The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack

by R. Austin Freeman

  “Oh, yes,” replied Gannet, with something almost like eagerness, “if there is a chance of some relief at the end of it.”

  “I think we shall soon be able to make you more comfortable,” said Thorndyke. “But you had better just look him over, Oldfield, to make sure that he is fit to travel.”

  As I got out my stethoscope to listen to the patient’s heart, Thorndyke walked over to the table, apparently to put away his writing pad. But that was not his only purpose. For as I stooped over the patient with the stethoscope at my ears, I could see him (though the patient could not) carefully transferring some arrowroot from the bowl to a wide-mouthed jar. When he had filled it and put in the rubber stopper, he filled another jar from the jug of barley water and then quietly closed the research case.

  Now I understood why he had moved the table away from the bed to a position in which it was out of the range of the patient’s vision. Of course, the specimens of food and drink could not have been taken in Gannet’s presence without an explanation, which we were not in the position to give; for although neither of us had much doubt on the subject, still, the actual presence of arsenic had yet to be proved.

  “Well, Oldfield,” said Thorndyke, “do you think he is strong enough to make the journey?”

  “Quite,” I replied, “if he can put up with the discomfort of traveling in a taxi.”

  As to this, Gannet was quite confident, being evidently keen on the change of residence.

  “Then,” said Thorndyke, “perhaps you will run down and explain matters to Mrs. Gannet; and it would be just as well to send out for a cab at once. I suppose Madame is not likely to raise objections?”

  “No,” I replied. “She has already agreed to his going to a nursing home; and if she finds our methods rather abrupt, I must make her understand that the case is urgent.”

  The interview, however, went quite smoothly so far as the lady was concerned, though Boles was disposed to be obstructive.

  “Do you mean that you are going to cart him off to the hospital now?” he demanded.

  “That is what Dr. Thorndyke proposes,” I replied.

  “But why?” he protested. “You say that there is no question of an operation. Then why is he being bustled off in this way?”

  “I think,” said I, “if you will excuse me, I had better see about that cab,” and I made a move towards the hall, whereupon Mrs. Gannet intervened, a little impatiently.

  “Now, don’t waste time, Fred. Run along and get a taxi while I go up with the doctor and make Peter ready for the journey.”

  On this, Boles rather sulkily swaggered out into the hall, and without a word, snatched down the velour hat, jammed it on his head and departed on his quest, slamming the street door after him. As the door closed, Mrs. Gannet turned towards the staircase and began to ascend and I followed, passing her on the landing to open the bedroom door.

  When we entered the room, we found Thorndyke standing opposite the mantelpiece, apparently inspecting the stoneware image; but he turned, and bowing to the lady, suavely apologized for our rather hurried proceedings.

  “There is no need to send any clothes with him,” said he, “as he will have to remain in bed for the present. A warm dressing-gown and one or two blankets or rugs will do for the journey.”

  “Yes,” she replied. “Rugs, I think, will be more presentable than blankets.” Then turning to her husband, she asked: “Is there anything that you will want to take with you, Peter?”

  “Nothing but my attache case,” he replied. “That contains all that I am likely to want, excepting the book that I am reading. You might put that in, too. It is on the small table.”

  When this had been done, Mrs. Gannet proceeded to make the few preparations that were necessary while Thorndyke resumed his study of the pottery on the mantelpiece. The patient was assisted to rise and sit on the edge of the bed while he was inducted into a thick dressing gown, warm woollen socks and a pair of bedroom slippers.

  “I think we are all ready, now,” said Mrs. Gannet. Then, as there seemed to be a pause in the proceedings, she took the opportunity to address a question to Thorndyke.

  “Have you come to any conclusion,” she asked, “as to what it is exactly that my husband is suffering from?”

  “I think,” Thorndyke replied, “that we shall be able to be more definite when we have had him under observation for a day or two.”

  The lady looked a little unsatisfied with this answer—which certainly was rather evasive—as, indeed, the patient also seemed to note. But here the conversation was interrupted, providentially, by the arrival of Boles to announce that the cab was waiting.

  “And now, old chap,” said he, “the question is, how are we going to get you down to it?”

  That problem, however, presented no difficulty, for when the patient had been wrapped in the rugs, Thorndyke and I carried him, by the approved ambulance method, down the stairs and deposited him in the taxi, while Boles and Mrs. Gannet brought up the rear of the procession, the latter carrying the invaluable attache case. A more formidable problem was that of finding room in the taxi for two additional large men; but we managed to squeeze in, and amidst valedictory hand wavings from the two figures on the doorstep, the cab started on its journey.

  It seemed that Thorndyke must have given some instructions at the hospital for our arrival appeared to be not unexpected. A wheeled chair was quickly procured and in this the patient was trundled, under Thorndyke’s direction, through a maze of corridors to the little private ward on the ground floor which had been allotted to him. Here we found a nurse putting the finishing touches to its appointments, and presently the sister from the adjacent ward came to superintend the establishment of the new patient. We stayed only long enough to see Gannet comfortably settled in bed, and then took leave of him; and in the corridor outside we parted after a few words of explanation.

  “I am just going across to the chemical laboratories,” said Thorndyke, “to hand Professor Woodfield a couple of samples for analysis. I shall manage to see Gannet tomorrow morning, and I suppose you will look in on him from time to time.”

  “Yes,” I replied. “If I may, I will call and see him tomorrow.”

  “But of course you may,” said he. “He is still your patient. If there is anything to report—from Woodfield, I mean—I will leave a note for you with Sister. And now I must be off.”

  We shook hands and went our respective ways; and as I looked back at the tall figure striding away down the corridor, research case in hand, I speculated on the report that Professor Woodfield would furnish on a sample of arrowroot and another of barley water.

  CHAPTER 5

  A True Bill

  Impelled by my anxiety to clear up the obscurities of the Gannet case, I dispatched the only important visit on my list as early on the following morning as I decently could and then hurried off to the hospital in the hope that I might be in time to catch Thorndyke before he left. It turned out that I had timed my visit fortunately, for as I passed in at the main entrance, I saw his name on the attendance board and learned from the hall porter that he had gone across to the school. Thither, accordingly, I directed my steps, but as I was crossing the garden, I met him coming from the direction of the laboratories and turned to walk back with him.

  “Any news yet?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he replied. “I have just seen Woodfield and had his report. Of the two samples of food that I gave him for analysis, one—some of the arrowroot that you saw—contained no arsenic. The other—a specimen of the barley water—contained three-quarters of a grain of arsenic in the five fluid ounces of my sample. So, assuming that the jug held twenty fluid ounces, it would have contained about three grains of arsenic—that is, of arsenious acid.”

  “My word!” I exclaimed. “Why, that is a fatal dose, isn’t it?”

  “It is a possibly fatal dose,” he replied. “A two grain dose has been known to cause death, but the effects of arsenic are very erratic. Still, we may f
airly well say that if he had drunk the whole jugful, the chances are that it would have killed him.”

  I shuddered to think of the narrow escape that he—and I—had had. Only just in time had we—or rather Thorndyke—got him away from that house.

  “Well,” I said, “the detection of arsenic in the barley water settles any doubts that we might have had. It establishes the fact of arsenic poisoning.”

  “Not quite,” Thorndyke dissented. “But we have established the fact by clinical tests. Woodfield and the House Physician have ascertained the presence of arsenic in the patient’s body. The quantity was quite small; smaller than I should have expected, judging by the symptoms. But arsenic is eliminated pretty quickly; so we may infer that some days have elapsed since the last considerable dose was taken.”

  “Yes,” said I, “and you were just in time to save him from the next considerable dose, which would probably have been the last. By the way, what are our responsibilities in this affair? I mean, ought we to communicate with the police?”

  “No,” he replied, very decidedly. “We have neither the duty nor the right to meddle in a case such as this, where the patient is a responsible adult in full control of his actions and his surroundings. Our duty is to inform him of the facts which are known to us and to leave him to take such measures as he may think fit.”

  That, in effect, is what we did when we had made the ordinary inquiries as to the patient’s condition—which, by the way, was markedly improved.

  “Yes,” Gannet said, cheerfully, “I am worlds better; and it isn’t from the effects of the medicine, because I haven’t had any. I seem to be recovering of my own accord. Queer, isn’t it? Or perhaps it isn’t. Have you two gentlemen come to any conclusion as to what is really the matter with me?”

  “Yes,” Thorndyke replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “We have ascertained that your illness was due to arsenic poisoning.”

  Gannet sat up in bed and stared from one to the other of us with dropped jaw and an expression of the utmost astonishment and horror.

  “Arsenic poisoning!” he repeated, incredulously. “I can’t believe it. Are you sure that there isn’t some mistake? It seems impossible.”

  “It usually does,” Thorndyke replied, drily. “But there is no mistake. It is just a matter of chemical analysis, which can be sworn to and proved, if necessary, in a court of law. Arsenic has been recovered from your own body and also from a sample of barley water that I brought away for analysis.”

  “Oh!” said Gannet, “so it was in the barley water. I suppose you didn’t examine the arrowroot?”

  “I brought away a sample of it,” replied Thorndyke, “and it was examined, but there was no arsenic in it.”

  “Ha!” said Gannet. “So it was the barley water. I thought there was something wrong with that stuff. But arsenic! This is a regular facer! What do you think I ought to do about it, Doctor?”

  “It is difficult for us to advise you, Mr. Gannet,” Thorndyke replied. “We know no more than that you have been taking poisonous doses of arsenic. As to the circumstances in which you came to take that poison, you know more than we do. If any person knowingly administered that poison to you, he, or she, committed a very serious crime; and if you know who that person is, it would be proper for you to inform the police.”

  “But I don’t,” said Gannet. “There are only three persons who could have given me the arsenic, and I can’t suspect any one of them. There is the servant maid. She wouldn’t have given it to me. If she had wanted to poison anybody, it would have been her mistress. They don’t get on very well, whereas the girl and I are on quite amiable terms. Then there is my wife. Well, of course, she is outside the picture altogether. And then there is Mr. Boles. He often brought up my food and drink, so he had the opportunity; but I couldn’t entertain the idea of his having tried to poison me. I would as soon suspect the doctor—who had a better opportunity than any of them.” He paused to grin at me, and then summed up the position. “So, you see, there is nobody whom I could suspect, and perhaps there isn’t any poisoner at all. Isn’t it possible that the stuff might have got into my food by accident?”

  “I wouldn’t say that it is actually impossible,” Thorndyke replied, “but the improbability is so great that it is hardly worth considering.”

  “Well,” said Gannet, “I don’t feel like confiding in the police and possibly stirring up trouble for an innocent party.”

  “In that,” said Thorndyke, “I think you are right. If you know of no reason for suspecting anybody, you have nothing to tell the police. But I must impress on you, Mr. Gannet, the realities of your position. It is practically certain that some person has tried to poison you, and you will have to be very thoroughly on your guard against any further attempts.”

  “But what can I do?” Gannet protested. “You agree that it is of no use to go to the police and raise a scandal. But what else is there?”

  “The first precaution that you should take,” replied Thorndyke, “would be to tell your wife all that you know, and advise her to pass on the information to Mr. Boles—unless you prefer to tell him, yourself—and to anyone else whom she thinks fit to inform. The fact that the poisoning has been detected will be a strong deterrent against any further attempts, and Mrs. Gannet will be on the alert to see that there are no opportunities. Then you will be wise to take no food or drink in your own house which is not shared by someone else; and, perhaps, as an extra precaution, it might be as well to exchange your present maid for another.”

  “Yes,” Gannet agreed, with a grin, “there will be no difficulty about that when my wife hears about the arsenic. She’ll send the girl packing at an hour’s notice.”

  “Then,” said Thorndyke, “I think we have said all that there is to say. I am glad to see you looking so much better, and if you continue to improve at the same rate, we shall be able to send you out in a few days to get back to your pottery.”

  With this, he took leave of the patient, and I went out with him in case he should have anything further to say to me; but it was not until we had passed out at the main entrance and the porter had duly noted his departure, that he broke the silence. Then, as we crossed the court-yard, he asked:

  “What did you make of Gannet’s statement as to the possible suspects?”

  “Not very much,” I replied; “but I rather had the feeling that he was holding something back.”

  “He didn’t hold it back very far,” Thorndyke commented, with a smile. “I gathered that he viewed Mr. Boles with profound suspicion and that he was not unwilling that we should share that suspicion. By the way, are you keeping notes of this case?”

  I had to admit that I had nothing beyond the entries in the Day Book.

  “That won’t do,” said he. “You may not have heard the last of this case. If there should, in the future, be any further developments, you ought not to be dependent on your memory alone. I advise you to write out now, while the facts are fresh, a detailed account of the case, with all the dates and full particulars of the persons who were in any way connected with the affair. I will send you a certified copy of Woodfield’s analysis, and I should be interested to see your memoranda of the case to compare with my own notes.”

  “I don’t suppose you will learn much from mine,” said I.

  “They will be bad notes if I don’t,” said he. “But the point is that if anything should hereafter happen to Gannet—anything, I mean, involving an inquest or a criminal charge—you and I would be called, or would volunteer, as witnesses, and our evidence ought to agree. Hence the desirability of comparing notes now when we can discuss any disagreements.”

  Our conversation had brought us to the cross roads; and here, as our ways led in opposite directions, we halted for a few final words and then parted, Thorndyke pursuing his journey on foot and I waiting at the bus stop for my omnibus.

  During Gannet’s stay in the hospital, I paid him one or two visits, noting his steady improvement and copying into my notebo
ok the entries on his case sheet. But his recovery was quite uneventful, and after a few days, I struck him off my visiting list, deciding to await his return home to wind up the case.

  But in the interval I became aware that he had, at least in one particular, acted on Thorndyke’s advice. The fact was conveyed to me by Mrs. Gannet, who appeared one evening, in a very disturbed state, in my consulting room. I guessed at once what her mission was, but there was not much need for guessing as she came to the point at once.

  “I have been to see Peter this afternoon,” said she, “and he has given me a most terrible shock. He told me—quite seriously—that his illness was really not an illness at all, but that his condition was due to poison. He says that somebody had been putting arsenic into his food, and he quotes you and Dr. Thorndyke as his authorities for this statement. Is he off his head or did you really tell him this story?”

  “It is perfectly true, Mrs. Gannet,” I replied.

  “But it can’t be,” she protested. “It is perfectly monstrous. There is nobody who could have had either the means or the motive. I prepared all his food with my own hands and I took it up to him myself. The maid never came near it—though I have sent her away all the same—and even if she had had the opportunity, she had no reason for trying to poison Peter. She was really quite a decent girl and she and he were on perfectly good terms. But the whole thing is impossible—fantastic. Dr. Thorndyke must have made some extraordinary mistake.”

  “I assure you, Mrs. Gannet,” said I, “that no mistake has been made. It is just a matter of chemical analysis. Arsenic is nasty stuff, but it has one virtue; it can be identified easily and with certainty. When Dr. Thorndyke saw your husband, he at once suspected arsenic poisoning, so he took away with him two samples of the food—one of arrowroot and one of barley water—for analysis.

  “They were examined by an eminent analyst and he found in the barley water quite a considerable quantity of arsenic—the whole jugful would have contained enough to cause death. You see, there is no doubt. There was the arsenic in the barley water. It was extracted and weighed, and the exact amount is known; and the arsenic itself has been kept and can be produced in evidence if necessary.”