Keep It Quiet

by Richard Hull

  It would have been difficult to say at this time whether Anstruther was wholly sane or not. Certainly worry had driven him a little to drink, though perhaps not quite to the extent that Hughes considered that it had, even a little to drugs, but though the effect had been to cloud his brain to some extent, he had not entirely lost control of himself. It was just worry that was distracting him. A man who lives in a constant state of fear cannot be quite sane, cannot view with a proper sense of proportion even those events that relate to the subject of his fear.

  But whatever else Anstruther was, he was not a coward. Here was a man, perhaps two men, who were dangerous to him. There was no question in his mind but that they must be faced up to and overcome. In his own quiet, reserved way he was an intensely proud man. He had successfully surmounted so far the difficulties connected with Pargiter’s death; it never occurred to him that he could not get over the present ones, if he resolutely decided to do so.

  It was true that so far he had failed to have Hughes removed; but that would happen in due course. In his opinion Ford was clearly hesitating. With Cardonnel out of the way he would hesitate no longer; he would do what he was told.

  Cardonnel, then, must be removed.

  It was symptomatic of what had been happening to Anstruther’s character that when for the first time he contemplated a murder in cold blood, he found nothing so very strange in the idea. In a clear, calm, dispassionate way, totally different from his feelings of frenzy after he had accidentally killed Pargiter, he came to the conclusion that a mere temporary removal of the lawyer, a sea voyage of however great a length, was insufficient. In an equally unemotional and logical manner he set to work to plan the details. There must be none of the half-hearted measures in which he had been indulging, more to gratify his sense of humour than anything else, with the various salts of mercury.

  Equally there must be no error.

  In his new mood, with an object in life once more, Anstruther saw clearly that he must avoid the danger of repetition. Not only the perchloride, but the hyoscine, and indeed all other poisons must go. There must be some carefully prepared accident, carried out in such a manner that suspicion, even if it should glance in his direction, could never be turned to anything more definite. Already he had in his mind an idea as to where the accident should take place. It was more difficult to see how he could get Cardonnel to the point of danger.

  The first thing was to go down to the big library, the cold library. It was not usually difficult to find it empty round about dinner time – and Anstruther desired to be alone. He had no wish that he should be seen very carefully inspecting a spot which was to be the scene of a tragedy soon afterwards.

  Luck, however, was against him. One other member was using the library, and so, impeded from carrying out his primary object, Anstruther was forced to sit down and wait. He could at least use the time to plan some further detail of the subject about which he never stopped thinking.

  But coherent thought was rendered difficult. The other member present seemed to have been suddenly smitten with a desire to extract small pieces of knowledge from books all of which were situated on the very highest and most inaccessible shelves. Having seized a long ladder, he was rushing about the room, planting it sometimes on the carpet, often on the polished boards to which in places the carpet did not reach, and barely looking to see whether the head of it was resting securely against a shelf or was merely poised against a row of books, he was charging tumultuously to the top to snatch one book, descend rapidly, read about half a paragraph, if so much, and then once more tear up the ladder, replace the book, and then repeat the process elsewhere.

  Anstruther could not but admire the scrupulous manner in which he replaced each volume. If only Cardonnel would show an equal rashness! Somehow that lawyer must be induced to come to the library, somehow he must be induced to step out through that large window on to the balcony from which so extensive a view of London’s chimney pots could be obtained – and then, well, the ancient railing round it was already so rusted that he thought it might need no preparation to ensure that at the first moment that any weight was put on it, it would give way; after that, it was a very long way to the pavement below and opposite was no vantage point from which the happenings on that balcony were likely to have been observed.

  At last his fellow member ceased his Alpine feats and Anstruther was able to slip out quietly through the window. To his annoyance the railing was in a better state of repair than he had expected. Still, a little deft, quick work, and it could soon be made sufficiently weak ... It was nervous work, though, and he hurried through it as fast as he could. He had no desire to stay there longer than was absolutely necessary, since the appearance of anyone in the room would be fatal to his whole project. If anyone did appear, at the very best, even if his presence was not discovered, he would have to wait until the room was empty again.

  Fortune, however, was on his side. He was indeed disturbed once, and that disturbance was of a sufficiently alarming nature, but as good luck would have it, it was only temporary. As he was bending over the staple that fastened the whole structure to the wall, and wondering if that could be turned into an additional weakness, he suddenly heard a footstep in the room behind him. Cautiously peering through the curtains, he saw Hughes walk to the door and turn off the lights. On the whole this was excellent. He had not liked to turn them off himself for fear that the very absence of light should attract attention, but now no one could enter the room without his knowing it.

  A few minutes later he was back in the library. So far as he could make out, no one had seen him from the time he stepped on to the balcony until he was once more in the hall. The first part of his arrangements for Cardonnel was complete.

  Returning to his flat, he found a letter from Ford. So completely had he been absorbed in the consideration of Cardonnel, that it came almost as a shock to him to find the secretary discussing the question of Hughes. Even more remote did the other matter that the letter mentioned seem.

  I have been turning over in my mind the conversation we had yesterday [wrote the secretary in his best style] and the more I think of it, the more I grieve that you should suspect me of not having been completely above-board with you. I thought that I had told you freely, really rather more freely than I should, of all that concerned you, and I thought that I had fallen into line with every suggestion you had made.

  As to the matter of Hughes, I cannot agree with your, if I may so describe it, extremely ingenious theory, either that he put in the poison, or that it was put in deliberately, or even that it was poison at all. There is many a slip, as you know, betwixt the decanter and the glass, and this was one of them. But not Hughes’s fault, I am sure, nor, as I have said, necessarily poison. Certainly, there is no real evidence as to perchloride of mercury being present, and surely there might be other, quite natural causes, which might have so regrettably upset you. Even in the best family wine merchants’ accidents will happen, you know. There has been nothing wrong with the rest of the wine, but strangely enough a similar thing has occurred only today at tea time, and as you were not in the club, it cannot have been intended to injure you. Nor was it directed against or controlled by Hughes, since the buttered toast, which is believed to have caused the trouble, was served in the smoking-room, not the library. I think it must be something in the atmosphere. Perhaps all this wet after all this drought, like the sore throats last summer.’

  Despite his weariness, Anstruther smiled sadly. His little joke, then, was beginning to work, but he was no longer able to be interested in it – not until after he had dealt with Cardonnel. Meanwhile he felt it would be easy to get Ford to change his mind as to Hughes. Even in this letter he was protesting too much.

  The next paragraph, however, was really interesting. Had he not had his plans matured, it would have been alarming, but as it was he felt that it could easily be made to fit. In fact it made his task easier.

  But my real object in writing to you con
cerns the other matter of which I spoke to you. I have had a letter from Cardonnel telling me that he has now completed his investigations. He thinks that he is able to prove his case. I very much doubt that, since there has been no recurrence of the trouble recently, but anyhow we shall see what he has to say very soon. He asks me to ask you to be so good as to meet him at the Club at the earliest date convenient to you. Would tomorrow evening be suitable? As to the meeting, any time will do. I thought, however, that I ought to tell you at once. Is there anything particular you would like me to know beforehand?

  Anstruther put down the letter. He knew what to do now. Decision, and with it relief, had come at last.

  29

  Cardonnel’s Report

  Gladwin, and his friend the author, who some weeks ago had suggested that Cardonnel had better be appointed Club house detective, finished their lunch and started to go to the smoking-room.

  ‘I always wonder,’ remarked the author, ‘whether that weighing machine is put just outside the coffee-room as an awful warning to all those inclined to get stout, or a kind of “abandon hope all ye that enter here” message.’

  ‘Or as an encouragement to the lean kine? Anyhow I wonder what I do weigh now.’ Gladwin sat down on the machine and started to adjust the scale at the side, grunting with disapproval as the balance stayed obstinately in the air. He was sure he was lighter than that!

  Meanwhile his companion idly picked up a book lying beside it. ‘I always mean to stake a claim to a page in this and note down the answer every time I weigh myself, with appropriate comments.’

  ‘Comments? I’m sure this machine is not adjusted properly. I’ve never been twelve stone before.’

  ‘That’s the lunch. Treacle pudding indeed! Most fattening. You had better put in like this man’ – he pointed to the book – ‘“after a heavy meal”. Amazing how people try to deceive themselves about their weight, and how self-revealing! Look at this: R.H.S. remarks – “14 stone 7, despite putting on winter underclothes”. Really he might preserve a decent reticence.’

  ‘And what, may I ask, do you weigh?’ Gladwin surveyed the author’s rather plump figure.

  ‘I? I never weigh myself.’

  ‘Do you call that not deceiving yourself?’

  ‘Certainly. I merely suspect the worst. Come along and have coffee and don’t put one toe on the ground to try to make yourself think you are a little lighter than you are.’

  With a slight blush the K.C. walked downstairs. Somehow or other he must get more exercise or he would die suddenly like poor old Judge Skinner whose end a fortnight ago had upset him badly. The pair of them joined Cardonnel and his chartered accountant friend in their usual corner.

  ‘This Club’ – too much lunch always made the accountant pontifical – ‘is going to the dogs. There was a short moment a few months ago when I thought it was going to pull itself together. But now it’s sinking back into the old rut again.’

  ‘What’s your particular trouble now?’

  ‘Well, the food for one thing. You never get a decent potato–’

  ‘That’s in the interest of slimming. I have just been watching Gladwin weigh himself and he’s over thirteen stone, only he won’t believe it.’

  ‘Twelve, Henry, not thirteen.’

  ‘Every night that I dine here,’ the accountant went on, ignoring the interruption, ‘I am made to eat dory, halibut or brill. And have you ever studied the sauces?’

  ‘I have.’ (This from Cardonnel.) ‘There are exactly three, perhaps four. A brown substance of uncertain taste, called generally “Sauce Robert”, which disfigures cutlets and suchlike, or has pepper added and arrives again under the name of “Sauce Diable” with grilled chicken. That’s one.’

  ‘The second and most frequent,’ went on Gladwin, ‘is a yellow abomination. I think it starts life as a mayonnaise. When it begins to go sour it is put on the fish and called “Bonne Femme”.’

  ‘And when really unpleasant, is termed “Au Vin Blanc”.’

  ‘Thirdly we have a red one usually called “Tomato”. I apologise to my readers for mentioning it.’ Henry waved his hand airily to an imaginary audience.

  ‘In the interests of accuracy I must add mint,’ concluded Cardonnel, ‘but that is all, absolutely all. Plenty of names, but just those four colours. Personally, I want a blue sauce – with purple spots.’

  ‘What about oyster with very indifferent cod, and mustard sauce with the all too rare herrings?’ The accountant was trying to be fair.

  ‘Both variations of the yellow variety. In one case mustard is added. In the other, nothing whatever, the flavour of the oyster being supplied by the imagination of the diner. It’s a sort of confidence trick.’

  ‘What about “au gratin”?’

  ‘I groan that you should mention such a thing, Henry! The yellow variation again, slightly impregnated with Canadian cheddar.’

  ‘“Yet each man gets the cheese he craves, by each let this be known”, as the poet did not say. One day I’m going to write a book about cheese in which you shall all get what you deserve.’

  ‘Well, put me down for Double Gloucester when you do.’

  ‘I am not quite sure whether you are worthy. But, look here, Cardonnel, you’re on the Committee, can’t you do something about it?’

  ‘The ability of our worthy secretary and of Benson, our still more worthy chef, to put up a display of passive resistance is far superior to any little feat that Wellington accomplished with the lines of Torres Vedras. And, just between us four, what help should I get from Laming?’

  ‘That’s all very well, but you can’t evade your responsibilities that way,’ Henry began. He had suddenly remembered the mock appointment he had conferred on Cardonnel, and was about to ask him to report progress, when the chartered accountant, coming out of a reverie, interrupted him.

  ‘But, going back to the sauce, there seems to be something wrong with the tea.’

  Gladwin looked at him solemnly. ‘A sad case. To think that he once had sufficient brains to understand a balance sheet (subject, of course, to the information and explanation being given to him), and now he thinks that you serve tea with some sort of sauce.’

  ‘Well, something is being served with the tea.’

  Henry sat up. ‘I did hear a rumour of someone being upset yesterday – Munro I think it was.’

  ‘And I see that Mr Justice Bird is indisposed today and can’t sit. You know he always has tea and a muffin here.’

  ‘There was a rumour, too, that Warrington and that little doctor man, Anstruther, were made thoroughly ill by some sherry the other day.’

  ‘Oh, I know all about that.’ Gladwin stirred his coffee. ‘Warrington told me about it. He was frightfully ill, but he doesn’t want to cause trouble about it because, as a decent fellow, he does not want to get the library floor waiter into trouble.’

  Cardonnel seemed to be interested. ‘What, Hughes? What’s he been doing?’

  ‘Oh, he made some muddle or other about a bottle of lotion supplied to him for a boil or something. Warrington says Ford’s story was very incoherent and he could not understand it, but he gathered Ford wanted him to accept the apology and keep quiet. So, if that is good enough for him, it is for us, I suppose.’

  ‘Very curious,’ remarked Cardonnel, toying with a cigar-cutter. In his own mind he thought it more than curious. Frankly he did not believe that the same sort of accident could happen twice. It must then be Ford’s invention. But even if he had invented it just to quieten Warrington down, what had Ford thought had really happened? And, for that matter, what was the truth? He decided it was a question that he must investigate further. Meanwhile he added aloud: ‘But that was not tea. Tell me more about this tea business.’

  ‘Personally, I think it’s the butter, although I know I said tea originally.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, every case that I have heard of, and there have been quite a number who have been sick or upset, have had somet
hing toasted with butter for tea – buttered toast, or a muffin, or a crumpet, or tea-cake.’

  ‘Toasted bun?’

  The accountant thought for a moment. ‘No, not that I have heard of.’

  ‘Very odd. Look, Cardonnel, this is another case for you.’

  ‘Another?’ queried Gladwin.

  ‘Yes, don’t you remember that I appointed him Club house detective over the missing library books?’

  ‘So you did, but we’ve never had your report, Cardonnel.’

  ‘Well, I never accepted the job.’ Cardonnel laughed. ‘All the same, I did do it, just for fun. I was going to tell you soon about it. In fact I hoped I could let you know the dénouement tomorrow, or soon after, except perhaps the fellow’s name. You see, I might only get my confession by promising to say no more about it.’

  ‘Conniving at a felony, my learned friend?’

  ‘Maybe. But anyhow, have you noticed that during the last fortnight the theft of books has stopped?’

  ‘I hadn’t noticed it, but has it?’

  ‘You look at the list of “books missing” hanging over there above the shelf where they are kept. The last date that one went is over a fortnight ago, and Ford tells me there is nothing new to be put down. Of course I admit a fortnight is a short while, but I rather fancy, from something he let slip, that Ford gave the fellow a warning. Of course I told him to do nothing of the sort, but you know what Ford is. I have no doubt’ – his voice took on a mocking, sing-song tone – ‘he meant well.’

  ‘Just like Ford. And I suppose that cramped your style?’

  ‘A little, but anyhow I think I have fitted in the missing link now. I worked first of all on the times he was up and the events happening at the time. That gave me a lot of facts about him, although I got a bit astray because he used to live in one place and now does not. Then I went on to his tastes and his relations–’