‘Extraordinary,’ murmured Major Nelson. He looked at me with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow. ‘And how do you happen to know what the judge said in the court?’
‘I read it in the Daily Chronicle, sir.’
‘And how did you come to be reading the Daily Chronicle, C.3.3.?’
‘I do not recollect, Major Nelson.’
The prison governor chewed on his whiskers. ‘Very well,’ he grumbled. He held his head back and exhaled a slate-coloured cloud of cigar smoke. ‘So . . . Atitis-Snake murders the chaplain to prove to the judge that he can.’
‘I think, sir,’ I interrupted, ‘to prove to himself that he can.’
‘That’s a nice distinction.’
‘But an important one. These murderers in my experience are all disciples of Narcissus. It is all about how they see themselves . . . It is all about them, never about anyone else.’
‘So Atitis-Snake murders Mr Friend to prove to himself that he can.’
‘Yes.’
‘But how?’
‘Very simply. He poisons him.’
The governor laughed. ‘What? He poisons him?’
‘This is “Atitis-Snake, the poisoner”. This is his modus operandi. This is what he does.’
The governor looked unconvinced. ‘So how does he carry through this poisoning? He slips a few belladonna leaves into the chaplain’s cheese sandwich, does he?’
I smiled. ‘More or less. In fact, I believe it was a powder of cantharides slipped into the chaplain’s communion wine.’
‘A single grain of cantharides can kill a man,’ said the doctor from the shadows.
The governor drew slowly on his cigar and regarded me closely. ‘What precisely do you think happened?’
‘Well, sir . . .’ I began. It was strange for me to find myself speaking at length after so many months of silence. It was testing for me to be speaking at all without a cigarette in hand. ‘According to the prison regulations, any prisoner at any time can ask to see the prison governor or the prison chaplain and cannot be refused.’
‘Correct.’
‘On his return to Reading Gaol, the prisoner Atitis-Snake asked to see the prison chaplain. Mr Friend found the condemned man full of remorse, desirous of absolution, and in need – in urgent need, so the chaplain told me – of the comfort of Holy Communion. The Reverend Friend celebrated mass with Atitis-Snake in the condemned man’s cell. For the purpose, he took with him his portable communion set – a small leather case containing a pyx and paten for the host and a glass cruet and silver chalice for the wine. In the course of the ritual the chaplain served the condemned man the blessed sacraments of bread and wine – in the usual way. But when Atitis-Snake took the wine, he did not drink it. He held the chalice to his mouth, he let the wine touch his lips and as it did so he spewed the powder of cantharides from his mouth, where it was hidden between his lower teeth and his gum, into the wine. The unfortunate priest, having served communion, did as priests are required to do – he consumed the remainder of the consecrated wine himself before cleaning the chalice.’
‘How do you know this?’ asked Major Nelson. ‘This was not reported in the Daily Chronicle.’
‘No, but it was as good as told to me by the Reverend Friend. He came to my cell just after quitting Atitis-Snake. He told me how he had given Atitis-Snake communion and even as he told the story – with pride and hope – I could see the first symptoms of the poisoning appearing on his face. Atitis-Snake poisoned the Reverend Friend in the same way that he poisoned Warder Braddle.’
Major Nelson held up a hand, fingers splayed, palm outward, as a road-sweeper might to hold up the traffic. ‘Atitis-Snake threw Braddle over the gantry balustrade. That much we know. Atitis-Snake admitted it in court – boasted of it, in fact, with his tomfool story of Sherlock Holmes and Professor Moriarty struggling to the death at the Reichenbach Falls.’
‘Yes, Atitis-Snake threw Braddle to his death, but first he poisoned him – to weaken him, I suppose. Braddle was a heavy man.’
‘I examined Braddle’s body,’ said the surgeon. ‘I recognised the symptoms – blistered skin, swollen membranes, bulging eyes. Cantharadin is an irritant – it irritates as it takes its hold on a body.’
‘It is a stimulant, too, in its way,’ I added, smiling.
‘How do you know so much about this “cantharides”, C.3.3.?’ enquired the governor.
‘My father was a physician, sir. He prescribed it for certain patients – in moderation. It causes the blood vessels to widen.’
‘It must be used with great care,’ said Dr Maurice. ‘It’s all in the measure of the dose.’
‘My father used it on occasion himself, I believe,’ I continued, amused at the recollection, ‘to enhance his prowess.’
Major Nelson widened his eyes and pursed his lips.
‘To sustain his performance,’ I explained. ‘To give vigour to his member—’
The governor raised his road-sweeper’s hand to silence me. ‘I follow you entirely, C.3.3. I served in the British Army, remember.’
I stood reproached.
‘Where on earth did he get the powder?’ asked the governor.
‘It is not hard to come by,’ answered the doctor.
‘Do you have any?’ demanded Major Nelson, turning abruptly towards the prison surgeon.
‘No, sir,’ said Dr Maurice quickly. He stepped forward into the light. ‘It is a quack remedy in the main, used to stimulate the senses.’ He smiled grimly. ‘And to counter baldness, I believe. I would not touch it.’
‘But others do?’ reflected Major Nelson, sucking on his cigar.
‘Oh, yes. You can get it almost anywhere that’s disreputable. It is frequently used by abortionists, alas – with deadly results.’ The governor raised an eyebrow. ‘It helps propel the foetus from the womb,’ explained the doctor, ‘and all too frequently kills the mother as well as the child.’
Major Nelson tugged solemnly on his moustache.
I filled the silence. ‘A little goes a long way,’ I said. ‘And because it is a powder, it is easily hidden.’
‘And simply administered?’ asked Major Nelson.
‘Yes.’ I nodded. ‘I imagine that Atitis-Snake gave it to Warder Braddle in a cup of Braddle’s illicit grog. Braddle was a drinker.’
The governor of Reading Gaol lifted himself onto his toes. ‘That I knew. That much I’d heard. He had his “favourites” and favoured them with nips from his hip flask, I suppose.’
‘Atitis-Snake was one such favourite,’ I said.
‘Exactly,’ retorted the governor. ‘So I’ve been told. Atitis-Snake was a “favourite” of Warder Braddle. So why did Atitis-Snake murder Warder Braddle? Why? Was it another whim? Was he rising to another challenge?’
‘He might have been, sir,’ I answered. ‘The narcissist as murderer will often kill simply to feed his own vanity.’
‘Is that so?’ said the governor without conviction.
‘But in this instance,’ I went on, ‘I think we will find a traditional motive for the murder – betrayal. Sebastian Atitis-Snake murdered Warder Braddle because Warder Braddle betrayed him. I believe, sir, that you will find that Warder Braddle is the source of your stench.’
‘I did not know this Warder Braddle,’ said Major Nelson, falling back on his heels and gently rolling the remains of his whisky around in his glass, ‘but I have read his record. It is virtually blemish-free. When I arrived I heard the stories of his drinking and his “favourites”, but they did not seem to add up to much. On paper, at least, it would appear that Warder Braddle served the prison faithfully – and well – for many years.’
‘He was a monster,’ said the surgeon quietly.
‘A monster?’ The governor looked at the doctor with narrowed eyes. The doctor held his gaze, but said nothing further. Major Nelson turned to me. ‘A monster?’ he repeated.
‘He drank,’ I said. ‘On duty. I wondered why. Was it to drown his sorrows – or his sham
e? He vilified me – more than most and not so casually. There was anger in his spite. He despised me with such zeal that I began to wonder: did he protest too much? Was there something in me that he recognised in himself – something that he feared, something in his own nature that he despised?’
‘You are speaking in riddles,’ said the governor reprovingly.
‘Warder Braddle had a secret,’ I said.
The governor laughed bleakly. ‘That’s clear. What was it?’
‘He was perverse,’ said Dr Maurice. ‘He was an invert.’
Major Nelson lowered his eyes and contemplated the tray that lay on the floor between us. ‘That’s not unknown,’ he said.
‘He was perverse,’ I said, ‘and corrupt. He pleasured himself with a boy called Tom.’
‘Prisoner E.1.1., sir,’ said the surgeon.
‘I know the boy,’ said Major Nelson. ‘He’s on the cleaning party. A wilful lad.’
‘The boy was Braddle’s creature,’ I said, ‘his plaything. Braddle used the boy not lovingly, but brutishly.’
‘He abused him as though he were a man,’ said the doctor.
‘You know this for a certainty?’
‘The boy was sick. Eventually, when I examined him fully, I discovered why.’
I looked at the doctor and smiled. ‘I thought that might be the case when you mentioned to me that you had been studying the work of my old college acquaintance, Professor Bent Ball.’
‘Braddle abused E.1.1. brutally – with unnatural force. He ruptured him. He put the boy in mortal danger.’
Major Nelson sucked on his moustache and shook his head in dismay. ‘If that is why Atitis-Snake killed Braddle, I think we could be excused for forgiving the man. He surely did rid us of a monster.’
‘No, no,’ I cried. ‘Atitis-Snake was complicit in Braddle’s perversity. He was part of the corruption. When Braddle wanted the boy, he would use Atitis-Snake to provide his alibi, to cover his tracks. Braddle the turnkey could accompany Atitis-Snake the prisoner to any part of the prison he chose and no one would suspect a thing. Braddle would escort Atitis-Snake to a discreet corner of the gaol where the boy would be found about his cleaning duties, and there – while Atitis-Snake stood sentinel – Braddle would have his way with the lad.’
‘You know this to be true?’
‘I chanced upon the tail-end of one of these encounters when I was locked one night in the punishment cells. I heard the boy’s voice. At the time I thought it was a woman’s. I assumed it was one of the wardresses.’
‘Why was Atitis-Snake complicit in this bestiality?’
‘He had nothing to lose – he did not care for the boy one way or the other. Atitis-Snake was always Atitis-Snake’s only concern. He had nothing to lose – and much to gain. I imagine that Braddle implied to Atitis-Snake that he might one day be able to assist him either to escape or at least to make a case for early release from his incarceration. I believe that Atitis-Snake murdered Braddle because Braddle had promised him a path to freedom and Atitis-Snake eventually realised that he could not – or would not – deliver on his promise. Outside Colonel Isaacson’s office, on the day my wife came to tell me of my mother’s death, I overheard an exchange of words between the two men that told me so much.’
‘Colonel Isaacson was fearful of Warder Braddle – I know that,’ said Major Nelson. ‘It’s not unheard of in the army – the commanding officer who allows himself to become the victim of a bullying NCO.’
‘On C Ward Braddle was cock of the walk,’ I observed. ‘He ruled the roost – and he had done for many years. He drank, yes, but he did his job. He maintained discipline. And none but a few – his handful of favourites – knew his secret.’
‘And those beyond the few that knew his secret, kept it,’ said Major Nelson, looking towards Dr Maurice.
‘When I discovered the extent of the boy’s injuries I did not know what to do,’ said the surgeon, lowering his eyes. ‘Colonel Isaacson was a man who sought to avoid trouble rather than confront it. I did not think that he would prove an ally.’ He looked up, but did not catch the governor’s eye. ‘I hesitated to act when I should have done. I am ashamed of that. It cannot be excused. But as I hesitated Warder Braddle died and with his death the matter appeared to resolve itself.’ The doctor drained his glass and a heavy silence filled the room.
I broke it. ‘No one called Warder Braddle to account,’ I said. ‘No one had the courage to do so – other than his brother, the other Warder Braddle.’ As I spoke I saw the gas jets above the mantelpiece flicker. I thought suddenly of Conan Doyle and of how he would have appreciated the moment. ‘Our Warder Braddle could well have continued as he was had it not been for his censorious older brother.’
‘This is the fellow who was a turnkey at Wandsworth?’ asked the governor.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘that is where I met him. That is where he died – on the night that he had come back from visiting his brother here. Thomas Braddle was vicious, but not, I think, perverse. He was cruel, but not, I suspect, corrupt. Thomas Braddle had a horror of inverts. He made that clear enough to me during our brief acquaintance. I imagine that he learnt his brother’s secret and was revolted by it. I imagine he threatened to expose his brother unless his brother mended his ways. And our Warder Braddle did what a cornered animal will sometimes do – he struck first. He rid himself of the threat to his perverted way of life. He killed his elder brother by poisoning him.’
‘With cantharides supplied to him by Sebastian Atitis-Snake?’ suggested Major Nelson, on his toes once more.
‘With cantharides suggested by Atitis-Snake, but I would imagine purchased and brought into the prison by Warder Braddle. Braddle supplied Atitis-Snake with the poisonous powder. Atitis-Snake then advised Braddle on the dose required – gave him what he needed and secreted the rest about his cell. When Thomas Braddle came to see his brother here, Warder Braddle simply laced his drink with poison. Thomas Braddle returned to Wandsworth, a doomed man – the worse for wear for drink and an overdose of cantharides.’
‘How do you know the detail of this, C.3.3.?’
‘Because I saw Thomas Braddle on the night that he died. He died before my very eyes – in my cell in the infirmary at Wandsworth Gaol. I saw the symptoms of the poisoning on his arms and in his face. It was a ghastly sight.’
‘So,’ said the governor, who had been levering himself up and down with increasing rapidity as the story reached its climax, ‘Atitis-Snake gave Warder Braddle the means by which to murder his brother – and expected a proper reward for services rendered?’
‘Correct.’
‘And when Atitis-Snake learnt that his wife – the unfortunate woman for whose attempted murder he was imprisoned in the first place – had died, he realised that he would spend the rest of his life in Reading Gaol unless he could find a means of escape – and Warder Braddle was to be his means of escape?’
‘Exactly so, sir,’ I said. ‘But when Atitis-Snake realised that Warder Braddle would not – could not – deliver him from a lifetime’s incarceration, Atitis-Snake felt betrayed. “Keep your word,” I heard him tell Braddle. “That’s all I ask.” But Atitis-Snake knew that Braddle would fail him and he sought revenge. It was easily achieved. Braddle visited Atitis-Snake in his cell – as he often did. And there, as the two men shared a drink, Atitis-Snake spewed his poison into Braddle’s hip flask. As Braddle left the prisoner’s cell and stepped out onto the gantry, Atitis-Snake followed him. He saw the coast was clear and seized his moment. Quickly, quietly, all unobserved, he tipped his weakened victim over the iron balustrade to a certain death.’
Major Nelson gave a grunt of agreement and settled back on his heels. ‘Why did Atitis-Snake not admit to the poisoning at his trial?’ asked Dr Maurice. ‘He confessed to the killing, after all.’
‘I do not know,’ I said. ‘Perhaps because the poisoning would have made him appear too sane. He poisoned his wife – and he was found guilty of her attempted murder and no
t deemed insane. A poisoner poisons – that’s what he does. It seems quite rational. But only a true madman would be under the delusion that he is Professor Moriarty engaged in hurling Sherlock Holmes to his doom in the Reichenbach Falls. Atitis-Snake confessed to the murder of Warder Braddle in order to be able to stand trial – not to be found guilty, but to prove his madness. Only by proving himself insane could he escape Reading Gaol – or the gallows.’
‘Well, he failed,’ said the governor, ‘on both counts.’ He swilled the remains of whisky around his glass and drained it with a single swig. He mopped his moustache with the back of his hand. ‘You tell a convincing tale.’ He took his half-hunter from his waistcoat pocket and peered down at it. ‘It’s hard not to feel that Warder Braddle as good as deserved his fate. And Atitis-Snake is set to hang within the month.’ He smacked his lips and looked at Dr Maurice. ‘Justice has been done to the one and will be done to the other. We cannot excuse the prisoner Smith’s attack on the chaplain, of course, but plainly it was not murder.’ The prison surgeon nodded his acquiescence. ‘I will leave C.3.4.’s fate in your hands, Doctor,’ said the governor. ‘You can keep him in a straitjacket until he has calmed himself and then decide what’s best for the future.’
The prison surgeon loosely stood to attention and murmured, ‘Yes, sir.’
Major Nelson turned his gaze back to me. ‘You are quite right, C.3.3., we need not trouble the police tonight.’ He dropped the stub of his cigar into his empty whisky glass and put out a hand to take the doctor’s glass from him. He bent down to place the glasses on the tray. He stood again and looked at me. ‘You are a brilliant man, Oscar Wilde. I trust that when you leave this place you will be able to use your remarkable talents to the benefit of others. Thank you for what you have told us tonight. Thank you for what you have taught us.’ He glanced towards the prison surgeon. ‘Dr Maurice will see you conveyed back to your cell. I shall go to Mr Palmer’s now. I am sorry you did not want the sandwich.’
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