by June Thomson
‘Have we?’ I was astonished. ‘Exactly what, pray?’
I found myself addressing his back for he had again sauntered off, this time to examine the sideboard, first opening the drawers to look inside them in a cursory manner before shutting them and turning his attention to the cupboards underneath.
‘Holmes, what evidence have we discovered?’ I repeated, beginning to feel a little exasperated. Although our client’s life was at stake, Holmes appeared not to be treating the case with much seriousness.
‘Why, to a conspiracy, of course,’ he replied, shutting the sideboard doors and standing upright, one hand placed negligently in his pocket.
‘A conspiracy!’
I was prevented from following up this astounding assertion by a light tap on the door.
‘Come!’ Holmes called out, at which a woman, Miss Butler, I assumed, entered the room, closely followed by Inspector Needham.
She came in almost silently, the only sound the rustle of her long black skirts as they brushed across the carpet and even that soft murmur of silk ceased as she paused just inside the room.
‘You wished to question me, gentlemen?’ she asked.
I can only speak for myself when I say that she was one of the most fascinating women I have ever encountered although, from the expression on my old friend’s face, I could see that he, too, was brought up short by the sight of her.
She was not beautiful; beautiful is too commonplace a word to describe her although, should I ever be asked to give an account of her physical appearance, I would be forced to fall back on a few conventional phrases. In figure she was slight; of age, about eight and twenty; of carriage, graceful.
Pressed for further details, I would be restrained to add that I was particularly struck by her pallor, a strange-seeming detail but that was one of my first and most lasting impressions.
She was dressed entirely in black, a plain, long-sleeved gown, cut high in the throat and unrelieved by any ornament, not even a brooch or a necklace. Against this sombre attire, her hands, which she held folded together in front of her, and the pale oval of her face stood out as if they had been cut, like cameos, from some translucent material, very simple and yet delicate in outline.
The only colour was in her hair and eyes and those, too, were pale, the hair a light gold and, like the gown, plain, being parted in the centre and smoothed back off the brow in two shining wings, while the eyes were a clear, almost transparent grey.
None of these epithets, however, convey the brilliant quality about both her hair and her eyes which shone as if they were lit by some strange, ethereal radiance.
Apart from these physical attributes, there was a calm and assured composure about her, almost an authority for so young a woman, and an overwhelming sense of a keen and highly intelligent mind.
I found it deeply disturbing.
Holmes quickly recovered, pulling forward a chair at the table and inviting her to sit down.
I must confess, however, that it was several more minutes after I, too, had seated myself that I felt able to give my full attention to the questions that Holmes was putting to her and even then my attention still strayed from time to time from her answers to Miss Butler herself.
She sat very still, her hands clasped together on the table and her pale, calm face turned in Holmes’ direction, taking no notice either of me or of Inspector Needham who had seated himself next to me and who listened to the interview with the smiling air of a man who had heard it all before and who expects nothing new to come from it.
Holmes asked her first about Perrott’s visit to the house earlier in the day and received confirmation from her of the time of his arrival and departure and also of the fact that it had been on Mr Rushton’s orders that the study door was locked.
Holmes next asked her about the evening meal and it was at this point that I recovered myself and began to listen more carefully to her answers.
‘We dined at the usual time, half-past seven,’ Miss Butler said in a low, pleasant voice. Both her tone and manner were calm and unhurried. ‘We were served by Letty, the parlourmaid. When the meal was over, Mr Rushton retired to the drawing-room while I remained behind to supervise the clearing of the table. After that, I went into the kitchen to speak to the cook, Mrs Williams, about the following day’s menus. I then joined Mr Rushton in the drawing-room, taking some sewing with me.’
‘What time was this?’ Holmes inquired.
He was observing her closely, leaning forward towards her across the table.
‘A little before half-past eight. The clock in the drawing-room struck the half-hour not long after I had sat down. I had not been in the room more than ten minutes at most when Mr Rushton complained of feeling unwell.’
‘Unwell? How precisely?’
‘He said he felt nauseous. He also spoke of pains in the stomach and a burning sensation at the back of his throat. I suggested I called in Dr Livesey, who lives only a few doors away, but Mr Rushton declined. He said it was probably only indigestion, brought on by the acidity of the rhubarb pie we had eaten at dinner, and it would soon pass. But not long afterwards he said he would retire to bed, as he continued unwell.’
‘The time?’ Holmes demanded. He had taken out a small notebook and waited, pencil poised, for her answer.
Miss Butler regarded him calmly.
‘I believe it was about ten minutes to nine but I did not pay particular attention. I accompanied Mr Rushton upstairs and waited in my own room while he prepared himself for bed before knocking at his door to inquire if he needed anything. As he was still complaining of nausea and of cramps in his legs, I went downstairs to the kitchen to ask cook to make up a hot-water bottle for him and also for a glass of warm water in which to mix a little bicarbonate of soda. The time was then soon after a quarter past nine.
‘The mixture and the warmth from the bottle seemed to relieve the symptoms temporarily although he asked me to sit with him as he still felt very unwell. At about a quarter past ten, he requested that I bring the bowl from the wash-hand stand as he needed to be sick.’
‘Was he?’ Holmes inquired.
‘Yes, he was,’ came the quiet reply. ‘Quite violently. As the pains in his stomach and legs also increased, it was clear to me that Mr Rushton was suffering from something more than mere indigestion. I rang the bell for Letty and told her to fetch Dr Livesey at once. He arrived within five minutes. It was while he was examining the patient that Mr Rushton had another severe bout of nausea which left him exhausted. A few moments later, he gave a gasp and collapsed against the pillows. Dr Livesey felt his pulse and said that he had passed away, in his opinion of a heart attack brought on by the severity of his sickness. As Dr Livesey insisted that the police were notified immediately, I sent Barnes, the coachman, to fetch them in the carriage. He returned with them about ten minutes later.’
‘It all sounds straightforward,’ Holmes remarked. ‘You have made an excellent witness, Miss Butler. Indeed, there are only a few matters I wish to inquire into.’
‘I shall do my best to answer them,’ Miss Butler replied.
‘Then can you tell me whether I am right in assuming that the clocks in the house keep good time? Who is responsible for winding them?’
‘Mr Rushton. He was most particular about that and allowed no one to touch them.’
‘Not even yourself?’
‘No; never.’
‘And did this also apply to his own pocket-watch?’
Miss Butler widened her brilliant eyes.
‘Certainly, Mr Holmes. I would not dream of interfering with it. It had belonged to Mr Rushton’s father.’
‘And this is Mr Rushton’s watch, is it not?’ Holmes inquired, producing a gold hunter from his pocket and laying it face upwards on the table.
Inspector Needham started up in his chair.
‘Where did you get that, Mr Holmes?’ he expostulated.
‘From Mr Rushton’s night-table,’ Holmes replied coolly.
Ignoring Needham and with his eyes fixed on Miss Butler’s face, Holmes slowly withdrew another object from his pocket, keeping it concealed in his palm until he had placed it beside the pocket-watch. It was only then that he opened his hand and revealed what had until that moment remained hidden.
It was a silver salt pot.
Although Needham and I both stared in bewilderment at this ordinary domestic object, the effect on Miss Butler was dramatic. She leapt to her feet so abruptly that the chair on which she had been sitting was sent crashing to the floor.
‘You have searched my room without my permission!’ she cried.
Holmes, too, had risen from the table and stood confronting her, his eyes not once leaving hers so that their mutual gaze seemed locked together as if in mortal combat.
Needham and I looked on in silence, watching their faces, hers so pallid that it seemed lit by some bright, cold, unearthly incandescence, his as austere and as watchful as a hawk’s.
‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘I have not searched your room, Miss Butler, but I suggest Inspector Needham does so immediately for I have no doubt that he will find hidden there the other salt pot which makes up the pair. There is only one more question I wish to ask you. How long have you been in the habit of consuming arsenic?’
For several moments we gazed at her without speaking, the only sound her frenzied sobbing.
It was Holmes who eventually spoke.
‘I think, Inspector,’ said he, his tone coldly implacable, ‘that you have heard enough to charge Miss Butler with the murder of Albert Rushton.’
I prefer not to dwell on the events of the next half-hour. It has never afforded me pleasure to witness the mental agony of any fellow human-being, much less that of a woman and one, moreover, of Miss Butler’s beauty and intelligence.
Suffice it to say that the first few minutes were anguished but that, after the formal arrest was made, she recovered her former composure and that, by the time a matron had been sent for from Camberwell Green police station, she had quite regained that air of calm self-possession.
In the mean time, Needham had searched her room and had found, hidden in her bureau, the second salt pot, the companion to the one which Holmes had produced from his pocket with such dramatic effect.
Accompanied by the matron, who carried a small valise containing some of the prisoner’s clothes, and wearing a long black cloak, the hood drawn well up over her head so that it hid the pale gold hair and those pallid, delicate features, she passed down the stairs and through the door into the night while Holmes and I stood in the doorway of the dining-room watching her departure in silence, a form of tribute, at least on my part and I believe on his as well, to a most extraordinary woman.
Neither of us saw her again.
By the time our own cab had conveyed us to Camberwell Green police station, she had already been charged and taken down to the cells.
We were present when Perrott was released. He came into the small back room where we were waiting for Inspector Needham, smiling broadly, to wring our hands so vigorously and with so many protestations of undying gratitude that it became wearisome and both Holmes and I were relieved when he finally departed.
Soon afterwards, Inspector Needham joined us, his face haggard.
‘It is a bad business, Mr Holmes.’ he said, shaking his head. ‘It’s the first time I have ever had to arrest a woman on a murder charge.’
‘She has confessed?’ Holmes asked quickly.
‘Oh, yes. There was no question of that. But as I have not yet taken a full statement from her, I do not know all the details. Perhaps you could enlighten me, sir. If it had not been for you, the wrong person would have been sent for trial. What made you so sure young Perrott was innocent and she was guilty?’
‘When Charlie Perrott first called on me and asked me to take the case,’ Holmes began, ‘I had very little evidence to prove his innocence. Indeed, most of the facts seemed to point to his guilt. He had motive in that he stood to gain substantially from his uncle’s death. He also had the opportunity to administer the poison by means of the glass of sherry which he admitted he himself had poured for his uncle.
‘But how and when had he obtained the arsenic? He had been at his place of employment all day and had not learnt that he was made his uncle’s main beneficiary until he called at the house later in the evening in answer to a message.
‘Besides, although a pleasant enough young man, he struck me as too naïve to plan anything as complex as murder by poison, always a premeditated crime necessitating careful forethought.
‘I began to suspect a conspiracy. Someone in the household had deliberately contrived to cast suspicion on him and so to arrange the evidence that he appeared guilty. Although I had not yet met her, my suspicions fell on Miss Butler, the housekeeper, for reasons I shall shortly explain.
‘I discounted the other servants. Under the terms of Mr Rushton’s will, they inherited too little to make the risk worthwhile. Moreover, the average cook or housemaid would be no more capable of planning such a murder than Perrott himself. But Miss Butler was a different proposition.’
‘Now wait a moment!’ Needham interjected. ‘Her legacy wasn’t all that large. Five hundred pounds! That is hardly a motive either.’
‘You have forgotten, Inspector, one very important clause in Mr Rushton’s will. Apart from the five hundred pounds, she would inherit any residue from the estate. No doubt when Mr Rushton had the will drawn up, he intended it to cover any negligible sums of money which might be left over when the other legacies were paid. But, in effect, it meant that, should his nephew die or fail to inherit for any other reason, his part of the estate would automatically be assigned to Miss Butler, including not only a considerable sum of money, totalling fifteen thousand pounds, but the house and its contents. Now, under the law, no convicted criminal may benefit from the proceeds of his crime. If Charlie Perrott was found guilty of his uncle’s murder, then Miss Butler would effectively take his place as the main heir. There is the motive, Inspector.
‘There is no doubt in my mind that she knew the contents of the changed will. Mr Rushton appeared to have made no secret of the various legacies included in it. It seemed more than likely that Miss Butler was aware under what terms she herself would have benefited.
‘As for opportunity to implicate my client in his uncle’s murder, Mr Perrott’s topcoat was hanging on the stand in the hall in plain view of everyone. Nothing would have been simpler for her than to slip into his pocket a little square of crumpled paper which had once contained arsenic and in the folds of which some grains of the poison were still clinging. In addition, as housekeeper, she would have been told by Mr Rushton that his nephew had declined the invitation to stay to dinner; the way was therefore clear for her to proceed with her plan.
‘All that remained for her to do once Mr Perrott had left the house and Mr Rushton had also vacated the study, was to slip into the room and add a little arsenic to the dregs of the sherry in one of the glasses, before leaving and locking the door behind her, thus ensuring that the housemaid could not clear away the used glasses. In her privileged position in the household, Miss Butler would have possessed keys to all the rooms in the house. Later, she announced to you that it was on Mr Rushton’s orders that the study door was locked and, as Mr Rushton was dead, there was no one to refute her statement. By the time dinner was served, the evidence pointing to my client’s guilt was already established.
‘How she came by the poison is easily accounted for. Having acted as housekeeper to a doctor in Leamington Spa before taking up her post in Laurel Lodge, she would have had access to arsenic, a common enough substance used by most medical practitioners for the preparation of Fowler’s Solution, a frequently prescribed tonic* That she did have such access was proved by the fact she was in the habit of taking arsenic’
‘Yes; she has confessed to that,’ Needham said. ‘But what made
you aware of it?’
‘Did you not observe the signs, Inspector? The pale skin and the shining eyes and hair? Used sparingly, it acts as a general stimulant upon the system. For this reason, the eating of arsenic is common among Austrian and Styrian peasants who regularly partake of minute quantities of the poison although the habit is much rarer in this country.† By this means, the arsenic-eater can build up a tolerance to the poison and can absorb quantities which would normally be fatal to any other person. It has also been employed, I believe, by certain foolish young women as a face-wash to improve the complexion.
‘The crucial question was how had Miss Butler managed to introduce the poison to her victim? It had quite clearly not been added to either the food or the wine at dinner. The parlourmaid served the meal from dishes at the table and neither she nor the other servants suffered any ill effects when they shared the leftovers. Only one solution to the problem presented itself. The poison had to be present in some other ingredient which was on the table and to which the victim had access but not the servants. It also had to be white and of a similar texture to the arsenic otherwise the victim’s suspicions might have been aroused. The answer was obvious. The poison was in the salt pot. This was why I insisted on interviewing Miss Butler in the dining-room. I wished to examine the sideboard in which the table silver would usually be kept. Any doubts I might have had about Miss Butler’s guilt were dispelled when I observed that there was only one salt pot although there were two silver pepper pots in the cupboard. As we now know, the second was concealed in Miss Butler’s room, her intention being to empty it of its contents and replace them with unadultered salt as soon as she had the opportunity.
‘She was forestalled by Mr Rushton’s sudden and unexpected death from a heart attack. Usually victims of arsenical poisoning linger for hours before finally succumbing to the dreadful symptoms. The police were immediately sent for and Miss Butler had no opportunity to empty the salt pot and return it to the dining-room.
‘This brings us to the whole matter of timing. It was crucial to Miss Butler’s plan that Mr Rushton should appear to suffer the first effects of arsenical poisoning not too long after he had drunk the sherry, thus casting suspicion on the nephew. As we had only her word that it was on Mr Rushton’s instructions that the study door was locked, we also had to rely on her statement that he was first taken ill at about ten minutes to nine when he decided to retire to bed. The servants, shut up in the kitchen at the rear of the house, had no knowledge of what time, in fact, Mr Rushton went upstairs to his room.’
