Death at Dinner

by L. A. Nisula

  Mr. Lynvale shook his head. “I don’t think I should be discussing it with you at all then. I am sorry.”

  It had been a long shot. I nodded. “I understand.”

  “After all, I don’t know your part in all of this.”

  “I’m a friend of Mrs. Pomeroy, the cook at Mr. Carrollton's house. She asked me to look into it.”

  Mr. Lynvale straightened a little and smoothed back his hair. “Mrs. Pomeroy, you say? Well, maybe it’s all right then. Unpaid bills. I was going to see Mr. Ainsworth about unpaid bills.”

  “Whose?”

  “Mr. Carrollton’s, of course.”

  “Why didn’t you see Mr. Carrollton about them?”

  “I did. He told me that Mr. Ainsworth had the books, so I went to see him.”

  “And was he helpful?”

  “Yes, of course. He asked me to send over the invoices, and he would see they were paid.”

  “And did you?”

  “I got them together, but then I heard he died, and I didn’t want to bother them at that moment. I was going to bring the matter up again next week with whoever was going to take over the legal matters for Mr. Carrollton.”

  “And where were you the night he died?”

  “At home. Where else would I be?”

  “Had you been to Parkside House that day?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did go there. I had to deliver some envelopes to Mr. Carrollton, and I left them with Mrs. Pomeroy, so I could see she was quite busy.”

  I had the feeling that visiting Mrs. Pomeroy had been the real reason for the call. “Did you see anything?”

  He shook his head. “Just Mrs. Pomeroy preparing for the dinner.”

  “What about Saturday at three thirty? Where were you?”

  “Here in my shop. Where else would I be?”

  “Did you have a lot of customers?”

  “No, it was very quiet. Why?”

  I didn’t want to give him any information Inspector Hamilton hadn’t. I shrugged. “I don’t know what’s important yet, I’m afraid.”

  “That was very specific, though.”

  “I’m sorry to have troubled you. I’ll mention to Mrs. Pomeroy how helpful you were.”

  That distracted him from my questions. “If you think she would be interested. Yes, yes. Certainly. I’ll show you out.”

  Back on the street, I wondered what I’d learned. The answer seemed to be: not much. His story sounded plausible, but there were no witnesses, and he had been in the kitchen on the day of the dinner party. He could have done something to the food, but then we were back to the question of how the poison was delivered. Still, he seemed to be my best hope. I shook my head and went home. I’d have a cup of tea and think about it.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  When I got back to Paddington Street, I found Inspector Hamilton sitting in the balloon chair in the front hall, waiting for me. My first thought was that I was a suspect again now that the pills seemed to have been ruled out, my second that he knew about my visit to Mr. Lynvale; but he looked too cheerful for either of those possibilities. I settled for “Hello?”

  “Miss Pengear. I was waiting for you. Would you mind coming with me? I’d like you to take a look at something.”

  It didn’t sound threatening, and the word “arrest” wasn’t anywhere in there, but I was still cautious. “At what?”

  Inspector Hamilton stood up. “You said you sewed a button on Mr. Ainsworth’s shirt that night.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I want you to try and identify it.”

  That seemed safe enough. “If it will help. Let me leave this with Mrs. Albright.” I held up the parcel of letter-paper.

  “Excellent. I’ll get us a cab. You’ll be happy to know I released Mrs. Pomeroy this morning.”

  I left the parcel on the table in front of Mrs. Albright’s flat — after all, who would steal a packet of letter-paper — and followed him to the door. “Why didn’t you begin with that?”

  “So it did make a difference, then? I wondered how far your interest in the truth went.”

  I rolled my eyes as I followed him out into the street. “Fine, my interest is centered on Mrs. Pomeroy. Why did you let her go?”

  Inspector Hamilton spotted an empty cab and flagged it down. He held the door for me and handed me in, then gave the address and climbed into the seat across from me.

  I let him get settled before I said, “You were saying?”

  Inspector Hamilton ignored my question. “How long would you say elapsed between the starter and the soup?”

  “At least twenty minutes.”

  “And how did the soup come up from the kitchen?”

  “In the tureen.”

  “And the bowls?”

  “They were stacked on the tray. I put them out on the serving tray and filled them from the tureen.”

  “So only you could have known what order they were in on the serving tray.”

  “That’s right, but I’m quite sure I didn’t poison them. And Ross served...”

  “You could have forced one on him. You were carrying the tray.”

  “You mean like a card trick? Only I was carrying the tray with both hands. How would I have done it?”

  He sighed. “And you have no motive. And an alibi for Warland’s death. And despite what you think, I would prefer not to arrest you for murder.”

  “Well, that’s that, then.”

  I stared at him until he added, “I knew you wouldn’t let that go. Simple, really. The medical examiner said the dose of poison as large as what he thinks was given would have acted quickly. If it had been in the mousse, he’d have been dead before the soup was even sent up.”

  “So it couldn’t have been the first courses.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So it would have had to have been in the soup, which was served to everyone from the same tureen, and is, therefore, impossible.” I flopped back against the cushions.

  Inspector Hamilton smiled. “Why are you the one who’s frustrated? Your friend’s in the clear again. If she didn't kill Mr. Ainsworth, she has no motive for poisoning the others, so I’ve still got to find the real killer.”

  “But if he was killed within minutes of taking the poison, and the poison couldn’t have been in what he was eating, where did it come from?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know, Miss Pengear.”

  “What about the pills?”

  “Did you see him take any at the table? Did anybody? Mrs. Delford would have known at the very least, since she was holding them in her handbag, but she swears they stayed in her handbag until she took them out when he collapsed.”

  “But why did you think it was the pills, then?”

  “Because they were full of cyanide.”

  He said it so matter-of-factly, it took a moment for the words to register in my mind. “Are you sure he was killed with cyanide?”

  “The medical examiner is. I asked him to check twice. It was not strychnine, even though what you described sounded like it. He also pointed out that, even if it was strychnine, it would have had to have been administered in the same way, with the same problems. Here we are.”

  He helped me out of the cab and led me up through the reception area, where I was becoming a fixture, to the staff lift.

  “The paperwork is in my office. We’ll stop there first, and you can leave your hat and coat so they won’t be in your way. Would you like some tea before we begin?”

  “Will it be as bad as that?”

  “No, no, not at all. Just a little bit of a wait.”

  I slipped out of my coat in the hall while Inspector Hamilton unlocked his door. “Worried there won’t be room for you to do that inside?”

  “Will there be?”

  Inspector Hamilton grinned. “Probably not, but at least I have walls.” He opened the door and went in. Normally I would have thought that bad manners, but it was the only way he could be sure he’d get behind his desk. He scanned t
he papers and grabbed a file that had been lined up neatly on top of a stack of used Underground tickets. I balanced my coat on top of his on the second chair and put my hat on top of his desk.

  Inspector Hamilton was still scanning the contents of the folder he’d picked up. I tried to read the folder upside down across the desk, but Inspector Hamilton held it at a sharp angle. All I could see was the cover.

  He held the folder closer to his face, then farther away.

  I gave him time to send me away, but he didn’t. He didn’t seem to remember I was there.

  “Is it interesting?” I finally broke the silence.

  Inspector Hamilton looked up. “I have no idea. Are you any good at reading bad handwriting?”

  I saw an opportunity. “Yes, of course. You should see the scrawls some of my clients send over.”

  He sighed. “What do you make of this?” He handed me the first page.

  It was a summary of a report from the accountant. He had terrible, blotted writing, which explained why he was consulting for Scotland Yard and not working as a better-paid bookkeeper; no one would be able to read his figures. “It starts off with a summary. ‘The embezzlement seems to have started several years ago, but it was well hidden to the casual eye. Approximately nine months ago, the embezzlement changed. It almost doubled the amount being taken. But there is no indication who was taking the money.’ The rest of the page has a lot of figures.” I looked up, hoping Inspector Hamilton would hand me the next page.

  He didn’t. Instead, he held out his hand for the page I had. Reluctantly, I handed it back.

  Inspector Hamilton put the papers back into the folder. “At least it’s something. The embezzler got greedy nine months ago. Or something happened that caused him to need twice as much money. It’s an area to explore, anyway.” He closed the folder but did not put it down, so there was no chance for me to sneak another look. “Now, if you didn’t want the tea, I’ll show you to the evidence room. If you would.” He motioned for me to go out into the hallway so he could get out from behind his desk.

  Chapter 23

  I’D NEVER BEEN IN the evidence request room before. When we got to the door, Inspector Hamilton pulled a small brass cog from his pocket and slid it into the clockwork panel at eye level. He pushed a steam valve and the gears turned, unlocking the room. As the gear turned, it punched a series of holes in the long tape running through the gear panel. When the gears stopped turning, Inspector Hamilton pulled the cog out of the mechanism.

  I watched him pocket the gear. “So no one can get in without one of those?”

  Inspector Hamilton gave me a look. Apparently he decided it was safe enough to tell me, “That’s right. We each have our own. It punches our personal identification code at each step of the process. No one can sneak in or take evidence without there being a record. So you can’t get in without a sympathetic policeman.” He held the door so I could enter.

  The evidence room was larger than any of the other rooms I’d been in at Scotland Yard, not that that was saying much considering the size of the offices I’d seen. The far wall was entirely taken up with a clockwork device. I was able to identify a pneumatic communication tube and six doors of differing sizes that looked like parts of a series of dumbwaiters.

  Inspector Hamilton was watching me examine the room with a bemused look. “I’m afraid there’s no place to sit, but you can lean on the table for the moment. I’ll get you a chair once I’ve placed the request.

  I took it as a hint to wait where he could see me and keep me out of trouble. I stood by the table — no leaning, goodness knows what had been placed on it — and watched Inspector Hamilton take a request form from the folder on the table and fill out all of the little lines with the description of what he wanted.

  “How do you remember the number of the evidence you want?”

  He smiled. “Practice, I suppose.”

  Inspector Hamilton slipped the request form into the slot on the wall then slid his cog into place and released the steam valve. I watched as his cog allowed the gears to turn, sending the request downstairs and marking it and any forms that came through with his personal identification code. Apparently requesting evidence also required either a cog or someone who had one and was willing to have their code stamped all over your request.

  “Now we wait. I’ll find you a chair.”

  “What happens to the request? Does it have some way of reading it?”

  Inspector Hamilton stopped on his way to the door. “No, that’s just delivering it and making sure whoever did the requesting is authorized to. Even though the process looks automated, the papers actually goes to a human evidence clerk in the basement. Then they have to sort through the shelves and boxes of evidence to find what was requested. Eventually, they find it and send it back up with a code for the dumbwaiter, which needs to be punched both downstairs and in here with the requester’s cog before it can be read. And that is why I am going to get us some chairs.”

  ~ * ~ * ~

  I was just starting to wish I’d asked for the tea when the cog turned again and a new bit of paper rolled out. Inspector Hamilton retrieved the paper then his cog and brought it to the dumbwaiter, where he again used his cog, this time with a series of dials which needed to be turned to the correct series of letters and numbers shown on the paper. When he’d completed that, the dumbwaiter door swung open, and we finally had our box of evidence.

  “Room 3 is open. Just through there.”

  Evidence room 3 was slightly larger than a closet, with a large table and one chair. Inspector Hamilton gestured for me to take the chair while he put the box on the table.

  When I was seated Inspector Hamilton took the lid off of the box and lifted out a parcel wrapped in tissue paper. He put it on the table in front of me and unwrapped it, spreading the paper out on the table underneath a folded dress shirt. “You can handle it if it will help. It’s already been checked for evidence.”

  I spread out the shirt and unfolded it until I could see all the buttons. I tried to visualize the shirt on Mr. Ainsworth, to see how far down the spot I’d slid my hand in had been. About mid-way down, but the shirt had been tucked into his trousers. I picked up the shirt so I could get a close look at the buttons, starting just above the middle. My fingers brushed a rusty red stain on the side and I pulled my hand back.

  Inspector Hamilton was watching me. “That’s not blood.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Wine. Please continue. Do you see it?”

  I reached for the shirt again, avoiding the stain just in case, and studied the buttons. “There, third one down. That’s the one I sewed on. See the thread? It’s knotted very, um, thoroughly on the front.”

  Inspector Hamilton sighed. “Oh well, there went that idea.”

  He took the shirt from me and folded it badly then wrapped it in the tissue paper even more sloppily.

  “Do you want me to tidy that?”

  He looked at the mess he’d made of the parcel. “That’s all right; they’ll just re-wrap it downstairs.” He dropped the shirt back into the box and carried it through to the main evidence room. I followed him out and watched as he put the cog back in place and stuck the box back in the dumbwaiter. He slid the paper back into the slot and the gears started turning, punching the form and lowering the box back to the storage room. When the gears stopped, he recovered his cog and stuck it in his pocket. “Come on, I’ll get you that tea now.” He held the door for me.

  As I passed him into the hall, I got a good look at his face. “You're disappointed.”

  “I suppose I am. You said you sewed a button on, so when I couldn’t find it, well, it seemed like a clue.” He shrugged. “But there it was, so I suppose not.”

  Inspector Hamilton led me through the hallways and back to his office. “There’s tea in the carafe over there, and I’ve got some biscuits in the drawer. I’ll finish up the paperwork and ask you to sign it.” He handed me a small cup. I took the carafe and poure
d myself a cup of tea I didn’t want. I wanted it even less when I tasted it.

  It only took Inspector Hamilton a few minutes to complete the paperwork. I read the statement saying that I’d identified the button I’d sewn on and signed it. I handed the papers back and looked around for somewhere to leave the cup.

  “Did you want to finish that?”

  I tried to think of a nice way to say that the tea was awful, but then Inspector Hamilton smiled. “I’m no Mrs. Pomeroy, I know that. I’ll bring you down in the staff lift. It’ll be faster. If you're done?”

  I left the cup on the desk and stood up. “That’s very kind of you.”

  Inspector Hamilton led me back through the maze of desks until we ended up at the lift. Now that I had him alone and in a good mood, it seemed like I should ask him something. I just had to think of how to phrase it properly. I was still working up to it when the lift doors opened. Inspector Hamilton ushered me in. There was no one to work this lift and Inspector Hamilton pushed the levers to send us down to the ground floor.

  “Miss Pengear, did you really forget that Mrs. Pomeroy prepared a separate plate for Mr. Ainsworth?”

  That caught me off guard. “Yes, Inspector, I really did. Although, to be perfectly honest, I might not have told you if I had remembered. Why do you ask?”

  “I was just wondering why you were hunting for Mr. Williamson, then. You thought the pills were the answer, so why look farther?”

  I paused. “I don’t really know.”

  “Oh well, no matter. Here’s a cab.”

  I had planned to take the Underground again, but Inspector Hamilton held the door for me, so I gathered up my skirts and prepared to climb in. “So what will you do now?”

  Inspector Hamilton shrugged. “Go back to checking alibis for the second crime.”

  He seemed to be in an expansive mood. “Do people have them?”

  “You and Mrs. Delford alibied each other, and I confirmed that with the school. They were having a sports day that afternoon which ended at three. Other than that, I’ve only been able to pin down Mr. Sharma and Miss Carrollton. They say they were together, but of course I’d feel better with independent collaboration.”