‘I could see no likely disguise for poison in anything she could have eaten or drunk, unless the poison had been tasteless. Again the Meeths were helpful. They assured me that if a substance is tasteless it is almost always insoluble—complementary characteristics—and that insoluble substances are discharged from the body usually before they can cause harm. Besides no taste and no smell, the poison I was looking for had to have one other characteristic—it had to be invisible . . .’
Green said: ‘Now I’ve heard everything!’
‘. . . invisible in so far as Mrs Partridge could not see that she was taking a foreign substance—such as a white powder mixed in brown sugar for example.
‘I am now willing to admit that I was led astray at this point—not deliberately—but nevertheless by two witnesses, Syme and Doctor Thurso. Syme told me that Mrs Partridge ate lots of dessert, and in corroboration, Doctor Thurso said that she confessed to eating lots of fruit. So I hared off on the track that she had probably ingested some pesticide on fruit. This seemed a particularly valuable line to follow on the face of it, because the husbands of the two stepdaughters—the only two beneficiaries under the will—both had what appeared to be suspicious connections with this theory. Honingham manufactures pesticides, while Thoresby imports dessert fruits and nuts, and has been in the habit of sending samples here to Throscum House.’
Mundy whistled in amazement. ‘By jove, it doesn’t take you very long to rake up a bit of good-looking muck.’
‘One moment, sir, please. I said “on the face of it”. There were the dogs to consider. Would they eat fruit?’
Green said: ‘I never gave the little darlings a thought.’
‘Of course not. It was too tempting a theory to throw away just because dogs don’t normally eat fruit. I suppose some enjoy an apple, perhaps, where dessert figs and oranges might not be to their liking. But to get on. I said I was led astray, and I began to suspect that this had happened when Dr Thurso told me he had forbidden Mrs Partridge to eat fruit, while Syme said she continued to take dessert. There were no signs of fruit in the flat, and yet I didn’t think Jessie Bell had been lying. The clue was there, but I failed to grasp it. Thurso explained how much difficulty he had encountered in getting a full story from Mrs Partridge because of her pseudo refinement. She spoke of soupçons and modicums and all the rest of it. And I encountered the same thing in Syme. Where I referred to “the settee in the sitting-room”, he said “the divan in the lounge”. I noted it, but thought nothing of it at the time. After all, where I say napkin, others say serviette, and it breaks no bones. Nevertheless, I was deceived until I came upon my colleagues bursting with ribald laughter because two children had referred to inviting-looking sweets as choice spice.’
Hill said to Green: ‘What did I say at the time? I knew he went broody then.’
‘Nobody disbelieved you.’
‘No? What did you say? Gobstoppers!’
Mundy smiled. ‘Go on, please, Mr Masters.’
‘We were discussing the various names for sweets in front of the shop window. We were talking about liqueur chocolates, marrons glacés etcetera when it hit me like a bomb that every item in that shop was described as “dessert”. Dessert chocolate, dessert mints, dessert this, dessert that. I knew immediately where I had gone wrong. The pseudo refinement had been at work again. Dessert to Partridge and Syme meant sweetmeats—not fruit. It fitted like a glove. Thurso had made the same mistake and taken Partridge off fruit. And yet she was sick two days later. Not from fruit—there were no signs of it—but from sweets. And Syme had told the truth. Partridge had eaten sweets that Friday evening. I knew it had to be right, because it fitted together as perfectly as carefully machined parts.
‘Mrs Partridge had confessed to Dr Thurso that she was accustomed to eating lots of dessert. Syme said she ate dessert at every touch and turn. We learned that if she didn’t win a prize at every dance she attended she grew cross. And the prizes were always sweets. We found boxes of sweets in her drinks cupboard. Sweets! Sweets! Sweets!’
Mundy said: ‘You’d got the answer to question three. The poison was administered in sweets.’
‘It seemed obvious, sir—once I’d got the lead. The only things now remaining were to discover what the poison was and who had put it in the sweets.
‘The field was still wide open. The sweets are manufactured on the premises. To begin with I thought of the sweet-makers themselves, then I realized that this particular batch would have been made specially. It would be difficult for a member of a group in the kitchen to manufacture just one box and then be able to ensure that that particular box reached Mrs Partridge.
‘It was this problem that I gave my mind to next. How would the sweets reach Mrs Partridge? It seemed likely that if she expected to win a prize at every dance, her staff would earmark one box of her favourite goodies especially for her every time she came down to the ballroom.’
Mundy said: ‘How did they make sure she won every time?’
‘Quite easily. Syme told me that they can cook up all sorts of excuses for giving a prize away. “Any lady wearing black suede shoes with silver buckles.” That sort of thing. It’s easy to decide on something when you know exactly what the lady you wish to pick out is wearing.’
‘So Syme did the picking out—as M.C.?’
‘Yes. But it wasn’t quite as easy as that. Compton provided the prizes.’
‘Who designated them?’
‘Compton. It was a simple matter to sort out first, second and third for each dance, because whether the winners were male or female they all got Throscum-produced sweets. But Mrs P’s special had to be dessert peppermint creams, and that meant the box had to have her name on it to make sure it was kept aside.’
‘Then Compton . . .?’
‘Not necessarily. The name couldn’t be stuck on. Evidently Mrs P. wouldn’t have liked the idea of just being given a prize. She liked to think she’d genuinely won it. So the label had to be removable—to be taken off without leaving any trace before it was handed to her.’
‘You mean the blasted label could have been changed from one box to another at any time by anybody?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Suffering cats!’
‘However, before I ever reached that stage I began to have my suspicions. Syme was always in her flat. Had a key to the place. He could have switched boxes up there at any time he liked. So could the maid who took up her food and cleaned the place. But I could get no proof that Syme had ever been near the confectionery kitchen, where I had proof—from Mrs Thoresby—that Compton had often helped her there, and had become quite a dab hand at sweet-making at one time.
‘So I considered Compton. His attitude had struck me as odd. At the outset he was co-operative, even though tremendously busy with his ordinary work and the funeral arrangements as well. But later he seemed to become less co-operative. He appeared to want to avoid me. I wondered why. What had caused the change in his attitude?
‘I went over in my mind everything I had said to Compton. Only one thing had appeared to disconcert him, and that was a private question of mine—nothing at all to do with the investigation—a question about micro-encapsulated perfume strips. At the time I had thought it was just his natural discomposure at being asked about something entirely strange to him. But on second thoughts I realized that he must have been familiar with them. Maybe he had not seen them plastered all over his employer’s flat, but he must have noticed them in Syme’s little boudoir—on the mirror—where they had been displayed for six or eight weeks. Why was Compton so worried by an innocent question?
‘I began to concentrate on Compton a little more closely. The perfume strips, I discovered, had come from an American called Sprott who, according to his entry in the visitors’ book, was due to call at Throscum again. I asked Cathy York when he was to be expected. She phoned the office and was asked who wanted to know. She gave my name. It became fairly clear to me that if the mention of perfume strips
had disconcerted Compton, my question about Sprott had caused him to try to avoid me at all costs. He went out last night, even though we had a verbal agreement to meet, and though Friday is not his night off duty. He left his office this morning—an unheard-of event on a Saturday. I asked the sergeants to locate him at that time and I insisted on interviewing him as soon as he was found. His attitude warranted my insistence.
‘It became absolutely clear from our conversation that Compton was a frustrated man. He lives for this place. But since Mrs P. took over everything he has tried to do has been—as he put it—hamstrung: decisions countermanded, ideas sneered at, suggestions ignored—by a woman whom he despised as a common prostitute. Motive enough? I think so. But other things became clear, too. Compton had idolized the first Mrs Partridge and her daughters—particularly the elder one, Lorna. I got the impression that Compton was regarded as one of the family—one that in the Table of Affinities is not allowed to marry any other member. But I am sure that is what he wanted to do—marry Lorna. He is a good deal older than she is, and when he first came here she was a schoolgirl, who looked on him as an uncle. I think he was biding his time, waiting for her to mature so that the disparity in ages wouldn’t appear so marked. Then he hoped for marriage. But Thoresby—another whom he despises—beat him to it: plucked his flower while he was waiting for it to bloom fully. More frustration. And finally Claud Partridge’s will which deprived the girls of everything they and he had worked so hard for. I think Compton must have been outraged to find the business he and Mrs Molly Partridge had built up going to keep Mrs Fay in luxury. My belief is that he wanted her out of the way so that he could run the show; and when that happened, Lorna could come back. Thoresby could be got rid of in some way—probably by divorce. That last is speculation, but my sergeants report that they witnessed Compton and Mrs Thoresby together this morning, and his attitude Was apparently more like that of a lover than an uncle.’
‘Are you telling us that Compton is the murderer?’ Mundy asked.
‘By this time I was convinced of it. But I didn’t know the poison used. Think back on what I’ve said. Mrs P. was fed poison in sweets. Compton is adept at sweet-making, and as the manager here has the free run of all departments and the keys to them all. He, and he alone, could go to the confectionery kitchen unnoticed whenever he wanted. He was the one who designated the dance prizes and labelled the one that was to go to his employer each night. He, more than anybody, was frustrated by Mrs P’s presence and incensed over the injustice of the will because of his affection for Lorna. O.K. so far?’
‘Not forgetting that he’s been trying to avoid you. That fact put you on his trail. But why was he stupid enough to draw attention to himself in that way?’
‘That’s my next point. The mention of perfume strips upset him, and the name of Sprott caused the reaction I’ve told you of. Cathy York is a pleasant little girl, and like most pleasant little girls, is a bit of a chatterbox. I like to find it—ingenuous friendliness—it helps keep life cheerful. She told me Sprott had given her five dollars at the time he gave Mrs Partridge the perfume strips. Although Cathy didn’t know the nature of the gift, she said that Sprott had also presented Compton with something. When I questioned Compton about it, he at first pretended he couldn’t recall the name Sprott. Despite the fact that he’d shown interest when I’d enquired about the American only yesterday. Then he pretended he’d forgotten about the gift having been given him. I joshed him by suggesting I thought he’d been given a fifty-dollar tip. Actually I realized that it was most unlikely that anybody would offer the manager a tip. A gift, yes. But poor Compton didn’t quite know what to do. He was outraged at the suggestion that anybody had tipped him, but he daren’t deny it otherwise he would have been obliged to tell me what the gift was. And, although I didn’t know it at the time, this was what he had, at all costs, to avoid telling me. Hence his dilemma.’
‘Why? What was so important about Sprott’s gift?’
‘As far as I was concerned at that time, nothing. But it amused me to try to guess what Sprott had given him that caused him so much embarrassment. If Sprott had given Mrs P. perfume strips, he’d probably given Compton cosmetics, too. Or so I thought. But remember, while I was trying to guess what the gift had been, I was also trying to guess what the poison had been and where it had come from. I suppose it was some form of mental osmosis . . .’
‘Mental what?’ asked Green.
‘Transference: cross-over. Call it what you like. What was Compton’s gift? Where had the poison he used come from? The two seemed to cancel each other out like the two sides of an equation. Gift came to equal poison. But please remember that this thought transference only took place this evening. This afternoon I spoke to Sprott. At that time I had no idea he was involved in any way in this crime. I called on him as a private citizen anxious only to discover where I might obtain some of the perfume strips he had given Mrs Partridge. And so our conversation was just a general chat. Sprott very kindly gave me a carton of the strips.
‘But later, after realizing what dessert meant in Throscum, I had another think. Mrs Sprott had not been present at my meeting with her husband because she had a sun headache. Sprott said it would soon be cured by some of his firm’s headache powder, and added the words “which is easy to take”. When I recalled this, I also remembered that Compton was given to headaches. Twice in two days he had pleaded a bad head as an excuse for not talking to me. If Sprott gave perfume strips to a highly perfumed lady, why not give headache powder to a headache sufferer?
‘By the time I’d got this far I began to think about what we’d first decided about the poison. Remember I said it had to be tasteless and invisible. If it had been incorporated in peppermint creams it might be invisible. But tasteless? Even when overwhelmed by peppermint? What I mean is, that if the first sweet had tasted the slightest bit out of the ordinary, Fay Partridge might not have continued eating them and might, therefore, have escaped her fate. And to complicate matters, the Meeths had said that a tasteless substance would, more than likely, be insoluble.
‘Headache remedies—like aspirin or Panadol—taste ghastly if they break up in your mouth. They’re carefully tableted so that you can swallow them whole, without getting the taste. But Sprott’s headache remedy was a powder—absolutely the worst form in which to take any strong-tasting medicine. And yet he had said it was easy to take.
‘I remembered the perfume strips he had given me. He’d said he was using them as an advertising gimmick to show that his firm had the know-how of micro-encapsulation. Perhaps the answer lay in this process. I opened the carton and found Sprott’s blurb telling customers of the many uses of his process.’
Masters paused for a moment. He said to Hill: ‘Mr Sprott has promised to put himself at our disposal. Would you please step across to his bungalow and invite him over. And tell him I have provided Scotch for his entertainment, so he needn’t bring the remains of his own bottle.’
Hill went. Green, invited by Masters, started pouring drinks. Masters said to Mundy: ‘I hope you don’t mind this break, sir, but I think you’d better hear what Sprott has to say.’
When he arrived, Masters introduced Sprott all round and gave him a drink. Then he said: ‘Mr Sprott, so far you have been given no inkling of the reason for this conference, and I hope you won’t speculate too much although you undoubtedly realize that we have reason to believe that your process and products are of interest to us in solving this case. What I’d like you to do—if you’re agreeable—is to give Superintendent Mundy a layman’s description of your process and its capabilities.’
Sprott was solemn. ‘Willingly, gentlemen. Though how I come into this has me guessing. Shall I start my spiel now?’
‘If you please.’
‘Well, gentlemen, my firm isn’t the pioneer in the micro-encapsulation process, but we jumped on the band-wagon mighty quick, because we think there’s big business in it.
‘Take those perfume strips I ga
ve Mrs Partridge and Mr Masters. They may be a commercially viable proposition, but as yet we’re only using them as a simple and pleasant way of demonstrating that we do have this know-how. I’m over here selling to you Britishers the opportunity of having many items micro-encapsulated.
‘I saw in your newspapers when I first came over here an article announcing you could now buy gasoline in the form of a dry brick.’
‘I saw that myself,’ Mundy agreed. ‘When you want the petrol you just squeeze the brick and out it comes.’
‘That, sir, is micro-encapsulation. One form of it. So you can see that as a process it has a great future. Just great.’
‘Exactly what can you encapsulate?’
‘Well, sir, that’s a tough question to answer in just a few words, but roughly speaking, you could say any droplet liquid and any powdered solid. Of course, the technical processes involve solvent exchange, phase separation and meltable dispersion, but I don’t suppose you’re interested right now in techniques. But I’ll tell you that there are a number of coatings ranging from cellulose, through waxes, to butyl rubber. And on average we reckon to get twelve parts of the substance to be encapsulated to one part of the encapsulating material—by bulk.
Masters and Green Series Box Set Page 67
