Short Stories

by Agatha Christie

  Tommy thought for a moment.

  "That all seems fairly clear and straightforward, Miss Hargreaves," he said after a minute or two. "I take it that you have no special reason for attaching suspicion more to one person than another? You are only afraid it might prove to be-well-not a servant, shall we say?"

  "That's it exactly, Mr. Blunt. I have honestly no idea who used that piece of brown paper. The handwriting was printed."

  "There seems only one thing to be done," said Tommy. "I must be on the spot."

  The girl looked at him inquiringly.

  Tommy went on after a moment's thought.

  "I suggest that you prepare the way for the arrival of-say, Mr. and Miss Van Dusen-American friends of yours. Will you be able to do that quite naturally?"

  "Oh! yes. There will be no difficulty at all. When will you come down-tomorrow-or the day after?"

  "To-morrow, if you please. There is no time to waste."

  "That is settled, then."

  The girl rose, and held out her hand.

  "One thing, Miss Hargreaves, not a word, mind, to anyone-anyone at all, that we are not what we seem."

  "What do you think of it, Tuppence?" he asked, when he returned from showing the visitor out.

  "I don't like it," said Tuppence decidedly. "Especially I don't like the chocolates having so little arsenic in them."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Don't you see? All those chocolates being sent round the neighborhood were a blind. To establish the idea of a local maniac.

  Then, when the girl was really poisoned, it would be thought to be the same thing. You see, but for a stroke of luck, no one would ever have guessed that the chocolates were actually sent by someone in the house itself."

  "That was a stroke of luck. You're right. You think it's a deliberate plot against the girl herself?"

  "I'm afraid so. I remember reading about old Lady Radclyffe's will. That girl has come into a terrific lot of money."

  "Yes, and she came of age and made a will three weeks ago. It looks bad-for Dennis Radclyffe. He gains by her death."

  Tuppence nodded.

  "The worst of it is-that she thinks so too! That's why she won't have the police called in. Already she suspects him. And she must be more than half in love with him to act as she has done."

  ''In that case," said Tommy thoughtfully, "why the devil doesn't he marry her? Much simpler and safer."

  Tuppence stared at him.

  "You've said a mouthful," she observed. "Oh! boy. I'm getting ready to be Miss Van Dusen, you observe."

  "Why rush to crime, where there is a lawful means near at hand?"

  Tuppence reflected for a minute or two.

  "I've got it," she announced. "Clearly he must have married a barmaid whilst at Oxford. Origin of the quarrel with his aunt. That explains everything."

  "Then why not send poisoned sweets to the barmaid?" suggested Tommy. "Much more practical. I wish you wouldn't jump to these wild conclusions, Tuppence."

  "They're deductions," said Tuppence, with a good deal of dignity. "This is your first corrida, my friend, but when you have been twenty minutes in the arena-"

  Tommy flung the office cushion at her.

  18. THE HOUSE OF LURKING DEATH (continued)

  "Tuppence, I say, Tuppence, come here."

  It was breakfast time the next morning. Tuppence hurried out of her bedroom and into the dining room. Tommy was striding up and down, the open newspaper in his hand.

  "What's the matter?"

  Tommy wheeled round, and shoved the paper into her hand, pointing to the headlines.

  MYSTERIOUS POISONING CASE

  DEATHS FROM FIG SANDWICHES

  Tuppence read on. This mysterious outbreak of ptomaine poisoning had occurred at Thurnly Grange. The deaths so far reported were those of Miss Lois Hargreaves, the owner of the house, and the parlormaid, Esther Quant. A Captain Radclyffe and a Miss Logan were reported to be still seriously ill. The cause of the outbreak was supposed to be some fig paste used in sandwiches, since another lady, a Miss Chilcott, who had not partaken of these, was reported to be quite well.

  "We must get down there at once," said Tommy. "That girl! That perfectly ripping girl! Why the devil didn't I go straight down there with her yesterday?"

  "If you had," said Tuppence, "you'd probably have eaten fig sandwiches too for tea, and then you'd have been dead. Come on, let's start at once. I see it says that Dennis Radclyffe is seriously ill also."

  "Probably shamming, the dirty blackguard."

  They arrived at the small village of Thurnly about midday. An elderly woman with red eyes opened the door to them when they arrived at Thurnly Grange. "Look here," said Tommy quickly before she could speak. "I'm not a reporter or anything like that. Miss Hargreaves came to see me yesterday, and asked me to come down here. Is there anyone I can see?"

  "Dr. Burton is here now if you'd like to speak to him," said the woman doubtfully. "Or Miss Chilcott. She's making all the arrangements."

  But Tommy had caught at the first suggestion.

  "Dr. Burton," he said authoritatively. "I should like to see him at once if he is here."

  The woman showed them into a small morning room. Five minutes later the door opened, and a tall elderly man with bent shoulders and a kind but worried face, came in.

  "Dr. Burton?" said Tommy. He produced his professional card. "Miss Hargreaves called on me yesterday with reference to those poisoned chocolates. I came down to investigate the matter at her request-alas! too late."

  The doctor looked at him keenly.

  "You are Mr. Blunt himself?"

  "Yes. This is my assistant, Miss Robinson."

  The doctor bowed to Tuppence.

  "Under the circumstances, there is no need for reticence. But for the episode of the chocolates, I might have believed these deaths to be the result of severe ptomaine poisoning-but ptomaine poisoning of an unusually virulent kind. There is gastro-intestinal inflammation and haemorrhage. As it is, I am taking the fig paste to be analysed."

  "You suspect arsenic poisoning?"

  "No. The poison, if a poison has been employed, is something far more potent and swift in its action. It looks more like some powerful vegetable toxin."

  "I see. I should like to ask you, Dr. Burton, whether you are thoroughly convinced that Captain Radclyffe is suffering from the same form of poisoning?"

  The doctor looked at him.

  "Captain Radclyffe is not suffering from any sort of poisoning now."

  "Aha," said Tommy. "I-"

  "Captain Radclyffe died at five o'clock this morning."

  Tommy was utterly taken aback. The doctor prepared to depart.

  "And the other victim, Miss Logan?" asked Tuppence.

  "I have every reason to hope that she will recover since she has survived so far. Being an older woman, the poison seems to have had less effect on her. I will let you know the result of the analysis, Mr.

  Blunt. In the meantime, Miss Chilcott will, I am sure, tell you anything you want to know."

  As he spoke, the door opened, and a girl appeared. She was tall, with a tanned face, and steady blue eyes.

  Dr. Burton performed the necessary introductions.

  "I am glad you have come, Mr. Blunt," said Mary Chilcott. "This affair seems too terrible. Is there anything you want to know that I can tell you?"

  "Where did the fig paste come from?"

  "It is a special kind that comes from London. We often have it. No one suspected that this particular pot differed from any of the others.

  Personally I dislike the flavor of figs. That explains my immunity. I cannot understand how Dennis was affected, since he was out for tea.

  He must have picked up a sandwich when he came home, I suppose."

  Tommy felt Tuppence's hand press his arm ever so slightly.

  "What time did he come in?" he asked.

  "I don't really know. I could find out." "Thank you, Miss Chilcott. It doesn't matter. You have no
objection, I hope, to my questioning the servants?"

  "Please do anything you like, Mr. Blunt. I am nearly distraught. Tell meyou don't think there has been-foul play?"

  Her eyes were very anxious as she put the question.

  "I don't know what to think. We shall soon know."

  "Yes, I suppose Dr. Burton will have the paste analysed."

  Quickly excusing herself, she went out by the window to speak to one of the gardeners.

  "You take the housemaids, Tuppence," said Tommy, "and I'll find my way to the kitchen. I say, Miss Chilcott may feel very distraught, but she doesn't look it."

  Tuppence nodded assent without replying.

  Husband and wife met half an hour later.

  "Now to pool results," said Tommy. "The sandwiches came out from tea, and the parlormaid ate one-that's how she got it in the neck. Cook is positive Dennis Radclyffe hadn't returned when tea was cleared away. Query-how did he get poisoned?"

  "He came in at a quarter to seven," said Tuppence.

  Housemaid saw him from one of the windows. He had a cocktail before dinner-in the library. She was just clearing away the glass now, and luckily I got it from her before she washed it. It was after that that he complained of feeling ill."

  "Good," said Tommy. "I'll take that glass along to Burton presently.

  Anything else?"

  "I'd like you to see Hannah, the maid. She's-she's queer."

  "How do you mean-queer?"

  "She looks to me as though she were going off her head."

  "Let me see her."

  Tuppence led the way upstairs. Hannah had a small sittingroom of her own. The maid sat upright on a high chair. On her knees was an open Bible. She did not look towards the two strangers as they entered.

  Instead she continued to read aloud to herself.

  "Let hot burning coals fall upon them, let them be cast into the fire and into the pit, that they never rise up again."

  "May I speak to you a minute?" asked Tommy.

  Hannah made an impatient gesture with her hand.

  "This is no time. The time is running short, I say. I will follow upon mine enemies and overtake them, neither will I turn again till I have destroyed them. So it is written. The word of the Lord has come to me.

  I am the scourge of the Lord."

  "Mad as a hatter," murmured Tommy.

  "She's been going on like that all the time," whispered Tuppence.

  Tommy picked up a book that was lying open, face downwards on the table. He glanced at the title and slipped it into his pocket.

  Suddenly the old woman rose and turned towards them menacingly.

  "Go out from here. The time is at hand! I am the flail of the Lord. The wind bloweth where it listeth-so do I destroy. The ungodly shall perish.

  This is a house of evil-of evil, I tell you! Beware of the wrath of the Lord whose handmaiden I am."

  She advanced upon them fiercely. Tommy thought it best to humor her and withdrew. As he closed the door, he saw her pick up the Bible again.

  "I wonder if she's always been like that," he muttered.

  He drew from his pocket the book he had picked up off the table.

  "Look at that. Funny reading for an ignorant maid."

  Tuppence took the book.

  "Materia Medica," she murmured. She looked at the fly leaf. "Edward Logan. It's an old book. Tommy, I wonder if we could see Miss Logan?

  Dr. Burton said she was better."

  "Shall we ask Miss Chilcott?"

  "No. Let's get hold of a housemaid, and send her in to ask."

  After a brief delay, they were informed that Miss Logan would see them. They were taken into a big bedroom facing over the lawn. In the bed was an old lady with white hair, her delicate old face drawn by suffering.

  "I have been very ill," she said faintly. "And I can't talk much, but Ellen tells me you are detectives. Lois went to consult you then? She spoke of doing so."

  "Yes, Miss Logan," said Tommy. "We don't want to tire you, but perhaps you can answer a few questions. The maid, Hannah, is she quite right in her head?"

  Miss Logan looked at them with obvious surprise.

  "Oh! yes. She is very religious-but there is nothing wrong with her."

  Tommy held out the book he had taken from the table.

  "Is this yours, Miss Logan?"

  "Yes. It was one of my father's books. He was a great doctor, one of the pioneers of serum therapeutics."

  The old lady's voice rang with pride.

  "Quite so," said Tommy. "I thought I knew his name," he added mendaciously. "This book now, did you lend it to Hannah?"

  "To Hannah?" Miss Logan raised herself in bed with indignation. "No, indeed. She wouldn't understand the first word of it. It is a highly technical book."

  "Yes. I see that. Yet I found it in Hannah's room."

  "Disgraceful," said Miss Logan. "I will not have the servants touching my things."

  "Where ought it to be?"

  "In the bookshelf in my sitting-room-or-stay, I lent it to Mary. The dear girl is very interested in herbs. She has made one or two experiments in my little kitchen. I have a little place of my own, you know, where I brew liqueurs and make preserves in the old fashioned way. Dear Lucy, Lady Radclyffe, you know, used to swear by my tansy tea-a wonderful thing for a cold in the head. Poor Lucy, she was subject to colds. So is Dennis. Dear boy, his father was my first cousin."

  Tommy interrupted these reminiscences.

  "This kitchen of yours? Does anyone else use it except you and Miss Chilcott?"

  "Hannah clears up there. And she boils the kettle there for our early morning tea."

  "Thank you, Miss Logan," said Tommy. "There is nothing more I want to ask you at present. I hope we haven't tired you too much."

  He left the room and went down the stairs, frowning to himself.

  "There is something here, my dear Mr. Ricardo, that I do not understand."

  "I hate this house," said Tuppence with a shiver. "Let's go for a good long walk and try to think things out."

  Tommy complied and they set out. First they left the cocktail glass at the doctor's house and then set off for a good tramp across country discussing the case as they did so.

  "It makes it easier somehow if one plays the fool," said Tommy. "All this Hanaud business. I suppose some people would think I didn't care.

  But I do, most awfully. I feel that somehow or other we ought to have prevented this."

  "I think that's foolish of you," said Tuppence. "It is not as though we had advised Lois Hargreaves not to go to Scotland Yard or anything like that. Nothing would have induced her to bring the police into the matter. If she hadn't come to us, she would have done nothing at all."

  "And the result would have been the same. Yes, you are right, Tuppence. It's morbid to reproach oneself over something one couldn't help. What I would like to do is to make good now."

  "And that's not going to be easy."

  "No, it isn't. There are so many possibilities, and yet all of them seem wild and improbable. Supposing Dennis Radclyffe put the poison in the sandwiches. He knew he would be out to tea. That seems fairly plain sailing."

  "Yes," said Tuppence, "that's all right so far. Then we can put against that the fact that he was poisoned himself-so that seems to rule him out. There is one person we mustn't forget-and that is Hannah."

  "Hannah?"

  "People do all sorts of queer things when they have religious mania."

  "She is pretty far gone with it too," said Tommy. "You ought to drop a word to Dr. Burton about it."

  "It must have come on very rapidly," said Tuppence. "That is if we go by what Miss Logan said."

  "I believe religious mania does," said Tommy. "I mean, you go on singing hymns in your bedroom with the door open for years, and then you go suddenly right over the line and become violent." "There is certainly more evidence against Hannah than against anybody else," said Tuppence thoughtfully, "and yet I have an idea-"

  She
stopped.

  "Yes?" said Tommy encouragingly.

  "It is not really an idea. I suppose it is just a prejudice."

  "A prejudice against someone?"

  Tuppence nodded.

  "Tommy-did you like Mary Chilcott?"

  Tommy considered.

  "Yes, I think I did. She struck me as extremely capable and businesslike-perhaps a shade too much so-but very reliable."

  "You didn't think it was odd that she didn't seem more upset?"

  "Well, in a way that is a point in her favor. I mean, if she had done anything, she would make a point of being upset-lay it on rather thick."

  "I suppose so," said Tuppence. "And anyway there doesn't seem to be any motive in her case. One doesn't see what good this wholesale slaughter can do her."

  "I suppose none of the servants are concerned?"

  "It doesn't seem likely. They seem a quiet reliable lot. I wonder what Esther Quant, the parlormaid, was like."

  "You mean, that if she was young and good-looking there was a chance that she was mixed up in it some way."

  "That is what I mean." Tuppence sighed. "It is all very discouraging."

  "Well, I suppose the police will get down to it all right," said Tommy.

  "Probably. I should like it to be us. By the way, did you notice a lot of small red dots on Miss Logan's arm?"

  "I don't think I did. What about them?" "They looked as though they were made by a hypodermic syringe," said Tuppence.

  "Probably Dr. Burton gave her a hypodermic injection of some kind."

  "Oh, very likely. But he wouldn't give her about forty."

  "The cocaine habit," suggested Tommy helpfully.

  "I thought of that," said Tuppence, "but her eyes were all right. You would see at once if it was cocaine or morphia. Besides she doesn't look that sort of old lady."

  "Most respectable and God fearing" agreed Tommy.

  "It is all very difficult," said Tuppence. "We have talked and talked and we don't seem any nearer now than we were. Don't let's forget to call at the doctor's on our way home."