“Don’t you see, doctor? Somebody put the drug in the glucose; Clara gave it to Miss Rickson. Then, after Miss Rickson started to be ill and Clara left her to get help, the murderer came here, sneaked the poisoned stuff away and substituted untainted sugar, forgetting or not knowing that the original stuff was glucose, not sugar.…”
“We’d better get back to Clara, Inspector. She’s been waiting far too long.”
They locked the room and returned to the maid.
“You’re sure it was glucose you put in Miss Rickson’s cocoa to-night, Clara?” asked Littlejohn.
“Oh yes, sir. It has a different way of dissolving than sugar. Sort of forms a soggy lump before it goes to the bottom, instead of vanishing into the liquid like sugar.”
“You’re a very bright girl, Clara, and I’m much obliged to you.”
“Just one more thing I remembered, sir,” said the maid, as they prepared to leave her. “When I left Miss Rickson with her cocoa, she asked me your name. She’d forgotten it and so had I. She said she wanted to see you again to-morrow.”
“Dear me. You know it now, Clara. It’s Littlejohn.…”
“But it’s too late now, sir, isn’t it?”
Thereupon the doctor rang down the curtain on Clara’s troubled day by giving her a sleeping draught.
CHAPTER VII
THE MOVEMENTS OF THE WORTH FAMILY
WHEN Littlejohn and Cragg re-entered the lounge they found the atmosphere much less tense.
Kane had apparently finished catechising the Worths and was now seated in an easy chair and chatting sociably. A glass of whisky and soda stood at his elbow.
Littlejohn knew exactly what had happened. Local gentry of the Worth type had two main weapons in their armories. Intimidation and charm. They had turned on the charm for Kane’s benefit and here he was, basking like a cat in the hot sun.
“Ah …” said the local Inspector by way of greeting to his Scotland Yard colleague. There was a wealth of meaning in that monosyllable. See how I get on with the local bigwigs. Got ’em eating out of my hand.
“Ah.… I got the statements of these ladies and gentlemen, Inspector Littlejohn, while you were upstairs and, if you agree, I don’t think we need trouble ’em much more to-night. It’s getting late, isn’t it?”
Littlejohn had no wish to get at cross purposes with his collaborator, but felt it inadvisable to let things rest as they were. He drew Kane aside and told him the result of his inquiries among the servants. Kane nodded his head sagely and looked full of alcoholic gravity. He breathed a blast of whisky over Littlejohn which betrayed the fact that the present glass wasn’t the first.
“My colleague from Scotland Yard has discovered one or two fresh points during his interview with Clara, the maid, and would like to have a little more information … Sorry to trouble you further.…”
Kane addressed Gerald Worth, but it went for the rest.
The Trentbridge Inspector handed over to Littlejohn the notes he had made whilst interviewing the family. No wonder he had found favour in their eyes! His examination had been a model of brevity and the results covered a mere page and a half of his notebook.
Miss Rickson retired:
10.00 (given cocoa by Clara.)
Reading in bed
10.30 (presumed from habit.)
Clara enters and finds Miss R. is ill
11.00
Miss R. dies
11.45
Mr. G. Worth
Arrived home from works after meal in canteen
9.15
Washed and joined Mrs. W. Worth at supper
9.45
With Mrs. W. Worth and Count and Countess
9.45 to 11.00 (making arrangements for funeral of Mr. Henry.)
Count and Countess de C.
Home
8.15
Supper with Mr. G. and Mrs. W.
9.45
With Mr. G and Mrs. W.
9.45 to 10.30 do.
Retired to bed
10.30
Mr. Gerald W. and Mrs. William W. together all evening after 9.45 till alarm re Miss Rickson. Count and Countess also until they retired at 10.30.
Then followed a few notes on the reactions of the various parties on hearing of Miss Rickson’s distress and death. Sleeping tablets were also stated to be of easy access in a bathroom cabinet. Kane had collected the bottle and had it in his handkerchief for fingerprinting.
Kane had got it all pat. All the family were out of it on the strength of the alibis they’d given each other. The poisoner must be among the servants. Littlejohn’s pigeon! Those below stairs had been left to him.
The family watched Littlejohn anxiously as he conferred with his fellow officer. The charm they had been exerting over Kane was wearing thin.
“Well, what is it now?” asked Gerald impatiently.
“Further information concerning the mode of Miss Rickson’s death has made it necessary for me to ask you all a few more questions,” said Littlejohn. “In my opinion, Miss Rickson was poisoned by the mixing of sleeping powder with the sugar in a small basin she kept for sweetening her nightly cup of cocoa, which was taken in bed. To-night, Clara sweetened the drink, but the contents of the sugar bowl were afterwards removed by someone and replaced by untainted sugar. The question therefore arises of alibis after death. In other words, who was in the room after Miss Rickson was given the poison? Furthermore, who washed and put away the empty beaker which had contained the poisoned cocoa after Clara left it in the kitchen?”
The family looked flabbergasted.
“You surely don’t think one of us would have done such a beastly trick on poor old Ricky?” said Alice.
“On the way downstairs I inquired of the servants concerning their movements,” replied Littlejohn. “The butler and the cook support each other’s statements that they have not been near Miss Rickson’s room all the evening, nor did they venture there after they heard she was ill. Clara, of course, has been in and out several times. Bertha, the other maid, is away for the night attending, I understand, at her sister’s confinement. The pantry boy goes off the premises at ten and sleeps at the lodge, kept by his sister.…”
“So, the family’s suspect, eh?” came from Gerald.
“I suspect nobody yet, sir. But perhaps you’ll all be good enough to supplement the details of your movements given to Inspector Kane a short time ago. It’s necessary for us to have particulars up to the time the doctor arrived and took charge.”
Kane had, to ensure independent evidence, taken testimonies at a small table in one corner of the large room. To this, the detectives again adjourned and the family followed one by one.
The next lot of time schedules presented a different picture from Kane’s innocuous figures.
Each of the parties had been separately in Miss Rickson’s room during her sudden illness.
Gerald had hastened up on hearing from Clara what had occurred and remained there alone until Vera arrived. He had then left Vera alone whilst he telephoned for Cragg. The Count and Countess, roused by the commotion, had gone together to see if they could help and Vera had left them with only Miss Rickson for company whilst she went to the kitchen for hot water bottles.
“So you were in the kitchen?” Littlejohn asked Vera.
She knew what he meant, but had her answer.
“Clara was there when I arrived,” she replied with a sly smile.
Any of them could have washed out the sugar basin at the washbowl in Ricky’s room. But they would have needed to come prepared with a fresh supply of sugar. Easily carried in a small bottle or bag.
“Who had access to Miss Rickson’s bedroom and the sugar cupboard during the day?” Littlejohn had asked.
Everybody. The door was never locked. All of them knew of the sugar basin. It was a family joke.…
“And by the way,” Alice said. “It was glucose, not sugar, she kept in the dish. Doctor’s orders.”
“Well. We don’t seem to be getting any
forrader. I’m going to bed.”
It was Vera, the trace of a smile still hanging round her lips, making a move towards the door.
A stubborn flush covered Kane’s face. They’d made a bit of a fool of him once. He wasn’t having any more of it.
“Please remain until Inspector Littlejohn has finished, Mrs. Worth,” he said firmly.
Vera came to a full stop, regarded Kane with astonishment, seemed about to protest, and then thought better of it and sat down on a chair near the door.
“There’s just one more point on which we want a little light before we call it a day,” continued Littlejohn. “What was Miss Rickson doing between a quarter to nine when I left her and ten o’clock when she retired? I believe she saw various members of the family. Will any of you who saw her kindly tell me what was on her mind?”
“She came in the dining room.…”
It was the Count breaking silence for the first time. Hitherto, he had been standing about, goggling, leaving it all to the others and especially his wife, and confirming statements by a nod of the head or a grunt. His monocle looked to have grafted itself on his cheek. He had drunk too much. Now he seemed to realize that some contribution was due from him.
“She came in the dining room.…”
He stopped suddenly. The eyes of all the family turned on him. They looked as if they could have strangled him.
“I think I can complete the sentence,” interjected Littlejohn. “She came into the dining room to ask if any of you could tell her my name. She had some information she wanted to give me.”
The Worths looked more bewildered than ever. Their looks gave their answer.
“… But she had already spoken to some of you individually before that. I would like to add to your testimonies what she had to say.”
One by one the family retired with Littlejohn to the table on which reposed the sheets of official notes.
Gerald was very off-hand in his manner. He was as petulant as a child who has stayed up past his bedtime.
“Miss Rickson asked me outright if I’d killed my brother,” he said. “I told her not to be silly. She pressed for a yes or no. I said no, of course. She seemed glad. Why she should have thought I’d done it, I can’t think. But, you’d apparently interviewed her before I got home and set her imagination going, Inspector. I hope you didn’t tell her I’d done it.…”
“Did she ask you anything else, sir?”
“Something about Vera’s lapdog being poisoned. I told her I didn’t know what she was talking about. She was at it, too, about Vera’s gun accident. I thought she’d got bats in the belfry … I told her to go and get a good night’s rest.…”
“Nothing more?”
“No. Am I expected to say something else?”
“Thank you, sir. No.”
Alice and the Count were next. They stuck together like the heavenly twins, each the complement of the other.
Miss Rickson, it seemed, had asked them exactly the same questions as she’d asked Gerald and had received equivalent answers. Nothing satisfactory.
Vera came last.
“She asked me something about my dog being poisoned a few weeks ago. I told her that it was the first I’d heard of it,” she replied to Littlejohn’s question with a yawn.
“Anything more, Mrs. Worth?”
“Oh yes. She also talked about my gun bursting being more by design than by accident. Had you been putting such ideas in her head?”
“Was that all, madam?” replied Littlejohn ignoring Vera’s own question.
“Nothing more that I can remember.…”
In the nearby hall a telephone bell rang. The butler entered and said it was for Dr. Cragg. A confinement in the working class quarter of the town.
Had the accouchement been a royal one, Cragg could not have been more expeditious in getting under weigh.
“I’m off right away.…”
“We’ll come, too,” said Littlejohn.
A constable had arrived to keep watch in Miss Rickson’s room. There was nothing more to be done that night.
On the way down in the police car, Kane asked his colleague what he thought about it all.
“The family had talked it all over before we arrived, Kane. We can look for no help there, in spite of the fact that we’re trying to find out who killed Henry and an old family servant. They think the Worths ought to be above suspicion and reproach and they resent our intrusion.… They’ve closed the ranks. Someone’s in for a shock at Trentvale Hall before long.”
CHAPTER VIII
THE OPINIONS OF MR. SILAS CAPPER
EARLY the following morning Littlejohn was at the office of Mr. Silas Capper, County Coroner of Trentshire, who had not only conducted the inquest on Henry Worth and adjourned it, but who was also, very conveniently, family lawyer to the Worth family.
Mr. Capper was tall and extremely thin and he had a long cadaverous face with a moustache, white and nicotine stained, draped across his upper lip and hanging down despondently almost to his chin. He wore trousers of an extremely narrow cut in the leg, a black morning coat, which had seen better days, and a shirt with stiff cuffs and front topped by a high collar, which totally enclosed his long, stringy neck.
It might have been thought that this eccentric looking object in his Sunday-go-to-meeting attire would have acted and thought in keeping with his appearance, but the Inspector found him far from stiff and starchy; on the contrary, he was most courteous and obliging.
“Another adjournment, I suppose,” said Mr. Capper referring to the death of Miss Rickson:
“Almost certainly, sir. Probably Inspector Kane has already told you there’s little doubt about its being murder there, too.”
“Yes. Kane called at a very early hour. I’ve been fire-watching over night and he must have spotted the outer door was open. He reported the death, but I didn’t let him expand on it. I wanted my breakfast.… He’ll be turning up with a full tale in about half an hour. I want to pop into the barber’s for a shave before he arrives, too, So don’t you keep me long, will you?”
“Would you like me, too, to call later, sir?”
“No, no. Only my joke. This business of Miss Rickson looks serious to me. The family’s definitely under suspicion in this case, I suppose.”
“We can hardly avoid thinking one of them did it, sir. As far as I can see, Miss Rickson must have discovered something dangerous about Mr. Henry’s death and paid the price for it.…”
“A bad business, indeed.”
Encouraged by a cordial reception and the immediate realisation that Mr. Capper possessed a sense of humour, Littlejohn asked the solicitor point-blank for particulars of Mr. Henry’s Will.
Mr. Capper made no bones about giving the information.
“He left £20,000,” said the Coroner. “The Will was quite a simple one. He left the lot in trust with income for life to his sister, Alice. That, I take it, was to prevent the Count from laying his idle hands on the capital. Oh, yes … he’s a real Count! As the late William Worth’s legal adviser, I investigated his title to the doubtful honour. Member of an impoverished French family. Old William made sure of that before he called him ‘Count.’ He was like that, was the old man.”
“What happens to the trust when the Countess dies, sir?”
“Capital passes to the local cottage hospital, lock, stock and barrel.”
“And Mr. Gerald?”
“Not a cent. Henry transferred a block of Worth shares, enough to give his brother a sound interest in the Company, last year when the capital was increased. I guess he thought he’d treated him well enough without leaving him cash as well. Henry was always fond of Alice and she of him. She’s not very well off, you know. Her father did a shabby trick in leaving her waiting for Vera to die. And the Count’s a definite liability, although Alice thinks the world of him. I suppose Henry wanted to put things right for her in the event of his death.… He was good to her in his lifetime.”
“I know, sir, tha
t as family solicitor, you’ll be reticent in talking about their affairs, but I’d be grateful for any hint or information which might help me with the job on hand.…”
“I like your way of putting it, Inspector,” said Mr. Silas Capper, smiling and laying bare a set of long, tobacco stained teeth. “But there’s little I know of any help, except what came out at the inquest, of which you have, no doubt, already received a full account.”
“Yes, I have sir.”
“Quite a number of people might have profited by Henry’s death. I wouldn’t put it past the Count, for one. He knew of Henry’s Will, because Henry told Alice about it when he made it. The manner of death always struck me as strange. A funny business altogether.”
“In what way, sir?”
“Somebody found Henry in the engine house or lured him there. Then, they turned on the gas or had it on already, locked the door and left him to die. I know that several of the men at the works objected to Henry’s ways with their girls and perhaps some of them, in hot blood, might have wanted to do him violence. But they’d just have gone for him, told him to put up his fists and knocked hell out of him. To gas him wasn’t the method of the average working man. It strikes me as being a cunning form of killing, such as might be used by a ninny … you know, one who shudders at physical violence like fisticuffs, knifing, shooting or strangling. It’s a soft way. It might even be called a woman’s way.…”
“A very interesting theory, sir, and one to be borne in mind. Incidentally, do you know anything about the Worth family quarrels? Are you aware of there being any lately?”
“Nothing unusual. Henry and Gerald fell out sometimes and had high words. You’ve met Gerald?”
“Yes; last night when we called at the Hall after Miss Rickson’s death.”
“He’s an interesting type. Oxford man, you know. Bit of a dreamer. Don’t know how he’s going to get on now without Henry. If I know Gerald, he’s hardly likely to kill his brother for any reason whatever. Certainly, not the sort to gas him, for, in spite of his impractical and lackadaisical ways, Gerald’s a damned good boxer—or was. Nearly got his Blue for it, in fact.”
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