As I disposed of the excellent dinner—or supper—that my thoughtful housekeeper had provided, it was natural that I should ruminate on the astonishing events of the last few hours. And now that the excitement of the chase had passed off, I began to consider the significance of my discoveries. Those discoveries left me in no doubt (despite Thorndyke’s caution) that my friend, Peter Gannet, had been made away with; and I owed it to our friendship, to say nothing of my duty as a good citizen, to do everything in my power to establish the identity of the murderer in order that he—or she—might be brought within the grasp of the law.
Now who could it be that had made away with my poor friend? I had not the faintest doubt as to, at least, the protagonist in that horrid drama. In the very moment of my realization that a crime had been committed, I had confidently identified the criminal. And my conviction remained unshaken. Nevertheless, I turned over the available evidence as it would have to be presented to a stranger and as I should have to present it to the police.
What could we say with certainty as to the personality of the murderer? In the first place, he was a person who had access to the studio. Then he knew how to prepare and fire the kiln. He understood the use and management of the grog mill and of the cupel press, and he knew which of the various bins was the bone-ash-bin. But, so far as I knew, there was only one person in the world to whom this description would apply—Frederick Boles.
Then, to approach the question from the other direction, were there any reasons for suspecting Boles? And the answer was that there were several reasons. Boles had certainly been at the house when Gannet was there alone, and had thus had the opportunity. He had now unaccountably disappeared, and his disappearance seemed to coincide with the date of the murder. He had already, to my certain knowledge, violently assaulted Gannet on at least one occasion. But far more to the point was the fact that he was under the deepest suspicion of having made a most determined attempt to kill Gannet by means of poison. Indeed, the word “suspicion” was an understatement. It was nearly a certainty. Even the cautious Thorndyke had made no secret of his views as to the identity of the poisoner. It was at this stage of my reflections that I had what, I think, Americans call a ‘hunch’—a brain wave, or inspiration. Boles had made at least one attempt to poison poor Gannet. We suspected more than one attempt, but of the one I had practically no doubt. Now one of the odd peculiarities of the criminal mind is its strong tendency to repetition. The coiner, on coming out of prison, promptly returns to the coining industry; the burglar, the forger, the pickpocket, all tend to repeat their successes or even their failures. So, too, the poisoner, foiled at a first attempt, tries again, not only by the same methods, but nearly always makes use of the same poison.
Now Boles had been alone in the house with Gannet. He had thus had the opportunity, and it might be assumed that he had the means. Was it possible that he might have made yet another attempt and succeeded? It was true that the appearances rather suggested violence, and that this would be, from the murderer’s point of view, preferable to the relatively slow method of poisoning. Nevertheless, a really massive dose of arsenic, if it could be administered, would be fairly rapid in its effects; and after all, in the assumed circumstances, the time factor would not be so very important.
But there was another consideration. Supposing Boles had managed to administer a big, lethal dose of arsenic, would any trace of the poison be detectible in the incinerated remains of the body? It seemed doubtful, though I had no experience by which to form an opinion. But it was certainly worth while to try; for if the result of the trial should be negative, no harm would have been done, whereas if the smallest trace of arsenic should be discoverable, demonstrable evidence of the highest importance would have been secured.
I have mentioned that, since the poisoning incident, I had taken various measures to provide against any similar case in the future, and among other precautions, I had furnished myself with a very complete apparatus for the detection of arsenic. It included the appliances for Marsh’s test—not the simple and artless affair that is used for demonstration in chemistry classes, but a really up-to-date apparatus, capable of the greatest delicacy and precision. And as a further precaution, I had made several trial analyses with it to make sure that, should the occasion arise, I could rely on my competence to use it.
And now the occasion had arisen. It was not a very promising one, as the probability of a positive result seemed rather remote. But I entered into the investigation with an enthusiasm that accelerated considerably my disposal of the rest of my dinner, and as soon as I had swallowed the last mouthful, I rose and proceeded forthwith to the dispensary which served also as a laboratory. Here I produced from my pocket the match box containing the finger bone and the parcel of crushed fragments from the bin. The match box I opened and tenderly transferred the little bone to a corked glass tube with a plug of cotton wool above and below it, and put the tube away in a locked drawer. Then I opened the parcel of fragments and embarked on the investigation.
I began by examining one or two of the fragments with a low power of the microscope and thereby confirming beyond all doubt my assumption that they were incinerated bone; and having disposed of this essential preliminary, I fell to work on the chemical part of the investigation. With the details of these operations—which, to tell the truth, I found rather tedious and troublesome—I need not burden the reader. Roughly, and in bare outline, the procedure was as follows: First, I divided the heap of fragments into two parts, reserving one part for further treatment if necessary. The other part I dissolved in strong hydrochloric acid and distilled the mixture into a receiver containing a small quantity of distilled water; a slow and tedious business which tried my patience severely, and which was, after all, only a preliminary to the actual analysis. But at last, the fluid in the retort dwindled to a little half-dry residue, whereupon I removed the lamp and transferred my attention to the Marsh’s apparatus. With this I made the usual preliminary trial to test the purity of the reagents and then set the lamp under the hard glass exit tube, watching it for several minutes after it had reached a bright red heat. As there was no sign of any darkening or deposit in the tube, I was satisfied that my chemicals were free from arsenic—as indeed I knew them to be from previous trials.
And now came the actual test. Detaching the receiver from the retort, I emptied its contents—the distilled fluid—into a well-washed measure glass and from this poured it slowly, almost drop by drop, into the thistle funnel of the flask in which the gas was generating. I had no expectation of any result—at least, so I persuaded myself. Nevertheless, as I poured in the “distillate” I watched the exit tube with almost tremulous eagerness. For it was my first real analysis; and after all the trouble that I had taken, a completely negative result would have seemed rather an anticlimax. Hence the yearning and half-expectant eye that turned ever towards the exit tube.
Nevertheless, the result, when it began to appear, fairly astonished me. It was beyond my wildest hopes. For even before I had finished pouring in the distillate, a dark ring appeared on the inside of the glass exit tube, just beyond the red hot portion, and grew from moment to moment in intensity and extent until a considerable area of the tube was covered with a typical “arsenic mirror.” I sat down before the apparatus and watched it ecstatically, moved not only by the natural triumph of the tyro who has “brought it off” at the first trial, but by satisfaction at the thought that I had forged an instrument to put into the hands of avenging justice.
For now the cause of poor Gannet’s death was established beyond cavil. My original surmise was proved to be correct. By some means, the murderer had contrived to administer a dose of arsenic so enormous as to produce an immediately fatal result. It must have been so. The quantity of the poison in the body must have been prodigious; for even after the considerable loss of arsenic in the kiln, there remained in the ashes a measurable amount, though how much I had not sufficient experience to judge.
I carr
ied the analysis no farther. The customary procedure is to cut off the piece of tube containing the “mirror” of metallic arsenic and subject it to a further, confirmatory test. But this I considered unnecessary and, in fact, undesirable. Instead. I carefully detached the tube from the flask and, having wrapped it in several layers of paper, packed it in a cardboard postal tube and put it away with the finger bone in readiness for my interview with the police on the morrow.
CHAPTER 9
Inspector Blandy Investigates
On the following morning, as soon as I had disposed of the more urgent visits, I collected the proceeds of my investigations—the finger bone, the remainder of the bone fragments, and the glass tube with the arsenic mirror—and bustled off to the police station, all agog to spring my mine and set the machinery of the law in motion. My entry was acknowledged by the sergeant, who was perched at his desk, with an affable smile and the inquiry as to what he could do for me.
“I wanted rather particularly to see the Superintendent, if he could spare me a few minutes,” I replied.
“I doubt whether he could,” said the sergeant. “He’s pretty busy just now. Couldn’t I manage your business for you?”
“I think I had better see the Superintentendent,” I answered. “The matter is one of some urgency and I don’t know how far it might be considered confidential. I think I ought to make my communication to him, in the first place.”
“Sounds mighty mysterious,” said the sergeant, regarding me critically, “however, we’ll see what he says. Go in, Dawson, and tell the Superintendent that Dr. Oldfield wants to speak to him and that he won’t say what his business is.”
On this, the constable proceeded to the door of the inner office, on which he knocked, and having been bidden in a loud, impatient voice to “come in,” went in. After a brief delay, occupied probably by explanations, he reappeared, followed by the Superintendent, carrying in one hand a large notebook and in the other a pencil. His expression was not genial, but rather irritably interrogative, conveying the question, “Now, then. What about it?” And in effect, that was also conveyed by his rather short greeting.
“I should like to have a few words with you, Superintendent.” I said, humbly.
“Well,” he replied, “they will have to be very few. I am in the middle of a conference with an officer from Scotland Yard. What is the nature of your business?”
“I have come to inform you that I have reason to believe that a murder has been committed,” I replied.
He brightened up considerably at this, but still he accepted the sensational statement with disappointing coolness.
“Do you mean that you think, or suspect, that a murder has been committed?” he asked in an obviously sceptical tone.
“It is more than that,” I replied. “I am practically certain. I came to give you the facts that are known to me; and I have brought some things to show you which I think you will find pretty convincing.”
He reflected for a moment; then, still a little irritably, he said:
“Very well. You had better come in and let us hear what you have to tell us.”
With this, he indicated the open door, and when I had passed through, he followed me and closed it after us.
As I entered the office I was confronted by a gentleman who was seated at the table with a number of papers before him. A rather remarkable-looking gentleman, slightly bald, with a long, placid face and a still longer, and acutely pointed nose, and an expression in which concentrated benevolence beamed on an undeserving world. I don’t know what his appearance suggested, but it certainly did not suggest a detective inspector of the Criminal Investigation Department. Yet that was his actual status, as appeared when the Superintendent introduced him to me—by the name of Blandy—adding:
“This is Dr. Oldfield who has come to give us some information about a case of suspected murder.”
“How good of him!” exclaimed Inspector Blandy, rising to execute a deferential bow and beaming a benediction on me as he pressed my hand with affectionate warmth. “I am proud, sir, to make your acquaintance. I am always proud to make the acquaintance of members of your learned and invaluable profession.”
The Superintendent smiled sourly and offered me a chair.
“I suppose, Inspector,” said he, “we had better adjourn our other business and take the doctor’s information?”
“Surely, surely,” replied Blandy. “A capital crime must needs take precedence. And as the doctor’s time is even more valuable than ours, we can rely on him to economize both.”
Accordingly, the Superintendent, with a distinct return to the “what about it?” expression, directed me shortly to proceed, which I did; and bearing in mind the Inspector’s polite hint, I plunged into the matter without preamble.
I need not record my statement in detail since it was but a repetition, suitably condensed, of the story that I have already told. I began with the disappearance of Peter Gannet, went on to my search of the house (to which the Superintendent listened with undissembled impatience) and then to my examination of the studio and my discoveries therein, producing the finger bone and the packet of fragments in corroboration. To the latter part of my statement both officers listened with evidently aroused interest, asking only such questions as were necessary to elucidate the narrative; as, for instance, how I came to know so much about the kiln and Gannet’s method of work.
At the conclusion of this part of my statement, I paused while the two officers pored over the little bone in its glass container and the open package of white, coral-like fragments. Then I prepared to play my trump card. Taking off the paper wrapping from the cardboard case, I drew out from the latter the glass tube and laid it on the table.
The Superintendent glared at it suspiciously while the Inspector picked it up and regarded it with deep and benevolent interest.
“To my untutored eye,” said he, “this dark ring seems to resemble an arsenic mirror.”
“It is an arsenic mirror,” said I.
“And what is its connection with these burnt remains?” the Superintendent demanded.
“That arsenic,” I replied, impressively, “was extracted from a quantity of bone fragments similar to those that I have handed to you;” and with this, I proceeded to give them an account of my investigations with the Marsh’s apparatus, to which the Superintendent listened with open incredulity.
“But,” he demanded, when I had finished, “what on earth led you to test these ashes for arsenic? What suggested to you that there might be arsenic in them?”
Of course, I had expected this question, but yet, curiously enough, I was hardly ready for it. The secret of the poisoning had been communicated to Gannet, but otherwise I had, on Thorndyke’s advice, kept my own counsel. But now this was impossible. There was nothing for it but to give the officers a full account of the poisoning affair, including the fact that the discovery had been made and confirmed by Dr. Thorndyke.
At the mention of my teacher’s name, both men pricked up their ears, and the Superintendent commented:
“Then Dr. Thorndyke would be available as a witness.”
“Yes,” I replied, “I don’t suppose he would have any objection to giving evidence on the natter.”
“Objection be blowed!” snorted the Superintendent, “He wouldn’t be asked. He could be subpoenaed as a common witness to the fact that this man, Gannet, was suffering from arsenic poisoning. However, before we begin to talk of evidence, we have got to be sure that there is something like a prima facie case. What do you think, Inspector?”
“I agree with you, Superintendent, as I always do,” the Inspector replied. “We had better begin by checking the doctor’s observations on the state of affairs in Gannet’s studio. If we find the conditions to be as he has described them—which I have no doubt that we shall—and if we reach the same conclusions that he has reached, there will certainly be a case for investigation.”
“Yes,” the Superintendent agreed. “But our conc
lusions on the primary facts would have to be checked by suitable experts; and I suppose an independent analysis would be desirable. The doctor’s evidence is good enough, but counsel likes to produce a specialist with a name and a reputation.”
“Very true,” said the Inspector. “But the analysis can wait. It is quite possible that the arsenic issue may never be raised. If we find clear evidence that a human body has been burned to ashes in that kiln, we shall have the very strongest presumptive evidence that a murder has been committed. The method used doesn’t really concern us, and an attempt to prove that deceased was killed in some particular manner might only confuse and complicate the case.”
“I was thinking,” said the Superintendent, “of what the doctor has told us about the attempt to poison Gannet. The presence of arsenic in the bones might point to certain possible suspects, considered in connection with that previous attempt.”
“Undoubtedly,” agreed the Inspector, “if we could prove who administered that arsenic. But we can’t. And if Gannet is dead, I don’t see how we are going to, he being the only really competent witness. No, Superintendent. My feeling is that we shall be wise to ignore the arsenic, or at any rate keep it up our sleeves for the present. But to come back to the immediate business, we want to see that studio, Doctor. How can it be managed without making a fuss?”
“Quite easily,” I replied. “I have the keys, and I have Mrs. Gannet’s permission to enter the house and to admit you, if you want to inspect the premises. I could hand you the keys if necessary, but I would much rather admit you myself.”
“And very proper, too,” said the Inspector. “Besides, we should want you to accompany us, as you know all about the studio and we don’t. Now when could you manage the personally conducted exploration? The sooner the better, you know, as the matter is rather urgent.”
“Well,” I replied, “I have got several visits to make, and it is about time that I started to make them. It won’t do for me to neglect my practice.”
The Third R. Austin Freeman Megapack Page 224
