Keep It Quiet

by Richard Hull

  The next name on the list was that of a country member who visited the Whitehall too seldom to be considered to have any habits; but both he and all the others on the list were united in one thing. They had no apparent connection with his problem.

  Meanwhile in the service bar outside the library Hughes too was thinking. On one point his mind was quite made up. If the members chose to kill each other, that was their business – but when it came to doping ‘his’ sherry, then it was quite another matter.

  27

  Analysis

  The mistake that Anstruther was making was in assuming that Ford’s mind would work as logically as his own.

  To the doctor the process of reasoning was so clear. Ford had been told that he must get rid of Hughes. He had been warned that if he did not, unpleasant consequences would happen to himself, Anstruther. Ford had rashly left him unwarned and those consequences had happened. That was a legitimate grievance that he had against Ford, and considering all that had happened, the secretary ought to think twice before he risked turning Anstruther into an enemy.

  Besides there was Warrington. It was annoying that Warrington took it all so calmly – still he ought to make some sort of complaint, Anstruther felt, and what between that and the very well justified grievance that he could express in his own person and the influence that he could bring anonymously – well, even Ford ought to see that he must give way about Hughes.

  Being the secretary of one club he might perhaps be able to arrange to find him a job at another and so soothe his conscience that way? That was Ford’s business, but surely he must get rid of him somehow – and quickly. Perhaps it would help if he realised that the poison in the sherry was perchloride of mercury? The hint that the incidents were connected must then be obvious even to Ford.

  But Ford was not so logical. He started from his fixed and immutable principle that those whom he had selected to work under him must be right. Therefore the fact that the sherry was poisoned, though unfortunate, must not be attributed to Hughes. Herein he happened to be perfectly right, even though his belief was founded on instinct rather than reasoning or knowledge. Though his sense of logic may not have coincided with Anstruther’s, his sense of justice was a good deal higher and, tempting though it was to take the line of least resistance, Ford refused as yet to contemplate anything of the sort. To his mind, now that Hughes was under a slight and quite unjust cloud, it was all the more necessary to behave properly to him.

  But that that should be Ford’s line of thought never entered Anstruther’s head. It was in a mood of tolerable confidence that he went up to Ford’s office.

  The room, he was glad to see, was in even more than its normal state of untidiness. Ford must be really upset! The sherry, however, was not visible. That was hardly surprising. If it had been, anyone else who came in might have made some facetious remark about it, and the laborious explanation might have given away too much.

  Ford seemed genuinely glad to see him. He expressed his pleasure that Anstruther had apparently perfectly recovered from his indisposition. ‘Warrington’s perfectly well, too. I’ve just been speaking to him on the phone. I was going to ring you up as well, but I thought you might be busy.’

  ‘So I ought to be, but I made time to come and see you. You must have that sherry analysed.’

  A shadow seemed to cross Ford’s face. ‘Do you know, I think it would be best not.’ Then, seeing the silent disapproval in the doctor’s face, he went on: ‘Once I take it to an analyst it means that there is an outsider who knows all about it. He may go and tell someone – you never can tell, and we cannot have all the facts coming out until we know who our man is.’

  Anstruther started. ‘But do you really think you are going to find out who it is?’

  ‘Oh, yes, certain to find out some time. Much better that you and I – and Cardonnel’ he added as an afterthought, ‘should find out for ourselves. Once we get outsiders in, there’s no knowing what might happen. Besides, there’s the wine merchant. He won’t like it if I have his sherry analysed, and there’ll be another person to keep quiet.’

  ‘But this is ridiculous. You and I have found out nothing so far. In fact you seem hardly to have tried.’

  ‘Oh, yes, been doing a lot of work about it. I’m quite sure I shall find out, and very soon too.’ Considering that he had no ideas in the world, Ford’s airy confidence was amazingly optimistic.

  ‘With the aid of Cardonnel,’ Anstruther looked grave. ‘Look here, how much have you been saying to Cardonnel? You appear to have forgotten that I told you to say nothing to anyone, and certainly not to Cardonnel. As I have told you before, you are taking Cardonnel too much into your confidence. He knows too much already. I do not trust that man, nor should you.’

  The close-set eyes peered into Ford’s face with an intense stare. Up to now by the superiority of his willpower he had forced the secretary to do what he wanted. But now he appeared to be losing his grip. Some other influence must be obtruding. What was it? A sense of justice? Anstruther brushed the suggestion aside. Ford could not be so foolish! No, the more he thought of it, it must be Cardonnel, and the more he thought of Cardonnel, the more he came to the conclusion that he must take action. His thoughts were recalled by hearing Ford too speaking of the abominable Cardonnel, and with admiration too.

  ‘Not trust Cardonnel? But he’s a most reliable man – and very able too.’

  With an unpleasant feeling that the last fact might be true, Anstruther determined to obtain more knowledge. ‘How much have you told this man Cardonnel?’ A pause. ‘How much?’ Still silence. ‘How far have you betrayed my confidence?’

  Ford wriggled. In actual fact he had betrayed Cardonnel far more than he had betrayed Anstruther. Indeed, he had only told Cardonnel so much as he had out of sheer necessity. Still, that did not save him from having a thoroughly guilty feeling. ‘Well, I had to let him know about Benson’s mistake.’

  ‘Oh, you did, did you? And why?’

  ‘Well, he was worrying about Morrison’s death.’ The sigh of relief which nearly escaped the doctor’s lips would anyhow have been suppressed when Ford went on: ‘And about Pargiter’s.’

  Anstruther leapt up. ‘About Pargiter’s?’

  ‘Yes, but I think I headed him off that neatly.’

  ‘You flatter yourself, I fear. Once more, if you have any decency, any loyalty, you will stop talking to Cardonnel, and if he worries you again, let me know. You’re not fit to be trusted by yourself.’

  ‘Well, really, is there any need to be offensive?’

  ‘Seeing that you appear to be likely to get both of us hanged, it seems to me that there is.’

  ‘Not hanged, surely?’

  With a complete disregard for the probabilities of the law, Anstruther assured him that he had rendered himself so liable. At least it was true as to his own share in the matter. ‘That being settled, to return to the analysis.’

  Once more Ford refused, but this time in a more diffident way. ‘You see, it’s impossible. I’m awfully sorry, but you see it’s impossible – now.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes. As a matter of fact,’ brightly, ‘I’ve just poured it away into the gutter.’

  ‘The gutter?’

  ‘Went up on to the roof and poured it into the gutter there.’

  ‘With all that poison in it?’

  ‘Oh, well, come.’ Ford looked a little worried. ‘It didn’t kill you or Warrington, so I suppose that when it’s even more diluted it won’t do anyone else any harm. At least no real harm.’ Even to himself his action seemed a little casual after the event.

  With the advantage of knowing not only what the poison was but exactly how much there was, Anstruther had to admit to himself that the risk was slight. He could not make up his mind whether the fact made him glad or sorry.

  ‘But what about Warrington? How are you going to explain it to him?’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right. I’ve done that.’ Ford looked triumphantly
happy. ‘I told him a version of the Benson vanilla mixed bottle incident and, though I don’t think he quite understands it all, he’s a very good fellow and since he sees that it wouldn’t do the Club any good, he’s promised me to keep quiet – too,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘Besides, he knows what a good servant Hughes is and though I have told him it wasn’t Hughes’s fault really, he thinks it might have been, and so, as a decent chap, I am sure we can rely on him.

  ‘Rather a clever idea of mine,’ Ford continued, ‘pretending that it was the lotion stuff. From what I can make out, it would have had just the effect it did on you and Warrington.’

  Anstruther considered the question. It was irritating that he was not going to make a fuss, but apparently Warrington was going to keep quiet, and it was quite certain that the sherry was no longer available to be analysed. That being so, perhaps he could get the effect he required in another way.

  ‘The curious, and perhaps the awkward point is that I am almost sure that it was perchloride of mercury.’

  Ford looked genuinely surprised. ‘Surely not. Why should it be?’

  ‘Well, partly because, as you have already said, the symptoms almost exactly coincide. And secondly because of what I think the motive was. There was something in that sherry. I suspect that it was put in with the deliberate object of poisoning me to force your hand. In other words, I suspect that you have been disobeying our friend’s orders. I would equally suspect myself, only I happen to know that I have not. In fact I have received no orders recently, which in itself is suspicious, and from what I can see of our friend’s character, the use of the poison which started the whole matter would be exactly what he would do.’

  It occurred to Ford that there might be another reason why the doctor was so certain. ‘And is perchloride of mercury one of the poisons you have recently been supplying to him?’

  As this was a detail that Anstruther had not decided upon, he ignored it. It would not matter much if Ford did think he had. He countered with another direct question. ‘Have you received any direct orders recently from this man?’

  Ford’s face took on a look of mulish obstinacy. ‘I’m not going to sack Hughes,’ he said sulkily.

  ‘Oh, so that’s it.’ The going had been more difficult than he had expected, but at last he had brought him to the point. ‘You prefer to sacrifice me or anyone else in the Club rather than Hughes?’

  ‘Well, you and I are in it anyhow. Poor Hughes has got dragged in quite by accident. It was no business of his, and I really do not see why he should be made to suffer.’

  ‘And wasn’t I dragged in accidentally? At least you might call it deliberate, but in that case you did the dragging. Why should I suffer?’

  The logic seemed inexorable to Ford, but in that case he had got to let down one of two innocent parties. And that was frightful. He tried to find a loophole somewhere.

  ‘But – at any rate, you – you can look after yourself.’

  ‘Especially last night.’

  ‘And even supposing I did sack Hughes, the fellow would only want something else.’

  It was as well that Ford did not see the smile that came into Anstruther’s eyes. He had every intention of wanting plenty of other things! Lest Ford should notice, he went on talking.

  ‘I suppose you are quite sure that it was not Hughes’s fault all the time?’

  ‘How could it be?’

  ‘Well, no one could have doctored the bottle more easily than he could.’ Anstruther pulled himself together. The word ‘doctored’ was careless. It was too near the truth!

  ‘What! In order to force me to sack himself?’

  ‘To keep suspicion from himself by a double bluff. Has it occurred to you that no one is better placed for knowing too much than Hughes? That he was there when both of those rather unregretted patients of mine died, and was in the best position to guess that something was wrong? If all this fellow wants is that Hughes should be sacked, I should do it at once.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that rather call his bluff – to put it mildly?’

  ‘It would. But if it is Hughes, he is confidently relying on the fact that you won’t. Still, I think you are probably right.

  ‘I do not think that Hughes put that perchloride in himself. But someone did. Someone who was anxious to force you to get rid of him and who does not apparently care what discomfort he causes you or me or anyone else so long as that is done. Obviously because he thinks Hughes knows too much. Frankly I see no reason why Warrington or I or anyone else should go through a similar experience to last night for the sake of Hughes. It isn’t fair on the members and it isn’t fair on the Club. Your proper course of action is plain enough to me.’

  Ford ran his hands despairingly through his hair.

  ‘It may seem plain to you; and it is frightful to think that you and, I suppose, other people are in danger of I don’t know what, but all the same I cannot bring myself to do it. I suppose I might manage to give Hughes his holiday a little earlier and see what happens while he is away.’

  ‘A holiday – in January or February? My dear Ford!’ Then more resolutely: ‘It’s no good, you’ll have to do what you are told.’

  A weary sigh was all the answer. The idea, almost the phrase, was becoming distressingly familiar. He was tired of the virtue of obedience. Again Anstruther pressed him, and this time Ford asked to be allowed to think it over, a request of which the doctor definitely disapproved. The last thing he wanted to give the unfortunate man a chance to do was to think. He might see so many other better courses! But it was impossible to insist any further without running the risk of awakening a suspicion in Ford’s mind that there might be some other motive behind the pressure. Besides, even that was a weakening, and once Ford began to weaken, he had no doubt that he could once more control him.

  As he went away rapidly towards Hyde Park on his neglected professional duties, Anstruther became more and more convinced that he would win his point fairly soon, provided that he could keep Ford away from any other influence.

  But that was exactly the point. What certainty was there, even after all that he had said, that Ford would not go instantly and babble to Cardonnel? Once more Anstruther cursed that he was yoked in the business to a fool. His pace quickened as his mind grew clearer. It was impossible to alter Ford’s nature, but might it not be possible to remove Cardonnel somehow? And might it not be necessary?

  28

  The Final Relief

  Night and day Cardonnel was never out of his mind.

  By day as he went the rounds of his patients or saw them in his consulting room, he could think of nothing but the probability that by then everything had been found out. As he looked back on the events since Pargiter died, he could see dozens of signposts pointing to himself. He was constantly wanting to go back and try to cover up some detail that seemed to him glaringly obvious, and then remembering that the very act of so doing would point even more clearly to the fact that it was necessary for him to do so.

  He was afraid to open a letter lest he should find in it a request for an explanation, or a warning from Ford. Every policeman who walked towards him he feared was coming to arrest him; every man who looked at him he imagined to be a detective watching his movements and ready to pounce on him.

  It was strange that he should be haunted in his dreams solely by Cardonnel. It should have been Pargiter, but except as a man who had betrayed him by having indifferent health, Anstruther never gave a thought to Pargiter.

  Not for a single instant did the idea of remorse even enter his head. But every night as he tossed feverishly from side to side, it was Cardonnel whom he pictured.

  At first it had been the class of dream in which he had been walking along the street, happy and carefree, and on turning the corner he would suddenly see the neat little figure that he dreaded coming towards him, and he would turn to run and find that he could not move. There had been variations of that, including a peculiarly distressing one in which he took to flying an
d found Cardonnel’s hands stretching up to grab his ankles. As he moved along, more and more figures, all resembling the lawyer, would appear, and if he went higher, their arms would become longer, and he would turn giddy and begin to fall.

  Then his dreams would take a professional turn. He would be going to his old hospital to witness an operation, though why he could never understand, and when he got there he would be told that after all it had been decided to use him as the patient. So as to give everybody as much experience as possible, the anaesthetist was to act as the surgeon, and the man who swept out the laboratory was to give the anaesthetic. At that he had protested that he had come to see the operation, not to be operated on, whereupon the Chairman of the Finance Committee, who seemed somehow unexpectedly to be in charge of everything, had said that in that case if he was so anxious to see everything, they would omit the anaesthetic, and before he knew where he was, he would find himself tied down, not even to the operating table, but to the chair in the library of the Club where Morrison and Pargiter had died. Hughes would be holding him down, and the dreaded face of Cardonnel would be peering into his, sharpening one of the Club book-markers which he was going to use as the operating knife. From this dream he awoke with his mind at last made up. Anything would be better than the state of mind into which he was rapidly drifting.

  In fairness to Anstruther it must be remembered that his suspicions were not all imaginary. In addition to the numerous occasions when some trivial and irrelevant incident was construed by the doctor’s disordered brain into being some fresh manoeuvre to entrap him, there were several actual cases when Cardonnel was in fact watching him and was detected by Anstruther to be doing so. How was Anstruther to know that all that interested Cardonnel (or very nearly all) was the theft of the books? In the same way that if a part of the body is hurt it seems that the injured finger or foot is wanted for every action, so when one idea presses constantly on the brain, everything seems to be directed to that.