Nor, what was worrying him even more, could he get out to the Orlop Hills to dispose of his rope. As long as that was in his suitcase he would be in danger. He wondered, could he not destroy it in some other way? He thought it would burn, though probably it would take a very hot fire. But Rankin might come in when he was burning it, and that would be worse than ever. Perhaps he could weight it and drop it into the river, but there again, if he were seen, a grab would bring it up, and once again he would be for it.
Rankin, in reply to his message, had asked him to attend an informal inquiry at “Riverview,” taking with him the snake, and at three o’clock he went across. Besides the inspector and Sergeant Risbridger, he found Marr and Professor Blaney-Heaton, of the local university, whom he knew as a real authority on snakes.
“I congratulate you on your find, sir,” Rankin greeted him. “It has ended a very difficult situation for all concerned.”
“For everyone, whether concerned or not,” George retorted, thinking he might now exhibit better spirits. “The poor old viper mightn’t have confined its attentions to those working on the affair.”
For a few moments they chatted, and then Rankin proceeded to business. After an inspection of the snake, he continued: “I wanted everyone to see just where it was found, in case we might get something from the position. Also if we can learn how it was killed.”
This was by no means reassuring. If a detailed inquiry were intended, it didn’t look as if Rankin was so satisfied as George had supposed.
George led the way to the barrel. “It was in here,” he pointed.
“Then was it drowned?”
“I presumed so,” George answered, “as I could see no other cause of death. But I couldn’t, of course, be sure from casual inspection. They’re not easy to drown, you know. They swim and it takes a long time.”
“That’s one of the things I wanted to ask. How long, would you say?”
George shook his head and looked at the specialist: “I should scarcely like to say. Perhaps Professor Blaney-Heaton could tell you.”
Blaney-Heaton awoke from a reverie in which he seemed sunk. “Couldn’t say either,” he declared. “As Mr. Surridge says, they swim, but they do drown eventually.”
“I’m speaking only very approximately. Might it be one hour or six or twelve?”
“I don’t know. I should guess six, but I won’t stand over that. Would you agree, Mr. Surridge?” Blaney-Heaton blandly returned George’s compliment.
George shook his head with a faint smile. “We don’t experiment on those lines at the Zoo,” he explained.
“I suppose not,” Rankin agreed drily. “What I wanted to get was the approximate time at which the creature fell into the pool. I presume that’s the time it would take to drown plus the time it was dead before it was found. I hope you gentlemen can tell me that.”
“We haven’t made a proper examination yet,” Blaney-Heaton pointed out, not unreasonably.
“When you do, sir, will you keep the point in mind? Next, I take it, it couldn’t have got in itself? It must have been put in deliberately?”
Blaney-Heaton shook his head. “That depends on what you mean by deliberately. Suppose the snake attacked you and you managed to catch it by the neck. How would you get rid of it? You might throw it away in a moment of unreasoning terror. It might fall into the barrel.”
“That’s interesting, sir. If it was thrown in unhurt, could it have got out?”
George realised how very critical was the question, and decided to answer it. “I should say not possibly,” he declared, and was delighted when Blaney-Heaton emphatically agreed.
After some further discussion, Rankin closed the session. “That’s very helpful, gentlemen,” he approved. “Now, what the police would like to know is, first, what caused the snake’s death? and, second, when did it get into the barrel? I think that’s all, unless you find something unexpected when you make your examination. I’m much obliged for your attendance.”
Feeling like a schoolboy dismissed at the end of lessons, George returned to his office.
Chapter XIII
Venom: Through the Law
The inquest was to be held at ten next morning in a hall not far from the Zoo, and a few minutes before the hour George left his office to walk across. No formal subpoena had been served on him, but he had promised Rankin to be present. He had heard nothing more about the affair since the interview at “Riverview,” which he took to be a good omen. Further, he felt sure he was not being shadowed or watched. He banished morbid thoughts and held his head high as he reached the hall, looking forward to what was coming with confidence.
The affair had aroused a good deal of popular interest, and the hall was full. Rankin and Risbridger were already there, and Marr and Blaney-Heaton came in almost at once. Milliken and Nesbit had been summoned and were in their places, while Mrs. Pertwee and Lily Cochrane, the “Riverview” staff, were seated close by. Capper was there also, and George, in the hearing of Rankin, offered him formal condolences on his loss. Behind were members of the general public, persons unconnected with the case, but who exercised their rights as British subjects to be present and enjoy a morning’s free entertainment.
George took his place beside Marr. “I suppose,” he said, “there’s nothing fresh since our meeting yesterday?”
Marr thought there was nothing that George didn’t know. He was beginning a discussion on Burnaby’s state of health when the coroner entered and he broke it off.
Mr. Herbert Finlater, coroner for the City of Birmington, was a tall, lanky individual, whose side view, presenting his bent head, narrow chest, and protruding abdomen, inevitably suggested a query mark. His face was drawn and dyspeptic-looking, apparently mirroring a sombre outlook on life, but George had heard that he was an able lawyer and highly competent at his coroner’s job. He nodded gloomily to Marr and Rankin, bowed to the company generally, and took his seat.
Certain preliminaries followed. Finlater announced that he had decided to sit with a jury, and six men and one woman were empanelled. They were asked whether they wished to see the body, and said they did, whereupon they trooped off, returning apparently impressed, if not enlightened. Finlater made a dry little speech deploring the tragedy and reminding the jury of their duties, then got down to business.
“Call Marjorie Harper,” he directed.
The order was obeyed with hearty thoroughness by his officer and a policeman, the latter seemingly to have the job of master of ceremonies. Marjorie Harper George recognised as Marr’s cook. She came forward, slightly flustered by all the shouted repetitions of her name, and, having been sworn, was motioned to a chair facing the jury.
She had not a great deal to tell, and nothing which George had not already heard. Wednesday was her evening out, and on leaving the house she saw the body on the drive. She ran back and told the doctor. She was able to fix the time at exactly 8.21. She had looked at the clock in the hall as she started, as she was hurrying to catch a bus which passed the Choole Bridge at 8.25, a distance from the house of some three minutes’ walk.
Marr was the next witness. He also had glanced at the clock in the hall as he ran out, and it was just twenty-three minutes past eight. He described his recognition of Burnaby, his carrying him to the couch in his consulting-room, and the efforts he made to save his life. These, unhappily, were unavailing, and the old man passed away about twenty minutes to nine. In reply to a question, he admitted he was not an expert in the treatment of snake-bite, as that was a contingency which had seldom to be met by English practitioners. He had not, however, believed that any of the other local men were in a better position than himself, so he had not called in a second opinion. Indeed, there had scarcely been time. He was glad, however, to be able to say that Professor Blaney-Heaton had expressed himself as satisfied with everything he had done.
“We’re not questioning
your treatment, Dr. Marr, which, I’m sure, was all that could be desired,” the coroner assured him mournfully. “I only want to get the facts. What happened after that?”
Marr explained that when once he was satisfied that he could do no more for Burnaby, he had rung up the dead man’s only relative and the police. As he had known a snake was missing from the Zoo, he had assumed that it was this snake which had caused the tragedy, and had also rung up Mr. Surridge. Inspector Rankin, Mr. Surridge, and Colonel Kirkman, who happened to be with Mr. Surridge, quickly arrived, and the inspector took charge of the case.
“Quite so,” said the coroner. “We’ll get that later. Now, Dr. Marr, can you tell us the cause of death?”
“Shock following poisoning through being bitten by a venomous snake.”
“How did you reach that conclusion?”
“Firstly, the symptoms were those of snake poisoning. Secondly, external inspection showed the marks of a snake’s fangs in the right palm near the base of the first and second fingers. The hand also was swollen and discoloured, as might be expected. Thirdly, a post mortem confirmed the diagnosis on every point, and also revealed that, while the deceased was in a poor state of health, there was nothing functional to account for his death. I may say that Dr. Hawthorn assisted me and expressed agreement with my conclusions on every point.”
“Did you actually find snake poison in the body?”
“Yes, we did.”
“Now, Dr. Marr, you say that the deceased passed away at about eight-forty. Can you tell us at about what hour the snake must have struck him?”
“Not, I am afraid, with any degree of exactitude. The results of a bite vary enormously. If a healthy person is treated immediately, death need not necessarily ensue at all; whereas in the case of a victim elderly and in poor health, it would probably follow quickly. Again, a great deal depends on the bite itself: if much or little venom is passed, or just where the fangs penetrate. If, for instance, venom were introduced into an artery, the effect would be more rapid.”
“In the case of the deceased, can you go nearer than that?”
“The deceased was elderly and in poor health. Also, the post mortem showed he had received a large quantity of venom. My opinion, therefore, is that death would have taken place quickly, though exactly how quickly, I’m not prepared to say.”
“Would you consider it possible that it should have taken in as little as half an hour?”
“Yes, I should say that was possible.”
“Quite.” The coroner turned to another point. “Were you this old gentleman’s medical attendant?”
“I was.”
“Will you tell the jury something of his condition of health, both physical and mental?”
Marr hesitated, as if to collect his thoughts. “I’m afraid it wasn’t very good,” he began, going on to give a detailed reply. Up till a few months previously Burnaby had been physically very fit for a man of his years, and of course his intellect was outstanding. Lately, however, this condition had much deteriorated. He, Marr, attributed this to a shock he had had when his daughter had been killed in a motor accident. He would not say the mental deterioration amounted to what was commonly called softening of the brain, but he did mean that the old gentleman was no longer able to meet the small problems and crises of everyday life in a normal manner.
“Then in your opinion he might recently have acted in ways which some months ago he would have avoided?”
Marr thought so.
“Do you consider this applied to moral standards also?”
Marr said that was a more difficult question, but finally admitted that he believed there had been a moral weakening corresponding to the physical and mental change.
Professor Blaney-Heaton followed. He went more learnedly into the matter of the snake and the effects of snake-bite, but except on one point his statement was merely a confirmation of what Marr had said.
“Did you see a manuscript on the treatment of a certain disease with snake venom?” the coroner went on.
The professor inclined his head. “Yes,” he admitted, “such a manuscript was shown to me by a police officer.”
“This police officer?” persisted the literally-minded coroner, pointing to Rankin.
Blaney-Heaton inspected Rankin coldly and admitted his identity.
“Were you able to discover the aim of the deceased in his work?”
“Yes, he was apparently trying to cure cancer by injections of venom.”
“Can you tell me whether a person carrying out such work would have required to perform experiments with snakes?”
The professor could not express an opinion. The experiments would naturally involve the use of snake venom, and he thought it was possible that in special cases the actual use of snakes themselves might be required.
George could scarcely contain his satisfaction as he listened to this interrogation. The line the coroner was going to take was now clear. An admirable case was being built up for the theory that Burnaby stole the snake and was afterwards bitten. George could have wished nothing better.
The coroner then turned to the snake itself. “Have you examined the body of a snake which was found in a barrel close to the deceased’s study door?”
“Yes, I made a post mortem of it.”
“And what can you tell us about it?”
“It is that of a female Russell’s viper, three feet one inch long, and was in a good state of health. It had died as a result of drowning. Its neck was somewhat bruised and swollen, presumably from being held in a snake tongs.”
“Do you consider the snake was alive when it fell or was put into the barrel?”
The professor shrugged. “The reptile was found dead in a barrel of water, the cause of death being drowning,” he pointed out. “I think, sir, the jury are as capable as I to form a conclusion.”
“Now, professor, in your opinion could the snake have got into that barrel accidentally?”
“I don’t think it could have got in by itself, if that’s what you mean. But”—and Blaney-Heaton outlined the suggestion which he had put up to Rankin on the previous afternoon.
“Are you satisfied that once in the barrel, the snake couldn’t have got out?” went on the coroner.
“Quite satisfied. These are not climbing reptiles and it would necessarily have been drowned.”
“From all that, then, professor, is it your theory that the deceased was threatened by this snake, caught it in his hands, was bitten, and either accidentally or intentionally threw it into the barrel?”
Blaney-Heaton made a gesture of slightly horrified dissent. “No,” he answered, with scientific caution, “I have only said that in my opinion that might have happened. What did happen I don’t know.”
When the professor left the witness chair, Mrs. Pertwee took his place. She introduced a human interest into the proceedings which up to now had been markedly absent. Her sorrow for her employer was obvious, as also her desire to defend his memory against all attacks.
Briefly she told of her own connection with the household. She had been engaged as cook when the family moved to “Riverview” some five years before, and on Miss Burnaby’s death had been promoted housekeeper. The professor had been one of the best and kindest of men, and while he had his health, was extremely good-humoured and able. The loss of his daughter had unfortunately broken him up and recently he had not been himself. He had become absent-minded and forgetful and the smallest things had become a burden to him. She had lately been afraid of his experimenting, fearing he might set himself on fire or hurt himself in some other way.
She then told of his Wednesday evening visit to Leet. On the evening of his death he was in a perfectly normal state of mind and mentioned that he intended going as usual for his game of chess. It was her evening off, and after she had washed up the dinner things she had gone out. Sh
e had actually left the house at five minutes past eight, and as she did so she had seen the professor in the hall. She could not say that he was getting ready to go out himself, but she had thought so at the time. Her help, Lily Cochrane, came during the day only, and as she had gone home, there was no one except the professor himself in the house.
“Now tell me, Mrs. Pertwee,” went on the coroner, “did you ever know the deceased to keep snakes in the house?”
Mrs. Pertwee exhibited horror at the very idea. The professor had never done any such thing.
“What makes you so sure of that?”
The witness bridled. “A gentleman like him would never have brought one of those horrible creatures into a civilised house,” she explained, with indignation.
“No doubt you are correct,” the coroner admitted, with unexpected tact, “but if you have any actual proof of the statement I should like to hear it.”
She had none. She had never seen a snake, but she had to admit that there were boxes in the professor’s study into which she had never penetrated and which, she eventually agreed, “might have contained anything.” Certainly the professor had all kinds of queer instruments and bottles and little pipes of glass, and worked a lot with his chemicals and what not. Mice he had, too: three large cages of them, and a few guinea-pigs. But these latter were kept outside.
Leet then gave his evidence. He explained that he was a novelist and had known the deceased for many years. He had an extraordinarily high opinion of him, not only as a brilliant investigator and scientist, but as a man of integrity and great kindness of heart. He had, however, to agree with the evidence which had already been given about his decline of health.
Leet then went on to tell of the evening in question, repeating his statement to Rankin about expecting the professor for chess, his not turning up, and Leet’s considering whether or not he should walk over to “Riverview” to learn the cause.
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