couldn't very well take any notice of +it, could I?" + +"Still, I don't suppose the young woman murdered him on that account," +said her daughter-in-law. "From all accounts she was just as bad as he +was." + +"Oh, come," said Wimsey, "you can't think that, Helen. Damn it, she +writes detective stories and in detective stories virtue is always +triumphant. They're the purest literature we have." + +"The devil is always ready to quote scripture when it pays him to do +so," said the younger Duchess, "and they say the wretched woman's +sales are going up by leaps and bounds." + +"It's my belief," said Mr. Harringay, "that the whole thing is a +publicity stunt gone wrong." He was a large, jovial man, extremely rich +and connected with the City. "You never know what these advertising +fellows are up to." + +"Well, it looks like a case of hanging the goose that lays the golden +eggs this time," said Captain Bates, with a loud laugh. "Unless Wimsey +means to pull off one of his conjuring tricks." + +"I hope he does," said Miss Titterton. "I adore detective stories. I'd +commute the sentence to penal servitude on condition that she turned +out a new story every six months. It would be much more useful than +picking oakum or sewing mail-bags for the post-office to mislay." + +"Aren't you being a bit previous?" suggested Wimsey, mildly. "She's not +convicted yet." + +"But she will be next time. You can't fight facts, Peter." + +"Of course not," said Captain Bates. "The police know what they're +about. They don't put people into the dock if there isn't something +pretty shady about 'em." + +Now this was a fearful brick, for it was not so many years since the +Duke of Denver had himself stood his trial on a mistaken charge of +murder. There was a ghastly silence, broken by the Duchess, who said +icily: "Really, Captain Bates!" + +"What? eh? Oh, of course, I mean to say, I know mistakes do happen +sometimes, but that's a very different thing. I mean to say, this +woman, with no morals at all, that is, I mean--" + +"Have a drink, Tommy," said Lord Peter, kindly. "You aren't quite up to +your usual standard of tact today." + +"No, but do tell us, Lord Peter," cried Mrs. Dimsworthy, "what the +creature is _like_. Have you talked to her? I thought she had rather a +nice voice, though she's as plain as a pancake." + +"Nice voice, Freakie? Oh, no," said Mrs. Featherstone. "I should have +called it rather sinister. It absolutely thrilled me, I got shudders +all the way down my spine. A genuine _frisson_. And I think she would +be quite attractive, with those queer, smudgy eyes, if she were +properly dressed. A sort of _femme fatale_, you know. Does she try to +hypnotise you, Peter?" + +"I saw in the papers," said Miss Titterton, "that she had had hundreds +of offers of marriage." + +"Out of one noose into the other," said Harringay, with his noisy laugh. + +"I don't think I should care to marry a murderess," said Miss +Titterton, "especially one that's been trained on detective stories. +One would be always wondering whether there was anything funny about +the taste of the coffee." + +"Oh, these people are all mad," said Mrs. Dimsworthy. "They have a +morbid longing for notoriety. It's like the lunatics who make spurious +confessions and give themselves up for crimes they haven't committed." + +"A murderess might make quite a good wife," said Harringay. "There +was Madeleine Smith, you know--she used arsenic too, by the way--she +married somebody and lived happily to a respectable old age." + +"But did her husband live to a respectable old age?" demanded Miss +Titterton. "That's more to the point, isn't it?" + +"Once a poisoner, always a poisoner, _I_ believe," said Mrs. +Featherstone. "It's a passion that grows upon you--like drink or drugs." + +"It's the intoxicating sensation of power," said Mrs. Dimsworthy. "But, +Lord Peter, _do_ tell us--" + +"Peter!" said his mother, "I do wish you'd go and see what's happened +to Gerald. Tell him his tea is getting cold. I think he's in the +stables talking to Freddy about thrush or cracked heels or something, +so tiresome the way horses are always getting something the matter with +them. You haven't trained Gerald properly, Helen, he used to be quite +punctual as a boy. Peter was always the tiresome one, but he's becoming +almost human in his old age. It's that wonderful man of his who keeps +him in order, really a remarkable character and so intelligent, quite +one of the old sort, you know, a perfect autocrat, and such manners +too. He would be worth thousands to an American millionaire, most +impressive. I wonder Peter isn't afraid he'll give warning one of these +days, but I really believe he is positively attached to him, Bunter +attached to Peter, I mean, though the other way on would be true too, +I'm sure Peter pays more attention to his opinion than he does to mine." + +Wimsey had escaped, and was by now on his way to the stables. He met +Gerald, Duke of Denver, returning, with Freddy Arbuthnot in tow. The +former received the Dowager's message with a grin. + +"Got to turn up, I suppose," he said. "I wish nobody had ever invented +tea. Ruins your nerves and spoils your appetite for dinner." + +"Beastly sloppy stuff," agreed the Hon. Freddy. "I say, Peter, I've +been wanting to get hold of you." + +"Same here," said Wimsey, promptly. "I'm feelin' rather exhausted with +conversation. Let's wander through the billiard-room and build our +constitutions up before we face the barrage." + +"Today's great thought," said Freddy, enthusiastically. He pattered +happily after Wimsey into the billiard-room, and flung himself down in +a large chair. "Great bore, Christmas, isn't it? All the people one +hates most gathered together in the name of goodwill and all that." + +"Bring a couple of whiskies," said Wimsey to the footman. "And, James, +if anybody asks for Mr. Arbuthnot or me, you rather think we have +gone out. Well, Freddy, here's luck! Has anything transpired, as the +journalists say?" + +"I've been sleuthing like stink on the tracks of your man," said Mr. +Arbuthnot. "Really, don't you know, I shall soon be qualified to set +up in your line of business. Our financial column, edited by Uncle +Buthie--that sort of thing. Friend Urquhart has been very careful, +though. Bound to be--respectable family lawyer and all that. But I saw +a man yesterday who knows a fellow who had it from a chappie that said +Urquhart had been dipping himself a bit recklessly off the deep end." + +"Are you sure, Freddy?" + +"Well, not to say sure. But this man, you see, owes me one, so to +speak, for having warned him off the Megatherium before the band began +to play, and he thinks, if he can get hold of the chappie that knows, +not the fellow that told him, you understand, but the other one, that +he might be able to get something out of him, don't you see, especially +if I was able to put this other chappie in the way of something or the +other, what?" + +"And no doubt you have secrets to sell." + +"Oh, well, I daresay I could make it worth this other chappie's while, +because I've got an idea, through this other fellow that my bloke +knows, that the chappie is rather up against it, as you might say, +through being caught short on some Airways stock, and if I was to put +him in touch with Goldberg, don't you see, it might get him out of a +hole and so on. And Goldberg will be all right, because, don't you see, +he's a cousin of old Levy's, who was murdered, you know, and all these +Jews stick together like leeches and as a matter of fact, I think it's +very fine of them." + +"But what has old Levy got to do with it?" asked Wimsey, his mind +running over the incidents in that half-forgotten murder-episode. + +"Well, as a matter of fact," said the Hon. Freddy, a little nervously, +"I've--er--done the trick as you might say. Rachel Levy is--er, in +fact--going to become Mrs. Freddy and all that sort of thing." + +"The devil she is," said Wimsey, ringing the bell. "Tremendous +congratters and all that. It's been a long time working up, hasn't it?" + +"Why, yes," said Freddy. "Yes, it has. You see, the trouble was that +I was a Christian--at least, I was christened and all that, though I +pointed out I wasn't at all a good one, except, of course, that one +keeps up the family pew and turns out on Christmas Day and so on. Only +it seems they didn't mind that so much as my bein' a Gentile. Well +that, of course, is past prayin' for. And then there was the difficulty +about the kids--if any. But I explained that I didn't mind what they +counted them as--and I don't, you know, because, as I was saying, it +would be all to the little beggars' advantage to be in with the Levy +and Goldberg crowd, especially if the boys were to turn out anything in +the financial way. And then I rather got round Lady Levy by sayin' I +had served nearly seven years for Rachel--that was rather smart, don't +you think?" + +"Two more whiskies, James," said Lord Peter. "It was brilliant, Freddy. +How did you come to think of it?" + +"In church," said Freddy, "at Diana Rigby's wedding. The bride was +fifty minutes late and I had to do something, and somebody had left a +Bible in the pew. I saw that--I say, old Laban was a bit of a tough, +wasn't he?--and I said to myself, 'I'll work that off next time I +call,' and so I did, and the old lady was uncommonly touched by it." + +"And the long and the short of it is, you're fixed up," said Wimsey. +"Well, cheerio, here's to it. Am I best man, Freddy, or do you bring it +off at the Synagogue?" + +"Well, yes--it is to be at the Synagogue--I had to agree to that," said +Freddy, "but I believe some sort of bridegroom's friend comes into it. +You'll stand by me, old bean, won't you? You keep your hat on, don't +forget." + +"I'll bear it in mind," said Wimsey, "and Bunter will explain the +procedure to me. He's bound to know. He knows everything. But look +here, Freddy, you won't forget about this little enquiry, will you?" + +"I won't, old chap--upon my word I won't. I'll let you know the very +second I hear anything. But I really think you may count on there being +something in it." + +Wimsey found some consolation in this. At any rate, he so far pulled +himself together as to be the life and soul of the rather restrained +revels at Duke's Denver. The Duchess Helen, indeed, observed rather +acidly to the Duke that Peter was surely getting too old to play the +buffoon, and that it would be better if he took things seriously and +settled down. + +"Oh, I dunno," said the Duke, "Peter's a weird fish--you never know +what he's thinkin' about. He pulled me out of the soup once and I'm not +going to interfere with him. You leave him alone, Helen." + +Lady Mary Wimsey, who had arrived late on Christmas Eve, took another +view of the matter. She marched into her younger brother's bedroom +at 2 o'clock on the morning of Boxing Day. There had been dinner and +dancing and charades of the most exhausting kind. Wimsey was sitting +thoughtfully over the fire in his dressing-gown. + +"I say, old Peter," said Lady Mary, "you're being a bit fevered, aren't +you? Anything up?" + +"Too much plum-pudding," said Wimsey, "and too much county. I'm a +martyr, that's what I am--burning in brandy to make a family holiday." + +"Yes, it's ghastly, isn't it? But how's life? I haven't seen you for an +age. You've been away such a long time." + +"Yes--and you seem very much taken up with this house-decorating job +you're running." + +"One must do something. I get rather sick of being aimless, you know." + +"Yes. I say, Mary, do you ever see anything of old Parker these days?" + +Lady Mary stared into the fire. + +"I've had dinner with him once or twice, when I was in town." + +"Have you? He's a very decent sort. Reliable, homespun--that sort of +thing. Not amusing, exactly." + +"A little solid." + +"As you say--a little solid." Wimsey lit a cigarette. "I should hate +anything upsettin' to happen to Parker. He'd take it hard. I mean to +say, it wouldn't be fair to muck about with his feelin's and so on." + +Mary laughed. + +"Worried, Peter?" + +"N-no. But I'd rather like him to have fair play." + +"Well, Peter--I can't very well say yes or no till he asks me, can I?" + +"Can't you?" + +"Well, not to him. It would upset his ideas of decorum, don't you +think?" + +"I suppose it would. But it would probably upset them just as much if +he did ask you. He would feel that the mere idea of hearing a butler +announce 'Chief-Detective-Inspector and Lady Mary Parker' would have +something shocking about it." + +"It's stalemate, then, isn't it?" + +"You could stop dining with him." + +"I could do that, of course." + +"And the mere fact that you don't--I see. Would it be any good if I +demanded to know his intentions in the true Victorian manner?" + +"Why this sudden thirst for getting your family off your hands, old +man? Peter--nobody's being horrible to you, are they?" + +"No, no. I'm just feeling rather like a benevolent uncle, that's all. +Old age creeping on. That passion for being useful which attacks the +best of us when we're getting past our prime." + +"Like me with the house-decorating. I designed these pajamas, by +the way. Don't you think they're rather entertaining? But I expect +Chief-Inspector Parker prefers the old-fashioned night-gown, like Dr. +Spooner or whoever it was." + +"That would be a wrench," said Wimsey. + +"Never mind. I'll be brave and devoted. Here and now I cast off my +pajamas for ever!" + +"No, no," said Wimsey, "not here and now. Respect a brother's feelings. +Very well. I am to tell my friend Charles Parker, that if he will +abandon his natural modesty and propose, you will abandon your pajamas +and say yes." + +"It will be a great shock for Helen, Peter." + +"Blast Helen. I daresay it won't be the worst shock she'll get." + +"Peter, you're plotting something devilish. All right. If you want me +to administer the first shock and let her down by degrees--I'll do it." + +"Right-ho!" said Wimsey, casually. + +Lady Mary twisted one arm about his neck and bestowed on him one of her +rare sisterly caresses. + +"You're a decent old idiot," she said, "and you look played-out. Go to +bed." + +"Go to blazes," said Lord Peter, amiably. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + +Miss Murchison felt a touch of excitement in her well-regulated heart, +as she rang the bell of Lord Peter's flat. It was not caused by the +consideration of his title or his wealth or his bachelorhood, for Miss +Murchison had been a business woman all her life, and was accustomed to +visiting bachelors of all descriptions without giving a second thought +to the matter. But his note had been rather exciting. + +Miss Murchison was thirty-eight, and plain. She had worked in the +same financier's office for twelve years. They had been good years on +the whole, and it was not until the last two that she had even begun +to realise that the brilliant financier who juggled with so many +spectacular undertakings was juggling for his life under circumstances +of increasing difficulty. As the pace grew faster, he added egg after +egg to those which were already spinning in the air. There is a limit +to the number of eggs which can be spun by human hands. One day an egg +slipped and smashed--then another--then a whole omelette of eggs. The +juggler fled from the stage and escaped abroad, his chief assistant +blew out his brains, the audience booed, the curtain came down, and +Miss Murchison, at 37, was out of a job. + +She had put an advertisement in the papers and had answered many +others. Most people appeared to want their secretaries young and cheap. +It was discouraging. + +Then her own advertisement had brought an answer, from a Miss Climpson, +who kept a typing bureau. + +It was not what she wanted, but she went. And she found that it was not +quite a typing bureau after all, but something more interesting. + +Lord Peter Wimsey, mysteriously at the back of it all, had been abroad +when Miss Murchison entered the "Cattery," and she had never seen him +till a few weeks ago. This would be the first time she had actually +spoken to him. An odd-looking person, she thought, but people said he +had brains. Anyhow-- + +The door was opened by Bunter, who seemed to expect her and showed her +at once into a sitting-room lined with bookshelves. There were some +fine prints on the walls, an Aubusson carpet, a grand piano, a vast +Chesterfield and a number of deep and cosy chairs, upholstered in brown +leather. The curtains were drawn, a wood-fire blazed on the hearth, and +before it stood a table, with a silver tea-service whose lovely lines +were delightful to the eye. + +As she entered, her employer uncoiled himself from the depths of an +armchair, put down a black-letter folio which he had been studying and +greeted her in the cool, husky and rather languid tones which she had +already heard in Mr. Urquhart's office. + +"Frightfully good of you to come round, Miss Murchison. Beastly day, +isn't it? I'm sure you want your tea. Can you eat crumpets? Or would +you prefer something more up-to-date?" + +"Thanks," said Miss Murchison, as Bunter hovered obsequiously at her +elbow, "I like crumpets very much." + +"Oh, good! Well, Bunter, we'll struggle with the tea-pot ourselves. +Give Miss Murchison another cushion and then you can toddle off. Back +at work, I suppose? How's our Mr. Urquhart?" + +"He's all right." Miss Murchison had never been a chatty girl. "There's +one thing I wanted to tell you--" + +"Plenty of time," said Wimsey. "Don't spoil your tea." He waited on +her with a kind of anxious courtesy which pleased her. She expressed +admiration of the big bronze chrysanthemums heaped here and there about +the room. + +"Oh! I'm glad you like them. My friends say they give a feminine touch +to the place, but Bunter sees to it, as a matter of fact. They make a +splash of colour and all that, don't you think?" + +"The books look masculine enough." + +"Oh, yes--they're my hobby, you know. Books--and crime, of course. +But crime's not very decorative, is it? I don't care about collecting +hangmen's ropes and murderers' over-coats. What are you to do with 'em? +Is the tea all right? I ought to have asked you to pour out, but it +always seems to me rather unfair to invite a person and then make her +do all the work. What do you do when you're not working, by the way? Do +you keep a secret passion for anything?" + +"I go to concerts," said Miss Murchison. "And when there isn't a +concert I put something on the gramophone." + +"Musician?" + +"No--never could afford to learn properly. I ought to have been, I +daresay. But there was more money in being a secretary." + +"I suppose so." + +"Unless one is absolutely first-class, and I should never have been +that. And third-class musicians are a nuisance." + +"They have a rotten time, too," said Wimsey. "I hate to see them in +cinemas, poor beasts, playing the most ghastly tripe, sandwiched in +with snacks of Mendelssohn and torn-off gobbets of the 'Unfinished.' +Have a sandwich. Do you like Bach? or only the Moderns?" + +He wriggled on to the piano stool. + +"I'll leave it to you," said Miss Murchison, rather surprised. + +"I feel rather like the Italian Concerto this evening. It's better on +the harpsichord, but I haven't got one here. I find Bach good for the +brain. Steadying influence and all that." + +He played the Concerto through, and then, after a few seconds' pause +went on to one of the "Forty-eight." He played well, and gave a curious +impression of controlled power, which, in a man so slight and so +fantastical in manner, was unexpected and even a little disquieting. +When he had finished, he said, still sitting at the piano: + +"Did you make the enquiry about the typewriter?" + +"Yes; it was bought new three years ago." + +"Good. I gather, by the way, that you are probably right about +Urquhart's connection with the Megatherium Trust. That was a very +helpful observation of yours. Consider yourself highly commended." + +"Thank you." + +"Anything fresh?" + +"No--except that the evening after you called at Mr. Urquhart's office, +he stayed on a long time after we had gone, typing something." + +Wimsey sketched an arpeggio with his right hand and demanded: + +"How do you know how long he stayed and what he was doing if you had +all gone?" + +"You said you wanted to know of anything, however small, that was in +the least unusual. I thought it might be unusual for him to stay on by +himself, so I walked up and down Princeton Street and round Red Lion +Square till half-past seven. Then I saw him put the light out and go +home. Next morning I noticed that some papers I had left just inside my +typewriter cover had been disturbed. So I concluded that he had been +typing." + +"Perhaps the charwoman disturbed them?" + +"Not she. She never disturbs the dust, let alone the cover." + +Wimsey nodded. + +"You have the makings of a first-class sleuth, Miss Murchison. Very +well. In that case, our little job will have to be undertaken. Now, +look here--you quite understand that I'm going to ask you to do +something illegal?" + +"Yes, I understand." + +"And you don't mind?" + +"No. I imagine that if I'm taken up you will pay any necessary costs." + +"Certainly." + +"And if I go to prison?" + +"I don't think it will come to that. There's a slight risk, I +admit--that is, if I'm wrong about what I think is happening--that you +might be brought up for attempted theft or for being in possession of +safebreaking tools, but that is the most that could happen." + +"Oh! well, it's all in the game, I suppose." + +"You mean that?" + +"Yes." + +"Splendid. Well--you know that deed-box you brought in to Mr. +Urquhart's room the day I was there?" + +"Yes, the one marked Wrayburn." + +"Where is it kept? In the outer office, where you could get hold of it?" + +"Oh, yes--on a shelf with a lot of others." + +"Good. Would it be possible for you to get left alone in the office any +day for, say, half an hour?" + +"Well--at lunch-time I'm supposed to go out at half-past twelve and +come back at half-past one. Mr. Pond goes out then, but Mr. Urquhart +sometimes comes back. I couldn't be certain that he wouldn't pop out on +me. And it would look funny if I wanted to stay on after four-thirty, I +expect. Unless I pretended I had made a mistake and wanted to stay and +put it right. I could do that. I might come extra early in the morning +when the charwoman is there--or would it matter her seeing me?" + +"It wouldn't matter very much," said Wimsey, thoughtfully. "She'd +probably think you had legitimate business with the box. I'll leave it +to you to choose the time." + +"But what am I to do? Steal the box?" + +"Not quite. Do you know how to pick a lock?" + +"Not in the least, I'm afraid." + +"I often wonder what we go to school for," said Wimsey. "We never seem +to learn anything really useful. I can pick quite a pretty lock myself, +but, as we haven't much time and as you'll need some rather intensive +training, I think I'd better take you to an expert. Should you mind +putting your coat on and coming round with me to see a friend?" + +"Not at all. I should be delighted." + +"He lives in the Whitechapel Road, but he's a very pleasant fellow, if +you can overlook his religious opinions. Personally, I find them rather +refreshing. Bunter! Get us a taxi, will you?" + +On the way to the East End, Wimsey insisted upon talking music--rather +to Miss Murchison's disquietude; she began to think there was something +a little sinister in this pointed refusal to discuss the object of +their journey. + +"By the way," she ventured, interrupting something Wimsey was saying +about fugal form, "this person we are going to see--has he a name?" + +"Now you mention it, I believe he has, but he's never called by it. +It's Rumm." + +"Not very, perhaps, if he--er--gives lessons in lock-picking." + +"I mean, his name's Rumm." + +"Oh; what is it then?" + +"Dash it! I mean, Rumm is his name." + +"Oh! I beg your pardon." + +"But he doesn't care to use it, now that he is a total abstainer." + +"Then what does one call him?" + +"_I_ call him Bill," said Wimsey, as the taxi drew up at the entrance +to a narrow court, "but when he was at the head of his profession, they +called him 'Blindfold Bill.' He was a very great man in his time." + +Paying off the taxi-man (who had obviously taken them for +welfare-workers till he saw the size of his tip, and now did not know +what to make of them), Wimsey steered his companion down the dirty +alleyway. At the far end was a small house, from whose lighted windows +poured forth the loud strains of a chorus of voices, supported by a +harmonium and other instruments. + +"Oh, dear!" said Wimsey, "we've struck a meeting. It can't be helped. +Here goes." + +Pausing until the strains of "Glory, glory, glory" had been succeeded +by a sound as of fervent prayer, he hammered lustily at the door. +Presently a small girl put her head out and, seeing Lord Peter, uttered +a shrill cry of delight. + +"Hullo, Esmeralda Hyacinth," said Wimsey. "Is Dad in?" + +"Yes, sir, please, sir, they'll be so pleased, will you step in and oh, +please?" + +"Well?" + +"Please, sir, will you sing 'Nazareth'?" + +"No, I will not sing 'Nazareth' on any account, Esmeralda; I'm +surprised at you." + +"Daddy says 'Nazareth' isn't worldly, and you do sing it so beautiful," +said Esmeralda, her mouth drooping. + +Wimsey hid his face in his hands. + +"This comes of having done a foolish thing once," he said. "One never +lives it down. I won't promise, Esmeralda, but we'll see. But I want to +talk business with Dad when the meeting's over." + +The child nodded; at the same moment, the praying voice within the room +ceased, amid ejaculations of "Alleluia!" and Esmeralda, profiting by +this momentary pause, pushed open the door and said loudly: + +"Here's Mr. Peter and a lady." + +The room was small, very hot and very full of people. In one corner +was the harmonium, with the musicians grouped about it. In the middle, +standing by a round table covered with a red cloth, was a stout, square +man, with a face like a bull-dog. He had a book in his hand, and +appeared to be about to announce a hymn, but, seeing Wimsey and Miss +Murchison, he came forward, stretching out a large and hearty hand. + +"Welcome one and welcome all!" he said. "Brethren, 'ere is a dear +brother and sister in the Lord as is come out of the 'aunts of the +rich and the riotous living of the Westend to join with us in singing +the Songs of Zion. Let us sing and give praise. Alleluia! We know that +many shall come from the East _and_ from the West and sit down at the +Lord's feast, while many that thinks theirselves chosen shall be cast +into outer darkness. Therefore let us not say, because this man wears +a shiny eye-glass, that he is not a chosen vessel, or because this +woman wears a di'mond necklace and rides in 'er Rolls-Royce, she will +not therefore wear a white robe and a gold crown in the New Jerusalem, +nor because these people travels in the Blue Train to the Rivereera, +therefore they shall not be seen a-castin' down their golden crowns by +the River of the Water of Life. We 'ears that there talk sometimes in +'Yde Park o' Sundays, but it's bad and foolish and leads to strife and +envyings and not to charity. All we like sheep 'ave gone astray and +well I may say so, 'avin' been a black and wicked sinner myself till +this 'ere gentleman, for such 'e truly is, laid 'is 'and upon me as I +was a-bustin' of 'is safe and was the instrument under God of turnin' +me from the broad way that leadeth to destruction. Oh, brethren, what +a 'appy day that was for me, alleluia! What a shower of blessings come +to me by the grace of the Lord! Let us unite now in thanksgiving for +'Eaven's mercies in Number One 'Undred and Two. (Esmeralda, give our +dear friends a 'ymn-book)." + +"I'm sorry," said Wimsey to Miss Murchison. "Can you bear it? I fancy +this is the final outbreak." + +The harmonium, harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer and all kinds of music +burst out with a blare which nearly burst the ear-drum, the assembly +lifted its combined voices, and Miss Murchison, to her amazement, found +herself joining--at first self-consciously and then with a fine fervour +in that stirring chant-- + + "Sweeping through the gates, + Sweeping through the gates of the New Jerusalem, + Washed in the Blood of the Lamb." + +Wimsey, who appeared to find it all very good fun, carolled away +happily, without the slightest embarrassment; whether because he was +accustomed to the exercise, or merely because he was one of those +imperturbably self-satisfied people who cannot conceive of themselves +as being out of place in any surroundings, Miss Murchison was unable to +determine. + +To her relief, the religious exercise came to an end with the hymn, and +the company took their leave, with many hand-shakings all round. The +musicians emptied the condensed moisture from their wind-instruments +politely into the fireplace and the lady who played the harmonium drew +the cover over the keys and came forward to welcome the guests. She was +introduced simply as Bella and Miss Murchison concluded, rightly, that +she was the wife of Mr. Bill Rumm and the mother of Esmeralda. + +"Well, now," said Bill, "it's dry work preachin' and singin'--you'll +take a cup of tea or coffee, now, won't you?" + +Wimsey explained that they had just had tea, but begged that the family +might proceed with their own meal. + +"It ain't 'ardly supper-time yet," said Mrs. Rumm. "P'raps if you was +to do your business with the lady and gentleman, Bill, they might feel +inclined to take a bite with us later. It's trotters," she added, +hopefully. + +"It's very kind of you," said Miss Murchison, hesitatingly. + +"Trotters want a lot of beating," said Wimsey, "and since our business +may take a little time we'll accept with pleasure--if you're sure we're +not putting you out." + +"Not at all," said Mrs. Rumm, heartily. "Eight beautiful trotters +they is, and with a bit of cheese they'll go round easy. Come along, +'Meraldy--your Dad's got business." + +"Mr. Peter's going to sing," said the child, fixing reproachful eyes on +Wimsey. + +"Now don't you worrit his lordship," rebuked Mrs. Rumm, "I declare I'm +ashamed of you." + +"I'll sing after supper, Esmeralda," said Wimsey. "Hop along now like +a good girl or I'll make faces at you. Bill, I've brought you a new +pupil." + +"Always 'appy to serve you, sir, knowing as it's the Lord's work. Glory +be." + +"Thank you," said Wimsey, modestly. "It's a simple matter, Bill, but as +the young lady is inexperienced with locks and so on, I've brought her +along to be coached. You see, Miss Murchison, before Bill here saw the +light--" + +"Praise God!" put in Bill. + +"He was the most accomplished burglar and safe-breaker in the three +kingdoms. He doesn't mind my telling you this, because he's taken +his medicine and finished with it all and is now a very honest and +excellent locksmith of the ordinary kind." + +"Thanks be to Him that giveth the victory!" + +"But from time to time, when I need a little help in a righteous cause, +Bill gives me the benefit of his great experience." + +"And oh! what 'appiness it is, miss, to turn them talents which I so +wickedly abused to the service of the Lord. His 'oly Name be blessed +that bringeth good out of evil." + +"That's right," said Wimsey, with a nod. "Now, Bill, I've got my eye on +a solicitor's deed-box, which may or may not contain something which +will help me to get an innocent person out of trouble. This young lady +can get access to the box, Bill, if you can show her the way inside it." + +"If?" grunted Bill, with sovereign contempt. "'Course I can! Deed-box, +that's nuffin'. That ain't no field for a man's skill. Robbin' the +kids' money-box, that's what it is with they trumpery little locks. +There ain't a deed-box in this' 'ere city wot I couldn't open blindfold +in boxing-gloves with a stick of boiled macaroni." + +"I know, Bill; but it isn't you that's got to do it. Can you teach the +lady how to work it?" + +"Sure I can. What kinder lock is it, lidy?" + +"I don't know," said Miss Murchison. "An ordinary lock, I think. I +mean, it has the usual sort of key--not a Bramah, or anything of that +kind. Mr.--that is, the solicitor has one set of keys and Mr. Pond has +another--just plain keys with barrels and wards." + +"Ho!" said Bill, "then 'arf an hour will teach you all you want, miss." +He went to a cupboard and brought out half a dozen lock-plates and a +bunch of curious, thin wire hooks, strung on a ring like keys. + +"Are those picklocks?" asked Miss Murchison, curiously. + +"That's what they are, miss. Ingines of Satan!" He shook his head as he +lovingly fingered the bright steel. "Many's the time sech keys as these +'ave let pore sinners in by the back gate into 'ell." + +"This time," said Wimsey, "they'll let a poor innocent out of prison +into the sunshine--if any, in this beastly climate." + +"Praise Him for His manifold mercies! Well, miss, the fust thing is to +understand the construction of a lock. Now jest you look 'ere." + +He picked up one of the locks and showed how, by holding up the spring, +the catch could be thrust back. + +"There ain't no need of all them fancy wards, you see, miss. The barrel +and the spring--that's all there is to it. Jest you try." + +Miss Murchison accordingly tried, and forced several locks with an ease +that astonished her. + +"Well now, miss, the difficulty is, you see, that when the lock's in +place, you can't use your eyes, but you 'as your 'earin' and you 'as +the feelin' in your fingers, giv' you by Providence (praise His Name!) +for that purpose. Now what you 'as to do, miss, is to shet your eyes +and see with your fingers, like, w'en you've got your spring 'ooked +back sufficient ter let the catch go past." + +"I'm afraid I'm very clumsy," said Miss Murchison, at the fifth or +sixth attempt. + +"Now don't you fret, miss. Jest take it easy and you'll find the right +way of it come to you all of a sudden, like. Jest feel when it seems +to go sweet and use your 'ands independent. Would you like to 'ave a +little go at a Combination while you're 'ere, sir? I've got a beauty +'ere. Giv' to me it was by Sam, you know 'oo I mean. Many's the time +I've tried to show 'im the error of 'is ways. 'No, Bill,' 'e ses, 'I +ain't got no use for religion,' 'e ses, pore lost sheep, 'but I ain't +got no quarrel with you, Bill,' ses 'e, 'and I'd like for ter give you +this 'ere little sooveneer.'" + +"Bill, Bill," said Wimsey, shaking a reproachful finger, "I'm afraid +this wasn't honestly come by." + +"Well, sir, if I knowed the owner I'd 'and it over to 'im with the +greatest of pleasure. It's quite good, you see. Sam put the soup in +at the 'inges and it blowed the ole front clean off, lock and all. +It's small, but it's a real beauty--new pattern to me, that is. But I +mastered it," said Bill, with unregenerate pride, "in an hour or two." + +"It'd have to be a good bit of work to beat you, Bill"; Wimsey set +the lock up before him, and began to manipulate the knob, his fingers +moving with micrometer delicacy and his ear bent to catch the fall of +the tumblers. + +"Lord!" said Bill--this time with no religious intention--"wot a +cracksman you'd a-made, if you'd a-given your mind to it--which the +Lord in His mercy forbid you should!" + +"Too much work in that life for me, Bill," said Wimsey. "Dash it! I +lost it that time." + +He turned the knob back and started over again. + +By the time the trotters arrived, Miss Murchison had acquired +considerable facility with the more usual types of lock and a greatly +enhanced respect for burglary as a profession. + +"And don't you let yourself be 'urried, miss," was Bill's final +injunction, "else you'll leave scratches on the lock and do yourself no +credit. Lovely bit of work, that, ain't it, Lord Peter, sir?" + +"Beyond me, I'm afraid," said Wimsey, with a laugh. + +"Practice," said Bill, "that's all it is. If you'd a-started early +enough you'd a-been a beautiful workman." He sighed, "There ain't many +of 'em now-a-days--glory be!--that can do a real artistic job. It fair +goes to my 'eart to see a elegant bit o' stuff like that blowed all to +bits with gelignite. Wot's gelignite? Any fool can 'andle it as doesn't +mind makin' a blinkin' great row. Brutal, I calls it." + +"Now, don't you get 'ankerin' back after them things, Bill," said +Mrs. Rumm, reprovingly. "Come along, do, now and eat yer supper. Ef +anybody's goin' ter do sech a wicked thing as breakin' safes, wot do it +matter whether it's done artistic or inartistic?" + +"Ain't that jest like a woman?--beggin' your pardon, miss." + +"Well, you know it's true," said Mrs. Rumm. + +"I know those trotters look very artistic," said Wimsey, "and that's +quite enough for me." + +The trotters having been eaten, and "Nazareth" duly sung, to the great +admiration of the Rumm family, the evening closed pleasantly with the +performance of a hymn, and Miss Murchison found herself walking up the +Whitechapel Road, with a bunch of picklocks in her pocket and some +surprising items of knowledge in her mind. + +"You make some very amusing acquaintances, Lord Peter." + +"Yes--rather a jape, isn't it? But Blindfold Bill is one of the best. I +found him on my premises one night and struck up a sort of an alliance +with him. Took lessons from him and all that. He was a bit shy at +first, but he got converted by another friend of mine--it's a long +story--and the long and short of it was, he got hold of this locksmith +business, and is doing very well at it. Do you feel quite competent +about locks now?" + +"I think so. What am I to look for when I get the box open?" + +"Well," said Wimsey, "the point is this. Mr. Urquhart showed me what +purported to be the draft of a will made five years ago by Mrs. +Wrayburn. I've written down the gist of it on a bit of paper for you. +Here it is. Now the snag about it is that that draft was typed on a +machine which, as you tell me, was bought new from the makers only +three years ago." + +"Do you mean that's what he was typing that evening he stayed late at +the office?" + +"It looks like it. Now, why? If he had the original draft, why not +show me that? Actually, there was no need for him to show it to me +at all, unless it was to mislead me about something. Then, though he +said he had the thing at home, and must have known he had it there, he +pretended to search for it in Mrs. Wrayburn's box. Again, why? To make +me think that it was already in existence when I called. The conclusion +I drew is that, if there is a will, it's not along the lines of the one +he showed me." + +"It looks rather like that, certainly." + +"What I want you to look for is the real will--either the original or +the copy ought to be there. Don't take it away, but try to memorise +the chief points in it, especially the names of the chief legatee or +legatees and of the residuary legatee. Remember that the residuary +legatee gets everything which isn't specifically left to somebody else, +or anything which falls in by a legatee's dying before the testatrix. +I specially want to know whether anything was left to Philip Boyes or +if any mention of the Boyes family is made in the will. Failing a will, +there might be some other interesting document, such as a secret trust, +instructing the executor to dispose of the money in some special way. +In short, I want particulars of any document which may seem to be of +interest. Don't waste too much time making notes. Carry the provisions +in your head if you can and note them down privately when you get away +from the office. And be sure you don't leave those skeleton keys about +for people to find." + +Miss Murchison promised to observe these instructions, and, a taxi +coming up at that moment, Wimsey put her into it and sped her to her +destination. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV + + +Mr. Norman Urquhart glanced at the clock, which stood at 4.15, and +called through the open door: + +"Are those affidavits nearly ready, Miss Murchison?" + +"I am just on the last page, Mr. Urquhart." + +"Bring them in as soon as you've finished. They ought to go round to +Hanson's tonight." + +"Yes, Mr. Urquhart." + +Miss Murchison galloped noisily over the keys, slamming the shift-lever +over with unnecessary violence, and causing Mr. Pond once more to +regret the intrusion of female clerks. She completed her page, +ornamented the foot of it with a rattling row of fancy lines and dots, +threw over the release, spun the roller, twitching the foolscap sheets +from under it in vicious haste, flung the carbons into the basket, +shuffled the copies into order, slapped them vigorously on all four +edges to bring them into symmetry, and bounced with them into the inner +office. + +"I haven't had time to read them through," she announced. + +"Very well," said Mr. Urquhart. + +Miss Murchison retired, shutting the door after her. She gathered her +belongings together, took out a hand-mirror and unashamedly powdered +her rather large nose, stuffed a handful of odds-and-ends into a +bulging handbag, pushed some papers under her typewriter cover ready +for the next day, jerked her hat from the peg and crammed it on her +head, tucking wisps of hair underneath it with vigorous and impatient +fingers. + +Mr. Urquhart's bell rang--twice. + +"Oh, bother!" said Miss Murchison, with heightened colour. + +She snatched the hat off again, and answered the summons. + +"Miss Murchison," said Mr. Urquhart, with an expression of considerable +annoyance, "do you know that you have left out a whole paragraph on the +first page of this?" + +Miss Murchison flushed still more deeply. + +"Oh, have I? I'm very sorry." + +Mr. Urquhart held up a document resembling in bulk that famous one of +which it was said that there was not truth enough in the world to fill +so long an affidavit. + +"It is very annoying," he said. "It is the longest and most important +of the three, and is urgently required first thing tomorrow morning." + +"I can't think how I could have made such a silly mistake," muttered +Miss Murchison. "I will stay on this evening and re-type it." + +"I'm afraid you will have to. It is unfortunate, as I shall not be able +to look it through myself, but there is nothing else to be done. Please +check it carefully this time, and see that Hanson's have it before ten +o'clock tomorrow." + +"Yes, Mr. Urquhart. I will be extremely careful. I am very sorry +indeed. I will make sure that it is quite correct and take it round +myself." + +"Very well, that will do," said Mr. Urquhart. "Don't let it happen +again." + +Miss Murchison picked up the papers and came out, looking flustered. +She dragged the cover off the typewriter with much sound and fury, +jerked out the desk-drawers till they slammed against the drawer-stops, +shook the top-sheet, carbons and flimsies together as a terrier shakes +a rat, and attacked the machine tempestuously. + +Mr. Pond, who had just locked his desk, and was winding a silk scarf +about his throat, looked at her in mild astonishment. + +"Have you some more typing to do tonight, Miss Murchison?" + +"Got to do the whole bally thing again," said Miss Murchison. "Left out +a paragraph on page one--it would be page one, of course--and he wants +the tripe round at Hanson's by 10 o'clock." + +Mr. Pond groaned slightly and shook his head. + +"Those machines make you careless," he reproved her. "In the old days, +clerks thought twice about making foolish mistakes, when it meant +copying the whole document out again by hand." + +"Glad I didn't live then," said Miss Murchison, shortly. "One might as +well have been a galley-slave." + +"And we didn't knock off at half-past four, either," said Mr. Pond. "We +_worked_ in those days." + +"You may have worked longer," said Miss Murchison, "but you didn't get +through as much in the time." + +"We worked accurately and neatly," said Mr. Pond, with emphasis, +as Miss Murchison irritably disentangled two keys which had jammed +together under her hasty touch. + +Mr. Urquhart's door opened and the retort on the typist's lips was +silenced. He said good-night and went out. Mr. Pond followed him. + +"I suppose you will have finished before the cleaner goes, Miss +Murchison," he said. "If not, please remember to extinguish the light +and to hand the key to Mrs. Hodges in the basement." + +"Yes, Mr. Pond. Good-night." + +"Good-night." + +His steps pattered through the entrance, sounded again loudly as he +passed the window, and died away in the direction of Brownlow Street. +Miss Murchison continued typing till she calculated that he was safely +on the tube at Chancery Lane. Then she rose, with a quick glance +round her, and approached a high tier of shelves, stacked with black +deed-boxes, each of which bore the name of a client in bold white +letters. + +WRAYBURN was there, all right, but had mysteriously shifted its +place. This in itself was unaccountable. She clearly remembered +having replaced it, just before Christmas, on top of the pile +MORTIMER--SCROGGINS--LORD COOTE--DOLBY BROS. AND WINGFIELD; and here it +was, on the day after Boxing Day, at the bottom of a pile, heaped over +and kept down by BODGERS--SIR J. PENKRIDGE--FLATSBY & COATEN--TRUBODY +LTD. and UNIVERSAL BONE TRUST. Somebody had been spring-cleaning, +apparently, over the holidays, and Miss Murchison thought it improbable +that it was Mrs. Hodges. + +It was tiresome, because all the shelves were full, and it would be +necessary to lift down all the boxes and stand them somewhere before +she could get out WRAYBURN. And Mrs. Hodges would be in soon, and +though Mrs. Hodges didn't really matter, it might look odd.... + +Miss Murchison pulled the chair from her desk (for the shelf was rather +high) and, standing on it, lifted down UNIVERSAL BONE TRUST. It was +heavyish, and the chair (which was of the revolving kind, and not the +modern type with one spindly leg and a stiffly sprung back, which +butts you in the lower spine and keeps you up to your job) wobbled +unsteadily, as she carefully lowered the box and balanced it on the +narrow top of the cupboard. She reached up again and took down TRUBODY +LTD., and placed it on BONE TRUST. She reached up for the third time +and seized FLATSBY & COATEN. As she stooped with it a step sounded in +the doorway and an astonished voice said behind her: + +"Are you looking for something, Miss Murchison?" + +Miss Murchison started so violently that the treacherous chair swung +through a quarter-turn, nearly shooting her into Mr. Pond's arms. She +came down awkwardly, still clasping the black deed-box. + +"How you startled me, Mr. Pond! I thought you had gone." + +"So I had," said Mr. Pond, "but when I got to the Underground I found +I had left a little parcel behind me. So tiresome--I had to come back +for it. Have you seen it any where? A little round jar, done up in +brown paper." + +Miss Murchison set FLATSBY & COATEN on the seat of the chair and gazed +about her. + +"It doesn't seem to be in my desk," said Mr. Pond. "Dear, dear, I +shall be so late. And I can't go without it, because it's wanted for +dinner--in fact, it's a little jar of caviare. We have guests tonight. +Now, where can I have put it?" + +"Perhaps you put it down when you washed your hands," suggested Miss +Murchison, helpfully. + +"Well now, perhaps I did." Mr. Pond fussed out and she heard the door +of the little lavabo in the passage open with a loud creak. It suddenly +occurred to her that she had left her handbag open on her desk. Suppose +the skeleton keys were visible. She darted towards the bag, just as Mr. +Pond returned in triumph. + +"Much obliged to you for your suggestion, Miss Murchison. It was there +all the time. Mrs. Pond would have been so much upset. Well, good-night +again." He turned towards the door. "Oh, by the way, were you looking +for something?" + +"I was looking for a mouse," replied Miss Murchison with a nervous +giggle. "I was just sitting working when I saw it run along the top of +the cupboard and--er--up the wall behind those boxes." + +"Dirty little beasts," said Mr. Pond, "the place is over-run with them. +I have often said we ought to have a cat here. No hope of catching it +now, though. You're not afraid of mice apparently?" + +"No," said Miss Murchison, holding her eyes, by a strenuous physical +effort, on Mr. Pond's face. If the skeleton keys were--as it seemed +to her they must be--indecently exposing their spidery anatomy on her +desk, it would be madness to look in that direction. "No--in your days +I suppose all women were afraid of mice." + +"Yes, they were," admitted Mr. Pond, "but then, of course, their +garments were longer." + +"Rotten for them," said Miss Murchison. + +"They were very graceful in appearance," said Mr. Pond. "Allow me to +assist you in replacing those boxes." + +"You will miss your train," said Miss Murchison. + +"I have missed it already," replied Mr. Pond, glancing at his watch. "I +shall have to take the 5.30." He politely picked up FLATSBY & COATEN +and climbed perilously with it in his hands to the unsteady seat of the +rotatory chair. + +"It's extremely kind of you," said Miss Murchison, watching him as he +restored it to its place. + +"Not at all. If you would kindly hand me up the others--" + +Miss Murchison handed him TRUBODY LTD., and UNIVERSAL BONE TRUST. + +"There!" said Mr. Pond, completing the pile and dusting his hands. "Now +let us hope the mouse has gone for good. I will speak to Mrs. Hodges +about procuring a suitable kitten." + +"That would be a very good idea," said Miss Murchison. "Good-night, Mr. +Pond." + +"Good-night, Miss Murchison." + +His footsteps pattered down the passage, sounded again, more loudly +beneath the window and for the second time died away in the direction +of Brownlow Street. + +"Whew!" said Miss Murchison. She darted to her desk. Her fears had +deceived her. The bag was shut and the keys invisible. + +She pulled her chair back to its place and sat down as a clash of +brooms and pails outside announced the arrival of Mrs. Hodges. + +"Ho!" said Mrs. Hodges, arrested on the threshold at sight of the lady +clerk industriously typing away, "beg your pardon, miss, but I didn't +know as how anybody was here." + +"Sorry, Mrs. Hodges, I've got a little bit of work to finish. But you +carry on. Don't mind me." + +"That's all right, miss," said Mrs. Hodges, "I can do Mr. Partridge's +office fust." + +"Well, if it's all the same to you," said Miss Murchison. "I've just +got to type a few pages and--er--make a précis--notes you know, of some +documents for Mr. Urquhart." + +Mrs. Hodges nodded and vanished again. Presently a loud bumping noise +overhead proclaimed her presence in Mr. Partridge's office. + +Miss Murchison waited no longer. She dragged her chair to the shelves +again, took down swiftly, one after the other, BONE TRUST, TRUBODY +LTD., FLATSBY & COATEN, SIR J. PENKRIDGE and BODGERS. Her heart beat +heavily as at last she seized WRAYBURN and carried it across to her +desk. + +She opened her bag and shook out its contents. The bunch of picklocks +clattered upon the desk, mixed up with a handkerchief, a powder compact +and a pocket-comb. The thin and shining steel barrels seemed to burn +her fingers. + +As she picked the bunch over, looking for the most suitable implement, +there came a loud rap at the window. + +She wheeled round, terrified. There was nothing there. Thrusting the +picklocks into the pocket of her sports-coat, she tip-toed across and +looked out. In the lamplight she observed three small boys engaged in +climbing the iron railings which guard the sacred areas of Bedford Row. +The foremost child saw her and gesticulated, pointing downwards. Miss +Murchison waved her hand and cried, "Be off with you!" + +The child shouted something unintelligible and pointed again. Putting +two and two together, Miss Murchison deduced from the rap at the +window, the gesture and the cry, that a valuable ball had fallen into +the area. She shook her head with severity and returned to her task. + +But the incident had reminded her that the window had no blinds and +that, under the glare of the electric light, her movements were as +visible to anybody in the street as though she stood on a lighted +stage. There was no reason to suppose that Mr. Urquhart or Mr. Pond was +about, but her uneasy conscience vexed her. Moreover, if a policeman +should pass by, would he not be able to recognise picklocks a hundred +yards away? She peered out again. Was it her agitated fancy, or was +that a sturdy form in dark blue emerging from Hand Court? + +Miss Murchison fled in alarm and, snatching up the deed-box, carried it +bodily into Mr. Urquhart's private office. + +Here, at least, she could not be overlooked. If anybody came in--even +Mrs. Hodges--her presence might cause surprise but she would hear them +coming and be warned in advance. + +Her hands were cold and shaking, and she was not in the best condition +to profit by Blindfold Bill's instructions. She drew a few deep +breaths. She had been told not to hurry herself. Very well, then, she +would not. + +She chose a key with care and slipped it into the lock. For years, +as it seemed to her, she scratched about aimlessly, till at length +she felt the spring press against the hooked end. Pushing and lifting +steadily with one hand, she introduced her second key. She felt the +lever move--in another moment there was a sharp click and the lock was +open. + +There were not a great many papers in the box. The first document +was a long list of securities, endorsed "Securities deposited with +Lloyd's Bank." Then came the copies of some title-deeds, of which the +originals were similarly deposited. Then came a folder filled with +correspondence. Some of this consisted of letters from Mrs. Wrayburn +herself, the latest letter being dated five years previously. In +addition there were letters from tenants, bankers and stockbrokers, +with copies of the replies written from the office and signed by Norman +Urquhart. + +Miss Murchison hastened impatiently through all this. There was no +sign of a will or copy of a will--not even of the dubious draft that +the solicitor had shown to Wimsey. Two papers only now remained at the +bottom of the box. Miss Murchison picked up the first. It was a Power +of Attorney, dated January 1925, giving Norman Urquhart full powers to +act for Mrs. Wrayburn. The second was thicker and tied neatly with red +tape. Miss Murchison slipped this off and unfolded the document. + +It was a Deed of Trust, making over the whole of Mrs. Wrayburn's +property to Norman Urquhart, in trust for herself, and providing that +he should pay into her current account, from the estate, a certain +fixed annual sum for personal expenses. The deed was dated July 1920 +and attached to it was a letter, which Miss Murchison hastily read +through: + + Appleford, Windle. 15th May, 1920. + + My dear Norman, + + Thank you very much, my dear boy, for your birthday letter and + the pretty scarf. It is good of you to remember your old aunt so + faithfully. + + It has occurred to me that, now that I am over eighty years old, it + is time that I put my business into your hands entirely. You and + your father have managed very well for me all these years, and you + have, of course, always very properly consulted me before taking + any step with regard to investments. But I am getting such a _very + old woman now_ that I am quite out of touch with the modern world, + and I cannot pretend that my opinions are of any real value. I am + a _tired_ old woman, too, and though you always explain everything + _most clearly_, I find the _writing of letters a gêne_ and a burden + to me at my advanced age. + + So I have determined to put my property in Trust with you for my + lifetime, so that you may have full power to handle everything + according to your own discretion, without having to consult me + every time. And also, though I am strong and healthy yet, I am glad + to say, and have my wits quite about me, still, that happy state of + things might alter at any time. I might become paralysed or feeble + in my head, or want to make some foolish use of my money, as silly + old women have done before now. + + So will you draw up a deed of this kind and bring it to me and I + will sign it. And at the same time I will give you instructions + about my will. + + Thanking you again for your good wishes, + + Your affec. Great-Aunt, + Rosanna Wrayburn. + +"Hurray!" said Miss Murchison. "There _was_ a will, then! And this +Trust--that's probably important, too." + +She read the letter again, skimmed through the clauses of the Trust, +taking particular notice that Norman Urquhart was named as sole +Trustee, and finally made a mental note of some of the larger and +more important items in the list of securities. Then she replaced the +documents in their original order, re-locked the box--which yielded +to treatment like an angel--carried it out, replaced it, piled the +other boxes above it, and was back at her machine, just as Mrs. Hodges +re-entered the office. + +"Just finished, Mrs. Hodges," she called out cheerfully. + +"I wondered if yer would be," said Mrs. Hodges, "I didn't hear the +typewriter a-going." + +"I was making notes by hand," said Miss Murchison. She crumpled +together the spoiled front page of the affidavit and threw it into the +waste-paper basket together with the re-type which she had begun. From +her desk-drawer she produced a correctly typed first page, provided +beforehand for the purpose, added it to the bundle of script, put the +top copy and the required sets of flimsies into an envelope, sealed it, +addressed it to Messrs. Hanson & Hanson, put on her hat and coat and +went out, bidding a pleasant farewell to Mrs. Hodges at the door. + +A short walk brought her to Messrs. Hanson's office, where she +delivered the affidavit through the letter-box. Then, with a brisk step +and humming to herself, she made for the 'bus-stop at the junction of +Theobalds Road and Gray's Inn Road. + +"I think I deserve a little supper in Soho," said Miss Murchison. + +She was humming again as she walked from Cambridge Circus into Frith +Street. "What _is_ this beastly tune?" she asked herself abruptly. A +little consideration reminded her that it was "Sweeping through the +gates, Sweeping through the gates...." + +"Bless me!" said Miss Murchison. "Going dotty, that's what I am." + + + + + CHAPTER XV + + +Lord Peter congratulated Miss Murchison and gave her a rather special +lunch at Rules, where there is a particularly fine old Cognac for those +that appreciate such things. Indeed, Miss Murchison was a little late +in returning to Mr. Urquhart's office, and in her haste omitted to +hand back the skeleton keys. But when the wine is good and the company +agreeable one cannot always think of everything. + +Wimsey himself, by a great act of self-control, had returned to his +own flat to think, instead of bolting away to Holloway Gaol. Although +it was a work of charity and necessity to keep up the spirits of the +prisoner (it was in this way that he excused his almost daily visits) +he could not disguise from himself that it would be even more useful +and charitable to get her innocence proved. So far, he had not made +much real progress. + +The suicide theory had been looking very hopeful when Norman Urquhart +had produced the draft of the will; but his belief in that draft +had now been thoroughly undermined. There was still a faint hope of +retrieving the packet of white powder from the "Nine Rings," but as +the days passed remorselessly on, that hope diminished almost to +vanishing-point. It irked him to be taking no action in the matter--he +wanted to rush to the Gray's Inn Road, to cross-question, bully, bribe, +ransack every person and place in and about the "Rings" but he knew +that the police could do this better than he could. + +Why had Norman Urquhart tried to mislead him about the will? He could +so easily have refused all information. There must be some mystery +about it. But if Urquhart were not, in fact, the legatee, he was +playing rather a dangerous game. If the old lady died, and the will was +proved, the facts would probably be published--and she might die any +day. + +How easy it would be, he thought, regretfully, to hasten Mrs. +Wrayburn's death a trifle. She was ninety-three and very frail. An +over-dose of something--a shake--a slight shock, even--it did not do to +think after that fashion. He wondered idly who lived with the old woman +and looked after her.... + +It was the 30th. of December, and he still had no plan. The stately +volumes on his shelves, rank after rank of Saint, historian, poet, +philosopher, mocked his impotence. All that wisdom and all that beauty, +and they could not show him how to save the woman he imperiously wanted +from a sordid death by hanging. And he had thought himself rather +clever at that kind of thing. The enormous and complicated imbecility +of things was all round him like a trap. He ground his teeth and +raged helplessly, striding about the suave, wealthy, futile room. +The great Venetian mirror over the fireplace showed him his own head +and shoulders. He saw a fair, foolish face, with straw-coloured hair +sleeked back; a monocle clinging incongruously under a ludicrously +twitching brow; a chin shaved to perfection, hairless, epicene; a +rather high collar, faultlessly starched, a tie elegantly knotted +and matching in colour the handkerchief which peeped coyly from the +breast-pocket of an expensive Savile-Row-tailored suit. He snatched +up a heavy bronze from the mantelpiece--a beautiful thing, even as he +snatched it, his fingers caressed the patina--and the impulse seized +him to smash the mirror and smash the face--to break out into great +animal howls and gestures. + +Silly! One could not do that. The inherited inhibitions of twenty +civilised centuries tied one hand and foot in bonds of ridicule. What +if he did smash the mirror? Nothing would happen. Bunter would come in, +unmoved and unsurprised, would sweep up the débris in a dust-pan, would +prescribe a hot bath and massage. And next day a new mirror would be +ordered, because people would come in and ask questions, and civilly +regret the accidental damage to the old one. And Harriet Vane would +still be hanged, just the same. + +Wimsey pulled himself together, called for his hat and coat, and went +away in a taxi to call on Miss Climpson. + +"I have a job," he said to her, more abruptly than was his wont, "which +I should like you to undertake yourself. I can't trust anybody else." + +"How _kind_ of you to put it like that," said Miss Climpson. + +"The trouble is, I can't in the least tell you how to set about it. It +all depends on what you find when you get there. I want you to go to +Windle in Westmorland and get hold of an imbecile and paralysed old +lady called Mrs. Wrayburn, who lives at a house called Appleford. I +don't know who looks after her, or how you are to get into the house. +But you've got to do it, and you've got to find out where her will is +kept, and, if possible, see it." + +"Dear me!" said Miss Climpson. + +"And what's worse," said Wimsey, "you've only got about a week to do it +in." + +"That's a very short time," said Miss Climpson. + +"You see," said Wimsey, "unless we can give some very good reason for +delay, they're bound to take the Vane case almost first thing next +sessions. If I could persuade the lawyers for the defence that there +is the least chance of securing fresh evidence, they could apply for +a postponement. But at present I have nothing that could be called +evidence--only the vaguest possible hunch." + +"I see," said Miss Climpson. "Well, none of us can do more than our +best, and it is very necessary to have Faith. That moves mountains, we +are told." + +"Then for Heaven's sake lay in a good stock of it," said Wimsey, +gloomily, "because as far as I can see, this job is like shifting the +Himalayas and the Alps, with a spot of frosty Caucasus and a touch of +the Rockies thrown in." + +"You may count on me to do my poor best," replied Miss Climpson, "and +I will ask the dear vicar to say a Mass of special intention for one +engaged in a difficult undertaking. When would you like me to start?" + +"At once," said Wimsey. "I think you had better go just as your +ordinary self, and put up at the local hotel--no--a boarding-house, +there will be more opportunities for gossip. I don't know much about +Windle, except that there is a boot-factory there and rather a good +view, but it's not a large place, and I should think everybody would +know about Mrs. Wrayburn. She is very rich, and was notorious in her +time. The person you'll have to cotton on to is the female--there must +be one of some sort--who nurses and waits on Mrs. Wrayburn and is, +generally speaking, about her path and about her bed and all that. +When you find out her special weakness, drive a wedge into it like one +o'clock. Oh! by the way--it's quite possible the will isn't there at +all, but in the hands of a solicitor-fellow called Norman Urquhart who +hangs out in Bedford Row. If so, all you can do is to get the pump to +work and find out anything--anything at all--to his disadvantage. He's +Mrs. Wrayburn's great-nephew, and he goes to see her sometimes." + +Miss Climpson made a note of these instructions. + +"And now I'll tootle off and leave you to it," said Wimsey. "Draw on +the firm for any money you want. And if you need any special outfit, +send me a wire." + +On leaving Miss Climpson, Lord Peter Wimsey again found himself a prey +to Weltschmerz and self-pity. But it now took the form of a gentle, +pervading melancholy. Convinced of his own futility, he determined to +do what little good lay in his power before retiring to a monastery or +to the frozen wastes of the Antarctic. He taxied purposefully round to +Scotland Yard, and asked for Chief-Inspector Parker. + +Parker was in his office, reading a report which had just come in. He +greeted Wimsey with an expression which seemed more embarrassed than +delighted. + +"Have you come about that packet of powder?" + +"Not this time," said Wimsey, "I don't suppose you'll ever hear +anything more of that. No. It's--rather a more--er--delicate matter. +It's about my sister." + +Parker started and pushed the report to one side. + +"About Lady Mary?" + +"Er--yes. I understand she's been going about with you--er--dining--and +all that sort of thing, what?" + +"Lady Mary has honoured me--on one or two occasions--with her company," +said Parker. "I did not think--I did not know--that is, I understood--" + +"Ah! but _did_ you understand, that's the point?" said Wimsey, +solemnly. "You see, Mary's a very nice-minded sort of girl, though I +say it, and--" + +"I assure you," said Parker, "that there is no need to tell me that. Do +you suppose that I should misinterpret her kindness? It is the custom +now-a-days for women of the highest character to dine unchaperoned with +their friends, and Lady Mary has--" + +"I'm not suggesting a chaperon," said Wimsey, "Mary wouldn't stick it +for one thing, and I think it's all bosh, anyhow. Still, bein' her +brother, and all that--it's Gerald's job really, of course, but Mary +and he don't altogether hit it off, you know, and she wouldn't be +likely to burble any secrets into his ear, especially as it would all +be handed on to Helen--what was I going to say? Oh, yes--as Mary's +brother, you know, I suppose it's my so to speak duty to push round and +drop the helpful word here and there." + +Parker jabbed the blotting-paper thoughtfully. + +"Don't do that," said Wimsey, "it's bad for your pen. Take a pencil." + +"I suppose," said Parker, "I ought not to have presumed--" + +"What did you presume, old thing?" said Wimsey, his head cocked, +sparrow-fashion. + +"Nothing to which anybody could object," said Parker, hotly. "What are +you thinking of, Wimsey? I quite see that it is unsuitable, from your +point of view, that Lady Mary Wimsey should dine in public restaurants +with a policeman, but if you imagine I have ever said a word to her +that could not be said with the greatest propriety--" + +"--in the presence of her mother, you wrong the purest and sweetest +woman that ever lived, and insult your friend," interrupted Peter, +snatching the words from his mouth and rattling them to a glib +conclusion. "What a perfect Victorian you are, Charles. I should like +to keep you in a glass case. Of course you haven't said a word. What I +want to know is, why?" + +Parker stared at him. + +"For the last five years or so," said Wimsey, "you have been looking +like a demented sheep at my sister, and starting like a rabbit whenever +her name is mentioned. What do you mean by it? It is not ornamental. +It is not exhilarating. You unnerve the poor girl. You give me a poor +idea of your guts, if you will pardon the expression. A man doesn't +like to see a man go all wobbly about his sister--at least, not with +such a prolonged wobble. It's unsightly. It's irritating. Why not slap +the manly thorax and say, 'Peter, my dear old mangel-wurzel, I have +decided to dig myself into the old family trench and be a brother to +you'? What's stopping you? Is it Gerald? He's an ass, I know, but he's +not a bad old stick, really. Is it Helen? She's a bit of a wart, but +you needn't see much of her. Is it me? Because, if so, I'm thinking of +becoming a hermit--there was a Peter the Hermit, wasn't there?--So I +shouldn't be in your way. Cough up the difficulty, old thing, and we +will have it removed in a plain van. Now, then!" + +"Do you--are you asking me--?" + +"I'm asking you your intentions, damn it!" said Wimsey, "and if that's +not Victorian enough, I don't know what is. I quite understand your +having given Mary time to recover from that unfortunate affair with +Cathcart and the Goyles fellow, but, dash it all, my dear man, one can +over-do the delicacy business. You can't expect a girl to stand on and +off for ever, can you? Are you waiting for Leap Year, or what?" + +"Look here, Peter, don't be a damned fool. How can I ask your sister to +marry me?" + +"_How_ you do it is your affair. You might say: 'What about a spot of +matrimony, old dear?' That's up-to-date, and plain and unmistakable. Or +you could go down on one knee and say, 'Will you honour me with your +hand and heart?' which is pretty and old-fashioned and has the merit of +originality in these times. Or you could write, or wire, or telephone. +But I leave that to your own individual fancy." + +"You're not serious." + +"Oh, God! Shall I ever live down this disastrous reputation for +tom-foolery? You're making Mary damned unhappy, Charles, and I wish +you'd marry her and have done with it." + +"Making her unhappy?" said Parker, almost in a shout, +"me--her--unhappy?" + +Wimsey tapped his forehead significantly. + +"Wood--solid wood! But the last blow seems to have penetrated. Yes, +you--her--unhappy--do you get it now?" + +"Peter--if I really thought that--" + +"Now don't go off the deep end," said Wimsey, "it's wasted on me. Keep +it for Mary. I've done my brotherly duty and there's an end of it. Calm +yourself. Return to your reports--" + +"Oh, lord, yes," said Parker. "Before we go any farther, I've got a +report for you." + +"You have? Why didn't you say so at first." + +"You wouldn't let me." + +"Well, what is it?" + +"We've found the packet." + +"What?" + +"We've found the packet." + +"Actually found it?" + +"Yes. One of the barmen--" + +"Never mind the barmen. You're sure it's the right packet?" + +"Oh, yes; we've identified it." + +"Get on. Have you analysed it?" + +"Yes, we've analysed it." + +"Well, what is it?" + +Parker looked at him with the eyes of one who breaks bad news, and +said, reluctantly: + +"Bicarbonate of soda." + + + + + CHAPTER XVI + + +Mr. Crofts, excusably enough, said, "I told you so"; Sir Impey Biggs +observed curtly, "Very unfortunate." + +To chronicle Lord Peter Wimsey's daily life during the ensuing week +would be neither kind nor edifying. An enforced inactivity will +produce irritable symptoms in the best of men. Nor did the imbecile +happiness of Chief-Inspector Parker and Lady Mary Wimsey tend to soothe +him, accompanied as it was by tedious demonstrations of affection +for himself. Like the man in Max Beerbohm's story, Wimsey "hated to +be touching." He was only moderately cheered by hearing from the +industrious Freddy Arbuthnot that Mr. Norman Urquhart was found to be +more or less deeply involved in the disasters of the Megatherium Trust. + +Miss Kitty Climpson, on the other hand, was living in what she herself +liked to call a "whirl of activity." A letter, written the second day +after her arrival in Windle, furnishes us with a wealth of particulars. + + Hillside View, + Windle, Westmorland. + 1st Jan. 1930. + + My dear Lord Peter, + + I feel sure you will be anxious to hear, at the _earliest possible_ + moment _how_ things are _going_, and though I have only been here + _one_ day, I really think I have _not_ done so _badly_, all things + considered! + + My train got in quite late on Monday night, after a _most dreary_ + journey, with a _lugubrious_ wait at _Preston_, though thanks to + your kindness in insisting that I should travel _First-class_, I + was not really at all tired! Nobody can realise what a _great_ + difference these extra comforts make, especially when one is + _getting on_ in years, and after the _uncomfortable_ travelling + which I had to endure in my days of poverty, I feel that I + am living in almost _sinful_ luxury! The carriage was _well_ + heated--indeed, _too much_ so and I should have liked the window + down, but that there was a _very fat_ business man, _muffled_ up to + the eyes in _coats_ and _woolly waistcoats_ who _strongly_ objected + to fresh air! Men are such HOT-HOUSE PLANTS now-a-days, are they + not, quite unlike my dear father, who would never permit a _fire_ + in the house _before_ November the 1st, or _after_ March 31st even + though the thermometer was at _freezing-point_! + + I had _no_ difficulty in getting a comfortable room at the Station + Hotel, _late_ as it was. In the old days, an _unmarried_ woman + arriving _alone_ at _midnight_ with a _suitcase_ would hardly have + been considered _respectable_--what a wonderful difference one + finds today! I am _grateful_ to have lived to see such changes, + because whatever old-fashioned people may say about the greater + _decorum_ and _modesty_ of women in Queen Victoria's time, those + who can remember the old conditions know how _difficult_ and + _humiliating_ they were! + + Yesterday morning, of course, my _first_ object was to find a + _suitable boarding-house_, in accordance with your instructions, + and I was _fortunate_ enough to hit upon this house at the _second_ + attempt. It is very well run and _refined_, and there are three + _elderly ladies_ who are _permanent_ boarders here, and are _well + up_ in all the GOSSIP of the town, so that nothing could be more + _advantageous_ for our purpose!! + + As soon as I had engaged my room, I went out for a little _voyage + of discovery_. I found a very helpful _policeman_ in the High + Street, and asked him where to find Mrs. Wrayburn's house. He knew + it quite well, and told me to take the _omnibus_ and it would be + a penny ride to the "Fisherman's Arms" and then about 5 minutes' + walk. So I followed his directions, and the 'bus took me right into + the country to a _cross-roads_ with the "Fisherman's Arms" at the + corner. The conductor was most polite and helpful and showed me the + way, so I had _no difficulty_ in finding the house. + + It is a _beautiful old place_, standing in its own grounds--quite + a _big_ house built in the _eighteenth century_, with an _Italian_ + porch and a lovely green lawn with a cedar-tree and formal + flower-beds, and in summer must be really a _garden of Eden_. I + looked at it from the road for a little time--I did not think this + would be at all _peculiar_ behaviour, if anybody saw me, because + _anybody_ might be interested in such a fine old place. Most of + the _blinds_ were down, as though the greater part of the house + were _uninhabited_, and I could not see any _gardener_ or anybody + about--I suppose there is not very much to be done in the garden + this time of the year. One of the _chimneys_ was smoking, however, + so there were _some_ signs of life about the place. + + I took a little _walk_ down the road and then turned back and + passed the house again, and this time I saw a servant just passing + round the corner of the house, but of course she was _too far + off_ for me to speak to. So I took the omnibus back again and + had lunch at Hillside View, so as to make acquaintance with my + fellow-boarders. + + Naturally I did not want to seem _too eager_ all at once, so I said + nothing about Mrs. Wrayburn's house _at first_, but just talked + _generally_ about Windle. I had some difficulty in parrying the + _questions_ of the good ladies, who _wondered_ very much _why_ + a stranger had come to Windle at this time of year, but without + telling many actual _untruths_ I think I left them with the + _impression_ that I had come into a little fortune (!) and was + visiting the Lake District to find a suitable spot in which to + settle next _summer_! I talked about _sketching_--as girls we were + _all_ brought up to dabble a little in water-colours, so that I was + able to display quite sufficient _technical knowledge to satisfy + them_! + + That gave me quite a _good_ opportunity to ask about the _house_!! + Such a _beautiful_ old place, I said, and did anybody live there? + (Of _course_ I did not blurt this out _all at once_--I waited till + they had told me of the many _quaint spots_ in the district that + would interest an artist!) Mrs. Pegler, a very _stout_, PUSSY old + lady, with a LONG TONGUE (!) was able to tell me _all_ about it. + My dear Lord Peter, what I do _not_ know now about the _abandoned + wickedness_ of Mrs. Wrayburn's early life is really NOT WORTH + KNOWING!! But what was _more to the point_ is that she told me the + _name of_ Mrs. Wrayburn's _nurse-companion_. She is a MISS BOOTH, a + retired nurse, about _sixty_ years old, and she lives _all alone_ + in the house with Mrs. Wrayburn, except for the _servants_, and a + _housekeeper_. When I heard that Mrs. Wrayburn was so _old_, and + _paralysed_ and _frail_, I said was it not very _dangerous_ that + Miss Booth should be the only attendant, but Mrs. Pegler said the + housekeeper was a _most trustworthy_ woman who had been with Mrs. + Wrayburn for many years, and was _quite_ capable of looking after + her any time when Miss Booth was out. So it appears that Miss Booth + does go out sometimes! Nobody in this house seems to _know_ her + _personally_, but they say she is often to be seen in the town in + _nurse's uniform_. I managed to extract quite a good description + of her, so if I should happen to meet her, I daresay I shall be + _smart_ enough to _recognise_ her! + + That is really _all_ I have been able to discover in _one_ day. + I hope you will not be _too_ disappointed, but I was obliged to + listen to a terrible amount of _local history_ of one kind and + another, and of course I could not FORCE the conversation round to + Mrs. Wrayburn in any suspicious way. + + I will let you know as _soon_ as I get the _least bit_ more + information. + + Most sincerely yours, + Katharine Alexandra Climpson. + +Miss Climpson finished her letter in the privacy of her bedroom, and +secured it carefully in her capacious handbag before going downstairs. +A long experience of boarding-house life warned her that to display +openly an envelope addressed even to a minor member of the nobility +would be to court a quite unnecessary curiosity. True, it would +establish her status, but at that moment Miss Climpson hardly wished +to move in the limelight. She crept quietly out at the hall door, and +turned her steps towards the centre of the town. + +On the previous day, she had marked down one principal tea-shop, two +rising and competitive tea-shops, one slightly passé and declining +tea-shop, a Lyons, and four obscure and, on the whole, negligible +tea-shops which combined the service of refreshments with a trade in +sweets. It was now half-past ten. In the next hour and a half she +could, with a little exertion, pass in review all that part of the +Windle population which indulged in morning coffee. + +She posted her letter and then debated with herself where to begin. On +the whole, she inclined to leave the Lyons for another day. It was an +ordinary plain Lyons, without orchestra or soda-fountain. She thought +that its clientèle would be chiefly housewives and clerks. Of the other +four, the most likely was, perhaps, the "Central." It was fairly large, +well-lighted and cheerful and strains of music issued from its doors. +Nurses usually like the large, well-lighted and melodious. But the +"Central" had one drawback. Anyone coming from the direction of Mrs. +Wrayburn's house would have to pass all the others to get to it. This +fact unfitted it for an observation post. From this point of view, the +advantage lay with "Ye Cosye Corner," which commanded the 'bus-stop. +Accordingly, Miss Climpson decided to start her campaign from that +spot. She selected a table in the window, ordered a cup of coffee and a +plate of digestive biscuits and entered upon her vigil. + +After half an hour, during which no woman in nurse's costume had been +sighted, she ordered another cup of coffee and some pastries. A number +of people--mostly women--dropped in, but none of them could by any +possibility be identified with Miss Booth. At half-past eleven, Miss +Climpson felt to stay any longer would be conspicuous and might annoy +the management. She paid her bill and departed. + +The "Central" had rather more people in it than "Ye Cosye Corner," +and was in some ways an improvement, having comfortable wicker chairs +instead of fumed oak settles, and brisk waitresses instead of languid +semi-gentlewomen in art-linen. Miss Climpson ordered another cup of +coffee and a roll and butter. There was no window-table vacant, but she +found one close to the orchestra from which she could survey the whole +room. A fluttering dark-blue veil at the door made her heart beat, but +it proved to belong to a lusty young person with two youngsters and +a perambulator, and hope withdrew once more. By twelve o'clock, Miss +Climpson decided that she had drawn blank at the "Central." + +Her last visit was to the "Oriental"--an establishment singularly +ill-adapted for espionage. It consisted of three very small rooms of +irregular shape, dimly lit by forty-watt bulbs in Japanese shades, and +further shrouded by bead curtains and draperies. Miss Climpson, in her +inquisitive way, wandered into all its nooks and corners, disturbing +several courting couples, before returning to a table near the door +and sitting down to consume her fourth cup of coffee. Half-past twelve +came, but no Miss Booth. "She can't come now," thought Miss Climpson, +"she will have to get back and give her patient lunch." + +She returned to Hillside View with but little appetite for the joint of +roast mutton. + +At half-past three she sallied out again, to indulge in an orgy of +teas. This time she included the Lyons and the fourth tea-shop, +beginning at the far end of the town and working her way back to the +'bus-stop. It was while she was struggling with her fifth meal, in the +window of "Ye Cosye Corner," that a hurrying figure on the pavement +caught her eye. The winter evening had closed in, and the street-lights +were not very brilliant, but she distinctly saw a stoutish middle-aged +nurse in a black veil and grey cloak pass along on the nearer pavement. +By craning her neck, she could see her make a brisk spurt, scramble +on the 'bus at the corner and disappear in the direction of the +"Fisherman's Arms." + +"How vexatious!" said Miss Climpson, as the vehicle disappeared. "I +must have just missed her somewhere. Or perhaps she was having tea in a +private house. Well, I'm afraid this is a blank day. And I do feel so +_full_ of tea!" + +It was fortunate that Miss Climpson had been blest by Heaven with +a sound digestion, for the next morning saw a repetition of the +performance. It was possible, of course, that Miss Booth only went out +two or three times a week, or that she only went out in the afternoon, +but Miss Climpson was taking no chances. She had at least achieved the +certainty that the 'bus-stop was the place to watch. This time she took +up her post at "Ye Cosye Corner" at 11 o'clock and waited till twelve. +Nothing happened and she went home. + +In the afternoon she was there again at three. By this time the +waitress had got to know her, and betrayed a certain amused and +tolerant interest in her comings and goings. Miss Climpson explained +that she liked so much to watch the people pass, and spoke a few words +in praise of the Café and its service. She admired a quaint old inn +on the opposite side of the street, and said she thought of making a +sketch of it. + +"Oh, yes," said the girl, "there's a many artists comes here for that." + +This gave Miss Climpson a bright idea, and the next morning she brought +a pencil and sketch-book with her. + +By the extraordinary perversity of things in general, she had no sooner +ordered her coffee, opened the sketch-book and started to outline the +gables of the inn, than a 'bus drew up, and out of it stepped the +stout nurse in the black and grey uniform. She did not enter "Ye Cosye +Corner," but marched on at a brisk pace down the opposite side of the +street, her veil flapping like a flag. + +Miss Climpson uttered a sharp exclamation of annoyance, which drew the +waitress's attention. + +"How provoking!" said Miss Climpson. "I have left my rubber behind. I +must just run out and buy one." + +She dropped the sketch-book on the table and made for the door. + +"I'll cover your coffee up for you, miss," said the girl, helpfully. +"Mr. Bulteel's, down near the 'Bear,' is the best stationer's." + +"Thank you, thank you," said Miss Climpson, and darted out. + +The black veil was still flapping in the distance. Miss Climpson +pursued breathlessly, keeping to the near side of the road. The veil +dived into a chemist's shop. Miss Climpson crossed the road a little +behind it and stared into a window full of baby-linen. The veil came +out, fluttered undecidedly on the pavement, turned, passed Miss +Climpson and went into a boot-shop. + +"If it's shoe-laces, it'll be quick," thought Miss Climpson, "but if +it's trying-on it may be all morning." She walked slowly past the door. +By good luck a customer was just coming out, and, peering past him, +Miss Climpson just caught a glimpse of the black veil vanishing into +the back premises. She pushed the door boldly open. There was a counter +for sundries in the front of the shop, and the doorway through which +the nurse had vanished was labelled "Ladies' Department." + +While buying a pair of brown silk laces, Miss Climpson debated with +herself. Should she follow and seize this opportunity? Trying on +shoes is usually a lengthy business. The subject is marooned for long +periods in a chair, while the assistant climbs ladders and collects +piles of cardboard boxes. It is also comparatively easy to enter into +conversation with a person who is trying on shoes. But there is a snag +in it. To give colour to your presence in the Fitting department, you +must yourself try on shoes. What happens? The assistant first disables +you by snatching off your right-hand shoe, and then disappears. And +supposing, meanwhile, your quarry completes her purchase and walks +out? Are you to follow, hopping madly on one foot? Are you to arouse +suspicion by hurriedly replacing your own footgear and rushing out with +laces flying and an unconvincing murmur about a forgotten engagement? +Still worse, suppose you are in an amphibious condition, wearing one +shoe of your own and one of the establishment's? What impression will +you make by suddenly bolting with goods to which you are not entitled? +Will not the pursuer very quickly become the pursued? + +Having weighed this problem in her mind, Miss Climpson paid for her +shoe-laces and retired. She had already bilked a tea-shop, and one +misdemeanour in a morning was about as much as she could hope to get +away with. + +The male detective, particularly when dressed as a workman, an +errand-boy or a telegraph-messenger, is favourably placed for +"shadowing." He can loaf without attracting attention. The female +detective must not loaf. On the other hand, she can stare into +shop-windows for ever. Miss Climpson selected a hat-shop. She examined +all the hats in both windows attentively, coming back to gaze in a +purposeful manner at an extremely elegant model with an eye-veil and +a pair of excrescences like rabbits'-ears. Just at the moment when +any observer might have thought that she had at last made up her mind +to go in and ask the price, the nurse came out of the boot-shop. Miss +Climpson shook her head regretfully at the rabbits'-ears, darted back +to the other window, looked, hovered, hesitated--and tore herself away. + +The nurse was now about thirty yards ahead, moving well, with the air +of a horse that sights his stable. She crossed the street again, looked +into a window piled with coloured wools, thought better of it, passed +on, and turned in at the door of the Oriental Café. + +Miss Climpson was in the position of one who, after prolonged pursuit, +has clapped a tumbler over a moth. For the moment the creature is safe +and the pursuer takes breath. The problem now is to extract the moth +without damage. + +It is easy, of course, to follow a person into a café and sit down at +her table, if there is room there. But she may not welcome you. She +may feel it perverse in you to thrust yourself upon her when other +tables are standing empty. It is better to offer some excuse, such +as restoring a dropped handkerchief or drawing attention to an open +handbag. If the person will not provide you with an excuse, the next +best thing is to manufacture one. + +The stationer's shop was only a few doors off. Miss Climpson went in +and purchased an indiarubber, three picture post-cards, a BB pencil and +a calendar, and waited while they were made up into a parcel. Then she +slowly made her way across the street and turned into the "Oriental." + +In the first room she found two women and a small boy occupying one +recess, an aged gentleman drinking milk in another, and a couple of +girls consuming coffee and cakes in a third. + +"Excuse me," said Miss Climpson to the two women, "but does this parcel +belong to you? I picked it up just outside the door." + +The elder woman, who had evidently been shopping, hastily passed in +review a quantity of miscellaneous packages, pinching each one by way +of refreshing her memory as to the contents. + +"I don't think it's mine, but really I can't say for certain. Let me +see. That's eggs and that's bacon and--what's this, Gertie? Is that +the mouse-trap? No, wait a minute, that's cough-mixture, that is--and +that's Aunt Edith's cork soles, and that's Nugget--no, bloater paste, +this here's the Nugget--why, bless my soul, I believe I _have_ been and +gone and dropped the mouse-trap--but that don't look like it to me." + +"No, Mother," said the younger woman, "don't you remember, they were +sending round the mouse-trap with the bath." + +"Of course, so they were. Well, that accounts for that. The mouse-trap +and the two frying-pans, they was all to go with the bath, and that's +all except the soap, which you've got, Gertie. No, thank you very much, +all the same, but it isn't ours; somebody else must have dropped it." + +The old gentleman repudiated it firmly, but politely, and the two +girls merely giggled at it. Miss Climpson passed on. Two young women +with their attendant young men duly thanked her in the second room, but +said the parcel was not theirs. + +Miss Climpson passed into the third room. In one corner was a rather +talkative party of people with an Airedale, and at the back, in the +most obscure and retired of all the Oriental nooks and corners, sat the +nurse, reading a book. + +The talkative party had nothing to say to the parcel, and Miss +Climpson, with her heart beating fast, bore down upon the nurse. + +"Excuse me," she said, smiling graciously, "but I think this little +parcel must be yours. I picked it up just in the doorway and I've asked +all the other people in the café." + +The nurse looked up. She was a grey-haired, elderly woman, with those +curious large blue eyes which disconcert the beholder by their intense +gaze, and are usually an index of some emotional instability. She +smiled at Miss Climpson and said pleasantly: + +"No, no, it isn't mine. So kind of you. But I have all my parcels here." + +She vaguely indicated the cushioned seat which ran round three sides of +the alcove, and Miss Climpson, accepting the gesture as an invitation, +promptly sat down. + +"How very odd," said Miss Climpson, "I made sure someone must have +dropped it coming in here. I wonder what I had better do with it." She +pinched it gently. "I shouldn't think it was valuable, but one never +knows. I suppose I ought to take it to the police-station." + +"You could hand it to the cashier," suggested the nurse, "in case the +owner came back here to claim it." + +"Well now, so I could," cried Miss Climpson. "How clever of you to +think of it. Of course, yes, that would be the best way. You must think +me very foolish, but the idea never occurred to me. I'm not a very +practical person, I'm afraid, but I do so admire the people who are. +I should never do to take up _your_ profession, should I? Any little +emergency leaves me _quite_ bewildered." + +The nurse smiled again. + +"It is largely a question of training," she said. "And of +_self_-training, too, of course. All these little weaknesses can be +cured by placing the mind under a Higher Control--don't you believe +that?" + +Her eyes rested hypnotically upon Miss Climpson's. + +"I suppose that is true." + +"It is such a mistake," pursued the nurse, closing her book and laying +it down on the table, "to imagine that anything in the mental sphere +is large or small. Our least thoughts and actions are equally directed +by the higher centres of spiritual power, if we can bring ourselves to +believe it." + +A waitress arrived to take Miss Climpson's order. + +"Oh, dear! I seem to have intruded myself upon your table...." + +"Oh, don't get up," said the nurse. + +"Are you sure? Really? because I don't want to interrupt you--" + +"Not at all. I live a very solitary life, and I am always glad to find +a friend to talk to." + +"How nice of you. I'll have scones and butter, please, and a pot of +tea. This is such a nice little café, don't you think?--so quiet and +peaceful. If only those people wouldn't make such a noise with that dog +of theirs. I don't like those great big animals, and I think they're +quite dangerous, don't you?" + +The reply was lost on Miss Climpson, for she had suddenly seen the +title of the book on the table, and the Devil, or a Ministering +Angel (she was not quite sure which) was, so to speak, handing her a +fullblown temptation on a silver salver. The book was published by the +Spiritualist Press and was called "_Can the Dead Speak?_" + +In a single moment of illumination, Miss Climpson saw her plan complete +and perfect in every detail. It involved a course of deception from +which her conscience shrank appalled, but it was certain. She wrestled +with the demon. Even in a righteous cause, could anything so wicked be +justified? + +She breathed what she thought was a prayer for guidance, but the only +answer was a small whisper in her ear, "Oh, jolly good work, Miss +Climpson!" and the voice was the voice of Peter Wimsey. + +"Pardon me," said Miss Climpson, "but I see you are a student of +spiritualism. How interesting that is!" + +If there was one subject in the world about which Miss Climpson might +claim to know something, it was Spiritualism. It is a flower which +flourishes bravely in a boarding-house atmosphere. Time and again, +Miss Climpson had listened while the apparatus of planes and controls, +correspondences and veridical communications, astral bodies, auras +and ectoplastic materialisations was displayed before her protesting +intelligence. That to the Church it was a forbidden subject she knew +well enough, but she had been paid companion to so many old ladies and +had been forced so many times to bow down in the House of Rimmon. + +And then there had been the quaint little man from the Psychical +Research Society. He had stayed a fortnight in the same private hotel +with her at Bournemouth. He was skilled in the investigation of haunted +houses and the detection of poltergeists. He had rather liked Miss +Climpson, and she had passed several interesting evenings hearing about +the tricks of mediums. Under his guidance she had learnt to turn tables +and produce explosive cracking noises; she knew how to examine a pair +of sealed slates for the marks of the wedges which let the chalk go +in on a long black wire to write spirit-passages. She had seen the +ingenious rubber gloves which leave the impression of spirit hands +in a bucket of paraffin-wax, and which, when deflated, can be drawn +delicately from the hardened wax through a hole narrower than a child's +wrist. She even knew theoretically, though she had never tried it, +how to hold her hands to be tied behind her back so as to force that +first deceptive knot which makes all subsequent knots useless, and how +to flit about the room banging tambourines in the twilight in spite +of having been tied up in a black cabinet with both fists filled with +flour. Miss Climpson had wondered greatly at the folly and wickedness +of mankind. + +The nurse went on talking, and Miss Climpson answered mechanically. + +"She's only a beginner," said Miss Climpson to herself. "She's reading +a text-book.... And she is quite uncritical.... Surely she knows that +that woman was exposed long ago.... People like her shouldn't be +allowed out alone--they're living incitements to fraud.... I don't +know this Mrs. Craig she is talking about, but I should say she was as +twisty as a corkscrew.... I must avoid Mrs. Craig, she probably knows +too much ... if the poor deluded creature will swallow that, she'll +swallow anything." + +"It does seem _most_ wonderful, doesn't it?" said Miss Climpson, aloud. +"But isn't it a wee bit _dangerous_? I've been told I'm sensitive +myself, but I have never dared to _try_. Is it _wise_ to open one's +mind to these supernatural influences?" + +"It's not dangerous if you know the right way," said the nurse. "One +must learn to build up a shell of pure thoughts about the soul, so that +no evil influences can enter it. I have had the most marvellous talks +with the dear ones who have passed over...." + +Miss Climpson refilled the tea-pot and sent the waitress for a plate of +sugary cakes. + +"... unfortunately I am not mediumistic myself--not yet, that is. I +can't get anything when I'm alone. Mrs. Craig says that it will come +by practice and concentration. Last night I was trying with the Ouija +board, but it would only write spirals." + +"Your conscious mind is too active, I expect," said Miss Climpson. + +"Yes, I daresay that is it. Mrs. Craig says that I am wonderfully +sympathetic. We get the most wonderful results when we sit together. +Unfortunately she is abroad just now." + +Miss Climpson's heart gave a great leap, so that she nearly spilled her +tea. + +"You yourself are a medium, then?" went on the nurse. + +"I have been told so," said Miss Climpson, guardedly. + +"I wonder," said the nurse, "whether if we sat together--" + +She looked hungrily at Miss Climpson. + +"I don't really like--" + +"Oh, do! You are such a sympathetic person. I'm sure we should get good +results. And the spirits are so pathetically anxious to communicate. +Of course, I wouldn't like to try unless I was sure of the person. +There are so many fraudulent mediums about"--("So you do know that +much!" thought Miss Climpson)--"but with somebody like yourself one is +absolutely safe. You would find it made such a difference in your life. +I used to be so unhappy over all the pain and misery in the world--we +see so much of it, you know--till I realised the certainty of survival +and how all our trials are merely sent to fit us for life on a higher +plane." + +"Well," said Miss Climpson, slowly, "I'm willing just to try. But I +can't say I really _believe_ in it, you know." + +"You would--you would." + +"Of course, I've seen one or two strange things happen--things that +couldn't be tricks, because I knew the people--and which I couldn't +explain--" + +"Come up and see me this evening, now do!" said the nurse, +persuasively. "We'll just have one quiet sitting and then we shall see +whether you really are a medium. I've no doubt you are." + +"Very well," said Miss Climpson. "What is your name, by the way?" + +"Caroline Booth--Miss Caroline Booth. I'm nurse to an old, paralysed +lady in the big house along the Kendal Road." + +"Thank goodness for that, anyway," thought Miss Climpson. Aloud she +said: + +"And my name is Climpson; I think I've got a card somewhere. No--I've +left it behind. But I'm staying at Hillside View. How do I get to you?" + +Miss Booth mentioned the address and the time of the 'bus, and added an +invitation to supper, which was accepted. Miss Climpson went home and +wrote a hurried note: + + My dear Lord Peter-- + + I am sure you have been _wondering_ what has _happened_ to me. But + _at last_ I have NEWS! I have STORMED THE CITADEL!!! I am going to + the _house tonight_ and you may expect GREAT THINGS!!! + + In _haste_, + + Yours very sincerely, + Katharine A. Climpson. + +Miss Climpson went out into the town again after lunch. First, being an +honest woman, she retrieved her sketch-book from "Ye Cosye Corner" and +paid her bill, explaining that she had run across a friend that morning +and been detained. She then visited a number of shops. Eventually she +selected a small metal soap-box which suited her requirements. Its +sides were slightly convex, and when closed and pinched slightly, +it sprang back with a hearty cracking noise. This, with a little +contrivance and some powerful sticking-plaster, she fixed to a strong +elastic garter. When clasped about Miss Climpson's bony knee and +squeezed sharply against the other knee, the box emitted a series of +cracks so satisfying as to convince the most sceptical. Miss Climpson, +seated before the looking-glass, indulged in an hour's practice before +tea, till the crack could be produced with the minimum of physical jerk. + +Another purchase was a length of stiff black-bound wire, such as is +used for making hat-brims. Used double, neatly bent to a double angle +and strapped to the wrist, this contrivance was sufficient to rock a +light table. The weight of a heavy table would be too much for it, she +feared, but she had had no time to order blacksmith's work. She could +try, anyway. She hunted out a black velvet rest-gown with long, wide +sleeves, and satisfied herself that the wires could be sufficiently +hidden. + +At six o'clock, she put on this garment, fastened the soap-box to her +leg--turning the box outward, lest untimely cracks should startle her +fellow-travellers, muffled herself in a heavy rain-cloak of Inverness +cut, took hat and umbrella and started on her way to steal Mrs. +Wrayburn's will. + + + + + CHAPTER XVII + + +Supper was over. It had been served in a beautiful old panelled room +with an Adam ceiling and fireplace, and the food had been good. Miss +Climpson felt braced and ready. + +"We'll sit in my own room, shall we?" said Miss Booth. "It's the only +really comfortable place. Most of this house is shut up, of course. If +you'll excuse me, dear, I will just run up and give Mrs. Wrayburn her +supper and make her comfortable, poor thing, and then we can begin. I +shan't be more than half an hour or so." + +"She's quite helpless, I suppose?" + +"Yes, quite." + +"Can she speak?" + +"Not to say speak. She mumbles sometimes, but one can't make anything +of it. It's sad, isn't it, and her so rich. It will be a happy day for +her when she passes over." + +"Poor soul!" said Miss Climpson. + +Her hostess led her into a small, gaily-furnished sitting-room and left +her there among the cretonne covers and the ornaments. Miss Climpson +ran her eyes rapidly over the books, which were mostly novels, with the +exception of some standard works on Spiritualism, and then turned her +attention to the mantelpiece. It was crowded with photographs, as the +mantelpieces of nurses usually are. Conspicuous among hospital groups +and portraits inscribed "From your grateful patient," was a cabinet +photograph of a gentleman in the dress and moustache of the 'nineties, +standing beside a bicycle, apparently upon a stone balcony in mid-air +with a distant view over a rocky gorge. The frame was silver, heavy and +ornate. + +"Too young for a father," said Miss Climpson, as she turned it over and +pulled back the catch of the frame, "either sweetheart or favourite +brother. H'm! 'My dearest Lucy from her ever-loving Harry.' Not a +brother, I fancy. Photographer's address, Coventry. Cycle trade, +possibly. Now what happened to Harry? Not matrimony, obviously. +Death, or infidelity. First-class frame and central position; bunch +of hot-house narcissus in a vase--I think Harry has passed over. +What next? Family group? Yes. Names conveniently beneath. Dearest +Lucy in a fringe, Papa and Mamma, Tom and Gertrude. Tom and Gertrude +are older, but they may be still alive. Papa is a parson. Largeish +house--country rectory, perhaps. Photographer's address, Maidstone. +Wait a minute. Here's Papa in another group, with a dozen small boys. +Schoolmaster, or takes private pupils. Two boys have straw hats with +zig-zag ribbons--school, probably, then. What's that silver cup? Thos. +Booth and three other names--Pembroke College Fours 1883. Not an +expensive college. Wonder whether Papa objected to Harry on account of +the cycle-manufacturing connection? That book over there looks like +a school prize. It is. Maidstone Ladies' College--for distinction in +English Literature. Just so. Is she coming back?--No, false alarm. +Young man in khaki, 'Your loving nephew, G. Booth'--ah! Tom's son, I +take it. Did he survive, I wonder? Yes--she is coming, this time." + +When the door opened, Miss Climpson was sitting by the fire, deeply +engaged in _Raymond_. + +"So sorry to keep you waiting," said Miss Booth, "but the poor old dear +is rather restless this evening. She'll do now for a couple of hours, +but I shall have to go up again later. Shall we begin at once? I'm _so_ +eager to try." + +Miss Climpson readily agreed. + +"We usually use this table," said Miss Booth, bringing forward a small, +round table of bamboo, with a shelf between its legs. Miss Climpson +thought she had never seen a piece of furniture more excellently +adapted for the faking of phenomena, and heartily approved of Mrs. +Craig's choice. + +"Do we sit in the light?" she enquired. + +"Not in full light," said Miss Booth. "Mrs. Craig explained to me that +the blue rays of daylight or electricity are too hard for the spirits. +They shatter the vibrations, you see. So we usually put out the light +and sit in the firelight, which is quite bright enough for taking +notes. Will you write down, or shall I?" + +"Oh, I think you had better do it as you're more accustomed to it," +said Miss Climpson. + +"Very well." Miss Booth fetched a pencil and a pad of paper and +switched off the light. + +"Now we just sit down and place our thumbs and finger-tips lightly on +the table, near the edge. It's better to make a circle, of course, but +one can't do that with two people. And just at first, I think it's +better not to talk--till a rapport is established, you know. Which side +will you sit?" + +"Oh, this will do for me," said Miss Climpson. + +"You don't mind the fire on your back?" + +Miss Climpson most certainly did not. + +"Well, that's a good arrangement, because it helps to screen the rays +from the table." + +"That's what I thought," said Miss Climpson, truthfully. + +They placed thumbs and finger-tips on the table and waited. + +Ten minutes passed. + +"Did you feel any movement?" whispered Miss Booth. + +"No." + +"It sometimes takes a little time." + +Silence. + +"Ah! I thought I felt something then." + +"I've got a feeling like pins and needles in my fingers." + +"So have I. We shall get something soon." + +A pause. + +"Would you like to rest a little?" + +"My wrists ache rather." + +"They do till you get used to it. It's the power coming through them." + +Miss Climpson lifted her fingers and rubbed each wrist gently. The thin +black hooks came quietly down to the edge of her black velvet sleeve. + +"I feel sure there is power all about us. I can feel a cold thrill on +my spine." + +"Let's go on," said Miss Climpson. "I'm quite rested now." + +Silence. + +"I feel," whispered Miss Climpson, "as though something was gripping +the back of my neck." + +"Don't move." + +"And my arms have gone dead from the elbow." + +"Hush! so have mine." + +Miss Climpson might have added that she had a pain in her deltoids, +if she had known the name for them. This is not an uncommon result of +sitting with the thumbs and fingers on a table without support for the +wrist. + +"I'm tingling from head to foot," said Miss Booth. + +At this moment the table gave a violent lurch. Miss Climpson had +over-estimated the force necessary to move bamboo furniture. + +"Ah!" + +After a slight pause for recuperation, the table began to move again, +but more gently, till it was rocking with a regular see-saw motion. +Miss Climpson found that by gently elevating one rather large foot, she +could take practically all the weight off her wrist-hooks. This was +fortunate, as she was doubtful whether their constitution would stand +the strain. + +"Shall we speak to it?" asked Miss Climpson. + +"Wait a moment," said Miss Booth. "It wants to go sideways." + +Miss Climpson was surprised by this statement, which seemed to argue +a high degree of imagination, but she obligingly imparted a slight +gyratory movement to the table. + +"Shall we stand up?" suggested Miss Booth. + +This was disconcerting, for it is not easy to work a vibrating table +while stooping and standing on one leg. Miss Climpson decided to fall +into a trance. She dropped her head on her chest and uttered a slight +moan. At the same time she pulled back her hands, releasing the hooks, +and the table continued to revolve jerkily, spinning beneath their +fingers. + +A coal fell from the fire with a crash, sending up a bright jet of +flame. Miss Climpson started, and the table ceased spinning and came +down with a little thud. + +"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Miss Booth. "The light has dispersed the +vibrations. Are you all right, dear?" + +"Yes, yes," said Miss Climpson, vaguely. "Did anything happen?" + +"The power was tremendous," said Miss Booth. "I've never felt it so +strong." + +"I think I must have fallen asleep," said Miss Climpson. + +"You were entranced," said Miss Booth. "The control was taking +possession. Are you very tired, or can you go on?" + +"I feel quite all right," said Miss Climpson, "only a little drowsy." + +"You're a wonderfully strong medium," said Miss Booth. + +Miss Climpson, surreptitiously flexing her ankle, was inclined to agree. + +"We'll put a screen before the fire this time," said Miss Booth. +"That's better. Now!" + +The hands were replaced on the table, which began to rock again almost +immediately. + +"We won't lose any more time," said Miss Booth. She cleared her throat +slightly, and addressed the table. + +"Is there a spirit here?" + +Crack! + +The table ceased moving. + +"Will you give me one knock for 'Yes' and two for 'No'?" + +Crack! + +The advantage of this method of interrogation is that it obliges the +enquirer to put leading questions. + +"Are you the spirit of one who has passed over?" + +"Yes." + +"Are you Fedora?" + +"No." + +"Are you one of the spirits who have visited me before?" + +"No." + +"Are you friendly to us?" + +"Yes." + +"Are you pleased to see us?" + +"Yes. Yes. Yes." + +"Are you happy?" + +"Yes." + +"Are you here to ask anything for yourself?" + +"No." + +"Are you anxious to help us personally?" + +"No." + +"Are you speaking on behalf of another spirit?" + +"Yes." + +"Does he want to speak to my friend?" + +"No." + +"To me, then?" + +"Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes." (The table rocked violently.) + +"Is it the spirit of a woman?" + +"No." + +"A man?" + +"Yes." + +A little gasp. + +"Is it the spirit I have been trying to communicate with?" + +"Yes." + +A pause and a tilting of the table. + +"Will you speak to us by means of the alphabet? One knock for A, two +for B, and so on?" + +("Belated caution," thought Miss Climpson.) + +"Crack!" + +"What is your name?" + +Eight taps, and a long indrawn breath. + +One tap-- + +"H--A--" + +A long succession of taps. + +"Was that an R? You go too fast." + +"Crack!" + +"H--A--R--is that right?" + +"Yes." + +"Is it Harry?" + +"Yes, yes, yes." + +"Oh, Harry! At last! How are you? Are you happy?" + +"Yes--no--lonely." + +"It wasn't my fault, Harry." + +"Yes. Weak." + +"Ah, but I had my duty to think of. Remember who came between us." + +"Yes, F-A-T-H-E-" + +"No, no, Harry! It was mo--" + +"--A-D!" concluded the table, triumphantly. + +"How can you speak so unkindly?" + +"Love comes first." + +"I know that now. But I was only a girl. Won't you forgive me now?" + +"All forgiven. Mother forgiven too." + +"I'm so glad. What do you do where you are, Harry?" + +"Wait. Help. Atone." + +"Have you any special message for me?" + +"Go to Coventry!" (Here the table became agitated.) + +This message seemed to overwhelm the seeker. + +"Oh, it really is you, Harry! You haven't forgotten the dear old joke. +Tell me--" + +The table showed great signs of excitement at this point and poured out +a volley of unintelligible letters. + +"What do you want?" + +"G--G--G--" + +"It must be somebody else interrupting," said Miss Booth. "Who is that, +please?" + +"G-E-O-R-G-E" (very rapidly). + +"George? I don't know any George, except Tom's boy. Has anything +happened to him, I wonder." + +"Ha! ha! ha! not George Booth, George Washington." + +"George Washington?" + +"Ha! ha!" (The table became convulsively agitated, so much so that the +medium seemed hardly able to hold it. Miss Booth, who had been noting +down the conversation, now put her hands back on the table, which +stopped capering and began to rock.) + +"Who is here now?" + +"Pongo." + +"Who is Pongo?" + +"Your control." + +"Who was that talking just now?" + +"Bad spirit. Gone now." + +"Is Harry still there?" + +"Gone." + +"Does anybody else want to speak?" + +"Helen." + +"Helen who?" + +"Don't you remember? Maidstone." + +"Maidstone? Oh, do you mean Ellen Pate?" + +"Yes, Pate." + +"Fancy that! Good-evening, Ellen. How nice to hear from you." + +"Remember row." + +"Do you mean the big row in the dormitory?" + +"Kate bad girl." + +"No, I don't remember Kate, except Kate Hurley. You don't mean her, do +you?" + +"Naughty Kate. Lights out." + +"Oh, I _know_ what she's trying to say. The cakes after lights were +out." + +"That's right." + +"You still spell badly, Ellen." + +"Miss--Miss--" + +"Mississippi? Haven't you learnt it yet?" + +"Funny." + +"Are there many of our class where you are?" + +"Alice and Mabel. Send love." + +"How sweet of them. Give them my love too." + +"Yes. All love. Flowers. Sunshine." + +"What do you--" + +"P," said the table, impatiently. + +"Is that Pongo again?" + +"Yes. Tired." + +"Do you want us to stop?" + +"Yes. Another time." + +"Very well, good-night." + +"Good-night." + +The medium leaned back in her chair with an air of exhaustion which +was perfectly justified. It is very tiring to rap out letters of the +alphabet, and she was afraid the soap-box was slipping. + +Miss Booth turned on the light. + +"That was wonderful!" said Miss Booth. + +"Did you get the answers you wanted?" + +"Yes, indeed. Didn't you hear them?" + +"I didn't follow it all," said Miss Climpson. + +"It is a little difficult, counting, till you're used to it. You must +be dreadfully tired. We'll stop now and make some tea. Next time +perhaps we could use the Ouija. It doesn't take nearly so long to get +the answers with that." + +Miss Climpson considered this. Certainly it would be less wearisome, +but she was not sure of being able to manipulate it. + +Miss Booth put the kettle on the fire and glanced at the clock. + +"Dear me! it's nearly eleven. How the time has flown! I must run up and +see to my old dear. Would you like to read through the questions and +answers? I don't suppose I shall be many minutes." + +Satisfactory, so far, thought Miss Climpson. Confidence was well +established. In a few days' time, she would be able to work her plan. +But she had nearly tripped up over George. And it was stupid to have +said 'Helen.' Nellie would have done for either--there was a Nellie in +every school forty-five years ago. But after all, it didn't much matter +what you said--the other person was sure to help you out of it. How +desperately her legs and arms were aching. Wearily she wondered if she +had missed the last bus. + +"I'm afraid you have," said Miss Booth, when the question was put to +her on her return. "But we'll ring up a taxi. At my expense, of course, +dear. I insist, as you were so good in coming all this way, entirely +to please me. Don't you think the communications are too marvellous? +Harry would never come before--poor Harry! I'm afraid I was very unkind +to him. He married, but you see he has never forgotten me. He lived +at Coventry and we used to have a joke about it--that's what he meant +by saying that. I wonder which Alice and Mabel that was. There was an +Alice Gibbons and an Alice Roach--both such nice girls; I think Mabel +must be Mabel Herridge. She married and went out to India years and +years ago. I can't remember her married name and I've never heard from +her since, but she must have passed to the other side. Pongo is a new +control. We must ask him who he is. Mrs. Craig's control is Fedora--she +was a slave-girl at the court of Poppaea." + +"Really!" said Miss Climpson. + +"She told us her story one night. So romantic. She was thrown to the +lions because she was a Christian and refused to have anything to do +with Nero." + +"How very interesting." + +"Yes, isn't it? But she doesn't speak very good English, and it's +sometimes rather hard to understand her. And she sometimes lets the +tiresome ones in. Pongo was very quick at getting rid of George +Washington. You will come again, won't you? Tomorrow night?" + +"Certainly, if you like." + +"Yes, please do. And next time you must ask for a message for yourself." + +"I will indeed," said Miss Climpson. "It has all been _such_ a +revelation--quite _wonderful_. I never _dreamed_ that I had such a +gift." + +And that was true, also. + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII + + +It was, of course, useless for Miss Climpson to try to conceal from the +boarding-house ladies where she had been and what she had been doing. +Her return at midnight in a taxi had already aroused the liveliest +curiosity, and she told the truth to avoid being accused of worse +dissipations. + +"My dear Miss Climpson," said Mrs. Pegler, "you will not, I trust, +think me interfering, but I must caution you against having anything +to do with Mrs. Craig or her friends. I have no doubt Miss Booth is +an excellent woman, but I do not like the company she keeps. Nor do I +approve of spiritualism. It is a prying into matters which we are not +intended to know about, and may lead to very undesirable results. If +you were a married woman, I could explain myself more clearly, but you +may take it from me that these indulgences may have serious effects +upon the character in more ways than one." + +"Oh, Mrs. Pegler," said Miss Etheredge, "I don't think you should say +that. One of the most beautiful characters I know--a woman whom it is +a privilege to call one's friend--is a spiritualist, and she is a real +saint in her life and influence." + +"Very likely, Miss Etheredge," replied Mrs. Pegler, drawing her stout +figure to its most impressive uprightness, "but that is not the point. +I do not say that a spiritualist _may_ not live a good life, but I _do_ +say that the majority of them are most unsatisfactory people, and far +from truthful." + +"I have happened to meet with a number of so-called mediums in the +course of my life," agreed Miss Tweall, acidly, "and all of them, +without _any_ exception, were people I would not have trusted any +further than I could see them--if as far." + +"That is very true of a great many of them," said Miss Climpson, "and +I am sure _nobody_ could have better opportunities of judging than +_myself_. But I think and hope that some of them are at least _sincere_ +if _mistaken_ in their claims. What do _you_ think, Mrs. Liffey?" she +added, turning to the proprietress of the establishment. + +"We-ll," said Mrs. Liffey--obliged, in her official capacity, to +agree as far as possible with all parties. "I must say, from what I +have read, and that is not a great deal, for I have little time for +reading--still, I think there is a certain amount of evidence to show +that, in certain cases and under strictly safeguarded conditions, there +is possibly some foundation of truth beneath the spiritualists' claims. +Not that I should care to have anything to do with it personally; as +Mrs. Pegler says, I do not as a rule care very much for the sort of +people who go in for it, though doubtless there are many exceptions. +I think perhaps that the subject should be left to properly qualified +investigators." + +"There I agree with you," said Mrs. Pegler. "No words can express +the disgust I feel at the intrusion of women like this Mrs. Craig +into realms that should be sacred to us all. Imagine, Miss Climpson, +that that woman--whom I do not know and have no intention of +knowing--actually had the impertinence once to write to me and say +that she had received a message at one of her séances, as she calls +them, purporting to come from my dear husband. I cannot tell you what +I felt. To have the General's name actually brought up, in public, in +connection with such wicked nonsense! And of course it was the purest +invention, for the General was the _last_ man to have anything to do +with goings-on. 'Pernicious poppy-cock,' he used to call it in his +bluff military way. And when it came to telling me, his widow, that +he had come to Mrs. Craig's house and played the accordion and asked +for special prayers to deliver him from a place of punishment, I could +only look on it as a calculated insult. The General was a regular +Church-goer and entirely opposed to prayers for the dead or anything +popish; and as to being in any undesirable place, he was the best of +men, even if he was a little abrupt at times. As for accordions, I +hope, wherever he is, he has something better to do with his time." + +"A most shameful business," said Miss Tweall. + +"Who is this Mrs. Craig?" asked Miss Climpson. + +"Nobody knows," said Mrs. Pegler, ominously. + +"She is said to be a doctor's widow," said Mrs. Liffey. + +"It's my opinion," said Miss Tweall, "that she is no better than she +should be." + +"A woman of her age," said Mrs. Pegler, "with henna'd hair and earrings +a foot long--" + +"And going about in those extraordinary clothes," said Miss Tweall. + +"And having such very odd people to stay with her," said Mrs. Pegler. +"You remember that black man, Mrs. Liffey, who wore a green turban +and used to say his prayers in the front garden, till the police +interfered." + +"What I should like to know," said Miss Tweall, "is, where she gets her +money from." + +"If you ask me, my dear, the woman's on the make. Heaven knows what she +persuades people to do in these spiritualistic meetings." + +"But what brought her to Windle?" asked Miss Climpson. "I should have +thought London, or some big town, would have been a better place for +her if she is the kind of person you describe." + +"I shouldn't be surprised if she was in hiding," said Miss Tweall, +darkly. "There is such a thing as making a place too hot to hold you." + +"Without altogether subscribing to your wholesale condemnation," said +Miss Climpson, "I must agree that psychical research can be _very +dangerous indeed_ in the _wrong hands_, and from what Miss Booth tells +me, I do doubt very _much_ whether Mrs. Craig is a suitable guide for +the inexperienced. Indeed, I quite felt it my _duty_ to put Miss Booth +on her guard, and that is what I am endeavouring to do. But, as you +know, one has to do that kind of thing _very_ tactfully--otherwise one +may merely, so to speak, put the person's back up. The first step is to +gain her _confidence_, and then, little by little, one may be able to +induce a more wholesome frame of mind." + +"That's _so_ true," said Miss Etheredge, eagerly, her pale blue eyes +lighting with something that was almost animation. "I very nearly fell +under the influence of a dreadful, fraudulent person myself, till my +dear friend showed me a better way." + +"Maybe," said Mrs. Pegler, "but in my opinion the whole thing is best +left alone." + +Undeterred by this excellent advice, Miss Climpson kept her +appointment. After a spirited exhibition of table-rocking, Pongo +consented to communicate by means of the Ouija board, though at first +he was rather awkward with it. He attributed this, however, to the fact +that he had never learned to write while on earth. Asked who he was, he +explained that he was an Italian acrobat of the Renaissance period, and +that his full name was Pongocelli. He had lived a sadly irregular life, +but had redeemed himself by heroically refusing to abandon a sick child +during the time of the Great Plague in Florence. He had caught the +plague and died of it, and was now working out the period of probation +for his sins by serving as guide and interpreter to other spirits. It +was a touching story, and Miss Climpson was rather proud of it. + +George Washington was rather intrusive, and the séance also suffered +from a number of mysterious interruptions from what Pongo described as +a "jealous influence." Nevertheless, "Harry" reappeared and delivered +some consolatory messages, and there were further communications from +Mabel Herridge, who gave a vivid description of her life in India. +On the whole, and taking the difficulties into account, a successful +evening. + +On Sunday there was no séance, owing to the revolt of the medium's +conscience. Miss Climpson felt that she could not, really could not, +bring herself to do it. She went to church instead, and listened to the +Christmas message with a distracted mind. + +On Monday, however, the two enquirers again took their seats about the +bamboo table, and the following is the report of the séance, as noted +down by Miss Booth. + + * * * * * + +_7.30 p.m._ + +On this occasion proceedings were begun at once with the Ouija board; +after a few minutes, a loud succession of raps announced the presence +of a control. + +_Question_: Good-evening. Who is that? + +_Answer_: Pongo here. Good-evening! Heaven bless you. + +_Q._ We are very glad to have you with us, Pongo. + +_A._ Good--very good. Here we are again! + +_Q._ Is that you, Harry? + +_A._ Yes, only to give my love. Such a crowd. + +_Q._ The more the better. We are glad to meet all our friends. What can +we do for you? + +_A._ Attend. Obey the spirits. + +_Q._ We will do all we can, if you will tell us what to do. + +_A._ Boil your heads! + +_Q._ Go away, George, we don't want you. + +_A._ Get off the line, silly. + +_Q._ Pongo, can't you send him away? + +(Here the pencil drew the sketch of an ugly face.) + +_Q._ Is that your portrait? + +_A._ That's me. G. W. Ha, ha! + +(The pencil zig-zagged violently and drove the board right over the +edge of the table. When it was replaced it started to write in the hand +we associate with Pongo.) + +_A._ I have sent him away. Very noisy tonight. F. jealous and sends +him to disturb us. Never mind. Pongo more powerful. + +_Q._ Who do you say is jealous? + +_A._ Never mind. Bad person. Maladetta. + +_Q._ Is Harry still there? + +_A._ No. Other business. There is a spirit here who wishes your help. + +_Q._ Who is it? + +_A._ Very hard. Wait. + +(The pencil made a series of wide loops.) + +_Q._ What letter is that? + +_A._ Silly! don't be impatient. There is difficulty. I will try again. + +(The pencil scribbled for a few minutes and then wrote a large C.) + +_Q._ We have got the letter C. Is that right? + +_A._ C-C-C + +_Q._ We have got C. + +_A._ C-R-E + +(Here there was another violent interruption.) + +_A._ (in Pongo's writing) She is trying, but there is much opposition. +Think helpful thoughts. + +_Q._ Would you like us to sing a hymn? + +_A._ (Pongo again, very angry) Stupid! Be quiet! (Here the writing +changed again) M-O- + +_Q._ Is that part of the same word? + +_A._ R-N-A. + +_Q._ Do you mean Cremorna? + +_A._ (in the new writing) Cremorna, Cremorna. Through! Glad, glad, glad! + +At this point, Miss Booth turned to Miss Climpson and said in a puzzled +voice: + +"This is very strange. Cremorna was Mrs. Wrayburn's stage name. I do +hope--surely she can't have passed away suddenly. She was perfectly +comfortable when I left her. Had I better go and see?" + +"Perhaps it's another Cremorna?" suggested Miss Climpson. + +"But it's such an unusual name." + +"Why not ask who it is?" + +_Q._ Cremorna--what is your second name? + +_A._ (The pencil writing very fast) Rosegarden--easier now. + +_Q._ I don't understand you. + +_A._ Rose--Rose--Rose--Silly! + +_Q._ Oh!--(My dear, she's mixing up the two names)--Do you mean +Cremorna Garden? + +_A._ Yes. + +_Q._ Rosanna Wrayburn? + +_A._ Yes. + +_Q._ Have you passed over? + +_A._ Not yet. In exile. + +_Q._ Are you still in the body? + +_A._ Neither in the body nor out of the body. Waiting. (Pongo +interposing) When what you call the mind is departed, the spirit waits +in exile for the Great Change. Why can't you understand? Make haste. +Great difficulties. + +_Q._ We are so sorry. Are you in trouble about something? + +_A._ Great trouble. + +_Q._ I hope it isn't anything in Dr. Brown's treatment, or mine-- + +_A._ (Pongo) Do not be so foolish. (Cremorna) My will. + +_Q._ Do you want to alter your will? + +_A._ No. + +_Miss Climpson._ That is fortunate, because I don't think it would be +legal. What do you want us to do about it, dear Mrs. Wrayburn? + +_A._ Send it to Norman. + +_Q._ To Mr. Norman Urquhart? + +_A._ Yes. He knows. + +_Q._ He knows what is to be done with it? + +_A._ He wants it. + +_Q._ Very well. Can you tell us where to find it? + +_A._ I have forgotten. Search. + +_Q._ Is it in the house? + +_A._ I tell you I have forgotten. Deep waters. No safety. Failing, +failing.... + +(Here the writing became very faint and irregular.) + +_Q._ Try to remember. + +_A._ In the B--B--B--(a confusion and the pencil staggering wildly)--No +good. (Suddenly, in a different hand and very vigorously) Get off the +line, get off the line, get off the line. + +_Q._ Who is that? + +_A._ (Pongo) She has gone. The bad influence back. Ha, ha! Get off! +Finished now. (The pencil ran right out of the medium's control, and on +being replaced on the table, refused to answer any further questions.) + +"How dreadfully vexatious!" exclaimed Miss Booth. + +"I suppose you have no idea where the will is?" + +"Not the least. 'In the B--' she said. Now, what could that be?" + +"In the Bank, perhaps," suggested Miss Climpson. + +"It might be. If so, of course, Mr. Urquhart would be the only person +who could get it out." + +"Then why hasn't he? She said he wanted it." + +"Of course. Then it must be somewhere in the house. What could B stand +for?" + +"Box, Bag, Bureau--?" + +"Bed? It might be almost anything." + +"What a pity she couldn't finish the message. Shall we try again? Or +shall we look in all the likely places?" + +"Let's look first, and then, if we can't find it, we can try again." + +"That's a good idea. There are some keys in one of the bureau drawers +that belong to her boxes and things." + +"Why not try them?" said Miss Climpson, boldly. + +"We will. You'll come and help, won't you?" + +"If you think it advisable. I'm a stranger, you know." + +"The message came to you as much as to me. I'd rather you came with me. +You might be able to suggest places." + +Miss Climpson made no further ado, and then went upstairs. It was a +queer business--practically robbing a helpless woman in the interests +of someone she had never seen. Queer. But the motive must be a good +one, if it was Lord Peter's. + +At the top of the beautiful staircase with its ample curve was a long, +wide corridor, the walls hung thickly from floor to ceiling with +portraits, sketches, framed autograph letters, programmes, and all the +reminiscent bric-à-brac of the green-room. + +"All her life is here and in these two rooms," said the nurse. "If this +collection was to be sold, it would fetch a lot of money. I suppose it +will be, some day." + +"Whom does the money go to, do you know?" + +"Well, I've always thought it would be to Mr. Norman Urquhart--he's a +relation of hers, about the only one, I believe. But I've never been +told anything about it." + +She pushed open a tall door, graceful with curved panels and classical +architrave, and turned on the light. + +It was a stately great room, with three tall windows and a ceiling +gracefully moulded with garlands of flowers and flambeaux. The +purity of its lines was, however, defaced and insulted by a hideous +rose-trellised wall-paper, and heavy plush curtains of a hot crimson +with thick gold fringes and ropes, like the drop-curtain of a Victorian +play-house. Every foot of space was crammed thick with furniture--buhl +cabinets incongruously jostling mahogany chiffoniers; what-not tables +strewn with ornaments cuddling the bases of heavy German marbles and +bronzes; lacquer screens, Sheraton bureaux, Chinese vases, alabaster +lamps, chairs, ottomans of every shape, colour and period, clustered +thick as plants wrestling for existence in a tropical jungle. It was +the room of a woman without taste or moderation, who refused nothing +and surrendered nothing, to whom the fact of possession had become the +one steadfast reality in a world of loss and change. + +"It may be in here or in the bedroom," said Miss Booth. "I'll get her +keys." + +She opened a door on the right. Miss Climpson, endlessly inquisitive, +tip-toed in after her. + +The bedroom was even more of a nightmare than the sitting-room. A +small electric reading-lamp burned dimly by the bed, huge and gilded, +with hangings of rose brocade cascading in long folds from a tester +supported by fat golden cupids. Outside the narrow circle of light +loomed monstrous wardrobes, more cabinets, tall chests of drawers. The +dressing-table, frilled and flounced, held a wide, three-fold mirror, +and a monstrous cheval-glass in the centre of the room darkly reflected +the towering and shadowy outlines of the furniture. + +Miss Booth opened the middle door of the largest wardrobe. It swung +back with a creak, letting out a great gush of frangipani. Nothing, +evidently, had been altered in this room since silence and paralysis +had struck the owner down. + +Miss Climpson stepped softly up to the bed. Instinct made her move +cautiously as a cat, though it was evident that nothing would ever +startle or surprise its occupant. + +An old, old face, so tiny in the vast expanse of sheet and pillow +that it might have been a doll, stared up at her with unblinking, +unseeing eyes. It was covered with fine surface-wrinkles, like a hand +sodden with soapy water, but all the great lines carved by experience +had been smoothed out with the relaxing of the helpless muscles. It +was both puffed and crumpled. It reminded Miss Climpson of a child's +pink balloon, from which nearly all the air has leaked away. The +escaping breath puffed through the lax lips in little blowing, snorting +sounds and added to the resemblance. From under the frilled night-cap +straggled a few lank wisps of whitened hair. + +"Funny, isn't it," said Miss Booth, "to think that with her lying like +that, her spirit can communicate with us." + +Miss Climpson was overcome by a sense of sacrilege. It was only by a +great effort that she prevented herself from confessing the truth. She +had pulled the garter with the soap-box above her knee for safety, and +the elastic was cutting painfully into the muscles of her leg--a kind +of reminder of her iniquities. + +But Miss Booth had already turned away, and was pulling open the +drawers of one of the bureaux. + +Two hours passed, and they were still searching. The letter B. opened +up a particularly wide field of search. Miss Climpson had chosen it on +that account, and her foresight was rewarded. By a little ingenuity, +that useful letter could be twisted to fit practically any hiding-place +in the house. The things that were neither bureaux, beds, bags, boxes, +baskets nor bibelot-tables could usually be described as big, black, +brown or buhl or, at a pinch, as being bedroom or boudoir furniture, +and since every shelf, drawer and pigeon-hole in every object was +crammed full of newspaper-cuttings, letters and assorted souvenirs, the +searchers soon found their heads, legs and backs aching with effort. + +"I'd no idea," said Miss Booth, "that there could be so many possible +places." + +Miss Climpson, sitting on the floor, with her back hair uncoiling +itself and her decent black petticoats tucked up nearly to the +soap-box, agreed wearily. + +"It's dreadfully exhausting, isn't it?" said Miss Booth. "Wouldn't you +like to stop? I can go on searching tomorrow by myself. It's a shame to +tire you out in this way." + +Miss Climpson turned this over in her mind. If the will were found in +her absence and sent to Norman Urquhart, would Miss Murchison be able +to get hold of it before it was again hidden away or destroyed? She +wondered. + +Hidden away, not destroyed. The mere fact that the will had been sent +to him by Miss Booth would prevent the solicitor from making away +with it, for there would be a witness to its existence. But he might +successfully conceal it for a considerable time--and time was of the +essence of the adventure. + +"Oh, I'm not a scrap tired," she said brightly, sitting up on her heels +and restoring her coiffure to something more like its usual neatness. +She had a black note-book in her hand, taken from a drawer in one of +the Japanese cabinets, and was turning its pages mechanically. A line +of figures caught her eye: 12, 18, 4, 0, 9, 3, 15, and she wondered +vaguely what they referred to. + +"We've looked through everything here," said Miss Booth. "I don't +believe we've missed anything--unless, of course, there is a secret +drawer somewhere." + +"Could it be in a book, do you think?" + +"A book! Why, of course it might. How silly of us not to think of that! +In detective stories, wills are always hidden in books." + +"More often than in real life," thought Miss Climpson, but she got up +and dusted herself and said cheerfully: + +"So they are. Are there many books in the house?" + +"Thousands," said Miss Booth. "Downstairs in the library." + +"I shouldn't have expected Mrs. Wrayburn to be a great reader, somehow." + +"Oh, I don't think she was. The books were bought with the house, so +Mr. Urquhart told me. They're nearly all old ones, you know--big things +bound in leather. Dreadfully dull. I've never found a thing to read +there. But they're just the sort of books to hide wills in." + +They emerged into the corridor. + +"By the way," said Miss Climpson, "won't the servants think it funny of +us to be wandering about the place so late?" + +"They all sleep in the other wing. Besides, they know that I sometimes +have visitors. Mrs. Craig has often been here as late as this when we +have had interesting sittings. There's a spare bedroom where I can put +people up when I want to." + +Miss Climpson made no more objections, and they went downstairs and +along the hall into the library. It was big, and books filled the walls +and bays in serried ranks--a heart-breaking sight. + +"Of course," said Miss Booth, "if the communication hadn't insisted on +something beginning with B--" + +"Well?" + +"Well--I should have expected any papers to be in the safe down here." + +Miss Climpson groaned in spirit. The obvious place, naturally! If only +her misplaced ingenuity--well! one must make the best of it. + +"Why not look?" she suggested. "The letter B. may have been referring +to something quite different. Or it may have been an interruption from +George Washington. It would be quite like him to use words beginning +with a B, don't you think?" + +"But if it was in the safe, Mr. Urquhart would know about it." + +Miss Climpson began to feel that she had let her invention play about +too freely. + +"It wouldn't do any harm to make sure," she suggested. + +"But I don't know the combination," said Miss Booth. "Mr. Urquhart +does, of course. We could write and ask him." + +An inspiration came to Miss Climpson. + +"I believe I know it," she exclaimed. "There was a row of seven figures +in that black note-book I was looking at just now, and it passed +through my mind that they must be a memorandum of something." + +"Black Book!" cried Miss Booth. "Why, there you are! How could we have +been so silly! Of course, Mrs. Wrayburn was trying to tell us where to +find the combination!" + +Miss Climpson again blessed the all-round utility of the letter B. + +"I'll run up and fetch it," she cried. + +When she came down again, Miss Booth was standing before a section of +the bookshelves, which had swung out from the wall, disclosing the +green door of a built-in safe. With trembling hands, Miss Climpson +touched the milled knob and turned it. + +The first attempt was unsuccessful, owing to the fact that the note did +not make it clear which way the knob should be turned first, but at +the second attempt the pointer swung over on the seventh figure with a +satisfying click. + +Miss Booth seized the handle, and the heavy door moved and stood open. + +A bundle of papers lay inside. On the top, staring them in the face, +was a long, sealed envelope. Miss Climpson pounced upon it. + + "Will of Rosanna Wrayburn + 5 June 1920." + +"Well, isn't that marvellous?" cried Miss Booth. On the whole, Miss +Climpson agreed with her. + + + + + CHAPTER XIX + + +Miss Climpson stayed the night in the spare bedroom. + +"The best thing," she said, "will be for you to write a little letter +to Mr. Urquhart, explaining about the séance, and saying that you +thought it best and safest to send the will on to him." + +"He will be very much surprised," said Miss Booth. "I wonder what he +will say. Lawyers don't believe in spirit communications as a rule. And +he'll think it rather funny that we should have managed to open the +safe." + +"Well, but the spirit led us directly to the combination, didn't it? He +could hardly expect you to ignore a message like that, could he? The +proof of your good faith is that you are sending the will straight to +him. And it would be as well, don't you think, if you asked him to come +up and check the other contents of the safe and have the combination +altered." + +"Wouldn't it be better if I kept the will and asked him to come for it?" + +"But perhaps he requires it urgently?" + +"Then why hasn't he been to fetch it?" + +Miss Climpson noted with some irritation that, where spiritualistic +messages were not concerned, Miss Booth showed signs of developing an +independent judgment. + +"Perhaps he doesn't know yet that he wants it. Perhaps the spirits +foresaw an urgent need that will only arise tomorrow." + +"Oh, yes, that's quite likely. If only people would avail themselves +more fully of the marvellous guidance given to them, so much might be +foreseen and provided for! Well, I think you are right. We will find a +big envelope to fit it, and I will write a letter and we will send it +by the first post tomorrow." + +"It had better be registered," said Miss Climpson. "If you will entrust +it to me, I will take it down to the post-office first thing." + +"Will you? That will be a great relief to my mind. Well now, I'm sure +you're as tired as I am, so I'll put on a kettle for the hot-water +bottles and we'll turn in. Will you make yourself comfy in my +sitting-room? I've only got to put the sheets on your bed. What? No, +indeed, I can do it in a moment; _please_ don't bother. I'm so used to +making beds." + +"Then I'll see to the kettles," said Miss Climpson. "I simply _must_ +make myself useful." + +"Very well. It won't take long. The water is quite hot in the kitchen +boiler." + +Left alone in the kitchen, with a kettle bumping and singing on its +way to boiling-point, Miss Climpson wasted no time. She tip-toed +quickly out again and stood with ear cocked at the foot of the stairs, +listening to the nurse's footsteps as they pattered into the distance. +Then she slipped into the little sitting-room, took up the will in its +sealed envelope, and a long thin paper-knife which she had already +marked down as a useful weapon, and hastened back to the kitchen. + +It is astonishing how long a kettle which seems to be on the verge of +boiling will take before the looked-for jet of steady steam emerges +from its spout. Delusive little puffs and deceptive pauses in the song +tantalise the watcher interminably. It seemed to Miss Climpson that +there would have been time to make twenty beds before the kettle boiled +that evening. But even a watched pot cannot absorb heat for ever. After +what appeared to be an hour, but was actually about seven minutes, Miss +Climpson, guilty and furtive, was holding the flap of the envelope +before the scalding steam. + +"I mustn't hurry," said Miss Climpson, "oh, blessed saints, I mustn't +hurry, or I shall tear it." + +She slipped the paper-knife under the flap; it lifted; it opened +cleanly, just as Miss Booth's step resounded in the passage. + +Miss Climpson adroitly dropped the paper-knife behind the stove and +thrust the envelope, with the flap doubled back to prevent it from +re-sticking itself, behind a dish-cover on the wall. + +"The water's ready!" she cried blithely. "Where are the bottles?" + +It is a tribute to her nerve that she filled them with a steady hand. +Miss Booth thanked her, and departed upstairs, a bottle in each hand. + +Miss Climpson pulled the will from its hiding-place, drew it from its +envelope and glanced swiftly through it. + +It was not a long document, and in spite of the legal phraseology, its +purport was easily gathered. Within three minutes she had replaced it, +moistened the gum and stuck the flap down again. She put it in her +petticoat-pocket--for her garments were of a useful and old-fashioned +kind--and went to hunt in the pantry. When Miss Booth returned, she was +making tea peacefully. + +"I thought it would refresh us after our labours," she remarked. + +"A very good idea," said Miss Booth; "in fact, I was just going to +suggest it." + +Miss Climpson carried the tea-pot to the sitting-room, leaving Miss +Booth to follow with the cups, milk and sugar on a tray. With the +tea-pot on the hob and the will once more lying innocently on the +table, she smiled and breathed deeply. Her mission was accomplished. + + * * * * * + +Letter from Miss Climpson to Lord Peter Wimsey. + + Tuesday, Jan. 7, 1930. + + My dear Lord Peter, + + As my _telegram_ this morning will have informed you, I have + SUCCEEDED!! Though what excuse I can find in my _conscience_ for + the _methods_ I have used, I _don't_ KNOW! but I believe the + Church takes into account the necessity of _deception_ in certain + _professions_, such as that of a _police-detective_ or a SPY in + time of WARFARE, and I _trust_ that my _subterfuges_ may be allowed + to come under that _category_. However, you will not want to hear + about my _religious scruples_! So I will hasten to let you know + _what_ I have DISCOVERED!! + + In my last letter I explained the _plan_ I had in mind, so you + will know what to do about the _Will itself_, which was duly + _despatched_ by _Registered Post_ this morning under cover to _Mr. + Norman Urquhart_. How surprised he will be to get it!!! Miss Booth + wrote an excellent _covering letter_, which I _saw_ before it went, + which explains the circumstances and _mentions_ NO NAMES!! I have + wired to Miss Murchison to _expect_ the package, and I hope that + when it comes she will contrive to be _present_ at the opening, so + as to constitute _yet another_ WITNESS to its existence. In any + case, I should not think he would _venture_ to _tamper_ with it. + Perhaps Miss Murchison may be able to INVESTIGATE it in detail, + which I had not _time_ to do (it was all _most_ adventurous! and I + am looking forward to _telling_ you ALL ABOUT IT when I come back), + but in case she is _not_ able to do so, I will give you the _rough + outline_. + + The property consists of _real estate_ (the house and grounds) and + a _personalty_ (am I not _good_ at legal terms??) which I am not + able to calculate _exactly_. But the gist of it all is this:-- + + The _real estate_ is left to _Philip Boyes_, absolutely. + + _Fifty thousand pounds_ is left to _Philip Boyes_ also, in _cash_. + + The remainder (is not this called the residue?) is left to NORMAN + URQUHART, who is appointed sole executor. + + There are a few _small legacies_ to Stage Charities, of which I did + not manage to memorise any _particulars_. + + There is a special paragraph, explaining that the greater part of + the property is left to _Philip Boyes_ in token that the testatrix + FORGIVES the ill-treatment meted out to her by _his family_, for + which he was _not responsible_. + + The date of the Will is 5 June 1920, and the _witnesses_ are _Eva + Gubbins_, housekeeper, and _John Briggs_, gardener. + + I hope, dear Lord Peter, that this information will be enough for + your purpose. I had hoped that even _after_ Miss Booth had enclosed + the Will in a _covering envelope_ I might be able to take it out + and _peruse_ it at leisure, but unfortunately she _sealed_ it for + greater security with Mrs. Wrayburn's _private seal_, which I + had not sufficient _dexterity_ to _remove and replace_, though I + understand it is possible to _do so_ with a _hot knife_. + + You will _understand_ that I cannot leave Windle _just yet_--it + would look so odd to do so immediately after this occurrence. + Besides, I am hoping, in a further series of "sittings," to _warn_ + Miss Booth against Mrs. Craig and her "control" Fedora, as I am + _quite sure_ that this person is _quite_ as great a _charlatan_ as + I AM!!!--and without my _altruistic_ motives!! So you will not be + surprised if I am away from Town for, say, _another week_! I am a + little worried about the _extra expense_ of this, but if you do not + think it _justified_ for the sake of safety, _let me know_--and I + will alter my arrangements accordingly. + + Wishing you _all success_, dear Lord Peter, + + Most sincerely yours, + Katharine A. Climpson. + + P.S. I managed to do the "job" _very nearly_ within the stipulated + week, you see. I am _so sorry_ it was not _quite_ finished + yesterday, but I was so _terrified_ of _spoiling_ the WHOLE THING + by _rushing_ it!! + + * * * * * + +"Bunter," said Lord Peter, looking up from this letter, "I _knew_ there +was something fishy about that will." + +"Yes, my lord." + +"There is something about wills which brings out the worst side of +human nature. People who under ordinary circumstances are perfectly +upright and amiable, go as curly as corkscrews and foam at the mouth, +whenever they hear the words 'I devise and bequeath.' That reminds me, +a spot of champagne in a silver tankard is no bad thing to celebrate +on. Get up a bottle of the Pommery and tell Chief-Inspector Parker I +should be glad of a word with him. And bring me those notes of Mr. +Arbuthnot's. And oh, Bunter!" + +"My lord?" + +"Get Mr. Crofts on the 'phone and give him my compliments, and say I +have found the criminal and the motive and hope presently to produce +proof of the way the crime was done, if he will see that the case is +put off for a week or so." + +"Very good, my lord." + +"All the same, Bunter, I really don't know how it _was_ done." + +"That will undoubtedly suggest itself before long, my lord." + +"Oh, yes," said Wimsey, airily. "Of course. Of course. I'm not worrying +about a trifle like that." + + + + + CHAPTER XX + + +"T'ch! t'ch!" said Mr. Pond, clicking his tongue against his denture. + +Miss Murchison looked up from her typewriter. + +"Is anything the matter, Mr. Pond?" + +"No, nothing," said the head-clerk, testily. "A foolish letter from a +foolish member of your sex, Miss Murchison." + +"That's nothing new." + +Mr. Pond frowned, conceiving the tone of his subordinate's voice to be +impertinent. He picked up the letter and its enclosure and took them +into the inner office. + +Miss Murchison nipped swiftly across to his desk and glanced at the +registered envelope which lay upon it, open. The post-mark was 'Windle.' + +"That's luck," said Miss Murchison, to herself. "Mr. Pond is a better +witness than I should be. I'm glad he opened it." + +She regained her place. In a few minutes Mr. Pond emerged, smiling +slightly. + +Five minutes later, Miss Murchison, who had been frowning over her +shorthand note-book, rose up and came over to him. + +"Can you read shorthand, Mr. Pond?" + +"No," said the head-clerk. "In my day it was not considered necessary." + +"I can't make out this outline," said Miss Murchison. "It looks like +'give consent to,' but it may be only 'give consideration to'--there's +a difference, isn't there?" + +"There certainly is," said Mr. Pond, drily. + +"P'raps I'd better not risk it," said Miss Murchison. "It's got to go +off this morning. I'd better ask him." + +Mr. Pond snorted--not for the first time--over the carelessness of the +female typist. + +Miss Murchison walked briskly across the room and opened the inner door +without knocking--an informality which left Mr. Pond groaning again. + +Mr. Urquhart was standing up with his back to the door, doing something +or other at the mantelpiece. He turned round sharply, with an +exclamation of annoyance. + +"I have told you before, Miss Murchison, that I like you to knock +before entering." + +"I am very sorry; I forgot." + +"Don't let it happen again. What is it?" + +He did not return to his desk, but stood leaning against the +mantelshelf. His sleek head, outlined against the drab-painted +panelling, was a little thrown back, as though--Miss Murchison +thought--he were protecting or defying somebody. + +"I could not quite make out my shorthand note of your letter to Tewke & +Peabody," said Miss Murchison, "and I thought it better to come and ask +you." + +"I wish," said Mr. Urquhart, fixing a stern eye upon her, "that you +would take your notes clearly at the time. If I am going too fast for +you, you should tell me so. It would save trouble in the end--wouldn't +it?" + +Miss Murchison was reminded of a little set of rules which Lord Peter +Wimsey--half in jest and half in earnest--had once prepared for the +guidance of "The Cattery." Of Rule Seven, in particular, which ran: +"Always distrust the man who looks you straight in the eyes. He wants +to prevent you from seeing something. Look for it." + +She shifted her eyes under her employer's gaze. + +"I'm very sorry, Mr. Urquhart. I won't let it occur again," she +muttered. There was a curious dark line at the edge of the panelling +just behind the solicitor's head, as though the panel did not quite fit +its frame. She had never noticed it before. + +"Well, now, what is the trouble?" + +Miss Murchison asked her question, got her answer and retired. As she +went, she cast a glance over the desk. The will was not there. + +She went back and finished her letters. When she took them in to be +signed, she seized the opportunity to look at the panelling again. +There was no dark line to be seen. + +Miss Murchison left the office promptly at half-past four. She had +a feeling that it would be unwise to linger about the premises. She +walked briskly away through Hand Court, turned to the right along +Holborn, dived to the right again through Featherstone Buildings, made +a detour through Red Lion Street and debouched into Red Lion Square. +Within five minutes she was at her old walk round the square, and up +Princeton Street. Presently, from a safe distance, she saw Mr. Pond +come out, thin, stiff and stooping, and walk down Bedford Row towards +Chancery Lane Station. Before very long, Mr. Urquhart followed. He +stood a moment on the threshold, glancing to left and right, then came +straight across the street towards her. For a moment she thought he +had seen her, and she dived hurriedly behind a van that was standing +at the kerb. Under its shelter, she withdrew to the corner of the +street, where there is a butcher's shop, and scanned a windowful of +New Zealand lamb and chilled beef. Mr. Urquhart came nearer. His steps +grew louder--then paused. Miss Murchison glued her eyes on a round of +meat marked 4-1/2lb. 3/4d. A voice said: "Good-evening, Miss Murchison. +Choosing your supper-chop?" + +"Oh! Good-evening, Mr. Urquhart. Yes--I was just wishing that +Providence had seen fit to provide more joints suitable for single +people." + +"Yes--one gets tired of beef and mutton." + +"And pork is apt to be indigestible." + +"Just so. Well, you should cease to be single, Miss Murchison." + +Miss Murchison giggled. + +"But this is so sudden, Mr. Urquhart." + +Mr. Urquhart flushed under his curious freckled skin. + +"Good-night," he said abruptly, and with extreme coldness. + +Miss Murchison laughed to herself as he strode off. + +"Thought that would settle him. It's a great mistake to be familiar +with your subordinates. They take advantage of you." + +She watched him out of sight on the far side of the Square, then +returned along Princeton Street, crossed Bedford Row and re-entered the +office building. The charwoman was just coming downstairs. + +"Well, Mrs. Hodges, it's me again! Do you mind letting me in? I've lost +a pattern of silk. I think I must have left it in my desk, or dropped +it on the floor. Have you come across it?" + +"No, miss, I ain't done your office yet." + +"Then I'll have a hunt round for it. I want to get up to Bourne's +before half-past six. It's such a nuisance." + +"Yes, miss, and such a crowd always with the buses and things. Here you +are, miss." + +She opened the door, and Miss Murchison darted in. + +"Shall I 'elp you to look for it, miss?" + +"No, thank you, Mrs. Hodges, please don't bother. I don't expect it's +far off." + +Mrs. Hodges took up a pail and went to fill it at a tap in the back +yard. As soon as her heavy steps had ascended again to the first floor, +Miss Murchison made for the inner office. + +"I must and will see what's behind that panelling." + +The houses in Bedford Row are Hogarthian in type, tall, symmetrical, +with the glamour of better days upon them. The panels in Mr. Urquhart's +room, though defaced by many coats of paint, were handsomely designed, +and over the mantelpiece ran a festoon of flowers and fruit, rather +florid for the period, with a ribbon and basket in the center. If the +panel was controlled by a concealed spring, the boss that moved it was +probably to be found among this decorative work. Pulling a chair to the +fireplace, Miss Murchison ran her fingers quickly over the festoon, +pushing and pressing with both hands, while keeping her ear cocked for +intruders. + +This kind of investigation is easy for experts, but Miss Murchison's +knowledge of secret hiding places was only culled from sensational +literature; she could not find the trick of the thing. After nearly a +quarter of an hour, she began to despair. + +Thump--thump--thump--Mrs. Hodges was coming downstairs. + +Miss Murchison sprang away from the panelling so hastily that the chair +slipped, and she had to thrust hard at the wall to save herself. She +jumped down, restored the chair to its place, glanced up--and saw the +panel standing wide open. + +At first she thought it was a miracle, but soon realised that in +slipping she had thrust sideways at the frame of the panel. A small +square of woodwork had slipped away sideways, and exposed an inner +panel with a keyhole in the middle. + +She heard Mrs. Hodges in the outer room, but she was too excited to +bother about what Mrs. Hodges might be thinking. She pushed a heavy +chair across the door, so that nobody could enter without noise and +difficulty. In a moment Blindfold Bill's keys were in her hand--how +fortunate that she had not returned them! How fortunate, too, that Mr. +Urquhart had relied on the secrecy of the panel, and had not thought it +worth while to fit his cache with a patent lock! + +A few moments' quick work with the keys, and the lock turned. She +pulled the little door open. + +Inside was a bundle of papers. Miss Murchison ran them over--at +first quickly--then again, with a puzzled face. Receipts for +securities--Share certificates--Megatherium Trust--surely the names of +those investments were familiar--where had she...? + +Suddenly Miss Murchison sat down, feeling quite faint, the bundle of +papers in her hand. + +She realised now what had happened to Mrs. Wrayburn's money, which +Norman Urquhart had been handling under that confiding Deed of Trust, +and why the matter of the will was so important. Her head whirled. She +picked up a sheet of paper from the desk and began jotting down in +hurried shorthand the particulars of the various transactions of which +these documents were the evidence. + +Somebody bumped at the door. + +"Are you in here, miss?" + +"Just a moment, Mrs. Hodges. I think I must have dropped it on the +floor in here." + +She gave the big chair a sharp push, effectually closing the door. + +She must hurry. Anyway she had got down enough to convince Lord Peter +that Mr. Urquhart's affairs needed looking into. She put the papers +back into the cupboard, in the exact place from which she had taken +them. The will was there, too, she noticed, laid on one side by itself. +She peered in. There was something else, tucked away at the back. She +thrust her hand in and pulled the mysterious object out. It was a white +paper packet, labelled with the name of a foreign chemist. The end had +been opened and tucked in again. She pulled the paper apart, and saw +that the packet contained about two ounces of a fine white powder. + +Next to hidden treasure and mysterious documents, nothing is more full +of sensational suggestion than a packet of anonymous white powder. Miss +Murchison caught up another sheet of clean paper, tipped a thimbleful +of the powder into it, replaced the packet at the back of the +cupboard and re-locked the door with the skeleton key. With trembling +fingers she pushed the panel back into place, taking care to shut it +completely, so as to show no betraying dark line. + +She rolled the chair away from the door and cried out gaily: + +"I've got it, Mrs. Hodges!" + +"There, now!" said Mrs. Hodges, appearing in the doorway. + +"Just fancy!" said Miss Murchison. "I was looking through my patterns +when Mr. Urquhart rang, and this one must have stuck to my frock and +dropped on the floor in here." + +She held up a small piece of silk triumphantly. She had torn it from +the lining of her bag in the course of the afternoon--a proof, if any +were needed, of her devotion to her work, for the bag was a good one. + +"Dearie me," said Mrs. Hodges. "What a good thing you found it, wasn't +it, miss?" + +"I nearly didn't," said Miss Murchison, "it was right in this +dark corner. Well, I must fly to get there before the shop shuts. +Good-night, Mrs. Hodges." + +But long before the accommodating Messrs. Bourne & Hollingsworth had +closed their doors, Miss Murchison was ringing the second floor bell at +110a, Piccadilly. + + * * * * * + +She found a council in progress. There was the Hon. Freddy Arbuthnot, +looking amiable, Chief-Inspector Parker, looking worried, Lord Peter, +looking somnolent, and Bunter, who, having introduced her, retired to +a position on the fringe of the assembly and hovered there looking +correct. + +"Have you brought us news, Miss Murchison? If so, you have come at the +exact right moment to find the eagles gathered together. Mr. Arbuthnot, +Chief-Inspector Parker, Miss Murchison. Now let's all sit down and +be happy together. Have you had tea? or will you absorb a spot of +something?" + +Miss Murchison declined refreshment. + +"H'm!" said Wimsey. "The patient refuses food. Her eyes glitter wildly. +The expression is anxious. The lips are parted. The fingers fumble +with the clasp of the bag. The symptoms point to an acute attack of +communicativeness. Tell us the worst, Miss Murchison." + +Miss Murchison needed no urging. She told her adventures, and had the +pleasure of holding her audience enthralled from the first word to the +last. When she finally produced the screw of paper containing the white +powder, the sentiments of the company expressed themselves in a round +of applause, in which Bunter joined discreetly. + +"Are you convinced, Charles?" asked Wimsey. + +"I admit that I am heavily shaken," said Parker. "Of course, the powder +must be analysed--" + +"It shall, embodied caution," said Wimsey. "Bunter, make ready the rack +and thumbscrew. Bunter has been taking lessons in Marsh's test, and +performs it to admiration. You know all about it too, Charles, don't +you?" + +"Enough for a rough test." + +"Carry on then, my children. In the meanwhile, let us sum up our +findings." + +Bunter went out and Parker, who had been making entries in a note-book, +cleared his throat. + +"Well," he said, "the matter stands, I take it, like this. You say that +Miss Vane is innocent, and you undertake to prove this by bringing a +convincing accusation against Norman Urquhart. So far, your evidence +against him is almost entirely concerned with motive, bolstered up by +proofs of intent to mislead enquiry. You say that your investigations +have brought the case against Urquhart to a point at which the police +can, and ought to, take it up, and I am inclined to agree with you. +I warn you, however, that you still have to establish evidence as to +means and opportunity." + +"I know that. Tell us a new one." + +"All right, as long as you know it. Very well. Now Philip Boyes and +Norman Urquhart are the only surviving relations of Mrs. Wrayburn, +or Cremorna Garden, who is rich, and has money to leave. A number +of years ago, Mrs. Wrayburn put all her affairs into the hands of +Urquhart's father, the only member of the family with whom she remained +on friendly terms. On his father's death, Norman Urquhart took over +those affairs himself, and in 1920, Mrs. Wrayburn executed a Deed of +Trust, giving him sole authority to handle her property. She also made +a will, dividing her property unequally between her two great-nephews. +Philip Boyes got all the real estate and £50,000, while Norman Urquhart +took whatever was left and was also sole executor. Norman Urquhart, +when questioned about this Will, deliberately told you an untruth, +saying that the bulk of the money was left to him, and even went so +far as to produce a document purporting to be a draft of such a will. +The pretended date of this draft is subsequent to that of the Will +discovered by Miss Climpson, but there is no doubt that the draft +itself was drawn out by Urquhart, certainly within the last three years +and probably within the last few days. Moreover, the fact that the +actual Will, though lying in a place accessible to Urquhart, was not +destroyed by him, suggests that it was not, in fact, superseded by any +subsequent testamentary disposition. By the way, Wimsey, why didn't he +simply take the will and destroy it? As the sole surviving heir, he +would then inherit without dispute." + +"Perhaps it didn't occur to him. Or there might even be other relatives +surviving. How about that uncle in Australia?" + +"True. At any rate he didn't destroy it. In 1925 Mrs. Wrayburn became +completely paralysed and imbecile, so that there was no possibility of +her ever enquiring into the disposition of her estate or making another +will. + +"About this time, as we know from Mr. Arbuthnot, Urquhart took the +dangerous step of plunging into speculation. He made mistakes, lost +money, plunged more deeply to recover himself, and was involved to a +large extent in the great crash of Megatherium Trust, Ltd. He certainly +lost far more than he could possibly afford, and we now find, from +Miss Murchison's discoveries--of which I must say that I should hate +to have to take official notice--that he had been consistently abusing +his position as Trustee and employing Mrs. Wrayburn's money for his +private speculations. He deposited her holdings as security for large +loans, and embarked the money thus raised in the Megatherium and other +wild-cat schemes. + +"As long as Mrs. Wrayburn lived, he was fairly safe, for he only had to +pay to her the sums necessary to keep up her house and establishment. +In fact, all the household bills and so on were settled by him as her +man of affairs under Power of Attorney, all salaries were paid by him, +and so long as he did this, it was nobody's business to ask what he had +done with the capital. But as soon as Mrs. Wrayburn died, he would have +to account to the other heir, Philip Boyes, for the capital which he +had misappropriated. + +"Now in 1929, just about the time that Philip Boyes quarreled with +Miss Vane, Mrs. Wrayburn had a serious attack of illness and very +nearly died. The danger passed, but might recur at any moment. Almost +immediately afterwards we find him becoming friendly with Philip Boyes +and inviting him to stay at his house. While living with Urquhart, +Boyes has three attacks of illness, attributed by his doctor to +gastritis, but equally consistent with arsenical poisoning. In June +1929, Philip Boyes goes away to Wales and his health improves. + +"While Philip Boyes is absent, Mrs. Wrayburn has another alarming +attack, and Urquhart hastens up to Windle, possibly with the idea of +destroying the will in case the worst happens. It does not happen, and +he comes back to London, just in time to receive Boyes on his return +from Wales. That night, Boyes is taken ill with symptoms similar to +those of the previous spring, but much more violent. After three days +he dies. + +"Urquhart is now perfectly safe. As residuary legatee, he will receive, +at Mrs. Wrayburn's death, all the money bequeathed to Philip Boyes. +That is, he will not get it, because he has already taken it and +lost it, but he will no longer be called upon to produce it and his +fraudulent dealings will not be exposed. + +"So far, the evidence as to motive is extremely cogent, and far more +convincing than the evidence against Miss Vane. + +"But here is your snag, Wimsey. When and how was the poison +administered? We know that Miss Vane possessed arsenic and that she +could easily have given it to him without witnesses. But Urquhart's +only opportunity was at the dinner he shared with Boyes, and if +anything in this case is certain, it is that the poison was not +administered at that dinner. Everything which Boyes ate or drank was +equally eaten and drunk by Urquhart and the servants, with the single +exception of the burgundy, which was preserved and analysed and found +to be harmless." + +"I know," said Wimsey, "but that is what is so suspicious. Did you +ever hear of a meal hedged round with such precautions? It's not +natural, Charles. There's the sherry, poured out by the maid from +the original bottle, the soup, fish and casseroled chicken--so +impossible to poison in one portion without poisoning the whole--the +omelette, so ostentatiously prepared at the table by the hands of the +victim--the wine, sealed up and marked--the remnants consumed in the +kitchen--you would think the man had gone out of his way to construct a +suspicion-proof meal. The wine is the final touch which makes the thing +incredible. Do you tell me that at that earliest moment when everybody +supposes the illness to be a natural one, and when the affectionate +cousin ought to be overwhelmed with anxiety for the sick man, it is +natural or believable that an innocent person's mind should fly to +accusations of poisoning? If he was innocent himself, then he suspected +something. If he did suspect, why didn't he tell the doctor and have +the patient's secretions and so on analysed? Why should he ever have +thought of protecting himself against accusation when no accusation had +been made, unless he knew that an accusation would be well-founded? And +then there's the business about the nurse." + +"Exactly. The nurse did have her suspicions." + +"If he knew about them, he ought to have taken steps to refute them +in the proper way. But I don't think he did know about them. I was +referring to what you told us today. The police have got in touch with +the nurse again, Miss Williams, and she tells them that Norman Urquhart +took special pains never to be left alone with the patient, and never +to give him any food or medicine, even when she herself was present. +Doesn't that argue a bad conscience?" + +"You won't find any lawyer or jury to believe it, Peter." + +"Yes, but look here, doesn't it strike you as funny? Listen to this, +Miss Murchison. One day the nurse was doing something or the other +in the room, and she had got the medicine there on the mantelpiece. +Something was said about it, and Boyes remarked, 'Oh, don't bother, +Nurse. Norman can give me my dope.' Does Norman say, 'Right-ho, old +man?' as you or I would? No! He says: 'No, I'll leave it to Nurse--I +might make a mess of it.' Pretty feeble, what?" + +"Lots of people are nervous about looking after invalids," said Miss +Murchison. + +"Yes, but most people can pour stuff out of a bottle into a glass. +Boyes wasn't _in extremis_--he was speaking quite rationally and all +that. I say the man was deliberately protecting himself." + +"Possibly," said Parker, "but after all, old man, when _did_ he +administer the poison?" + +"Probably not at the dinner at all," said Miss Murchison. "As you say, +the precautions seem rather obvious. They may have been intended to +make people concentrate on the dinner and forget other possibilities. +Did he have a whisky when he arrived or before he went out or anything?" + +"Alas, he did not. Bunter has been cultivating Hannah Westlock almost +to breach of promise point, and she says that she opened the door to +Boyes on his arrival, that he went straight upstairs to his room, that +Urquhart was out at the time and only came in a quarter of an hour +before dinner-time, and that the two men met for the first time over +the famous glass of sherry in the library. The folding-doors between +the library and dining-room were open and Hannah was buzzing round the +whole time laying the table, and she is sure that Boyes had the sherry +and nothing but the sherry." + +"Not so much as a digestive tablet?" + +"Nothing." + +"How about after dinner?" + +"When they had finished the omelette, Urquhart said something about +coffee. Boyes looked at his watch and said, 'No time, old chap, I've +got to be getting along to Doughty Street.' Urquhart said he would +ring up a taxi, and went out to do so. Boyes folded up his napkin, got +up and went into the hall. Hannah followed and helped him on with his +coat. The taxi arrived. Boyes got in and off he went without seeing +Urquhart again." + +"It seems to me," said Miss Murchison, "that Hannah is an exceedingly +important witness for Mr. Urquhart's defence. You don't think--I hardly +like to suggest it--but you don't think that Bunter is allowing his +feelings to overcome his judgment?" + +"He says," replied Lord Peter, "that he believes Hannah to be a +sincerely religious woman. He has sat beside her in chapel and shared +her hymn-book." + +"But that may be the merest hypocrisy," said Miss Murchison, rather +warmly, for she was militantly rationalist. "I don't trust these +unctuous people." + +"I didn't offer that as a proof of Hannah's virtue," said Wimsey, "but +of Bunter's unsusceptibility." + +"But he looks like a deacon himself." + +"You've never seen Bunter off duty," said Lord Peter, darkly. "I have, +and I can assure you that a hymn-book would be about as softening to +his heart as neat whisky to an Anglo-Indian liver. No; if Bunter says +Hannah is honest, then she _is_ honest." + +"Then that definitely cuts out the drinks and the dinner," said Miss +Murchison, unconvinced, but willing to be open-minded. "How about the +water-bottle in the bedroom?" + +"The devil!" cried Wimsey. "That's one up to you, Miss Murchison. We +didn't think of that. The water-bottle--yes--a perfectly fruity idea. +You recollect, Charles, that in the Bravo case, it was suggested that +a disgruntled servant had put tartar emetic in the water-bottle. Oh, +Bunter--here you are! Next time you hold Hannah's hand, will you ask +her whether Mr. Boyes drank any water from his bedroom water-bottle +before dinner?" + +"Pardon me, my lord, the possibility had already presented itself to my +mind." + +"It had?" + +"Yes, my lord." + +"Do you never overlook anything, Bunter?" + +"I endeavour to give satisfaction, my lord." + +"Well then, don't talk like Jeeves. It irritates me. What about the +water-bottle?" + +"I was about to observe, my lord, when this lady arrived, that I had +elicited a somewhat peculiar circumstance relating to the water-bottle." + +"Now we're getting somewhere," said Parker, flattening out a new page +of his note-book. + +"I would not go so far as to say that, sir. Hannah informed me that +she showed Mr. Boyes into his bedroom on his arrival and withdrew, +as it was her place to do. She had scarcely reached the head of the +staircase, when Mr. Boyes put his head out of the door and recalled +her. He then asked her to fill his water-bottle. She was considerably +astonished at this request, since she had a perfect recollection of +having previously filled it when she put the room in order." + +"Could he have emptied it himself?" asked Parker, eagerly. + +"Not into his interior, sir--there had not been time. Nor had the +drinking-glass been utilised. Moreover, the bottle was not merely +empty, but dry inside. Hannah apologised for the neglect, and +immediately rinsed out the bottle and filled it from the tap." + +"Curious," said Parker. "But it's quite likely she never filled it at +all." + +"Pardon me, sir. Hannah was so much surprised by the episode that she +mentioned it to Mrs. Pettican, the cook, who said that she distinctly +recollected seeing her fill the bottle that morning." + +"Well, then," said Parker, "Urquhart or somebody must have emptied it +and dried it out. Now, why? What would one naturally do if one found +one's water-bottle empty?" + +"Ring the bell," said Wimsey, promptly. + +"Or shout for help," added Parker. + +"Or," said Miss Murchison, "if one wasn't accustomed to be waited on, +one might use the water from the bedroom jug." + +"Ah! ... of course Boyes was used to a more or less Bohemian life." + +"But surely," said Wimsey, "that's idiotically roundabout. It would +be much simpler just to poison the water in the bottle. Why direct +attention to the thing by making it more difficult? Besides, you +couldn't count on the victim's using the jug-water--and, as a matter of +fact, he didn't." + +"And he _was_ poisoned," said Miss Murchison, "so the poison wasn't +either in the jug or the bottle." + +"No--I'm afraid there's nothing to be got out of the jug and bottle +department. Hollow, hollow, hollow all delight, Tennyson." + +"All the same," said Parker, "that incident convinces me. It's too +complete, somehow. Wimsey's right; it's not natural for a defence to be +so perfect." + +"My God," said Wimsey, "we have convinced Charles Parker. Nothing more +is needed. He is more adamantine than any jury." + +"Yes," said Parker, modestly, "but I'm more logical, I think. And I'm +not being flustered by the Attorney-General. I should feel happier with +a little evidence of a more objective kind." + +"You would. You want some real arsenic. Well, Bunter, what about it?" + +"The apparatus is quite ready, my lord." + +"Very good. Let us go and see if we can give Mr. Parker what he wants. +Lead and we follow." + +In a small apartment usually devoted to Bunter's photographic work, +and furnished with a sink, a bench, and a bunsen burner, stood the +apparatus necessary for making a Marsh's test of arsenic. The distilled +water was already bubbling gently in the flask, and Bunter lifted the +little glass tube which lay across the flame of the burner. + +"You will perceive, my lord," he observed, "that the apparatus is free +from contamination." + +"I see nothing at all," said Freddy. + +"That, as Sherlock Holmes would say, is what you may expect to see when +there is nothing there," said Wimsey, kindly. "Charles, you will pass +the water and the flask and the tube, old Uncle Tom Cobley and all as +being arsenic-free." + +"I will." + +"Wilt thou love, cherish, and keep her, in sickness or in +health--sorry! turned over two pages at once. Where's that powder? +Miss Murchison, you identify this sealed envelope as being the one you +brought from the office, complete with mysterious white powder from Mr. +Urquhart's secret hoard?" + +"I do." + +"Kiss the Book. Thank you. Now then--" + +"Wait a sec," said Parker, "you haven't tested the envelope separately." + +"That's true. There's always a snag somewhere. I suppose, Miss +Murchison, you haven't such a thing as another office envelope about +you?" + +Miss Murchison blushed, and fumbled in her handbag. + +"Well--there's a little note I scribbled this afternoon to a friend--" + +"_In_ your employer's time, _on_ your employer's paper," said Wimsey. +"Oh, how right Diogenes was when he took his lantern to look for an +honest typist! Never mind. Let's have it. Who wills the end, wills the +means." + +Miss Murchison extracted the envelope and freed it from the enclosure. +Bunter, receiving it respectfully on a developing dish, cut it into +small pieces which he dropped into the flask. The water bubbled +brightly, but the little tube still remained stainless from end to end. + +"Does something begin to happen soon?" enquired Mr. Arbuthnot. "Because +I feel this show's a bit lackin' in pep, what?" + +"If you don't sit still I shall take you out," retorted Wimsey. "Carry +on, Bunter. We'll pass the envelope." + +Bunter accordingly opened the second envelope, and delicately dropped +the white powder into the wide mouth of the flask. All five heads bent +eagerly over the apparatus. And presently, definitely, magically, +a thin silver stain began to form in the tube where the flame +impinged upon it. Second by second it spread and darkened to a deep +brownish-black ring with a shining metallic centre. + +"Oh, lovely, lovely," said Parker, with professional delight. + +"Your lamp's smoking or something," said Freddy. + +"Is that arsenic?" breathed Miss Murchison, gently. + +"I hope so," said Wimsey, gently detaching the tube and holding it up +to the light. "It's either arsenic or antimony." + +"Allow me, my lord. The addition of a small quantity of solute +chlorinated lime should decide the question beyond reach of cavil." + +He performed this further test amid an anxious silence. The stain +dissolved out and vanished under the bleaching solution. + +"Then it is arsenic," said Parker. + +"Oh, yes," said Wimsey, nonchalantly, "of course it is arsenic. Didn't +I tell you?" His voice wavered a little with suppressed triumph. + +"Is that all?" inquired Freddy, disappointed. + +"Isn't it enough?" said Miss Murchison. + +"Not quite," said Parker, "but it's a long way towards it. It proves +that Urquhart has arsenic in his possession, and by making an official +enquiry in France, we can probably find out whether this packet was +already in his possession last June. I notice, by the way, that it +is ordinary white arsenious acid, without any mixture of charcoal or +indigo, which agrees with what was found at the post-mortem. That's +satisfactory, but it would be even more satisfactory if we could +provide an opportunity for Urquhart to have administered it. So far, +all we have done is to demonstrate clearly that he couldn't have given +it to Boyes either before, during or after dinner, during the period +required for the symptoms to develop. I agree that an impossibility so +bolstered up by testimony is suspicious in itself, but, to convince a +jury, I should prefer something better than a _credo quia impossibile_." + +"Riddle-me-right, and riddle-me-ree," said Wimsey, imperturbably. +"We've overlooked something, that's all. Probably something quite +obvious. Give me the statutory dressing-gown and ounce of shag, and I +will undertake to dispose of this little difficulty for you in a brace +of shakes. In the meantime, you will no doubt take steps to secure, in +an official and laborious manner, the evidence which our kind friends +here have already so ably gathered in by unconventional methods, and +will stand by to arrest the right man when the time comes?" + +"I will," said Parker, "gladly. Apart from all personal considerations, +I'd far rather see that oily-haired fellow in the dock than any woman, +and if the Force has made a mistake, the sooner it's put right the +better for all concerned." + + * * * * * + +Wimsey sat late that night in the black-and-primrose library, with +the tall folios looking down at him. They represented the world's +accumulated hoard of mellow wisdom and poetical beauty, to say +nothing of thousands of pounds in cash. But all these counsellors sat +mute upon their shelves. Strewn on tables and chairs lay the bright +scarlet volumes of the Notable British Trials--Palmer, Pritchard, +Maybrick, Seddon, Armstrong, Madeleine Smith--the great practitioners +in arsenic--huddled together with the chief authorities on Forensic +Medicine and Toxicology. + +The theatre-going crowds surged home in saloon and taxi, the lights +shone over the empty width of Piccadilly, the heavy night-lorries +rumbled slow and seldom over the black tarmac, the long night waned +and the reluctant winter dawn struggled wanly over the piled roofs of +London. Bunter, silent and anxious, sat in his kitchen, brewing coffee +on the stove and reading the same page of the "British Journal of +Photography" over and over again. + +At half-past eight the library bell rang. + +"My lord?" + +"My bath, Bunter." + +"Very good, my lord." + +"And some coffee." + +"Immediately, my lord." + +"And put back all the books except these." + +"Yes, my lord." + +"I know now how it was done." + +"Indeed, my lord? Permit me to offer my respectful congratulations." + +"I've still got to prove it." + +"A secondary consideration, my lord." + +Wimsey yawned. When Bunter returned a minute or two later with the +coffee, he was asleep. + +Bunter put the books quietly away, and looked with some curiosity +at the chosen few left open on the table. They were: "The Trial of +Florence Maybrick"; Dixon Mann's "Forensic Medicine and Toxicology"; +a book with a German title which Bunter could not read; and A. E. +Housman's "A Shropshire Lad." + +Bunter studied these for a few moments, and then slapped his thigh +softly. + +"Why, of course!" he said under his breath, "why, what a mutton-headed +set of chumps we've all been!" He touched his master lightly on the +shoulder, + +"Your coffee, my lord." + + + + + CHAPTER XXI + + +"Then you won't marry me?" said Lord Peter. + +The prisoner shook her head. + +"No. It wouldn't be fair to you. And besides--" + +"Well?" + +"I'm frightened of it. One couldn't get away. I'll live with you, if +you like, but I won't marry you." + +Her tone was so unutterably dreary that Wimsey could feel no enthusiasm +for this handsome offer. + +"But that sort of thing doesn't always work," he expostulated. "Dash +it all, you ought to know--forgive my alluding to it and all that--but +it's frightfully inconvenient, and one has just as many rows as if one +was married." + +"I know that. But you could cut loose any time you wanted to." + +"But I shouldn't want to." + +"Oh, yes, you would. You've got a family and traditions, you know. +Caesar's wife and that sort of thing." + +"Blast Caesar's wife! And as for the family traditions--they're on +my side, for what they're worth. Anything a Wimsey does is right and +heaven help the person who gets in the way. We've even got a damned +old family motto about it--'I hold by my Whimsy'--quite right too. I +can't say that when I look in the glass I exactly suggest to myself +the original Gerald de Wimsey, who bucked about on a cart horse at +the Siege of Acre, but I do jolly well intend to do what I like about +marrying. Who's to stop me? They can't eat me. They can't even cut me, +if it comes to that. Joke, unintentional, officers, for the use of." + +Harriet laughed. + +"No, I suppose they can't cut you. You wouldn't have to slink +abroad with your impossible wife and live at obscure continental +watering-places like people in Victorian novels." + +"Certainly not." + +"People would forget I'd had a lover?" + +"My dear child, they're forgetting that kind of thing every day. +They're experts at it." + +"And was supposed to have murdered him?" + +"And were triumphantly acquitted of having murdered him, however +greatly provoked." + +"Well, I won't marry you. If people can forget all that, they can +forget we're not married." + +"Oh, yes, _they_ could. I couldn't, that's all. We don't seem to be +progressing very fast with this conversation. I take it the general +idea of living with me does not hopelessly repel you?" + +"But this is all so preposterous," protested the girl. "How can I say +what I should or shouldn't do if I were free and certain of--surviving?" + +"Why not? I can imagine what I should do even in the most unlikely +circumstances, whereas this really is a dead cert, straight from the +stables." + +"I can't," said Harriet, beginning to wilt. "Do please stop asking me. +I don't know. I can't think. I can't see beyond the--beyond the--beyond +the next few weeks. I only want to get out of this and be left alone." + +"All right," said Wimsey, "I won't worry you. Not fair. Abusing my +privilege and so on. You can't say 'Pig' and sweep out, under the +circs., so I won't offend again. As a matter of fact I'll sweep out +myself, having an appointment--with a manicurist. Nice little girl, but +a trifle refained in her vowels. Cheerio!" + + * * * * * + +The manicurist, who had been discovered by the help of Chief-Inspector +Parker and his sleuths, was a kitten-faced child with an inviting +manner and a shrewd eye. She made no bones about accepting her client's +invitation to dine, and showed no surprise when he confidentially +murmured that he had a little proposition to put before her. She put +her plump elbows on the table, cocked her head at a coy angle, and +prepared to sell her honour dear. + +As the proposition unfolded itself, her manner underwent an alteration +that was almost comical. Her eyes lost their round innocence, her very +hair seemed to grow less fluffy, and her eyebrows puckered in genuine +astonishment. + +"Why, of course I could," she said finally, "but whatever do you want +them for? Seems funny to me." + +"Call it just a joke," said Wimsey. + +"No." Her mouth hardened. "I wouldn't like it. It doesn't make sense, +if you see what I mean. What I mean, it sounds a queer sort of joke and +that kind of thing might get a girl into trouble. I say, it's not one +of those, what do they call 'em?--there was a bit about it in Madame +Crystal's column last week, in _Susie's Snippets_--spells, you know, +witchcraft--the occult, that sort of thing? I wouldn't like it if it +was to do any harm to anybody." + +"I'm not going to make a waxen image, if that's what you mean. Look +here, are you the sort of girl who can keep a secret?" + +"Oh, I don't talk. I never was one to let my tongue wag around. I'm not +like ordinary girls." + +"No, I thought you weren't. That's why I asked you to come out with me. +Well, listen, and I'll tell you." + +He leaned forward and talked. The little painted face upturned to +his grew so absorbed and so excited that a bosom friend, dining at a +table some way off, grew quite peevish with envy, making sure that +darling Mabel was being offered a flat in Paris, a Daimler car and a +thousand-pound necklace, and quarrelled fatally with her own escort in +consequence. + +"So you see," said Wimsey, "it means a lot to me." + +Darling Mabel gave an ecstatic sigh. + +"Is that all true? You're not making it up? It's better than any of the +talkies." + +"Yes, but you mustn't say one word. You're the only person I've told. +You won't give me away to him?" + +"Him? He's a stingy pig. Catch me giving him anything. I'm on. I'll +do it for you. It'll be a bit difficult, 'cause I'll have to use the +scissors, which we don't do as a rule. But I'll manage. You trust me. +They won't be big ones, you know. He comes in pretty often, but I'll +give you all I get. And I'll fix Fred. He always has Fred. Fred'll do +it if I ask him. What'll I do with them when I get them?" + +Wimsey drew an envelope from his pocket. + +"Sealed up inside this," he said, impressively, "there are two little +pill-boxes. You mustn't take them out till you get the specimens, +because they've been carefully prepared so as to be absolutely +chemically clean, if you see what I mean. When you're ready, open +the envelope, take out the pill-boxes, put the parings into one and +the hair into the other, shut them up at once, put them into a clean +envelope and post them to this address. Get that?" + +"Yes." She stretched out an eager hand. + +"Good girl. And not a word." + +"Not--one--word!" She made a gesture of exaggerated caution. + +"When's your birthday?" + +"Oh, I don't have one. I never grow up." + +"Right; then I can send you an unbirthday present any day in the year. +You'd look nice in mink, I think." + +"Mink, I think," she mocked him. "Quite a poet, aren't you?" + +"You inspire me," said Wimsey, politely. + + + + + CHAPTER XXII + + +"I have come round," said Mr. Urquhart, "in answer to your letter. I am +greatly interested to hear that you have some fresh information about +my unfortunate cousin's death. Of course I shall be delighted to give +you any assistance I can." + +"Thank you," said Wimsey. "Do sit down. You have dined, of course? But +you will have a cup of coffee. You prefer the Turkish variety, I fancy. +My man brews it rather well." + +Mr. Urquhart accepted the offer, and complimented Bunter on having +achieved the right method of concocting that curiously syrupy brew, so +offensive to the average Occidental. + +Bunter thanked him gravely for his good opinion, and proffered a box +of that equally nauseating mess called Turkish Delight, which not only +gluts the palate and glues the teeth, but also smothers the consumer +in a floury cloud of white sugar. Mr. Urquhart immediately plugged his +mouth with a large lump of it, murmuring indistinctly that it was the +genuine Eastern variety. Wimsey, with an austere smile, took a few sips +of strong black coffee without sugar or milk, and poured himself out a +glass of old brandy. Bunter retired, and Lord Peter, laying a note-book +open upon his knee, glanced at the clock and began his narrative. + +He recapitulated the circumstances of Philip Boyes' life and death at +some length. Mr. Urquhart, yawning surreptitiously, ate, drank and +listened. + +Wimsey, still with his eye on the clock, then embarked upon the story +of Mrs. Wrayburn's will. + +Mr. Urquhart, considerably astonished, set his coffee-cup aside, wiped +his sticky fingers upon his handkerchief, and stared. + +Presently he said: + +"May I ask how you have obtained this very remarkable information?" + +Wimsey waved his hand. + +"The police," he said, "wonderful thing, police organisation. +Surprisin' what they find out when they put their minds to it. You're +not denying any of it, I presume?" + +"I am listening," said Mr. Urquhart, grimly. "When you have finished +this extraordinary statement, I may perhaps discover exactly what it is +I have to deny." + +"Oh, yes," said Wimsey, "I'll try to make that clear. I'm not a lawyer, +of course, but I'm tryin' to be as lucid as I can." + +He droned remorselessly on, and the hands of the clock went round. + +"So far as I make it out," he said, when he had reviewed the whole +question of motive, "it was very much to your interest to get rid of +Mr. Philip Boyes. And indeed the fellow was, in my opinion, a pimple +and a wart, and in your place I should have felt much the same about +him." + +"And is this the whole of your fantastic accusation?" enquired the +solicitor. + +"By no means. I am now coming to the point. Slow but sure is the motto +of yours faithfully. I notice that I have taken up seventy minutes of +your valuable time, but believe me, the hour has not been unprofitably +spent." + +"Allowing that all this preposterous story were true, which I most +emphatically deny," observed Mr. Urquhart, "I should be greatly +interested to know how you imagine that I administered the arsenic. +Have you worked out something ingenious for that? Or am I supposed to +have suborned my cook and parlourmaid to be my accomplices? A little +rash of me, don't you think, and affording remarkable opportunities for +blackmail?" + +"So rash," said Wimsey, "that it is quite out of the question for a man +so full of forethought as yourself. The sealing-up of that bottle of +burgundy, for example, argues a mind alive to possibilities--unusually +so. In fact, the episode attracted my attention from the start." + +"Indeed?" + +"You ask me how and when you administered the poison. It was not before +dinner, I think. The thoughtfulness shown in emptying the bedroom +water-bottle--oh, no! that point was not missed--the care displayed in +meeting your cousin before a witness and never being left alone with +him--I think that rules out the period before dinner." + +"I should think it might." + +"The sherry," pursued Wimsey, thoughtfully. "It was a new bottle, +freshly decanted. The disappearance of the remains might be commented +on. I fancy we can absolve the sherry." + +Mr. Urquhart bowed ironically. + +"The soup--it was shared by the cook and parlourmaid and they survived. +I am inclined to pass the soup, and the same thing applies to the fish. +It would be easy to poison a portion of fish, but it would involve the +co-operation of Hannah Westlock, and that conflicts with my theory. A +theory is a sacred thing to me, Mr. Urquhart--almost a what d'you call +it--a dogma." + +"An unsafe attitude of mind," remarked the lawyer, "but in the +circumstances I will not quarrel with it." + +"Besides," said Wimsey, "if the poison had been given in the soup or +the fish, it might have started to work before Philip--I may call +him so, I hope?--had left the house. We come to the casserole. Mrs. +Pettican and Hannah Westlock can give the casserole a clean bill of +health, I fancy. And by the way, from the description it must have been +most delicious. I speak as a man with some considerable experience in +gastronomic matters, Mr. Urquhart." + +"I am well aware of it," said Mr. Urquhart, politely. + +"And now there remains only the omelette. A most admirable thing +when well made and eaten--that is so important--eaten immediately. +A charming idea to have the eggs and sugar brought to the table and +prepared and cooked on the spot. By the way, I take it there was no +omelette left over for the kitchen? No, no! One does not let a good +thing like that go out half-eaten. Much better that the good cook +should make a fine, fresh omelette for herself and her colleague. +Nobody but yourself and Philip partook of the omelette, I am sure." + +"Quite so," said Mr. Urquhart, "I need not trouble to deny it. But you +will bear in mind that I did partake of it, without ill-effects. And +moreover, that my cousin made it himself." + +"So he did. Four eggs, if I remember rightly, with sugar and jam from +what I may call the common stock. No--there would be nothing wrong with +the sugar or the jam. Er--I believe I am right in saying that one of +the eggs was cracked when it came to the table?" + +"Possibly. I do not really remember." + +"No? Well, you are not on oath. But Hannah Westlock remembers that when +you brought the eggs in--you purchased them yourself, you know, Mr. +Urquhart--you mentioned that one was cracked and particularly desired +that it should be used for the omelette. In fact, you yourself laid it +in the bowl for that purpose." + +"What about it?" asked Mr. Urquhart, perhaps a trifle less easily than +before. + +"It is not very difficult to introduce powdered arsenic into a cracked +egg," said Wimsey. "I have made the experiment myself with a small +glass tube. Perhaps a small funnel would be even easier. Arsenic is +a fairly heavy substance--7 or 8 grains will go into a tea-spoon. It +collects at one end of the egg, and any traces on the exterior of the +shell can be readily wiped off. Liquid arsenic could be poured in +still more easily, of course, but for a particular reason I made my +experiment with the ordinary white powder. It is fairly soluble." + +Mr. Urquhart had taken a cigar from his case, and was making rather a +business of lighting it. + +"Do you suggest," he enquired, "that in the whisking together of +four eggs, one particular poisoned egg was somehow kept miraculously +separated from the rest and deposited with its load of arsenic at one +end of the omelette only? Or that my cousin deliberately helped himself +to the poisoned end and left the rest to me?" + +"Not at all, not at all," said Wimsey. "I suggest merely that the +arsenic was in the omelette and came there by way of the egg." + +Mr. Urquhart threw his match into the fireplace. + +"There seem to be some flaws in your theory, as well as in the egg." + +"I haven't finished the theory yet. My next bit of it is built up from +very trifling indications. Let me enumerate them. Your disinclination +to drink at dinner, your complexion, a few nail-parings, a snipping or +so from your very well-kept hair--I put these together, add a packet of +white arsenic from the secret cupboard in your office, rub the hands a +little--so--and produce--hemp, Mr. Urquhart, hemp." + +He sketched the shape of a noose lightly in the air. + +"I don't understand you," said the solicitor, hoarsely. + +"Oh _you_ know," said Wimsey. "Hemp--what they make ropes of. Great +stuff, hemp. Yes, well, about this arsenic. As you know, it's not good +for people in a general way, but there are some people--those tiresome +peasants in Styria one hears so much about--who are supposed to eat +it for fun. It improves their wind, so they say, and clears their +complexions and makes their hair sleek, and they give it to their +horses for the same reason; bar the complexion, that is, because a +horse hasn't much complexion, but you know what I mean. Then there was +that horrid man Maybrick--he used to take it, or so they say. Anyhow, +it's well known that some people do take it and manage to put away +large dollops after a bit of practice--enough to kill any ordinary +person. But you know all this." + +"This is the first time I've heard of such a thing." + +"Where _do_ you expect to go to? Never mind. We'll pretend this is +all new to you. Well, some fellow--I've forgotten his name,[2] but +it's all in Dixon Mann--wondered how the dodge was worked, and he got +going on some dogs and things and he dosed 'em and killed a lot of 'em +I daresay, and in the end he found that whereas liquid arsenic was +dealt with by the kidneys and was uncommonly bad for the system, solid +arsenic could be given day by day, a little bigger dose each time, so +that in time the doings--what an old lady I knew in Norfolk called +'the tubes'--got used to it and could push it along without taking any +notice of it, so to speak. I read a book somewhere which said it was +all done by leucocytes--those jolly little white corpuscles, don't you +know--which sort of got round the stuff and bustled it along so that +it couldn't do any harm. At all events, the point is that if you go +on taking solid arsenic for a good long time--say a year or so--you +establish a what-not, an immunity, and can take six or seven grains at +a time without so much as a touch of indijaggers." + +[Footnote 2: Valetta.] + +"Very interesting," said Mr. Urquhart. + +"Apparently these beastly Styrian peasants do it that way, and they're +very careful not to drink for two hours or thereabouts after taking it, +for fear it should all get washed into the kidneys and turn poisonous +on 'em. I'm not bein' very technical, I'm afraid, but that's the gist +of it. Well, it occurred to me, don't you see, old horse, that if you'd +had the bright idea to immunise yourself first, you could easily have +shared a jolly old arsenical omelette with a friend. It would kill him +and it wouldn't hurt you." + +"I see." + +The solicitor licked his lips. + +"Well, as I say, you have a nice clear complexion--except that I notice +the arsenic has pigmented the skin here and there (it does sometimes), +and you've got the sleek hair and so on, and I noticed you were careful +not to drink at dinner, and I said to myself, 'Peter, my bright lad, +what about it?' And when they found a packet of white arsenic in your +cupboard--never mind how for the moment!--I said, 'Hullo, hullo, how +long has this been going on?' Your handy foreign chemist has told the +police two years--is that right? About the time of the Megatherium +crash that would be, wouldn't it? All right, don't tell me if you don't +want to. Then we got hold of some bits of your hair and nails, and lo +and behold, they were bung-full of arsenic. And we said 'What-ho!' So +that's why I asked you to come along and have a chat with me. I thought +you might like to offer some sort of suggestion, don't you know." + +"I can only suggest," said Urquhart, with a ghastly face but a strictly +professional manner, "that you should be careful before you communicate +this ludicrous theory to anybody. What you and the police--whom, +frankly, I believe to be capable of anything--have been planting on +my premises I do not know, but to give out that I am addicted to +drug-taking habits is slander and criminal. It is quite true that I +have for some time been taking a medicine which contains slight traces +of arsenic--Dr. Grainger can furnish the prescription--and that may +very likely have left a deposit in my skin and hair, but further than +that, there is no foundation for this monstrous accusation." + +"None?" + +"None." + +"Then how is it," asked Wimsey, coolly, but with something menacing in +his rigidly controlled voice, "how is it that you have this evening +consumed, without apparent effect, a dose of arsenic sufficient to kill +two or three ordinary people? That disgusting sweetmeat on which you +have been gorging yourself in, I may say, a manner wholly unsuited +to your age and position, is smothered in white arsenic. You ate it, +God forgive you, an hour and a half ago. If arsenic can harm you, you +should have been rolling about in agonies for the last hour." + +"You devil!" + +"Couldn't you try to get up a few symptoms?" said Wimsey, +sarcastically. "Shall I bring you a basin? Or fetch the doctor? Does +your throat burn? Is your inside convulsed with agony? It is rather +late in the day, but with a little goodwill you could surely produce +_some_ display of feeling, even now." + +"You are lying. You wouldn't dare to do such a thing! It would be +murder." + +"Not in this case, I fancy. But I am willing to wait and see." + +Urquhart stared at him. Wimsey got out of his chair in a single swift +movement and stood over him. + +"I wouldn't use violence if I were you. Let the poisoner stick to his +bottle. Besides, I am armed. Pardon the melodrama. Are you going to be +sick or not?" + +"You're mad." + +"Don't say that. Come, man--pull yourself together. Have a shot at it. +Shall I show you the bathroom?" + +"I'm ill." + +"Of course; but your tone is not convincing. Through the door, along +the passage, and third on the left." + +The lawyer stumbled out. Wimsey returned to the library and rang the +bell. + +"I think, Bunter, Mr. Parker may require some assistance in the +bathroom." + +"Very good, my lord." + +Bunter departed and Wimsey waited. Presently there were sounds of a +scuffle in the distance. A group appeared at the door. Urquhart, very +white, his hair and clothes disordered, flanked by Parker and Bunter, +who held him firmly by the arms. + +"Was he sick?" asked Wimsey, with interest. + +"No, he wasn't," said Parker, grimly, snapping the handcuffs on his +prey. "He cursed you fluently for five minutes, then tried to get out +of the window, saw it was a three-story drop, charged in through the +dressing-room door and ran straight into me. Now don't struggle, my +lad, you'll only hurt yourself." + +"And he still doesn't know whether he's poisoned or not?" + +"He doesn't seem to think he is. At any rate, he made no effort about +it. His one idea was to hop it." + +"That's feeble," said Wimsey, "if I wanted people to think I'd been +poisoned I'd put up a better show than that." + +"Stop talking, for God's sake," said the prisoner. "You've got me, by a +vile, damnable trick. Isn't that enough? You can shut up about it." + +"Oh," said Parker, "we've got you, have we? Well, I warned you not to +talk, and if you _will_ do it, it's not my fault. By the way, Peter, I +don't suppose you did actually poison him, did you? It doesn't seem to +have hurt him, but it'll affect the doctor's report." + +"No, I didn't, as a matter of fact," said Wimsey. "I only wanted to see +how he'd react to the suggestion. Well, cheerio! I can leave it to you +now." + +"We'll look after him," said Parker. "But you might let Bunter ring up +a taxi." + +When the prisoner and his escort had departed, Wimsey turned +thoughtfully to Bunter, glass in hand. + +"_Mithridates he died old_, says the poet. But I doubt it, Bunter. In +this case I very much doubt it." + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII + + +There were golden chrysanthemums on the judge's bench; they looked like +burning banners. + +The prisoner, too, had a look in her eyes that was a challenge to the +crowded court, as the clerk read the indictment. The judge, a plump, +elderly man with an eighteenth-century face, looked expectantly at the +Attorney-General. + +"My lord--I am instructed that the Crown offers no evidence against +this prisoner." + +The gasp that went round the room sounded like the rustle of trees in a +rising wind. + +"Do I understand that the charge against the prisoner is withdrawn?" + +"Those are my instructions, my lord." + +"In that case," said the judge, impassively, turning to the jury, +"there is nothing left for you but to return a verdict of 'Not Guilty.' +Usher, keep those people quiet in the gallery." + +"One moment, my lord." Sir Impey Biggs rose up, large and majestic. + +"On my client's behalf--on Miss Vane's behalf, my lord, I beg your +lordship's indulgence for a few words. A charge has been brought +against her, my lord, the very awful charge of murder, and I should +like it to be made clear, my lord, that my client leaves this court +without a stain upon her character. As I am informed, my lord, this +is not a case of the charge being withdrawn in default of evidence. I +understand, my lord, that further information has come to the police +which definitely proves the entire innocence of my client. I also +understand, my lord, that a further arrest has been made and that an +inquiry will follow, my lord, in due course. My lord, this lady must go +forth into the world acquitted, not only at this bar, but at the bar +of public opinion. Any ambiguity would be intolerable, and I am sure, +my lord, that I have the support of the learned Attorney-General for +what I say." + +"By all means," said the Attorney. "I am instructed to say, my lord, +that in withdrawing the charge against the prisoner, the Crown proceeds +from complete conviction of her absolute innocence." + +"I am very glad to hear it," said the judge. "Prisoner at the bar, the +Crown, by unreservedly withdrawing this dreadful charge against you, +has demonstrated your innocence in the clearest possible way. After +this, nobody will be able to suppose that the slightest imputation +rests upon you, and I most heartily congratulate you on this very +satisfactory ending to your long ordeal. Now, please--I sympathise +very much with the people who are cheering, but this is not a theatre +or a football match, and if they are not quiet, they will have to be +put out. Members of the jury, do you find the Prisoner Guilty or Not +Guilty?" + +"Not Guilty, my lord." + +"Very good. The prisoner is discharged without a stain upon her +character. Next case." + +So ended, sensational to the last, one of the most sensational murder +trials of the century. + + * * * * * + +Harriet Vane, a free woman, found Eiluned Price and Sylvia Marriott +waiting for her as she descended the stairs. + +"Darling!" said Sylvia. + +"Three loud cheers!" said Eiluned. + +Harriet greeted them a little vaguely. + +"Where is Lord Peter Wimsey?" she enquired. "I must thank him." + +"You won't," said Eiluned, bluntly. "I saw him drive off the moment the +verdict was given." + +"Oh!" said Miss Vane. + +"He'll come and see you," said Sylvia. + +"No, he won't," said Eiluned. + +"Why not?" said Sylvia. + +"Too decent," said Eiluned. + +"I'm afraid you're right," said Harriet. + +"I like that young man," said Eiluned. "You needn't grin. I do like +him. He's not going to do the King Cophetua stunt, and I take off my +hat to him. If you want him, you'll have to send for him." + +"I won't do that," said Harriet. + +"Oh, yes, you will," said Sylvia. "I was right about who did the +murder, and I'm going to be right about this." + + * * * * * + +Lord Peter Wimsey went down to Duke's Denver that same evening. He +found the family in a state of perturbation, all except the Dowager, +who sat placidly making a rug in the midst of the uproar. + +"Look here, Peter," said the Duke, "you're the only person with any +influence over Mary. You've got to do something. She wants to marry +your policeman friend." + +"I know," said Wimsey. "Why shouldn't she?" + +"It's ridiculous," said the Duke. + +"Not at all," said Lord Peter. "Charles is one of the best." + +"Very likely," said the Duke, "but Mary can't marry a policeman." + +"Now, look here," said Wimsey, tucking his sister's arm in his, "you +leave Polly alone. Charles made a bit of a mistake at the beginning of +this murder case, but he doesn't make many, and one of these days he'll +be a big man, with a title, I shouldn't wonder, and everything handsome +about him. If you want to have a row with somebody, have it with me." + +"My God!" said the Duke, "you're not going to marry a policewoman?" + +"Not quite," said Wimsey. "I intend to marry the prisoner." + +"What?" said the Duke. "Good lord, what, what?" + +"If she'll have me," said Lord Peter Wimsey. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78157 *** diff --git a/78157-h/78157-h.htm b/78157-h/78157-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..471c99f --- /dev/null +++ b/78157-h/78157-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10142 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Strong Poison | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } +hr.full {width: 95%; margin-left: 2.5%; margin-right: 2.5%;} +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +x-ebookmaker-drop {display: none;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap { font-variant:small-caps; } + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +div.titlepage { + text-align: center; + page-break-before: always; + page-break-after: always; +} + +div.titlepage p { + text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + font-weight: bold; + line-height: 1.5; + margin-top: 3em; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: 1px dashed;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} +.poetry .indent10 {text-indent: 10em;} + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse; } +table.autotable td, +table.autotable th { padding: 4px; } + +.tdl {text-align: left;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} +.tdc {text-align: center;} + +.ph1 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; } +.ph1 { font-size: x-large; margin: .83em auto; } + +.ph2 { text-align: right; text-indent: 0em; } +.ph2 { font-size: medium; margin: .83em auto; } + +.ph3 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; } +.ph3 { font-size: medium; margin: .83em auto; } + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78157 ***</div> + +<div class="titlepage"> + +<h1>STRONG POISON</h1> + +<p class="ph1">BY DOROTHY L. SAYERS</p> + +<p>STRONG POISON<br> +<i>Copyright 1930 by Dorothy L. Sayers Fleming</i></p> + +</div> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>"Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Rendal, my son?</i></div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young man?"</i></div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>"—O I dined with my sweetheart, Mother, make my bed soon,</i></div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>For I'm sick to the heart and I fain wad lie down."</i></div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>"Oh that was strong poison, Lord Rendal, my son,</i></div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>O that was strong poison, my handsome young man,"</i></div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>"—O yes, I am poisoned, Mother; make my bed soon,</i></div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>For I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wad lie down."</i></div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent10"><i>Old Ballad</i></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table> +<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="tdl"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</a></td></tr> +</table> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</h2> +</div> + + +<p>There were crimson roses on the bench; they looked like splashes of +blood.</p> + +<p>The judge was an old man; so old, he seemed to have outlived time and +change and death. His parrot-face and parrot-voice were dry, like his +old, heavily-veined hands. His scarlet robe clashed harshly with the +crimson of the roses. He had sat for three days in the stuffy court, +but he showed no sign of fatigue.</p> + +<p>He did not look at the prisoner as he gathered his notes into a neat +sheaf and turned to address the jury, but the prisoner looked at him. +Her eyes, like dark smudges under the heavy square brows, seemed +equally without fear and without hope. They waited.</p> + +<p>"Members of the jury—"</p> + +<p>The patient old eyes seemed to sum them up and take stock of their +united intelligence. Three respectable tradesmen—a tall, argumentative +one, a stout, embarrassed one with a drooping moustache, and an unhappy +one with a bad cold; a director of a large company, anxious not to +waste valuable time; a publican, incongruously cheerful; two youngish +men of the artisan class; a nondescript, elderly man, of educated +appearance, who might have been anything; an artist with a red beard +disguising a weak chin; three women—an elderly spinster, a stout +capable woman who kept a sweet-shop, and a harassed wife and mother +whose thoughts seemed to be continually straying to her abandoned +hearth.</p> + +<p>"Members of the jury—you have listened with great patience and +attention to the evidence in this very distressing case, and it is now +my duty to sum up the facts and arguments which have been put before +you by the learned Attorney-General and by the learned Counsel for the +Defence, and to put them in order as clearly as possible, so as to help +you in forming your decision.</p> + +<p>"But first of all, perhaps I ought to say a few words with regard to +that decision itself. You know, I am sure, that it is a great principle +of English law that every accused person is held to be innocent unless +and until he is proved otherwise. It is not necessary for him, or her, +to prove innocence; it is, in the modern slang phrase, 'up to' the +Crown to prove guilt, and unless you are quite satisfied that the Crown +has done this beyond all reasonable doubt, it is your duty to return +a verdict of 'Not Guilty.' That does not necessarily mean that the +prisoner has established her innocence by proof; it simply means that +the Crown has failed to produce in your minds an undoubted conviction +of her guilt."</p> + +<p>Salcombe Hardy, lifting his drowned-violet eyes for a moment from his +reporter's note-book, scribbled two words on a slip of paper and pushed +them over to Waffles Newton. "Judge hostile." Waffles nodded. They were +old hounds on this blood-trail.</p> + +<p>The judge creaked on.</p> + +<p>"You may perhaps wish to hear from me exactly what is meant by those +words 'reasonable doubt.' They mean, just so much doubt as you might +have in every-day life about an ordinary matter of business. This is +a case of murder, and it might be natural for you to think that, in +such a case, the words mean more than this. But that is not so. They +do not mean that you must cast about for fantastical solutions of what +seems to you plain and simple. They do not mean those nightmare doubts +which sometimes torment us at four o'clock in the morning when we have +not slept very well. They only mean that the proof must be such as you +would accept about a plain matter of buying and selling, or some such +commonplace transaction. You must not strain your belief in favour of +the prisoner any more, of course, than you must accept proof of her +guilt without the most careful scrutiny.</p> + +<p>"Having said just these few words, so that you may not feel too much +overwhelmed by the heavy responsibility laid upon you by your duty to +the State, I will now begin at the beginning and try to place the story +that we have heard, as clearly as possible before you.</p> + +<p>"The case for the Crown is that the prisoner, Harriet Vane, murdered +Philip Boyes by poisoning him with arsenic. I need not detain you by +going through the proofs offered by Sir James Lubbock and the other +doctors who have given evidence as to the cause of death. The Crown +say he died of arsenical poisoning, and the defence do not dispute it. +The evidence is, therefore, that the death was due to arsenic, and you +must accept that as a fact. The only question that remains for you is +whether, in fact, that arsenic was deliberately administered by the +prisoner with intent to murder.</p> + +<p>"The deceased, Philip Boyes, was, as you have heard, a writer. He was +thirty-six years old, and he had published five novels and a large +number of essays and articles. All these literary works were of what is +sometimes called an 'advanced' type. They preached doctrines which may +seem to some of us immoral or seditious, such as atheism, and anarchy, +and what is known as free love. His private life appears to have been +conducted, for some time at least, in accordance with these doctrines.</p> + +<p>"At any rate, at some time in the year 1927, he became acquainted with +Harriet Vane. They met in some of those artistic and literary circles +where 'advanced' topics are discussed, and after a time they became +very friendly. The prisoner is also a novelist by profession, and it is +very important to remember that she is a writer of so-called 'mystery' +or 'detective' stories, such as deal with various ingenious methods of +committing murder and other crimes.</p> + +<p>"You have heard the prisoner in the witness-box, and you have heard +the various people who came forward to give evidence as to her +character. You have been told that she is a young woman of great +ability, brought up on strictly religious principles, who, through no +fault of her own was left, at the age of twenty-three, to make her own +way in the world. Since that time—and she is now twenty-nine years +old—she has worked industriously to keep herself, and it is very +much to her credit that she has, by her own exertions, made herself +independent in a legitimate way, owing nothing to anybody and accepting +help from no one.</p> + +<p>"She has told us herself, with great candour, how she became deeply +attached to Philip Boyes, and how, for a considerable time, she held +out against his persuasions to live with him in an irregular manner. +There was, in fact, no reason at all why he should not have married +her honourably; but apparently he represented himself as being +conscientiously opposed to any formal marriage. You have the evidence +of Sylvia Marriott and Eiluned Price that the prisoner was made very +unhappy by this attitude which he chose to take up, and you have heard +also that he was a very handsome and attractive man, whom any woman +might have found it difficult to resist.</p> + +<p>"At any rate, in March of 1928, the prisoner, worn out, as she tells +us, by his unceasing importunities, gave in, and consented to live on +terms of intimacy with him, outside the bonds of marriage.</p> + +<p>"Now you may feel, and quite properly, that this was a very wrong thing +to do. You may, after making all allowances for this young woman's +unprotected position, still feel that she was a person of unstable +moral character. You will not be led away by the false glamour which +certain writers contrive to throw about 'free love,' into thinking +that this was anything but an ordinary, vulgar act of misbehavior. Sir +Impey Biggs, very rightly using all his great eloquence on behalf of +his client, has painted this action of Harriet Vane's in very rosy +colours; he has spoken of unselfish sacrifice and self-immolation, +and has reminded you that, in such a situation, the woman always has +to pay more heavily than the man. You will not, I am sure, pay too +much attention to this. You know quite well the difference between +right and wrong in such matters, and you may think that, if Harriet +Vane had not become to a certain extent corrupted by the unwholesome +influences among which she lived, she would have shown a truer heroism +by dismissing Philip Boyes from her society.</p> + +<p>"But, on the other hand, you must be careful not to attach the wrong +kind of importance to this lapse. It is one thing for a man or woman +to live an immoral life, and quite another thing to commit murder. +You may perhaps think that one step into the path of wrongdoing makes +the next one easier, but you must not give too much weight to that +consideration. You are entitled to take it into account, but you must +not be too much prejudiced."</p> + +<p>The judge paused for a moment, and Freddy Arbuthnot jerked an elbow +into the ribs of Lord Peter Wimsey, who appeared to be a prey to gloom.</p> + +<p>"I should jolly well hope not. Damn it, if every little game led to +murder, they'd be hanging half of us for doin' in the other half."</p> + +<p>"And which half would <i>you</i> be in?" enquired his lordship, fixing him +for a moment with a cold eye and then returning his glance to the dock.</p> + +<p>"Victim," said the Hon. Freddy, "victim. Me for the corpse in the +library."</p> + +<p>"Philip Boyes and the prisoner lived together in this fashion," went +on the judge, "for nearly a year. Various friends have testified that +they appeared to live on terms of the greatest mutual affection. Miss +Price said that, although Harriet Vane obviously felt her unfortunate +position very acutely—cutting herself off from her family friends and +refusing to thrust herself into company where her social outlawry +might cause embarrassment and so on—yet she was extremely loyal to her +lover and expressed herself proud and happy to be his companion.</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless, in February 1929 there was a quarrel, and the couple +separated. It is not denied that the quarrel took place. Mr. and Mrs. +Dyer, who occupy the flat immediately above Philip Boyes', say that +they heard loud talking in angry voices, the man swearing and the woman +crying, and that the next day, Harriet Vane packed up all her things +and left the house for good. The curious feature in the case, and one +which you must consider very carefully, is the reason assigned for the +quarrel. As to this, the only evidence we have is the prisoner's own. +According to Miss Marriott, with whom Harriet Vane took refuge after +the separation, the prisoner steadily refused to give any information +on the subject, saying only that she had been painfully deceived by +Boyes and never wished to hear his name spoken again.</p> + +<p>"Now it might be supposed from this that Boyes had given the prisoner +cause for grievance against him, by unfaithfulness, or unkindness, or +simply by a continued refusal to regularise the situation in the eyes +of the world. But the prisoner absolutely denies this. According to +her statement—and on this point her evidence is confirmed by a letter +which Philip Boyes wrote to his father—Boyes did at length offer her +legal marriage, and this was the cause of the quarrel. You may think +this a very remarkable statement to make, but that is the prisoner's +evidence on oath.</p> + +<p>"It would be natural for you to think that this proposal of marriage +takes away any suggestion that the prisoner had a cause of grievance +against Boyes. Anyone would say that, under such circumstances, she +could have no motive for wishing to murder this young man, but rather +the contrary. Still, there is the fact of the quarrel, and the prisoner +herself states that this honourable, though belated, proposal was +unwelcome to her. She does not say—as she might very reasonably +say, and as her counsel has most forcefully and impressively said for +her, that this marriage-offer completely does away with any pretext +for enmity on her part towards Philip Boyes. Sir Impey Biggs says so, +but that is not what the prisoner says. She says—and you must try +to put yourselves in her place and understand her point of view if +you can—that she was angry with Boyes because, after persuading her +against her will to adopt his principles of conduct, he then renounced +those principles and so, as she says, 'made a fool of her.'</p> + +<p>"Well, that is for you to consider: whether the offer which was in fact +made could reasonably be construed into a motive for murder. I must +impress upon you that no other motive has been suggested in evidence."</p> + +<p>At this point the elderly spinster on the jury was seen to be making a +note—a vigorous note, to judge from the action of her pencil on the +paper. Lord Peter Wimsey shook his head slowly two or three times and +muttered something under his breath.</p> + +<p>"After this," said the judge, "nothing particular seems to have +happened to these two people for three months or so, except that +Harriet Vane left Miss Marriott's house and took a small flat of her +own in Doughty Street, while Philip Boyes, on the contrary, finding +his solitary life depressing, accepted the invitation of his cousin, +Mr. Norman Urquhart, to stay at the latter's house in Woburn Square. +Although living in the same quarter of London, Boyes and the accused +do not seem to have met very often after the separation. Once or twice +there was an accidental encounter at the house of a friend. The dates +of these occasions cannot be ascertained with any certainty—they were +informal parties—but there is some evidence that there was a meeting +towards the end of March, another in the second week in April, and a +third some time in May. These times are worth noting, though, as the +exact day is left doubtful, you must not attach too much importance to +them.</p> + +<p>"However, we now come to a date of the very greatest importance. On +April 10th, a young woman, who has been identified as Harriet Vane, +entered the chemist's shop kept by Mr. Brown in Southampton Row, and +purchased two ounces of commercial arsenic, saying that she needed it +to destroy rats. She signed the poison-book in the name of Mary Slater, +and the handwriting has been identified as that of the prisoner. +Moreover, the prisoner herself admits having made this purchase, +for certain reasons of her own. For this reason it is comparatively +unimportant—but you may think it worth noting—that the housekeeper +of the flats where Harriet Vane lives has come here and told you that +there are no rats on the premises, and never have been in the whole +time of her residence there.</p> + +<p>"On May 5th. we have another purchase of arsenic. The prisoner, as she +herself states, this time procured a tin of arsenical weed-killer, of +the same brand that was mentioned in the Kidwelly poisoning case. This +time she gave the name of Edith Waters. There is no garden attached to +the flats where she lives, nor could there be any conceivable use for +weed-killer on the premises.</p> + +<p>"On various occasions also, during the period from the middle of +March to the beginning of May, the prisoner purchased other poisons, +including prussic acid (ostensibly for photographic purposes) and +strychnine. There was also an attempt to obtain aconitine, which was +not successful. A different shop was approached and a different name +given in each case. The arsenic is the only poison which directly +concerns this case, but these other purchases are of some importance, +as throwing light on the prisoner's activities at this time.</p> + +<p>"The prisoner has given an explanation of these purchases which you +must consider for what it is worth. She says that she was engaged at +that time in writing a novel about poisoning, and that she bought the +drugs in order to prove by experiment how easy it was for an ordinary +person to get hold of deadly poisons. In proof of this, her publisher, +Mr. Trufoot, has produced the manuscript of the book. You have had it +in your hands, and you will be given it again, if you like, when I have +finished my summing-up, to look at in your own room. Passages were read +out to you, showing that the subject of the book was murder by arsenic, +and there is a description in it of a young woman going to a chemist's +shop and buying a considerable quantity of this deadly substance. And I +must mention here what I should have mentioned before, namely, that the +arsenic purchased from Mr. Brown was the ordinary commercial arsenic, +which is coloured with charcoal or indigo, as the law requires, in +order that it may not be mistaken for sugar or any other innocent +substance."</p> + +<p>Salcombe Hardy groaned: "How long, O Lord, how long shall we have to +listen to all this tripe about commercial arsenic? Murderers learn it +now at their mother's knee."</p> + +<p>"I particularly want you to remember those dates—I will give them to +you again—the 10th. April and the 5th. May." (The Jury wrote them +down. Lord Peter Wimsey murmured: "They all wrote down on their slates, +'She doesn't believe there's an atom of meaning in it.'" The Hon. +Freddy said "What? What?" and the judge turned over another page of his +notes.)</p> + +<p>"About this time, Philip Boyes began to suffer from renewed attacks of +a gastric trouble to which he had been subject from time to time during +his life. You have read the evidence of Dr. Green, who attended him +for something of the sort during his University career. That is some +time ago; but there is also Dr. Weare, who, in 1925 prescribed for a +similar attack. Not grave illnesses, but painful and exhausting, with +sickness and so on, and aching in the limbs. Plenty of people have such +troubles from time to time. Still, there is a coincidence of dates here +which may be significant. We get these attacks—noted in Dr. Weare's +case-book—one on the 31st. of March, one on the 15th. of April and one +on the 12th. of May. Three sets of coincidences—as you may perhaps +think them to be—Harriet Vane and Philip Boyes meet 'towards the end +of March,' and he has an attack of gastritis on March 31st; on 10th. +April Harriet Vane purchases two ounces of arsenic—they meet again +'in the second week in April,' and on April 15th, he has another +attack; on 5th. May, there is the purchase of weed-killer—'some time +in May' there is another meeting, and on the 12th. May he is taken +ill for the third time. You may think that is rather curious, but you +must not forget that the Crown have failed to prove any purchase of +arsenic before the meeting in March. You must bear that in mind when +considering this point.</p> + +<p>"After the third attack—the one in May—the doctor advises Boyes to +go away for a change, and he selects the north-west corner of Wales. +He goes to Harlech, and spends a very pleasant time there and is much +better. But he has a friend to accompany him, Mr. Ryland Vaughan, whom +you have seen, and this friend says that 'Philip was not happy'. In +fact, Mr. Vaughan formed the opinion that he was fretting after Harriet +Vane. His bodily health improved, but he grew mentally depressed. And +so on June 16th, we find him writing a letter to Miss Vane. Now that is +an important letter, so I will read it to you once more:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>'Dear Harriet,</p> + +<p>Life is an utter mess-up. I can't stick it out here any longer. I've +decided to cut adrift and take a trip out West. But before I go, I +want to see you once again and find out if it isn't possible to put +things straight again. You must do as you like, of course, but I still +cannot understand the attitude you take up. If I can't make you see +the thing in the right perspective this time I'll chuck it for good. +I shall be in town on the 20th. Let me have a line to say when I can +come round.</p> + +<p class="ph2">Yours,<br> +P.'</p> +</div> + +<p>"Now that, as you have realised, is a most ambiguous letter. Sir +Impey Biggs, with arguments of great weight, has suggested that by +the expressions 'cut adrift and take a trip out west,' 'I can't stick +it out here,' and 'chuck it for good,' the writer was expressing +his intention to make away with himself if he could not effect a +reconciliation with the accused. He points out that 'to go west' +is a well-known metaphor for dying, and that, of course, may be +convincing to you. But Mr. Urquhart, when examined on the subject by +the Attorney-General, said that he supposed the letter to refer to a +project which he himself had suggested to the deceased, of taking a +voyage across the Atlantic to Barbados, by way of change of scene. +And the learned Attorney-General makes this other point that when the +writer says, 'I can't stick it out <i>here</i> any longer,' he means, here +in Britain, or perhaps merely 'here at Harlech,' and that if the phrase +had reference to suicide it would read simply, 'I can't stick it out +any longer.'</p> + +<p>"No doubt you have formed your own opinion on this point. It is +important to note that the deceased asks for an appointment on the +20th. The reply to this letter is before us; it reads:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>'Dear Phil,</p> + +<p>You can come round at 9.30 on the 20th. if you like, but you certainly +will not make me change my mind.'</p> +</div> + +<p>"And it is signed simply 'M.' A very cold letter, you may think—almost +hostile in tone. And yet the appointment is made for 9.30.</p> + +<p>"I shall not have to keep your attention very much longer, but I do ask +for it at this point, specially—though you have been attending most +patiently and industriously all the time—because we now come to the +actual day of the death itself."</p> + +<p>The old man clasped his hands one over the other upon the sheaf of +notes and leaned a little forward. He had it all in his head, though +he had known nothing of it until the last three days. He had not +reached the time to babble of green fields and childhood ways; he still +had firm hold of the present; he held it pinned down flat under his +wrinkled fingers with their grey, chalky nails.</p> + +<p>"Philip Boyes and Mr. Vaughan came back to town together on the evening +of the 19th, and there would seem to be no doubt at all that Boyes was +then in the best of health. Boyes spent the night with Mr. Vaughan, and +they breakfasted together in the usual way upon bacon and eggs, toast, +marmalade and coffee. At 11 o'clock Boyes had a Guinness, observing +that, according to the advertisements it was 'Good for you.' At 1 +o'clock he ate a hearty lunch at his club, and in the afternoon he +played several sets at tennis with Mr. Vaughan and some other friends. +During the game the remark was made by one of the players that Harlech +had done Boyes good, and he replied that he was feeling fitter than he +had done for many months.</p> + +<p>"At half-past seven he went round to have dinner with his cousin, Mr. +Norman Urquhart. Nothing at all unusual in his manner or appearance was +noticed, either by Mr. Urquhart or by the maid who waited at table. +Dinner was served at 8 o'clock exactly, and I think it would be a good +thing if you were to write down that time (if you have not already done +so) and also the list of things eaten and drunk.</p> + +<p>"The two cousins dined alone together, and first, by way of cocktail, +each had a glass of sherry. The wine was a fine Oleroso of 1847, +and the maid decanted it from a fresh bottle and poured it into the +glasses as they sat in the library. Mr. Urquhart retains the dignified +old-fashioned custom of having the maid in attendance throughout the +meal, so that we have here the advantage of two witnesses during this +part of the evening. You saw the maid, Hannah Westlock, in the box, and +I think you will say she gave the impression of being a sensible and +observant witness.</p> + +<p>"Well, there was the sherry. Then came a cup of cold bouillon, served +by Hannah Westlock from the tureen on the sideboard. It was very +strong, good soup, set to a clear jelly. Both men had some, and, after +dinner, the bouillon was finished by the cook and Miss Westlock in the +kitchen.</p> + +<p>"After the soup came a piece of turbot with sauce. The portions were +again carved at the sideboard, the sauce-boat was handed to each in +turn, and the dish was then sent out to be finished in the kitchen.</p> + +<p>"Then came a <i>poulet en casserole</i>—that is, chicken cut up and stewed +slowly with vegetables in a fireproof cooking utensil. Both men had +some of this, and the maids finished the dish.</p> + +<p>"The final course was a sweet omelette, which was made at the table +in a chafing-dish by Philip Boyes himself. Both Mr. Urquhart and his +cousin were very particular about eating an omelette the moment it came +from the pan—and a very good rule it is, and I advise you all to treat +omelettes in the same way and never to allow them to stand, or they +will get tough. Four eggs were brought to the table in their shells, +and Mr. Urquhart broke them one by one into a bowl, adding sugar from +a sifter. Then he handed the bowl to Mr. Boyes, saying: 'You're the +real dab at omelettes, Philip—I'll leave this to you'. Philip Boyes +then beat the eggs and sugar together, cooked the omelette in the +chafing-dish, filled it with hot jam, which was brought in by Hannah +Westlock, and then himself divided it into two portions, giving one to +Mr. Urquhart and taking the remainder himself.</p> + +<p>"I have been a little careful to remind you of all these things, to +show that we have good proof that every dish served at dinner was +partaken of by two people at least, and in most cases by four. The +omelette—the only dish which did not go out to the kitchen—was +prepared by Philip Boyes himself and shared by his cousin. Neither +Mr. Urquhart, Miss Westlock nor the cook, Mrs. Pettican, felt any +ill-effects from this meal.</p> + +<p>"I should mention also that there was one article of diet which was +partaken of by Philip Boyes alone, and that was a bottle of Burgundy. +It was a fine old Corton, and was brought to the table in its original +bottle. Mr. Urquhart drew the cork and then handed the bottle intact to +Philip Boyes, saying that he himself would not take any—he had been +advised not to drink at mealtimes. Philip Boyes drank two glassfuls +and the remainder of the bottle was fortunately preserved. As you +have already heard, the wine was later analysed and found to be quite +harmless.</p> + +<p>"This brings us to 9 o'clock. After dinner, coffee is offered, but +Boyes excuses himself on the ground that he does not care for Turkish +coffee, and moreover will probably be given coffee by Harriet Vane. At +9.15 Boyes leaves Mr. Urquhart's house in Woburn Square, and is driven +in a taxi to the house where Miss Vane has her flat, No. 100 Doughty +Street—a distance of about half a mile. We have it from Harriet Vane +herself, from Mrs. Bright, a resident in the ground floor flat, and +from Police Constable D.1234 who was passing along the street at the +time, that he was standing on the doorstep, ringing the prisoner's +bell, at 25 minutes past 9. She was on the look-out for him and let him +in immediately.</p> + +<p>"Now, as the interview was naturally a private one, we have no account +of it to go upon but that of the prisoner. She has told us that as soon +as he came in, she offered him 'a cup of coffee which was standing +ready upon the gas-ring.' Now, when the learned Attorney-General +heard the prisoner say that, he immediately asked what the coffee was +standing ready in. The prisoner, apparently not quite understanding the +purport of the question, replied 'in the fender, to keep hot.' When +the question was repeated more clearly, she explained that the coffee +was made in a saucepan, and that it was this which was placed upon the +gas-ring in the fender. The Attorney-General then drew the prisoner's +attention to her previous statement made to the police, in which +this expression appeared: 'I had a cup of coffee ready for him on his +arrival.' You will see at once the importance of this. If the cups of +coffee were prepared and poured out separately before the arrival of +the deceased, there was every opportunity to place poison in one of the +cups beforehand and offer the prepared cup to Philip Boyes; but if the +coffee was poured out from the saucepan in the deceased's presence, +the opportunity would be rather less, though of course the thing might +easily be done while Boyes' attention was momentarily distracted. The +prisoner explained that in her statement she used the phrase 'a cup +of coffee' merely as denoting 'a certain quantity of coffee.' You +yourselves will be able to judge whether that is a usual and natural +form of expression. The deceased is said by her to have taken no milk +or sugar in his coffee, and you have the testimony of Mr. Urquhart +and Mr. Vaughan that it was his usual habit to drink his after-dinner +coffee black and unsweetened.</p> + +<p>"According to the prisoner's evidence, the interview was not a +satisfactory one. Reproaches were uttered on both sides, and at 10 +o'clock or thereabouts, the deceased expressed his intention of leaving +her. She says that he appeared uneasy and remarked that he was not +feeling well, adding that her behaviour had greatly upset him.</p> + +<p>"At ten minutes past ten—and I want you to note these times very +carefully, the taxi-driver Burke, who was standing on the rank in +Guilford Street, was approached by Philip Boyes and told to take him +to Woburn Square. He says that Boyes spoke in a hurried and abrupt +tone, like that of a person in distress of mind or body. When the taxi +stopped before Mr. Urquhart's house, Boyes did not get out, and Burke +opened the door to see what was the matter. He found the deceased +huddled in a corner with his hand pressed over his stomach and his +face pale and covered with perspiration. He asked him whether he was +ill, and the deceased replied: 'Yes, rotten.' Burke helped him out +and rang the bell, supporting him with one arm as they stood on the +doorstep. Hannah Westlock opened the door. Philip Boyes seemed hardly +able to walk; his body was bent almost double, and he sank groaning +into a hall-chair and asked for brandy. She brought him a stiff +brandy-and-soda from the dining-room, and after drinking this, Boyes +recovered sufficiently to take money from his pocket and pay for the +taxi.</p> + +<p>"As he still seemed very ill, Hannah Westlock summoned Mr. Urquhart +from the library. He said to Boyes, 'Hullo, old man—what's the matter +with you?' Boyes replied, 'God knows! I feel awful. It can't have +been the chicken.' Mr. Urquhart said he hoped not, he hadn't noticed +anything wrong with it, and Boyes answered, No, he supposed it was one +of his usual attacks, but he'd never felt anything like this before. He +was taken upstairs to bed, and Dr. Grainger was summoned by telephone, +as being the nearest physician available.</p> + +<p>"Before the doctor's arrival, the patient vomited violently, and +thereafter continued to vomit persistently. Dr. Grainger diagnosed the +trouble as acute gastritis. There was a high temperature and rapid +pulse, and the patient's abdomen was acutely painful to pressure, but +the doctor found nothing indicative of any trouble in the nature of +appendicitis or peritonitis. He therefore went back to his surgery, +and made up a soothing medicine to control the vomiting—a mixture of +bicarbonate of potash, tincture of oranges, and chloroform—no other +drugs.</p> + +<p>"Next day the vomiting still persisted, and Dr. Weare was called in to +consult with Dr. Grainger, as he was well acquainted with the patient's +constitution."</p> + +<p>Here the judge paused and glanced at the clock.</p> + +<p>"Time is getting on, and as the medical evidence has still to be passed +in review, I will adjourn the Court now for lunch."</p> + +<p>"He would," said the Hon. Freddy, "just at the beastliest moment when +everybody's appetite is thoroughly taken away. Come on, Wimsey, let's +go and fold a chop into the system, shall we?—Hullo!"</p> + +<p>Wimsey had pushed past without heeding him, and was making his way down +into the body of the court, where Sir Impey Biggs stood conferring with +his juniors.</p> + +<p>"Seems to be in a bit of a stew," said Mr. Arbuthnot, meditatively. +"Gone to put an alternative theory of some kind, I expect. Wonder why +I came to this bally show. Tedious, don't you know, and the girl's not +even pretty. Don't think I'll come back after grub."</p> + +<p>He struggled out, and found himself face to face with the Dowager +Duchess of Denver.</p> + +<p>"Come and have lunch, Duchess," said Freddy, hopefully. He liked the +Dowager.</p> + +<p>"I'm waiting for Peter, thanks, Freddy. Such an interesting case and +interesting people, too, don't you think, though what the jury make of +it I don't know, with faces like hams most of them, except the artist, +who wouldn't have any features at all if it wasn't for that dreadful +tie and his beard, looking like Christ, only not really Christ but one +of those Italian ones in a pink frock and blue top thing. Isn't that +Peter's Miss Climpson on the jury, how does she get there, I wonder?"</p> + +<p>"He's put her into a house somewhere round about, I fancy," said +Freddy, "with a typewriting office to look after and live over the shop +and run those comic charity stunts of his. Funny old soul, isn't she? +Stepped out of a magazine of the 'nineties. But she seems to suit his +work all right and all that."</p> + +<p>"Yes—such a good thing too, answering all those shady advertisements +and then getting the people shown up and so courageous too, some of +them the horridest oily people, and murderers I shouldn't wonder with +automatic thingummies and life-preservers in every pocket, and very +likely a gas-oven full of bones like Landru, so clever, wasn't he? And +really <i>such</i> women—born murderees as somebody says—quite pig-faced +but not of course deserving it and possibly the photographs don't do +them justice, poor things."</p> + +<p>The Duchess was even more rambling than usual, thought Freddy, and as +she spoke her eyes wandered to her son with a kind of anxiety unusual +in her.</p> + +<p>"Top-hole to see old Wimsey back, isn't it?" he said, with simple +kindliness. "Wonderful how keen he is on this sort of thing, don't you +know. Rampages off the minute he gets home like the jolly old war-horse +sniffing the T.N.T. Regularly up to the eyes in it."</p> + +<p>"Well, it's one of Chief-Inspector Parker's cases, and they're such +great friends, you know, quite like David and Beersheba—or do I mean +Daniel?"</p> + +<p>Wimsey joined them at this complicated moment, and tucked his mother's +arm affectionately in his own.</p> + +<p>"Frightfully sorry to keep you waiting, Mater, but I had to say a word +to Biggy. He's having a rotten time, and that old Jeffreys of a judge +looks as though he was getting measured for a black cap. I'm going home +to burn my books. Dangerous to know too much about poisons, don't you +think? Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape +the old Bailey."</p> + +<p>"The young woman doesn't seem to have tried that recipe, does she?" +remarked Freddy.</p> + +<p>"You ought to be on the jury," retorted Wimsey, with unusual acidity, +"I bet that's what they're all saying at this moment. I'm convinced +that that foreman is a teetotaller—I saw ginger-beer going into the +jury-room, and I only hope it explodes and blows his inside through the +top of his skull."</p> + +<p>"All right, all right," returned Mr. Arbuthnot, soothingly, "what you +want is a drink."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</h2> +</div> + + +<p>The scramble for places subsided; the jury returned; the prisoner +reappeared in the dock suddenly, like a jack-in-the-box; the judge +resumed his seat. Some petals had spilt from the roses. The old voice +took up its tale where it had left off.</p> + +<p>"Members of the jury—there is no need, I think, for me to recall the +course of Philip Boyes' illness in great detail. The nurse was called +in on June 21st, and during that day the doctors visited the patient +three times. His condition grew steadily worse. There was persistent +vomiting and diarrhoea, and he could not keep any food or medicine +down at all. On the day after, the 22nd, he was worse still—in great +pain, the pulse growing weaker, and the skin about the mouth getting +dry and peeling off. The doctors gave him every attention, but could +do nothing for him. His father was summoned, and when he arrived he +found his son conscious, but unable to lift himself. He was able to +speak, however, and in the presence of his father and Nurse Williams +he made the remark, 'I'm going out, Dad, and I'm glad to be through +with it. Harriet'll be rid of me now—I didn't know she hated me quite +so much.' Now that was a very remarkable speech, and we have heard +two very different interpretations put upon it. It is for you to say +whether, in your opinion, he meant: 'She has succeeded in getting rid +of me; I didn't know she hated me enough to poison me,' or whether he +meant, 'When I realised she hated me so much, I decided I did not want +to live any longer'—or whether, perhaps, he meant neither of these +things. When people are very ill, they sometimes get fantastic ideas, +and sometimes they wander in their minds; perhaps you may feel that it +is not profitable to take too much for granted. Still, those words are +part of the evidence, and you are entitled to take them into account.</p> + +<p>"During the night he became gradually weaker and lost consciousness, +and at 3 o'clock in the morning he died, without ever regaining it. +That was on the 23rd. of June.</p> + +<p>"Now, up to this time, no suspicion of any kind had been aroused. +Both Dr. Grainger and Dr. Weare formed the opinion that the cause +of death was acute gastritis, and we need not blame them for coming +to this conclusion, because it was quite consistent both with the +symptoms of the illness and with the past history of the patient. A +death-certificate was given in the usual way, and the funeral took +place on the 28th.</p> + +<p>"Well, then something happened which frequently does happen in cases +of this kind, and that is that somebody begins to talk. It was Nurse +Williams who talked in this particular case, and while you will +probably think that this was a very wrong and a very indiscreet thing +for a nurse to do, yet, as it turns out, it was a good thing that she +did. Of course, she ought to have told Dr. Weare or Dr. Grainger of +her suspicions at the time, but she did not do this, and we may at +least feel glad to know that, in the doctors' opinions, even if she +had done so, and if they had discovered that the illness was caused +by arsenic, they would not have been able to do anything more to save +the life of this unfortunate man. At any rate, what happened was that +Nurse Williams was sent, during the last week of June, to nurse another +patient of Dr. Weare's, who happened to belong to the same literary +set in Bloomsbury as Philip Boyes and Harriet Vane, and while she was +there, she spoke about Philip Boyes, and said that, in her opinion, +the illness looked very much like poisoning, and she even mentioned +the word arsenic. Well, you know how a thing like that gets about. +One person tells another and it is discussed at tea-parties, or what +are known, I believe, as cocktail parties, and very soon a story gets +spread about, and people mention names and take sides. Miss Marriott +and Miss Price were told about it, and it also got to the ears of Mr. +Vaughan. Now Mr. Vaughan had been greatly distressed and surprised by +Philip Boyes' death, especially as he had been with him in Wales, and +knew how much he had improved in health while on his holiday, and he +also felt very strongly that Harriet Vane had behaved badly about the +love-affair. Mr. Vaughan felt that some action ought to be taken about +the matter, and went to Mr. Urquhart and put the story before him. +Now Mr. Urquhart is a solicitor, and is therefore inclined to take a +cautious view of rumours and suspicions, and he warned Mr. Vaughan that +it was not wise to go about making accusations against people, for fear +of an action for libel. At the same time, he naturally felt uneasy +that such a thing should be said about a relation who had died in his +house. He took the course—the very sensible course—of consulting Dr. +Weare and suggesting that, if he was quite certain that the illness +was due to gastritis and nothing else, he should take steps to rebuke +Nurse Williams and put an end to the talk. Dr. Weare was naturally very +much surprised and upset to hear what was being said, but, since the +suggestion had been made, he could not deny that—taking the symptoms +only into account—there was just the bare possibility of something of +the sort, because, as you have already heard in the medical evidence, +the symptoms of arsenical poisoning and of acute gastritis are really +indistinguishable.</p> + +<p>"When this was communicated to Mr. Vaughan, he was confirmed in his +suspicions, and wrote to the elder Mr. Boyes suggesting an enquiry. Mr. +Boyes was naturally very much shocked, and said at once that the matter +should be taken up. He had known of the liaison with Harriet Vane, and +had noticed that she did not come to enquire after Philip Boyes, nor +attend the funeral, and this had struck him as heartless behaviour. In +the end, the police were communicated with and an exhumation order +obtained.</p> + +<p>"You have heard the result of the analysis made by Sir James Lubbock +and Mr. Stephen Fordyce. There was a great deal of discussion about +methods of analysis and the way that arsenic behaves in the body and so +on, but, I think we need not trouble too much about those fine details. +The chief points in the evidence seemed to me to be these, which you +may note down if you care to do so.</p> + +<p>"The analysts took certain organs of the body—the stomach, intestines, +kidneys, liver and so on, and analyzed portions of these and found +that they all contained arsenic. They were able to weigh the quantity +of arsenic found in these various portions, and they calculated from +that the quantity of arsenic present in the whole body. Then they had +to allow so much for the amount of arsenic eliminated from the body by +the vomiting and diarrhoea and also through the kidneys, because the +kidneys play a very large part in the elimination of this particular +poison. After making allowance for all these things, they formed the +opinion that a large and fatal dose of arsenic—four or five grains, +perhaps, had been taken about three days before the death.</p> + +<p>"I do not know whether you quite followed all the technical arguments +about this. I will try to tell you the chief points as I understood +them. The nature of arsenic is to pass through the body very quickly, +especially if it is taken with food or immediately following a meal, +because the arsenic irritates the lining of the internal organs and +speeds up the process of elimination. The action would be quicker if +the arsenic were taken in liquid than if it were taken in the form of a +powder. Where arsenic was taken with, or immediately on top of a meal, +nearly the whole of it would be evacuated within twenty-four hours +after the onset of the illness. So you see that, although the actual +quantities found in the body may seem to you and me very small indeed, +the mere fact that they were found there at all, after three days of +persistent vomiting and diarrhoea and so on, points to a large dose +having been taken at some time.</p> + +<p>"Now there was a great deal of discussion about the time at which the +symptoms first set in. It is suggested by the defence that Philip +Boyes may have taken the arsenic himself at some time between leaving +Harriet Vane's flat and hailing the taxi in Guilford Street; and they +bring forward books which show that in many cases the onset of symptoms +takes place in a very short time after taking the arsenic—a quarter +of an hour, I think, was the shortest time mentioned where the arsenic +was taken in liquid form. Now the prisoner's statement—and we have no +other—is that Philip Boyes left her at 10 o'clock, and at ten minutes +past he was in Guilford Street. He was then looking ill. It would not +take many minutes to drive to Woburn Square at that hour of night, +and by the time he got there, he was already in acute pain and hardly +able to stand. Now Guilford Street is a very short way from Doughty +Street—perhaps three minutes' walk—and you must ask yourselves, +if the prisoner's statement is correct, what he did with those ten +minutes. Did he occupy himself in going to some quiet spot and taking +a dose of arsenic, which he must in that case have brought with him in +anticipation of an unfavourable interview with the prisoner? And I may +remind you here, that the defence have brought no evidence to show that +Philip Boyes ever bought any arsenic, or had access to any arsenic. +That is not to say he could not have obtained it—the purchases made +by Harriet Vane show that the law about the sale of poisons is not +always as effective as one would like it to be—but the fact remains +that the defence have not been able to show that the deceased ever had +arsenic in his possession. And while we are on this subject, I will +mention that, curiously enough, the analysts could find no traces of +the charcoal, or indigo, with which commercial arsenic is supposed to +be mixed. Whether it was bought by the prisoner or by the deceased +himself, you would expect to find traces of the colouring matter. But +you may think it likely that all such traces would be removed from the +body by the vomiting and purging which took place.</p> + +<p>"As regards the suggestion of suicide, you will have to ask yourselves +about those ten minutes—whether Boyes was taking a dose of arsenic, or +whether, as is also possible, he felt unwell and sat down somewhere to +recover himself, or whether, perhaps, he was merely roaming about in +the vague way we sometimes do when we are feeling upset and unhappy. +Or you may think that the prisoner was mistaken, or not speaking the +truth, about the time he left the flat.</p> + +<p>"You have also the prisoner's statement that Boyes mentioned, before he +left her, that he was feeling unwell. If you think this had anything to +do with the arsenic, it of course disposes of the suggestion that he +took poison after leaving the flat.</p> + +<p>"Then, when one looks into it, one finds that this question about the +onset of symptoms is left very vague. Various doctors came here and +told you about their own experiences and the cases quoted by medical +authorities in books, and you will have noticed that there is no +certainty at all about the time when the symptoms may be expected to +appear. Sometimes it is a quarter of an hour or half an hour, sometimes +two hours, sometimes as much as five or six, and, I believe, in one +case as much as seven hours after taking the poison."</p> + +<p>Here the Attorney-General rose respectfully and said: "In that case, me +lud, I think I am right in saying that the poison was taken on an empty +stomach."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, I am much obliged to you for the reminder. That was a case +in which the poison was taken on an empty stomach. I only mention these +cases to show that we are dealing with a very uncertain phenomenon, +and that is why I was particular to remind you of all the occasions on +which Philip Boyes took food during the day—the 20th of June, since +there is always the possibility that you may have to take them into +consideration."</p> + +<p>"A beast, but a just beast," murmured Lord Peter Wimsey.</p> + +<p>"I have purposely left out of consideration until now another point +which arose out of the analysis, and that is the presence of arsenic +in the hair. The deceased had curly hair, which he wore rather long; +the front portion, when straightened out, measured about six or seven +inches in places. Now, in this hair, arsenic was found, at the end +closest to the head. It did not extend to the tips of the longest hair, +but it was found near the roots, and Sir James Lubbock says that the +quantity was greater than could be accounted for in any natural way. +Occasionally, quite normal people are found to have minute traces of +arsenic in the hair and skin and so on, but not to the amount found +here. That is Sir James' opinion.</p> + +<p>"Now you have been told—and the medical witnesses all agree in +this—that if a person takes arsenic, a certain proportion of it will +be deposited in the skin, nails and hair. It will be deposited in the +root of the hair, and as the hair grows, the arsenic will be carried +along with the growth of the hair, so that you get a rough idea, +from seeing the position of the arsenic in the hair, how long the +administration of arsenic has been going on. There was a good deal of +discussion about this, but I think there was a fairly general agreement +that, if you took a dose of arsenic, you might expect to find traces +of it in the hair, close to the scalp, after about ten weeks. Hair +grows at the rate of about six inches in a year, and the arsenic will +grow out with it till it reaches the far end and is cut off. I am sure +that the ladies on the jury will understand this very well, because +I believe that the same thing occurs in the case of what is termed a +'permanent wave.' The wave is made in a certain portion of the hair, +and after a time it grows out, and the hair near the scalp comes +up straight and has to be waved again. You can tell by the position +of the wave, how long ago the waving was done. In the same way, if +a finger-nail is bruised, the discolouration will gradually grow up +the nail until it reaches the point where you can cut it off with the +scissors.</p> + +<p>"Now it has been said that the presence of arsenic in and about +the roots of Philip Boyes' hair indicates that he must have taken +arsenic three months at least before his death. You will consider +what importance is to be attached to this in view of the prisoner's +purchases of arsenic in April and May, and of the deceased's attacks of +sickness in March, April and May. The quarrel with the prisoner took +place in February; he was ill in March and he died in June. There are +five months between the quarrel and the death, and four months between +the first illness and the death, and you may think that there is some +significance in these dates.</p> + +<p>"We now come to the enquiries made by the police. When suspicion +was aroused, detectives investigated Harriet Vane's movements and +subsequently went to her flat to take a statement from her. When they +told her that Boyes was found to have died of arsenic poisoning, she +appeared very much surprised, and said, 'Arsenic? What an extraordinary +thing!' And then, she laughed, and said, 'Why, I am writing a book all +about arsenic poisoning.' They asked her about the purchases of arsenic +and other poisons which she had made and she admitted them quite +readily and at once gave the same explanation that she gave here in +court. They asked what she had done with the poisons, and she replied +that she had burnt them because they were dangerous things to have +about. The flat was searched, but no poisons of any kind were found, +except such things as aspirin and a few ordinary medicines of that +kind. She absolutely denied having administered arsenic or any kind +of poison to Philip Boyes. She was asked whether the arsenic could +possibly have got into the coffee by accident, and replied that that +was quite impossible, as she had destroyed all the poisons before the +end of May."</p> + +<p>Here Sir Impey Biggs interposed and begged with submission to suggest +that his lordship should remind the jury of the evidence given by Mr. +Challoner.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, Sir Impey, I am obliged to you. You remember that Mr. +Challoner is Harriet Vane's literary agent. He came here to tell us +that he had discussed with her as long ago as last December the subject +of her forthcoming book, and she then told him that it was to be about +poisons, and very probably about arsenic. So you may think it is a +point in the prisoner's favour that this intention of studying the +purchase and administration of arsenic was already in her mind some +time before the quarrel with Philip Boyes took place. She evidently +gave considerable thought to the subject, for there were a number of +books on her shelves dealing with forensic medicine and toxicology, +and also the reports of several famous poison trials, including the +Madeleine Smith case, the Seddon case and the Armstrong case—all of +which were cases of arsenical poisoning.</p> + +<p>"Well, I think that is the case as it is presented to you. This woman +is charged with having murdered her former lover by arsenic. He +undoubtedly did take arsenic, and if you are satisfied that she gave it +to him with intent to injure or kill him, and that he died of it, then +it is your duty to find her guilty of murder.</p> + +<p>"Sir Impey Biggs, in his able and eloquent speech, has put it to you +that she had very little motive for such a murder, but I am bound to +tell you that murders are very often committed for what seem to be +most inadequate motives—if, indeed, any motive can be called adequate +for such a crime. Especially where the parties are husband and wife, +or have lived together as husband and wife, there are likely to be +passionate feelings which may tend to crimes of violence in persons +with inadequate moral standards and of unbalanced mind.</p> + +<p>"The prisoner had the means—the arsenic—she had the expert knowledge, +and she had the opportunity to administer it. The defence say that this +is not enough. They say the Crown must go further and prove that the +poison could not have been taken in any other way—by accident, or with +suicidal intent. That is for you to judge. If you feel that there is +any reasonable doubt that the prisoner gave this poison to Philip Boyes +deliberately, you must bring her in Not Guilty of murder. You are not +bound to decide how it was given, if it was not given by her. Consider +the circumstances of the case as a whole, and say what conclusion you +have come to."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</h2> +</div> + + +<p>"They won't be long, I shouldn't think," said Waffles Newton, "it's +pretty damned obvious. Look here, old man, I'm going to push my stuff +in. Will you let me know what happens?"</p> + +<p>"Sure," said Salcombe Hardy, "if you don't mind dropping mine in at our +place as you go. You couldn't send me a drink by 'phone, could you? My +mouth's like the bottom of a parrot's cage." He looked at his watch. +"We shall miss the 6.30 edition, I'm afraid, unless they hurry up. The +old man is careful but he's damned slow."</p> + +<p>"They can't in decency not make a pretence of consulting about it," +said Newton. "I give them twenty minutes. They'll want a smoke. So do +I. I'll be back at ten to, in case."</p> + +<p>He wriggled his way out. Cuthbert Logan, who reported for a morning +paper, and was a man of more leisure, settled down to write up a +word-picture of the trial. He was a phlegmatic and sober person and +could write as comfortably in court as anywhere else. He liked to be +on the spot when things happened, and to note down glances, tones of +voice, colour effects and so forth. His copy was always entertaining, +and sometimes even distinguished.</p> + +<p>Freddy Arbuthnot, who had not, after all, gone home after lunch, +thought it was time to do so now. He fidgeted, and Wimsey frowned at +him. The Dowager Duchess made her way along the benches and squeezed +in next to Lord Peter. Sir Impey Biggs, having watched over his +client's interests to the last, disappeared, chatting cheerfully to +the Attorney-General, and followed by the smaller legal fry. The dock +was deserted. On the bench the red roses stood solitary, their petals +dropping.</p> + +<p>Chief-Inspector Parker, disengaging himself from a group of friends, +came slowly up through the crowd and greeted the Dowager. "And what do +you think of it, Peter?" he added, turning to Wimsey, "rather neatly +got up, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Charles," said Wimsey, "you ought not to be allowed out without me. +You've made a mistake, old man."</p> + +<p>"Made a mistake?"</p> + +<p>"She didn't do it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come!"</p> + +<p>"She did not do it. It's very convincing and water-tight, but it's all +wrong."</p> + +<p>"You don't really think that."</p> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>Parker looked distressed. He had confidence in Wimsey's judgment, and, +in spite of his own interior certainty, he felt shaken.</p> + +<p>"My dear man, where's the flaw in it?"</p> + +<p>"There isn't one. It's damnably knife-proof. There's nothing wrong +about it at all, except that the girl's innocent."</p> + +<p>"You're turning into a common or garden psychologist," said Parker, +with an uneasy laugh, "isn't he, Duchess?"</p> + +<p>"I wish I had known that girl," replied the Dowager, in her usual +indirect manner, "so interesting and a really remarkable face, though +perhaps not strictly good-looking, and all the more interesting for +that, because good-looking people are so often cows. I have been +reading one of her books, really quite good and so well-written, and +I didn't guess the murderer till page 200, rather clever, because I +usually do it about page 15. So very curious to write books about +crimes and then be accused of a crime one's self, some people might +say it was a judgment. I wonder whether, if she didn't do it, she has +spotted the murderer herself? I don't suppose detective writers detect +much in real life, do they, except Edgar Wallace of course, who always +seems to be everywhere and dear Conan Doyle and the black man what was +his name and of course the Slater person, such a scandal, though now I +come to think of it that was in Scotland where they have such very odd +laws about everything particularly getting married. Well, I suppose we +shall soon know now, not the truth, necessarily, but what the jury have +made of it."</p> + +<p>"Yes; they are being rather longer than I expected. But, I say, Wimsey, +I wish you'd tell me—"</p> + +<p>"Too late, too late, you cannot enter now. I have locked my heart in +a silver box and pinned it wi' a golden pin. Nobody's opinion matters +now, except the jury's. I expect Miss Climpson is telling 'em all about +it. When once she starts she doesn't stop for an hour or two."</p> + +<p>"Well, they've been half-an-hour now," said Parker.</p> + +<p>"Still waiting?" said Salcombe Hardy, returning to the press-table.</p> + +<p>"Yes—so this is what you call twenty minutes! Three-quarters of an +hour, I make it."</p> + +<p>"They've been out an hour-and-a-half," said a girl to her fiancé, just +behind Wimsey. "What can they be discussing?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps they don't think she did it after all."</p> + +<p>"What nonsense! Of course she did it. You could see it by her face. +Hard, that's what I call it, and she never once cried or anything."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I dunno," said the young man.</p> + +<p>"You don't mean to say you admired her, Frank?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, I dunno. But she didn't look to me like a murderess."</p> + +<p>"And how do you know what a murderess looks like? Have you ever met +one?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I've seen them at Madame Tussaud's."</p> + +<p>"Oh, wax-works. Everybody looks like a murderer in a wax-works."</p> + +<p>"Well, p'raps they do. Have a choc."</p> + +<p>"Two hours and a quarter," said Waffles Newton, impatiently. "They +must have gone to sleep. Have to be a special edition. What happens if +they are all night about it?"</p> + +<p>"We sit here all night, that's all."</p> + +<p>"Well, it's my turn for a drink. Let me know, will you?"</p> + +<p>"Right-ho!"</p> + +<p>"I've been talking to one of the ushers," said the Man Who Knows the +Ropes, importantly, to a friend. "The judge has just sent round to the +jury to ask if he can help them in any way."</p> + +<p>"Has he? And what did they say?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"They've been out three hours and a half now," whispered the girl +behind Wimsey. "I'm getting fearfully hungry."</p> + +<p>"Are you, darling? Shall we go?"</p> + +<p>"No—I want to hear the verdict. We've waited so long now, we may as +well stop on."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll go out and get some sandwiches."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that would be nice. But don't be long, because I'm sure I shall +get hysterics when I hear the sentence."</p> + +<p>"I'll be as quick as ever I can. Be glad you're not the jury—they're +not allowed anything at all."</p> + +<p>"What, nothing to eat or drink?"</p> + +<p>"Not a thing. I don't think they're supposed to have light or fire +either."</p> + +<p>"Poor things! But it's central-heated, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"It's hot enough here, anyway. I'll be glad of a breath of fresh air."</p> + +<p>Five hours.</p> + +<p>"There's a terrific crowd in the street," said the Man Who Knows the +Ropes, returning from a reconnaissance. "Some people started booing +the prisoner and a bunch of men attacked them, and one fellow has been +carried off in an ambulance."</p> + +<p>"Really, how amusing! Look! There's Mr. Urquhart; he's come back. I'm +so sorry for him, aren't you? It must be horrid having somebody die in +your house."</p> + +<p>"He's talking to the Attorney-General. They've all had a proper dinner, +of course."</p> + +<p>"The Attorney-General isn't as handsome as Sir Impey Biggs. Is it true +he keeps canaries?"</p> + +<p>"The Attorney-General?"</p> + +<p>"No, Sir Impey."</p> + +<p>"Yes, quite true. He takes prizes with them."</p> + +<p>"What a funny idea!"</p> + +<p>"Bear up, Freddy," said Lord Peter Wimsey. "I perceive movements. They +are coming, my own, my sweet, were it never so airy a tread."</p> + +<p>The court rose to its feet. The judge took his seat. The prisoner, very +white in the electricity, reappeared in the dock. The door leading to +the jury-room opened.</p> + +<p>"Look at their faces," said the fiancée, "they say if it's going to be +Guilty they never look at the prisoner. Oh, Archie, hold my hand!"</p> + +<p>The Clerk of Assizes addressed the jury in tones in which formality +struggled with reproach.</p> + +<p>"Members of the jury, have you all agreed upon your verdict?"</p> + +<p>The foreman rose with an injured and irritable countenance.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry to say that we find it impossible to come to an agreement."</p> + +<p>A prolonged gasp and murmur went round the court. The judge leaned +forward, very courteous and not in the least fatigued.</p> + +<p>"Do you think that with a little more time you may be able to reach an +agreement?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid not, my lord." The foreman glanced savagely at one corner +of the jury-box, where the elderly spinster sat with her head bowed +and her hands tightly clasped. "I see no prospect at all of our ever +agreeing."</p> + +<p>"Can I assist you in any way?"</p> + +<p>"No, thank you, my lord. We quite understand the evidence, but we +cannot agree about it."</p> + +<p>"That is unfortunate. I think perhaps you had better try again, and +then, if you are still unable to come to a decision, you must come back +and tell me. In the meantime, if my knowledge of the law can be of any +assistance to you, it is, of course, quite at your disposal."</p> + +<p>The jury stumbled sullenly away. The judge trailed his scarlet robes +out at the back of the bench. The murmur of conversation rose and +swelled into a loud rumble.</p> + +<p>"By jove," said Freddy Arbuthnot, "I believe it's your Miss Climpson +that's holdin' the jolly old show up, Wimsey. Did you see how the +foreman glared at her?"</p> + +<p>"Good egg," said Wimsey, "oh, excellent, excellent egg! She has a +fearfully tough conscience—she may stick it out yet."</p> + +<p>"I believe you've been corrupting the jury, Wimsey. Did you signal to +her or something?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't," said Wimsey. "Believe me or believe me not, I refrained +from so much as a lifted eyebrow."</p> + +<p>"And he himself has said it," muttered Freddy, "and it's greatly to his +credit. But it's damned hard on people who want their dinners."</p> + +<p>Six hours. Six hours and a half.</p> + +<p>"At last!"</p> + +<p>As the jury filed back for the second time, they showed signs of wear +and tear. The harassed woman had been crying and was still choking into +her handkerchief. The man with the bad cold looked nearly dead. The +artist's hair was rumpled into an untidy bush. The company director +and the foreman looked as though they would have liked to strangle +somebody, and the elderly spinster had her eyes shut and her lips +moving as though she were praying.</p> + +<p>"Members of the jury, are you agreed upon your verdict?"</p> + +<p>"No; we are quite sure that it is impossible for us ever to agree."</p> + +<p>"You are quite sure?" said the judge. "I do not wish to hurry you in +any way. I am quite prepared to wait here as long as ever you like."</p> + +<p>The snarl of the company director was audible even in the gallery. The +foreman controlled himself, and replied in a voice ragged with temper +and exhaustion.</p> + +<p>"We shall never agree, my lord—not if we were to stay here till +Doomsday."</p> + +<p>"That is very unfortunate," said the judge, "but in that case, of +course, there is nothing for it but to discharge you and order a fresh +trial. I feel sure that you have all done your best and that you have +brought all the resources of your intelligence and conscience to bear +on this matter to which you have listened with so much patient and +zealous attention. You are discharged, and you are entitled to be +excused from all further jury service for the next twelve years."</p> + +<p>Almost before the further formalities were completed, and while the +judge's robes still flared in the dark little doorway, Wimsey had +scrambled down into the well of the court. He caught the defending +counsel by the gown.</p> + +<p>"Biggy—well done! You've got another chance. Let me in on this and +we'll pull it off."</p> + +<p>"You think so, Wimsey? I don't mind confessing that we've done better +than I ever expected."</p> + +<p>"We'll do better still next time. I say, Biggy, swear me in as a clerk +or something. I want to interview her."</p> + +<p>"Who, my client?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I've got a hunch about this case. We've got to get her off, and I +know it can be done."</p> + +<p>"Well, come and see me tomorrow. I must go and speak to her now. I'll +be in my chambers at ten. Good-night."</p> + +<p>Wimsey darted off and rushed round to the side-door, from which the +jury were emerging. Last of them all, her hat askew and her mackintosh +dragged awkwardly round her shoulders, came the elderly spinster. +Wimsey dashed up to her and seized her hand.</p> + +<p>"Miss Climpson!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lord Peter. Oh, dear! What a dreadful day it has been. Do you +know, it was me that caused the trouble, mostly, though two of them +most bravely backed me up, and oh, Lord Peter, I hope I haven't done +wrong, but I couldn't, no I <i>couldn't</i> in conscience say she had done +it when I was sure she hadn't, could I? Oh, dear, oh, dear!"</p> + +<p>"You're absolutely right. She didn't do it, and thank God you stood up +to them and gave her another chance. I'm going to prove she didn't do +it. And I'm going to take you out to dinner, and—I say, Miss Climpson!"</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"I hope you won't mind, because I haven't shaved since this morning, +but I'm going to take you round the next quiet corner and kiss you."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</h2> +</div> + + +<p>The following day was a Sunday, but Sir Impey Biggs cancelled an +engagement to play golf (with the less regret as it was pouring cats +and dogs), and held an extraordinary council of war.</p> + +<p>"Well, now, Wimsey," said the advocate, "what is your idea about this? +May I introduce Mr. Crofts of Crofts & Cooper, solicitors for the +defence."</p> + +<p>"My idea is that Miss Vane didn't do it," said Wimsey. "I dare say +that's an idea which has already occurred to you, but with the weight +of my great mind behind it, no doubt it strikes the imagination more +forcibly."</p> + +<p>Mr. Crofts, not being quite clear whether this was funny or fatuous, +smiled deferentially.</p> + +<p>"Quite so," said Sir Impey, "but I should be interested to know how +many of the jury saw it in that light."</p> + +<p>"Well, I can tell you that, at least, because I know one of them. One +woman and half a woman and about three-quarters of a man."</p> + +<p>"Meaning precisely?"</p> + +<p>"Well, the woman I know stuck out for it that Miss Vane wasn't that +sort of person. They bullied her a good deal, of course, because she +couldn't lay a finger on any real weakness in the chain of evidence, +but she said the prisoner's demeanour was part of the evidence and that +she was entitled to take that into consideration. Fortunately, she is +a tough, thin, elderly woman with a sound digestion and a militant +High-Church conscience of remarkable staying-power, and her wind is +excellent. She let 'em all gallop themselves dead, and then said she +still didn't believe it and wasn't going to say she did."</p> + +<p>"Very useful," said Sir Impey. "A person who can believe all the +articles of the Christian faith is not going to boggle over a trifle of +adverse evidence. But we can never hope for a whole jury-box full of +ecclesiastical diehards. How about the other woman and the man?"</p> + +<p>"Well, the woman was rather unexpected. She was the stout, prosperous +party who keeps a sweet-shop. She said she didn't think the case +was proved, and that it was perfectly possible that Boyes had taken +the stuff himself, or that his cousin had given it to him. She was +influenced, rather oddly, by the fact that she had attended one or two +arsenic trials, and had not been satisfied by the verdict in some other +cases—notably the Seddon trial. She has no opinion of men in general +(she has buried her third) and she disbelieves all expert evidence on +principle. She said that, personally, she thought Miss Vane might have +done it, but she wouldn't really hang a dog on medical evidence. At +first she was ready to vote with the majority, but she took a dislike +to the foreman, who tried to bear her down by his male authority, and +eventually she said she was going to back up my friend Miss Climpson."</p> + +<p>Sir Impey laughed.</p> + +<p>"Very interesting. I wish we always got this inside information about +juries. We sweat like hell to prepare evidence, and then one person +makes up her mind on what isn't really evidence at all, and another +supports her on the ground that evidence can't be relied on. How about +the man?"</p> + +<p>"The man was the artist, and the only person who really understood +the kind of life these people were leading. He believed your client's +version of the quarrel, and said that, if the girl really felt like +that about the man, the last thing she would want to do would be to +kill him. She'd rather stand back and watch him ache, like the man +with the hollow tooth in the comic song. He was also able to believe +the whole story about purchasing the poisons, which to the others, of +course, seemed extremely feeble. He also said that Boyes, from what he +had heard, was a conceited prig, and that anybody who disposed of him +was doing a public service. He had had the misfortune to read some of +his books, and considered the man an excrescence and a public nuisance. +Actually he thought it more than likely that he had committed suicide, +and if anybody was prepared to take that point of view he was ready to +second it. He also alarmed the jury by saying that he was accustomed to +late hours and a stale atmosphere, and had not the slightest objection +to sitting up all night. Miss Climpson also said that, in a righteous +cause, a little personal discomfort was a trifle, and added that her +religion had trained her to fasting. At that point, the third woman had +hysterics and another man, who had an important deal to put through +next day, lost his temper, so, to prevent bodily violence, the foreman +said he thought they had better agree to disagree. So that's how it +was."</p> + +<p>"Well, they've given us another chance," said Mr. Crofts, "so it's all +to the good. It can't come on now till the next sessions, which gives +us about a month, and we'll probably get Bancroft next time, who's not +such a severe judge as Crossley. The thing is, can we do anything to +improve the look of our case?"</p> + +<p>"I'm going to have a strenuous go at it," said Wimsey. "There must +<i>be</i> evidence somewhere, you know. I know you've all worked like +beavers, but I'm going to work like a king beaver. And I've got one big +advantage over the rest of you."</p> + +<p>"More brains?" suggested Sir Impey, grinning.</p> + +<p>"No—I should hate to suggest that, Biggy. But I do believe in Miss +Vane's innocence."</p> + +<p>"Damn it, Wimsey, didn't my eloquent speeches convince you that I was a +whole-hearted believer?"</p> + +<p>"Of course they did. I nearly shed tears. Here's old Biggy, I said to +myself, going to retire from the Bar and cut his throat if this verdict +goes against him, because he won't believe in British justice any +more. No—it's your triumph at having secured a disagreement that gives +you away, old horse. More than you expected. You said so. By the way, +if it's not a rude question, who's paying you, Biggy?"</p> + +<p>"Crofts and Cooper," said Sir Impey, slyly.</p> + +<p>"They're in the thing for their health, I take it?"</p> + +<p>"No, Lord Peter. As a matter of fact, the costs in this case are being +borne by Miss Vane's publishers and by a—well, a certain newspaper, +which is running her new book as a serial. They expect a scoop as the +result of all this. But frankly, I don't quite know what they'll say +to the expense of a fresh trial. I'm expecting to hear from them this +morning."</p> + +<p>"The vultures," said Wimsey. "Well, they'd better carry on, but tell +'em I'll see they're guaranteed. Don't bring my name in, though."</p> + +<p>"This is very generous—"</p> + +<p>"Not at all. I wouldn't lose the fun of all this for the world. Sort +of case I fairly wallow in. But in return you must do something for +me. I want to see Miss Vane. You must get me passed in as part of your +outfit, so that I can hear her version of the story in reasonable +privacy. Get me?"</p> + +<p>"I expect that can be done," said Sir Impey. "In the meantime you have +nothing to suggest?"</p> + +<p>"Haven't had time yet. But I'll fish out something, don't you worry. +I've already started to undermine the confidence of the police. +Chief-Inspector Parker has gone home to twine willow-wreaths for his +own tomb-stone."</p> + +<p>"You'll be careful," said Sir Impey. "Anything we can discover will +come in much more effectively if the prosecution don't know of it +beforehand."</p> + +<p>"I'll walk as on egg-shells. But if I find the real murderer (if any), +you won't object to my having him or her arrested, I take it?"</p> + +<p>"No; I won't object to that. The police may. Well, gentlemen, if +there's nothing further at the moment, we'd better adjourn the +meeting. You'll get Lord Peter the facilities he wants, Mr. Crofts?"</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Mr. Crofts exerted himself with energy, and on the following morning, +Lord Peter presented himself at the gates of Holloway Gaol, with his +credentials.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, my lord. You are to be treated on the same footing as the +prisoner's solicitor. Yes, we have had a separate communication from +the police and that will be quite all right, my lord. The warder will +take you down, and explain the regulations to you."</p> + +<p>Wimsey was conducted through a number of bare corridors to a small room +with a glass door. There was a long deal table in it and a couple of +repellent chairs, one at either end of the table.</p> + +<p>"Here you are, my lord. You sit at one end and the prisoner at the +other, and you must be careful not to move from your seats, nor to pass +any object over the table. I shall be outside and see you through the +glass, my lord, but I shan't be able to overhear nothing. If you will +take a seat, they'll bring the prisoner in, my lord."</p> + +<p>Wimsey sat down and waited, a prey to curious sensations. Presently +there was a noise of footsteps, and the prisoner was brought in, +attended by a female wardress. She took the chair opposite to Wimsey, +the wardress withdrew and the door was shut. Wimsey, who had risen, +cleared his throat.</p> + +<p>"Good afternoon, Miss Vane," he said, unimpressively.</p> + +<p>The prisoner looked at him.</p> + +<p>"Please sit down," she said, in the curious, deep voice which had +attracted him in Court. "You are Lord Peter Wimsey, I believe, and have +come from Mr. Crofts."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Wimsey. Her steady gaze was unnerving him. "Yes, I—er—I +heard the case and all that, and—er—I thought there might be +something I could do, don't you know."</p> + +<p>"That was very good of you," said the prisoner.</p> + +<p>"Not at all, not at all, dash it! I mean to say, I rather enjoy +investigating things, if you know what I mean."</p> + +<p>"I know. Being a writer of detective stories, I have naturally studied +your career with interest."</p> + +<p>She smiled suddenly at him and his heart turned to water.</p> + +<p>"Well, that's rather a good thing in a way, because you'll understand +that I'm not really such an ass as I'm looking at present."</p> + +<p>That made her laugh.</p> + +<p>"You're not looking an ass—at least, not more so than any gentleman +should under the circumstances. The background doesn't altogether suit +your style, but you are a very refreshing sight. And I'm really very +grateful to you, though I'm afraid I'm rather a hopeless case."</p> + +<p>"Don't say that. It can't be hopeless, unless you actually did it, and +I know you didn't."</p> + +<p>"Well, I didn't, as a matter of fact. But I feel it's like one book I +wrote, in which I invented such a perfectly water-tight crime that I +couldn't devise any way for my detective to prove it, and had to fall +back on the murderer's confession."</p> + +<p>"If necessary, we'll do the same. You don't happen to know who the +murderer is, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think there is one. I really believe Philip took the stuff +himself. He was rather a defeatist sort of person, you know."</p> + +<p>"I suppose he took your separation pretty hard?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I daresay it was partly that. But I think it was more that he +didn't feel he was sufficiently appreciated. He was apt to think that +people were in league to spoil his chances."</p> + +<p>"And were they?"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't think so. But I do think he offended a great many people. +He was rather apt to demand things as a right—and that annoys people, +you know."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I see. Did he get on all right with his cousin?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes; though of course he always said it was no more than Mr. +Urquhart's duty to look after him. Mr. Urquhart is fairly well off, as +he has quite a big professional connection, but Philip really had no +claim on him, as it wasn't family money or anything. His idea was that +great artists deserved to be boarded and lodged at the expense of the +ordinary man."</p> + +<p>Wimsey was fairly well acquainted with this variety of the artistic +temperament. He was struck, however, by the tone of the reply, which +was tinged, he thought, with bitterness and even some contempt. He put +his next question with some hesitation.</p> + +<p>"Forgive my asking, but—you were very fond of Philip Boyes?"</p> + +<p>"I must have been, mustn't I—under the circumstances?"</p> + +<p>"Not necessarily," said Wimsey, boldly, "you might have been sorry for +him—or bewitched by him—or even badgered to death by him."</p> + +<p>"All those things."</p> + +<p>Wimsey considered for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Were you friends?"</p> + +<p>"No." The word broke out with a kind of repressed savagery that +startled him. "Philip wasn't the sort of man to make a friend of a +woman. He wanted devotion. I gave him that. I did, you know. But I +couldn't stand being made a fool of. I couldn't stand being put on +probation, like an office-boy, to see if I was good enough to be +condescended to. I quite thought he was honest when he said he didn't +believe in marriage—and then it turned out that it was a test, to see +whether my devotion was abject enough. Well, it wasn't. I didn't like +having matrimony offered as a bad-conduct prize."</p> + +<p>"I don't blame you," said Wimsey.</p> + +<p>"Don't you?"</p> + +<p>"No. It sounds to me as if the fellow was a prig—not to say a bit of +a cad. Like that horrid man who pretended to be a landscape-painter +and then embarrassed the unfortunate young woman with the burden of +an honour unto which she was not born. I've no doubt he made himself +perfectly intolerable about it, with his ancient oaks and family plate, +and the curtseying tenantry and all the rest of it."</p> + +<p>Harriet Vane laughed once more.</p> + +<p>"Yes—it's ridiculous—but humiliating too. Well, there it is. I +thought Philip had made both himself and me ridiculous, and the minute +I saw that—well, the whole thing simply shut down—flop!"</p> + +<p>She sketched a gesture of finality.</p> + +<p>"I quite see that," said Wimsey. "Such a Victorian attitude, too, for +a man with advanced ideas. He for God only, she for God in him, and so +on. Well, I'm glad you feel like that about it."</p> + +<p>"Are you? It's not going to be exactly helpful in the present crisis."</p> + +<p>"No; I was looking beyond that. What I mean to say is, when all this is +over, I want to marry you, if you can put up with me and all that."</p> + +<p>Harriet Vane, who had been smiling at him, frowned, and an indefinable +expression of distaste came into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Oh, are you another of them? That makes forty-seven."</p> + +<p>"Forty-seven what?" asked Wimsey, much taken aback.</p> + +<p>"Proposals. They come in by every post. I suppose there are a lot of +imbeciles who want to marry anybody who's at all notorious."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Wimsey. "Dear me, that makes it very awkward. As a matter of +fact, you know, I don't need any notoriety. I can get into the papers +off my own bat. It's no treat to me. Perhaps I'd better not mention it +again."</p> + +<p>His voice sounded hurt, and the girl eyed him rather remorsefully.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry—but one gets rather a bruised sort of feeling in my +position. There have been so many beastlinesses."</p> + +<p>"I know," said Lord Peter. "It was stupid of me—"</p> + +<p>"No, I think it was stupid of me. But why—?"</p> + +<p>"Why? Oh, well—I thought you'd be rather an attractive person to +marry. That's all. I mean, I sort of took a fancy to you. I can't tell +you why. There's no rule about it, you know."</p> + +<p>"I see. Well, it's very nice of you."</p> + +<p>"I wish you wouldn't sound as if you thought it was rather funny. I +know I've got a silly face, but I can't help that. As a matter of +fact, I'd like somebody I could talk sensibly to, who would make life +interesting. And I could give you a lot of plots for your books, if +that's any inducement."</p> + +<p>"But you wouldn't want a wife who wrote books, would you?"</p> + +<p>"But I should; it would be great fun. So much more interesting than +the ordinary kind that is only keen on clothes and people. Though of +course, clothes and people are all right too, in moderation. I don't +mean to say I object to clothes."</p> + +<p>"And how about the old oaks and the family plate?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you wouldn't be bothered with them. My brother does all that. I +collect first editions and incunabula, which is a little tedious of +me, but you wouldn't need to bother with them either unless you liked."</p> + +<p>"I don't mean that. What would your family think about it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, my mother's the only one that counts, and she likes you very much +from what she's seen of you."</p> + +<p>"So you had me inspected?"</p> + +<p>"No—dash it all, I seem to be saying all the wrong things today. I +was absolutely stunned that first day in court, and I rushed off to +my mater, who's an absolute dear, and the kind of person who really +understands things, and I said, 'Look here! here's the absolutely one +and only woman, and she's being put through a simply ghastly awful +business and for God's sake come and hold my hand!' You simply don't +know how foul it was."</p> + +<p>"That does sound rather rotten. I'm sorry I was brutal. But, by the +way, you're bearing in mind, aren't you, that I've had a lover?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. So have I, if it comes to that. In fact, several. It's +the sort of thing that might happen to anybody. I can produce quite +good testimonials. I'm told I make love rather nicely—only I'm at a +disadvantage at the moment. One can't be very convincing at the other +end of a table with a bloke looking in at the door."</p> + +<p>"I will take your word for it. But, however entrancing it is to wander +unchecked through a garden of bright images, are we not enticing +your mind from another subject of almost equal importance? It seems +probable—"</p> + +<p>"And if you can quote <i>Kai Lung</i>, we should certainly get on together."</p> + +<p>"It seems very probable that I shall not survive to make the +experiment."</p> + +<p>"Don't be so damned discouraging," said Wimsey. "I have already +carefully explained to you that this time <i>I</i> am investigating this +business. Anybody would think you had no confidence in me."</p> + +<p>"People have been wrongly condemned before now."</p> + +<p>"Exactly; simply because I wasn't there."</p> + +<p>"I never thought of that."</p> + +<p>"Think of it now. You will find it very beautiful and inspiring. It +might even help to distinguish me from the other forty-six, if you +should happen to mislay my features, or anything. Oh, by the way—I +don't positively repel you or anything like that, do I? Because, if I +do, I'll take my name off the waiting-list at once."</p> + +<p>"No," said Harriet Vane, kindly and a little sadly. "No, you don't +repel me."</p> + +<p>"I don't remind you of white slugs or make you go goose-flesh all +over?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad of that. Any minor alterations, like parting the old mane, or +growing a tooth-brush, or cashiering the eye-glass, you know, I should +be happy to undertake, if it suited your ideas."</p> + +<p>"Don't," said Miss Vane, "please don't alter yourself in any +particular."</p> + +<p>"You really mean that?" Wimsey flushed a little. "I hope it doesn't +mean that nothing I could do would make me even passable. I'll come +in a different set of garments each time, so as to give you a good +all-round idea of the subject. Bunter—my man, you know—will see to +that. He has excellent taste in ties, and socks, and things like that. +Well, I suppose I ought to be going. You—er—you'll think it over, +won't you, if you have a minute to spare. There's no hurry. Only don't +hesitate to say if you think you couldn't stick it at any price. I'm +not trying to blackmail you into matrimony, you know. I mean, I should +investigate this for the fun of the thing, whatever happened, don't you +see."</p> + +<p>"It's very good of you—"</p> + +<p>"No, no, not at all. It's my hobby. Not proposing to people, I don't +mean, but investigating things. Well, cheer-frightfully-ho and all +that. And I'll call again, if I may."</p> + +<p>"I will give the footman orders to admit you," said the prisoner, +gravely; "you will always find me at home."</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Wimsey walked down the dingy street with a feeling of being almost +light-headed.</p> + +<p>"I do believe I'll pull it off—she's sore, of course—no wonder, after +that rotten brute—but she doesn't feel repelled—one couldn't cope +with being repulsive—her skin is like honey—she ought to wear deep +red—and old garnets—and lots of rings, rather old-fashioned ones—I +could take a house, of course—poor kid, I would damn well work to make +it up to her—she's got a sense of humour too—brains—one wouldn't be +dull—one would wake up, and there'd be a whole day for jolly things +to happen in—and then one would come home and go to bed—that would be +jolly, too—and while she was writing, I could go out and mess round, +so we shouldn't either of us be dull—I wonder if Bunter was right +about this suit—it's a little dark, I always think, but the line is +good—"</p> + +<p>He paused before a shop window to get a surreptitious view of his own +reflection. A large coloured window-bill caught his eye:—</p> + + +<p class="ph3">GREAT SPECIAL OFFER<br> +ONE MONTH ONLY</p> + +<p>"Oh, God!" he said softly, sobered at once. "One month—four +weeks—thirty-one days. There isn't much time. And I don't know where +to begin."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</h2> +</div> + + +<p>"Well now," said Wimsey, "why do people kill people?"</p> + +<p>He was sitting in Miss Katharine Climpson's private office. The +establishment was ostensibly a typing bureau, and indeed there were +three efficient female typists who did very excellent work for authors +and men of science from time to time. Apparently the business was +a large and flourishing one, for work frequently had to be refused +on the ground that the staff was working at full pressure. But on +other floors of the building there were other activities. All the +employees were women—mostly elderly, but a few still young and +attractive—and if the private register in the steel safe had been +consulted, it would have been seen that all these women were of the +class unkindly known as "superfluous." There were spinsters with +small fixed incomes, or no incomes at all; widows without family; +women deserted by peripatetic husbands and living on a restricted +alimony, who, previous to their engagement by Miss Climpson, had had +no resources but bridge and boarding-house gossip. There were retired +and disappointed school-teachers; out-of-work actresses; courageous +people who had failed with hat-shops and tea-parlours; and even a few +Bright Young Things, for whom the cocktail-party and the night-club +had grown boring. These women seemed to spend most of their time in +answering advertisements. Unmarried gentlemen who desired to meet +ladies possessed of competences, with a view to matrimony; sprightly +sexagenarians, who wanted housekeepers for remote country districts; +ingenious gentlemen with financial schemes on the look-out for capital; +literary gentlemen, anxious for female collaborators; plausible +gentlemen about to engage talent for productions in the provinces; +benevolent gentlemen, who could tell people how to make money in +their spare time—gentlemen such as these were very liable to receive +applications from members of Miss Climpson's staff. It may have been +coincidence that these gentlemen so very often had the misfortune +to appear shortly afterwards before the magistrate on charges of +fraud, blackmail or attempted procuration, but it is a fact that Miss +Climpson's office boasted a private telephone-line to Scotland Yard, +and that few of her ladies were quite so unprotected as they appeared. +It is also a fact that the money which paid for the rent and upkeep +of the premises might, by zealous enquirers, have been traced to Lord +Peter Wimsey's banking account. His lordship was somewhat reticent +about this venture of his, but occasionally, when closeted with +Chief-Inspector Parker or other intimate friends, referred to it as "My +Cattery."</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson poured out a cup of tea before replying. She wore a +quantity of little bangles on her spare, lace-covered wrists, and they +chinked aggressively with every movement.</p> + +<p>"I really don't know," she said, apparently taking the problem as +a psychological one, "it is so <i>dangerous</i>, as well as so terribly +<i>wicked</i>, one wonders that anybody has the <i>effrontery</i> to undertake +it. And very often they gain so <i>little</i> by it."</p> + +<p>"That's what I mean," said Wimsey, "what do they set out to gain? Of +course, some people seem to do it for the fun of the thing, like that +German female, what's her name, who enjoyed seeing people die."</p> + +<p>"Such a <i>strange</i> taste," said Miss Climpson. "No sugar, I think?—You +know, dear Lord Peter, it has been my melancholy duty to attend +<i>many</i> death-beds, and, though a number of them—such as my dear +father's—were <i>most</i> Christian and beautiful, I could not call +them <i>fun</i>. People have very different ideas of fun, of course, +and personally I have never greatly cared for George Robey, though +Charlie Chaplin always makes me laugh—still, you know, there are +<i>disagreeable details</i> attending <i>any</i> death-bed which one would think +could hardly be to anybody's taste, however depraved."</p> + +<p>"I quite agree with you," said Wimsey. "But it must be fun, in one +sense, to feel that you can control the issues of life and death, don't +you know."</p> + +<p>"That is an <i>infringement</i> upon the prerogative of the Creator," said +Miss Climpson.</p> + +<p>"But rather jolly to know yourself divine, so to speak. Up above the +world so high, like a tea-tray in the sky. I admit the fascination. +But for practical purposes that theory is the devil—I beg your +pardon, Miss Climpson, respect for sacred personages—I mean, it's +unsatisfactory, because it would suit one person just as well as +another. If I've got to find a homicidal maniac, I may as well cut my +throat at once."</p> + +<p>"Don't say <i>that</i>," pleaded Miss Climpson, "even in jest. Your work +here—so good, so valuable—would be worth living for in spite of the +<i>saddest</i> personal disappointments. And I have known jokes of that kind +turn out very badly, in the most surprising ways. There was a young man +we used to know, who was given to talking in a sadly <i>random</i> way—a +long time ago, dear Lord Peter, while you were still in the nursery, +but young men were wild, even then, whatever they say now about the +'eighties—and he said one day to my poor, dear Mother, 'Mrs. Climpson, +if I don't make a good bag today, I shall shoot myself' (for he was +very fond of sport), and he went out with his gun and as he was getting +over a stile, he caught the trigger in the hedge and the gun went +off and blew his head to pieces. I was quite a girl, and it upset me +<i>dreadfully</i>, because he was a very handsome young man, with whiskers +which we all admired very much, though today they would be smiled at, +and they were burnt <i>right off</i> him with the explosion, and a shocking +hole in the side of his head, so they said, for of course I was not +allowed to see him."</p> + +<p>"Poor chap," said his lordship. "Well, let's dismiss homicidal mania +from our minds for the moment. What else do people kill people for?"</p> + +<p>"There is—passion," said Miss Climpson, with a slight initial +hesitation at the word, "for I should not like to call it <i>love</i>, when +it is so unregulated."</p> + +<p>"That is the explanation put forward by the prosecution," said Wimsey. +"I don't accept it."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not. But—it might be possible, might it not, that there was +some other unfortunate young woman who was attached to this Mr. Boyes, +and felt vindictively towards him?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, or a man who was jealous. But the time is the difficulty. You've +got to have some plausible pretext for giving a bloke arsenic. You +can't just catch him standing on a doorstep, and say, 'Here, have a +drink of this,' can you?"</p> + +<p>"But there were ten minutes unaccounted for," said Miss Climpson, +shrewdly. "Might he not have entered some public-house for refreshment, +and there met an enemy?"</p> + +<p>"By jove, that's a possibility." Wimsey made a note, and shook his +head dubiously. "But it's rather a coincidence. Unless there was a +previous appointment to meet there. Still, it's worth looking into. At +any rate, it's obvious that Mr. Urquhart's house and Miss Vane's flat +were not the only conceivable places where Boyes might have eaten or +drunk between seven and 10.10 that evening. Very well: under the head +'Passion' we find 1) Miss Vane (ruled out ex hypothesi), 2) jealous +lover, 3) ditto rival. Place, Public-house (query). Now we go on to the +next motive, and that's Money. A very good motive for murdering anybody +who has any, but a poor one in Boyes' case. Still, let us say, Money. +I can think of three sub-headings for that: 1) Robbery from the person +(very improbable); 2) insurance; 3) inheritance."</p> + +<p>"What a clear mind you have," said Miss Climpson.</p> + +<p>"When I die you will find 'Efficiency' written on my heart. I don't +know what money Boyes had on him, but I shouldn't think it was much. +Urquhart and Vaughan might know; still, it's not very important, +because arsenic isn't a sensible drug to use on anyone you want to rob. +It takes a long time, comparatively, to begin business, and it doesn't +make the victim helpless enough. Unless we suppose the taxi-driver +drugged and robbed him, there was no one who could possibly profit by +such a silly crime."</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson agreed, and buttered a second tea-cake.</p> + +<p>"Then, insurance. Now we come to the region of the possible. Was Boyes +insured? It doesn't seem to have occurred to anybody to find out. +Probably he wasn't. Literary blokes have very little forethought, and +are careless about trifles like premiums. But one ought to know. Who +might have an insurable interest? His father, his cousin (possibly), +other relations (if any), his children (if any) and—I suppose—Miss +Vane, if he took out the policy while he was living with her. Also, +anybody who may have lent him money on the strength of such insurance. +Plenty of possibilities there. I'm feeling better already, Miss +Climpson, fitter and brighter in every way. Either I'm getting a line +on the thing, or else it's your tea. That's a good, stout-looking pot. +Has it got any more in it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed," said Miss Climpson, eagerly. "My dear father used to say +I was a great hand at getting the <i>utmost</i> out of a tea-pot. The secret +is to <i>fill</i> up as you <i>go</i> and never empty the pot completely."</p> + +<p>"Inheritance," pursued Lord Peter. "Had he anything to leave? Not much, +I shouldn't think. I'd better hop round and see his publisher. Or had +he lately come into anything? His father or cousin would know. The +father is a parson—'slashing trade, that,' as the naughty bully says +to the new boy in one of Dean Farrar's books. He has a thread-bare +look. I shouldn't think there was much money in the family. Still, you +never know. Somebody might have left Boyes a fortune for his <i>beaux +yeux</i> or out of admiration for his books. If so, to whom did Boyes +leave it? Query: did he make a will? But surely the defence must have +thought of these things. I am getting depressed again."</p> + +<p>"Have a sandwich," said Miss Climpson.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Wimsey, "or some hay. There is nothing like it when +you are feeling faint, as the White King truly remarked. Well, that +more or less disposes of the money motive. There remains Blackmail."</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson, whose professional connection with the Cattery had +taught her something about blackmail, assented with a sigh.</p> + +<p>"Who was this fellow Boyes?" enquired Wimsey rhetorically. "I know +nothing about him. He may have been a blackguard of the deepest dye. +He may have known unmentionable things about all his friends. Why not? +Or he may have been writing a book to show somebody up, so that he had +to be suppressed at all costs. Dash it all, his cousin's a solicitor. +Suppose he has been embezzling Trust deeds or something, and Boyes was +threatening to split on him? He'd been living in Urquhart's house, and +had every opportunity for finding out. Urquhart drops some arsenic into +his soup, and—Ah! there's the snag. He puts arsenic into the soup and +eats it himself. That's awkward. I'm afraid Hannah Westlock's evidence +rather knocks that on the head. We shall have to fall back on the +mysterious stranger in the pub."</p> + +<p>He considered a little, and then said:</p> + +<p>"And there's suicide, of course, which is what I'm really rather +inclined to believe in. Arsenic is tomfool stuff to commit suicide +with, but it has been done. There was the duc de Praslin, for +instance—if his <i>was</i> suicide. Only, where's the bottle?"</p> + +<p>"The bottle?"</p> + +<p>"Well, he must have carried it in something. It might be in a paper, if +he took the powdered form, though that would be awkward. Did anybody +look for a bottle or paper?"</p> + +<p>"Where would they look for it?" asked Miss Climpson.</p> + +<p>"That's the rub. If it wasn't on him, it would be anywhere round +about Doughty Street, and it's going to be a job looking for a +bottle or paper that was chucked away six months ago. I do loathe +suicides—they're so difficult to prove. Oh, well, faint heart never +won so much as a scrap of paper. Now look here, Miss Climpson. We've +got about a month to work this out in. The Michaelmas Term ends on the +21st; this is the 15th. They can't very well bring it up before then, +and the Hilary term starts on January 12th. They'll probably take it +early, unless we can show reason for delay. Four weeks to get fresh +evidence. Will you reserve the best efforts of yourself and the staff? +I don't know yet what I shall want, but I shall probably want something +done."</p> + +<p>"Of course I will, Lord Peter. You know that it is only <i>too</i> great a +pleasure to do <i>anything</i> for you—even if the whole office were not +your own property, which it <i>is</i>. Only let me know, at <i>any</i> minute of +the night or day, and I will do my <i>very</i> best to help you."</p> + +<p>Wimsey thanked her, made a few enquiries about the work of the bureau +and departed. He hailed a taxi and was immediately driven to Scotland +Yard.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Chief Detective-Inspector Parker was, as usual, delighted to see Lord +Peter, but there was a worried expression on his plain though pleasant +face as he greeted his visitor.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Peter? The Vane case again?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. You've come a mucker over this, old man, you really have."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know. It looked pretty straightforward to us."</p> + +<p>"Charles, acushla, distrust the straightforward case, the man who +looks you straight in the eyes, and the tip straight from the horse's +mouth. Only the most guileful deceiver can afford to be so aggressively +straight. Even the path of the light is curved—or so they tell us. +For God's sake, old man, do what you can to put the thing right before +next assizes. If you don't, I'll never forgive you. Damn it, you don't +<i>want</i> to hang the wrong person, do you?—especially a woman and all +that."</p> + +<p>"Have a fag," said Parker. "You're looking quite wild about the eyes. +What have you been doing with yourself? I'm sorry if we've got the +wrong pig by the ear, but it's the defence's business to point out +where we're wrong, and I can't say they put up a very convincing show."</p> + +<p>"No, confound them. Biggy did his best, but that fool and beast Crofts +gave him no materials at all. Blast his ugly eyes! I know the brute +thinks she did it. I hope he will fry in hell and be served up with +cayenne pepper on a red-hot dish!"</p> + +<p>"What eloquence!" said Parker, unimpressed. "Anybody would think you'd +gone goopy over the girl."</p> + +<p>"That's a damned friendly way to talk," said Wimsey, bitterly. +"When you went off the deep end about my sister, I may have been +unsympathetic—I daresay I was—but I swear I didn't dance on your +tenderest feelings and call your manly devotion 'going goopy over +a girl.' I don't know where you pick up such expressions, as the +clergyman's wife said to the parrot. 'Goopy,' indeed! I never heard +anything so vulgar!"</p> + +<p>"Good lord," exclaimed Parker, "you don't seriously say—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" retorted Wimsey, bitterly. "I'm not expected to be serious. +A buffoon, that's what I am. I now know exactly what Jack Point feels +like. I used to think the 'Yeomen' sentimental tosh, but it is all too +true. Would you like to see me dance in motley?"</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," said Parker, taking his cue rather from the tone than the +words. "If it's like that, I'm damned sorry, old man. But what can I +do?"</p> + +<p>"Now you're talking. Look here—the most likely thing is that this +unsavoury blighter Boyes committed suicide. The unspeakable defence +haven't been able to trace any arsenic to his possession—but then they +probably couldn't trace a herd of black cattle over a snow-bound field +in broad noon-day with a microscope. I want your people to take it up."</p> + +<p>"Boyes—query arsenic," said Parker, making a note on a pad. "Anything +else?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Find out if Boyes visited any pub. in the neighbourhood of +Doughty Street between, say, 9.50 and 10.10 on the night of June +20th—if he met anybody, and what he took to drink."</p> + +<p>"It shall be done. Boyes—query pub." Parker made another note. "Yes?"</p> + +<p>"Thirdly, if any bottle or paper that might have contained arsenic was +picked up in that district."</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed? And would you like me to trace the 'bus ticket dropped +by Mrs. Brown outside Selfridge's in the last Christmas rush? No use +making it too easy."</p> + +<p>"A bottle is more likely than a paper," went on Wimsey, ignoring him, +"because I think the arsenic must have been taken in liquid form to +work so quickly."</p> + +<p>Parker made no further protest, but noted down "Boyes—Doughty +Street—query bottle," and paused expectantly.</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"That's all for the moment. By the way, I should try the garden in +Mecklenburgh Square. A thing might lie quite a long time under those +bushes."</p> + +<p>"Very well. I'll do my best. And if you find out anything which really +proves that we've been on the wrong tack, you'll let us know, won't +you? We don't want to make large and ignominious public mistakes."</p> + +<p>"Well—I've just earnestly promised the defence that I'll do no such +thing. But if I spot the criminal, I'll let you arrest him."</p> + +<p>"Thanks for small mercies. Well, good luck! Funny for you and me to be +on opposite sides, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Very," said Wimsey. "I'm sorry about it, but it's your own fault."</p> + +<p>"You shouldn't have been out of England. By the way—"</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"You realise that probably all our young friend did during those +missing ten minutes was to stand about in Theobalds Road or somewhere, +looking for a stray taxi."</p> + +<p>"Oh, shut up!" said Wimsey, crossly, and went out.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</h2> +</div> + + +<p>The next day dawned bright and fair, and Wimsey felt a certain +exhilaration as he purred down to Tweedling Parva. "Mrs. Merdle" the +car, so called because, like that celebrated lady, she was averse to +"row," was sparking merrily on all twelve cylinders, and there was a +touch of frost in the air. These things conduce to high spirits.</p> + +<p>Wimsey reached his destination about 10 o'clock, and was directed to +the vicarage, one of those large, rambling and unnecessary structures +which swallow the incumbent's income during his life and land his +survivors with a heavy bill for dilapidations as soon as he is dead.</p> + +<p>The Rev. Arthur Boyes was at home, and would be happy to see Lord Peter +Wimsey.</p> + +<p>The clergyman was a tall, faded man, with lines of worry deeply +engraved upon his face, and mild blue eyes a little bewildered by the +disappointing difficulty of things in general. His black coat was old, +and hung in depressed folds from his stooping, narrow shoulders. He +gave Wimsey a thin hand and begged him to be seated.</p> + +<p>Lord Peter found it a little difficult to explain his errand. His +name evidently aroused no associations in the mind of this gentle and +unworldly parson. He decided not to mention his hobby of criminal +investigation, but to represent himself, with equal truth, as a friend +of the prisoner's. That might be painful, but it would be at least +intelligible. Accordingly, he began, with some hesitation:</p> + +<p>"I'm fearfully sorry to trouble you, especially as it's all so very +distressin' and all that, but it's about the death of your son, and the +trial and so on. Please don't think I'm wanting to make an interfering +nuisance of myself, but I'm deeply interested—personally interested. +You see, I know Miss Vane—I—in fact I like her very much, don't you +know, and I can't help thinking there's a mistake somewhere and—and I +should like to get it put right if possible."</p> + +<p>"Oh—oh, yes!" said Mr. Boyes. He carefully polished a pair of +pince-nez and balanced them on his nose, where they sat crookedly. He +peered at Wimsey and seemed not to dislike what he saw, for he went on:</p> + +<p>"Poor misguided girl! I assure you, I have no vindictive feelings—that +is to say, nobody would be more happy than myself to know that she was +innocent of this dreadful thing. Indeed, Lord Peter, even if she were +guilty, it would give me great pain to see her suffer the penalty. +Whatever we do, we cannot bring back the dead to life, and one would +infinitely prefer to leave all vengeance in the hand of Him to whom it +belongs. Certainly, nothing could be more terrible than to take the +life of an innocent person. It would haunt me to the end of my days if +I thought there were the least likelihood of it. And I confess that, +when I saw Miss Vane in court, I had grievous doubts whether the police +had done rightly in accusing her."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Wimsey, "it is very kind of you to say that. It makes +the job much easier. Excuse me, you say, 'when you saw her in court.' +You hadn't met her previously?"</p> + +<p>"No. I knew, of course, that my unhappy son had formed an illicit +connection with a young woman, but—I could not bring myself to see +her—and indeed, I believe that she, with very proper feeling, refused +to allow Philip to bring her into contact with any of his relations. +Lord Peter, you are a younger man than I am, you belong to my son's +generation, and you will perhaps understand that—though he was not +bad, not depraved, I will never think that—yet somehow there was not +that full confidence between us which there should be between father +and son. No doubt I was much to blame. If only his mother had lived—"</p> + +<p>"My dear sir," mumbled Wimsey, "I perfectly understand. It often +happens. In fact, it's continually happening. The post-war generation +and so on. Lots of people go off the rails a bit—no real harm in 'em +at all. Just can't see eye to eye with the older people. It generally +wears off in time. Nobody really to blame. Wild oats and, er, all that +sort of thing."</p> + +<p>"I could not approve," said Mr. Boyes, sadly, "of ideas so opposed to +religion and morality—perhaps I spoke my mind too openly. If I had +sympathised more—"</p> + +<p>"It can't be done," said Wimsey. "People have to work it out for +themselves. And, when they write books and so on, and get into that set +of people, they tend to express themselves rather noisily, if you see +what I mean."</p> + +<p>"Maybe, maybe. But I reproach myself. Still, this does not help you at +all. Forgive me. If there is any mistake and the jury were evidently +not satisfied, we must use all our endeavours to put it right. How can +I assist?"</p> + +<p>"Well, first of all," said Wimsey, "and I'm afraid this is rather a +hateful question, did your son ever say anything, or write anything to +you which might lead you to think that he—was tired of his life or +anything of that kind? I'm sorry."</p> + +<p>"No, no—not at all. I was, of course, asked the same question by the +police and by the counsel for the defence. I can truly say that such an +idea never occurred to me. There was nothing at all to suggest it."</p> + +<p>"Not even when he parted company with Miss Vane?"</p> + +<p>"Not even then. In fact, I gathered that he was rather more angry than +despondent. I must say that it was a surprise to me to hear that, after +all that had passed between them, she was unwilling to marry him. I +still fail to comprehend it. Her refusal must have come as a great +shock to him. He wrote so cheerfully to me about it beforehand. Perhaps +you remember the letter?" He fumbled in an untidy drawer. "I have it +here, if you would like to look at it."</p> + +<p>"If you would just read the passage, sir," suggested Wimsey.</p> + +<p>"Yes, oh, certainly. Let me see. Yes. 'Your morality will be pleased +to hear, Dad, that I have determined to regularise the situation, as +the good people say.' He had a careless way of speaking and writing +sometimes, poor boy, which doesn't do justice to his good heart. Dear +me. Yes. 'My young woman is a good little soul, and I have made up my +mind to do the thing properly. She really deserves it, and I hope that +when everything is made respectable, you will extend your paternal +recognition to her. I won't ask you to officiate—as you know, the +registrar's office is more in my line, and though she was brought up in +the odour of sanctity, like myself, I don't think she will insist on +the Voice that Breathed o'er Eden. I will let you know when it's to be, +so that you can come and give us your blessing (quâ father if not quâ +parson) if you should feel so disposed.' You see, Lord Peter, he quite +meant to do the right thing, and I was touched that he should wish for +my presence."</p> + +<p>"Quite so," said Lord Peter, and thought, "If only that young man were +alive, how dearly I should love to kick his bottom for him."</p> + +<p>"Well, then there is another letter, saying that the marriage had +fallen through. Here it is. 'Dear Dad—sorry, but I'm afraid your +congratulations must be returned with thanks. The wedding is off, and +the bride has run away. There's no need to go into the story. Harriet +has succeeded in making a fool of herself and me, so there's no more to +be said.' Then later I heard that he had not been feeling well—but all +that you know already."</p> + +<p>"Did he suggest any reason for these illnesses of his?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no—we took it for granted that it was a recurrence of the old +gastric trouble. He was never a very robust lad. He wrote in very +hopeful mood from Harlech, saying that he was much better, and +mentioning his plan of a voyage to Barbados."</p> + +<p>"He did?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I thought it would do him a great deal of good, and take his mind +off other things. He spoke of it only as a vague project, not as though +anything were settled."</p> + +<p>"Did he say anything more about Miss Vane?"</p> + +<p>"He never mentioned her name to me again until he lay dying."</p> + +<p>"Yes—and what did you think of what he said then?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't know what to think. We had no idea of any poisoning then, +naturally, and I fancied it must refer to the quarrel between them that +had caused the separation."</p> + +<p>"I see. Well now, Mr. Boyes. Supposing it was not self-destruction—"</p> + +<p>"I really do not think it could have been."</p> + +<p>"Now is there anybody else at all who could have an interest in his +death?"</p> + +<p>"Who could there be?"</p> + +<p>"No—no other woman, for instance?"</p> + +<p>"I never heard of any. And I think I should have done. He was not +secretive about these things, Lord Peter. He was remarkably open and +straightforward."</p> + +<p>"Yes," commented Wimsey internally, "liked to swagger about it, I +suppose. Anything to give pain. Damn the fellow." Aloud he merely said: +"There are other possibilities. Did he, for instance, make a will?"</p> + +<p>"He did. Not that he had much to leave, poor boy. His books were very +cleverly written—he had a fine intellect, Lord Peter—but they did +not bring him in any great sums of money. I helped him with a little +allowance, and he managed on that and on what he made from his articles +in the periodicals."</p> + +<p>"He left his copyrights to somebody, though, I take it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. He wished to leave them to me, but I was obliged to tell him that +I could not accept the bequest. You see, I did not approve of his +opinions, and I should not have thought it right to profit by them. No; +he left them to his friend Mr. Vaughan."</p> + +<p>"Oh!—may I ask when this will was made?"</p> + +<p>"It is dated at the period of his visit to Wales. I believe that before +that he had made one leaving everything to Miss Vane."</p> + +<p>"Indeed!" said Wimsey. "I suppose she knew about it." His mind reviewed +a number of contradictory possibilities, and he added: "But it would +not amount to an important sum, in any case?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no. If my son made £50 a year by his books, that was the utmost. +Though they tell me," added the old gentleman, with a sad smile, "that, +after this, his new book will do better."</p> + +<p>"Very likely," said Wimsey. "Provided you get into the papers, the +delightful reading public don't mind what it's for. Still—Well, that's +that. I gather he would have no private money to leave?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing whatever. There has never been any money in our family, Lord +Peter, nor yet in my wife's. We're quite the proverbial Church mice." +He smiled faintly at this little clerical jest. "Except, I suppose, for +Cremorna Garden."</p> + +<p>"For—I beg your pardon?"</p> + +<p>"My wife's aunt, the notorious Cremorna Garden of the 'sixties."</p> + +<p>"Good lord, yes—the actress?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But she, of course, was never, never mentioned. One did not +enquire into the way she got her money. No worse than others, I dare +say—but in those days we were very easily shocked. We have seen and +heard nothing of her for well over fifty years. I believe she is quite +childish now."</p> + +<p>"By jove! I'd no idea she was still alive!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I believe she is, though she must be well over ninety. Certainly +Philip never had any money from her."</p> + +<p>"Well, that rules money out. Was your son's life insured, by any +chance?"</p> + +<p>"Not that I ever heard of. We found no policy among his papers, and so +far as I know, nobody has made any claim."</p> + +<p>"He left no debts?"</p> + +<p>"Only trifling ones—tradesmen's accounts and so on. Perhaps fifty +pounds' worth altogether."</p> + +<p>"Thank you so much," said Wimsey, rising, "that has cleared the ground +a good deal."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid it has not got you much farther."</p> + +<p>"It tells me where not to look, at any rate," said Wimsey, "and that +all saves time, you know. It's frightfully decent of you to be bothered +with me."</p> + +<p>"Not at all. Ask me anything you want to know. Nobody would be more +glad than myself to see that unfortunate young woman cleared."</p> + +<p>Wimsey again thanked him and took his leave. He was a mile up the +road before a regretful thought overtook him. He turned Mrs. Merdle's +bonnet round, skimmed back to the church, stuffed a handful of treasury +notes with some difficulty into the mouth of a box labelled "Church +expenses," and resumed his way to town.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>As he manoeuvred the car through the City, a thought struck him, and +instead of heading for Piccadilly, where he lived, he turned off into +a street south of the Strand, in which was situated the establishment +of Messrs. Grimsby & Cole, who published the works of Mr. Philip Boyes. +After a little delay, he was shown into Mr. Cole's office.</p> + +<p>Mr. Cole was a stout and cheerful person, and was much interested to +hear that the notorious Lord Peter Wimsey was concerning himself with +the affairs of the equally notorious Mr. Boyes. Wimsey represented +that, as a collector of First Editions, he would be glad to secure +copies of all Philip Boyes' works. Mr. Cole regretted extremely that +he could not help him, and, under the influence of an expensive cigar, +became quite confidential.</p> + +<p>"Without wishing to seem callous, my dear Lord Peter," he said, +throwing himself back in his chair, and creasing his three chins into +six or seven as he did so, "between you and me, Mr. Boyes could not +have done better for himself than to go and get murdered like this. +Every copy was sold out a week after the result of the exhumation +became known, two large editions of his last book were disposed of +before the trial came on—at the original price of 7/6, and the +libraries clamoured so for the early volumes that we had to reprint +the lot. Unfortunately we had not kept the type standing, and the +printers had to work night and day, but we did it. We are rushing the +three-and-sixpennies through the binders' now, and the shilling edition +is arranged for. Positively, I don't think you could get a First +Edition in London for love or money. We have nothing here but our own +file copies, but we are putting out a special memorial edition, with +portraits, on hand-made paper, limited and numbered, at a guinea. Not +the same thing of course, but—"</p> + +<p>Wimsey begged to put his name down for a set at a guinea a-piece, +adding:</p> + +<p>"Sad and all that, don't you know, that the author can't benefit by it, +what?"</p> + +<p>"Deeply distressing," agreed Mr. Cole, compressing his fat cheeks by +two longitudinal folds from the nostril to the mouth. "And sadder still +that there can be no more work to come from him. A very talented young +man, Lord Peter. We shall always feel a melancholy pride, Mr. Grimsby +and myself, in knowing that we recognised his quality, before there was +any likelihood of financial remuneration. A <i>succès d'estime</i>, that was +all, until this very grievous occurrence. But when the work is good, it +is not our habit to boggle about monetary returns."</p> + +<p>"Ah, well!" said Wimsey, "it sometimes pays to cast your bread upon +the waters. Quite religious, isn't it—you know, the bit about +'plenteously bringing out good works may of thee be plenteously +rewarded.' Twenty-fifth after Trinity."</p> + +<p>"Quite," said Mr. Cole, with a certain lack of enthusiasm, possibly +because he was imperfectly acquainted with the book of Common Prayer, +or possibly because he detected a hint of mockery in the other's tone. +"Well, I have very much enjoyed this chat. I am sorry I can do nothing +for you about First Editions."</p> + +<p>Wimsey begged him not to mention it, and with a cordial farewell ran +hastily down the stairs.</p> + +<p>His next visit was to the office of Mr. Challoner, Harriet Vane's +agent. Challoner was an abrupt, dark, militant-looking little man, with +untidy hair and thick spectacles.</p> + +<p>"Boom?" said he, when Wimsey had introduced himself and mentioned +his interest in Miss Vane. "Yes, of course there is a boom. Rather +disgusting, really, but one can't help that. We have to do our best +for our client, whatever the circumstances. Miss Vane's books have +always sold reasonably well—round about the three or four thousand +mark in this country—but of course this business has stimulated things +enormously. The last book has gone to three new editions, and the new +one has sold seven thousand before publication."</p> + +<p>"Financially, all to the good, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes—but frankly I don't know whether these artificial sales do +very much good to an author's reputation in the long run. Up like a +rocket, down like the stick, you know. When Miss Vane is released—"</p> + +<p>"I am glad you say 'when.'"</p> + +<p>"I am not allowing myself to contemplate any other possibility. But +<i>when</i> that happens, public interest will be liable to die down very +quickly. I am, of course, securing the most advantageous contracts I +possibly can at the moment, to cover the next three or four books, but +I can only really control the advances. The actual receipts will depend +on the sales, and that is where I foresee a slump. I am, however, +doing well with serial rights, which are important from the point of +view of immediate returns."</p> + +<p>"On the whole, as a business man, you are not altogether glad that this +has happened?"</p> + +<p>"Taking the long view, I am not. Personally, I need not say that I am +extremely grieved, and feel quite positive that there is some mistake."</p> + +<p>"That's my idea," said Wimsey.</p> + +<p>"From what I know of your lordship, I may say that your interest and +assistance are the best stroke of luck Miss Vane could have had."</p> + +<p>"Oh, thanks—thanks very much, I say—this arsenic book—you couldn't +let me have a squint at it, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, if it would help you." He touched a bell. "Miss Warburton, +bring me a set of galleys of '<i>Death in the Pot</i>.' Trufoot's are +pushing publication on as fast as possible. The book was still +unfinished when the arrest took place. With rare energy and courage, +Miss Vane has put the finishing touches and corrected the proofs +herself. Of course, everything had to go through the hands of the +prison authorities. However, we were anxious to conceal nothing. She +certainly knows all about arsenic, poor girl. These are complete, are +they, Miss Warburton? Here you are. Is there anything else?"</p> + +<p>"Only one thing. What do you think of Messrs. Grimsby & Cole?"</p> + +<p>"I never contemplate them," said Mr. Challoner. "Not thinking of doing +anything with them, are you, Lord Peter?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know that I am—seriously."</p> + +<p>"If you do, read your contract carefully. I won't say, bring it to us—"</p> + +<p>"If ever I do publish with Grimsby & Cole," said Lord Peter, "I'll +promise to do it through you."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</h2> +</div> + + +<p>Lord Peter Wimsey almost bounced into Holloway Prison next morning. +Harriet Vane greeted him with a kind of rueful smile.</p> + +<p>"So you've reappeared?"</p> + +<p>"Good lord, yes! Surely you expected me to. I fancied I'd left that +impression. I say—I've thought of a good plot for a detective story."</p> + +<p>"Really?"</p> + +<p>"Top-hole. You know, the sort people bring out and say, 'I've often +thought of doing it myself, if I could only find time to sit down and +write it.' I gather that sitting down is all that is necessary for +producing masterpieces. Just a moment, though. I must get through my +business first. Let me see—" He made believe to consult a note-book. +"Ah, yes. Do you happen to know whether Philip Boyes made a will?"</p> + +<p>"I believe he did, when we were living together."</p> + +<p>"In whose favour?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, in mine. Not that he had much to leave, poor man. It was chiefly +that he wanted a literary executor."</p> + +<p>"Are you, in point of fact, his executrix now?"</p> + +<p>"Good heavens! I never thought of that. I took it for granted he would +have altered it when we parted. I think he must have, or I should have +heard about it when he died, shouldn't I?"</p> + +<p>She looked candidly at him, and Wimsey felt a little uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>"You didn't <i>know</i> he had altered it, then? Before he died, I mean?"</p> + +<p>"I never thought a word more about it, as a matter of fact. If I had +thought—of course I should have assumed it. Why?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," said Wimsey. "Only I'm rather glad the will wasn't brought +up at the thingummy bob."</p> + +<p>"Meaning the trial? You needn't be so delicate about mentioning it. You +mean, if I had thought I was still his heir, I might have murdered him +for his money. But it didn't amount to a hill of beans, you know. I was +making four times as much as he was."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes. It was only this silly plot I'd got in my mind. But it <i>is</i> +rather silly, now I come to think of it."</p> + +<p>"Tell me."</p> + +<p>"Well, you see—" Wimsey choked a little, and then rattled his idea out +with an exaggerated lightness.</p> + +<p>"Well—it's about a girl (or a man would do, but we'll call it a girl) +who writes novels—crime stories, in fact. And she has a—a friend who +also writes. Neither of them best-sellers, you see, but just ordinary +novelists."</p> + +<p>"Yes? That's a kind of thing that might happen."</p> + +<p>"And the friend makes a will, leaving his money—receipts from books +and so on—to the girl."</p> + +<p>"I see."</p> + +<p>"And the girl—who has got rather fed up with him, you know, thinks of +a grand scoop, that will make both of them best-sellers."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. She polishes him off by the same method she has used in her +latest crime-thriller."</p> + +<p>"A daring stroke," said Miss Vane, with grave approval.</p> + +<p>"Yes. And of course, his books immediately become best-sellers. And she +grabs the pool."</p> + +<p>"That's really ingenious. An entirely new motive for murder—the thing +I've been looking for for years. But don't you think it would be a +little dangerous? She might even be suspected of the murder."</p> + +<p>"Then <i>her</i> books would become best-sellers, too."</p> + +<p>"How true that is! But possibly she wouldn't live to enjoy the profits."</p> + +<p>"That, of course," said Wimsey, "is the snag."</p> + +<p>"Because, unless she were suspected and arrested and tried, the scoop +would only half come off."</p> + +<p>"There you are," said Wimsey. "But, as an experienced mystery-monger, +couldn't you think of a way round that?"</p> + +<p>"I daresay. She might prove an ingenious alibi, for instance. Or, if +she were very wicked, manage to push the blame on somebody else. Or +lead people to suppose that her friend had made away with himself."</p> + +<p>"Too vague," said Wimsey. "How would she do that?"</p> + +<p>"I can't say, off-hand. I'll give it careful thought and let you know. +Or—here's an idea!"</p> + +<p>"Yes?"</p> + +<p>"She is a person with a monomania—no, no—not a homicidal one. That's +dull, and not really fair to the reader. But there is somebody she +wishes to benefit—somebody, say a father, mother, sister, lover or +cause, that badly needs money. She makes a will in his, her or its +favour, and lets herself be hanged for the crime, knowing that the +beloved object will then come in for the money. How's that?"</p> + +<p>"Great!" cried Wimsey, carried away. "Only—wait a minute. They +wouldn't give her the friend's money, would they? You're not allowed to +profit by a crime."</p> + +<p>"Oh, hang! That's true. It would only be her own money, then. She +could make that over by a deed of gift. Yes—look! If she did that +immediately after the murder—a deed of gift of everything she +possessed—that would include everything she came into under the +friend's will. It would then all go direct to the beloved object, and I +don't believe the law could stop it!"</p> + +<p>She faced him with dancing eyes.</p> + +<p>"See here," said Wimsey. "You're not safe. You're too clever by half. +But, I say, it's a good plot, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"It's a winner! Shall we write it?"</p> + +<p>"By jove, let's!"</p> + +<p>"Only, you know, I'm afraid we shan't get the chance."</p> + +<p>"You're not to say that. Of course we're going to write it. Damn it, +what am I here for? Even if I could be reconciled to losing you, I +couldn't lose the chance of writing my best-seller!"</p> + +<p>"But what you've done so far is to provide me with a very convincing +motive for murder. I don't know that that's going to help us a great +lot."</p> + +<p>"What I've done," said Wimsey, "is to prove that that was not the +motive, anyway."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't have told me if it had been. You would have gently led me +away from the subject. And besides—"</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I've seen Mr. Cole of Grimsby & Cole, and I know who is going to +get the major part of Philip Boyes' profits. And I don't somehow fancy +that he is the beloved object."</p> + +<p>"No?" said Miss Vane, "and why not? Don't you know that I passionately +dote on every chin on his face?"</p> + +<p>"If it's chins you admire," said Wimsey, "I will try to grow some, +though it will be rather hard work. Anyway, keep smiling—it suits you."</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>"It's all very well, though," he thought to himself, when the gates +had closed behind him. "Bright back-chat cheers the patient, but gets +us no forrarder. How about this fellow Urquhart? He looked all right +in court, but you never can tell. I think I'd better pop round and see +him."</p> + +<p>He presented himself accordingly in Woburn Square, but was +disappointed. Mr. Urquhart had been called away to a sick relative. +It was not Hannah Westlock who answered the door, but a stout elderly +woman, whom Wimsey supposed to be the cook. He would have liked to +question her, but felt that Mr. Urquhart would hardly receive him well +if he discovered that his servants had been pumped behind his back. He +therefore contented himself with enquiring how long Mr. Urquhart was +likely to be away.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't rightly say, sir. I understand it depends how the sick lady +gets on. If she gets over it, he'll be back at once, for I know he is +very busy just now. If she should pass away, he would be engaged some +time, with settling up the estate."</p> + +<p>"I see," said Wimsey. "It's a bit awkward, because I wanted to speak to +him rather urgently. You couldn't give me his address, by any chance?"</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, I don't rightly know if Mr. Urquhart would wish it. If +it's a matter of business, sir, they could give you information at his +office in Bedford Row."</p> + +<p>"Thanks very much," said Wimsey, noting down the number. "I'll call +there. Possibly they'd be able to do what I want without bothering him."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. Who should I say called?"</p> + +<p>Wimsey handed over his card, writing at the top, "In re R. v. Vane," +and added:</p> + +<p>"But there is a chance he may be back quite soon?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, sir. Last time he wasn't away more than a couple of days, and +a merciful providence I am sure that was, with poor Mr. Boyes dying in +that dreadful manner."</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed," said Wimsey, delighted to find the subject introducing +itself of its own accord. "That must have been a shocking upset for you +all."</p> + +<p>"Well, there," said the cook, "I don't hardly like to think of it, even +now. A gentleman dying in the house like that, and poisoned too, when +one's had the cooking of his dinner—it do seem to bring it home to +one, like."</p> + +<p>"It wasn't the dinner that was at fault, anyway," said Wimsey, genially.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear, no, sir—we proved that most careful. Not that any accident +could happen in my kitchen—I should like to see it! But people do say +such things if they get half a chance. Still, there wasn't a thing ate +but master and Hannah and I had some of it, and very thankful I was +for that, I needn't tell you."</p> + +<p>"You must be; I am sure." Wimsey was framing a further enquiry, when +the violent ringing of the area bell interrupted them.</p> + +<p>"There's that butcher," said the cook, "you'll excuse me, sir. The +parlour-maid's in bed with the influenza, and I'm single-handed this +morning. I'll tell Mr. Urquhart you called."</p> + +<p>She shut the door, and Wimsey departed for Bedford Row, where he was +received by an elderly clerk, who made no difficulty about supplying +Mr. Urquhart's address.</p> + +<p>"Here it is, my lord. Care of Mrs. Wrayburn, Appleford, Windle, +Westmorland. But I shouldn't think he would be very long away. In the +meantime, could we do anything for you?"</p> + +<p>"No, thanks. I rather wanted to see him personally, don't you know. As +a matter of fact, it's about that very sad death of his cousin, Mr. +Philip Boyes."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, my lord? Shocking affair, that. Mr. Urquhart was greatly upset, +with it happening in his own house. A very fine young man, was Mr. +Boyes. He and Mr. Urquhart were great friends, and he took it greatly +to heart. Were you present at the trial, my lord?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. What did you think of the verdict?"</p> + +<p>The clerk pursed up his lips.</p> + +<p>"I don't mind saying I was surprised. It seemed to me a very clear +case. But juries are very unreliable, especially now-a-days, with women +on them. We see a good deal of the fair sex in this profession," said +the clerk, with a sly smile, "and very few of them are remarkable for +possessing the legal mind."</p> + +<p>"How true that is," said Wimsey. "If it wasn't for them, though, +there'd be much less litigation, so it's all good for business."</p> + +<p>"Ha, ha! Very good, my lord. Well, we have to take things as they +come, but in my opinion—I'm an old-fashioned man—the ladies were most +adorable when they adorned and inspired and did not take an active part +in affairs. Here's our young lady clerk—I don't say she wasn't a good +worker—but a whim comes over her and away she goes to get married, +leaving me in the lurch, just when Mr. Urquhart is away. Now, with a +young man, marriage steadies him, and makes him stick closer to his +job, but with a young woman, it's the other way about. It's right she +should get married, but it's inconvenient, and in a solicitor's office +one can't get temporary assistance very well. Some of the work is +confidential, of course, and in any case, an atmosphere of permanence +is desirable."</p> + +<p>Wimsey sympathised with the head-clerk's grievance, and bade him an +affable good-morning. There is a telephone box in Bedford Row, and he +darted into it and immediately rang up Miss Climpson.</p> + +<p>"Lord Peter Wimsey speaking—oh, hullo, Miss Climpson! How is +everything? All bright and beautiful? Good!—Yes, now listen. There's +a vacancy for a confidential female clerk at Mr. Norman Urquhart's, the +solicitor's, in Bedford Row—Have you got anybody?—Oh, good!—Yes, +send them all along—I particularly want to get someone in there—Oh, +no! no special enquiry—just to pick up any gossip about the +Vane business—Yes, pick out the steadiest-looking, not too much +face-powder, and see that their skirts are the regulation four inches +below the knee—the head-clerk's in charge, and the last girl left to +be married, so he's feeling anti-sex-appeal. Right-ho! Get her in and +I'll give her her instructions. Bless you, may your shadow never grow +bulkier!"</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</h2> +</div> + + +<p>"Bunter!"</p> + +<p>"My lord?"</p> + +<p>Wimsey tapped with his fingers a letter he had just received.</p> + +<p>"Do you feel at your brightest and most truly fascinating? Does a +livelier iris, winter weather notwithstanding, shine upon the burnished +Bunter? Have you got that sort of conquering feeling? The Don Juan +touch, so to speak?"</p> + +<p>Bunter, balancing the breakfast tray on his fingers, coughed +deprecatingly.</p> + +<p>"You have a good, upstanding, impressive figure, if I may say so," +pursued Wimsey, "a bold and roving eye when off duty, a ready tongue, +Bunter—and, I am persuaded, you have a way with you. What more should +any cook or house-parlourmaid want?"</p> + +<p>"I am always happy," replied Bunter, "to exert myself to the best of my +capacity in your lordship's service."</p> + +<p>"I am aware of it," admitted his lordship. "Again and again I say +to myself, Wimsey, this cannot last. One of these days this worthy +man will cast off the yoke of servitude and settle down in a pub. or +something, but nothing happens. Still, morning by morning, my coffee +is brought, my bath is prepared, my razor laid out, my ties and socks +sorted and my bacon and eggs brought to me in a lordly dish. No matter. +This time I demand a more perilous devotion—perilous for us both, +my Bunter, for if you were to be carried away, a helpless martyr to +matrimony, who then would bring my coffee, prepare my bath, lay out my +razor and perform all those other sacrificial rites? And yet—"</p> + +<p>"Who is the party, my lord?"</p> + +<p>"There are two of them, Bunter, two ladies lived in a bower, Binnorie, +O Binnorie! The parlourmaid you have seen. Her name is Hannah Westlock. +A woman in her thirties, I fancy, and not ill-favored. The other, the +cook—I cannot lisp the tender syllables of her name, for I do not know +it, but doubtless it is Gertrude, Cecily, Magdalen, Margaret, Rosalys +or some other sweet symphonious sound—a fine woman, Bunter, on the +mature side, perhaps, but none the worse for that."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not, my lord. If I may say so, the woman of ripe years and +queenly figure is frequently more susceptible to delicate attentions +than the giddy and thoughtless young beauty."</p> + +<p>"True. Let us suppose, Bunter, that you were to be the bearer of a +courteous missive to one Mr. Norman Urquhart of Woburn Square. Could +you, in the short space of time at your disposal, insinuate yourself, +snakelike, as it were, into the bosom of the household?"</p> + +<p>"If you desire it, my lord, I will endeavour to insinuate myself to +your lordship's satisfaction."</p> + +<p>"Noble fellow. In case of an action for breach, or any consequence +of that description, the charges will, of course, be borne by the +management."</p> + +<p>"I am obliged to your lordship. When would your lordship wish me to +commence?"</p> + +<p>"As soon as I have written a note to Mr. Urquhart. I will ring."</p> + +<p>"Very good, my lord."</p> + +<p>Wimsey moved over to the writing-desk. After a few moments he looked +up, a little peevishly.</p> + +<p>"Bunter, I have a sensation of being hovered over. I do not like it. +It is unusual and it unnerves me. I implore you not to hover. Is the +proposition distasteful, or do you want me to get a new hat? What is +troubling your conscience?"</p> + +<p>"I beg your lordship's pardon. It had occurred to my mind to ask your +lordship, with every respect—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, God, Bunter—don't break it gently. I can't bear it. Stab and end +the creature—to the heft! What is it?"</p> + +<p>"I wished to ask you, my lord, whether your lordship thought of making +any changes in your establishment?"</p> + +<p>Wimsey laid down his pen and stared at the man.</p> + +<p>"Changes, Bunter? When I have just so eloquently expressed to you my +undying attachment to the loved routine of coffee, bath, razor, socks, +eggs and bacon and the old, familiar faces? You're not giving me +warning, are you?"</p> + +<p>"No, indeed, my lord. I should be very sorry to leave your lordship's +service. But I had thought it possible that, if your lordship was about +to contract new ties—"</p> + +<p>"I <i>knew</i> it was something in the haberdashery line! By all means, +Bunter, if you think it necessary. Had you any particular pattern in +mind?"</p> + +<p>"Your lordship misunderstands me. I referred to domestic ties, my lord. +Sometimes, when a gentleman reorganizes his household on a matrimonial +basis, the lady may prefer to have a voice in the selection of the +gentleman's personal attendant, in which case—"</p> + +<p>"Bunter!" said Wimsey, considerably startled, "may I ask where you have +contracted these ideas?"</p> + +<p>"I ventured to draw an inference, my lord."</p> + +<p>"This comes of training people to be detectives. Have I been nourishing +a sleuth-hound on my own hearth-stone? May I ask if you have gone so +far as to give a name to the lady?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my lord."</p> + +<p>There was a pause.</p> + +<p>"Well?" said Wimsey, in a rather subdued tone, "what about it, Bunter?"</p> + +<p>"A very agreeable lady, if I may say so, my lord."</p> + +<p>"It strikes you that way, does it? The circumstances are unusual, of +course."</p> + +<p>"Yes, my lord. I might perhaps make so bold as to call them romantic."</p> + +<p>"You may make so bold as to call them damnable, Bunter."</p> + +<p>"Yes, my lord," said Bunter, in a tone of sympathy.</p> + +<p>"You won't desert the ship, Bunter?"</p> + +<p>"Not on any account, my lord."</p> + +<p>"Then don't come frightening me again. My nerves are not what they +were. Here is the note. Take it round and do your best."</p> + +<p>"Very good, my lord."</p> + +<p>"Oh, and, Bunter."</p> + +<p>"My lord?"</p> + +<p>"It seems that I am being obvious. I have no wish to be anything of the +kind. If you see me being obvious, will you drop me a hint?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, my lord."</p> + +<p>Bunter faded gently out, and Wimsey stepped anxiously to the mirror.</p> + +<p>"I can't see anything," he said to himself. "No lily on my cheek with +anguish moist and fever-dew. I suppose, though, it's hopeless to try +and deceive Bunter. Never mind. Business must come first. I've stopped +one, two, three, four earths. What next? How about this fellow Vaughan?"</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>When Wimsey had any researches to do in Bohemia, it was his custom +to enlist the help of Miss Marjorie Phelps. She made figurines in +porcelain for a living, and was therefore usually to be found either in +her studio or in some one else's studio. A telephone-call at 10 a.m. +would probably catch her scrambling eggs over her own gas-stove. It +was true that there had been passages, about the time of the Bellona +Club affair,<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> between her and Lord Peter which made it a little +embarrassing and unkind to bring her in on the subject of Harriet Vane, +but with so little time in which to pick and choose his tools, Wimsey +was past worrying about gentlemanly scruples. He put the call through +and was relieved to hear an answering "Hullo!"</p> + +<p>"Hullo, Marjorie! This is Peter Wimsey. How goes it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, fine, thanks. Glad to hear your melodious voice again. What can I +do for the Lord High Investigator?"</p> + +<p>"Do you know one Vaughan, who is mixed up in the Philip Boyes murder +mystery?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Peter! Are you on to that? How gorgeous! Which side are you +taking?"</p> + +<p>"For the defence."</p> + +<p>"Hurray!"</p> + +<p>"Why this pomp of jubilee?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it's much more exciting and difficult, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid it is. Do you know Miss Vane, by the way?"</p> + +<p>"Yes and no. I've seen her with the Boyes-Vaughan crowd."</p> + +<p>"Like her?"</p> + +<p>"So-so."</p> + +<p>"Like him? Boyes, I mean?"</p> + +<p>"Never stirred a heart-beat."</p> + +<p>"I said, did you like him?"</p> + +<p>"One didn't. One either fell for him or not. He wasn't the merry +bright-eyed pal of the period, you know."</p> + +<p>"Oh! What's Vaughan?"</p> + +<p>"Hanger-on."</p> + +<p>"Oh?"</p> + +<p>"House-dog. Nothing must interfere with the expansion of my friend the +genius. That sort."</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>"Don't keep saying 'Oh!' Do you want to meet the man Vaughan?"</p> + +<p>"If it's not too much trouble."</p> + +<p>"Well, turn up tonight with a taxi and we'll go the rounds. We're +certain to drop across him somewhere. Also the rival gang, if you want +them—Harriet Vane's supporters."</p> + +<p>"Those girls who gave evidence?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. You'll like Eiluned Price, I think. She scorns everything in +trousers, but she's a good friend at a pinch."</p> + +<p>"I'll come, Marjorie. Will you dine with me?"</p> + +<p>"Peter, I'd adore to, but I don't think I will. I've got an awful lot +to do."</p> + +<p>"Right-ho! I'll roll round about nine, then."</p> + +<p>Accordingly, at 9 o'clock, Wimsey found himself in a taxi with Marjorie +Phelps, headed for a round of the studios.</p> + +<p>"I've been doing some intensive telephoning," said Marjorie, "and +I think we shall find him at the Kropotkys'. They are pro-Boyes, +Bolshevik and musical, and their drinks are bad, but their Russian tea +is safe. Does the taxi wait?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; it sounds as if we might want to beat a retreat."</p> + +<p>"Well, it's nice to be rich. It's down the court here, on the right, +over the Petrovitchs' stable. Better let me grope first."</p> + +<p>They stumbled up a narrow and encumbered stair, at the top of which a +fine confused noise of a piano, strings and the clashing of kitchen +utensils announced that some sort of entertainment was in progress.</p> + +<p>Marjorie hammered loudly on a door, and, without waiting for an answer, +flung it open. Wimsey, entering on her heels, was struck in the face, +as by an open hand, by a thick muffling wave of heat, sound, smoke and +the smell of frying.</p> + +<p>It was a very small room, dimly lit by a single electric bulb, +smothered in a lantern of painted glass, and it was packed to +suffocation with people, whose silk legs, bare arms and pallid faces +loomed at him like glow-worms out of the obscurity. Coiling wreaths +of tobacco-smoke swam slowly to and fro in the midst. In one corner +an anthracite stove, glowing red and mephitical, vied with a roaring +gas-oven in another corner to raise the atmosphere to roasting-pitch. +On the stove stood a vast and steaming kettle; on a side-table stood +a vast and steaming samovar; over the gas, a dim figure stood turning +sausages in a pan with a fork, while an assistant attended to something +in the oven, which Wimsey, whose nose was selective, identified +among the other fragrant elements in this compound atmosphere, and +identified rightly, as kippers. At the piano, which stood just inside +the door, a young man with bushy red hair was playing something of +a Czecho-Slovakian flavour, to a violin obligato by an extremely +loose-jointed person of indeterminate sex in a Fair-Isle jumper. Nobody +looked round at their entrance. Marjorie picked her way over the +scattered limbs on the floor and, selecting a lean young woman in red, +bawled into her ear. The young woman nodded and beckoned to Wimsey. He +negotiated a passage and was introduced to the lean woman by the simple +formula: "Here's Peter—this is Nina Kropotky."</p> + +<p>"So pleased," shouted Madame Kropotky through the clamour. "Sit by +me. Vanya will get you something to drink. It is beautiful, yes? That +is Stanislas—such a genius—his new work on the Piccadilly Tube +Station—great, n'est-ce pas? Five days he was continually travelling +upon the escalator to absorb the tone-values."</p> + +<p>"Colossal!" yelled Wimsey.</p> + +<p>"So—you think? Ah! you can appreciate! You understand it is really +for the big orchestra. On the piano it is nothing. It needs the brass, +the effects, the timpani—b'rrrrrrr! So! But one seizes the form, the +outline! Ah! it finishes! Superb! Magnificent!"</p> + +<p>The enormous clatter ceased. The pianist mopped his face and glared +haggardly round. The violinist put down its instrument and stood up, +revealing itself, by its legs, to be female. The room exploded into +conversation. Madame Kropotky leapt over her seated guests and embraced +the perspiring Stanislas on both cheeks. The frying-pan was lifted +from the stove in a fusillade of spitting fat, a shriek went up for +'Vanya!' and presently a cadaverous face was pushed down to Wimsey's, +and a deep guttural voice barked at him: "What will you drink?" while +simultaneously a plate of kippers came hovering perilously over his +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Thanks," said Wimsey, "I have just dined—just <i>dined</i>," he roared +despairingly, "full up, complet!"</p> + +<p>Marjorie came to the rescue with a shriller voice and more determined +refusal.</p> + +<p>"Take those dreadful things away, Vanya. They make me sick. Give us +some tea, tea, tea!"</p> + +<p>"Tea!" echoed the cadaverous man, "they want tea! What do you think of +Stanislas' tone-poem? Strong, modern, eh? The soul of rebellion in the +crowd—the clash, the revolt at the heart of the machinery. It gives +the bourgeois something to think of, oh, yes!"</p> + +<p>"Bah!" said a voice in Wimsey's ear, as the cadaverous man turned away, +"it is nothing. Bourgeois music. Programme music. Pretty!—You should +hear Vrilovitch's 'Ecstasy on the letter Z.' That is pure vibration +with no antiquated pattern in it. Stanislas—he thinks much of himself, +but it is old as the hills—you can sense the resolution at the back +of all his discords. Mere harmony in camouflage. Nothing in it. But +he takes them all in because he has red hair and reveals his bony +structure."</p> + +<p>The speaker certainly did not err along these lines, for he was as bald +and round as a billiard-ball. Wimsey replied soothingly:</p> + +<p>"Well, what can you do with the wretched and antiquated instruments of +our orchestra? A diatonic scale, bah! Thirteen miserable, bourgeois +semi-tones, pooh! To express the infinite complexity of modern emotion, +you need a scale of thirty-two notes to the octave."</p> + +<p>"But why cling to the octave?" said the fat man. "Till you can cast +away the octave and its sentimental associations, you walk in fetters +of convention."</p> + +<p>"That's the spirit!" said Wimsey. "I would dispense with all definite +notes. After all, the cat does not need them for his midnight +melodies, powerful and expressive as they are. The love-hunger of the +stallion takes no account of octave or interval in giving forth the cry +of passion. It is only man, trammelled by a stultifying convention—Oh, +hullo, Marjorie, sorry—what is it?"</p> + +<p>"Come and talk to Ryland Vaughan," said Marjorie. "I have told him you +are a tremendous admirer of Philip Boyes' books. Have you read them?"</p> + +<p>"Some of them. But I think I'm getting light-headed."</p> + +<p>"You'll feel worse in an hour or so. So you'd better come now." She +steered him to a remote spot near the gas-oven, where an extremely +elongated man was sitting curled up on a floor cushion, eating caviare +out of a jar with a pickle-fork. He greeted Wimsey with a sort of +lugubrious enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"Hell of a place," he said, "hell of a business altogether. This +stove's too hot. Have a drink. What the devil else can one do? I come +here, because Philip used to come here. Habit, you know. I hate it, but +there's nowhere else to go."</p> + +<p>"You knew him very well, of course," said Wimsey, seating himself in a +waste-paper basket, and wishing he was wearing a bathing-suit.</p> + +<p>"I was his only real friend," said Ryland Vaughan, mournfully. "All the +rest only cared to pick his brains. Apes! parrots! all the bloody lot +of them."</p> + +<p>"I've read his books and thought them very fine," said Wimsey, with +some sincerity. "But he seemed to me an unhappy soul."</p> + +<p>"Nobody understood him," said Vaughan. "They called him difficult—who +wouldn't be difficult with so much to fight against? They sucked the +blood out of him, and his damned thieves of publishers took every +blasted coin they could lay their hands on. And then that bitch of a +woman poisoned him. My God, what a life!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but what made her do it—if she did do it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, she did it all right. Sheer, beastly spite and jealousy, that's +all there was to it. Just because she couldn't write anything but +tripe herself. Harriet Vane's got the bug all these damned women have +got—fancy they can do things. They hate a man and they hate his work. +You'd think it would have been enough for her to help and look after a +genius like Phil, wouldn't you? Why, damn it, he used to ask her advice +about his work, her advice, good lord!"</p> + +<p>"Did he take it?"</p> + +<p>"Take it? She wouldn't give it. Told him she never gave opinions on +other authors' work. <i>Other</i> authors! The impudence of it! Of course +she was out of things among us all, but why couldn't she realise the +difference between her mind and his? Of course it was hopeless from +the start for Philip to get entangled with that kind of woman. Genius +must be served, not argued with. I warned him at the time, but he was +infatuated. And then, to want to marry her—"</p> + +<p>"Why did he?" asked Wimsey.</p> + +<p>"Remains of parsonical upbringing, I suppose. It was really pitiful. +Besides, I think that fellow Urquhart did a lot of mischief. Sleek +family lawyer—d'you know him?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"He got hold of him—put up to it by the family, I imagine. I saw +the influence creeping over Phil long before the real trouble began. +Perhaps it's a good thing he's dead. It would have been ghastly to +watch him turn conventional and settle down."</p> + +<p>"When did this cousin start getting hold of him, then?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—about two years ago—a little more, perhaps. Asked him to dinner +and that sort of thing. The minute I saw him I knew he was out to ruin +Philip, body and soul. What he wanted—what Phil wanted, I mean—was +freedom and room to turn about in, but what with the woman and the +cousin and the father in the background—oh, well! It's no use crying +about it now. His work is left, and that's the best part of him. He's +left me that to look after, at least. Harriet Vane didn't get her +finger in that pie, after all."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure it's absolutely safe in your hands," said Wimsey.</p> + +<p>"But when one thinks what there might have been," said Vaughan, turning +his blood-shot eyes miserably on Lord Peter, "it's enough to make one +cut one's throat, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>Wimsey expressed agreement.</p> + +<p>"By the way," he said, "you were with him all that last day, till he +went to his cousin's. You don't think he had anything on him in the +way of—poison or anything? I don't want to seem unkind—but he was +unhappy—it would be rotten to think that he—"</p> + +<p>"No," said Vaughan, "no. That I'll swear he never did. He would have +told me—he trusted me in those last days. I shared all his thoughts. +He was miserably hurt by that damned woman, but he wouldn't have gone +without telling me or saying good-bye. And besides—he wouldn't have +chosen that way. Why should he? I could have given him—"</p> + +<p>He checked himself, and glanced at Wimsey, but, seeing nothing in his +face beyond sympathetic attention, went on:</p> + +<p>"I remember talking to him about drugs. Hyoscine—veronal—all that +sort of thing. He said, 'If ever I want to go out, Ryland, you'll show +me the way.' And I would have—if he'd really wanted it. But arsenic! +Philip, who loved beauty so much—do you think he would have chosen +arsenic?—the suburban poisoner's outfit? That's absolutely impossible."</p> + +<p>"It's not an agreeable sort of thing to take, certainly," said Wimsey.</p> + +<p>"Look here," said Vaughan, hoarsely and impressively—he had been +putting a constant succession of brandies on top of the caviare, and +was beginning to lose his reserve—"Look here! See this!" He pulled +a small bottle from his breast-pocket. "That's waiting, till I've +finished editing Phil's books. It's a comfort to have it there to +look at, you know. Peaceful. Go out through the ivory gate—that's +classical—they brought me up on the classics. These people would +laugh at a fellow, but you needn't tell them I said it—funny, the +way it sticks—'tendebantque manus ripae ulterioris amore, ulterioris +amore'—what's that bit about the souls thronging thick as leaves in +Vallombrosa—no, that's Milton—'amorioris ultore'—ultoriore—damn +it—poor Phil!"</p> + +<p>Here Mr. Vaughan burst into tears and patted the little bottle.</p> + +<p>Wimsey, whose head and ears were thumping as though he were sitting +in an engine-room, got up softly and withdrew. Somebody had begun a +Hungarian song and the stove was white-hot. He made signals of distress +to Marjorie, who was sitting in a corner with a group of men. One of +them appeared to be reading his own poems with his mouth nearly in her +ear, and another was sketching something on the back of an envelope, to +the accompaniment of yelps of merriment from the rest. The noise they +made disconcerted the singer, who stopped in the middle of a bar, and +cried angrily:</p> + +<p>"Ach! this noise! these interruptions! they are intolerable! I lose +myself! Stop! I begin all over again, from the beginning."</p> + +<p>Marjorie sprang up, apologising.</p> + +<p>"I'm a brute—I'm not keeping your menagerie in order, Nina—we're +being perfect nuisances. Forgive me, Marya, I'm in a bad temper. I'd +better pick up Peter and toddle away. Come and sing to me another day, +darling, when I'm feeling better and there is more room for my feelings +to expand. Good-night, Nina—we've enjoyed it frightfully—and, Boris, +that poem's the best thing you've done, only I couldn't hear it +properly. Peter, tell them what a rotten mood I'm in tonight and take +me home."</p> + +<p>"That's right," said Wimsey, "nervy, you know—bad effect on the +manners and so on."</p> + +<p>"Manners," said a bearded gentleman suddenly and loudly, "are for the +bourgeois."</p> + +<p>"Quite right," said Wimsey. "Beastly bad form, and gives you +repressions in the what-not. Come on, Marjorie, or we shall all be +getting polite."</p> + +<p>"I begin again," said the singer, "from the beginning."</p> + +<p>"Whew!" said Wimsey, on the staircase.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know. I think I'm a perfect martyr to put up with it. Anyway, +you've seen Vaughan. Nice dopey specimen, isn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I don't think he murdered Philip Boyes, do you? I had to see +him to make sure. Where do we go next?"</p> + +<p>"We'll try Joey Trimbles. That's the stronghold of the opposition show."</p> + +<p>Joey Trimbles occupied a studio over a mews. Here there was the same +crowd, the same smoke, more kippers, still more drinks and still more +heat and conversation. In addition there was a blaze of electric light, +a gramophone, five dogs and a strong smell of oil-paints. Sylvia +Marriott was expected. Wimsey found himself involved in a discussion +of free love, D. H. Lawrence, the prurience of prudery and the immoral +significance of long skirts. In time, however, he was rescued by the +arrival of a masculine-looking middle-aged woman with a sinister +smile and a pack of cards, who proceeded to tell everybody's fortune. +The company gathered around her, and at the same time a girl came in +and announced that Sylvia had sprained her ankle and couldn't come. +Everybody said warmly, "Oh, how sickening, poor dear!" and forgot the +subject immediately.</p> + +<p>"We'll scoot off," said Marjorie. "Never mind about saying good-bye. +Nobody marks you. It's good luck about Sylvia, because she'll be at +home and can't escape us. I sometimes wish they'd all sprain their +ankles. And yet, you know, nearly all those people are doing very good +work. Even the Kropotky crowd. I used to enjoy this kind of thing +myself, once."</p> + +<p>"We're getting old, you and I," said Wimsey. "Sorry, that's rude. But +do you know, I'm getting on for forty, Marjorie."</p> + +<p>"You wear well. But you are looking a bit fagged tonight, Peter dear. +What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing at all but middle-age."</p> + +<p>"You'll be settling down if you're not careful."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I've been settled for years."</p> + +<p>"With Bunter and the books. I envy you sometimes, Peter."</p> + +<p>Wimsey said nothing. Marjorie looked at him almost in alarm, and tucked +her arm in his.</p> + +<p>"Peter—do please be happy. I mean, you've always been the comfortable +sort of person that nothing could touch. Don't alter, will you?"</p> + +<p>That was the second time Wimsey had been asked not to alter himself; +the first time, the request had exalted him; this time, it terrified +him. As the taxi lurched along the rainy Embankment, he felt for +the first time the dull and angry helplessness which is the first +warning stroke of the triumph of mutability. Like the poisoned Athulf +in the <i>Fool's Tragedy</i>, he could have cried, "Oh, I am changing, +changing, fearfully changing." Whether his present enterprise failed +or succeeded, things would never be the same again. It was not that +his heart would be broken by a disastrous love—he had outlived +the luxurious agonies of youthful blood, and in this very freedom +from illusion he recognised the loss of something. From now on, +every hour of light-heartedness would be, not a prerogative but an +achievement—one more axe or case-bottle or fowling-piece, rescued, +Crusoe-fashion, from a sinking ship.</p> + +<p>For the first time, too, he doubted his own power to carry through +what he had undertaken. His personal feelings had been involved before +this in his investigations, but they had never before clouded his +mind. He was fumbling—grasping uncertainly here and there at fugitive +and mocking possibilities. He asked questions at random, doubtful +of his object, and the shortness of the time, which would once have +stimulated, now frightened and confused him.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, Marjorie," he said, rousing himself, "I'm afraid I'm being +damned dull. Oxygen-starvation, probably. D'you mind if we have the +window down a bit? That's better. Give me good food and a little air +to breathe and I will caper, goat-like, to a dishonourable old age. +People will point me out, as I creep, bald and yellow and supported by +discreet corsetry, into the night-clubs of my great-grandchildren, and +they'll say, 'Look, darling! that's the wicked Lord Peter, celebrated +for never having spoken a reasonable word for the last ninety-six +years. He was the only aristocrat who escaped the guillotine in the +revolution of 1960. We keep him as a pet for the children.' And I +shall wag my head and display my up-to-date dentures and say, 'Ah, ha! +They don't have the fun we used to have in my young days, the poor, +well-regulated creatures!'"</p> + +<p>"There won't be any night-clubs then for you to creep into, if they're +as disciplined as all that."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes—nature will have her revenge. They will slink away from the +Government Communal Games to play solitaire in catacombs over a bowl of +unsterilised skim-milk. Is this the place?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I hope there's someone to let us in at the bottom, if Sylvia's +bust her leg. Yes—I hear footsteps. Oh, it's you, Eiluned; how's +Sylvia?"</p> + +<p>"Pretty all right, only swelled up—the ankle, that is. Coming up?"</p> + +<p>"Is she visible?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, perfectly respectable."</p> + +<p>"Good, because I'm bringing Lord Peter Wimsey up, too."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said the girl. "How do you do? You detect things, don't you? Have +you come for the body or anything?"</p> + +<p>"Lord Peter's looking into Harriet Vane's business for her."</p> + +<p>"Is he? That's good. Glad somebody's doing something about it." She was +a short, stout girl with a pugnacious nose and a twinkle. "What do you +say it was? I say he did it himself. He was the self-pitying sort, +you know. Hullo, Syl—here's Marjorie, with a bloke who's going to get +Harriet out of jug."</p> + +<p>"Produce him instantly!" was the reply from within. The door opened +upon a small bed-sitting room, furnished with the severest simplicity, +and inhabited by a pale, spectacled young woman in a Morris chair, her +bandaged foot stretched out upon a packing-case.</p> + +<p>"I can't get up, because, as Jenny Wren said, my back's bad and my +leg's queer. Who's the champion, Marjorie?"</p> + +<p>Wimsey was introduced, and Eiluned Price immediately inquired, rather +truculently:</p> + +<p>"Can he drink coffee, Marjorie? Or does he require masculine +refreshment?"</p> + +<p>"He's perfectly godly, righteous and sober, and drinks anything but +cocoa and fizzy lemonade."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I only asked because some of your male belongings need +stimulating, and we haven't got the wherewithal, and the pub's just +closing."</p> + +<p>She stumped over to a cupboard, and Sylvia said:</p> + +<p>"Don't mind Eiluned; she likes to treat 'em rough. Tell me, Lord Peter, +have you found any clues or anything?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Wimsey. "I've put a few ferrets down a few holes. +I hope something may come up the other end."</p> + +<p>"Have you seen the cousin yet—the Urquhart creature?"</p> + +<p>"Got an appointment with him for tomorrow. Why?"</p> + +<p>"Sylvia's theory is that he did it," said Eiluned.</p> + +<p>"That's interesting. Why?"</p> + +<p>"Female intuition," said Eiluned, bluntly. "She doesn't like the way he +does his hair."</p> + +<p>"I only said he was too sleek to be true," protested Sylvia. "And who +else could it have been? I'm sure it wasn't Ryland Vaughan; he's an +obnoxious ass, but he is genuinely heart-broken about it all."</p> + +<p>Eiluned sniffed scornfully, and departed to fill a kettle at a tap on +the landing.</p> + +<p>"And whatever Eiluned thinks, I can't believe Phil Boyes did it +himself."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" asked Wimsey.</p> + +<p>"He talked such a lot," said Sylvia. "And he really had too high an +opinion of himself. I don't think he would have wilfully deprived the +world of the privilege of reading his books."</p> + +<p>"He would," said Eiluned. "He'd do it out of spite, to make the +grown-ups sorry. No, thanks," as Wimsey advanced to carry the kettle, +"I'm quite capable of carrying six pints of water."</p> + +<p>"Crushed again!" said Wimsey.</p> + +<p>"Eiluned disapproves of conventional courtesies between the sexes," +said Marjorie.</p> + +<p>"Very well," replied Wimsey, amiably. "I will adopt an attitude +of passive decoration. Have you any idea, Miss Marriott, why this +over-sleek solicitor should wish to make away with his cousin?"</p> + +<p>"Not the faintest. I merely proceed on the old Sherlock Holmes basis, +that when you have eliminated the impossible, then whatever remains, +however improbable, must be true."</p> + +<p>"Dupin said that before Sherlock. I grant the conclusion, but in this +case I question the premises. No sugar, thank you."</p> + +<p>"I thought all men liked to make their coffee into syrup."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but then I am very unusual. Haven't you noticed it?"</p> + +<p>"I haven't had much time to observe you, but I'll count the coffee as a +point in your favour."</p> + +<p>"Thanks frightfully. I say—can you people tell me just what was Miss +Vane's reaction to the murder?"</p> + +<p>"Well—" Sylvia considered a moment. "When he died—she was upset, of +course—"</p> + +<p>"She was startled," said Miss Price, "but it's my opinion she was +thankful to be rid of him. And no wonder. Selfish beast! He'd made use +of her and nagged her to death for a year and insulted her at the end. +And he was one of your greedy sort that wouldn't let go. She <i>was</i> +glad, Sylvia—what's the good of denying it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, perhaps. It was a relief to know he was finished with. But she +didn't know then that he'd been murdered."</p> + +<p>"No. The murder spoilt it a bit—if it was a murder, which I don't +believe. Philip Boyes was always determined to be a victim, and it was +very irritating of him to succeed in the end. I believe that's what he +did it for."</p> + +<p>"People do do that kind of thing," said Wimsey, thoughtfully. "But it's +difficult to prove. I mean, a jury is much more inclined to believe in +some tangible sort of reason, like money. But I can't find any money in +this case."</p> + +<p>Eiluned laughed.</p> + +<p>"No, there never was much money, except what Harriet made. The +ridiculous public didn't appreciate Phil Boyes. He couldn't forgive her +that, you know."</p> + +<p>"Didn't it come in useful?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, but he resented it all the same. She ought to have been +ministering to his work, not making money for them both with her own +independent trash. But that's men all over."</p> + +<p>"You haven't much opinion of us, what?"</p> + +<p>"I've known too many borrowers," said Eiluned Price, "and too many that +wanted their hands held. All the same, the women are just as bad, or +they wouldn't put up with it. Thank Heaven, I've never borrowed and +never lent—except to women, and they pay back."</p> + +<p>"People who work hard usually do pay back, I fancy," said Wimsey, +"—except geniuses."</p> + +<p>"Women geniuses don't get coddled," said Miss Price, grimly, "so they +learn not to expect it."</p> + +<p>"We're getting rather off the subject, aren't we?" said Marjorie.</p> + +<p>"No," replied Wimsey, "I'm getting a certain amount of light on the +central figures in the problem—what journalists like to call the +protagonists." His mouth gave a wry little twist. "One gets a lot of +illumination in that fierce light that beats upon a scaffold."</p> + +<p>"Don't say that," pleaded Sylvia.</p> + +<p>A telephone rang somewhere outside, and Eiluned Price went out to +answer it.</p> + +<p>"Eiluned's anti-man," said Sylvia, "but she's a very reliable person."</p> + +<p>Wimsey nodded.</p> + +<p>"But she's wrong about Phil—she couldn't stick him, naturally, and +she's apt to think—"</p> + +<p>"It's for you, Lord Peter," said Eiluned, returning. "Fly at once—all +is known. You're wanted by Scotland Yard."</p> + +<p>Wimsey hastened out.</p> + +<p>"That you, Peter? I've been scouring London for you. We've found the +pub."</p> + +<p>"Never!"</p> + +<p>"Fact. And we're on the track of a packet of white powder."</p> + +<p>"Good God!"</p> + +<p>"Can you run down first thing tomorrow? We may have it for you."</p> + +<p>"I will skip like a ram and hop like a high hill. We'll beat you yet, +Mr. Bleeding Chief-Inspector Parker."</p> + +<p>"I hope you will," said Parker, amiably, and rang off.</p> + +<p>Wimsey pranced back into the room.</p> + +<p>"Miss Price's price has gone to odds on," he announced. "It's suicide, +fifty to one and no takers. I am going to grin like a dog and run about +the city."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry I can't join you," said Sylvia Marriott, "but I'm glad if +I'm wrong."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad I'm right," said Eiluned Price, stolidly.</p> + +<p>"And you are right and I am right and everything is quite all right," +said Wimsey.</p> + +<p>Marjorie Phelps looked at him and said nothing. She suddenly felt as +though something inside her had been put through a wringer.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</h2> +</div> + + +<p>By what ingratiating means Mr. Bunter had contrived to turn the +delivery of a note into the acceptance of an invitation to tea was +best known to himself. At half-past four on the day which ended +so cheerfully for Lord Peter, he was seated in the kitchen of Mr. +Urquhart's house, toasting crumpets. He had been trained to a great +pitch of dexterity in the preparation of crumpets, and if he was +somewhat lavish in the matter of butter, that hurt nobody except Mr. +Urquhart. It was natural that the conversation should turn to the +subject of murder. Nothing goes so well with a hot fire and buttered +crumpets as a wet day without and a good dose of comfortable horrors +within. The heavier the lashing of the rain and the ghastlier the +details, the better the flavour seems to be. On the present occasion, +all the ingredients of an enjoyable party were present in full force.</p> + +<p>"'Orrible white, he looked, when he came in," said Mrs. Pettican the +cook. "I see him when they sent for me to bring up the 'ot bottles. +Three of them, they 'ad, one to his feet and one to his back and the +big rubber one to 'is stummick. White and shiverin', he was, and that +dreadful sick, you never would believe. And he groaned pitiful."</p> + +<p>"Green, he looked to me, Cook," said Hannah Westlock, "or you might +perhaps call it a greenish-yellow. I thought it was jaundice a-coming +on—more like them attacks he had in the Spring."</p> + +<p>"He was a bad colour then," agreed Mrs. Pettican, "but nothink like to +what he was that last time. And the pains and cramps in his legs was +agonising. That struck Nurse Williams very forcible—a nice young woman +she was, and not stuck-up like some as I could name. 'Mrs. Pettican,' +she said to me, which I call it better manners than callin' you Cook +as they mostly do, as though they paid your wages for the right of +callin' you out of your name—'Mrs. Pettican,' said she, 'never did +I see anythink to equal them cramps except in one other case that +was the dead spit of this one,' she said, 'and you mark my words, +Mrs. Pettican, them cramps ain't there for nothin'. Ah! little did I +understand her meanin' at the time."</p> + +<p>"That's a regular feature of these arsenical cases, or so his lordship +tells me," replied Bunter. "A very distressing symptom. Had he ever had +anything of the sort before?"</p> + +<p>"Not what you could call cramps," said Hannah, "though I remember when +he was ill in the Spring he complained of getting the fidgets in the +hands and feet. Something like pins-and-needles, by what I understood +him to say. It was a worrit to him, because he was finishing one of his +articles in a hurry, and what with that and his eyes being so bad, the +writing was a trial to him, poor thing."</p> + +<p>"From what the gentleman for the prosecution said, talking it out +with Sir James Lubbock," said Mr. Bunter, "I gathered that those +pins-and-needles, and bad eyes and so on, were a sign he'd been given +arsenic regularly, if I may so phrase it."</p> + +<p>"A dreadful wicked woman she must 'a' been," said Mrs. Pettican, "—'ev +another crumpet, do, Mr. Bunter—a-torturin' of the poor soul that +long-winded way. Bashin' on the 'ed or the 'asty use of a carvin' knife +when roused I can understand, but the 'orrors of slow poisonin' is the +work of a fiend in 'uman form, in my opinion."</p> + +<p>"Fiend is the only word, Mrs. Pettican," agreed the visitor.</p> + +<p>"And the wickedness of it," said Hannah, "quite apart from the causing +of a painful death to a fellow-being. Why, it's only the mercy of +Providence we weren't all brought under suspicion."</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Pettican. "Why, when master told us about them +diggin' poor Mr. Boyes up and findin' him full of that there nasty +arsenic, it give me sech a turn, I felt as if the room was a-goin' +round like the gallopin' 'orses at the roundabouts. 'Oh, sir!' I ses, +'what, in our 'ouse!' That's what I ses, and he ses, 'Mrs. Pettican,' +he ses, 'I sincerely hope not.'"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pettican, having imparted this Macbeth-like flavour to the story, +was pleased with it, and added:</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's what I said to 'im. 'In our 'ouse.' I said, and I'm sure +I never slep' a wink for three nights afterwards, what with the police +and the fright and one thing and another."</p> + +<p>"But of course you had no difficulty in proving that it hadn't happened +in this house?" suggested Bunter. "Miss Westlock gave her evidence so +beautifully at the trial, I'm sure she made it clear as clear could be +to judge and jury. The judge congratulated you, Miss Westlock, and I'm +sure he didn't say nearly enough—so plainly and well as you spoke up +before the whole court."</p> + +<p>"Well, I never was one to be shy," confessed Hannah, "and then, what +with going through it all so careful with the master and then with the +police, I knew what the questions would be and was prepared, as you +might say."</p> + +<p>"I wonder you could speak so exactly to every little detail, all that +time ago," said Bunter, with admiration.</p> + +<p>"Well, you see, Mr. Bunter, the very morning after Mr. Boyes was took +ill, master comes down to us and he says, sitting in that chair ever +so friendly, just as you might be yourself, 'I'm afraid Mr. Boyes is +very ill,' he says. 'He thinks he must have ate something as disagreed +with him,' he says, 'and perhaps as it might be the chicken. So I +want you and Cook,' he says, 'to run through with me everything we +had for dinner last night to see if we can think what it could have +been.' 'Well, sir,' I said, 'I don't see that Mr. Boyes could have ate +anything unwholesome here, for Cook and me had just the same, put aside +yourself, sir, and it was all as sweet and good as it could be,' I +said."</p> + +<p>"And I said the same," said the Cook. "Sech a plain, simple dinner as +it was, too—no oysters nor mussels nor anything of that sort, as it's +well known shell-fish is poison to some people's stummicks, but a good +stren'thenin' drop o' soup, and a bit of nice fish and a casseroled +chicken with turnips and carrots done in the gravy, and a omelette, wot +could be lighter and better? Not but there's people as can't relish +eggs in any form, my own mother was just the same, give her so much as +a cake what had bin made with a egg in it and she'd be that sick and +come out all over spots like nettle-rash, you'd be surprised. But Mr. +Boyes was a great gentleman for eggs, and omelettes was his particular +favourite."</p> + +<p>"Yes, he made the omelette himself that very night, didn't he?"</p> + +<p>"He did," said Hannah, "and well I remember it, for Mr. Urquhart asked +particular after the eggs, was they new-laid, and I reminded him they +was some he had brought in himself that afternoon from that shop on +the corner of Lamb's Conduit Street where they always have them fresh +from the farm, and I reminded him that one of them was a little cracked +and he'd said, 'We'll use that in the omelette tonight, Hannah,' and I +brought out a clean bowl from the kitchen and put them straight in—the +cracked one and three more besides, and never touched them again till +I brought them to table. 'And what's more, sir,' I said, 'there's the +other eight still here out of the dozen, and you can see for yourself +they're as good and fresh as they can be.' Didn't I, Cook?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Hannah. And as for the chicken, that was a little beauty. It +was that young and tender, I says to Hannah at the time as it seemed +a shame to casserole it, for it would 'ave roasted beautiful. But Mr. +Urquhart is very partial to a casseroled chicken; he says as there's +more flavour to 'em that way, and I dunno but what he's right."</p> + +<p>"If done with a good beef stock," pronounced Mr. Bunter, judicially, +"the vegetables well packed in layers, on a foundation of bacon, not +too fat, and the whole well seasoned with salt, pepper and paprika, +there are few dishes to beat a casseroled chicken. For my own part I +would recommend a soupçon of garlic, but I am aware that such is not +agreeable to all tastes."</p> + +<p>"I can't a-bear the smell or sight of the stuff," said Mrs. Pettican, +frankly, "but as for the rest I'm with you, always allowing that the +giblets is added to the stock, and I would personally favour mushrooms +when in season, but not them tinned or bottled sorts as looks pretty +but has no more taste to 'em than boot-buttons if so much. But the +secret is in the cooking, as you know well, Mr. Bunter, the lid being +kep' well sealed down to 'old the flavour and the cookin' bein' slow +to make the juices perambulate through <i>and</i> through each other as you +might say. I'm not denyin' as sech is very 'ighly enjoyable, and so +Hannah and me found it, though fond of a good roast fowl also, when +well-basted with a good rich stuffing to rejuice the dryness. But as to +roasting it, Mr. Urquhart wouldn't hear of it, and bein' as it's him +that pays the bills, he has the right to give his orders."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Bunter, "it's certain if there had been anything +unwholesome about the casserole, you and Miss Westlock could scarcely +have escaped it."</p> + +<p>"No, indeed," said Hannah, "for I won't conceal that, being blessed +with hearty appetites, we finished it every bit, except a little piece +I gave to the cat. Mr. Urquhart asked to see the remains of it next +day, and seemed quite put out to find it was all gone and the dish +washed up—as though any washing-up was ever left over-night in <i>this</i> +kitchen."</p> + +<p>"I couldn't a-bear myself if I had to begin the day with dirty dishes," +said Mrs. Pettican. "There was a drop of the soup left—not much, jest +a wee drain, and Mr. Urquhart took that up to show to the doctor, and +he tasted it and said it was very good, so Nurse Williams told us, +though she didn't have none of it herself."</p> + +<p>"And as for the burgundy," said Hannah Westlock, "which was the only +thing Mr. Boyes had to himself, like, Mr. Urquhart told me to cork it +up tight and keep it. And just as well we did, because, of course, the +police asked to see it when the time came."</p> + +<p>"It was very far-seeing of Mr. Urquhart to take such precautions," said +Bunter, "when there wasn't any thought at the time but that the poor +man died naturally."</p> + +<p>"That's what Nurse Williams said," replied Hannah, "but we put it down +to him being a solicitor and knowing what ought to be done in a case +of sudden death. Very particular he was, too—got me to put a bit of +sticking-plaster over the mouth of the bottle and write my initials on +it, so that it shouldn't be opened accidental. Nurse Williams always +said he expected an inquest, but Dr. Weare being there to speak to Mr. +Boyes having had these kind of bilious attacks all his life, of course +there was no question raised about giving the certificate."</p> + +<p>"Of course not," said Bunter, "but it's very fortunate as it turns out +that Mr. Urquhart should have understood his duty so well. Many's the +case his lordship has seen in which an innocent man has been brought +near to the gallows for lack of a simple little precaution like that."</p> + +<p>"And when I think how near Mr. Urquhart was to being away from 'ome at +the time," said Mrs. Pettican, "the thought fair gives me palpitations. +Called away, he was, to that tiresome old woman what's always a-dying +and never dies. Why, he's there now—Mrs. Wrayburn, up in Windle. Rich +as Sneezes, she is, by all accounts, and no good to nobody, for she's +gone quite childish, so they say. A wicked old woman she was, too, in +'er day, and 'er other relations wouldn't 'ave nothink to do with 'er, +only Mr. Urquhart, and I don't suppose 'e wouldn't, neither, only 'e's +her solicitor and it's his duty so to do."</p> + +<p>"Duty does not always lie in pleasant places," commented Mr. Bunter, +"as you and I well know, Mrs. Pettican."</p> + +<p>"Them that are rich," said Hannah Westlock, "find no difficulty about +getting their duties performed for them. Which I will make bold to say, +Mrs. Wrayburn would not have done if she had been poor, great-aunt or +no great-aunt, knowing Mr. Urquhart."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Bunter.</p> + +<p>"I pass no comments," said Miss Westlock, "but you and me, Mr. Bunter, +know how the world goes."</p> + +<p>"I suppose Mr. Urquhart stands to gain something when the old woman +does peg out," suggested Bunter.</p> + +<p>"That's as may be; he's not a talker," said Hannah, "but it stands to +reason he wouldn't be always giving up his time and tearing off to +Westmorland for nothing. Though I wouldn't care myself to put my hand +to money that's wickedly come by. It would not bring a blessing with +it, Mr. Bunter."</p> + +<p>"It's easy talking, my girl, when you ain't likely to be put in the way +of temptation," said Mrs. Pettican. "There's many great families in +the Kingdom what never would a bin 'eard of if somebody 'adn't bin a +little easier in their ways than what we've bin brought up to. There's +skelintons in a many cupboards if the truth was known."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said Bunter, "I believe you. I've seen diamond necklaces and fur +coats that should have been labelled Wages of Sin if deeds done in the +dark were to be proclaimed upon the house-tops, Mrs. Pettican. And +there are families that hold their heads high that wouldn't ever have +existed but for some king or other taking his amusements on the wrong +side of the blanket as the old saying goes."</p> + +<p>"They say as some that was high up wasn't too high to take notice of +old Mrs. Wrayburn in her young days," said Hannah, darkly. "Queen +Victoria wouldn't never allow her to act before the Royal Family—she +knew too much about her goings-on."</p> + +<p>"An actress, was she?"</p> + +<p>"And a very beautiful one, they say, though I can't rightly recollect +what her stage name was," mused Mrs. Pettican. "It was a queer one, I +know—'Yde Park, or somethink of that. This Wrayburn as she married, +'e was nobody—jest to kiver up the scandal that's what she married +'im for. Two children she 'ad—but 'ose I would not take it upon me +to say—and they both died in the cholera, which no doubt it was a +judgment."</p> + +<p>"That's not what Mr. Boyes called it," said Hannah, with a +self-righteous sniff. "The devil took care of his own, that was his way +of putting it."</p> + +<p>"Ah! he talked careless," said Mrs. Pettican, "and no wonder, seeing +the folks he lived with. But he'd a sobered down in time if he'd bin +spared. A very pleasant way he 'ad with 'im when 'e liked. Come in +here, he would, and chat upon one thing and another, very amusing-like."</p> + +<p>"You're too soft with the gentlemen, Mrs. Pettican," said Hannah. +"Anyone as has taking ways and poor health is ewe-lambs to you."</p> + +<p>"So Mr. Boyes knew all about Mrs. Wrayburn?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes—it was all in the family, you see, and no doubt Mr. Urquhart +would a told him more than he'd say to us. Which train did Mr. Urquhart +say he was a-comin' by, Hannah?"</p> + +<p>"He said dinner for half-past seven. That'll be the six-thirty, I +should think."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Pettican glanced at the clock and Bunter, taking this as a hint, +rose and made his farewells.</p> + +<p>"And I 'opes as you'll come again, Mr. Bunter," said the Cook, +graciously. "The master makes no objections to respectable gentlemen +visitors at tea-time. Wednesday is my 'arf-day."</p> + +<p>"Mine is Friday," added Hannah, "and every other Sunday. If you +should be Evangelical, Mr. Bunter, the Rev. Crawford in Judd Street +is a beautiful preacher. But maybe you'll be going out of town for +Christmas."</p> + +<p>Mr. Bunter replied that that season would undoubtedly be spent at +Duke's Denver, and departed in a shining halo of vicarious splendour.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</h2> +</div> + + +<p>"Here you are, Peter," said Chief-Inspector Parker, "and here is the +lady you are anxious to meet. Mrs. Bulfinch, allow me to introduce Lord +Peter Wimsey."</p> + +<p>"Pleased, I am sure," said Mrs. Bulfinch. She giggled, and dabbed her +large, blonde face with powder.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Bulfinch, before her union with Mr. Bulfinch, was the life and +soul of the saloon bar at the Nine Rings in Grays Inn Road," said Mr. +Parker, "and well-known to all for her charm and wit."</p> + +<p>"Go on," said Mrs. Bulfinch, "you're a one, aren't you? Don't you pay +no attention to him, your lordship. You know what these police fellows +are."</p> + +<p>"Sad dogs," said Wimsey, shaking his head. "But I don't need his +testimonials, I can trust my own eyes and ears, Mrs. Bulfinch, and I +can only say that, if I had had the happiness to make your acquaintance +before it was too late, it would have been my life-time's ambition to +wipe Mr. Bulfinch's eye."</p> + +<p>"You're every bit as bad as he is," said Mrs. Bulfinch, highly +gratified, "and what Bulfinch would say to you I <i>don't</i> know. Quite +upset, he was, when the officer came round to ask me to pop along +to the Yard. 'I don't like it, Gracie,' he says, 'we've always bin +respectable in this house and no trouble with disorderlies nor drinks +after hours, and once you get among them fellows you don't know the +things you may be asked.' 'Don't be so soft,' I tells him, 'the boys +all know me and they haven't got nothing against me, and if it's just +to tell them about the gentleman that left the packet behind him at the +Rings, I haven't no objection to tell them, having nothing to reproach +myself with. What'd they think,' I said, 'if I refused to go? Ten to +one they'd think there was something funny about it.' 'Well,' he says, +'I'm coming with you.' 'Oh, are you?' I says, 'and how about the new +barman you was going to engage this morning? For,' I said, 'serve in +the jug and bottle I will not, never having been accustomed to it, so +you can do as you like.' So I came away and left him to it. Mind you, I +like him for it. I ain't saying nothing against Bulfinch, but police or +no police, I reckon I know how to take care of myself."</p> + +<p>"Quite so," said Parker, patiently. "Mr. Bulfinch need feel no alarm. +All we want you to do is to tell us, to the best of your recollection, +about that young man you spoke of and help us to find the white-paper +packet. You may be able to save an innocent person from being +convicted, and I am sure your husband could not object to that."</p> + +<p>"Poor thing!" said Mrs. Bulfinch, "I'm sure when I read the account of +the trial I said to Bulfinch—"</p> + +<p>"Just a moment. If you wouldn't mind beginning at the beginning, Mrs. +Bulfinch, Lord Peter would understand better what you have to tell us."</p> + +<p>"Why, of course. Well, my lord, before I was married I was barmaid +at the Nine Rings, as the Chief-Inspector says. Miss Montague I was +then—it's a better name than Bulfinch, and I was almost sorry to say +good-bye to it, but there! a girl has to make a lot of sacrifices when +she marries and one more or less is nothing to signify. I never worked +there but in the saloon bar, for I wouldn't undertake the four-ale +business, it not being a refined neighbourhood, though there's a lot of +very nice legal gentlemen drops in of an evening on the saloon side. +Well, as I was saying, I was working there up to my marriage, which was +last August Bank Holiday, and I remember one evening a gentleman coming +in—"</p> + +<p>"Could you remember the date, do you think?"</p> + +<p>"Not within a day or so I couldn't, for I wouldn't wish to swear to a +fib, but it wasn't far off the longest day, for I remember making that +same remark to the gentleman for something to say, you know."</p> + +<p>"That's near enough," said Parker. "Round about June 20th, or 21st, or +something like that?"</p> + +<p>"That's right, as near as I can speak to it. And as to the time of +night, that I <i>can</i> tell you—knowing how keen you 'tecs always are on +the hands of the clock." Mrs. Bulfinch giggled again and looked archly +round for applause. "There was a gentleman sitting there—I didn't +know him, he was a stranger to the district—and he asked what was +our closing hour and I told him 11 o'clock, and he said, 'Thank God! +I thought I was going to be turned out at 10.30,' and I looked at the +clock and said, 'Oh, you're all right, anyhow, sir; we always keep that +clock a quarter of an hour fast.' The clock said twenty past, so I know +it must have been five past ten really. So we got talking a bit about +these prohibitionists and the way they had been trying it on again to +get our licensing-hour altered to half-past ten, only we had a good +friend on the Bench in Mr. Judkins, and while we was discussing it, I +remember so well, the door was pushed open hurried-like and a young +gentleman comes in, almost falls in, I might say, and he calls, 'Give +me a double brandy, quick.' Well, I didn't like to serve him all at +once, he looked so white and queer, I thought he'd had one or two over +the eight already, and the boss was most particular about that sort of +thing. Still, he spoke all right—quite clear and not repeating himself +nor nothing, and his eyes, though they did look a bit funny, weren't +fixed-like, if you understand me. We get to size folks up pretty well +in our business, you know. He sort of held on to the bar, all scrunched +up together and bent double, and he says, 'Make it a stiff one, there's +a good girl, I'm feeling awful bad.' The gentleman I'd been talking +to, he says to him, 'Hold up,' he says, 'what's the matter?' and the +gentleman says, 'I'm going to be ill.' And he puts his hands across his +waistcoat like so!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bulfinch clasped her waist and rolled her big blue eyes +dramatically.</p> + +<p>"Well, then I see he wasn't drunk, so I mixed him a double Martell with +just a splash of soda and he gulps it down, and says, 'That's better.' +And the other gentleman puts his arm round him and helps him to a seat. +There was a good many other people in the bar, but they didn't notice +much, being full of the racing news. Presently the gentleman asks me +for a glass of water, and I fetched it to him, and he says: 'Sorry if +I frightened you, but I've just had a bad shock, and it must have gone +to my inside. I'm subject to gastric trouble,' he says, 'and any worry +or shock always affects my stomach. However,' he says, 'perhaps this +will stop it.' And he takes out a white paper packet with some powder +in it, and drops it into the glass of water and stirs it up with a +fountain-pen and drinks it off."</p> + +<p>"Did it fizz or anything?" asked Wimsey.</p> + +<p>"No; it was just a plain powder, and it took a bit of a time to mix. He +drank it off and said, 'That settles it,' or 'That'll settle it,' or +something of that sort. And then he says, 'Thanks very much. I'm better +now and I'd better get home in case it takes me again.' And he raised +his hat—he was quite the gentleman—and off he goes."</p> + +<p>"How much powder do you think he put in?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, a good dollop. He didn't measure it or anything, just shot it in +out of the packet. Near a dessert spoonful it might have been."</p> + +<p>"And what happened to the packet?" prompted Parker.</p> + +<p>"Ah, there you are." Mrs. Bulfinch took a glance at Wimsey's face and +seemed pleased with the effect she was producing.</p> + +<p>"We'd just got the last customer out—about five past eleven, that +would be, and George was locking the door, when I see something white +on the seat. Somebody's handkerchief I thought it was, but when I +picked it up, I see it was the paper packet. So I said to George, +'Hullo! the gentleman's left his medicine behind him.' So George +asked what gentleman, and I told him, and he said, 'What is it?' and +I looked, but the label had been torn off. It was just one of them +chemist's packets, you know, with the ends turned up and a label stuck +across, but there wasn't a bit of the label left."</p> + +<p>"You couldn't even see whether it had been printed in black or in red?"</p> + +<p>"Well, now." Mrs. Bulfinch considered. "Well, no, I couldn't say that. +Now you mention it, I do seem to recollect that there was something red +about the packet, somewhere, but I can't clearly call it to mind. I +wouldn't swear. I know there wasn't any name or printing of any kind, +because I looked to see what it was."</p> + +<p>"You didn't try tasting it, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Not me. It might have been poison or something. I tell you, he was a +funny-looking customer." (Parker and Wimsey exchanged glances.)</p> + +<p>"Was that what you thought at the time?" enquired Wimsey, "or did it +only occur to you later on—after you'd read about the case, you know?"</p> + +<p>"I thought it at the time, of course," retorted Mrs. Bulfinch, +snappishly. "Aren't I telling you that's why I didn't taste it? I said +so to George at the time, what's more. Besides, if it wasn't poison, +it might be 'snow' or something. 'Best not touch it,' that's what I +said to George, and he said 'Chuck it in the fire.' But I wouldn't +have that. The gentleman might have come back for it. So I stuck it up +on the shelf behind the bar, where they keep the spirits, and never +thought of it again from that day to yesterday, when your policeman +came round about it."</p> + +<p>"It's been looked for there," said Parker, "but they can't seem to find +it anywhere."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know about that. I put it there and I left the Rings +in August, so what's gone with it I can't say. Daresay they threw it +away when they were cleaning. Wait a bit, though—I'm wrong when I +say I never thought about it again. I did just wonder about it when I +read the report of the trial in the <i>News of the World</i>, and I said +to George, 'I wouldn't be surprised if that was the gentleman who +came into the Rings one night and seemed so poorly—just fancy!' I +said—just like that. And George said, 'Now don't you get fancies, +Gracie my girl; you don't want to get mixed up in a police case.' +George has always held his head high, you see."</p> + +<p>"It's a pity you didn't come forward with this story," said Parker, +severely.</p> + +<p>"Well, how was I to know it was important? The taxi-driver had seen him +a few minutes afterwards and he was ill then, so the powder couldn't +have had anything to do with it, if it was him, which I couldn't swear +to. And anyhow, I didn't see about it till the trial was all over and +finished with."</p> + +<p>"There will be a new trial, though," said Parker, "and you may have to +give evidence at that."</p> + +<p>"You know where to find me," said Mrs. Bulfinch, with spirit. "I shan't +run away."</p> + +<p>"We're very much obliged to you for coming now," added Wimsey, +pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"Don't mention it," said the lady. "Is that all you want, Mr. +Chief-Inspector?"</p> + +<p>"That's all at present. If we find the packet, we may ask you to +identify it. And, by the way, it's advisable not to discuss these +matters with your friends, Mrs. Bulfinch. Sometimes ladies get talking, +and one thing leads to another, and in the end they remember incidents +that never took place at all. You understand."</p> + +<p>"I never was one for talking," said Mrs. Bulfinch, offended. "And it's +my opinion, when it comes to putting two-and-two together to make five +of 'em, the ladies aren't in it with the gentlemen."</p> + +<p>"I may pass this on to the solicitors for the defence, I suppose?" +said Wimsey, when the witness had departed.</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Parker, "that's why I asked you to come and hear +it—for what it's worth. Meanwhile, we shall of course have a good hunt +for the packet."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Wimsey, thoughtfully, "yes—you will have to do +that—naturally."</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Mr. Crofts did not look best pleased when this story was handed on to +him.</p> + +<p>"I warned you, Lord Peter," he said, "what might come of showing our +hand to the police. Now they've got hold of this incident, they will +have every opportunity to turn it to their own advantage. Why didn't +you leave it to us to make the investigation?"</p> + +<p>"Damn it," said Wimsey angrily, "it was left to you for about three +months and you did absolutely nothing. The police dug it up in three +days. Time's important in this case, you know."</p> + +<p>"Very likely, but don't you see that the police won't rest now till +they've found this precious packet?"</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Well, and suppose it isn't arsenic at all? If you'd left it in our +hands, we could have sprung the thing on them at the last moment, when +it was too late to make enquiries, and then we should have knocked the +bottom out of the prosecution. Give the jury Mrs. Bulfinch's story as +it stands and they'd have to admit there was some evidence that the +deceased poisoned himself. But now, of course, the police will find or +fake something and show that the powder was perfectly harmless."</p> + +<p>"And supposing they find it and it <i>is</i> arsenic?"</p> + +<p>"In <i>that</i> case, of course," said Mr. Crofts, "we shall get an +acquittal. But do you believe in that possibility, my lord?"</p> + +<p>"It's perfectly evident that <i>you</i> don't," said Wimsey, hotly. "In +fact, you think your client's guilty. Well, I don't."</p> + +<p>Mr. Crofts shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"In our client's interests," he said, "we are bound to look at the +unfavourable side of all evidence, so as to anticipate the points that +are likely to be made by the prosecution. I repeat, my lord, that you +have acted indiscreetly."</p> + +<p>"Look here," said Wimsey, "I'm not out for a verdict of 'Not Proven.' +As far as Miss Vane's honour and happiness are concerned, she might as +well be found guilty as acquitted on a mere element of doubt. I want to +see her absolutely cleared and the blame fixed in the right quarter. I +don't want any shadow of doubt about it."</p> + +<p>"Highly desirable, my lord," agreed the solicitor, "but you will +allow me to remind you that it is not merely a question of honour or +happiness, but of saving Miss Vane's neck from the gallows."</p> + +<p>"And I say," said Wimsey, "that it would be better for her to be hanged +outright than to live and have everybody think her a murderess who got +off by a fluke."</p> + +<p>"Indeed?" said Mr. Crofts, "I fear that is not an attitude that the +defence can very well adopt. May I ask if it is adopted by Miss Vane +herself?"</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't be surprised if it was," said Wimsey. "But she's innocent, +and I'll make you damn well believe it before I've done."</p> + +<p>"Excellent, excellent," said Mr. Crofts, suavely, "nobody will be +more delighted than myself. But I repeat that, in my humble opinion, +your lordship will be wiser not to betray too many confidences to +Chief-Inspector Parker."</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Wimsey was still simmering inwardly from this encounter when he entered +Mr. Urquhart's office in Bedford Row. The head-clerk remembered him and +greeted him with the deference due to an exalted and expected visitor. +He begged his lordship to take a seat for a moment, and vanished into +an inner office.</p> + +<p>A woman typist, with a strong, ugly, rather masculine face, looked up +from her machine as the door closed, and nodded abruptly to Lord Peter. +Wimsey recognized her as one of the "Cattery," and put a commendatory +mental note against Miss Climpson's name for quick and efficient +organisation. No words passed, however, and in a few moments the +head-clerk returned and begged Lord Peter to step inside.</p> + +<p>Norman Urquhart rose from his desk and held out a friendly hand +of greeting. Wimsey had seen him at the trial, and noted his neat +dress, thick, smooth dark hair and general appearance of brisk and +business-like respectability. Seeing him now more closely, he noticed +that he was rather older than he had appeared at a distance. He put +him down as being somewhere about the middle forties. His skin was +pale and curiously clear, except for a number of little freckles, like +sun-spots, rather unexpected at that time of the year, and in a man +whose appearance conveyed no other suggestion of an out-door life. The +eyes, dark and shrewd, looked a little tired, and were bistred about +the orbits, as though anxiety were not unknown to them.</p> + +<p>The solicitor welcomed his guest in a high, pleasant voice and asked +what he could do for him.</p> + +<p>Wimsey explained that he was interested in the Vane poisoning trial, +and that he had the authority of Messrs. Crofts & Cooper to come and +bother Mr. Urquhart with questions, adding, as usual, that he was +afraid he was being a nuisance.</p> + +<p>"Not at all, Lord Peter, not at all. I'm only too delighted to help +you in any way, though really I'm afraid you have heard all I know. +Naturally, I was very much taken aback by the result of the autopsy, +and rather relieved, I must admit, to find that no suspicion was likely +to be thrown on me, under the rather peculiar circumstances."</p> + +<p>"Frightfully tryin' for you," agreed Wimsey. "But you seem to have +taken the most admirable precautions at the time."</p> + +<p>"Well, you know, I suppose we lawyers get into a habit of taking +precautions. Not that I had any idea of poison at the time—or, +needless to say, I should have insisted on an enquiry then and +there. What was in my mind was more in the nature of some kind of +food-poisoning; not botulism, the symptoms were all wrong for that, but +some contamination from cooking utensils or from some bacillus in the +food itself. I am glad it turned out not to be that, though the reality +was infinitely worse in one way. I suppose, really, in all cases of +sudden and unaccountable illness, an analysis of the secretions ought +to be made as a routine part of the business, but Dr. Weare appeared +perfectly satisfied, and I trusted entirely to his judgment."</p> + +<p>"Obviously," said Wimsey. "One doesn't naturally jump to the idea that +people are bein' murdered—though I dare say it happens more often than +one is apt to suppose."</p> + +<p>"It probably does, and if I'd ever had the handling of a criminal case, +the suspicion might have occurred to me, but my work is almost entirely +conveyancing and that sort of business—and probate and divorce and so +on."</p> + +<p>"Talkin' of probate," said Wimsey, carelessly, "had Mr. Boyes any sort +of financial expectations?"</p> + +<p>"None at all that I know of. His father is by no means well off—the +usual country parson with a small stipend and a huge Vicarage +and tumble-down Church. In fact, the whole family belongs to the +unfortunate professional middle-class—over-taxed and with very little +financial stamina. I shouldn't think there were more than a few hundred +pounds to come to Philip Boyes, even if he had outlived the lot of +them."</p> + +<p>"I had an idea there was a rich aunt somewhere."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no—unless you're thinking of old Cremorna Garden. She's a +great-aunt, on the mother's side. But she hasn't had anything to do +with them for very many years."</p> + +<p>At this moment Lord Peter had one of those bursts of illumination which +come suddenly when two unrelated facts make contact in the mind. In +the excitement of hearing Parker's news about the white paper packet, +he had paid insufficient attention to Bunter's account of the tea-party +with Hannah Westlock and Mrs. Pettican, but now he remembered something +about an actress, with a name like ''Yde Park or something of that.' +The readjustment made itself so smoothly and mechanically in his mind +that his next question followed almost without a pause.</p> + +<p>"Isn't that Mrs. Wrayburn of Windle in Westmorland?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mr. Urquhart. "I've just been up to see her, as a matter of +fact. Of course, yes, you wrote to me there. She's been quite childish, +poor old lady, for the last five years or so. A wretched life—dragging +on like that, a misery to herself and everybody else. It always seems +to me a cruel thing that one may not put these poor old people out of +the way, as one would a favourite animal—but the law will not let us +be so merciful."</p> + +<p>"Yes, we'd be hauled over the coals by the N.S.P.C.A. if we let a cat +linger on in misery," said Wimsey. "Silly, isn't it? But it's all of +a piece with the people who write to the papers about keepin' dogs in +draughty kennels and don't give a hoot—or a penny—to stop landlords +allowin' a family of thirteen to sleep in an undrained cellar with no +glass in the windows and no windows to put it in. It really makes me +quite cross, sometimes, though I'm a peaceful sort of idiot as a rule. +Poor old Cremorna Garden—she must be gettin' on now, though. Surely +she can't last much longer."</p> + +<p>"As a matter of fact, we all thought she'd gone the other day. Her +heart is giving out—she's over ninety, poor soul, and she gets these +attacks from time to time. But there's amazing vitality in some of +these ancient ladies."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you're about her only living relation now."</p> + +<p>"I suppose I am, except for an uncle of mine in Australia." Mr. +Urquhart accepted the fact of the relationship without enquiring how +Wimsey came to know about it. "Not that my being there can do her any +good. But I'm her man of business, too, so it's just as well I should +be on the spot when anything happens."</p> + +<p>"Oh, quite, quite. And being her man of business, of course you know +how she has left her money."</p> + +<p>"Well, yes, of course. Though I don't quite see, if you'll forgive my +saying so, what that has to do with the present problem."</p> + +<p>"Why, don't you see," said Wimsey, "it just occurred to me that Philip +Boyes might have got himself into some kind of financial mess-up—it +happens to the best of men—and have, well, taken the short way out of +it. But, if he had any expectations from Mrs. Wrayburn, and the old +girl, I mean, the poor old lady, was so near shuffling off this mortal +thingummy, why, then, don't you know, he would have waited, or raised +the wind on the strength of a post-obit or something or the other. You +get my meaning, what?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I see—you are trying to make out a case for suicide. Well, I +agree with you that it's the most hopeful defense for Miss Vane's +friends to put up, and as far as that goes, I can support you. +Inasmuch, that is, as Mrs. Wrayburn did not leave Philip anything. Nor, +so far as I know, had he the smallest reason to suppose she would do +so."</p> + +<p>"You're positive of that?"</p> + +<p>"Quite. As a matter of fact," Mr. Urquhart hesitated, "well, I may as +well tell you that he asked me about it one day, and I was obliged to +tell him that he hadn't the least chance of getting anything from her."</p> + +<p>"Oh—he did actually ask?"</p> + +<p>"Well, yes, he did."</p> + +<p>"That's rather a point, isn't it? How long ago would that be?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—about eighteen months ago, I fancy. I couldn't be sure."</p> + +<p>"And as Mrs. Wrayburn is now childish, I suppose he couldn't entertain +any hope that she would ever alter the will?"</p> + +<p>"Not the slightest."</p> + +<p>"No, I see. Well, I think we might make something of that. Great +disappointment, of course—one would make out that he had counted a +good deal upon it. Is it much, by the way?"</p> + +<p>"Pretty fair—about seventy or eighty thousand."</p> + +<p>"Very sickening, to think of all that good stuff going west and not +getting a look-in one's self. By the way, how about you? Don't you get +anything? I beg your pardon, fearfully inquisitive and all that, but +I mean to say, considering you've been looking after her for years +and are her only available relation so to speak, it would be a trifle +thick, what?"</p> + +<p>The solicitor frowned, and Wimsey apologised.</p> + +<p>"I know, I know—I've been fearfully impudent. It's a failing of mine. +And anyhow, it'll all be in the papers when the old lady does pop +off, so I don't know why I should be so anxious to pump you. Wash it +out—I'm sorry."</p> + +<p>"There's no real reason why you shouldn't know," said Mr. Urquhart, +slowly, "though one's professional instinct is to avoid disclosing +one's clients' affairs. As a matter of fact, I am the legatee myself."</p> + +<p>"Oh?" said Wimsey, in a disappointed voice. "But in that case—that +rather weakens the story, doesn't it? I mean to say, your cousin might +very well have felt, in that case, that he could look to you for—that +is—of course I don't know what your ideas might have been—"</p> + +<p>Mr. Urquhart shook his head.</p> + +<p>"I see what you are driving at, and it is a very natural thought. +But actually, such a disposal of the money would have been directly +contrary to the expressed wish of the testatrix. Even if I could +legally have made it over, I should have been morally bound not to do +so, and I had to make that clear to Philip. I might, of course, have +assisted him with casual gifts of money from time to time, but, to tell +the truth, I should hardly have cared to do so. In my opinion, the +only hope of salvation for Philip would have been to make his way by +his own work. He was a little inclined—though I don't like speaking +ill of the dead—to—to rely too much on other people."</p> + +<p>"Ah, quite. No doubt that was Mrs. Wrayburn's idea also?"</p> + +<p>"Not exactly. No. It went rather deeper than that. She considered that +she had been badly treated by her family. In short, well, as we have +gone so far, I don't mind giving you her <i>ipsissima verba</i>."</p> + +<p>He rang a bell on his desk.</p> + +<p>"I haven't got the will itself here, but I have the draft. Oh, +Miss Murchison, would you kindly bring me in the deed-box labelled +'Wrayburn'? Mr. Pond will show it to you. It isn't heavy."</p> + +<p>The lady from the "Cattery" departed silently in quest of the box.</p> + +<p>"This is all rather irregular, Lord Peter," went on Mr. Urquhart, "but +there are times when too much discretion is as bad as too little, and +I should like you to see exactly why I was forced to take up this +rather uncompromising attitude towards my cousin. Ah, thank you, Miss +Murchison."</p> + +<p>He opened the deed-box with a key attached to a bunch which he took +from his trousers' pocket, and turned over a quantity of papers. Wimsey +watched him with the expression of a rather foolish terrier who expects +a tit-bit.</p> + +<p>"Dear, dear," ejaculated the solicitor, "it doesn't seem to be—oh! of +course, how forgetful of me. I'm so sorry, it's in my safe at home. I +got it out for reference last June, when the previous alarm occurred +about Mrs. Wrayburn's illness, and in the confusion which followed on +my cousin's death I quite forgot to bring it back. However, the gist of +it was—"</p> + +<p>"Never mind," said Wimsey, "there's no hurry. If I called at your house +tomorrow, perhaps I could see it then."</p> + +<p>"By all means, if you think it important. I do apologise for my +carelessness. In the meantime, is there anything else I can tell you +about the matter?"</p> + +<p>Wimsey asked a few questions, covering the ground already traversed by +Bunter in his investigations, and took his departure. Miss Murchison +was again at work in the outer office. She did not look up as he passed.</p> + +<p>"Curious," mused Wimsey, as he pattered along Bedford Row, "everybody +is so remarkably helpful about this case. They cheerfully answer +questions which one has no right to ask and burst into explanations +in the most unnecessary manner. None of them seem to have anything to +conceal. It's quite astonishing. Perhaps the fellow really did commit +suicide. I hope he did. I wish I could question <i>him</i>. I'd put him +through it, blast him. I've got about fifteen different analyses of his +character already—all different.... It's very ungentlemanly to commit +suicide without leaving a note to say you've done it—gets people into +trouble. When I blow my brains out—"</p> + +<p>He stopped.</p> + +<p>"I hope I shan't want to," he said. "I hope I shan't need to want to. +Mother wouldn't like it, and it's messy. But I'm beginning to dislike +this job of getting people hanged. It's damnable for their friends.... +I won't think about hanging. It's unnerving."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</h2> +</div> + + +<p>Wimsey presented himself at Mr. Urquhart's house at 9 o'clock the next +morning, and found that gentleman at breakfast.</p> + +<p>"I thought I might catch you before you went down to the office," said +his lordship, apologetically. "Thanks awfully, I've had my morning +nosebag. No, really, thanks—I never drink before eleven. Bad for the +inside."</p> + +<p>"Well, I've found the draft for you," said Mr. Urquhart pleasantly. +"You can cast your eye over it while I drink my coffee, if you'll +excuse my going on. It exposes the family skeleton a little, but it's +all ancient history now."</p> + +<p>He fetched a sheet of typescript from a side-table and handed it +to Wimsey, who noticed, mechanically, that it had been typed on a +Woodstock machine, with a chipped lower case p, and an A slightly out +of alignment.</p> + +<p>"I'd better make quite clear the family connection of the Boyes's and +the Urquharts's," he went on, returning to the breakfast-table, "so +that you will understand the will. The common ancestor is old John +Hubbard, a highly respectable banker at the beginning of the last +century. He lived in Nottingham, and the bank, as usual in those days, +was a private, family concern. He had three daughters, Jane, Mary and +Rosanna. He educated them well, and they ought to have been heiresses +in a mild way, but the old boy made the usual mistakes, speculated +unwisely, allowed his clients too much rope—the old story. The bank +broke, and the daughters were left penniless. The eldest, Jane, married +a man called Henry Brown. He was a schoolmaster and very poor and +quite repellantly moral. They had one daughter, Julia, who eventually +married a curate, the Rev. Arthur Boyes, and was the mother of Philip +Boyes. The second daughter, Mary, did rather better financially, +though socially she married beneath her. She accepted the hand of one +Josiah Urquhart, who was engaged in the lace-trade. This was a blow to +the old people, but Josiah came originally of a fairly decent family, +and was a most worthy person, so they made the best of it. Mary had a +son, Charles Urquhart, who contrived to break away from the degrading +associations of trade. He entered a solicitor's office, did well, and +finally became a partner in the firm. He was my father, and I am his +successor in the legal business.</p> + +<p>"The third daughter, Rosanna, was made of different stuff. She was very +beautiful, a remarkably fine singer, a graceful dancer and altogether a +particularly attractive and spoilt young person. To the horror of her +parents she ran away and went on the stage. They erased her name from +the family Bible. She determined to justify their worst suspicions. She +became the spoilt darling of fashionable London. Under her stage name +of Cremorna Garden, she went from one disreputable triumph to another. +And, mind you, she had brains—nothing of the Nell Gwyn business about +her. She was the take-it-and-keep-it sort. She took everything—money, +jewels, apartments meublés, horses, carriages, all the rest of it, +and turned it into good consolidated funds. She was never prodigal of +anything except her person, which she considered to be a sufficient +return for all favours, and I daresay it was. I never saw her till she +was an old woman, but before she had the stroke which destroyed her +brain and body, she still kept the remains of remarkable beauty. She +was a shrewd old woman in her way, and grasping. She had those tight +little hands, plump and narrow, that give nothing away—except for cash +down. You know the sort.</p> + +<p>"Well, the long and the short of it was that the eldest sister, +Jane—the one who married the schoolmaster—would have nothing to do +with the family black sheep. She and her husband wrapped themselves +up in their virtue and shuddered when they saw the disgraceful name +of Cremorna Garden billed outside the Olympic or the Adelphi. They +returned her letters unopened and forbade her the house, and the climax +was reached when Henry Brown tried to have her turned out of the Church +on the occasion of his wife's funeral.</p> + +<p>"My grand-parents were less strait-laced. They didn't call on her +and didn't invite her, but they occasionally took a box for her +performances and they sent her a card for their son's wedding, and were +polite in a distant kind of way. In consequence, she kept up a civil +acquaintance with my father, and eventually put her business into his +hands. He took the view that property was property, however acquired, +and said that if a lawyer refused to handle dirty money he would have +to show half his clients the door.</p> + +<p>"The old lady never forgot or forgave anything. The very mention of +the Brown-Boyes connection made her foam at the mouth. Hence, when she +came to make her will, she put in that paragraph you have before you +now. I pointed out to her that Philip Boyes had had nothing to do with +the persecution, as, indeed, neither had Arthur Boyes, but the old sore +rankled still, and she wouldn't hear a word in his favour. So I drew up +the will as she wanted it; if I hadn't, somebody else would have done +so, you know."</p> + +<p>Wimsey nodded, and gave his attention to the will, which was dated +eight years previously. It appointed Norman Urquhart as sole executor, +and, after a few legacies to servants and to theatrical charities, it +ran as follows:—</p> + +<p>"All the rest of my property whatsoever and wheresoever situated I give +to my great-nephew Norman Urquhart of Bedford Row Solicitor for his +lifetime and at his death to be equally divided among his legitimate +issue but if the said Norman Urquhart should decease without legitimate +issue the said property to pass to (here followed the names of the +charities previously specified). And I make this disposition of my +property in token of gratitude for the consideration shown to me by +my said great-nephew Norman Urquhart and his father the late Charles +Urquhart throughout their lives and to ensure that no part of my +property shall come into the hands of my great-nephew Philip Boyes or +his descendants. And to this end and to mark my sense of the inhuman +treatment meted out to me by the family of the said Philip Boyes I +enjoin upon the said Norman Urquhart as my dying wish that he neither +give, lend or convey to the said Philip Boyes any part of the income +derived from the said property enjoyed by him the said Norman Urquhart +during his lifetime nor employ the same to assist the said Philip Boyes +in any manner whatsoever."</p> + +<p>"H'm!" said Wimsey, "that's pretty clear, and pretty vindictive."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is—but what are you to do with old ladies who won't listen +to reason? She looked pretty sharply to see that I had got the wording +fierce enough before she would put her name to it."</p> + +<p>"It must have depressed Philip Boyes all right," said Wimsey. "Thank +you—I'm glad I've seen that; it makes the suicide theory a good deal +more probable."</p> + +<p>In theory it might do so, but the theory did not square as well as +Wimsey could have wished with what he had heard about the character +of Philip Boyes. Personally, he was inclined to put more faith in the +idea that the final interview with Harriet had been the deciding factor +in the suicide. But this, too, was not quite satisfactory. He could +not believe that Philip had felt that particular kind of affection for +Harriet Vane. Perhaps, though, it was merely that he did not want to +think well of the man. His emotions were, he feared, clouding his judgment a +little.</p> + +<p>He went back home and read the proofs of Harriet's novel. Undoubtedly +she could write well, but undoubtedly she knew only too much about the +administration of arsenic. Moreover, the book was about two artists +who lived in Bloomsbury and led an ideal existence, full of love and +laughter and poverty, till somebody unkindly poisoned the young man +and left the young woman inconsolable and passionately resolved to +avenge him. Wimsey ground his teeth and went down to Holloway Gaol, +where he very nearly made a jealous exhibition of himself. Fortunately, +his sense of humour came to the rescue when he had cross-examined his +client to the verge of exhaustion and tears.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," he said; "the fact is, I'm most damnably jealous of this +fellow Boyes. I oughtn't to be, but I am."</p> + +<p>"That's just it," said Harriet, "and you always would be."</p> + +<p>"And if I was, I shouldn't be fit to live with. Is that it?"</p> + +<p>"You would be very unhappy. Quite apart from all the other drawbacks."</p> + +<p>"But, look here," said Wimsey, "if you married me I shouldn't be +jealous, because then I should know that you really liked me and all +that."</p> + +<p>"You think you wouldn't be. But you would."</p> + +<p>"Should I? Oh, surely not. Why should I? It's just the same as if I +married a widow. Are all second husbands jealous?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. But it's not quite the same. You'd never really trust +me, and we should be wretched."</p> + +<p>"But damn it all," said Wimsey, "if you would once say you cared a bit +about me it would be all right. I should believe that. It's because you +won't say it that I imagine all sorts of things."</p> + +<p>"You would go on imagining things in spite of yourself. You couldn't +give me a square deal. No man ever does."</p> + +<p>"Never?"</p> + +<p>"Well, hardly ever."</p> + +<p>"That would be rotten," said Wimsey, seriously. "Of course, if I turned +out to be that sort of idiot, things would be pretty hopeless. I know +what you mean. I knew a bloke once who got that jealous bug. If his +wife wasn't always hanging round his neck, he said it showed he meant +nothing to her, and if she did express her affection he called her a +hypocrite. It got quite impossible, and she ran away with somebody she +didn't care twopence for, and he went about saying that he had been +right about her all along. But everybody else said it was his own silly +fault. It's all very complicated. The advantage seems to be with the +person who gets jealous first. Perhaps you could manage to be jealous +of me. I wish you would, because it would prove that you took a bit of +interest in me. Shall I give you some details of my hideous past?"</p> + +<p>"Please don't."</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"I don't want to know about all the other people."</p> + +<p>"Don't you, by jove? I think that's rather hopeful. I mean, if you +just felt like a mother to me, you would be anxious to be helpful and +understanding. I loathe being helped and understood. And, after all, +there was nothing in any of them—except Barbara, of course."</p> + +<p>"Who was Barbara?" asked Harriet, quickly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, a girl. I owe her quite a lot, really," replied Wimsey, musingly. +"When she married the other fellow, I took up sleuthing as a cure for +wounded feelings, and it's really been great fun, take it all in all. +Dear me, yes—I was very much bowled over that time. I even took a +special course in logic for her sake."</p> + +<p>"Good gracious!"</p> + +<p>"For the pleasure of repeating 'Barbara celarent darii ferio +baralipton.' There was a kind of mysterious romantic lilt about the +thing which was somehow expressive of passion. Many a moonlight night +have I murmured it to the nightingales which haunt the gardens of St. +Johns—though, of course, I was a Balliol man myself, but the buildings +are adjacent."</p> + +<p>"If anybody ever marries you, it will be for the pleasure of hearing +you talk piffle," said Harriet, severely.</p> + +<p>"A humiliating reason, but better than no reason at all."</p> + +<p>"I used to piffle rather well myself," said Harriet, with tears in her +eyes, "but it's got knocked out of me. You know—I was really meant to +be a cheerful person—all this gloom and suspicion isn't the real me. +But I've lost my nerve, somehow."</p> + +<p>"No wonder, poor kid. But you'll get over it. Just keep on smiling, and +leave it to Uncle Peter."</p> + +<p>When Wimsey got home, he found a note awaiting him.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Dear Lord Peter,</p> + +<p>As you saw, I got the job. Miss Climpson sent six of us, all with +different stories and testimonials, of course, and Mr. Pond (the +head-clerk) engaged me, subject to Mr. Urquhart's approval.</p> + +<p>I've only been here a couple of days, so there isn't very much I can +tell you about my employer, personally, except that he has a sweet +tooth and keeps secret stores of chocolate cream and Turkish delight +in his desk, which he surreptitiously munches while he is dictating. +He seems pleasant enough.</p> + +<p>But there's just one thing. I fancy it would be interesting to +investigate his financial activities. I've done a good bit one way +and another with stockbroking, you know, and yesterday in his absence +I took a call for him which I wasn't meant to hear. It wouldn't have +told the ordinary person anything, but it did me, because I knew +something about the man at the other end. Find out if Mr. U. had been +doing anything with the Megatherium Trust before their big crash.</p> + +<p>Further reports when anything turns up.</p> + +<p class="ph2">Yours sincerely,<br> +Joan Murchison.</p> +</div> + +<p>"Megatherium Trust?" said Wimsey. "That's a nice thing for a +respectable solicitor to get mixed up with. I'll ask Freddy Arbuthnot. +He's an ass about everything except stocks and shares, but he does +understand them, for some ungodly reason."</p> + +<p>He read the letter again, mechanically noting that it was typed on a +Woodstock machine, with a chipped lower case p, and a capital A that +was out of alignment.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he woke up and read it a third time, noticing by no means +mechanically, the chipped p and the irregular capital A.</p> + +<p>Then he sat down, wrote a line on a sheet of paper, folded it, +addressed it to Miss Murchison and sent Bunter out to post it.</p> + +<p>For the first time, in this annoying case, he felt the vague stirring +of the waters as a living idea emerged slowly and darkly from the +innermost deeps of his mind.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</h2> +</div> + + +<p>Wimsey was accustomed to say, when he was an old man and more talkative +even than usual, that the recollection of that Christmas at Duke's +Denver had haunted him in nightmares, every night regularly, for the +following twenty years. But it is possible that he remembered it with +advantages. There is no doubt that it tried his temper severely. It +began inauspiciously at the tea-table, when Mrs. "Freak" Dimsworthy +fluted out in her high, overriding voice: "And is it true, Lord Peter +dear, that you are defending that frightful poisoning woman?" The +question acted like the drawing of a champagne cork. The whole party's +bottled-up curiosity about the Vane case creamed over in one windy gust +of stinging froth.</p> + +<p>"I've no doubt she did it, and I don't blame her," said Captain Tommy +Bates, "perfectly foul blighter. Has his photograph on the dust-cover +of his books, you know, that's the sort of squit he was. Wonderful, +the rotters these high-brow females will fall for. The whole lot of +'em ought to be poisoned like rats. Look at the harm they do to the +country."</p> + +<p>"But he was a very fine writer," protested Mrs. Featherstone, a lady +in her thirties, whose violently compressed figure suggested that she +was engaged in a perpetual struggle to compute her weight in terms of +the first syllables of her name rather than the last. "His books are +positively Gallic in their audacity and restraint. Audacity is not +rare—but that perfect concision of style is a gift which—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you like dirt," interrupted the Captain, rather rudely.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't call it that," said Mrs. Featherstone. "He is frank, of +course, and that is what people in this country will not forgive. It +is part of our national hypocrisy. But the beauty of the writing puts +it all on a higher plane."</p> + +<p>"Well, I wouldn't have the muck in the house," said the Captain, +firmly. "I caught Hilda with it, and I said, 'Now you send that book +straight back to the library.' I don't often interfere, but one must +draw the line somewhere."</p> + +<p>"How did you know what it was like?" asked Wimsey, innocently.</p> + +<p>"Why, James Douglas' article in the <i>Express</i> was good enough for me," +said Captain Bates. "The paragraphs he quoted were filthy, positively +filthy."</p> + +<p>"Well, it's a good thing we've all read them," said Wimsey. "Forewarned +is forearmed."</p> + +<p>"We owe a great debt of gratitude to the press," said the Dowager +Duchess, "so kind of them to pick out all the plums for us and save the +trouble of reading the books, don't you think, and such a joy for the +poor dear people who can't afford seven-and-sixpence, or even a library +subscription, I suppose, though I'm sure that works out cheaply enough +if one is a quick reader. Not that the cheap ones will take those books +for I asked my maid, such a superior girl and so keen on improving her +mind, which is more than I can say for most of my friends, but no doubt +it is all due to free education for the people and I suspect her in my +heart of voting Labour though I never ask because I don't think it's +fair, and besides, if I did, I couldn't very well take any notice of +it, could I?"</p> + +<p>"Still, I don't suppose the young woman murdered him on that account," +said her daughter-in-law. "From all accounts she was just as bad as he +was."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come," said Wimsey, "you can't think that, Helen. Damn it, she +writes detective stories and in detective stories virtue is always +triumphant. They're the purest literature we have."</p> + +<p>"The devil is always ready to quote scripture when it pays him to do +so," said the younger Duchess, "and they say the wretched woman's +sales are going up by leaps and bounds."</p> + +<p>"It's my belief," said Mr. Harringay, "that the whole thing is a +publicity stunt gone wrong." He was a large, jovial man, extremely rich +and connected with the City. "You never know what these advertising +fellows are up to."</p> + +<p>"Well, it looks like a case of hanging the goose that lays the golden +eggs this time," said Captain Bates, with a loud laugh. "Unless Wimsey +means to pull off one of his conjuring tricks."</p> + +<p>"I hope he does," said Miss Titterton. "I adore detective stories. I'd +commute the sentence to penal servitude on condition that she turned +out a new story every six months. It would be much more useful than +picking oakum or sewing mail-bags for the post-office to mislay."</p> + +<p>"Aren't you being a bit previous?" suggested Wimsey, mildly. "She's not +convicted yet."</p> + +<p>"But she will be next time. You can't fight facts, Peter."</p> + +<p>"Of course not," said Captain Bates. "The police know what they're +about. They don't put people into the dock if there isn't something +pretty shady about 'em."</p> + +<p>Now this was a fearful brick, for it was not so many years since the +Duke of Denver had himself stood his trial on a mistaken charge of +murder. There was a ghastly silence, broken by the Duchess, who said +icily: "Really, Captain Bates!"</p> + +<p>"What? eh? Oh, of course, I mean to say, I know mistakes do happen +sometimes, but that's a very different thing. I mean to say, this +woman, with no morals at all, that is, I mean—"</p> + +<p>"Have a drink, Tommy," said Lord Peter, kindly. "You aren't quite up to +your usual standard of tact today."</p> + +<p>"No, but do tell us, Lord Peter," cried Mrs. Dimsworthy, "what the +creature is <i>like</i>. Have you talked to her? I thought she had rather a +nice voice, though she's as plain as a pancake."</p> + +<p>"Nice voice, Freakie? Oh, no," said Mrs. Featherstone. "I should have +called it rather sinister. It absolutely thrilled me, I got shudders +all the way down my spine. A genuine <i>frisson</i>. And I think she would +be quite attractive, with those queer, smudgy eyes, if she were +properly dressed. A sort of <i>femme fatale</i>, you know. Does she try to +hypnotise you, Peter?"</p> + +<p>"I saw in the papers," said Miss Titterton, "that she had had hundreds +of offers of marriage."</p> + +<p>"Out of one noose into the other," said Harringay, with his noisy laugh.</p> + +<p>"I don't think I should care to marry a murderess," said Miss +Titterton, "especially one that's been trained on detective stories. +One would be always wondering whether there was anything funny about +the taste of the coffee."</p> + +<p>"Oh, these people are all mad," said Mrs. Dimsworthy. "They have a +morbid longing for notoriety. It's like the lunatics who make spurious +confessions and give themselves up for crimes they haven't committed."</p> + +<p>"A murderess might make quite a good wife," said Harringay. "There +was Madeleine Smith, you know—she used arsenic too, by the way—she +married somebody and lived happily to a respectable old age."</p> + +<p>"But did her husband live to a respectable old age?" demanded Miss +Titterton. "That's more to the point, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Once a poisoner, always a poisoner, <i>I</i> believe," said Mrs. +Featherstone. "It's a passion that grows upon you—like drink or drugs."</p> + +<p>"It's the intoxicating sensation of power," said Mrs. Dimsworthy. "But, +Lord Peter, <i>do</i> tell us—"</p> + +<p>"Peter!" said his mother, "I do wish you'd go and see what's happened +to Gerald. Tell him his tea is getting cold. I think he's in the +stables talking to Freddy about thrush or cracked heels or something, +so tiresome the way horses are always getting something the matter with +them. You haven't trained Gerald properly, Helen, he used to be quite +punctual as a boy. Peter was always the tiresome one, but he's becoming +almost human in his old age. It's that wonderful man of his who keeps +him in order, really a remarkable character and so intelligent, quite +one of the old sort, you know, a perfect autocrat, and such manners +too. He would be worth thousands to an American millionaire, most +impressive. I wonder Peter isn't afraid he'll give warning one of these +days, but I really believe he is positively attached to him, Bunter +attached to Peter, I mean, though the other way on would be true too, +I'm sure Peter pays more attention to his opinion than he does to mine."</p> + +<p>Wimsey had escaped, and was by now on his way to the stables. He met +Gerald, Duke of Denver, returning, with Freddy Arbuthnot in tow. The +former received the Dowager's message with a grin.</p> + +<p>"Got to turn up, I suppose," he said. "I wish nobody had ever invented +tea. Ruins your nerves and spoils your appetite for dinner."</p> + +<p>"Beastly sloppy stuff," agreed the Hon. Freddy. "I say, Peter, I've +been wanting to get hold of you."</p> + +<p>"Same here," said Wimsey, promptly. "I'm feelin' rather exhausted with +conversation. Let's wander through the billiard-room and build our +constitutions up before we face the barrage."</p> + +<p>"Today's great thought," said Freddy, enthusiastically. He pattered +happily after Wimsey into the billiard-room, and flung himself down in +a large chair. "Great bore, Christmas, isn't it? All the people one +hates most gathered together in the name of goodwill and all that."</p> + +<p>"Bring a couple of whiskies," said Wimsey to the footman. "And, James, +if anybody asks for Mr. Arbuthnot or me, you rather think we have +gone out. Well, Freddy, here's luck! Has anything transpired, as the +journalists say?"</p> + +<p>"I've been sleuthing like stink on the tracks of your man," said Mr. +Arbuthnot. "Really, don't you know, I shall soon be qualified to set +up in your line of business. Our financial column, edited by Uncle +Buthie—that sort of thing. Friend Urquhart has been very careful, +though. Bound to be—respectable family lawyer and all that. But I saw +a man yesterday who knows a fellow who had it from a chappie that said +Urquhart had been dipping himself a bit recklessly off the deep end."</p> + +<p>"Are you sure, Freddy?"</p> + +<p>"Well, not to say sure. But this man, you see, owes me one, so to +speak, for having warned him off the Megatherium before the band began +to play, and he thinks, if he can get hold of the chappie that knows, +not the fellow that told him, you understand, but the other one, that +he might be able to get something out of him, don't you see, especially +if I was able to put this other chappie in the way of something or the +other, what?"</p> + +<p>"And no doubt you have secrets to sell."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, I daresay I could make it worth this other chappie's while, +because I've got an idea, through this other fellow that my bloke +knows, that the chappie is rather up against it, as you might say, +through being caught short on some Airways stock, and if I was to put +him in touch with Goldberg, don't you see, it might get him out of a +hole and so on. And Goldberg will be all right, because, don't you see, +he's a cousin of old Levy's, who was murdered, you know, and all these +Jews stick together like leeches and as a matter of fact, I think it's +very fine of them."</p> + +<p>"But what has old Levy got to do with it?" asked Wimsey, his mind +running over the incidents in that half-forgotten murder-episode.</p> + +<p>"Well, as a matter of fact," said the Hon. Freddy, a little nervously, +"I've—er—done the trick as you might say. Rachel Levy is—er, in +fact—going to become Mrs. Freddy and all that sort of thing."</p> + +<p>"The devil she is," said Wimsey, ringing the bell. "Tremendous +congratters and all that. It's been a long time working up, hasn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes," said Freddy. "Yes, it has. You see, the trouble was that +I was a Christian—at least, I was christened and all that, though I +pointed out I wasn't at all a good one, except, of course, that one +keeps up the family pew and turns out on Christmas Day and so on. Only +it seems they didn't mind that so much as my bein' a Gentile. Well +that, of course, is past prayin' for. And then there was the difficulty +about the kids—if any. But I explained that I didn't mind what they +counted them as—and I don't, you know, because, as I was saying, it +would be all to the little beggars' advantage to be in with the Levy +and Goldberg crowd, especially if the boys were to turn out anything in +the financial way. And then I rather got round Lady Levy by sayin' I +had served nearly seven years for Rachel—that was rather smart, don't +you think?"</p> + +<p>"Two more whiskies, James," said Lord Peter. "It was brilliant, Freddy. +How did you come to think of it?"</p> + +<p>"In church," said Freddy, "at Diana Rigby's wedding. The bride was +fifty minutes late and I had to do something, and somebody had left a +Bible in the pew. I saw that—I say, old Laban was a bit of a tough, +wasn't he?—and I said to myself, 'I'll work that off next time I +call,' and so I did, and the old lady was uncommonly touched by it."</p> + +<p>"And the long and the short of it is, you're fixed up," said Wimsey. +"Well, cheerio, here's to it. Am I best man, Freddy, or do you bring it +off at the Synagogue?"</p> + +<p>"Well, yes—it is to be at the Synagogue—I had to agree to that," said +Freddy, "but I believe some sort of bridegroom's friend comes into it. +You'll stand by me, old bean, won't you? You keep your hat on, don't +forget."</p> + +<p>"I'll bear it in mind," said Wimsey, "and Bunter will explain the +procedure to me. He's bound to know. He knows everything. But look +here, Freddy, you won't forget about this little enquiry, will you?"</p> + +<p>"I won't, old chap—upon my word I won't. I'll let you know the very +second I hear anything. But I really think you may count on there being +something in it."</p> + +<p>Wimsey found some consolation in this. At any rate, he so far pulled +himself together as to be the life and soul of the rather restrained +revels at Duke's Denver. The Duchess Helen, indeed, observed rather +acidly to the Duke that Peter was surely getting too old to play the +buffoon, and that it would be better if he took things seriously and +settled down.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I dunno," said the Duke, "Peter's a weird fish—you never know +what he's thinkin' about. He pulled me out of the soup once and I'm not +going to interfere with him. You leave him alone, Helen."</p> + +<p>Lady Mary Wimsey, who had arrived late on Christmas Eve, took another +view of the matter. She marched into her younger brother's bedroom +at 2 o'clock on the morning of Boxing Day. There had been dinner and +dancing and charades of the most exhausting kind. Wimsey was sitting +thoughtfully over the fire in his dressing-gown.</p> + +<p>"I say, old Peter," said Lady Mary, "you're being a bit fevered, aren't +you? Anything up?"</p> + +<p>"Too much plum-pudding," said Wimsey, "and too much county. I'm a +martyr, that's what I am—burning in brandy to make a family holiday."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's ghastly, isn't it? But how's life? I haven't seen you for an +age. You've been away such a long time."</p> + +<p>"Yes—and you seem very much taken up with this house-decorating job +you're running."</p> + +<p>"One must do something. I get rather sick of being aimless, you know."</p> + +<p>"Yes. I say, Mary, do you ever see anything of old Parker these days?"</p> + +<p>Lady Mary stared into the fire.</p> + +<p>"I've had dinner with him once or twice, when I was in town."</p> + +<p>"Have you? He's a very decent sort. Reliable, homespun—that sort of +thing. Not amusing, exactly."</p> + +<p>"A little solid."</p> + +<p>"As you say—a little solid." Wimsey lit a cigarette. "I should hate +anything upsettin' to happen to Parker. He'd take it hard. I mean to +say, it wouldn't be fair to muck about with his feelin's and so on."</p> + +<p>Mary laughed.</p> + +<p>"Worried, Peter?"</p> + +<p>"N-no. But I'd rather like him to have fair play."</p> + +<p>"Well, Peter—I can't very well say yes or no till he asks me, can I?"</p> + +<p>"Can't you?"</p> + +<p>"Well, not to him. It would upset his ideas of decorum, don't you +think?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose it would. But it would probably upset them just as much if +he did ask you. He would feel that the mere idea of hearing a butler +announce 'Chief-Detective-Inspector and Lady Mary Parker' would have +something shocking about it."</p> + +<p>"It's stalemate, then, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"You could stop dining with him."</p> + +<p>"I could do that, of course."</p> + +<p>"And the mere fact that you don't—I see. Would it be any good if I +demanded to know his intentions in the true Victorian manner?"</p> + +<p>"Why this sudden thirst for getting your family off your hands, old +man? Peter—nobody's being horrible to you, are they?"</p> + +<p>"No, no. I'm just feeling rather like a benevolent uncle, that's all. +Old age creeping on. That passion for being useful which attacks the +best of us when we're getting past our prime."</p> + +<p>"Like me with the house-decorating. I designed these pajamas, by +the way. Don't you think they're rather entertaining? But I expect +Chief-Inspector Parker prefers the old-fashioned night-gown, like Dr. +Spooner or whoever it was."</p> + +<p>"That would be a wrench," said Wimsey.</p> + +<p>"Never mind. I'll be brave and devoted. Here and now I cast off my +pajamas for ever!"</p> + +<p>"No, no," said Wimsey, "not here and now. Respect a brother's feelings. +Very well. I am to tell my friend Charles Parker, that if he will +abandon his natural modesty and propose, you will abandon your pajamas +and say yes."</p> + +<p>"It will be a great shock for Helen, Peter."</p> + +<p>"Blast Helen. I daresay it won't be the worst shock she'll get."</p> + +<p>"Peter, you're plotting something devilish. All right. If you want me +to administer the first shock and let her down by degrees—I'll do it."</p> + +<p>"Right-ho!" said Wimsey, casually.</p> + +<p>Lady Mary twisted one arm about his neck and bestowed on him one of her +rare sisterly caresses.</p> + +<p>"You're a decent old idiot," she said, "and you look played-out. Go to +bed."</p> + +<p>"Go to blazes," said Lord Peter, amiably.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</h2> +</div> + + +<p>Miss Murchison felt a touch of excitement in her well-regulated heart, +as she rang the bell of Lord Peter's flat. It was not caused by the +consideration of his title or his wealth or his bachelorhood, for Miss +Murchison had been a business woman all her life, and was accustomed to +visiting bachelors of all descriptions without giving a second thought +to the matter. But his note had been rather exciting.</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison was thirty-eight, and plain. She had worked in the +same financier's office for twelve years. They had been good years on +the whole, and it was not until the last two that she had even begun +to realise that the brilliant financier who juggled with so many +spectacular undertakings was juggling for his life under circumstances +of increasing difficulty. As the pace grew faster, he added egg after +egg to those which were already spinning in the air. There is a limit +to the number of eggs which can be spun by human hands. One day an egg +slipped and smashed—then another—then a whole omelette of eggs. The +juggler fled from the stage and escaped abroad, his chief assistant +blew out his brains, the audience booed, the curtain came down, and +Miss Murchison, at 37, was out of a job.</p> + +<p>She had put an advertisement in the papers and had answered many +others. Most people appeared to want their secretaries young and cheap. +It was discouraging.</p> + +<p>Then her own advertisement had brought an answer, from a Miss Climpson, +who kept a typing bureau.</p> + +<p>It was not what she wanted, but she went. And she found that it was not +quite a typing bureau after all, but something more interesting.</p> + +<p>Lord Peter Wimsey, mysteriously at the back of it all, had been abroad +when Miss Murchison entered the "Cattery," and she had never seen him +till a few weeks ago. This would be the first time she had actually +spoken to him. An odd-looking person, she thought, but people said he +had brains. Anyhow—</p> + +<p>The door was opened by Bunter, who seemed to expect her and showed her +at once into a sitting-room lined with bookshelves. There were some +fine prints on the walls, an Aubusson carpet, a grand piano, a vast +Chesterfield and a number of deep and cosy chairs, upholstered in brown +leather. The curtains were drawn, a wood-fire blazed on the hearth, and +before it stood a table, with a silver tea-service whose lovely lines +were delightful to the eye.</p> + +<p>As she entered, her employer uncoiled himself from the depths of an +armchair, put down a black-letter folio which he had been studying and +greeted her in the cool, husky and rather languid tones which she had +already heard in Mr. Urquhart's office.</p> + +<p>"Frightfully good of you to come round, Miss Murchison. Beastly day, +isn't it? I'm sure you want your tea. Can you eat crumpets? Or would +you prefer something more up-to-date?"</p> + +<p>"Thanks," said Miss Murchison, as Bunter hovered obsequiously at her +elbow, "I like crumpets very much."</p> + +<p>"Oh, good! Well, Bunter, we'll struggle with the tea-pot ourselves. +Give Miss Murchison another cushion and then you can toddle off. Back +at work, I suppose? How's our Mr. Urquhart?"</p> + +<p>"He's all right." Miss Murchison had never been a chatty girl. "There's +one thing I wanted to tell you—"</p> + +<p>"Plenty of time," said Wimsey. "Don't spoil your tea." He waited on +her with a kind of anxious courtesy which pleased her. She expressed +admiration of the big bronze chrysanthemums heaped here and there about +the room.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I'm glad you like them. My friends say they give a feminine touch +to the place, but Bunter sees to it, as a matter of fact. They make a +splash of colour and all that, don't you think?"</p> + +<p>"The books look masculine enough."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes—they're my hobby, you know. Books—and crime, of course. +But crime's not very decorative, is it? I don't care about collecting +hangmen's ropes and murderers' over-coats. What are you to do with 'em? +Is the tea all right? I ought to have asked you to pour out, but it +always seems to me rather unfair to invite a person and then make her +do all the work. What do you do when you're not working, by the way? Do +you keep a secret passion for anything?"</p> + +<p>"I go to concerts," said Miss Murchison. "And when there isn't a +concert I put something on the gramophone."</p> + +<p>"Musician?"</p> + +<p>"No—never could afford to learn properly. I ought to have been, I +daresay. But there was more money in being a secretary."</p> + +<p>"I suppose so."</p> + +<p>"Unless one is absolutely first-class, and I should never have been +that. And third-class musicians are a nuisance."</p> + +<p>"They have a rotten time, too," said Wimsey. "I hate to see them in +cinemas, poor beasts, playing the most ghastly tripe, sandwiched in +with snacks of Mendelssohn and torn-off gobbets of the 'Unfinished.' +Have a sandwich. Do you like Bach? or only the Moderns?"</p> + +<p>He wriggled on to the piano stool.</p> + +<p>"I'll leave it to you," said Miss Murchison, rather surprised.</p> + +<p>"I feel rather like the Italian Concerto this evening. It's better on +the harpsichord, but I haven't got one here. I find Bach good for the +brain. Steadying influence and all that."</p> + +<p>He played the Concerto through, and then, after a few seconds' pause +went on to one of the "Forty-eight." He played well, and gave a curious +impression of controlled power, which, in a man so slight and so +fantastical in manner, was unexpected and even a little disquieting. +When he had finished, he said, still sitting at the piano:</p> + +<p>"Did you make the enquiry about the typewriter?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; it was bought new three years ago."</p> + +<p>"Good. I gather, by the way, that you are probably right about +Urquhart's connection with the Megatherium Trust. That was a very +helpful observation of yours. Consider yourself highly commended."</p> + +<p>"Thank you."</p> + +<p>"Anything fresh?"</p> + +<p>"No—except that the evening after you called at Mr. Urquhart's office, +he stayed on a long time after we had gone, typing something."</p> + +<p>Wimsey sketched an arpeggio with his right hand and demanded:</p> + +<p>"How do you know how long he stayed and what he was doing if you had +all gone?"</p> + +<p>"You said you wanted to know of anything, however small, that was in +the least unusual. I thought it might be unusual for him to stay on by +himself, so I walked up and down Princeton Street and round Red Lion +Square till half-past seven. Then I saw him put the light out and go +home. Next morning I noticed that some papers I had left just inside my +typewriter cover had been disturbed. So I concluded that he had been +typing."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps the charwoman disturbed them?"</p> + +<p>"Not she. She never disturbs the dust, let alone the cover."</p> + +<p>Wimsey nodded.</p> + +<p>"You have the makings of a first-class sleuth, Miss Murchison. Very +well. In that case, our little job will have to be undertaken. Now, +look here—you quite understand that I'm going to ask you to do +something illegal?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I understand."</p> + +<p>"And you don't mind?"</p> + +<p>"No. I imagine that if I'm taken up you will pay any necessary costs."</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>"And if I go to prison?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think it will come to that. There's a slight risk, I +admit—that is, if I'm wrong about what I think is happening—that you +might be brought up for attempted theft or for being in possession of +safebreaking tools, but that is the most that could happen."</p> + +<p>"Oh! well, it's all in the game, I suppose."</p> + +<p>"You mean that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Splendid. Well—you know that deed-box you brought in to Mr. +Urquhart's room the day I was there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, the one marked Wrayburn."</p> + +<p>"Where is it kept? In the outer office, where you could get hold of it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes—on a shelf with a lot of others."</p> + +<p>"Good. Would it be possible for you to get left alone in the office any +day for, say, half an hour?"</p> + +<p>"Well—at lunch-time I'm supposed to go out at half-past twelve and +come back at half-past one. Mr. Pond goes out then, but Mr. Urquhart +sometimes comes back. I couldn't be certain that he wouldn't pop out on +me. And it would look funny if I wanted to stay on after four-thirty, I +expect. Unless I pretended I had made a mistake and wanted to stay and +put it right. I could do that. I might come extra early in the morning +when the charwoman is there—or would it matter her seeing me?"</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't matter very much," said Wimsey, thoughtfully. "She'd +probably think you had legitimate business with the box. I'll leave it +to you to choose the time."</p> + +<p>"But what am I to do? Steal the box?"</p> + +<p>"Not quite. Do you know how to pick a lock?"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least, I'm afraid."</p> + +<p>"I often wonder what we go to school for," said Wimsey. "We never seem +to learn anything really useful. I can pick quite a pretty lock myself, +but, as we haven't much time and as you'll need some rather intensive +training, I think I'd better take you to an expert. Should you mind +putting your coat on and coming round with me to see a friend?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all. I should be delighted."</p> + +<p>"He lives in the Whitechapel Road, but he's a very pleasant fellow, if +you can overlook his religious opinions. Personally, I find them rather +refreshing. Bunter! Get us a taxi, will you?"</p> + +<p>On the way to the East End, Wimsey insisted upon talking music—rather +to Miss Murchison's disquietude; she began to think there was something +a little sinister in this pointed refusal to discuss the object of +their journey.</p> + +<p>"By the way," she ventured, interrupting something Wimsey was saying +about fugal form, "this person we are going to see—has he a name?"</p> + +<p>"Now you mention it, I believe he has, but he's never called by it. +It's Rumm."</p> + +<p>"Not very, perhaps, if he—er—gives lessons in lock-picking."</p> + +<p>"I mean, his name's Rumm."</p> + +<p>"Oh; what is it then?"</p> + +<p>"Dash it! I mean, Rumm is his name."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I beg your pardon."</p> + +<p>"But he doesn't care to use it, now that he is a total abstainer."</p> + +<p>"Then what does one call him?"</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> call him Bill," said Wimsey, as the taxi drew up at the entrance +to a narrow court, "but when he was at the head of his profession, they +called him 'Blindfold Bill.' He was a very great man in his time."</p> + +<p>Paying off the taxi-man (who had obviously taken them for +welfare-workers till he saw the size of his tip, and now did not know +what to make of them), Wimsey steered his companion down the dirty +alleyway. At the far end was a small house, from whose lighted windows +poured forth the loud strains of a chorus of voices, supported by a +harmonium and other instruments.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear!" said Wimsey, "we've struck a meeting. It can't be helped. +Here goes."</p> + +<p>Pausing until the strains of "Glory, glory, glory" had been succeeded +by a sound as of fervent prayer, he hammered lustily at the door. +Presently a small girl put her head out and, seeing Lord Peter, uttered +a shrill cry of delight.</p> + +<p>"Hullo, Esmeralda Hyacinth," said Wimsey. "Is Dad in?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, please, sir, they'll be so pleased, will you step in and oh, +please?"</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Please, sir, will you sing 'Nazareth'?"</p> + +<p>"No, I will not sing 'Nazareth' on any account, Esmeralda; I'm +surprised at you."</p> + +<p>"Daddy says 'Nazareth' isn't worldly, and you do sing it so beautiful," +said Esmeralda, her mouth drooping.</p> + +<p>Wimsey hid his face in his hands.</p> + +<p>"This comes of having done a foolish thing once," he said. "One never +lives it down. I won't promise, Esmeralda, but we'll see. But I want to +talk business with Dad when the meeting's over."</p> + +<p>The child nodded; at the same moment, the praying voice within the room +ceased, amid ejaculations of "Alleluia!" and Esmeralda, profiting by +this momentary pause, pushed open the door and said loudly:</p> + +<p>"Here's Mr. Peter and a lady."</p> + +<p>The room was small, very hot and very full of people. In one corner +was the harmonium, with the musicians grouped about it. In the middle, +standing by a round table covered with a red cloth, was a stout, square +man, with a face like a bull-dog. He had a book in his hand, and +appeared to be about to announce a hymn, but, seeing Wimsey and Miss +Murchison, he came forward, stretching out a large and hearty hand.</p> + +<p>"Welcome one and welcome all!" he said. "Brethren, 'ere is a dear +brother and sister in the Lord as is come out of the 'aunts of the +rich and the riotous living of the Westend to join with us in singing +the Songs of Zion. Let us sing and give praise. Alleluia! We know that +many shall come from the East <i>and</i> from the West and sit down at the +Lord's feast, while many that thinks theirselves chosen shall be cast +into outer darkness. Therefore let us not say, because this man wears +a shiny eye-glass, that he is not a chosen vessel, or because this +woman wears a di'mond necklace and rides in 'er Rolls-Royce, she will +not therefore wear a white robe and a gold crown in the New Jerusalem, +nor because these people travels in the Blue Train to the Rivereera, +therefore they shall not be seen a-castin' down their golden crowns by +the River of the Water of Life. We 'ears that there talk sometimes in +'Yde Park o' Sundays, but it's bad and foolish and leads to strife and +envyings and not to charity. All we like sheep 'ave gone astray and +well I may say so, 'avin' been a black and wicked sinner myself till +this 'ere gentleman, for such 'e truly is, laid 'is 'and upon me as I +was a-bustin' of 'is safe and was the instrument under God of turnin' +me from the broad way that leadeth to destruction. Oh, brethren, what +a 'appy day that was for me, alleluia! What a shower of blessings come +to me by the grace of the Lord! Let us unite now in thanksgiving for +'Eaven's mercies in Number One 'Undred and Two. (Esmeralda, give our +dear friends a 'ymn-book)."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," said Wimsey to Miss Murchison. "Can you bear it? I fancy +this is the final outbreak."</p> + +<p>The harmonium, harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer and all kinds of music +burst out with a blare which nearly burst the ear-drum, the assembly +lifted its combined voices, and Miss Murchison, to her amazement, found +herself joining—at first self-consciously and then with a fine fervour +in that stirring chant—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">"Sweeping through the gates,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sweeping through the gates of the New Jerusalem,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Washed in the Blood of the Lamb."</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Wimsey, who appeared to find it all very good fun, carolled away +happily, without the slightest embarrassment; whether because he was +accustomed to the exercise, or merely because he was one of those +imperturbably self-satisfied people who cannot conceive of themselves +as being out of place in any surroundings, Miss Murchison was unable to +determine.</p> + +<p>To her relief, the religious exercise came to an end with the hymn, and +the company took their leave, with many hand-shakings all round. The +musicians emptied the condensed moisture from their wind-instruments +politely into the fireplace and the lady who played the harmonium drew +the cover over the keys and came forward to welcome the guests. She was +introduced simply as Bella and Miss Murchison concluded, rightly, that +she was the wife of Mr. Bill Rumm and the mother of Esmeralda.</p> + +<p>"Well, now," said Bill, "it's dry work preachin' and singin'—you'll +take a cup of tea or coffee, now, won't you?"</p> + +<p>Wimsey explained that they had just had tea, but begged that the family +might proceed with their own meal.</p> + +<p>"It ain't 'ardly supper-time yet," said Mrs. Rumm. "P'raps if you was +to do your business with the lady and gentleman, Bill, they might feel +inclined to take a bite with us later. It's trotters," she added, +hopefully.</p> + +<p>"It's very kind of you," said Miss Murchison, hesitatingly.</p> + +<p>"Trotters want a lot of beating," said Wimsey, "and since our business +may take a little time we'll accept with pleasure—if you're sure we're +not putting you out."</p> + +<p>"Not at all," said Mrs. Rumm, heartily. "Eight beautiful trotters +they is, and with a bit of cheese they'll go round easy. Come along, +'Meraldy—your Dad's got business."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Peter's going to sing," said the child, fixing reproachful eyes on +Wimsey.</p> + +<p>"Now don't you worrit his lordship," rebuked Mrs. Rumm, "I declare I'm +ashamed of you."</p> + +<p>"I'll sing after supper, Esmeralda," said Wimsey. "Hop along now like +a good girl or I'll make faces at you. Bill, I've brought you a new +pupil."</p> + +<p>"Always 'appy to serve you, sir, knowing as it's the Lord's work. Glory +be."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Wimsey, modestly. "It's a simple matter, Bill, but as +the young lady is inexperienced with locks and so on, I've brought her +along to be coached. You see, Miss Murchison, before Bill here saw the +light—"</p> + +<p>"Praise God!" put in Bill.</p> + +<p>"He was the most accomplished burglar and safe-breaker in the three +kingdoms. He doesn't mind my telling you this, because he's taken +his medicine and finished with it all and is now a very honest and +excellent locksmith of the ordinary kind."</p> + +<p>"Thanks be to Him that giveth the victory!"</p> + +<p>"But from time to time, when I need a little help in a righteous cause, +Bill gives me the benefit of his great experience."</p> + +<p>"And oh! what 'appiness it is, miss, to turn them talents which I so +wickedly abused to the service of the Lord. His 'oly Name be blessed +that bringeth good out of evil."</p> + +<p>"That's right," said Wimsey, with a nod. "Now, Bill, I've got my eye on +a solicitor's deed-box, which may or may not contain something which +will help me to get an innocent person out of trouble. This young lady +can get access to the box, Bill, if you can show her the way inside it."</p> + +<p>"If?" grunted Bill, with sovereign contempt. "'Course I can! Deed-box, +that's nuffin'. That ain't no field for a man's skill. Robbin' the +kids' money-box, that's what it is with they trumpery little locks. +There ain't a deed-box in this' 'ere city wot I couldn't open blindfold +in boxing-gloves with a stick of boiled macaroni."</p> + +<p>"I know, Bill; but it isn't you that's got to do it. Can you teach the +lady how to work it?"</p> + +<p>"Sure I can. What kinder lock is it, lidy?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Miss Murchison. "An ordinary lock, I think. I +mean, it has the usual sort of key—not a Bramah, or anything of that +kind. Mr.—that is, the solicitor has one set of keys and Mr. Pond has +another—just plain keys with barrels and wards."</p> + +<p>"Ho!" said Bill, "then 'arf an hour will teach you all you want, miss." +He went to a cupboard and brought out half a dozen lock-plates and a +bunch of curious, thin wire hooks, strung on a ring like keys.</p> + +<p>"Are those picklocks?" asked Miss Murchison, curiously.</p> + +<p>"That's what they are, miss. Ingines of Satan!" He shook his head as he +lovingly fingered the bright steel. "Many's the time sech keys as these +'ave let pore sinners in by the back gate into 'ell."</p> + +<p>"This time," said Wimsey, "they'll let a poor innocent out of prison +into the sunshine—if any, in this beastly climate."</p> + +<p>"Praise Him for His manifold mercies! Well, miss, the fust thing is to +understand the construction of a lock. Now jest you look 'ere."</p> + +<p>He picked up one of the locks and showed how, by holding up the spring, +the catch could be thrust back.</p> + +<p>"There ain't no need of all them fancy wards, you see, miss. The barrel +and the spring—that's all there is to it. Jest you try."</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison accordingly tried, and forced several locks with an ease +that astonished her.</p> + +<p>"Well now, miss, the difficulty is, you see, that when the lock's in +place, you can't use your eyes, but you 'as your 'earin' and you 'as +the feelin' in your fingers, giv' you by Providence (praise His Name!) +for that purpose. Now what you 'as to do, miss, is to shet your eyes +and see with your fingers, like, w'en you've got your spring 'ooked +back sufficient ter let the catch go past."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I'm very clumsy," said Miss Murchison, at the fifth or +sixth attempt.</p> + +<p>"Now don't you fret, miss. Jest take it easy and you'll find the right +way of it come to you all of a sudden, like. Jest feel when it seems +to go sweet and use your 'ands independent. Would you like to 'ave a +little go at a Combination while you're 'ere, sir? I've got a beauty +'ere. Giv' to me it was by Sam, you know 'oo I mean. Many's the time +I've tried to show 'im the error of 'is ways. 'No, Bill,' 'e ses, 'I +ain't got no use for religion,' 'e ses, pore lost sheep, 'but I ain't +got no quarrel with you, Bill,' ses 'e, 'and I'd like for ter give you +this 'ere little sooveneer.'"</p> + +<p>"Bill, Bill," said Wimsey, shaking a reproachful finger, "I'm afraid +this wasn't honestly come by."</p> + +<p>"Well, sir, if I knowed the owner I'd 'and it over to 'im with the +greatest of pleasure. It's quite good, you see. Sam put the soup in +at the 'inges and it blowed the ole front clean off, lock and all. +It's small, but it's a real beauty—new pattern to me, that is. But I +mastered it," said Bill, with unregenerate pride, "in an hour or two."</p> + +<p>"It'd have to be a good bit of work to beat you, Bill"; Wimsey set +the lock up before him, and began to manipulate the knob, his fingers +moving with micrometer delicacy and his ear bent to catch the fall of +the tumblers.</p> + +<p>"Lord!" said Bill—this time with no religious intention—"wot a +cracksman you'd a-made, if you'd a-given your mind to it—which the +Lord in His mercy forbid you should!"</p> + +<p>"Too much work in that life for me, Bill," said Wimsey. "Dash it! I +lost it that time."</p> + +<p>He turned the knob back and started over again.</p> + +<p>By the time the trotters arrived, Miss Murchison had acquired +considerable facility with the more usual types of lock and a greatly +enhanced respect for burglary as a profession.</p> + +<p>"And don't you let yourself be 'urried, miss," was Bill's final +injunction, "else you'll leave scratches on the lock and do yourself no +credit. Lovely bit of work, that, ain't it, Lord Peter, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Beyond me, I'm afraid," said Wimsey, with a laugh.</p> + +<p>"Practice," said Bill, "that's all it is. If you'd a-started early +enough you'd a-been a beautiful workman." He sighed, "There ain't many +of 'em now-a-days—glory be!—that can do a real artistic job. It fair +goes to my 'eart to see a elegant bit o' stuff like that blowed all to +bits with gelignite. Wot's gelignite? Any fool can 'andle it as doesn't +mind makin' a blinkin' great row. Brutal, I calls it."</p> + +<p>"Now, don't you get 'ankerin' back after them things, Bill," said +Mrs. Rumm, reprovingly. "Come along, do, now and eat yer supper. Ef +anybody's goin' ter do sech a wicked thing as breakin' safes, wot do it +matter whether it's done artistic or inartistic?"</p> + +<p>"Ain't that jest like a woman?—beggin' your pardon, miss."</p> + +<p>"Well, you know it's true," said Mrs. Rumm.</p> + +<p>"I know those trotters look very artistic," said Wimsey, "and that's +quite enough for me."</p> + +<p>The trotters having been eaten, and "Nazareth" duly sung, to the great +admiration of the Rumm family, the evening closed pleasantly with the +performance of a hymn, and Miss Murchison found herself walking up the +Whitechapel Road, with a bunch of picklocks in her pocket and some +surprising items of knowledge in her mind.</p> + +<p>"You make some very amusing acquaintances, Lord Peter."</p> + +<p>"Yes—rather a jape, isn't it? But Blindfold Bill is one of the best. I +found him on my premises one night and struck up a sort of an alliance +with him. Took lessons from him and all that. He was a bit shy at +first, but he got converted by another friend of mine—it's a long +story—and the long and short of it was, he got hold of this locksmith +business, and is doing very well at it. Do you feel quite competent +about locks now?"</p> + +<p>"I think so. What am I to look for when I get the box open?"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Wimsey, "the point is this. Mr. Urquhart showed me what +purported to be the draft of a will made five years ago by Mrs. +Wrayburn. I've written down the gist of it on a bit of paper for you. +Here it is. Now the snag about it is that that draft was typed on a +machine which, as you tell me, was bought new from the makers only +three years ago."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that's what he was typing that evening he stayed late at +the office?"</p> + +<p>"It looks like it. Now, why? If he had the original draft, why not +show me that? Actually, there was no need for him to show it to me +at all, unless it was to mislead me about something. Then, though he +said he had the thing at home, and must have known he had it there, he +pretended to search for it in Mrs. Wrayburn's box. Again, why? To make +me think that it was already in existence when I called. The conclusion +I drew is that, if there is a will, it's not along the lines of the one +he showed me."</p> + +<p>"It looks rather like that, certainly."</p> + +<p>"What I want you to look for is the real will—either the original or +the copy ought to be there. Don't take it away, but try to memorise +the chief points in it, especially the names of the chief legatee or +legatees and of the residuary legatee. Remember that the residuary +legatee gets everything which isn't specifically left to somebody else, +or anything which falls in by a legatee's dying before the testatrix. +I specially want to know whether anything was left to Philip Boyes or +if any mention of the Boyes family is made in the will. Failing a will, +there might be some other interesting document, such as a secret trust, +instructing the executor to dispose of the money in some special way. +In short, I want particulars of any document which may seem to be of +interest. Don't waste too much time making notes. Carry the provisions +in your head if you can and note them down privately when you get away +from the office. And be sure you don't leave those skeleton keys about +for people to find."</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison promised to observe these instructions, and, a taxi +coming up at that moment, Wimsey put her into it and sped her to her +destination.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</h2> +</div> + + +<p>Mr. Norman Urquhart glanced at the clock, which stood at 4.15, and +called through the open door:</p> + +<p>"Are those affidavits nearly ready, Miss Murchison?"</p> + +<p>"I am just on the last page, Mr. Urquhart."</p> + +<p>"Bring them in as soon as you've finished. They ought to go round to +Hanson's tonight."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Urquhart."</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison galloped noisily over the keys, slamming the shift-lever +over with unnecessary violence, and causing Mr. Pond once more to +regret the intrusion of female clerks. She completed her page, +ornamented the foot of it with a rattling row of fancy lines and dots, +threw over the release, spun the roller, twitching the foolscap sheets +from under it in vicious haste, flung the carbons into the basket, +shuffled the copies into order, slapped them vigorously on all four +edges to bring them into symmetry, and bounced with them into the inner +office.</p> + +<p>"I haven't had time to read them through," she announced.</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Mr. Urquhart.</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison retired, shutting the door after her. She gathered her +belongings together, took out a hand-mirror and unashamedly powdered +her rather large nose, stuffed a handful of odds-and-ends into a +bulging handbag, pushed some papers under her typewriter cover ready +for the next day, jerked her hat from the peg and crammed it on her +head, tucking wisps of hair underneath it with vigorous and impatient +fingers.</p> + +<p>Mr. Urquhart's bell rang—twice.</p> + +<p>"Oh, bother!" said Miss Murchison, with heightened colour.</p> + +<p>She snatched the hat off again, and answered the summons.</p> + +<p>"Miss Murchison," said Mr. Urquhart, with an expression of considerable +annoyance, "do you know that you have left out a whole paragraph on the +first page of this?"</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison flushed still more deeply.</p> + +<p>"Oh, have I? I'm very sorry."</p> + +<p>Mr. Urquhart held up a document resembling in bulk that famous one of +which it was said that there was not truth enough in the world to fill +so long an affidavit.</p> + +<p>"It is very annoying," he said. "It is the longest and most important +of the three, and is urgently required first thing tomorrow morning."</p> + +<p>"I can't think how I could have made such a silly mistake," muttered +Miss Murchison. "I will stay on this evening and re-type it."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you will have to. It is unfortunate, as I shall not be able +to look it through myself, but there is nothing else to be done. Please +check it carefully this time, and see that Hanson's have it before ten +o'clock tomorrow."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Urquhart. I will be extremely careful. I am very sorry +indeed. I will make sure that it is quite correct and take it round +myself."</p> + +<p>"Very well, that will do," said Mr. Urquhart. "Don't let it happen +again."</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison picked up the papers and came out, looking flustered. +She dragged the cover off the typewriter with much sound and fury, +jerked out the desk-drawers till they slammed against the drawer-stops, +shook the top-sheet, carbons and flimsies together as a terrier shakes +a rat, and attacked the machine tempestuously.</p> + +<p>Mr. Pond, who had just locked his desk, and was winding a silk scarf +about his throat, looked at her in mild astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Have you some more typing to do tonight, Miss Murchison?"</p> + +<p>"Got to do the whole bally thing again," said Miss Murchison. "Left out +a paragraph on page one—it would be page one, of course—and he wants +the tripe round at Hanson's by 10 o'clock."</p> + +<p>Mr. Pond groaned slightly and shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Those machines make you careless," he reproved her. "In the old days, +clerks thought twice about making foolish mistakes, when it meant +copying the whole document out again by hand."</p> + +<p>"Glad I didn't live then," said Miss Murchison, shortly. "One might as +well have been a galley-slave."</p> + +<p>"And we didn't knock off at half-past four, either," said Mr. Pond. "We +<i>worked</i> in those days."</p> + +<p>"You may have worked longer," said Miss Murchison, "but you didn't get +through as much in the time."</p> + +<p>"We worked accurately and neatly," said Mr. Pond, with emphasis, +as Miss Murchison irritably disentangled two keys which had jammed +together under her hasty touch.</p> + +<p>Mr. Urquhart's door opened and the retort on the typist's lips was +silenced. He said good-night and went out. Mr. Pond followed him.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you will have finished before the cleaner goes, Miss +Murchison," he said. "If not, please remember to extinguish the light +and to hand the key to Mrs. Hodges in the basement."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mr. Pond. Good-night."</p> + +<p>"Good-night."</p> + +<p>His steps pattered through the entrance, sounded again loudly as he +passed the window, and died away in the direction of Brownlow Street. +Miss Murchison continued typing till she calculated that he was safely +on the tube at Chancery Lane. Then she rose, with a quick glance +round her, and approached a high tier of shelves, stacked with black +deed-boxes, each of which bore the name of a client in bold white +letters.</p> + +<p>WRAYBURN was there, all right, but had mysteriously shifted its +place. This in itself was unaccountable. She clearly remembered +having replaced it, just before Christmas, on top of the pile +MORTIMER—SCROGGINS—LORD COOTE—DOLBY BROS. AND WINGFIELD; and here it +was, on the day after Boxing Day, at the bottom of a pile, heaped over +and kept down by BODGERS—SIR J. PENKRIDGE—FLATSBY & COATEN—TRUBODY +LTD. and UNIVERSAL BONE TRUST. Somebody had been spring-cleaning, +apparently, over the holidays, and Miss Murchison thought it improbable +that it was Mrs. Hodges.</p> + +<p>It was tiresome, because all the shelves were full, and it would be +necessary to lift down all the boxes and stand them somewhere before +she could get out WRAYBURN. And Mrs. Hodges would be in soon, and +though Mrs. Hodges didn't really matter, it might look odd....</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison pulled the chair from her desk (for the shelf was rather +high) and, standing on it, lifted down UNIVERSAL BONE TRUST. It was +heavyish, and the chair (which was of the revolving kind, and not the +modern type with one spindly leg and a stiffly sprung back, which +butts you in the lower spine and keeps you up to your job) wobbled +unsteadily, as she carefully lowered the box and balanced it on the +narrow top of the cupboard. She reached up again and took down TRUBODY +LTD., and placed it on BONE TRUST. She reached up for the third time +and seized FLATSBY & COATEN. As she stooped with it a step sounded in +the doorway and an astonished voice said behind her:</p> + +<p>"Are you looking for something, Miss Murchison?"</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison started so violently that the treacherous chair swung +through a quarter-turn, nearly shooting her into Mr. Pond's arms. She +came down awkwardly, still clasping the black deed-box.</p> + +<p>"How you startled me, Mr. Pond! I thought you had gone."</p> + +<p>"So I had," said Mr. Pond, "but when I got to the Underground I found +I had left a little parcel behind me. So tiresome—I had to come back +for it. Have you seen it any where? A little round jar, done up in +brown paper."</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison set FLATSBY & COATEN on the seat of the chair and gazed +about her.</p> + +<p>"It doesn't seem to be in my desk," said Mr. Pond. "Dear, dear, I +shall be so late. And I can't go without it, because it's wanted for +dinner—in fact, it's a little jar of caviare. We have guests tonight. +Now, where can I have put it?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you put it down when you washed your hands," suggested Miss +Murchison, helpfully.</p> + +<p>"Well now, perhaps I did." Mr. Pond fussed out and she heard the door +of the little lavabo in the passage open with a loud creak. It suddenly +occurred to her that she had left her handbag open on her desk. Suppose +the skeleton keys were visible. She darted towards the bag, just as Mr. +Pond returned in triumph.</p> + +<p>"Much obliged to you for your suggestion, Miss Murchison. It was there +all the time. Mrs. Pond would have been so much upset. Well, good-night +again." He turned towards the door. "Oh, by the way, were you looking +for something?"</p> + +<p>"I was looking for a mouse," replied Miss Murchison with a nervous +giggle. "I was just sitting working when I saw it run along the top of +the cupboard and—er—up the wall behind those boxes."</p> + +<p>"Dirty little beasts," said Mr. Pond, "the place is over-run with them. +I have often said we ought to have a cat here. No hope of catching it +now, though. You're not afraid of mice apparently?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Miss Murchison, holding her eyes, by a strenuous physical +effort, on Mr. Pond's face. If the skeleton keys were—as it seemed +to her they must be—indecently exposing their spidery anatomy on her +desk, it would be madness to look in that direction. "No—in your days +I suppose all women were afraid of mice."</p> + +<p>"Yes, they were," admitted Mr. Pond, "but then, of course, their +garments were longer."</p> + +<p>"Rotten for them," said Miss Murchison.</p> + +<p>"They were very graceful in appearance," said Mr. Pond. "Allow me to +assist you in replacing those boxes."</p> + +<p>"You will miss your train," said Miss Murchison.</p> + +<p>"I have missed it already," replied Mr. Pond, glancing at his watch. "I +shall have to take the 5.30." He politely picked up FLATSBY & COATEN +and climbed perilously with it in his hands to the unsteady seat of the +rotatory chair.</p> + +<p>"It's extremely kind of you," said Miss Murchison, watching him as he +restored it to its place.</p> + +<p>"Not at all. If you would kindly hand me up the others—"</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison handed him TRUBODY LTD., and UNIVERSAL BONE TRUST.</p> + +<p>"There!" said Mr. Pond, completing the pile and dusting his hands. "Now +let us hope the mouse has gone for good. I will speak to Mrs. Hodges +about procuring a suitable kitten."</p> + +<p>"That would be a very good idea," said Miss Murchison. "Good-night, Mr. +Pond."</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Miss Murchison."</p> + +<p>His footsteps pattered down the passage, sounded again, more loudly +beneath the window and for the second time died away in the direction +of Brownlow Street.</p> + +<p>"Whew!" said Miss Murchison. She darted to her desk. Her fears had +deceived her. The bag was shut and the keys invisible.</p> + +<p>She pulled her chair back to its place and sat down as a clash of +brooms and pails outside announced the arrival of Mrs. Hodges.</p> + +<p>"Ho!" said Mrs. Hodges, arrested on the threshold at sight of the lady +clerk industriously typing away, "beg your pardon, miss, but I didn't +know as how anybody was here."</p> + +<p>"Sorry, Mrs. Hodges, I've got a little bit of work to finish. But you +carry on. Don't mind me."</p> + +<p>"That's all right, miss," said Mrs. Hodges, "I can do Mr. Partridge's +office fust."</p> + +<p>"Well, if it's all the same to you," said Miss Murchison. "I've just +got to type a few pages and—er—make a précis—notes you know, of some +documents for Mr. Urquhart."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hodges nodded and vanished again. Presently a loud bumping noise +overhead proclaimed her presence in Mr. Partridge's office.</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison waited no longer. She dragged her chair to the shelves +again, took down swiftly, one after the other, BONE TRUST, TRUBODY +LTD., FLATSBY & COATEN, SIR J. PENKRIDGE and BODGERS. Her heart beat +heavily as at last she seized WRAYBURN and carried it across to her +desk.</p> + +<p>She opened her bag and shook out its contents. The bunch of picklocks +clattered upon the desk, mixed up with a handkerchief, a powder compact +and a pocket-comb. The thin and shining steel barrels seemed to burn +her fingers.</p> + +<p>As she picked the bunch over, looking for the most suitable implement, +there came a loud rap at the window.</p> + +<p>She wheeled round, terrified. There was nothing there. Thrusting the +picklocks into the pocket of her sports-coat, she tip-toed across and +looked out. In the lamplight she observed three small boys engaged in +climbing the iron railings which guard the sacred areas of Bedford Row. +The foremost child saw her and gesticulated, pointing downwards. Miss +Murchison waved her hand and cried, "Be off with you!"</p> + +<p>The child shouted something unintelligible and pointed again. Putting +two and two together, Miss Murchison deduced from the rap at the +window, the gesture and the cry, that a valuable ball had fallen into +the area. She shook her head with severity and returned to her task.</p> + +<p>But the incident had reminded her that the window had no blinds and +that, under the glare of the electric light, her movements were as +visible to anybody in the street as though she stood on a lighted +stage. There was no reason to suppose that Mr. Urquhart or Mr. Pond was +about, but her uneasy conscience vexed her. Moreover, if a policeman +should pass by, would he not be able to recognise picklocks a hundred +yards away? She peered out again. Was it her agitated fancy, or was +that a sturdy form in dark blue emerging from Hand Court?</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison fled in alarm and, snatching up the deed-box, carried it +bodily into Mr. Urquhart's private office.</p> + +<p>Here, at least, she could not be overlooked. If anybody came in—even +Mrs. Hodges—her presence might cause surprise but she would hear them +coming and be warned in advance.</p> + +<p>Her hands were cold and shaking, and she was not in the best condition +to profit by Blindfold Bill's instructions. She drew a few deep +breaths. She had been told not to hurry herself. Very well, then, she +would not.</p> + +<p>She chose a key with care and slipped it into the lock. For years, +as it seemed to her, she scratched about aimlessly, till at length +she felt the spring press against the hooked end. Pushing and lifting +steadily with one hand, she introduced her second key. She felt the +lever move—in another moment there was a sharp click and the lock was +open.</p> + +<p>There were not a great many papers in the box. The first document +was a long list of securities, endorsed "Securities deposited with +Lloyd's Bank." Then came the copies of some title-deeds, of which the +originals were similarly deposited. Then came a folder filled with +correspondence. Some of this consisted of letters from Mrs. Wrayburn +herself, the latest letter being dated five years previously. In +addition there were letters from tenants, bankers and stockbrokers, +with copies of the replies written from the office and signed by Norman +Urquhart.</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison hastened impatiently through all this. There was no +sign of a will or copy of a will—not even of the dubious draft that +the solicitor had shown to Wimsey. Two papers only now remained at the +bottom of the box. Miss Murchison picked up the first. It was a Power +of Attorney, dated January 1925, giving Norman Urquhart full powers to +act for Mrs. Wrayburn. The second was thicker and tied neatly with red +tape. Miss Murchison slipped this off and unfolded the document.</p> + +<p>It was a Deed of Trust, making over the whole of Mrs. Wrayburn's +property to Norman Urquhart, in trust for herself, and providing that +he should pay into her current account, from the estate, a certain +fixed annual sum for personal expenses. The deed was dated July 1920 +and attached to it was a letter, which Miss Murchison hastily read +through:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Appleford, Windle.<br> +15th May, 1920.</p> + +<p>My dear Norman,</p> + +<p>Thank you very much, my dear boy, for your birthday letter and +the pretty scarf. It is good of you to remember your old aunt so +faithfully.</p> + +<p>It has occurred to me that, now that I am over eighty years old, it +is time that I put my business into your hands entirely. You and your +father have managed very well for me all these years, and you have, +of course, always very properly consulted me before taking any step +with regard to investments. But I am getting such a <i>very old woman +now</i> that I am quite out of touch with the modern world, and I cannot +pretend that my opinions are of any real value. I am a <i>tired</i> old +woman, too, and though you always explain everything <i>most clearly</i>, I +find the <i>writing of letters a gêne</i> and a burden to me at my advanced +age.</p> + +<p>So I have determined to put my property in Trust with you for my +lifetime, so that you may have full power to handle everything +according to your own discretion, without having to consult me every +time. And also, though I am strong and healthy yet, I am glad to say, +and have my wits quite about me, still, that happy state of things +might alter at any time. I might become paralysed or feeble in my +head, or want to make some foolish use of my money, as silly old women +have done before now.</p> + +<p>So will you draw up a deed of this kind and bring it to me and I will +sign it. And at the same time I will give you instructions about my +will.</p> + +<p>Thanking you again for your good wishes,</p> + +<p class="ph2">Your affec. Great-Aunt,<br> +Rosanna Wrayburn.</p> +</div> + +<p>"Hurray!" said Miss Murchison. "There <i>was</i> a will, then! And this +Trust—that's probably important, too."</p> + +<p>She read the letter again, skimmed through the clauses of the Trust, +taking particular notice that Norman Urquhart was named as sole +Trustee, and finally made a mental note of some of the larger and +more important items in the list of securities. Then she replaced the +documents in their original order, re-locked the box—which yielded +to treatment like an angel—carried it out, replaced it, piled the +other boxes above it, and was back at her machine, just as Mrs. Hodges +re-entered the office.</p> + +<p>"Just finished, Mrs. Hodges," she called out cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"I wondered if yer would be," said Mrs. Hodges, "I didn't hear the +typewriter a-going."</p> + +<p>"I was making notes by hand," said Miss Murchison. She crumpled +together the spoiled front page of the affidavit and threw it into the +waste-paper basket together with the re-type which she had begun. From +her desk-drawer she produced a correctly typed first page, provided +beforehand for the purpose, added it to the bundle of script, put the +top copy and the required sets of flimsies into an envelope, sealed it, +addressed it to Messrs. Hanson & Hanson, put on her hat and coat and +went out, bidding a pleasant farewell to Mrs. Hodges at the door.</p> + +<p>A short walk brought her to Messrs. Hanson's office, where she +delivered the affidavit through the letter-box. Then, with a brisk step +and humming to herself, she made for the 'bus-stop at the junction of +Theobalds Road and Gray's Inn Road.</p> + +<p>"I think I deserve a little supper in Soho," said Miss Murchison.</p> + +<p>She was humming again as she walked from Cambridge Circus into Frith +Street. "What <i>is</i> this beastly tune?" she asked herself abruptly. A +little consideration reminded her that it was "Sweeping through the +gates, Sweeping through the gates...."</p> + +<p>"Bless me!" said Miss Murchison. "Going dotty, that's what I am."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</h2> +</div> + + +<p>Lord Peter congratulated Miss Murchison and gave her a rather special +lunch at Rules, where there is a particularly fine old Cognac for those +that appreciate such things. Indeed, Miss Murchison was a little late +in returning to Mr. Urquhart's office, and in her haste omitted to +hand back the skeleton keys. But when the wine is good and the company +agreeable one cannot always think of everything.</p> + +<p>Wimsey himself, by a great act of self-control, had returned to his +own flat to think, instead of bolting away to Holloway Gaol. Although +it was a work of charity and necessity to keep up the spirits of the +prisoner (it was in this way that he excused his almost daily visits) +he could not disguise from himself that it would be even more useful +and charitable to get her innocence proved. So far, he had not made +much real progress.</p> + +<p>The suicide theory had been looking very hopeful when Norman Urquhart +had produced the draft of the will; but his belief in that draft +had now been thoroughly undermined. There was still a faint hope of +retrieving the packet of white powder from the "Nine Rings," but as +the days passed remorselessly on, that hope diminished almost to +vanishing-point. It irked him to be taking no action in the matter—he +wanted to rush to the Gray's Inn Road, to cross-question, bully, bribe, +ransack every person and place in and about the "Rings" but he knew +that the police could do this better than he could.</p> + +<p>Why had Norman Urquhart tried to mislead him about the will? He could +so easily have refused all information. There must be some mystery +about it. But if Urquhart were not, in fact, the legatee, he was +playing rather a dangerous game. If the old lady died, and the will was +proved, the facts would probably be published—and she might die any +day.</p> + +<p>How easy it would be, he thought, regretfully, to hasten Mrs. +Wrayburn's death a trifle. She was ninety-three and very frail. An +over-dose of something—a shake—a slight shock, even—it did not do to +think after that fashion. He wondered idly who lived with the old woman +and looked after her....</p> + +<p>It was the 30th. of December, and he still had no plan. The stately +volumes on his shelves, rank after rank of Saint, historian, poet, +philosopher, mocked his impotence. All that wisdom and all that beauty, +and they could not show him how to save the woman he imperiously wanted +from a sordid death by hanging. And he had thought himself rather +clever at that kind of thing. The enormous and complicated imbecility +of things was all round him like a trap. He ground his teeth and +raged helplessly, striding about the suave, wealthy, futile room. +The great Venetian mirror over the fireplace showed him his own head +and shoulders. He saw a fair, foolish face, with straw-coloured hair +sleeked back; a monocle clinging incongruously under a ludicrously +twitching brow; a chin shaved to perfection, hairless, epicene; a +rather high collar, faultlessly starched, a tie elegantly knotted +and matching in colour the handkerchief which peeped coyly from the +breast-pocket of an expensive Savile-Row-tailored suit. He snatched +up a heavy bronze from the mantelpiece—a beautiful thing, even as he +snatched it, his fingers caressed the patina—and the impulse seized +him to smash the mirror and smash the face—to break out into great +animal howls and gestures.</p> + +<p>Silly! One could not do that. The inherited inhibitions of twenty +civilised centuries tied one hand and foot in bonds of ridicule. What +if he did smash the mirror? Nothing would happen. Bunter would come in, +unmoved and unsurprised, would sweep up the débris in a dust-pan, would +prescribe a hot bath and massage. And next day a new mirror would be +ordered, because people would come in and ask questions, and civilly +regret the accidental damage to the old one. And Harriet Vane would +still be hanged, just the same.</p> + +<p>Wimsey pulled himself together, called for his hat and coat, and went +away in a taxi to call on Miss Climpson.</p> + +<p>"I have a job," he said to her, more abruptly than was his wont, "which +I should like you to undertake yourself. I can't trust anybody else."</p> + +<p>"How <i>kind</i> of you to put it like that," said Miss Climpson.</p> + +<p>"The trouble is, I can't in the least tell you how to set about it. It +all depends on what you find when you get there. I want you to go to +Windle in Westmorland and get hold of an imbecile and paralysed old +lady called Mrs. Wrayburn, who lives at a house called Appleford. I +don't know who looks after her, or how you are to get into the house. +But you've got to do it, and you've got to find out where her will is +kept, and, if possible, see it."</p> + +<p>"Dear me!" said Miss Climpson.</p> + +<p>"And what's worse," said Wimsey, "you've only got about a week to do it +in."</p> + +<p>"That's a very short time," said Miss Climpson.</p> + +<p>"You see," said Wimsey, "unless we can give some very good reason for +delay, they're bound to take the Vane case almost first thing next +sessions. If I could persuade the lawyers for the defence that there +is the least chance of securing fresh evidence, they could apply for +a postponement. But at present I have nothing that could be called +evidence—only the vaguest possible hunch."</p> + +<p>"I see," said Miss Climpson. "Well, none of us can do more than our +best, and it is very necessary to have Faith. That moves mountains, we +are told."</p> + +<p>"Then for Heaven's sake lay in a good stock of it," said Wimsey, +gloomily, "because as far as I can see, this job is like shifting the +Himalayas and the Alps, with a spot of frosty Caucasus and a touch of +the Rockies thrown in."</p> + +<p>"You may count on me to do my poor best," replied Miss Climpson, "and +I will ask the dear vicar to say a Mass of special intention for one +engaged in a difficult undertaking. When would you like me to start?"</p> + +<p>"At once," said Wimsey. "I think you had better go just as your +ordinary self, and put up at the local hotel—no—a boarding-house, +there will be more opportunities for gossip. I don't know much about +Windle, except that there is a boot-factory there and rather a good +view, but it's not a large place, and I should think everybody would +know about Mrs. Wrayburn. She is very rich, and was notorious in her +time. The person you'll have to cotton on to is the female—there must +be one of some sort—who nurses and waits on Mrs. Wrayburn and is, +generally speaking, about her path and about her bed and all that. +When you find out her special weakness, drive a wedge into it like one +o'clock. Oh! by the way—it's quite possible the will isn't there at +all, but in the hands of a solicitor-fellow called Norman Urquhart who +hangs out in Bedford Row. If so, all you can do is to get the pump to +work and find out anything—anything at all—to his disadvantage. He's +Mrs. Wrayburn's great-nephew, and he goes to see her sometimes."</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson made a note of these instructions.</p> + +<p>"And now I'll tootle off and leave you to it," said Wimsey. "Draw on +the firm for any money you want. And if you need any special outfit, +send me a wire."</p> + +<p>On leaving Miss Climpson, Lord Peter Wimsey again found himself a prey +to Weltschmerz and self-pity. But it now took the form of a gentle, +pervading melancholy. Convinced of his own futility, he determined to +do what little good lay in his power before retiring to a monastery or +to the frozen wastes of the Antarctic. He taxied purposefully round to +Scotland Yard, and asked for Chief-Inspector Parker.</p> + +<p>Parker was in his office, reading a report which had just come in. He +greeted Wimsey with an expression which seemed more embarrassed than +delighted.</p> + +<p>"Have you come about that packet of powder?"</p> + +<p>"Not this time," said Wimsey, "I don't suppose you'll ever hear +anything more of that. No. It's—rather a more—er—delicate matter. +It's about my sister."</p> + +<p>Parker started and pushed the report to one side.</p> + +<p>"About Lady Mary?"</p> + +<p>"Er—yes. I understand she's been going about with you—er—dining—and +all that sort of thing, what?"</p> + +<p>"Lady Mary has honoured me—on one or two occasions—with her company," +said Parker. "I did not think—I did not know—that is, I understood—"</p> + +<p>"Ah! but <i>did</i> you understand, that's the point?" said Wimsey, +solemnly. "You see, Mary's a very nice-minded sort of girl, though I +say it, and—"</p> + +<p>"I assure you," said Parker, "that there is no need to tell me that. Do +you suppose that I should misinterpret her kindness? It is the custom +now-a-days for women of the highest character to dine unchaperoned with +their friends, and Lady Mary has—"</p> + +<p>"I'm not suggesting a chaperon," said Wimsey, "Mary wouldn't stick it +for one thing, and I think it's all bosh, anyhow. Still, bein' her +brother, and all that—it's Gerald's job really, of course, but Mary +and he don't altogether hit it off, you know, and she wouldn't be +likely to burble any secrets into his ear, especially as it would all +be handed on to Helen—what was I going to say? Oh, yes—as Mary's +brother, you know, I suppose it's my so to speak duty to push round and +drop the helpful word here and there."</p> + +<p>Parker jabbed the blotting-paper thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"Don't do that," said Wimsey, "it's bad for your pen. Take a pencil."</p> + +<p>"I suppose," said Parker, "I ought not to have presumed—"</p> + +<p>"What did you presume, old thing?" said Wimsey, his head cocked, +sparrow-fashion.</p> + +<p>"Nothing to which anybody could object," said Parker, hotly. "What are +you thinking of, Wimsey? I quite see that it is unsuitable, from your +point of view, that Lady Mary Wimsey should dine in public restaurants +with a policeman, but if you imagine I have ever said a word to her +that could not be said with the greatest propriety—"</p> + +<p>"—in the presence of her mother, you wrong the purest and sweetest +woman that ever lived, and insult your friend," interrupted Peter, +snatching the words from his mouth and rattling them to a glib +conclusion. "What a perfect Victorian you are, Charles. I should like +to keep you in a glass case. Of course you haven't said a word. What I +want to know is, why?"</p> + +<p>Parker stared at him.</p> + +<p>"For the last five years or so," said Wimsey, "you have been looking +like a demented sheep at my sister, and starting like a rabbit whenever +her name is mentioned. What do you mean by it? It is not ornamental. +It is not exhilarating. You unnerve the poor girl. You give me a poor +idea of your guts, if you will pardon the expression. A man doesn't +like to see a man go all wobbly about his sister—at least, not with +such a prolonged wobble. It's unsightly. It's irritating. Why not slap +the manly thorax and say, 'Peter, my dear old mangel-wurzel, I have +decided to dig myself into the old family trench and be a brother to +you'? What's stopping you? Is it Gerald? He's an ass, I know, but he's +not a bad old stick, really. Is it Helen? She's a bit of a wart, but +you needn't see much of her. Is it me? Because, if so, I'm thinking of +becoming a hermit—there was a Peter the Hermit, wasn't there?—So I +shouldn't be in your way. Cough up the difficulty, old thing, and we +will have it removed in a plain van. Now, then!"</p> + +<p>"Do you—are you asking me—?"</p> + +<p>"I'm asking you your intentions, damn it!" said Wimsey, "and if that's +not Victorian enough, I don't know what is. I quite understand your +having given Mary time to recover from that unfortunate affair with +Cathcart and the Goyles fellow, but, dash it all, my dear man, one can +over-do the delicacy business. You can't expect a girl to stand on and +off for ever, can you? Are you waiting for Leap Year, or what?"</p> + +<p>"Look here, Peter, don't be a damned fool. How can I ask your sister to +marry me?"</p> + +<p>"<i>How</i> you do it is your affair. You might say: 'What about a spot of +matrimony, old dear?' That's up-to-date, and plain and unmistakable. Or +you could go down on one knee and say, 'Will you honour me with your +hand and heart?' which is pretty and old-fashioned and has the merit of +originality in these times. Or you could write, or wire, or telephone. +But I leave that to your own individual fancy."</p> + +<p>"You're not serious."</p> + +<p>"Oh, God! Shall I ever live down this disastrous reputation for +tom-foolery? You're making Mary damned unhappy, Charles, and I wish +you'd marry her and have done with it."</p> + +<p>"Making her unhappy?" said Parker, almost in a shout, +"me—her—unhappy?"</p> + +<p>Wimsey tapped his forehead significantly.</p> + +<p>"Wood—solid wood! But the last blow seems to have penetrated. Yes, +you—her—unhappy—do you get it now?"</p> + +<p>"Peter—if I really thought that—"</p> + +<p>"Now don't go off the deep end," said Wimsey, "it's wasted on me. Keep +it for Mary. I've done my brotherly duty and there's an end of it. Calm +yourself. Return to your reports—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, lord, yes," said Parker. "Before we go any farther, I've got a +report for you."</p> + +<p>"You have? Why didn't you say so at first."</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't let me."</p> + +<p>"Well, what is it?"</p> + +<p>"We've found the packet."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"We've found the packet."</p> + +<p>"Actually found it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. One of the barmen—"</p> + +<p>"Never mind the barmen. You're sure it's the right packet?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes; we've identified it."</p> + +<p>"Get on. Have you analysed it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, we've analysed it."</p> + +<p>"Well, what is it?"</p> + +<p>Parker looked at him with the eyes of one who breaks bad news, and +said, reluctantly:</p> + +<p>"Bicarbonate of soda."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</h2> +</div> + + +<p>Mr. Crofts, excusably enough, said, "I told you so"; Sir Impey Biggs +observed curtly, "Very unfortunate."</p> + +<p>To chronicle Lord Peter Wimsey's daily life during the ensuing week +would be neither kind nor edifying. An enforced inactivity will +produce irritable symptoms in the best of men. Nor did the imbecile +happiness of Chief-Inspector Parker and Lady Mary Wimsey tend to soothe +him, accompanied as it was by tedious demonstrations of affection +for himself. Like the man in Max Beerbohm's story, Wimsey "hated to +be touching." He was only moderately cheered by hearing from the +industrious Freddy Arbuthnot that Mr. Norman Urquhart was found to be +more or less deeply involved in the disasters of the Megatherium Trust.</p> + +<p>Miss Kitty Climpson, on the other hand, was living in what she herself +liked to call a "whirl of activity." A letter, written the second day +after her arrival in Windle, furnishes us with a wealth of particulars.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Hillside View,<br> +Windle, Westmorland.</p> + +<p>1st Jan. 1930.</p> + +<p>My dear Lord Peter,</p> + +<p>I feel sure you will be anxious to hear, at the <i>earliest possible</i> +moment <i>how</i> things are <i>going</i>, and though I have only been here +<i>one</i> day, I really think I have <i>not</i> done so <i>badly</i>, all things +considered!</p> + +<p>My train got in quite late on Monday night, after a <i>most dreary</i> +journey, with a <i>lugubrious</i> wait at <i>Preston</i>, though thanks to your +kindness in insisting that I should travel <i>First-class</i>, I was not +really at all tired! Nobody can realise what a <i>great</i> difference +these extra comforts make, especially when one is <i>getting on</i> in +years, and after the <i>uncomfortable</i> travelling which I had to +endure in my days of poverty, I feel that I am living in almost +<i>sinful</i> luxury! The carriage was <i>well</i> heated—indeed, <i>too much</i> +so and I should have liked the window down, but that there was a +<i>very fat</i> business man, <i>muffled</i> up to the eyes in <i>coats</i> and +<i>woolly waistcoats</i> who <i>strongly</i> objected to fresh air! Men are +such HOT-HOUSE PLANTS now-a-days, are they not, quite unlike my dear +father, who would never permit a <i>fire</i> in the house <i>before</i> November +the 1st, or <i>after</i> March 31st even though the thermometer was at +<i>freezing-point</i>!</p> + +<p>I had <i>no</i> difficulty in getting a comfortable room at the Station +Hotel, <i>late</i> as it was. In the old days, an <i>unmarried</i> woman +arriving <i>alone</i> at <i>midnight</i> with a <i>suitcase</i> would hardly have +been considered <i>respectable</i>—what a wonderful difference one finds +today! I am <i>grateful</i> to have lived to see such changes, because +whatever old-fashioned people may say about the greater <i>decorum</i> and +<i>modesty</i> of women in Queen Victoria's time, those who can remember +the old conditions know how <i>difficult</i> and <i>humiliating</i> they were!</p> + +<p>Yesterday morning, of course, my <i>first</i> object was to find a +<i>suitable boarding-house</i>, in accordance with your instructions, and I +was <i>fortunate</i> enough to hit upon this house at the <i>second</i> attempt. +It is very well run and <i>refined</i>, and there are three <i>elderly +ladies</i> who are <i>permanent</i> boarders here, and are <i>well up</i> in all +the GOSSIP of the town, so that nothing could be more <i>advantageous</i> +for our purpose!!</p> + +<p>As soon as I had engaged my room, I went out for a little <i>voyage of +discovery</i>. I found a very helpful <i>policeman</i> in the High Street, +and asked him where to find Mrs. Wrayburn's house. He knew it quite +well, and told me to take the <i>omnibus</i> and it would be a penny +ride to the "Fisherman's Arms" and then about 5 minutes' walk. So I +followed his directions, and the 'bus took me right into the country +to a <i>cross-roads</i> with the "Fisherman's Arms" at the corner. The +conductor was most polite and helpful and showed me the way, so I had +<i>no difficulty</i> in finding the house.</p> + +<p>It is a <i>beautiful old place</i>, standing in its own grounds—quite a +<i>big</i> house built in the <i>eighteenth century</i>, with an <i>Italian</i> porch +and a lovely green lawn with a cedar-tree and formal flower-beds, and +in summer must be really a <i>garden of Eden</i>. I looked at it from +the road for a little time—I did not think this would be at all +<i>peculiar</i> behaviour, if anybody saw me, because <i>anybody</i> might be +interested in such a fine old place. Most of the <i>blinds</i> were down, +as though the greater part of the house were <i>uninhabited</i>, and I +could not see any <i>gardener</i> or anybody about—I suppose there is not +very much to be done in the garden this time of the year. One of the +<i>chimneys</i> was smoking, however, so there were <i>some</i> signs of life +about the place.</p> + +<p>I took a little <i>walk</i> down the road and then turned back and passed +the house again, and this time I saw a servant just passing round the +corner of the house, but of course she was <i>too far off</i> for me to +speak to. So I took the omnibus back again and had lunch at Hillside +View, so as to make acquaintance with my fellow-boarders.</p> + +<p>Naturally I did not want to seem <i>too eager</i> all at once, so I said +nothing about Mrs. Wrayburn's house <i>at first</i>, but just talked +<i>generally</i> about Windle. I had some difficulty in parrying the +<i>questions</i> of the good ladies, who <i>wondered</i> very much <i>why</i> a +stranger had come to Windle at this time of year, but without telling +many actual <i>untruths</i> I think I left them with the <i>impression</i> +that I had come into a little fortune (!) and was visiting the Lake +District to find a suitable spot in which to settle next <i>summer</i>! +I talked about <i>sketching</i>—as girls we were <i>all</i> brought up to +dabble a little in water-colours, so that I was able to display quite +sufficient <i>technical knowledge to satisfy them</i>!</p> + +<p>That gave me quite a <i>good</i> opportunity to ask about the <i>house</i>!! +Such a <i>beautiful</i> old place, I said, and did anybody live there? (Of +<i>course</i> I did not blurt this out <i>all at once</i>—I waited till they +had told me of the many <i>quaint spots</i> in the district that would +interest an artist!) Mrs. Pegler, a very <i>stout</i>, PUSSY old lady, with +a LONG TONGUE (!) was able to tell me <i>all</i> about it. My dear Lord +Peter, what I do <i>not</i> know now about the <i>abandoned wickedness</i> of +Mrs. Wrayburn's early life is really NOT WORTH KNOWING!! But what was +<i>more to the point</i> is that she told me the <i>name of</i> Mrs. Wrayburn's +<i>nurse-companion</i>. She is a MISS BOOTH, a retired nurse, about <i>sixty</i> +years old, and she lives <i>all alone</i> in the house with Mrs. Wrayburn, +except for the <i>servants</i>, and a <i>housekeeper</i>. When I heard that +Mrs. Wrayburn was so <i>old</i>, and <i>paralysed</i> and <i>frail</i>, I said was it +not very <i>dangerous</i> that Miss Booth should be the only attendant, but +Mrs. Pegler said the housekeeper was a <i>most trustworthy</i> woman who +had been with Mrs. Wrayburn for many years, and was <i>quite</i> capable of +looking after her any time when Miss Booth was out. So it appears that +Miss Booth does go out sometimes! Nobody in this house seems to <i>know</i> +her <i>personally</i>, but they say she is often to be seen in the town in +<i>nurse's uniform</i>. I managed to extract quite a good description of +her, so if I should happen to meet her, I daresay I shall be <i>smart</i> +enough to <i>recognise</i> her!</p> + +<p>That is really <i>all</i> I have been able to discover in <i>one</i> day. I hope +you will not be <i>too</i> disappointed, but I was obliged to listen to a +terrible amount of <i>local history</i> of one kind and another, and of +course I could not FORCE the conversation round to Mrs. Wrayburn in +any suspicious way.</p> + +<p>I will let you know as <i>soon</i> as I get the <i>least bit</i> more +information.</p> + +<p class="ph2">Most sincerely yours,<br> +Katharine Alexandra Climpson.</p> +</div> + +<p>Miss Climpson finished her letter in the privacy of her bedroom, and +secured it carefully in her capacious handbag before going downstairs. +A long experience of boarding-house life warned her that to display +openly an envelope addressed even to a minor member of the nobility +would be to court a quite unnecessary curiosity. True, it would +establish her status, but at that moment Miss Climpson hardly wished +to move in the limelight. She crept quietly out at the hall door, and +turned her steps towards the centre of the town.</p> + +<p>On the previous day, she had marked down one principal tea-shop, two +rising and competitive tea-shops, one slightly passé and declining +tea-shop, a Lyons, and four obscure and, on the whole, negligible +tea-shops which combined the service of refreshments with a trade in +sweets. It was now half-past ten. In the next hour and a half she +could, with a little exertion, pass in review all that part of the +Windle population which indulged in morning coffee.</p> + +<p>She posted her letter and then debated with herself where to begin. On +the whole, she inclined to leave the Lyons for another day. It was an +ordinary plain Lyons, without orchestra or soda-fountain. She thought +that its clientèle would be chiefly housewives and clerks. Of the other +four, the most likely was, perhaps, the "Central." It was fairly large, +well-lighted and cheerful and strains of music issued from its doors. +Nurses usually like the large, well-lighted and melodious. But the +"Central" had one drawback. Anyone coming from the direction of Mrs. +Wrayburn's house would have to pass all the others to get to it. This +fact unfitted it for an observation post. From this point of view, the +advantage lay with "Ye Cosye Corner," which commanded the 'bus-stop. +Accordingly, Miss Climpson decided to start her campaign from that +spot. She selected a table in the window, ordered a cup of coffee and a +plate of digestive biscuits and entered upon her vigil.</p> + +<p>After half an hour, during which no woman in nurse's costume had been +sighted, she ordered another cup of coffee and some pastries. A number +of people—mostly women—dropped in, but none of them could by any +possibility be identified with Miss Booth. At half-past eleven, Miss +Climpson felt to stay any longer would be conspicuous and might annoy +the management. She paid her bill and departed.</p> + +<p>The "Central" had rather more people in it than "Ye Cosye Corner," +and was in some ways an improvement, having comfortable wicker chairs +instead of fumed oak settles, and brisk waitresses instead of languid +semi-gentlewomen in art-linen. Miss Climpson ordered another cup of +coffee and a roll and butter. There was no window-table vacant, but she +found one close to the orchestra from which she could survey the whole +room. A fluttering dark-blue veil at the door made her heart beat, but +it proved to belong to a lusty young person with two youngsters and +a perambulator, and hope withdrew once more. By twelve o'clock, Miss +Climpson decided that she had drawn blank at the "Central."</p> + +<p>Her last visit was to the "Oriental"—an establishment singularly +ill-adapted for espionage. It consisted of three very small rooms of +irregular shape, dimly lit by forty-watt bulbs in Japanese shades, and +further shrouded by bead curtains and draperies. Miss Climpson, in her +inquisitive way, wandered into all its nooks and corners, disturbing +several courting couples, before returning to a table near the door +and sitting down to consume her fourth cup of coffee. Half-past twelve +came, but no Miss Booth. "She can't come now," thought Miss Climpson, +"she will have to get back and give her patient lunch."</p> + +<p>She returned to Hillside View with but little appetite for the joint of +roast mutton.</p> + +<p>At half-past three she sallied out again, to indulge in an orgy of +teas. This time she included the Lyons and the fourth tea-shop, +beginning at the far end of the town and working her way back to the +'bus-stop. It was while she was struggling with her fifth meal, in the +window of "Ye Cosye Corner," that a hurrying figure on the pavement +caught her eye. The winter evening had closed in, and the street-lights +were not very brilliant, but she distinctly saw a stoutish middle-aged +nurse in a black veil and grey cloak pass along on the nearer pavement. +By craning her neck, she could see her make a brisk spurt, scramble +on the 'bus at the corner and disappear in the direction of the +"Fisherman's Arms."</p> + +<p>"How vexatious!" said Miss Climpson, as the vehicle disappeared. "I +must have just missed her somewhere. Or perhaps she was having tea in a +private house. Well, I'm afraid this is a blank day. And I do feel so +<i>full</i> of tea!"</p> + +<p>It was fortunate that Miss Climpson had been blest by Heaven with +a sound digestion, for the next morning saw a repetition of the +performance. It was possible, of course, that Miss Booth only went out +two or three times a week, or that she only went out in the afternoon, +but Miss Climpson was taking no chances. She had at least achieved the +certainty that the 'bus-stop was the place to watch. This time she took +up her post at "Ye Cosye Corner" at 11 o'clock and waited till twelve. +Nothing happened and she went home.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon she was there again at three. By this time the +waitress had got to know her, and betrayed a certain amused and +tolerant interest in her comings and goings. Miss Climpson explained +that she liked so much to watch the people pass, and spoke a few words +in praise of the Café and its service. She admired a quaint old inn +on the opposite side of the street, and said she thought of making a +sketch of it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said the girl, "there's a many artists comes here for that."</p> + +<p>This gave Miss Climpson a bright idea, and the next morning she brought +a pencil and sketch-book with her.</p> + +<p>By the extraordinary perversity of things in general, she had no sooner +ordered her coffee, opened the sketch-book and started to outline the +gables of the inn, than a 'bus drew up, and out of it stepped the +stout nurse in the black and grey uniform. She did not enter "Ye Cosye +Corner," but marched on at a brisk pace down the opposite side of the +street, her veil flapping like a flag.</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson uttered a sharp exclamation of annoyance, which drew the +waitress's attention.</p> + +<p>"How provoking!" said Miss Climpson. "I have left my rubber behind. I +must just run out and buy one."</p> + +<p>She dropped the sketch-book on the table and made for the door.</p> + +<p>"I'll cover your coffee up for you, miss," said the girl, helpfully. +"Mr. Bulteel's, down near the 'Bear,' is the best stationer's."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, thank you," said Miss Climpson, and darted out.</p> + +<p>The black veil was still flapping in the distance. Miss Climpson +pursued breathlessly, keeping to the near side of the road. The veil +dived into a chemist's shop. Miss Climpson crossed the road a little +behind it and stared into a window full of baby-linen. The veil came +out, fluttered undecidedly on the pavement, turned, passed Miss +Climpson and went into a boot-shop.</p> + +<p>"If it's shoe-laces, it'll be quick," thought Miss Climpson, "but if +it's trying-on it may be all morning." She walked slowly past the door. +By good luck a customer was just coming out, and, peering past him, +Miss Climpson just caught a glimpse of the black veil vanishing into +the back premises. She pushed the door boldly open. There was a counter +for sundries in the front of the shop, and the doorway through which +the nurse had vanished was labelled "Ladies' Department."</p> + +<p>While buying a pair of brown silk laces, Miss Climpson debated with +herself. Should she follow and seize this opportunity? Trying on +shoes is usually a lengthy business. The subject is marooned for long +periods in a chair, while the assistant climbs ladders and collects +piles of cardboard boxes. It is also comparatively easy to enter into +conversation with a person who is trying on shoes. But there is a snag +in it. To give colour to your presence in the Fitting department, you +must yourself try on shoes. What happens? The assistant first disables +you by snatching off your right-hand shoe, and then disappears. And +supposing, meanwhile, your quarry completes her purchase and walks +out? Are you to follow, hopping madly on one foot? Are you to arouse +suspicion by hurriedly replacing your own footgear and rushing out with +laces flying and an unconvincing murmur about a forgotten engagement? +Still worse, suppose you are in an amphibious condition, wearing one +shoe of your own and one of the establishment's? What impression will +you make by suddenly bolting with goods to which you are not entitled? +Will not the pursuer very quickly become the pursued?</p> + +<p>Having weighed this problem in her mind, Miss Climpson paid for her +shoe-laces and retired. She had already bilked a tea-shop, and one +misdemeanour in a morning was about as much as she could hope to get +away with.</p> + +<p>The male detective, particularly when dressed as a workman, an +errand-boy or a telegraph-messenger, is favourably placed for +"shadowing." He can loaf without attracting attention. The female +detective must not loaf. On the other hand, she can stare into +shop-windows for ever. Miss Climpson selected a hat-shop. She examined +all the hats in both windows attentively, coming back to gaze in a +purposeful manner at an extremely elegant model with an eye-veil and +a pair of excrescences like rabbits'-ears. Just at the moment when +any observer might have thought that she had at last made up her mind +to go in and ask the price, the nurse came out of the boot-shop. Miss +Climpson shook her head regretfully at the rabbits'-ears, darted back +to the other window, looked, hovered, hesitated—and tore herself away.</p> + +<p>The nurse was now about thirty yards ahead, moving well, with the air +of a horse that sights his stable. She crossed the street again, looked +into a window piled with coloured wools, thought better of it, passed +on, and turned in at the door of the Oriental Café.</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson was in the position of one who, after prolonged pursuit, +has clapped a tumbler over a moth. For the moment the creature is safe +and the pursuer takes breath. The problem now is to extract the moth +without damage.</p> + +<p>It is easy, of course, to follow a person into a café and sit down at +her table, if there is room there. But she may not welcome you. She +may feel it perverse in you to thrust yourself upon her when other +tables are standing empty. It is better to offer some excuse, such +as restoring a dropped handkerchief or drawing attention to an open +handbag. If the person will not provide you with an excuse, the next +best thing is to manufacture one.</p> + +<p>The stationer's shop was only a few doors off. Miss Climpson went in +and purchased an indiarubber, three picture post-cards, a BB pencil and +a calendar, and waited while they were made up into a parcel. Then she +slowly made her way across the street and turned into the "Oriental."</p> + +<p>In the first room she found two women and a small boy occupying one +recess, an aged gentleman drinking milk in another, and a couple of +girls consuming coffee and cakes in a third.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," said Miss Climpson to the two women, "but does this parcel +belong to you? I picked it up just outside the door."</p> + +<p>The elder woman, who had evidently been shopping, hastily passed in +review a quantity of miscellaneous packages, pinching each one by way +of refreshing her memory as to the contents.</p> + +<p>"I don't think it's mine, but really I can't say for certain. Let me +see. That's eggs and that's bacon and—what's this, Gertie? Is that +the mouse-trap? No, wait a minute, that's cough-mixture, that is—and +that's Aunt Edith's cork soles, and that's Nugget—no, bloater paste, +this here's the Nugget—why, bless my soul, I believe I <i>have</i> been and +gone and dropped the mouse-trap—but that don't look like it to me."</p> + +<p>"No, Mother," said the younger woman, "don't you remember, they were +sending round the mouse-trap with the bath."</p> + +<p>"Of course, so they were. Well, that accounts for that. The mouse-trap +and the two frying-pans, they was all to go with the bath, and that's +all except the soap, which you've got, Gertie. No, thank you very much, +all the same, but it isn't ours; somebody else must have dropped it."</p> + +<p>The old gentleman repudiated it firmly, but politely, and the two +girls merely giggled at it. Miss Climpson passed on. Two young women +with their attendant young men duly thanked her in the second room, but +said the parcel was not theirs.</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson passed into the third room. In one corner was a rather +talkative party of people with an Airedale, and at the back, in the +most obscure and retired of all the Oriental nooks and corners, sat the +nurse, reading a book.</p> + +<p>The talkative party had nothing to say to the parcel, and Miss +Climpson, with her heart beating fast, bore down upon the nurse.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," she said, smiling graciously, "but I think this little +parcel must be yours. I picked it up just in the doorway and I've asked +all the other people in the café."</p> + +<p>The nurse looked up. She was a grey-haired, elderly woman, with those +curious large blue eyes which disconcert the beholder by their intense +gaze, and are usually an index of some emotional instability. She +smiled at Miss Climpson and said pleasantly:</p> + +<p>"No, no, it isn't mine. So kind of you. But I have all my parcels here."</p> + +<p>She vaguely indicated the cushioned seat which ran round three sides of +the alcove, and Miss Climpson, accepting the gesture as an invitation, +promptly sat down.</p> + +<p>"How very odd," said Miss Climpson, "I made sure someone must have +dropped it coming in here. I wonder what I had better do with it." She +pinched it gently. "I shouldn't think it was valuable, but one never +knows. I suppose I ought to take it to the police-station."</p> + +<p>"You could hand it to the cashier," suggested the nurse, "in case the +owner came back here to claim it."</p> + +<p>"Well now, so I could," cried Miss Climpson. "How clever of you to +think of it. Of course, yes, that would be the best way. You must think +me very foolish, but the idea never occurred to me. I'm not a very +practical person, I'm afraid, but I do so admire the people who are. +I should never do to take up <i>your</i> profession, should I? Any little +emergency leaves me <i>quite</i> bewildered."</p> + +<p>The nurse smiled again.</p> + +<p>"It is largely a question of training," she said. "And of +<i>self</i>-training, too, of course. All these little weaknesses can be +cured by placing the mind under a Higher Control—don't you believe +that?"</p> + +<p>Her eyes rested hypnotically upon Miss Climpson's.</p> + +<p>"I suppose that is true."</p> + +<p>"It is such a mistake," pursued the nurse, closing her book and laying +it down on the table, "to imagine that anything in the mental sphere +is large or small. Our least thoughts and actions are equally directed +by the higher centres of spiritual power, if we can bring ourselves to +believe it."</p> + +<p>A waitress arrived to take Miss Climpson's order.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear! I seem to have intruded myself upon your table...."</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't get up," said the nurse.</p> + +<p>"Are you sure? Really? because I don't want to interrupt you—"</p> + +<p>"Not at all. I live a very solitary life, and I am always glad to find +a friend to talk to."</p> + +<p>"How nice of you. I'll have scones and butter, please, and a pot of +tea. This is such a nice little café, don't you think?—so quiet and +peaceful. If only those people wouldn't make such a noise with that dog +of theirs. I don't like those great big animals, and I think they're +quite dangerous, don't you?"</p> + +<p>The reply was lost on Miss Climpson, for she had suddenly seen the +title of the book on the table, and the Devil, or a Ministering +Angel (she was not quite sure which) was, so to speak, handing her a +fullblown temptation on a silver salver. The book was published by the +Spiritualist Press and was called "<i>Can the Dead Speak?</i>"</p> + +<p>In a single moment of illumination, Miss Climpson saw her plan complete +and perfect in every detail. It involved a course of deception from +which her conscience shrank appalled, but it was certain. She wrestled +with the demon. Even in a righteous cause, could anything so wicked be +justified?</p> + +<p>She breathed what she thought was a prayer for guidance, but the only +answer was a small whisper in her ear, "Oh, jolly good work, Miss +Climpson!" and the voice was the voice of Peter Wimsey.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me," said Miss Climpson, "but I see you are a student of +spiritualism. How interesting that is!"</p> + +<p>If there was one subject in the world about which Miss Climpson might +claim to know something, it was Spiritualism. It is a flower which +flourishes bravely in a boarding-house atmosphere. Time and again, +Miss Climpson had listened while the apparatus of planes and controls, +correspondences and veridical communications, astral bodies, auras +and ectoplastic materialisations was displayed before her protesting +intelligence. That to the Church it was a forbidden subject she knew +well enough, but she had been paid companion to so many old ladies and +had been forced so many times to bow down in the House of Rimmon.</p> + +<p>And then there had been the quaint little man from the Psychical +Research Society. He had stayed a fortnight in the same private hotel +with her at Bournemouth. He was skilled in the investigation of haunted +houses and the detection of poltergeists. He had rather liked Miss +Climpson, and she had passed several interesting evenings hearing about +the tricks of mediums. Under his guidance she had learnt to turn tables +and produce explosive cracking noises; she knew how to examine a pair +of sealed slates for the marks of the wedges which let the chalk go +in on a long black wire to write spirit-passages. She had seen the +ingenious rubber gloves which leave the impression of spirit hands +in a bucket of paraffin-wax, and which, when deflated, can be drawn +delicately from the hardened wax through a hole narrower than a child's +wrist. She even knew theoretically, though she had never tried it, +how to hold her hands to be tied behind her back so as to force that +first deceptive knot which makes all subsequent knots useless, and how +to flit about the room banging tambourines in the twilight in spite +of having been tied up in a black cabinet with both fists filled with +flour. Miss Climpson had wondered greatly at the folly and wickedness +of mankind.</p> + +<p>The nurse went on talking, and Miss Climpson answered mechanically.</p> + +<p>"She's only a beginner," said Miss Climpson to herself. "She's reading +a text-book.... And she is quite uncritical.... Surely she knows that +that woman was exposed long ago.... People like her shouldn't be +allowed out alone—they're living incitements to fraud.... I don't +know this Mrs. Craig she is talking about, but I should say she was as +twisty as a corkscrew.... I must avoid Mrs. Craig, she probably knows +too much ... if the poor deluded creature will swallow that, she'll +swallow anything."</p> + +<p>"It does seem <i>most</i> wonderful, doesn't it?" said Miss Climpson, aloud. +"But isn't it a wee bit <i>dangerous</i>? I've been told I'm sensitive +myself, but I have never dared to <i>try</i>. Is it <i>wise</i> to open one's +mind to these supernatural influences?"</p> + +<p>"It's not dangerous if you know the right way," said the nurse. "One +must learn to build up a shell of pure thoughts about the soul, so that +no evil influences can enter it. I have had the most marvellous talks +with the dear ones who have passed over...."</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson refilled the tea-pot and sent the waitress for a plate of +sugary cakes.</p> + +<p>"... unfortunately I am not mediumistic myself—not yet, that is. I +can't get anything when I'm alone. Mrs. Craig says that it will come +by practice and concentration. Last night I was trying with the Ouija +board, but it would only write spirals."</p> + +<p>"Your conscious mind is too active, I expect," said Miss Climpson.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I daresay that is it. Mrs. Craig says that I am wonderfully +sympathetic. We get the most wonderful results when we sit together. +Unfortunately she is abroad just now."</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson's heart gave a great leap, so that she nearly spilled her +tea.</p> + +<p>"You yourself are a medium, then?" went on the nurse.</p> + +<p>"I have been told so," said Miss Climpson, guardedly.</p> + +<p>"I wonder," said the nurse, "whether if we sat together—"</p> + +<p>She looked hungrily at Miss Climpson.</p> + +<p>"I don't really like—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, do! You are such a sympathetic person. I'm sure we should get good +results. And the spirits are so pathetically anxious to communicate. +Of course, I wouldn't like to try unless I was sure of the person. +There are so many fraudulent mediums about"—("So you do know that +much!" thought Miss Climpson)—"but with somebody like yourself one is +absolutely safe. You would find it made such a difference in your life. +I used to be so unhappy over all the pain and misery in the world—we +see so much of it, you know—till I realised the certainty of survival +and how all our trials are merely sent to fit us for life on a higher +plane."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Miss Climpson, slowly, "I'm willing just to try. But I +can't say I really <i>believe</i> in it, you know."</p> + +<p>"You would—you would."</p> + +<p>"Of course, I've seen one or two strange things happen—things that +couldn't be tricks, because I knew the people—and which I couldn't +explain—"</p> + +<p>"Come up and see me this evening, now do!" said the nurse, +persuasively. "We'll just have one quiet sitting and then we shall see +whether you really are a medium. I've no doubt you are."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Miss Climpson. "What is your name, by the way?"</p> + +<p>"Caroline Booth—Miss Caroline Booth. I'm nurse to an old, paralysed +lady in the big house along the Kendal Road."</p> + +<p>"Thank goodness for that, anyway," thought Miss Climpson. Aloud she +said:</p> + +<p>"And my name is Climpson; I think I've got a card somewhere. No—I've +left it behind. But I'm staying at Hillside View. How do I get to you?"</p> + +<p>Miss Booth mentioned the address and the time of the 'bus, and added an +invitation to supper, which was accepted. Miss Climpson went home and +wrote a hurried note:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>My dear Lord Peter—</p> + +<p>I am sure you have been <i>wondering</i> what has <i>happened</i> to me. But <i>at +last</i> I have NEWS! I have STORMED THE CITADEL!!! I am going to the +<i>house tonight</i> and you may expect GREAT THINGS!!!</p> + +<p>In <i>haste</i>,</p> + +<p class="ph2">Yours very sincerely,<br> +Katharine A. Climpson.</p> +</div> + +<p>Miss Climpson went out into the town again after lunch. First, being an +honest woman, she retrieved her sketch-book from "Ye Cosye Corner" and +paid her bill, explaining that she had run across a friend that morning +and been detained. She then visited a number of shops. Eventually she +selected a small metal soap-box which suited her requirements. Its +sides were slightly convex, and when closed and pinched slightly, +it sprang back with a hearty cracking noise. This, with a little +contrivance and some powerful sticking-plaster, she fixed to a strong +elastic garter. When clasped about Miss Climpson's bony knee and +squeezed sharply against the other knee, the box emitted a series of +cracks so satisfying as to convince the most sceptical. Miss Climpson, +seated before the looking-glass, indulged in an hour's practice before +tea, till the crack could be produced with the minimum of physical jerk.</p> + +<p>Another purchase was a length of stiff black-bound wire, such as is +used for making hat-brims. Used double, neatly bent to a double angle +and strapped to the wrist, this contrivance was sufficient to rock a +light table. The weight of a heavy table would be too much for it, she +feared, but she had had no time to order blacksmith's work. She could +try, anyway. She hunted out a black velvet rest-gown with long, wide +sleeves, and satisfied herself that the wires could be sufficiently +hidden.</p> + +<p>At six o'clock, she put on this garment, fastened the soap-box to her +leg—turning the box outward, lest untimely cracks should startle her +fellow-travellers, muffled herself in a heavy rain-cloak of Inverness +cut, took hat and umbrella and started on her way to steal Mrs. +Wrayburn's will.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</h2> +</div> + + +<p>Supper was over. It had been served in a beautiful old panelled room +with an Adam ceiling and fireplace, and the food had been good. Miss +Climpson felt braced and ready.</p> + +<p>"We'll sit in my own room, shall we?" said Miss Booth. "It's the only +really comfortable place. Most of this house is shut up, of course. If +you'll excuse me, dear, I will just run up and give Mrs. Wrayburn her +supper and make her comfortable, poor thing, and then we can begin. I +shan't be more than half an hour or so."</p> + +<p>"She's quite helpless, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, quite."</p> + +<p>"Can she speak?"</p> + +<p>"Not to say speak. She mumbles sometimes, but one can't make anything +of it. It's sad, isn't it, and her so rich. It will be a happy day for +her when she passes over."</p> + +<p>"Poor soul!" said Miss Climpson.</p> + +<p>Her hostess led her into a small, gaily-furnished sitting-room and left +her there among the cretonne covers and the ornaments. Miss Climpson +ran her eyes rapidly over the books, which were mostly novels, with the +exception of some standard works on Spiritualism, and then turned her +attention to the mantelpiece. It was crowded with photographs, as the +mantelpieces of nurses usually are. Conspicuous among hospital groups +and portraits inscribed "From your grateful patient," was a cabinet +photograph of a gentleman in the dress and moustache of the 'nineties, +standing beside a bicycle, apparently upon a stone balcony in mid-air +with a distant view over a rocky gorge. The frame was silver, heavy and +ornate.</p> + +<p>"Too young for a father," said Miss Climpson, as she turned it over and +pulled back the catch of the frame, "either sweetheart or favourite +brother. H'm! 'My dearest Lucy from her ever-loving Harry.' Not a +brother, I fancy. Photographer's address, Coventry. Cycle trade, +possibly. Now what happened to Harry? Not matrimony, obviously. +Death, or infidelity. First-class frame and central position; bunch +of hot-house narcissus in a vase—I think Harry has passed over. +What next? Family group? Yes. Names conveniently beneath. Dearest +Lucy in a fringe, Papa and Mamma, Tom and Gertrude. Tom and Gertrude +are older, but they may be still alive. Papa is a parson. Largeish +house—country rectory, perhaps. Photographer's address, Maidstone. +Wait a minute. Here's Papa in another group, with a dozen small boys. +Schoolmaster, or takes private pupils. Two boys have straw hats with +zig-zag ribbons—school, probably, then. What's that silver cup? Thos. +Booth and three other names—Pembroke College Fours 1883. Not an +expensive college. Wonder whether Papa objected to Harry on account of +the cycle-manufacturing connection? That book over there looks like +a school prize. It is. Maidstone Ladies' College—for distinction in +English Literature. Just so. Is she coming back?—No, false alarm. +Young man in khaki, 'Your loving nephew, G. Booth'—ah! Tom's son, I +take it. Did he survive, I wonder? Yes—she is coming, this time."</p> + +<p>When the door opened, Miss Climpson was sitting by the fire, deeply +engaged in <i>Raymond</i>.</p> + +<p>"So sorry to keep you waiting," said Miss Booth, "but the poor old dear +is rather restless this evening. She'll do now for a couple of hours, +but I shall have to go up again later. Shall we begin at once? I'm <i>so</i> +eager to try."</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson readily agreed.</p> + +<p>"We usually use this table," said Miss Booth, bringing forward a small, +round table of bamboo, with a shelf between its legs. Miss Climpson +thought she had never seen a piece of furniture more excellently +adapted for the faking of phenomena, and heartily approved of Mrs. +Craig's choice.</p> + +<p>"Do we sit in the light?" she enquired.</p> + +<p>"Not in full light," said Miss Booth. "Mrs. Craig explained to me that +the blue rays of daylight or electricity are too hard for the spirits. +They shatter the vibrations, you see. So we usually put out the light +and sit in the firelight, which is quite bright enough for taking +notes. Will you write down, or shall I?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I think you had better do it as you're more accustomed to it," +said Miss Climpson.</p> + +<p>"Very well." Miss Booth fetched a pencil and a pad of paper and +switched off the light.</p> + +<p>"Now we just sit down and place our thumbs and finger-tips lightly on +the table, near the edge. It's better to make a circle, of course, but +one can't do that with two people. And just at first, I think it's +better not to talk—till a rapport is established, you know. Which side +will you sit?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, this will do for me," said Miss Climpson.</p> + +<p>"You don't mind the fire on your back?"</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson most certainly did not.</p> + +<p>"Well, that's a good arrangement, because it helps to screen the rays +from the table."</p> + +<p>"That's what I thought," said Miss Climpson, truthfully.</p> + +<p>They placed thumbs and finger-tips on the table and waited.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes passed.</p> + +<p>"Did you feel any movement?" whispered Miss Booth.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"It sometimes takes a little time."</p> + +<p>Silence.</p> + +<p>"Ah! I thought I felt something then."</p> + +<p>"I've got a feeling like pins and needles in my fingers."</p> + +<p>"So have I. We shall get something soon."</p> + +<p>A pause.</p> + +<p>"Would you like to rest a little?"</p> + +<p>"My wrists ache rather."</p> + +<p>"They do till you get used to it. It's the power coming through them."</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson lifted her fingers and rubbed each wrist gently. The thin +black hooks came quietly down to the edge of her black velvet sleeve.</p> + +<p>"I feel sure there is power all about us. I can feel a cold thrill on +my spine."</p> + +<p>"Let's go on," said Miss Climpson. "I'm quite rested now."</p> + +<p>Silence.</p> + +<p>"I feel," whispered Miss Climpson, "as though something was gripping +the back of my neck."</p> + +<p>"Don't move."</p> + +<p>"And my arms have gone dead from the elbow."</p> + +<p>"Hush! so have mine."</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson might have added that she had a pain in her deltoids, +if she had known the name for them. This is not an uncommon result of +sitting with the thumbs and fingers on a table without support for the +wrist.</p> + +<p>"I'm tingling from head to foot," said Miss Booth.</p> + +<p>At this moment the table gave a violent lurch. Miss Climpson had +over-estimated the force necessary to move bamboo furniture.</p> + +<p>"Ah!"</p> + +<p>After a slight pause for recuperation, the table began to move again, +but more gently, till it was rocking with a regular see-saw motion. +Miss Climpson found that by gently elevating one rather large foot, she +could take practically all the weight off her wrist-hooks. This was +fortunate, as she was doubtful whether their constitution would stand +the strain.</p> + +<p>"Shall we speak to it?" asked Miss Climpson.</p> + +<p>"Wait a moment," said Miss Booth. "It wants to go sideways."</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson was surprised by this statement, which seemed to argue +a high degree of imagination, but she obligingly imparted a slight +gyratory movement to the table.</p> + +<p>"Shall we stand up?" suggested Miss Booth.</p> + +<p>This was disconcerting, for it is not easy to work a vibrating table +while stooping and standing on one leg. Miss Climpson decided to fall +into a trance. She dropped her head on her chest and uttered a slight +moan. At the same time she pulled back her hands, releasing the hooks, +and the table continued to revolve jerkily, spinning beneath their +fingers.</p> + +<p>A coal fell from the fire with a crash, sending up a bright jet of +flame. Miss Climpson started, and the table ceased spinning and came +down with a little thud.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Miss Booth. "The light has dispersed the +vibrations. Are you all right, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," said Miss Climpson, vaguely. "Did anything happen?"</p> + +<p>"The power was tremendous," said Miss Booth. "I've never felt it so +strong."</p> + +<p>"I think I must have fallen asleep," said Miss Climpson.</p> + +<p>"You were entranced," said Miss Booth. "The control was taking +possession. Are you very tired, or can you go on?"</p> + +<p>"I feel quite all right," said Miss Climpson, "only a little drowsy."</p> + +<p>"You're a wonderfully strong medium," said Miss Booth.</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson, surreptitiously flexing her ankle, was inclined to agree.</p> + +<p>"We'll put a screen before the fire this time," said Miss Booth. +"That's better. Now!"</p> + +<p>The hands were replaced on the table, which began to rock again almost +immediately.</p> + +<p>"We won't lose any more time," said Miss Booth. She cleared her throat +slightly, and addressed the table.</p> + +<p>"Is there a spirit here?"</p> + +<p>Crack!</p> + +<p>The table ceased moving.</p> + +<p>"Will you give me one knock for 'Yes' and two for 'No'?"</p> + +<p>Crack!</p> + +<p>The advantage of this method of interrogation is that it obliges the +enquirer to put leading questions.</p> + +<p>"Are you the spirit of one who has passed over?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Are you Fedora?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Are you one of the spirits who have visited me before?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Are you friendly to us?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Are you pleased to see us?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Yes. Yes."</p> + +<p>"Are you happy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Are you here to ask anything for yourself?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Are you anxious to help us personally?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Are you speaking on behalf of another spirit?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Does he want to speak to my friend?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"To me, then?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes." (The table rocked violently.)</p> + +<p>"Is it the spirit of a woman?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"A man?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>A little gasp.</p> + +<p>"Is it the spirit I have been trying to communicate with?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>A pause and a tilting of the table.</p> + +<p>"Will you speak to us by means of the alphabet? One knock for A, two +for B, and so on?"</p> + +<p>("Belated caution," thought Miss Climpson.)</p> + +<p>"Crack!"</p> + +<p>"What is your name?"</p> + +<p>Eight taps, and a long indrawn breath.</p> + +<p>One tap—</p> + +<p>"H—A—"</p> + +<p>A long succession of taps.</p> + +<p>"Was that an R? You go too fast."</p> + +<p>"Crack!"</p> + +<p>"H—A—R—is that right?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Is it Harry?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, yes."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Harry! At last! How are you? Are you happy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes—no—lonely."</p> + +<p>"It wasn't my fault, Harry."</p> + +<p>"Yes. Weak."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but I had my duty to think of. Remember who came between us."</p> + +<p>"Yes, F-A-T-H-E-"</p> + +<p>"No, no, Harry! It was mo—"</p> + +<p>"—A-D!" concluded the table, triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"How can you speak so unkindly?"</p> + +<p>"Love comes first."</p> + +<p>"I know that now. But I was only a girl. Won't you forgive me now?"</p> + +<p>"All forgiven. Mother forgiven too."</p> + +<p>"I'm so glad. What do you do where you are, Harry?"</p> + +<p>"Wait. Help. Atone."</p> + +<p>"Have you any special message for me?"</p> + +<p>"Go to Coventry!" (Here the table became agitated.)</p> + +<p>This message seemed to overwhelm the seeker.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it really is you, Harry! You haven't forgotten the dear old joke. +Tell me—"</p> + +<p>The table showed great signs of excitement at this point and poured out +a volley of unintelligible letters.</p> + +<p>"What do you want?"</p> + +<p>"G—G—G—"</p> + +<p>"It must be somebody else interrupting," said Miss Booth. "Who is that, +please?"</p> + +<p>"G-E-O-R-G-E" (very rapidly).</p> + +<p>"George? I don't know any George, except Tom's boy. Has anything +happened to him, I wonder."</p> + +<p>"Ha! ha! ha! not George Booth, George Washington."</p> + +<p>"George Washington?"</p> + +<p>"Ha! ha!" (The table became convulsively agitated, so much so that the +medium seemed hardly able to hold it. Miss Booth, who had been noting +down the conversation, now put her hands back on the table, which +stopped capering and began to rock.)</p> + +<p>"Who is here now?"</p> + +<p>"Pongo."</p> + +<p>"Who is Pongo?"</p> + +<p>"Your control."</p> + +<p>"Who was that talking just now?"</p> + +<p>"Bad spirit. Gone now."</p> + +<p>"Is Harry still there?"</p> + +<p>"Gone."</p> + +<p>"Does anybody else want to speak?"</p> + +<p>"Helen."</p> + +<p>"Helen who?"</p> + +<p>"Don't you remember? Maidstone."</p> + +<p>"Maidstone? Oh, do you mean Ellen Pate?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Pate."</p> + +<p>"Fancy that! Good-evening, Ellen. How nice to hear from you."</p> + +<p>"Remember row."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean the big row in the dormitory?"</p> + +<p>"Kate bad girl."</p> + +<p>"No, I don't remember Kate, except Kate Hurley. You don't mean her, do +you?"</p> + +<p>"Naughty Kate. Lights out."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I <i>know</i> what she's trying to say. The cakes after lights were +out."</p> + +<p>"That's right."</p> + +<p>"You still spell badly, Ellen."</p> + +<p>"Miss—Miss—"</p> + +<p>"Mississippi? Haven't you learnt it yet?"</p> + +<p>"Funny."</p> + +<p>"Are there many of our class where you are?"</p> + +<p>"Alice and Mabel. Send love."</p> + +<p>"How sweet of them. Give them my love too."</p> + +<p>"Yes. All love. Flowers. Sunshine."</p> + +<p>"What do you—"</p> + +<p>"P," said the table, impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Is that Pongo again?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Tired."</p> + +<p>"Do you want us to stop?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Another time."</p> + +<p>"Very well, good-night."</p> + +<p>"Good-night."</p> + +<p>The medium leaned back in her chair with an air of exhaustion which +was perfectly justified. It is very tiring to rap out letters of the +alphabet, and she was afraid the soap-box was slipping.</p> + +<p>Miss Booth turned on the light.</p> + +<p>"That was wonderful!" said Miss Booth.</p> + +<p>"Did you get the answers you wanted?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed. Didn't you hear them?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't follow it all," said Miss Climpson.</p> + +<p>"It is a little difficult, counting, till you're used to it. You must +be dreadfully tired. We'll stop now and make some tea. Next time +perhaps we could use the Ouija. It doesn't take nearly so long to get +the answers with that."</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson considered this. Certainly it would be less wearisome, +but she was not sure of being able to manipulate it.</p> + +<p>Miss Booth put the kettle on the fire and glanced at the clock.</p> + +<p>"Dear me! it's nearly eleven. How the time has flown! I must run up and +see to my old dear. Would you like to read through the questions and +answers? I don't suppose I shall be many minutes."</p> + +<p>Satisfactory, so far, thought Miss Climpson. Confidence was well +established. In a few days' time, she would be able to work her plan. +But she had nearly tripped up over George. And it was stupid to have +said 'Helen.' Nellie would have done for either—there was a Nellie in +every school forty-five years ago. But after all, it didn't much matter +what you said—the other person was sure to help you out of it. How +desperately her legs and arms were aching. Wearily she wondered if she +had missed the last bus.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you have," said Miss Booth, when the question was put to +her on her return. "But we'll ring up a taxi. At my expense, of course, +dear. I insist, as you were so good in coming all this way, entirely +to please me. Don't you think the communications are too marvellous? +Harry would never come before—poor Harry! I'm afraid I was very unkind +to him. He married, but you see he has never forgotten me. He lived +at Coventry and we used to have a joke about it—that's what he meant +by saying that. I wonder which Alice and Mabel that was. There was an +Alice Gibbons and an Alice Roach—both such nice girls; I think Mabel +must be Mabel Herridge. She married and went out to India years and +years ago. I can't remember her married name and I've never heard from +her since, but she must have passed to the other side. Pongo is a new +control. We must ask him who he is. Mrs. Craig's control is Fedora—she +was a slave-girl at the court of Poppaea."</p> + +<p>"Really!" said Miss Climpson.</p> + +<p>"She told us her story one night. So romantic. She was thrown to the +lions because she was a Christian and refused to have anything to do +with Nero."</p> + +<p>"How very interesting."</p> + +<p>"Yes, isn't it? But she doesn't speak very good English, and it's +sometimes rather hard to understand her. And she sometimes lets the +tiresome ones in. Pongo was very quick at getting rid of George +Washington. You will come again, won't you? Tomorrow night?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, if you like."</p> + +<p>"Yes, please do. And next time you must ask for a message for yourself."</p> + +<p>"I will indeed," said Miss Climpson. "It has all been <i>such</i> a +revelation—quite <i>wonderful</i>. I never <i>dreamed</i> that I had such a +gift."</p> + +<p>And that was true, also.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +</div> + + +<p>It was, of course, useless for Miss Climpson to try to conceal from the +boarding-house ladies where she had been and what she had been doing. +Her return at midnight in a taxi had already aroused the liveliest +curiosity, and she told the truth to avoid being accused of worse +dissipations.</p> + +<p>"My dear Miss Climpson," said Mrs. Pegler, "you will not, I trust, +think me interfering, but I must caution you against having anything +to do with Mrs. Craig or her friends. I have no doubt Miss Booth is +an excellent woman, but I do not like the company she keeps. Nor do I +approve of spiritualism. It is a prying into matters which we are not +intended to know about, and may lead to very undesirable results. If +you were a married woman, I could explain myself more clearly, but you +may take it from me that these indulgences may have serious effects +upon the character in more ways than one."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mrs. Pegler," said Miss Etheredge, "I don't think you should say +that. One of the most beautiful characters I know—a woman whom it is +a privilege to call one's friend—is a spiritualist, and she is a real +saint in her life and influence."</p> + +<p>"Very likely, Miss Etheredge," replied Mrs. Pegler, drawing her stout +figure to its most impressive uprightness, "but that is not the point. +I do not say that a spiritualist <i>may</i> not live a good life, but I <i>do</i> +say that the majority of them are most unsatisfactory people, and far +from truthful."</p> + +<p>"I have happened to meet with a number of so-called mediums in the +course of my life," agreed Miss Tweall, acidly, "and all of them, +without <i>any</i> exception, were people I would not have trusted any +further than I could see them—if as far."</p> + +<p>"That is very true of a great many of them," said Miss Climpson, "and +I am sure <i>nobody</i> could have better opportunities of judging than +<i>myself</i>. But I think and hope that some of them are at least <i>sincere</i> +if <i>mistaken</i> in their claims. What do <i>you</i> think, Mrs. Liffey?" she +added, turning to the proprietress of the establishment.</p> + +<p>"We-ll," said Mrs. Liffey—obliged, in her official capacity, to +agree as far as possible with all parties. "I must say, from what I +have read, and that is not a great deal, for I have little time for +reading—still, I think there is a certain amount of evidence to show +that, in certain cases and under strictly safeguarded conditions, there +is possibly some foundation of truth beneath the spiritualists' claims. +Not that I should care to have anything to do with it personally; as +Mrs. Pegler says, I do not as a rule care very much for the sort of +people who go in for it, though doubtless there are many exceptions. +I think perhaps that the subject should be left to properly qualified +investigators."</p> + +<p>"There I agree with you," said Mrs. Pegler. "No words can express +the disgust I feel at the intrusion of women like this Mrs. Craig +into realms that should be sacred to us all. Imagine, Miss Climpson, +that that woman—whom I do not know and have no intention of +knowing—actually had the impertinence once to write to me and say +that she had received a message at one of her séances, as she calls +them, purporting to come from my dear husband. I cannot tell you what +I felt. To have the General's name actually brought up, in public, in +connection with such wicked nonsense! And of course it was the purest +invention, for the General was the <i>last</i> man to have anything to do +with goings-on. 'Pernicious poppy-cock,' he used to call it in his +bluff military way. And when it came to telling me, his widow, that +he had come to Mrs. Craig's house and played the accordion and asked +for special prayers to deliver him from a place of punishment, I could +only look on it as a calculated insult. The General was a regular +Church-goer and entirely opposed to prayers for the dead or anything +popish; and as to being in any undesirable place, he was the best of +men, even if he was a little abrupt at times. As for accordions, I +hope, wherever he is, he has something better to do with his time."</p> + +<p>"A most shameful business," said Miss Tweall.</p> + +<p>"Who is this Mrs. Craig?" asked Miss Climpson.</p> + +<p>"Nobody knows," said Mrs. Pegler, ominously.</p> + +<p>"She is said to be a doctor's widow," said Mrs. Liffey.</p> + +<p>"It's my opinion," said Miss Tweall, "that she is no better than she +should be."</p> + +<p>"A woman of her age," said Mrs. Pegler, "with henna'd hair and earrings +a foot long—"</p> + +<p>"And going about in those extraordinary clothes," said Miss Tweall.</p> + +<p>"And having such very odd people to stay with her," said Mrs. Pegler. +"You remember that black man, Mrs. Liffey, who wore a green turban +and used to say his prayers in the front garden, till the police +interfered."</p> + +<p>"What I should like to know," said Miss Tweall, "is, where she gets her +money from."</p> + +<p>"If you ask me, my dear, the woman's on the make. Heaven knows what she +persuades people to do in these spiritualistic meetings."</p> + +<p>"But what brought her to Windle?" asked Miss Climpson. "I should have +thought London, or some big town, would have been a better place for +her if she is the kind of person you describe."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't be surprised if she was in hiding," said Miss Tweall, +darkly. "There is such a thing as making a place too hot to hold you."</p> + +<p>"Without altogether subscribing to your wholesale condemnation," said +Miss Climpson, "I must agree that psychical research can be <i>very +dangerous indeed</i> in the <i>wrong hands</i>, and from what Miss Booth tells +me, I do doubt very <i>much</i> whether Mrs. Craig is a suitable guide for +the inexperienced. Indeed, I quite felt it my <i>duty</i> to put Miss Booth +on her guard, and that is what I am endeavouring to do. But, as you +know, one has to do that kind of thing <i>very</i> tactfully—otherwise one +may merely, so to speak, put the person's back up. The first step is to +gain her <i>confidence</i>, and then, little by little, one may be able to +induce a more wholesome frame of mind."</p> + +<p>"That's <i>so</i> true," said Miss Etheredge, eagerly, her pale blue eyes +lighting with something that was almost animation. "I very nearly fell +under the influence of a dreadful, fraudulent person myself, till my +dear friend showed me a better way."</p> + +<p>"Maybe," said Mrs. Pegler, "but in my opinion the whole thing is best +left alone."</p> + +<p>Undeterred by this excellent advice, Miss Climpson kept her +appointment. After a spirited exhibition of table-rocking, Pongo +consented to communicate by means of the Ouija board, though at first +he was rather awkward with it. He attributed this, however, to the fact +that he had never learned to write while on earth. Asked who he was, he +explained that he was an Italian acrobat of the Renaissance period, and +that his full name was Pongocelli. He had lived a sadly irregular life, +but had redeemed himself by heroically refusing to abandon a sick child +during the time of the Great Plague in Florence. He had caught the +plague and died of it, and was now working out the period of probation +for his sins by serving as guide and interpreter to other spirits. It +was a touching story, and Miss Climpson was rather proud of it.</p> + +<p>George Washington was rather intrusive, and the séance also suffered +from a number of mysterious interruptions from what Pongo described as +a "jealous influence." Nevertheless, "Harry" reappeared and delivered +some consolatory messages, and there were further communications from +Mabel Herridge, who gave a vivid description of her life in India. +On the whole, and taking the difficulties into account, a successful +evening.</p> + +<p>On Sunday there was no séance, owing to the revolt of the medium's +conscience. Miss Climpson felt that she could not, really could not, +bring herself to do it. She went to church instead, and listened to the +Christmas message with a distracted mind.</p> + +<p>On Monday, however, the two enquirers again took their seats about the +bamboo table, and the following is the report of the séance, as noted +down by Miss Booth.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p><i>7.30 p.m.</i></p> + +<p>On this occasion proceedings were begun at once with the Ouija board; +after a few minutes, a loud succession of raps announced the presence +of a control.</p> + +<p><i>Question</i>: Good-evening. Who is that?</p> + +<p><i>Answer</i>: Pongo here. Good-evening! Heaven bless you.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> We are very glad to have you with us, Pongo.</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Good—very good. Here we are again!</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Is that you, Harry?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Yes, only to give my love. Such a crowd.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> The more the better. We are glad to meet all our friends. What can +we do for you?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Attend. Obey the spirits.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> We will do all we can, if you will tell us what to do.</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Boil your heads!</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Go away, George, we don't want you.</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Get off the line, silly.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Pongo, can't you send him away?</p> + +<p>(Here the pencil drew the sketch of an ugly face.)</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Is that your portrait?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> That's me. G. W. Ha, ha!</p> + +<p>(The pencil zig-zagged violently and drove the board right over the +edge of the table. When it was replaced it started to write in the hand +we associate with Pongo.)</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> I have sent him away. Very noisy tonight. F. jealous and sends +him to disturb us. Never mind. Pongo more powerful.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Who do you say is jealous?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Never mind. Bad person. Maladetta.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Is Harry still there?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> No. Other business. There is a spirit here who wishes your help.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Who is it?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Very hard. Wait.</p> + +<p>(The pencil made a series of wide loops.)</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> What letter is that?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Silly! don't be impatient. There is difficulty. I will try again.</p> + +<p>(The pencil scribbled for a few minutes and then wrote a large C.)</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> We have got the letter C. Is that right?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> C-C-C</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> We have got C.</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> C-R-E</p> + +<p>(Here there was another violent interruption.)</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> (in Pongo's writing) She is trying, but there is much opposition. +Think helpful thoughts.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Would you like us to sing a hymn?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> (Pongo again, very angry) Stupid! Be quiet! (Here the writing +changed again) M-O-</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Is that part of the same word?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> R-N-A.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Do you mean Cremorna?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> (in the new writing) Cremorna, Cremorna. Through! Glad, glad, glad!</p> + +<p>At this point, Miss Booth turned to Miss Climpson and said in a puzzled +voice:</p> + +<p>"This is very strange. Cremorna was Mrs. Wrayburn's stage name. I do +hope—surely she can't have passed away suddenly. She was perfectly +comfortable when I left her. Had I better go and see?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it's another Cremorna?" suggested Miss Climpson.</p> + +<p>"But it's such an unusual name."</p> + +<p>"Why not ask who it is?"</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Cremorna—what is your second name?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> (The pencil writing very fast) Rosegarden—easier now.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> I don't understand you.</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Rose—Rose—Rose—Silly!</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Oh!—(My dear, she's mixing up the two names)—Do you mean +Cremorna Garden?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Yes.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Rosanna Wrayburn?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Yes.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Have you passed over?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Not yet. In exile.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Are you still in the body?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Neither in the body nor out of the body. Waiting. (Pongo +interposing) When what you call the mind is departed, the spirit waits +in exile for the Great Change. Why can't you understand? Make haste. +Great difficulties.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> We are so sorry. Are you in trouble about something?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Great trouble.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> I hope it isn't anything in Dr. Brown's treatment, or mine—</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> (Pongo) Do not be so foolish. (Cremorna) My will.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Do you want to alter your will?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> No.</p> + +<p><i>Miss Climpson.</i> That is fortunate, because I don't think it would be +legal. What do you want us to do about it, dear Mrs. Wrayburn?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Send it to Norman.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> To Mr. Norman Urquhart?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> Yes. He knows.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> He knows what is to be done with it?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> He wants it.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Very well. Can you tell us where to find it?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> I have forgotten. Search.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Is it in the house?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> I tell you I have forgotten. Deep waters. No safety. Failing, +failing....</p> + +<p>(Here the writing became very faint and irregular.)</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Try to remember.</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> In the B—B—B—(a confusion and the pencil staggering wildly)—No +good. (Suddenly, in a different hand and very vigorously) Get off the +line, get off the line, get off the line.</p> + +<p><i>Q.</i> Who is that?</p> + +<p><i>A.</i> (Pongo) She has gone. The bad influence back. Ha, ha! Get off! +Finished now. (The pencil ran right out of the medium's control, and on +being replaced on the table, refused to answer any further questions.)</p> + +<p>"How dreadfully vexatious!" exclaimed Miss Booth.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you have no idea where the will is?"</p> + +<p>"Not the least. 'In the B—' she said. Now, what could that be?"</p> + +<p>"In the Bank, perhaps," suggested Miss Climpson.</p> + +<p>"It might be. If so, of course, Mr. Urquhart would be the only person +who could get it out."</p> + +<p>"Then why hasn't he? She said he wanted it."</p> + +<p>"Of course. Then it must be somewhere in the house. What could B stand +for?"</p> + +<p>"Box, Bag, Bureau—?"</p> + +<p>"Bed? It might be almost anything."</p> + +<p>"What a pity she couldn't finish the message. Shall we try again? Or +shall we look in all the likely places?"</p> + +<p>"Let's look first, and then, if we can't find it, we can try again."</p> + +<p>"That's a good idea. There are some keys in one of the bureau drawers +that belong to her boxes and things."</p> + +<p>"Why not try them?" said Miss Climpson, boldly.</p> + +<p>"We will. You'll come and help, won't you?"</p> + +<p>"If you think it advisable. I'm a stranger, you know."</p> + +<p>"The message came to you as much as to me. I'd rather you came with me. +You might be able to suggest places."</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson made no further ado, and then went upstairs. It was a +queer business—practically robbing a helpless woman in the interests +of someone she had never seen. Queer. But the motive must be a good +one, if it was Lord Peter's.</p> + +<p>At the top of the beautiful staircase with its ample curve was a long, +wide corridor, the walls hung thickly from floor to ceiling with +portraits, sketches, framed autograph letters, programmes, and all the +reminiscent bric-à-brac of the green-room.</p> + +<p>"All her life is here and in these two rooms," said the nurse. "If this +collection was to be sold, it would fetch a lot of money. I suppose it +will be, some day."</p> + +<p>"Whom does the money go to, do you know?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I've always thought it would be to Mr. Norman Urquhart—he's a +relation of hers, about the only one, I believe. But I've never been +told anything about it."</p> + +<p>She pushed open a tall door, graceful with curved panels and classical +architrave, and turned on the light.</p> + +<p>It was a stately great room, with three tall windows and a ceiling +gracefully moulded with garlands of flowers and flambeaux. The +purity of its lines was, however, defaced and insulted by a hideous +rose-trellised wall-paper, and heavy plush curtains of a hot crimson +with thick gold fringes and ropes, like the drop-curtain of a Victorian +play-house. Every foot of space was crammed thick with furniture—buhl +cabinets incongruously jostling mahogany chiffoniers; what-not tables +strewn with ornaments cuddling the bases of heavy German marbles and +bronzes; lacquer screens, Sheraton bureaux, Chinese vases, alabaster +lamps, chairs, ottomans of every shape, colour and period, clustered +thick as plants wrestling for existence in a tropical jungle. It was +the room of a woman without taste or moderation, who refused nothing +and surrendered nothing, to whom the fact of possession had become the +one steadfast reality in a world of loss and change.</p> + +<p>"It may be in here or in the bedroom," said Miss Booth. "I'll get her +keys."</p> + +<p>She opened a door on the right. Miss Climpson, endlessly inquisitive, +tip-toed in after her.</p> + +<p>The bedroom was even more of a nightmare than the sitting-room. A +small electric reading-lamp burned dimly by the bed, huge and gilded, +with hangings of rose brocade cascading in long folds from a tester +supported by fat golden cupids. Outside the narrow circle of light +loomed monstrous wardrobes, more cabinets, tall chests of drawers. The +dressing-table, frilled and flounced, held a wide, three-fold mirror, +and a monstrous cheval-glass in the centre of the room darkly reflected +the towering and shadowy outlines of the furniture.</p> + +<p>Miss Booth opened the middle door of the largest wardrobe. It swung +back with a creak, letting out a great gush of frangipani. Nothing, +evidently, had been altered in this room since silence and paralysis +had struck the owner down.</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson stepped softly up to the bed. Instinct made her move +cautiously as a cat, though it was evident that nothing would ever +startle or surprise its occupant.</p> + +<p>An old, old face, so tiny in the vast expanse of sheet and pillow +that it might have been a doll, stared up at her with unblinking, +unseeing eyes. It was covered with fine surface-wrinkles, like a hand +sodden with soapy water, but all the great lines carved by experience +had been smoothed out with the relaxing of the helpless muscles. It +was both puffed and crumpled. It reminded Miss Climpson of a child's +pink balloon, from which nearly all the air has leaked away. The +escaping breath puffed through the lax lips in little blowing, snorting +sounds and added to the resemblance. From under the frilled night-cap +straggled a few lank wisps of whitened hair.</p> + +<p>"Funny, isn't it," said Miss Booth, "to think that with her lying like +that, her spirit can communicate with us."</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson was overcome by a sense of sacrilege. It was only by a +great effort that she prevented herself from confessing the truth. She +had pulled the garter with the soap-box above her knee for safety, and +the elastic was cutting painfully into the muscles of her leg—a kind +of reminder of her iniquities.</p> + +<p>But Miss Booth had already turned away, and was pulling open the +drawers of one of the bureaux.</p> + +<p>Two hours passed, and they were still searching. The letter B. opened +up a particularly wide field of search. Miss Climpson had chosen it on +that account, and her foresight was rewarded. By a little ingenuity, +that useful letter could be twisted to fit practically any hiding-place +in the house. The things that were neither bureaux, beds, bags, boxes, +baskets nor bibelot-tables could usually be described as big, black, +brown or buhl or, at a pinch, as being bedroom or boudoir furniture, +and since every shelf, drawer and pigeon-hole in every object was +crammed full of newspaper-cuttings, letters and assorted souvenirs, the +searchers soon found their heads, legs and backs aching with effort.</p> + +<p>"I'd no idea," said Miss Booth, "that there could be so many possible +places."</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson, sitting on the floor, with her back hair uncoiling +itself and her decent black petticoats tucked up nearly to the +soap-box, agreed wearily.</p> + +<p>"It's dreadfully exhausting, isn't it?" said Miss Booth. "Wouldn't you +like to stop? I can go on searching tomorrow by myself. It's a shame to +tire you out in this way."</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson turned this over in her mind. If the will were found in +her absence and sent to Norman Urquhart, would Miss Murchison be able +to get hold of it before it was again hidden away or destroyed? She +wondered.</p> + +<p>Hidden away, not destroyed. The mere fact that the will had been sent +to him by Miss Booth would prevent the solicitor from making away +with it, for there would be a witness to its existence. But he might +successfully conceal it for a considerable time—and time was of the +essence of the adventure.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm not a scrap tired," she said brightly, sitting up on her heels +and restoring her coiffure to something more like its usual neatness. +She had a black note-book in her hand, taken from a drawer in one of +the Japanese cabinets, and was turning its pages mechanically. A line +of figures caught her eye: 12, 18, 4, 0, 9, 3, 15, and she wondered +vaguely what they referred to.</p> + +<p>"We've looked through everything here," said Miss Booth. "I don't +believe we've missed anything—unless, of course, there is a secret +drawer somewhere."</p> + +<p>"Could it be in a book, do you think?"</p> + +<p>"A book! Why, of course it might. How silly of us not to think of that! +In detective stories, wills are always hidden in books."</p> + +<p>"More often than in real life," thought Miss Climpson, but she got up +and dusted herself and said cheerfully:</p> + +<p>"So they are. Are there many books in the house?"</p> + +<p>"Thousands," said Miss Booth. "Downstairs in the library."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't have expected Mrs. Wrayburn to be a great reader, somehow."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't think she was. The books were bought with the house, so +Mr. Urquhart told me. They're nearly all old ones, you know—big things +bound in leather. Dreadfully dull. I've never found a thing to read +there. But they're just the sort of books to hide wills in."</p> + +<p>They emerged into the corridor.</p> + +<p>"By the way," said Miss Climpson, "won't the servants think it funny of +us to be wandering about the place so late?"</p> + +<p>"They all sleep in the other wing. Besides, they know that I sometimes +have visitors. Mrs. Craig has often been here as late as this when we +have had interesting sittings. There's a spare bedroom where I can put +people up when I want to."</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson made no more objections, and they went downstairs and +along the hall into the library. It was big, and books filled the walls +and bays in serried ranks—a heart-breaking sight.</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Miss Booth, "if the communication hadn't insisted on +something beginning with B—"</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Well—I should have expected any papers to be in the safe down here."</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson groaned in spirit. The obvious place, naturally! If only +her misplaced ingenuity—well! one must make the best of it.</p> + +<p>"Why not look?" she suggested. "The letter B. may have been referring +to something quite different. Or it may have been an interruption from +George Washington. It would be quite like him to use words beginning +with a B, don't you think?"</p> + +<p>"But if it was in the safe, Mr. Urquhart would know about it."</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson began to feel that she had let her invention play about +too freely.</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't do any harm to make sure," she suggested.</p> + +<p>"But I don't know the combination," said Miss Booth. "Mr. Urquhart +does, of course. We could write and ask him."</p> + +<p>An inspiration came to Miss Climpson.</p> + +<p>"I believe I know it," she exclaimed. "There was a row of seven figures +in that black note-book I was looking at just now, and it passed +through my mind that they must be a memorandum of something."</p> + +<p>"Black Book!" cried Miss Booth. "Why, there you are! How could we have +been so silly! Of course, Mrs. Wrayburn was trying to tell us where to +find the combination!"</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson again blessed the all-round utility of the letter B.</p> + +<p>"I'll run up and fetch it," she cried.</p> + +<p>When she came down again, Miss Booth was standing before a section of +the bookshelves, which had swung out from the wall, disclosing the +green door of a built-in safe. With trembling hands, Miss Climpson +touched the milled knob and turned it.</p> + +<p>The first attempt was unsuccessful, owing to the fact that the note did +not make it clear which way the knob should be turned first, but at +the second attempt the pointer swung over on the seventh figure with a +satisfying click.</p> + +<p>Miss Booth seized the handle, and the heavy door moved and stood open.</p> + +<p>A bundle of papers lay inside. On the top, staring them in the face, +was a long, sealed envelope. Miss Climpson pounced upon it.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p class="ph3">"Will of Rosanna Wrayburn</p> + +<p class="ph3">5 June 1920."</p> +</div> + +<p>"Well, isn't that marvellous?" cried Miss Booth. On the whole, Miss +Climpson agreed with her.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</h2> +</div> + + +<p>Miss Climpson stayed the night in the spare bedroom.</p> + +<p>"The best thing," she said, "will be for you to write a little letter +to Mr. Urquhart, explaining about the séance, and saying that you +thought it best and safest to send the will on to him."</p> + +<p>"He will be very much surprised," said Miss Booth. "I wonder what he +will say. Lawyers don't believe in spirit communications as a rule. And +he'll think it rather funny that we should have managed to open the +safe."</p> + +<p>"Well, but the spirit led us directly to the combination, didn't it? He +could hardly expect you to ignore a message like that, could he? The +proof of your good faith is that you are sending the will straight to +him. And it would be as well, don't you think, if you asked him to come +up and check the other contents of the safe and have the combination +altered."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't it be better if I kept the will and asked him to come for it?"</p> + +<p>"But perhaps he requires it urgently?"</p> + +<p>"Then why hasn't he been to fetch it?"</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson noted with some irritation that, where spiritualistic +messages were not concerned, Miss Booth showed signs of developing an +independent judgment.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he doesn't know yet that he wants it. Perhaps the spirits +foresaw an urgent need that will only arise tomorrow."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, that's quite likely. If only people would avail themselves +more fully of the marvellous guidance given to them, so much might be +foreseen and provided for! Well, I think you are right. We will find a +big envelope to fit it, and I will write a letter and we will send it +by the first post tomorrow."</p> + +<p>"It had better be registered," said Miss Climpson. "If you will entrust +it to me, I will take it down to the post-office first thing."</p> + +<p>"Will you? That will be a great relief to my mind. Well now, I'm sure +you're as tired as I am, so I'll put on a kettle for the hot-water +bottles and we'll turn in. Will you make yourself comfy in my +sitting-room? I've only got to put the sheets on your bed. What? No, +indeed, I can do it in a moment; <i>please</i> don't bother. I'm so used to +making beds."</p> + +<p>"Then I'll see to the kettles," said Miss Climpson. "I simply <i>must</i> +make myself useful."</p> + +<p>"Very well. It won't take long. The water is quite hot in the kitchen +boiler."</p> + +<p>Left alone in the kitchen, with a kettle bumping and singing on its +way to boiling-point, Miss Climpson wasted no time. She tip-toed +quickly out again and stood with ear cocked at the foot of the stairs, +listening to the nurse's footsteps as they pattered into the distance. +Then she slipped into the little sitting-room, took up the will in its +sealed envelope, and a long thin paper-knife which she had already +marked down as a useful weapon, and hastened back to the kitchen.</p> + +<p>It is astonishing how long a kettle which seems to be on the verge of +boiling will take before the looked-for jet of steady steam emerges +from its spout. Delusive little puffs and deceptive pauses in the song +tantalise the watcher interminably. It seemed to Miss Climpson that +there would have been time to make twenty beds before the kettle boiled +that evening. But even a watched pot cannot absorb heat for ever. After +what appeared to be an hour, but was actually about seven minutes, Miss +Climpson, guilty and furtive, was holding the flap of the envelope +before the scalding steam.</p> + +<p>"I mustn't hurry," said Miss Climpson, "oh, blessed saints, I mustn't +hurry, or I shall tear it."</p> + +<p>She slipped the paper-knife under the flap; it lifted; it opened +cleanly, just as Miss Booth's step resounded in the passage.</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson adroitly dropped the paper-knife behind the stove and +thrust the envelope, with the flap doubled back to prevent it from +re-sticking itself, behind a dish-cover on the wall.</p> + +<p>"The water's ready!" she cried blithely. "Where are the bottles?"</p> + +<p>It is a tribute to her nerve that she filled them with a steady hand. +Miss Booth thanked her, and departed upstairs, a bottle in each hand.</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson pulled the will from its hiding-place, drew it from its +envelope and glanced swiftly through it.</p> + +<p>It was not a long document, and in spite of the legal phraseology, its +purport was easily gathered. Within three minutes she had replaced it, +moistened the gum and stuck the flap down again. She put it in her +petticoat-pocket—for her garments were of a useful and old-fashioned +kind—and went to hunt in the pantry. When Miss Booth returned, she was +making tea peacefully.</p> + +<p>"I thought it would refresh us after our labours," she remarked.</p> + +<p>"A very good idea," said Miss Booth; "in fact, I was just going to +suggest it."</p> + +<p>Miss Climpson carried the tea-pot to the sitting-room, leaving Miss +Booth to follow with the cups, milk and sugar on a tray. With the +tea-pot on the hob and the will once more lying innocently on the +table, she smiled and breathed deeply. Her mission was accomplished.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Letter from Miss Climpson to Lord Peter Wimsey.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Tuesday, Jan. 7, 1930.</p> + +<p>My dear Lord Peter,</p> + +<p>As my <i>telegram</i> this morning will have informed you, I have +SUCCEEDED!! Though what excuse I can find in my <i>conscience</i> for the +<i>methods</i> I have used, I <i>don't</i> KNOW! but I believe the Church takes +into account the necessity of <i>deception</i> in certain <i>professions</i>, +such as that of a <i>police-detective</i> or a SPY in time of WARFARE, and +I <i>trust</i> that my <i>subterfuges</i> may be allowed to come under that +<i>category</i>. However, you will not want to hear about my <i>religious +scruples</i>! So I will hasten to let you know <i>what</i> I have DISCOVERED!!</p> + +<p>In my last letter I explained the <i>plan</i> I had in mind, so you will +know what to do about the <i>Will itself</i>, which was duly <i>despatched</i> +by <i>Registered Post</i> this morning under cover to <i>Mr. Norman +Urquhart</i>. How surprised he will be to get it!!! Miss Booth wrote +an excellent <i>covering letter</i>, which I <i>saw</i> before it went, which +explains the circumstances and <i>mentions</i> NO NAMES!! I have wired to +Miss Murchison to <i>expect</i> the package, and I hope that when it comes +she will contrive to be <i>present</i> at the opening, so as to constitute +<i>yet another</i> WITNESS to its existence. In any case, I should not +think he would <i>venture</i> to <i>tamper</i> with it. Perhaps Miss Murchison +may be able to INVESTIGATE it in detail, which I had not <i>time</i> to do +(it was all <i>most</i> adventurous! and I am looking forward to <i>telling</i> +you ALL ABOUT IT when I come back), but in case she is <i>not</i> able to +do so, I will give you the <i>rough outline</i>.</p> + +<p>The property consists of <i>real estate</i> (the house and grounds) and a +<i>personalty</i> (am I not <i>good</i> at legal terms??) which I am not able to +calculate <i>exactly</i>. But the gist of it all is this:—</p> + +<p>The <i>real estate</i> is left to <i>Philip Boyes</i>, absolutely.</p> + +<p><i>Fifty thousand pounds</i> is left to <i>Philip Boyes</i> also, in <i>cash</i>.</p> + +<p>The remainder (is not this called the residue?) is left to <span class="smcap">Norman +Urquhart</span>, who is appointed sole executor.</p> + +<p>There are a few <i>small legacies</i> to Stage Charities, of which I did +not manage to memorise any <i>particulars</i>.</p> + +<p>There is a special paragraph, explaining that the greater part of +the property is left to <i>Philip Boyes</i> in token that the testatrix +FORGIVES the ill-treatment meted out to her by <i>his family</i>, for which +he was <i>not responsible</i>.</p> + +<p>The date of the Will is 5 June 1920, and the <i>witnesses</i> are <i>Eva +Gubbins</i>, housekeeper, and <i>John Briggs</i>, gardener.</p> + +<p>I hope, dear Lord Peter, that this information will be enough for +your purpose. I had hoped that even <i>after</i> Miss Booth had enclosed +the Will in a <i>covering envelope</i> I might be able to take it out +and <i>peruse</i> it at leisure, but unfortunately she <i>sealed</i> it for +greater security with Mrs. Wrayburn's <i>private seal</i>, which I had not +sufficient <i>dexterity</i> to <i>remove and replace</i>, though I understand it +is possible to <i>do so</i> with a <i>hot knife</i>.</p> + +<p>You will <i>understand</i> that I cannot leave Windle <i>just yet</i>—it would +look so odd to do so immediately after this occurrence. Besides, I +am hoping, in a further series of "sittings," to <i>warn</i> Miss Booth +against Mrs. Craig and her "control" Fedora, as I am <i>quite sure</i> that +this person is <i>quite</i> as great a <i>charlatan</i> as I AM!!!—and without +my <i>altruistic</i> motives!! So you will not be surprised if I am away +from Town for, say, <i>another week</i>! I am a little worried about the +<i>extra expense</i> of this, but if you do not think it <i>justified</i> for +the sake of safety, <i>let me know</i>—and I will alter my arrangements +accordingly.</p> + +<p>Wishing you <i>all success</i>, dear Lord Peter,</p> + +<p class="ph2">Most sincerely yours,<br> +Katharine A. Climpson.</p> + +<p>P.S. I managed to do the "job" <i>very nearly</i> within the stipulated +week, you see. I am <i>so sorry</i> it was not <i>quite</i> finished yesterday, +but I was so <i>terrified</i> of <i>spoiling</i> the WHOLE THING by <i>rushing</i> +it!!</p> +</div> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>"Bunter," said Lord Peter, looking up from this letter, "I <i>knew</i> there +was something fishy about that will."</p> + +<p>"Yes, my lord."</p> + +<p>"There is something about wills which brings out the worst side of +human nature. People who under ordinary circumstances are perfectly +upright and amiable, go as curly as corkscrews and foam at the mouth, +whenever they hear the words 'I devise and bequeath.' That reminds me, +a spot of champagne in a silver tankard is no bad thing to celebrate +on. Get up a bottle of the Pommery and tell Chief-Inspector Parker I +should be glad of a word with him. And bring me those notes of Mr. +Arbuthnot's. And oh, Bunter!"</p> + +<p>"My lord?"</p> + +<p>"Get Mr. Crofts on the 'phone and give him my compliments, and say I +have found the criminal and the motive and hope presently to produce +proof of the way the crime was done, if he will see that the case is +put off for a week or so."</p> + +<p>"Very good, my lord."</p> + +<p>"All the same, Bunter, I really don't know how it <i>was</i> done."</p> + +<p>"That will undoubtedly suggest itself before long, my lord."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Wimsey, airily. "Of course. Of course. I'm not worrying +about a trifle like that."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</h2> +</div> + + +<p>"T'ch! t'ch!" said Mr. Pond, clicking his tongue against his denture.</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison looked up from her typewriter.</p> + +<p>"Is anything the matter, Mr. Pond?"</p> + +<p>"No, nothing," said the head-clerk, testily. "A foolish letter from a +foolish member of your sex, Miss Murchison."</p> + +<p>"That's nothing new."</p> + +<p>Mr. Pond frowned, conceiving the tone of his subordinate's voice to be +impertinent. He picked up the letter and its enclosure and took them +into the inner office.</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison nipped swiftly across to his desk and glanced at the +registered envelope which lay upon it, open. The post-mark was 'Windle.'</p> + +<p>"That's luck," said Miss Murchison, to herself. "Mr. Pond is a better +witness than I should be. I'm glad he opened it."</p> + +<p>She regained her place. In a few minutes Mr. Pond emerged, smiling +slightly.</p> + +<p>Five minutes later, Miss Murchison, who had been frowning over her +shorthand note-book, rose up and came over to him.</p> + +<p>"Can you read shorthand, Mr. Pond?"</p> + +<p>"No," said the head-clerk. "In my day it was not considered necessary."</p> + +<p>"I can't make out this outline," said Miss Murchison. "It looks like +'give consent to,' but it may be only 'give consideration to'—there's +a difference, isn't there?"</p> + +<p>"There certainly is," said Mr. Pond, drily.</p> + +<p>"P'raps I'd better not risk it," said Miss Murchison. "It's got to go +off this morning. I'd better ask him."</p> + +<p>Mr. Pond snorted—not for the first time—over the carelessness of the +female typist.</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison walked briskly across the room and opened the inner door +without knocking—an informality which left Mr. Pond groaning again.</p> + +<p>Mr. Urquhart was standing up with his back to the door, doing something +or other at the mantelpiece. He turned round sharply, with an +exclamation of annoyance.</p> + +<p>"I have told you before, Miss Murchison, that I like you to knock +before entering."</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry; I forgot."</p> + +<p>"Don't let it happen again. What is it?"</p> + +<p>He did not return to his desk, but stood leaning against the +mantelshelf. His sleek head, outlined against the drab-painted +panelling, was a little thrown back, as though—Miss Murchison +thought—he were protecting or defying somebody.</p> + +<p>"I could not quite make out my shorthand note of your letter to Tewke & +Peabody," said Miss Murchison, "and I thought it better to come and ask +you."</p> + +<p>"I wish," said Mr. Urquhart, fixing a stern eye upon her, "that you +would take your notes clearly at the time. If I am going too fast for +you, you should tell me so. It would save trouble in the end—wouldn't +it?"</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison was reminded of a little set of rules which Lord Peter +Wimsey—half in jest and half in earnest—had once prepared for the +guidance of "The Cattery." Of Rule Seven, in particular, which ran: +"Always distrust the man who looks you straight in the eyes. He wants +to prevent you from seeing something. Look for it."</p> + +<p>She shifted her eyes under her employer's gaze.</p> + +<p>"I'm very sorry, Mr. Urquhart. I won't let it occur again," she +muttered. There was a curious dark line at the edge of the panelling +just behind the solicitor's head, as though the panel did not quite fit +its frame. She had never noticed it before.</p> + +<p>"Well, now, what is the trouble?"</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison asked her question, got her answer and retired. As she +went, she cast a glance over the desk. The will was not there.</p> + +<p>She went back and finished her letters. When she took them in to be +signed, she seized the opportunity to look at the panelling again. +There was no dark line to be seen.</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison left the office promptly at half-past four. She had +a feeling that it would be unwise to linger about the premises. She +walked briskly away through Hand Court, turned to the right along +Holborn, dived to the right again through Featherstone Buildings, made +a detour through Red Lion Street and debouched into Red Lion Square. +Within five minutes she was at her old walk round the square, and up +Princeton Street. Presently, from a safe distance, she saw Mr. Pond +come out, thin, stiff and stooping, and walk down Bedford Row towards +Chancery Lane Station. Before very long, Mr. Urquhart followed. He +stood a moment on the threshold, glancing to left and right, then came +straight across the street towards her. For a moment she thought he +had seen her, and she dived hurriedly behind a van that was standing +at the kerb. Under its shelter, she withdrew to the corner of the +street, where there is a butcher's shop, and scanned a windowful of +New Zealand lamb and chilled beef. Mr. Urquhart came nearer. His steps +grew louder—then paused. Miss Murchison glued her eyes on a round of +meat marked 4-1/2lb. 3/4d. A voice said: "Good-evening, Miss Murchison. +Choosing your supper-chop?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! Good-evening, Mr. Urquhart. Yes—I was just wishing that +Providence had seen fit to provide more joints suitable for single +people."</p> + +<p>"Yes—one gets tired of beef and mutton."</p> + +<p>"And pork is apt to be indigestible."</p> + +<p>"Just so. Well, you should cease to be single, Miss Murchison."</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison giggled.</p> + +<p>"But this is so sudden, Mr. Urquhart."</p> + +<p>Mr. Urquhart flushed under his curious freckled skin.</p> + +<p>"Good-night," he said abruptly, and with extreme coldness.</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison laughed to herself as he strode off.</p> + +<p>"Thought that would settle him. It's a great mistake to be familiar +with your subordinates. They take advantage of you."</p> + +<p>She watched him out of sight on the far side of the Square, then +returned along Princeton Street, crossed Bedford Row and re-entered the +office building. The charwoman was just coming downstairs.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mrs. Hodges, it's me again! Do you mind letting me in? I've lost +a pattern of silk. I think I must have left it in my desk, or dropped +it on the floor. Have you come across it?"</p> + +<p>"No, miss, I ain't done your office yet."</p> + +<p>"Then I'll have a hunt round for it. I want to get up to Bourne's +before half-past six. It's such a nuisance."</p> + +<p>"Yes, miss, and such a crowd always with the buses and things. Here you +are, miss."</p> + +<p>She opened the door, and Miss Murchison darted in.</p> + +<p>"Shall I 'elp you to look for it, miss?"</p> + +<p>"No, thank you, Mrs. Hodges, please don't bother. I don't expect it's +far off."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Hodges took up a pail and went to fill it at a tap in the back +yard. As soon as her heavy steps had ascended again to the first floor, +Miss Murchison made for the inner office.</p> + +<p>"I must and will see what's behind that panelling."</p> + +<p>The houses in Bedford Row are Hogarthian in type, tall, symmetrical, +with the glamour of better days upon them. The panels in Mr. Urquhart's +room, though defaced by many coats of paint, were handsomely designed, +and over the mantelpiece ran a festoon of flowers and fruit, rather +florid for the period, with a ribbon and basket in the center. If the +panel was controlled by a concealed spring, the boss that moved it was +probably to be found among this decorative work. Pulling a chair to the +fireplace, Miss Murchison ran her fingers quickly over the festoon, +pushing and pressing with both hands, while keeping her ear cocked for +intruders.</p> + +<p>This kind of investigation is easy for experts, but Miss Murchison's +knowledge of secret hiding places was only culled from sensational +literature; she could not find the trick of the thing. After nearly a +quarter of an hour, she began to despair.</p> + +<p>Thump—thump—thump—Mrs. Hodges was coming downstairs.</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison sprang away from the panelling so hastily that the chair +slipped, and she had to thrust hard at the wall to save herself. She +jumped down, restored the chair to its place, glanced up—and saw the +panel standing wide open.</p> + +<p>At first she thought it was a miracle, but soon realised that in +slipping she had thrust sideways at the frame of the panel. A small +square of woodwork had slipped away sideways, and exposed an inner +panel with a keyhole in the middle.</p> + +<p>She heard Mrs. Hodges in the outer room, but she was too excited to +bother about what Mrs. Hodges might be thinking. She pushed a heavy +chair across the door, so that nobody could enter without noise and +difficulty. In a moment Blindfold Bill's keys were in her hand—how +fortunate that she had not returned them! How fortunate, too, that Mr. +Urquhart had relied on the secrecy of the panel, and had not thought it +worth while to fit his cache with a patent lock!</p> + +<p>A few moments' quick work with the keys, and the lock turned. She +pulled the little door open.</p> + +<p>Inside was a bundle of papers. Miss Murchison ran them over—at +first quickly—then again, with a puzzled face. Receipts for +securities—Share certificates—Megatherium Trust—surely the names of +those investments were familiar—where had she...?</p> + +<p>Suddenly Miss Murchison sat down, feeling quite faint, the bundle of +papers in her hand.</p> + +<p>She realised now what had happened to Mrs. Wrayburn's money, which +Norman Urquhart had been handling under that confiding Deed of Trust, +and why the matter of the will was so important. Her head whirled. She +picked up a sheet of paper from the desk and began jotting down in +hurried shorthand the particulars of the various transactions of which +these documents were the evidence.</p> + +<p>Somebody bumped at the door.</p> + +<p>"Are you in here, miss?"</p> + +<p>"Just a moment, Mrs. Hodges. I think I must have dropped it on the +floor in here."</p> + +<p>She gave the big chair a sharp push, effectually closing the door.</p> + +<p>She must hurry. Anyway she had got down enough to convince Lord Peter +that Mr. Urquhart's affairs needed looking into. She put the papers +back into the cupboard, in the exact place from which she had taken +them. The will was there, too, she noticed, laid on one side by itself. +She peered in. There was something else, tucked away at the back. She +thrust her hand in and pulled the mysterious object out. It was a white +paper packet, labelled with the name of a foreign chemist. The end had +been opened and tucked in again. She pulled the paper apart, and saw +that the packet contained about two ounces of a fine white powder.</p> + +<p>Next to hidden treasure and mysterious documents, nothing is more full +of sensational suggestion than a packet of anonymous white powder. Miss +Murchison caught up another sheet of clean paper, tipped a thimbleful +of the powder into it, replaced the packet at the back of the +cupboard and re-locked the door with the skeleton key. With trembling +fingers she pushed the panel back into place, taking care to shut it +completely, so as to show no betraying dark line.</p> + +<p>She rolled the chair away from the door and cried out gaily:</p> + +<p>"I've got it, Mrs. Hodges!"</p> + +<p>"There, now!" said Mrs. Hodges, appearing in the doorway.</p> + +<p>"Just fancy!" said Miss Murchison. "I was looking through my patterns +when Mr. Urquhart rang, and this one must have stuck to my frock and +dropped on the floor in here."</p> + +<p>She held up a small piece of silk triumphantly. She had torn it from +the lining of her bag in the course of the afternoon—a proof, if any +were needed, of her devotion to her work, for the bag was a good one.</p> + +<p>"Dearie me," said Mrs. Hodges. "What a good thing you found it, wasn't +it, miss?"</p> + +<p>"I nearly didn't," said Miss Murchison, "it was right in this +dark corner. Well, I must fly to get there before the shop shuts. +Good-night, Mrs. Hodges."</p> + +<p>But long before the accommodating Messrs. Bourne & Hollingsworth had +closed their doors, Miss Murchison was ringing the second floor bell at +110a, Piccadilly.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>She found a council in progress. There was the Hon. Freddy Arbuthnot, +looking amiable, Chief-Inspector Parker, looking worried, Lord Peter, +looking somnolent, and Bunter, who, having introduced her, retired to +a position on the fringe of the assembly and hovered there looking +correct.</p> + +<p>"Have you brought us news, Miss Murchison? If so, you have come at the +exact right moment to find the eagles gathered together. Mr. Arbuthnot, +Chief-Inspector Parker, Miss Murchison. Now let's all sit down and +be happy together. Have you had tea? or will you absorb a spot of +something?"</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison declined refreshment.</p> + +<p>"H'm!" said Wimsey. "The patient refuses food. Her eyes glitter wildly. +The expression is anxious. The lips are parted. The fingers fumble +with the clasp of the bag. The symptoms point to an acute attack of +communicativeness. Tell us the worst, Miss Murchison."</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison needed no urging. She told her adventures, and had the +pleasure of holding her audience enthralled from the first word to the +last. When she finally produced the screw of paper containing the white +powder, the sentiments of the company expressed themselves in a round +of applause, in which Bunter joined discreetly.</p> + +<p>"Are you convinced, Charles?" asked Wimsey.</p> + +<p>"I admit that I am heavily shaken," said Parker. "Of course, the powder +must be analysed—"</p> + +<p>"It shall, embodied caution," said Wimsey. "Bunter, make ready the rack +and thumbscrew. Bunter has been taking lessons in Marsh's test, and +performs it to admiration. You know all about it too, Charles, don't +you?"</p> + +<p>"Enough for a rough test."</p> + +<p>"Carry on then, my children. In the meanwhile, let us sum up our +findings."</p> + +<p>Bunter went out and Parker, who had been making entries in a note-book, +cleared his throat.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, "the matter stands, I take it, like this. You say that +Miss Vane is innocent, and you undertake to prove this by bringing a +convincing accusation against Norman Urquhart. So far, your evidence +against him is almost entirely concerned with motive, bolstered up by +proofs of intent to mislead enquiry. You say that your investigations +have brought the case against Urquhart to a point at which the police +can, and ought to, take it up, and I am inclined to agree with you. +I warn you, however, that you still have to establish evidence as to +means and opportunity."</p> + +<p>"I know that. Tell us a new one."</p> + +<p>"All right, as long as you know it. Very well. Now Philip Boyes and +Norman Urquhart are the only surviving relations of Mrs. Wrayburn, +or Cremorna Garden, who is rich, and has money to leave. A number +of years ago, Mrs. Wrayburn put all her affairs into the hands of +Urquhart's father, the only member of the family with whom she remained +on friendly terms. On his father's death, Norman Urquhart took over +those affairs himself, and in 1920, Mrs. Wrayburn executed a Deed of +Trust, giving him sole authority to handle her property. She also made +a will, dividing her property unequally between her two great-nephews. +Philip Boyes got all the real estate and £50,000, while Norman Urquhart +took whatever was left and was also sole executor. Norman Urquhart, +when questioned about this Will, deliberately told you an untruth, +saying that the bulk of the money was left to him, and even went so +far as to produce a document purporting to be a draft of such a will. +The pretended date of this draft is subsequent to that of the Will +discovered by Miss Climpson, but there is no doubt that the draft +itself was drawn out by Urquhart, certainly within the last three years +and probably within the last few days. Moreover, the fact that the +actual Will, though lying in a place accessible to Urquhart, was not +destroyed by him, suggests that it was not, in fact, superseded by any +subsequent testamentary disposition. By the way, Wimsey, why didn't he +simply take the will and destroy it? As the sole surviving heir, he +would then inherit without dispute."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it didn't occur to him. Or there might even be other relatives +surviving. How about that uncle in Australia?"</p> + +<p>"True. At any rate he didn't destroy it. In 1925 Mrs. Wrayburn became +completely paralysed and imbecile, so that there was no possibility of +her ever enquiring into the disposition of her estate or making another +will.</p> + +<p>"About this time, as we know from Mr. Arbuthnot, Urquhart took the +dangerous step of plunging into speculation. He made mistakes, lost +money, plunged more deeply to recover himself, and was involved to a +large extent in the great crash of Megatherium Trust, Ltd. He certainly +lost far more than he could possibly afford, and we now find, from +Miss Murchison's discoveries—of which I must say that I should hate +to have to take official notice—that he had been consistently abusing +his position as Trustee and employing Mrs. Wrayburn's money for his +private speculations. He deposited her holdings as security for large +loans, and embarked the money thus raised in the Megatherium and other +wild-cat schemes.</p> + +<p>"As long as Mrs. Wrayburn lived, he was fairly safe, for he only had to +pay to her the sums necessary to keep up her house and establishment. +In fact, all the household bills and so on were settled by him as her +man of affairs under Power of Attorney, all salaries were paid by him, +and so long as he did this, it was nobody's business to ask what he had +done with the capital. But as soon as Mrs. Wrayburn died, he would have +to account to the other heir, Philip Boyes, for the capital which he +had misappropriated.</p> + +<p>"Now in 1929, just about the time that Philip Boyes quarreled with +Miss Vane, Mrs. Wrayburn had a serious attack of illness and very +nearly died. The danger passed, but might recur at any moment. Almost +immediately afterwards we find him becoming friendly with Philip Boyes +and inviting him to stay at his house. While living with Urquhart, +Boyes has three attacks of illness, attributed by his doctor to +gastritis, but equally consistent with arsenical poisoning. In June +1929, Philip Boyes goes away to Wales and his health improves.</p> + +<p>"While Philip Boyes is absent, Mrs. Wrayburn has another alarming +attack, and Urquhart hastens up to Windle, possibly with the idea of +destroying the will in case the worst happens. It does not happen, and +he comes back to London, just in time to receive Boyes on his return +from Wales. That night, Boyes is taken ill with symptoms similar to +those of the previous spring, but much more violent. After three days +he dies.</p> + +<p>"Urquhart is now perfectly safe. As residuary legatee, he will receive, +at Mrs. Wrayburn's death, all the money bequeathed to Philip Boyes. +That is, he will not get it, because he has already taken it and +lost it, but he will no longer be called upon to produce it and his +fraudulent dealings will not be exposed.</p> + +<p>"So far, the evidence as to motive is extremely cogent, and far more +convincing than the evidence against Miss Vane.</p> + +<p>"But here is your snag, Wimsey. When and how was the poison +administered? We know that Miss Vane possessed arsenic and that she +could easily have given it to him without witnesses. But Urquhart's +only opportunity was at the dinner he shared with Boyes, and if +anything in this case is certain, it is that the poison was not +administered at that dinner. Everything which Boyes ate or drank was +equally eaten and drunk by Urquhart and the servants, with the single +exception of the burgundy, which was preserved and analysed and found +to be harmless."</p> + +<p>"I know," said Wimsey, "but that is what is so suspicious. Did you +ever hear of a meal hedged round with such precautions? It's not +natural, Charles. There's the sherry, poured out by the maid from +the original bottle, the soup, fish and casseroled chicken—so +impossible to poison in one portion without poisoning the whole—the +omelette, so ostentatiously prepared at the table by the hands of the +victim—the wine, sealed up and marked—the remnants consumed in the +kitchen—you would think the man had gone out of his way to construct a +suspicion-proof meal. The wine is the final touch which makes the thing +incredible. Do you tell me that at that earliest moment when everybody +supposes the illness to be a natural one, and when the affectionate +cousin ought to be overwhelmed with anxiety for the sick man, it is +natural or believable that an innocent person's mind should fly to +accusations of poisoning? If he was innocent himself, then he suspected +something. If he did suspect, why didn't he tell the doctor and have +the patient's secretions and so on analysed? Why should he ever have +thought of protecting himself against accusation when no accusation had +been made, unless he knew that an accusation would be well-founded? And +then there's the business about the nurse."</p> + +<p>"Exactly. The nurse did have her suspicions."</p> + +<p>"If he knew about them, he ought to have taken steps to refute them +in the proper way. But I don't think he did know about them. I was +referring to what you told us today. The police have got in touch with +the nurse again, Miss Williams, and she tells them that Norman Urquhart +took special pains never to be left alone with the patient, and never +to give him any food or medicine, even when she herself was present. +Doesn't that argue a bad conscience?"</p> + +<p>"You won't find any lawyer or jury to believe it, Peter."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but look here, doesn't it strike you as funny? Listen to this, +Miss Murchison. One day the nurse was doing something or the other +in the room, and she had got the medicine there on the mantelpiece. +Something was said about it, and Boyes remarked, 'Oh, don't bother, +Nurse. Norman can give me my dope.' Does Norman say, 'Right-ho, old +man?' as you or I would? No! He says: 'No, I'll leave it to Nurse—I +might make a mess of it.' Pretty feeble, what?"</p> + +<p>"Lots of people are nervous about looking after invalids," said Miss +Murchison.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but most people can pour stuff out of a bottle into a glass. +Boyes wasn't <i>in extremis</i>—he was speaking quite rationally and all +that. I say the man was deliberately protecting himself."</p> + +<p>"Possibly," said Parker, "but after all, old man, when <i>did</i> he +administer the poison?"</p> + +<p>"Probably not at the dinner at all," said Miss Murchison. "As you say, +the precautions seem rather obvious. They may have been intended to +make people concentrate on the dinner and forget other possibilities. +Did he have a whisky when he arrived or before he went out or anything?"</p> + +<p>"Alas, he did not. Bunter has been cultivating Hannah Westlock almost +to breach of promise point, and she says that she opened the door to +Boyes on his arrival, that he went straight upstairs to his room, that +Urquhart was out at the time and only came in a quarter of an hour +before dinner-time, and that the two men met for the first time over +the famous glass of sherry in the library. The folding-doors between +the library and dining-room were open and Hannah was buzzing round the +whole time laying the table, and she is sure that Boyes had the sherry +and nothing but the sherry."</p> + +<p>"Not so much as a digestive tablet?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing."</p> + +<p>"How about after dinner?"</p> + +<p>"When they had finished the omelette, Urquhart said something about +coffee. Boyes looked at his watch and said, 'No time, old chap, I've +got to be getting along to Doughty Street.' Urquhart said he would +ring up a taxi, and went out to do so. Boyes folded up his napkin, got +up and went into the hall. Hannah followed and helped him on with his +coat. The taxi arrived. Boyes got in and off he went without seeing +Urquhart again."</p> + +<p>"It seems to me," said Miss Murchison, "that Hannah is an exceedingly +important witness for Mr. Urquhart's defence. You don't think—I hardly +like to suggest it—but you don't think that Bunter is allowing his +feelings to overcome his judgment?"</p> + +<p>"He says," replied Lord Peter, "that he believes Hannah to be a +sincerely religious woman. He has sat beside her in chapel and shared +her hymn-book."</p> + +<p>"But that may be the merest hypocrisy," said Miss Murchison, rather +warmly, for she was militantly rationalist. "I don't trust these +unctuous people."</p> + +<p>"I didn't offer that as a proof of Hannah's virtue," said Wimsey, "but +of Bunter's unsusceptibility."</p> + +<p>"But he looks like a deacon himself."</p> + +<p>"You've never seen Bunter off duty," said Lord Peter, darkly. "I have, +and I can assure you that a hymn-book would be about as softening to +his heart as neat whisky to an Anglo-Indian liver. No; if Bunter says +Hannah is honest, then she <i>is</i> honest."</p> + +<p>"Then that definitely cuts out the drinks and the dinner," said Miss +Murchison, unconvinced, but willing to be open-minded. "How about the +water-bottle in the bedroom?"</p> + +<p>"The devil!" cried Wimsey. "That's one up to you, Miss Murchison. We +didn't think of that. The water-bottle—yes—a perfectly fruity idea. +You recollect, Charles, that in the Bravo case, it was suggested that +a disgruntled servant had put tartar emetic in the water-bottle. Oh, +Bunter—here you are! Next time you hold Hannah's hand, will you ask +her whether Mr. Boyes drank any water from his bedroom water-bottle +before dinner?"</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, my lord, the possibility had already presented itself to my +mind."</p> + +<p>"It had?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my lord."</p> + +<p>"Do you never overlook anything, Bunter?"</p> + +<p>"I endeavour to give satisfaction, my lord."</p> + +<p>"Well then, don't talk like Jeeves. It irritates me. What about the +water-bottle?"</p> + +<p>"I was about to observe, my lord, when this lady arrived, that I had +elicited a somewhat peculiar circumstance relating to the water-bottle."</p> + +<p>"Now we're getting somewhere," said Parker, flattening out a new page +of his note-book.</p> + +<p>"I would not go so far as to say that, sir. Hannah informed me that +she showed Mr. Boyes into his bedroom on his arrival and withdrew, +as it was her place to do. She had scarcely reached the head of the +staircase, when Mr. Boyes put his head out of the door and recalled +her. He then asked her to fill his water-bottle. She was considerably +astonished at this request, since she had a perfect recollection of +having previously filled it when she put the room in order."</p> + +<p>"Could he have emptied it himself?" asked Parker, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Not into his interior, sir—there had not been time. Nor had the +drinking-glass been utilised. Moreover, the bottle was not merely +empty, but dry inside. Hannah apologised for the neglect, and +immediately rinsed out the bottle and filled it from the tap."</p> + +<p>"Curious," said Parker. "But it's quite likely she never filled it at +all."</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, sir. Hannah was so much surprised by the episode that she +mentioned it to Mrs. Pettican, the cook, who said that she distinctly +recollected seeing her fill the bottle that morning."</p> + +<p>"Well, then," said Parker, "Urquhart or somebody must have emptied it +and dried it out. Now, why? What would one naturally do if one found +one's water-bottle empty?"</p> + +<p>"Ring the bell," said Wimsey, promptly.</p> + +<p>"Or shout for help," added Parker.</p> + +<p>"Or," said Miss Murchison, "if one wasn't accustomed to be waited on, +one might use the water from the bedroom jug."</p> + +<p>"Ah! ... of course Boyes was used to a more or less Bohemian life."</p> + +<p>"But surely," said Wimsey, "that's idiotically roundabout. It would +be much simpler just to poison the water in the bottle. Why direct +attention to the thing by making it more difficult? Besides, you +couldn't count on the victim's using the jug-water—and, as a matter of +fact, he didn't."</p> + +<p>"And he <i>was</i> poisoned," said Miss Murchison, "so the poison wasn't +either in the jug or the bottle."</p> + +<p>"No—I'm afraid there's nothing to be got out of the jug and bottle +department. Hollow, hollow, hollow all delight, Tennyson."</p> + +<p>"All the same," said Parker, "that incident convinces me. It's too +complete, somehow. Wimsey's right; it's not natural for a defence to be +so perfect."</p> + +<p>"My God," said Wimsey, "we have convinced Charles Parker. Nothing more +is needed. He is more adamantine than any jury."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Parker, modestly, "but I'm more logical, I think. And I'm +not being flustered by the Attorney-General. I should feel happier with +a little evidence of a more objective kind."</p> + +<p>"You would. You want some real arsenic. Well, Bunter, what about it?"</p> + +<p>"The apparatus is quite ready, my lord."</p> + +<p>"Very good. Let us go and see if we can give Mr. Parker what he wants. +Lead and we follow."</p> + +<p>In a small apartment usually devoted to Bunter's photographic work, and +furnished with a sink, a bench, and a bunsen burner, stood the apparatus +necessary for making a Marsh's test of arsenic. The distilled water +was already bubbling gently in the flask, and Bunter lifted the little +glass tube which lay across the flame of the burner.</p> + +<p>"You will perceive, my lord," he observed, "that the apparatus is free +from contamination."</p> + +<p>"I see nothing at all," said Freddy.</p> + +<p>"That, as Sherlock Holmes would say, is what you may expect to see when +there is nothing there," said Wimsey, kindly. "Charles, you will pass +the water and the flask and the tube, old Uncle Tom Cobley and all as +being arsenic-free."</p> + +<p>"I will."</p> + +<p>"Wilt thou love, cherish, and keep her, in sickness or in +health—sorry! turned over two pages at once. Where's that powder? +Miss Murchison, you identify this sealed envelope as being the one you +brought from the office, complete with mysterious white powder from Mr. +Urquhart's secret hoard?"</p> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>"Kiss the Book. Thank you. Now then—"</p> + +<p>"Wait a sec," said Parker, "you haven't tested the envelope separately."</p> + +<p>"That's true. There's always a snag somewhere. I suppose, Miss +Murchison, you haven't such a thing as another office envelope about +you?"</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison blushed, and fumbled in her handbag.</p> + +<p>"Well—there's a little note I scribbled this afternoon to a friend—"</p> + +<p>"<i>In</i> your employer's time, <i>on</i> your employer's paper," said Wimsey. +"Oh, how right Diogenes was when he took his lantern to look for an +honest typist! Never mind. Let's have it. Who wills the end, wills the +means."</p> + +<p>Miss Murchison extracted the envelope and freed it from the enclosure. +Bunter, receiving it respectfully on a developing dish, cut it into +small pieces which he dropped into the flask. The water bubbled +brightly, but the little tube still remained stainless from end to end.</p> + +<p>"Does something begin to happen soon?" enquired Mr. Arbuthnot. "Because +I feel this show's a bit lackin' in pep, what?"</p> + +<p>"If you don't sit still I shall take you out," retorted Wimsey. "Carry +on, Bunter. We'll pass the envelope."</p> + +<p>Bunter accordingly opened the second envelope, and delicately dropped +the white powder into the wide mouth of the flask. All five heads bent +eagerly over the apparatus. And presently, definitely, magically, +a thin silver stain began to form in the tube where the flame +impinged upon it. Second by second it spread and darkened to a deep +brownish-black ring with a shining metallic centre.</p> + +<p>"Oh, lovely, lovely," said Parker, with professional delight.</p> + +<p>"Your lamp's smoking or something," said Freddy.</p> + +<p>"Is that arsenic?" breathed Miss Murchison, gently.</p> + +<p>"I hope so," said Wimsey, gently detaching the tube and holding it up +to the light. "It's either arsenic or antimony."</p> + +<p>"Allow me, my lord. The addition of a small quantity of solute +chlorinated lime should decide the question beyond reach of cavil."</p> + +<p>He performed this further test amid an anxious silence. The stain +dissolved out and vanished under the bleaching solution.</p> + +<p>"Then it is arsenic," said Parker.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Wimsey, nonchalantly, "of course it is arsenic. Didn't +I tell you?" His voice wavered a little with suppressed triumph.</p> + +<p>"Is that all?" inquired Freddy, disappointed.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it enough?" said Miss Murchison.</p> + +<p>"Not quite," said Parker, "but it's a long way towards it. It proves +that Urquhart has arsenic in his possession, and by making an official +enquiry in France, we can probably find out whether this packet was +already in his possession last June. I notice, by the way, that it +is ordinary white arsenious acid, without any mixture of charcoal or +indigo, which agrees with what was found at the post-mortem. That's +satisfactory, but it would be even more satisfactory if we could +provide an opportunity for Urquhart to have administered it. So far, +all we have done is to demonstrate clearly that he couldn't have given +it to Boyes either before, during or after dinner, during the period +required for the symptoms to develop. I agree that an impossibility so +bolstered up by testimony is suspicious in itself, but, to convince a +jury, I should prefer something better than a <i>credo quia impossibile</i>."</p> + +<p>"Riddle-me-right, and riddle-me-ree," said Wimsey, imperturbably. +"We've overlooked something, that's all. Probably something quite +obvious. Give me the statutory dressing-gown and ounce of shag, and I +will undertake to dispose of this little difficulty for you in a brace +of shakes. In the meantime, you will no doubt take steps to secure, in +an official and laborious manner, the evidence which our kind friends +here have already so ably gathered in by unconventional methods, and +will stand by to arrest the right man when the time comes?"</p> + +<p>"I will," said Parker, "gladly. Apart from all personal considerations, +I'd far rather see that oily-haired fellow in the dock than any woman, +and if the Force has made a mistake, the sooner it's put right the +better for all concerned."</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Wimsey sat late that night in the black-and-primrose library, with +the tall folios looking down at him. They represented the world's +accumulated hoard of mellow wisdom and poetical beauty, to say +nothing of thousands of pounds in cash. But all these counsellors sat +mute upon their shelves. Strewn on tables and chairs lay the bright +scarlet volumes of the Notable British Trials—Palmer, Pritchard, +Maybrick, Seddon, Armstrong, Madeleine Smith—the great practitioners +in arsenic—huddled together with the chief authorities on Forensic +Medicine and Toxicology.</p> + +<p>The theatre-going crowds surged home in saloon and taxi, the lights +shone over the empty width of Piccadilly, the heavy night-lorries +rumbled slow and seldom over the black tarmac, the long night waned +and the reluctant winter dawn struggled wanly over the piled roofs of +London. Bunter, silent and anxious, sat in his kitchen, brewing coffee +on the stove and reading the same page of the "British Journal of +Photography" over and over again.</p> + +<p>At half-past eight the library bell rang.</p> + +<p>"My lord?"</p> + +<p>"My bath, Bunter."</p> + +<p>"Very good, my lord."</p> + +<p>"And some coffee."</p> + +<p>"Immediately, my lord."</p> + +<p>"And put back all the books except these."</p> + +<p>"Yes, my lord."</p> + +<p>"I know now how it was done."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, my lord? Permit me to offer my respectful congratulations."</p> + +<p>"I've still got to prove it."</p> + +<p>"A secondary consideration, my lord."</p> + +<p>Wimsey yawned. When Bunter returned a minute or two later with the +coffee, he was asleep.</p> + +<p>Bunter put the books quietly away, and looked with some curiosity +at the chosen few left open on the table. They were: "The Trial of +Florence Maybrick"; Dixon Mann's "Forensic Medicine and Toxicology"; +a book with a German title which Bunter could not read; and A. E. +Housman's "A Shropshire Lad."</p> + +<p>Bunter studied these for a few moments, and then slapped his thigh +softly.</p> + +<p>"Why, of course!" he said under his breath, "why, what a mutton-headed +set of chumps we've all been!" He touched his master lightly on the +shoulder,</p> + +<p>"Your coffee, my lord."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</h2> +</div> + + +<p>"Then you won't marry me?" said Lord Peter.</p> + +<p>The prisoner shook her head.</p> + +<p>"No. It wouldn't be fair to you. And besides—"</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"I'm frightened of it. One couldn't get away. I'll live with you, if +you like, but I won't marry you."</p> + +<p>Her tone was so unutterably dreary that Wimsey could feel no enthusiasm +for this handsome offer.</p> + +<p>"But that sort of thing doesn't always work," he expostulated. "Dash +it all, you ought to know—forgive my alluding to it and all that—but +it's frightfully inconvenient, and one has just as many rows as if one +was married."</p> + +<p>"I know that. But you could cut loose any time you wanted to."</p> + +<p>"But I shouldn't want to."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, you would. You've got a family and traditions, you know. +Caesar's wife and that sort of thing."</p> + +<p>"Blast Caesar's wife! And as for the family traditions—they're on +my side, for what they're worth. Anything a Wimsey does is right and +heaven help the person who gets in the way. We've even got a damned +old family motto about it—'I hold by my Whimsy'—quite right too. I +can't say that when I look in the glass I exactly suggest to myself +the original Gerald de Wimsey, who bucked about on a cart horse at +the Siege of Acre, but I do jolly well intend to do what I like about +marrying. Who's to stop me? They can't eat me. They can't even cut me, +if it comes to that. Joke, unintentional, officers, for the use of."</p> + +<p>Harriet laughed.</p> + +<p>"No, I suppose they can't cut you. You wouldn't have to slink +abroad with your impossible wife and live at obscure continental +watering-places like people in Victorian novels."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not."</p> + +<p>"People would forget I'd had a lover?"</p> + +<p>"My dear child, they're forgetting that kind of thing every day. +They're experts at it."</p> + +<p>"And was supposed to have murdered him?"</p> + +<p>"And were triumphantly acquitted of having murdered him, however +greatly provoked."</p> + +<p>"Well, I won't marry you. If people can forget all that, they can +forget we're not married."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, <i>they</i> could. I couldn't, that's all. We don't seem to be +progressing very fast with this conversation. I take it the general +idea of living with me does not hopelessly repel you?"</p> + +<p>"But this is all so preposterous," protested the girl. "How can I say +what I should or shouldn't do if I were free and certain of—surviving?"</p> + +<p>"Why not? I can imagine what I should do even in the most unlikely +circumstances, whereas this really is a dead cert, straight from the +stables."</p> + +<p>"I can't," said Harriet, beginning to wilt. "Do please stop asking me. +I don't know. I can't think. I can't see beyond the—beyond the—beyond +the next few weeks. I only want to get out of this and be left alone."</p> + +<p>"All right," said Wimsey, "I won't worry you. Not fair. Abusing my +privilege and so on. You can't say 'Pig' and sweep out, under the +circs., so I won't offend again. As a matter of fact I'll sweep out +myself, having an appointment—with a manicurist. Nice little girl, but +a trifle refained in her vowels. Cheerio!"</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>The manicurist, who had been discovered by the help of Chief-Inspector +Parker and his sleuths, was a kitten-faced child with an inviting +manner and a shrewd eye. She made no bones about accepting her client's +invitation to dine, and showed no surprise when he confidentially +murmured that he had a little proposition to put before her. She put +her plump elbows on the table, cocked her head at a coy angle, and +prepared to sell her honour dear.</p> + +<p>As the proposition unfolded itself, her manner underwent an alteration +that was almost comical. Her eyes lost their round innocence, her very +hair seemed to grow less fluffy, and her eyebrows puckered in genuine +astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Why, of course I could," she said finally, "but whatever do you want +them for? Seems funny to me."</p> + +<p>"Call it just a joke," said Wimsey.</p> + +<p>"No." Her mouth hardened. "I wouldn't like it. It doesn't make sense, +if you see what I mean. What I mean, it sounds a queer sort of joke and +that kind of thing might get a girl into trouble. I say, it's not one +of those, what do they call 'em?—there was a bit about it in Madame +Crystal's column last week, in <i>Susie's Snippets</i>—spells, you know, +witchcraft—the occult, that sort of thing? I wouldn't like it if it +was to do any harm to anybody."</p> + +<p>"I'm not going to make a waxen image, if that's what you mean. Look +here, are you the sort of girl who can keep a secret?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't talk. I never was one to let my tongue wag around. I'm not +like ordinary girls."</p> + +<p>"No, I thought you weren't. That's why I asked you to come out with me. +Well, listen, and I'll tell you."</p> + +<p>He leaned forward and talked. The little painted face upturned to +his grew so absorbed and so excited that a bosom friend, dining at a +table some way off, grew quite peevish with envy, making sure that +darling Mabel was being offered a flat in Paris, a Daimler car and a +thousand-pound necklace, and quarrelled fatally with her own escort in +consequence.</p> + +<p>"So you see," said Wimsey, "it means a lot to me."</p> + +<p>Darling Mabel gave an ecstatic sigh.</p> + +<p>"Is that all true? You're not making it up? It's better than any of the +talkies."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but you mustn't say one word. You're the only person I've told. +You won't give me away to him?"</p> + +<p>"Him? He's a stingy pig. Catch me giving him anything. I'm on. I'll +do it for you. It'll be a bit difficult, 'cause I'll have to use the +scissors, which we don't do as a rule. But I'll manage. You trust me. +They won't be big ones, you know. He comes in pretty often, but I'll +give you all I get. And I'll fix Fred. He always has Fred. Fred'll do +it if I ask him. What'll I do with them when I get them?"</p> + +<p>Wimsey drew an envelope from his pocket.</p> + +<p>"Sealed up inside this," he said, impressively, "there are two little +pill-boxes. You mustn't take them out till you get the specimens, +because they've been carefully prepared so as to be absolutely +chemically clean, if you see what I mean. When you're ready, open +the envelope, take out the pill-boxes, put the parings into one and +the hair into the other, shut them up at once, put them into a clean +envelope and post them to this address. Get that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes." She stretched out an eager hand.</p> + +<p>"Good girl. And not a word."</p> + +<p>"Not—one—word!" She made a gesture of exaggerated caution.</p> + +<p>"When's your birthday?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't have one. I never grow up."</p> + +<p>"Right; then I can send you an unbirthday present any day in the year. +You'd look nice in mink, I think."</p> + +<p>"Mink, I think," she mocked him. "Quite a poet, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"You inspire me," said Wimsey, politely.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</h2> +</div> + + +<p>"I have come round," said Mr. Urquhart, "in answer to your letter. I am +greatly interested to hear that you have some fresh information about +my unfortunate cousin's death. Of course I shall be delighted to give +you any assistance I can."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Wimsey. "Do sit down. You have dined, of course? But +you will have a cup of coffee. You prefer the Turkish variety, I fancy. +My man brews it rather well."</p> + +<p>Mr. Urquhart accepted the offer, and complimented Bunter on having +achieved the right method of concocting that curiously syrupy brew, so +offensive to the average Occidental.</p> + +<p>Bunter thanked him gravely for his good opinion, and proffered a box +of that equally nauseating mess called Turkish Delight, which not only +gluts the palate and glues the teeth, but also smothers the consumer +in a floury cloud of white sugar. Mr. Urquhart immediately plugged his +mouth with a large lump of it, murmuring indistinctly that it was the +genuine Eastern variety. Wimsey, with an austere smile, took a few sips +of strong black coffee without sugar or milk, and poured himself out a +glass of old brandy. Bunter retired, and Lord Peter, laying a note-book +open upon his knee, glanced at the clock and began his narrative.</p> + +<p>He recapitulated the circumstances of Philip Boyes' life and death at +some length. Mr. Urquhart, yawning surreptitiously, ate, drank and +listened.</p> + +<p>Wimsey, still with his eye on the clock, then embarked upon the story +of Mrs. Wrayburn's will.</p> + +<p>Mr. Urquhart, considerably astonished, set his coffee-cup aside, wiped +his sticky fingers upon his handkerchief, and stared.</p> + +<p>Presently he said:</p> + +<p>"May I ask how you have obtained this very remarkable information?"</p> + +<p>Wimsey waved his hand.</p> + +<p>"The police," he said, "wonderful thing, police organisation. +Surprisin' what they find out when they put their minds to it. You're +not denying any of it, I presume?"</p> + +<p>"I am listening," said Mr. Urquhart, grimly. "When you have finished +this extraordinary statement, I may perhaps discover exactly what it is +I have to deny."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Wimsey, "I'll try to make that clear. I'm not a lawyer, +of course, but I'm tryin' to be as lucid as I can."</p> + +<p>He droned remorselessly on, and the hands of the clock went round.</p> + +<p>"So far as I make it out," he said, when he had reviewed the whole +question of motive, "it was very much to your interest to get rid of +Mr. Philip Boyes. And indeed the fellow was, in my opinion, a pimple +and a wart, and in your place I should have felt much the same about +him."</p> + +<p>"And is this the whole of your fantastic accusation?" enquired the +solicitor.</p> + +<p>"By no means. I am now coming to the point. Slow but sure is the motto +of yours faithfully. I notice that I have taken up seventy minutes of +your valuable time, but believe me, the hour has not been unprofitably +spent."</p> + +<p>"Allowing that all this preposterous story were true, which I most +emphatically deny," observed Mr. Urquhart, "I should be greatly +interested to know how you imagine that I administered the arsenic. +Have you worked out something ingenious for that? Or am I supposed to +have suborned my cook and parlourmaid to be my accomplices? A little +rash of me, don't you think, and affording remarkable opportunities for +blackmail?"</p> + +<p>"So rash," said Wimsey, "that it is quite out of the question for a man +so full of forethought as yourself. The sealing-up of that bottle of +burgundy, for example, argues a mind alive to possibilities—unusually +so. In fact, the episode attracted my attention from the start."</p> + +<p>"Indeed?"</p> + +<p>"You ask me how and when you administered the poison. It was not before +dinner, I think. The thoughtfulness shown in emptying the bedroom +water-bottle—oh, no! that point was not missed—the care displayed in +meeting your cousin before a witness and never being left alone with +him—I think that rules out the period before dinner."</p> + +<p>"I should think it might."</p> + +<p>"The sherry," pursued Wimsey, thoughtfully. "It was a new bottle, +freshly decanted. The disappearance of the remains might be commented +on. I fancy we can absolve the sherry."</p> + +<p>Mr. Urquhart bowed ironically.</p> + +<p>"The soup—it was shared by the cook and parlourmaid and they survived. +I am inclined to pass the soup, and the same thing applies to the fish. +It would be easy to poison a portion of fish, but it would involve the +co-operation of Hannah Westlock, and that conflicts with my theory. A +theory is a sacred thing to me, Mr. Urquhart—almost a what d'you call +it—a dogma."</p> + +<p>"An unsafe attitude of mind," remarked the lawyer, "but in the +circumstances I will not quarrel with it."</p> + +<p>"Besides," said Wimsey, "if the poison had been given in the soup or +the fish, it might have started to work before Philip—I may call +him so, I hope?—had left the house. We come to the casserole. Mrs. +Pettican and Hannah Westlock can give the casserole a clean bill of +health, I fancy. And by the way, from the description it must have been +most delicious. I speak as a man with some considerable experience in +gastronomic matters, Mr. Urquhart."</p> + +<p>"I am well aware of it," said Mr. Urquhart, politely.</p> + +<p>"And now there remains only the omelette. A most admirable thing +when well made and eaten—that is so important—eaten immediately. +A charming idea to have the eggs and sugar brought to the table and +prepared and cooked on the spot. By the way, I take it there was no +omelette left over for the kitchen? No, no! One does not let a good +thing like that go out half-eaten. Much better that the good cook +should make a fine, fresh omelette for herself and her colleague. +Nobody but yourself and Philip partook of the omelette, I am sure."</p> + +<p>"Quite so," said Mr. Urquhart, "I need not trouble to deny it. But you +will bear in mind that I did partake of it, without ill-effects. And +moreover, that my cousin made it himself."</p> + +<p>"So he did. Four eggs, if I remember rightly, with sugar and jam from +what I may call the common stock. No—there would be nothing wrong with +the sugar or the jam. Er—I believe I am right in saying that one of +the eggs was cracked when it came to the table?"</p> + +<p>"Possibly. I do not really remember."</p> + +<p>"No? Well, you are not on oath. But Hannah Westlock remembers that when +you brought the eggs in—you purchased them yourself, you know, Mr. +Urquhart—you mentioned that one was cracked and particularly desired +that it should be used for the omelette. In fact, you yourself laid it +in the bowl for that purpose."</p> + +<p>"What about it?" asked Mr. Urquhart, perhaps a trifle less easily than +before.</p> + +<p>"It is not very difficult to introduce powdered arsenic into a cracked +egg," said Wimsey. "I have made the experiment myself with a small +glass tube. Perhaps a small funnel would be even easier. Arsenic is +a fairly heavy substance—7 or 8 grains will go into a tea-spoon. It +collects at one end of the egg, and any traces on the exterior of the +shell can be readily wiped off. Liquid arsenic could be poured in +still more easily, of course, but for a particular reason I made my +experiment with the ordinary white powder. It is fairly soluble."</p> + +<p>Mr. Urquhart had taken a cigar from his case, and was making rather a +business of lighting it.</p> + +<p>"Do you suggest," he enquired, "that in the whisking together of +four eggs, one particular poisoned egg was somehow kept miraculously +separated from the rest and deposited with its load of arsenic at one +end of the omelette only? Or that my cousin deliberately helped himself +to the poisoned end and left the rest to me?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all, not at all," said Wimsey. "I suggest merely that the +arsenic was in the omelette and came there by way of the egg."</p> + +<p>Mr. Urquhart threw his match into the fireplace.</p> + +<p>"There seem to be some flaws in your theory, as well as in the egg."</p> + +<p>"I haven't finished the theory yet. My next bit of it is built up from +very trifling indications. Let me enumerate them. Your disinclination +to drink at dinner, your complexion, a few nail-parings, a snipping or +so from your very well-kept hair—I put these together, add a packet of +white arsenic from the secret cupboard in your office, rub the hands a +little—so—and produce—hemp, Mr. Urquhart, hemp."</p> + +<p>He sketched the shape of a noose lightly in the air.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand you," said the solicitor, hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"Oh <i>you</i> know," said Wimsey. "Hemp—what they make ropes of. Great +stuff, hemp. Yes, well, about this arsenic. As you know, it's not good +for people in a general way, but there are some people—those tiresome +peasants in Styria one hears so much about—who are supposed to eat +it for fun. It improves their wind, so they say, and clears their +complexions and makes their hair sleek, and they give it to their +horses for the same reason; bar the complexion, that is, because a +horse hasn't much complexion, but you know what I mean. Then there was +that horrid man Maybrick—he used to take it, or so they say. Anyhow, +it's well known that some people do take it and manage to put away +large dollops after a bit of practice—enough to kill any ordinary +person. But you know all this."</p> + +<p>"This is the first time I've heard of such a thing."</p> + +<p>"Where <i>do</i> you expect to go to? Never mind. We'll pretend this is +all new to you. Well, some fellow—I've forgotten his name,<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> but +it's all in Dixon Mann—wondered how the dodge was worked, and he got +going on some dogs and things and he dosed 'em and killed a lot of 'em +I daresay, and in the end he found that whereas liquid arsenic was +dealt with by the kidneys and was uncommonly bad for the system, solid +arsenic could be given day by day, a little bigger dose each time, so +that in time the doings—what an old lady I knew in Norfolk called +'the tubes'—got used to it and could push it along without taking any +notice of it, so to speak. I read a book somewhere which said it was +all done by leucocytes—those jolly little white corpuscles, don't you +know—which sort of got round the stuff and bustled it along so that +it couldn't do any harm. At all events, the point is that if you go +on taking solid arsenic for a good long time—say a year or so—you +establish a what-not, an immunity, and can take six or seven grains at +a time without so much as a touch of indijaggers."</p> + +<p>"Very interesting," said Mr. Urquhart.</p> + +<p>"Apparently these beastly Styrian peasants do it that way, and they're +very careful not to drink for two hours or thereabouts after taking it, +for fear it should all get washed into the kidneys and turn poisonous +on 'em. I'm not bein' very technical, I'm afraid, but that's the gist +of it. Well, it occurred to me, don't you see, old horse, that if you'd +had the bright idea to immunise yourself first, you could easily have +shared a jolly old arsenical omelette with a friend. It would kill him +and it wouldn't hurt you."</p> + +<p>"I see."</p> + +<p>The solicitor licked his lips.</p> + +<p>"Well, as I say, you have a nice clear complexion—except that I notice +the arsenic has pigmented the skin here and there (it does sometimes), +and you've got the sleek hair and so on, and I noticed you were careful +not to drink at dinner, and I said to myself, 'Peter, my bright lad, +what about it?' And when they found a packet of white arsenic in your +cupboard—never mind how for the moment!—I said, 'Hullo, hullo, how +long has this been going on?' Your handy foreign chemist has told the +police two years—is that right? About the time of the Megatherium +crash that would be, wouldn't it? All right, don't tell me if you don't +want to. Then we got hold of some bits of your hair and nails, and lo +and behold, they were bung-full of arsenic. And we said 'What-ho!' So +that's why I asked you to come along and have a chat with me. I thought +you might like to offer some sort of suggestion, don't you know."</p> + +<p>"I can only suggest," said Urquhart, with a ghastly face but a strictly +professional manner, "that you should be careful before you communicate +this ludicrous theory to anybody. What you and the police—whom, +frankly, I believe to be capable of anything—have been planting on +my premises I do not know, but to give out that I am addicted to +drug-taking habits is slander and criminal. It is quite true that I +have for some time been taking a medicine which contains slight traces +of arsenic—Dr. Grainger can furnish the prescription—and that may +very likely have left a deposit in my skin and hair, but further than +that, there is no foundation for this monstrous accusation."</p> + +<p>"None?"</p> + +<p>"None."</p> + +<p>"Then how is it," asked Wimsey, coolly, but with something menacing in +his rigidly controlled voice, "how is it that you have this evening +consumed, without apparent effect, a dose of arsenic sufficient to kill +two or three ordinary people? That disgusting sweetmeat on which you +have been gorging yourself in, I may say, a manner wholly unsuited +to your age and position, is smothered in white arsenic. You ate it, +God forgive you, an hour and a half ago. If arsenic can harm you, you +should have been rolling about in agonies for the last hour."</p> + +<p>"You devil!"</p> + +<p>"Couldn't you try to get up a few symptoms?" said Wimsey, +sarcastically. "Shall I bring you a basin? Or fetch the doctor? Does +your throat burn? Is your inside convulsed with agony? It is rather +late in the day, but with a little goodwill you could surely produce +<i>some</i> display of feeling, even now."</p> + +<p>"You are lying. You wouldn't dare to do such a thing! It would be +murder."</p> + +<p>"Not in this case, I fancy. But I am willing to wait and see."</p> + +<p>Urquhart stared at him. Wimsey got out of his chair in a single swift +movement and stood over him.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't use violence if I were you. Let the poisoner stick to his +bottle. Besides, I am armed. Pardon the melodrama. Are you going to be +sick or not?"</p> + +<p>"You're mad."</p> + +<p>"Don't say that. Come, man—pull yourself together. Have a shot at it. +Shall I show you the bathroom?"</p> + +<p>"I'm ill."</p> + +<p>"Of course; but your tone is not convincing. Through the door, along +the passage, and third on the left."</p> + +<p>The lawyer stumbled out. Wimsey returned to the library and rang the +bell.</p> + +<p>"I think, Bunter, Mr. Parker may require some assistance in the +bathroom."</p> + +<p>"Very good, my lord."</p> + +<p>Bunter departed and Wimsey waited. Presently there were sounds of a +scuffle in the distance. A group appeared at the door. Urquhart, very +white, his hair and clothes disordered, flanked by Parker and Bunter, +who held him firmly by the arms.</p> + +<p>"Was he sick?" asked Wimsey, with interest.</p> + +<p>"No, he wasn't," said Parker, grimly, snapping the handcuffs on his +prey. "He cursed you fluently for five minutes, then tried to get out +of the window, saw it was a three-story drop, charged in through the +dressing-room door and ran straight into me. Now don't struggle, my +lad, you'll only hurt yourself."</p> + +<p>"And he still doesn't know whether he's poisoned or not?"</p> + +<p>"He doesn't seem to think he is. At any rate, he made no effort about +it. His one idea was to hop it."</p> + +<p>"That's feeble," said Wimsey, "if I wanted people to think I'd been +poisoned I'd put up a better show than that."</p> + +<p>"Stop talking, for God's sake," said the prisoner. "You've got me, by a +vile, damnable trick. Isn't that enough? You can shut up about it."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Parker, "we've got you, have we? Well, I warned you not to +talk, and if you <i>will</i> do it, it's not my fault. By the way, Peter, I +don't suppose you did actually poison him, did you? It doesn't seem to +have hurt him, but it'll affect the doctor's report."</p> + +<p>"No, I didn't, as a matter of fact," said Wimsey. "I only wanted to see +how he'd react to the suggestion. Well, cheerio! I can leave it to you +now."</p> + +<p>"We'll look after him," said Parker. "But you might let Bunter ring up +a taxi."</p> + +<p>When the prisoner and his escort had departed, Wimsey turned +thoughtfully to Bunter, glass in hand.</p> + +<p>"<i>Mithridates he died old</i>, says the poet. But I doubt it, Bunter. In +this case I very much doubt it."</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +</div> + + +<p>There were golden chrysanthemums on the judge's bench; they looked like +burning banners.</p> + +<p>The prisoner, too, had a look in her eyes that was a challenge to the +crowded court, as the clerk read the indictment. The judge, a plump, +elderly man with an eighteenth-century face, looked expectantly at the +Attorney-General.</p> + +<p>"My lord—I am instructed that the Crown offers no evidence against +this prisoner."</p> + +<p>The gasp that went round the room sounded like the rustle of trees in a +rising wind.</p> + +<p>"Do I understand that the charge against the prisoner is withdrawn?"</p> + +<p>"Those are my instructions, my lord."</p> + +<p>"In that case," said the judge, impassively, turning to the jury, +"there is nothing left for you but to return a verdict of 'Not Guilty.' +Usher, keep those people quiet in the gallery."</p> + +<p>"One moment, my lord." Sir Impey Biggs rose up, large and majestic.</p> + +<p>"On my client's behalf—on Miss Vane's behalf, my lord, I beg your +lordship's indulgence for a few words. A charge has been brought +against her, my lord, the very awful charge of murder, and I should +like it to be made clear, my lord, that my client leaves this court +without a stain upon her character. As I am informed, my lord, this +is not a case of the charge being withdrawn in default of evidence. I +understand, my lord, that further information has come to the police +which definitely proves the entire innocence of my client. I also +understand, my lord, that a further arrest has been made and that an +inquiry will follow, my lord, in due course. My lord, this lady must go +forth into the world acquitted, not only at this bar, but at the bar +of public opinion. Any ambiguity would be intolerable, and I am sure, +my lord, that I have the support of the learned Attorney-General for +what I say."</p> + +<p>"By all means," said the Attorney. "I am instructed to say, my lord, +that in withdrawing the charge against the prisoner, the Crown proceeds +from complete conviction of her absolute innocence."</p> + +<p>"I am very glad to hear it," said the judge. "Prisoner at the bar, the +Crown, by unreservedly withdrawing this dreadful charge against you, +has demonstrated your innocence in the clearest possible way. After +this, nobody will be able to suppose that the slightest imputation +rests upon you, and I most heartily congratulate you on this very +satisfactory ending to your long ordeal. Now, please—I sympathise +very much with the people who are cheering, but this is not a theatre +or a football match, and if they are not quiet, they will have to be +put out. Members of the jury, do you find the Prisoner Guilty or Not +Guilty?"</p> + +<p>"Not Guilty, my lord."</p> + +<p>"Very good. The prisoner is discharged without a stain upon her +character. Next case."</p> + +<p>So ended, sensational to the last, one of the most sensational murder +trials of the century.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Harriet Vane, a free woman, found Eiluned Price and Sylvia Marriott +waiting for her as she descended the stairs.</p> + +<p>"Darling!" said Sylvia.</p> + +<p>"Three loud cheers!" said Eiluned.</p> + +<p>Harriet greeted them a little vaguely.</p> + +<p>"Where is Lord Peter Wimsey?" she enquired. "I must thank him."</p> + +<p>"You won't," said Eiluned, bluntly. "I saw him drive off the moment the +verdict was given."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Miss Vane.</p> + +<p>"He'll come and see you," said Sylvia.</p> + +<p>"No, he won't," said Eiluned.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" said Sylvia.</p> + +<p>"Too decent," said Eiluned.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you're right," said Harriet.</p> + +<p>"I like that young man," said Eiluned. "You needn't grin. I do like +him. He's not going to do the King Cophetua stunt, and I take off my +hat to him. If you want him, you'll have to send for him."</p> + +<p>"I won't do that," said Harriet.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, you will," said Sylvia. "I was right about who did the +murder, and I'm going to be right about this."</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Lord Peter Wimsey went down to Duke's Denver that same evening. He +found the family in a state of perturbation, all except the Dowager, +who sat placidly making a rug in the midst of the uproar.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Peter," said the Duke, "you're the only person with any +influence over Mary. You've got to do something. She wants to marry +your policeman friend."</p> + +<p>"I know," said Wimsey. "Why shouldn't she?"</p> + +<p>"It's ridiculous," said the Duke.</p> + +<p>"Not at all," said Lord Peter. "Charles is one of the best."</p> + +<p>"Very likely," said the Duke, "but Mary can't marry a policeman."</p> + +<p>"Now, look here," said Wimsey, tucking his sister's arm in his, "you +leave Polly alone. Charles made a bit of a mistake at the beginning of +this murder case, but he doesn't make many, and one of these days he'll +be a big man, with a title, I shouldn't wonder, and everything handsome +about him. If you want to have a row with somebody, have it with me."</p> + +<p>"My God!" said the Duke, "you're not going to marry a policewoman?"</p> + +<p>"Not quite," said Wimsey. "I intend to marry the prisoner."</p> + +<p>"What?" said the Duke. "Good lord, what, what?"</p> + +<p>"If she'll have me," said Lord Peter Wimsey.</p> + +<hr class="chap"> + +<h3>Footnotes</h3> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> See "The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club," published +1928.</p> +</div> + +<div class="footnote"> +<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> Valetta.</p> +</div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78157 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/78157-h/images/cover.jpg b/78157-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8608045 --- /dev/null +++ b/78157-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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