Not to be Taken (18 page)

‘Entirely’

‘You and she had already stayed together in a hotel, as man and wife?’

‘You know we had.’

‘The fact that she was another man’s wife did not perturb you?’

‘I refuse to answer that,’ retorted the witness loudly. ‘I’ll answer only questions of fact. This isn’t a court of morals.’

‘Kindly allow me to conduct the proceedings in my own court as I see fit,’ returned the Coroner, flushing with anger. ‘I take note of your refusal, and any conclusions which the jury may draw from it will be justified. Have you any objection, then, to telling us whether the fact of the disparity between your and Mrs Waterhouse’s ages did not weigh with you at all in the matter of this contemplated marriage?’

‘There wasn’t so much disparity as you seem to think,’ replied Strangman sulkily.

‘Are you not a medical student?’

‘One could become a medical student at your age, if one liked. That means nothing.’

The Coroner was controlling himself with difficulty.

‘How old are you?’ he snapped.

‘Twenty-eight.’

‘Then you had a career before you decided to practise
medicine
?’

‘No.’

‘You are telling us that you have been a medical student all this time and have not yet succeeded in qualifying?’

‘I am telling you nothing of the sort. You asked me if I had had a career before deciding to practise. I had not. The word ‘career’ denotes some sort of success. I had a succession of unsuccessful jobs. Then I inherited a small legacy and decided to lay it out in qualifying as a medical man. That is my history.’ Strangman spoke with a small, scornful smile. In proportion as he had succeeded in rousing the Coroner to wrath, the more had his own calmness grown. He struck me as a most irritating young man.

‘I see. I see. Now as a medical student you no doubt have – What is it? What is it?’ broke off the Coroner testily.

A uniformed policeman, trying to engage his attention, was offering him what looked like a letter.

The Coroner snatched it and threw it on the table in front of him. ‘That sort of thing can wait.’

‘It’s marked “Very Urgent,” sir,’ I heard the policeman say in a low voice.

The Coroner made the noise usually spelt as ‘Tchah!’, and turned back to his witness.

But another interruption came. Just before the policeman made his unwelcomed advance, I had seen Sir Francis Harbottle edge into court. Superintendent Timms had at once jumped up and hurried over to meet him, and the two now made their way to the Coroner’s table. There was a short confabulation, and the Coroner waved Strangman off the stand. His place was at once taken there by the analyst.

‘I am sure you are a very busy man,’ observed the Coroner to him in honeyed tones, no doubt for our benefit, ‘and we will therefore take your evidence at once, Sir Francis. Now I understand…yes, yes…you have made tests on certain samples supplied to you by the police here, which I believe were taken from some of the drains and traps at Oswald’s Gable. Yes, here they are. Quite.’ He nodded toward an orderly row of jars which the Superintendent was engaged in laying out from a case which Sir Francis had brought with him. ‘Is that so?’

‘It is.’

‘And have your tests shown any result?’

‘In the samples labelled A, B, C, D, E, G, H, I, J and K,’ replied the analyst in a gentle voice, ‘I obtained nothing which might not have been expected to be present. In the sample labelled F I established the presence of minute traces of arsenic.’

‘Ah!’ The Coroner did not disguise his interest, shared indeed by all of us. ‘The sample labelled F. Yes, let me see… That came from…yes, the bathroom basin…the bathroom, that is, shared by Mr and Mrs Waterhouse. Is that so, Superintendent? Yes… Now, when you say “minute” traces, Sir Francis, you mean, I take it, that there was not a measurable quantity of arsenic?’

‘That is so. There was just enough to cloud the mirror in Marsh’s test, but no more. That meant a very small quantity indeed.’

‘Quite so. But there can be no doubt at all that arsenic was present? The test is infallible?’

‘Oh, quite.’

‘Yes. Now let me see. The jury must understand this exactly. No arsenic was found in…yes, in the trap from the basin in Mrs Waterhouse’s bedroom, the bath, the bidet in the bathroom, the WC next to the bathroom, the pantry sink, the scullery sink, the bath and basin on the second floor, the…yes, yes, well, I needn’t go into all that. The point is that traces of arsenic were found only in the trap of the basin in the bathroom used, I think we may presume, exclusively by Mr and Mrs Waterhouse… Now would you expect to find such traces in the ordinary way, Sir Francis, in the trap of any bathroom basin?’

‘I should not.’

‘Their presence would surprise you?’

‘Decidedly.’

‘H’m! The bathroom basin, yes. There seem to be a number of basins. Have you the plan there, Superintendent? Oh yes, I see it. There are basins in both bedrooms as well as the bathroom. No doubt the one in the bathroom would not be used so much, especially in the case of illness… Supposing a concoction containing arsenic to have been poured into a basin in normal use, Sir Francis, how long would you expect traces of arsenic to remain in the trap?’

‘Not very long. It would depend to some extent whether there was any turgid matter already in the trap. If that were the case, and the basin was not used for some hours after the arsenical compound had been poured away in it, one might expect the arsenic to impregnate the turgid matter and therefore remain considerably longer. If the trap were clean, a few more sluicings would wash all traces of the arsenic away.’

‘I quite understand. You have examined the matter from the trap. Would you describe it as turgid?’

‘Yes, distinctly.’

‘Did its condition suggest to you that the basin had not been used very often?’

‘I formed that opinion, yes.’

‘Did any other conclusions present themselves to you? Did you, for instance, form any conclusion from the mere presence of arsenic in the trap?’

‘I don’t quite understand.’

‘Well, did it suggest to you that the arsenic was probably swallowed by the deceased inside or outside the house?’

‘That is perhaps a little outside my sphere, but the conclusion would be that it was swallowed inside the house, certainly.’

‘Perhaps I should have prefaced the question with another, to bring it more into your sphere. Were you able to form any opinion as to whether the arsenic in the trap was a part of the patient’s eliminations, or whether it came from some other source such as the vehicle of administration?’

‘I cannot pronounce definitely on that. I found no evidence of elimination, but that is by no means conclusive.’

‘Did you find traces of any other drugs in the residue?’

‘No, none.’

‘But is that equally not conclusive that they could not have been there originally?’

‘Exactly. Arsenic is a heavy substance. It would tend to sink further, and therefore remain longer, than other more soluble drugs.’

‘But taking it on a broad basis, your opinion is that the presence of arsenic in the trap, although with the qualifications you have mentioned, would appear to indicate that the fatal dose was swallowed inside and not outside the house?’

‘For what it is worth, that is my opinion.’

‘And that would mean that this arsenic would be the surplus poured away after the administration?’

‘In that event, yes.’

‘Quite so,’ agreed the Coroner, and directed a significant glance toward the jury. If, as Harold had affirmed, the authorities really wished to obtain a verdict against Angela, the analyst’s evidence had certainly helped them.

‘And now,’ said the Coroner, ‘we come to the medicine bottle.’

A little flutter went round the court. I felt my heart give a funny little jump, and then there was a horrible void. As one does at such moments of intense dread, I concentrated my energies on looking outwardly impassive.

‘You have now been able to make a test of the contents of the bottle, Sir Francis?’

‘I have.’

‘What did you find?’

‘I established the presence of sodium bicarbonate, bismuth oxicarbonate, magnesium carbonate pond., and a faint trace of morphia.’

Sir Francis ended his sentence and looked blandly at the Coroner. There was dead silence in the little courtroom.

‘Did you,’ said the Coroner, ‘find any arsenic present?’

Sir Francis, who could not have been unaware of the sensation of which he was the centre, appeared quite unconscious of it.

‘No,’ he said. ‘None.’

A curious little sighing breath went round the court.

‘Arsenic was not present even in minute traces?’ persisted the Coroner.

‘There was no arsenic present at all.’

‘The medicine in fact contained nothing but the ingredients which we have already heard enumerated in the prescription?’

‘That is so.’

An irrepressible buzz broke out. I heard various characteristic comments from those immediately surrounding me.

‘Oh, thank goodness,’ Frances murmured.

‘Well, I knew that already,’ Glen muttered in a tone of disgust. I really believe Glen had been the only completely indifferent person in court.

‘That’s a nasty smack for them,’ was Harold’s observation.

I said nothing. Rona, equally characteristically, said nothing; but I noticed that she exchanged a small smile with her brother.

The Coroner was plainly disconcerted – so disconcerted, in fact, that he did not at once attempt to quell the buzz of comment and speculation. It was plain that the authorities had confidently counted on arsenic being found in the medicine. Evidently the test had been concluded only just in time to allow Sir Francis to reach the court, without having warned the police of his negative result.

There was another of the whispered conferences with which we were becoming so familiar. The Coroner seemed to realise that Sir Francis Harbottle was still on the witness stand, and looked at him in a puzzled way before saying:

‘Oh – er – thank you. Sir Francis. I think that is all. You have nothing more to tell us? No. Then we won’t keep you any longer.’

I noticed with surprise that Alec had slipped away from his seat, had drawn Superintendent Timms out of the conference, and was speaking to him earnestly. The Superintendent looked even more astonished for a moment than I felt; he listened, nodded and went back to the Coroner. Alec returned to his seat beside me.

‘What on earth…?’ I was beginning, when he hushed me, with a significant look towards the Coroner.

I saw that gentleman listen with an appearance of testiness to the Superintendent’s whisper, and then take up and open the letter which all this time had been lying on the table in front of him. As he read it I saw his expression become fixed in almost incredulous amazement. He stared at it for some moments, then excitedly called the attention of the others to it. There was a positive hum from the little group. Evidently something quite unexpected had happened, and we were all agog to know what it was.

At last the Coroner waved the others back, and cleared his throat. The court instantly became silent.

‘Gentlemen,’ said the Coroner, addressing the jury, ‘I have just received the most remarkable communication – a veritable voice from the tomb. It is a letter, addressed to me here, in this court, and I am assured that it was unmistakably written by the hand of Mr John Waterhouse himself. I will read it to you at once.’

Secret Cupboards and Secret Ladies

‘The letter,’ continued the Coroner somewhat dubiously, appears to have been posted in London yesterday evening. London, SW – that is to say, the south-western district, though I really don’t know what conclusions we may draw from that. Here are its contents.

‘
T
O
THE
C
ORONER
,

‘
The Courthouse
,

‘
Anneypenny
,
Dorset
.

‘
S
IR
:
The fact that this letter has been delivered to you indicates that an enquiry has been instituted into the cause of my death
.
To avert any possible misconception over this matter is the purpose of this letter
.

‘
Dr Brougham has told me that I am suffering from summer diarrhoea
.
That is not the case
.
I am suffering from arsenical poisoning
.
I could have enlightened Dr Brougham
,
but after thinking the matter over fully I have decided not to do so
,
for reasons which appear to me adequate
.
In any case he could not help me; I know as much
,
and perhaps more
,
about arsenical poisoning and the treatment for it
,
and can do all that is necessary or useful
.
I do not at the moment expect to die
:
but if this letter is ever posted
,
it will mean that I was wrong
.

‘
First I must say that the whole thing is entirely my own foolish fault
.
I have been experimenting lately with certain arsenical and other compounds as a means of destroying fruit-tree pests
.
My experiments have been made not on whole trees, in the form of washes
,
but on individual specimens of the pests at my desk
.
I have been keeping the various compounds
,
in bottles and jars
,
in a secret cupboard which I made in my library when I was carrying out some repairs there
.
Usually I return the poisons to that cupboard as soon as I have finished with them
,
but by an unfortunate mischance I must have carried a small bottle of arsenic in solution upstairs to my bathroom when I went up one day last week
(
I cannot remember which
)
to wash my hands
.
I do not know whether I put the bottle absentmindedly into the cupboard myself
,
or whether I left it out and it was put in there later by a maid
;
but it certainly arrived there.

‘
Yesterday morning I had two or three sharp attacks of indigestion
.
I drank a large dose from a bottle of medicine which Dr Brougham had sent round
,
hoping it would relieve me
,
but if anything it made me worse
.
I then remembered that I had in my possession an herbal infusion which had been given to me by a native in India
;
I had a short bout of indigestion when I was in that country
,
and I remembered that a dose or two of this infusion had relieved it very much
.
I thought I would try it again
.
The bathroom is not well lighted, and the medicine cupboard is in a rather dark corner
.
I remembered the bottle quite well
:
it was dark brown in colour
.
I saw a dark brown bottle in the cupboard
,
rather dusty
,
and assumed that it was the one
.
I was in considerable pain at the time
,
and did not examine the bottle as closely as I should have done before taking a dose of it
.
I realised
,
however
,
that the stuff tasted bitter and quite unlike my recollection of it
,
and I
assumed that it had gone bad and poured the rest of it away down the basin. My subsequent illness I attributed to the gastric symptoms from which I had understood from Dr Brougham that I am suffering. It was not till today that I began to realise what must have happened. I have visited the library and found that the bottle of arsenic is not in the secret cupboard, which seems proof of what I have done. I retrieved the empty bottle from the bathroom, where I had left it, and put it in the cupboard. The police can find it there. It has not been rinsed, and if it shows traces of arsenic this will be proof positive, since, if I were now present in your court, sir, I could swear that that is the bottle from which I drank.

‘
I have decided to say nothing about this arsenic to Dr Brougham or to anyone else
,
for these reasons
.
I do not expect to die
;
and if I recover
,
I should regret having made an unnecessary fuss
.
If I do die
,
I have no doubt that Dr Brougham will take it for granted that my death is due to the gastric trouble which he has diagnosed and will therefore issue a certificate in the usual way and no question will be raised
.
If on the other hand
,
I divulge the presence of arsenic
,
and death
,
if it occurs
,
is known to be due to arsenical poisoning
,
the company with which my life is insured would be morally compelled to investigate the possibility of suicide
.

‘
How could it be proved that I did not commit suicide
?
My life is insured for a very large sum
.
My finances
,
it will certainly be shown
,
are none too sound
.
I should not be there to explain that I was on the point of accepting an extremely lucrative offer in Indo-China to re-establish them
,
or that I had said nothing about this offer to anyone else, in accordance with my usual habit
,
in case the thing fell through at the last moment
.
No
,
the argument of my insurance company would be that I had purposely over-insured my life, with the deliberate intention of committing suicide when I could no longer pay the premiums; and I am not sure that a jury would not agree with them. In that case my wife would get practically nothing. I shall therefore keep the whole business to myself, in the confident expectation that there will be no need to have done anything else.

‘
That
,
sir
,
is the explanation of why you are now holding an inquest on me
,
and I shall be mightily obliged if you will read this statement of mine to the jury
,
if you are sitting with one
:
if not
,
I ask that it shall be read in open court
.

‘
Yours very truly
,

‘J
OHN
W
ATERHOUSE
.’

It may be imagined what effect the reading of this document had upon all of us, to say nothing of the jury. Speaking for myself, I can say that I was filled with an enormous relief, mingled with a curious feeling of disappointment; that the latter was unworthy I must admit, but I must equally confess to it. And what is more, I would swear that it was shared by everyone in the room. Much though we might deplore it, we could not help the feeling that somehow we had been cheated.

The Coroner, too, seemed to resent the lost opportunities of drama.

‘As I said,’ he continued in a disapproving voice, ‘this letter appears to have been posted in London yesterday. How this could have occurred is not clear. I take it that the deceased sent the document under cover to a friend, with instructions to post it in certain circumstances. I have received no indication that the person who posted it is willing to come forward and assist justice, but I sincerely hope that he, or she, will realise that it is a bounden duty to do so. In the meantime –’ He broke off to confer once more with those around him.

‘In the meantime,’ he concluded, ‘the police will wish to make certain investigations. There is a post-scriptum, which I have not thought necessary to read to you, giving exact indications where this – h’m! – secret cupboard is to be found. Also no doubt the police will wish to test the letter for fingerprints. I need scarcely remind you that we can take nothing for granted. The court is therefore adjourned until…yes, until today week. Everyone will attend then at the same time as this morning.’

Hubbub, until then with difficulty restrained, at once broke out. It was amid a veritable surge of excitement that we struggled out of court. Everywhere people were giving their impressions of this new development to other persons who were less willing to receive than to give their own; reporters were elbowing sober citizens out of their way in frantic efforts to reach telephones before anyone else; the crowd outside was eagerly questioning everyone within reach.

‘You’ll lunch with us, of course,’ I said to Alec as we fought our way through the door, bearing Frances like some precious casket of jewels between us.

‘No lunch for me today, my son,’ Alec grinned back. ‘Nor for you either – unless you’d rather not come to Oswald’s Gable and have a look-see for that secret cupboard.’

‘You’re going to do that without the police?’ I asked.

‘With the police,’ Alec corrected. ‘The Scotland Yard minions are waiting for us there – at this minute. And so is a worthy architect, whom I had the foresight to appoint to meet me there at just about this time.’

I looked at him. ‘You seem to have known a lot about what was in that letter of John’s.’

Alec cast a wary glance at Frances’ back, now a safe distance ahead of us.

‘Naturally,’ he said. ‘After all, I posted it.’

2

Somehow we made our excuses to Frances, having seen her to our own door and exchanged with her expressions of relief that the bogey of the medicine bottle had, after all, proved to be but a bogey. Luckily Frances’ mind seemed so occupied with this that we were able to evade any questions as to our immediate intentions – which I gathered Alec would not have been disposed to answer. ‘Well, sorry to miss the sherry and all that, but I have to push off now,’ he said casually enough. ‘Little job of work, and I’ve pulled in Douglas to help me.’

Frances looked at him vaguely from the doorway.

‘Sherry? What sherry?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Any sherry. The sherry you drink with your friends.’

‘Frances doesn’t drink anything,’ I put in fatuously. ‘Surely you knew I had a teetotal wife, Alec.’

‘Oh yes, of course,’ Alec mumbled, abashed as one is on forgetting an ethical foible on the part of another.

‘Sorry, Frances. Well, come on, Douglas.’

‘We’ll be back as soon as possible; keep us something to eat,’ I said to Frances, and she nodded acquiescence. Fortunately Frances never had been a woman to ask unwanted questions. Inclined to cherish her own reserves, she respected those of others without feeling it necessary to suspect them.

On the short way to the Waterhouse home I succeeded in getting the facts from Alec.

Briefly, Waterhouse’s letter to the Coroner had reached the chief of the War Office Department, in which Alec was working, by post on the previous morning. It had been enclosed in an official letter to that same chief, envelope and letter both in Waterhouse’s own writing, which had been posted in Torminster on the previous day. The chief, knowing that Alec had relatives in that part of the country and was more or less familiar with the lie of the land, had sent for him and given his instructions.