“You must ask them,” said Dick slowly. “The little I know I’ve heard in confidence.”
“Of course I’ll put them through it. Well, to go on, the wretched man is left alone at last. After the dose of exhortation from all these parsons he decides to make an end of it, swallows the rest of the dose, mixes himself a stiff one and—passes out. That it, doctor?”
“Yes, it—it might be.” Dr. Lee hesitated. “But honesty compels me to say that I can’t see him getting up and reaching for the dose and walking to the door in the state he was in. Nor can I believe that the whisky or the amount of morphia I left would prove fatal. You’ll have an autopsy, I suppose, and that should set us right on that point.”
“Of course, of course. Well, go on!”
“Ulder was alone here all night and we have no knowledge of course when he took the whisky or the morphia. I think we’ll find when you’ve examined that glass that the morphia was dissolved in the drink—hot toddy, I imagine. Alcohol would of course retard the action of the morphia. I’d say myself that death only occurred two hours ago at most—say, about eight this morning.”
“Well, let’s see this phial-container! Take care of finger prints, sir! Use a handkerchief!” So the Chief Constable’s thoughts were already turning seriously to murder, thought Dick, as he stretched for the phial on its shelf. “Hullo! Why are you looking at it like that? What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s an odd container,” said Dick, looking apologetically at the doctor. He had no wish to expose the kind little man’s haphazard ways and short sight, but the discovery he made as he stared at the little bottle in his hand was too arresting for him to conceal his feelings. “You remember, sir,” he said to Dr. Lee, “you spoke to us of a patent kind, tried out for and discarded by the R.A.M.C., and distributed to chemists and doctors gratis? And that this was one of them and had therefore a cap at each end?”
“Cap to open at each end? What was the idea?” asked Mack.
“I fancy it was to make it easy for a severely wounded soldier to get at his morphia issue. They were made with that object, I believe,” said Dr. Lee, looking extremely uncomfortable. “Well, what’s your discovery, Dick?”
“Why, just this!” Dick held out the tube exposing five round little pellets of morphia ringed on a bed of cotton wool. “Here’s the dose you left intact at this end. It was the other end which was empty!”
“Then Ulder never touched the stuff I gave him,” cried Dr. Lee, sitting down heavily at the dressing-table. “Well, I’m—yes, I’m—I don’t know what. All along I wondered how so little had finished him off, but now I understand. But how did he get hold of the morphia which did finish him?”
“I suppose he may have got hold of some before.” Mack made the suggestion but already his mind was clearly turning to very different hypotheses.
“If he did, sir, how did he dispose of it?” asked Dick. “We hunted the room pretty thoroughly, because Dr. Lee thought he must have got hold of an additional dose, as well as these pellets, to cause such symptoms.”
“You shouldn’t have done that. Oh, don’t apologize, and stop groaning and cursing yourself for your carelessness. We’re getting into deep waters, very deep waters indeed. If Ulder didn’t take it himself someone brought morphia into this room and administered it.”
“Unless he had some of his own,” Dick reverted hopelessly to his one hope. “His doctor might have given him some for his voyage.”
“Voyage? What voyage?”
“He was going off to America to begin a new life, he said himself,” said Dick reluctantly.
“How could he go to America when everyone knows he’s been in a sea of debt since he left your precious College? And if he was set on a new life why end up instead?” Mack walked across to the bed, drew back the sheet and stared at the bland wax mask before him. “And now,” thought Dick, “the game’s up all right!” for Mack straightened himself up with the crumpled piece of paper and its incriminating list in his hand.
“‘Bishop £2,000—Chancellor £2,000—Judith £5,000—Wye £2,000—Staples £50.’ What on earth is all this? ‘Bishop £2,000!’” He moved to the window and stared at the paper, his eyes alight with curiosity and excitement. “You saw this, Marlin. I’m damned if it can mean anything but—”
“Yes, it’s blackmail all right, sir,” said Dick steadily for the second time that hour.
“What do you know about it? Out with it.”
“All I know has been told in confidence. You’ll hear from—from the people mentioned. I can’t say more.”
“Don’t think you can cover this up,” said Mack fiercely, yet almost exultantly.
“I don’t! Remember, sir, I’d every opportunity to destroy that paper.”
“I wonder you didn’t—to save your Church scandal again. Scandal indeed! I’d like to know where all this will lead! A search in all the rooms for morphia to begin with!”
Dick shrugged his shoulders. No need of admitting the temptation! He could only hope it would percolate to Mack’s mind that clergy as a class were law-abiding and honest. He had no wish to break the silence which brooded over this room where, in the presence of Ulder’s lifeless body, the very essence of evil and its awful consequences in other lives seemed to live after him.
“What’s that?” Mack broke that long pause to swing round as a clear voice reached them.
“Well, my poor Moira, good-bye for a few minutes.”
“Mrs. Mortimer with the invalid next door,” volunteered Dr. Lee.
“Can every word be heard from one room to the other? It’s a partition wall I see? Could this old woman have heard what went on in here last night?”
“I doubt it! Listen! Mrs. Mortimer’s at the door, close to this wall, you see. Moira’s bed is on the far side.”
“And the door’s open,” said Dick as Sue’s voice reached them now. It had not the timbre of Judith’s, but her words were clear:
“Does Moira know you’re here then, Judith? Mother sent up to say you’d better come away. She, poor dear, doesn’t know if you are with her or not.”
“She doesn’t! She hasn’t moved! I was coming away anyhow.” As the two girls walked away down the passage Mack roused himself.
“We must keep this paper and lock up the room and leave it as it is. You spoke of sending the body in by the ambulance? Must go to the mortuary, of course, and we must arrange with Jones for an autopsy as soon as possible. And then, before suspicion is aroused, we must search every room in this warren for morphia of any kind.”
“I suppose any sleeping preparation may contain some, doctor? We should collect all we can find?”
“Well, hardly!” The doctor shook his head. “None of the barbituric groups nor even luminol would produce the same symptoms. In ordinary life I’d say any usual sleeping tablets could be exempted, but this war has made a difference. All sorts of dope has been put privately on the market, not a doubt of it. Those mercy tablets they gave the troops have been on a sort of secret market, I’ve been informed, and used for patent preparations. I doubt their sale in a place like this, but in London you can get any drug you want if you know how to go about it. Look at the cocaine rings, for example. I should say you should get any sleeping draught you come across analysed, unless indeed, you find any container of morphia itself. But have you the right to search private rooms straight away, sir, before the case has even begun, as you might say? If this bag turns up we may find that Ulder had some himself all along.”
“And put an end to his own life just when he’d got his hands on over ten thousand?”
“All his victims may have refused. He may have seen no future,” suggested Dick.
“They may, but I doubt it,” said Mack fiercely. “We’ve seen already what the Church will do to save scandal. Now time’s passing. Look after the things in here, doctor. Now, sir,” he turned upon Dick, “you’ve got to help me. I can trust you, since you were honest enough to leave this bit of evidence about,” he wave
d Ulder’s note. “Must have been a horrid temptation to destroy it! You get hold of the big wigs and say I must interview them in turn, the Bishop first. Meanwhile I’m locking all the doors on this floor. When’s the next prayer meeting?”
“Chapel at eleven, sir!” Dick could not help a smile and Mack clapped his back.
“You’re too good for this show, Dick. Yes, I shall call you that, for that grin of yours reminded me of that day on Echinore. When they’re all shut up, Tonks and Corn must comb out every room. We must get on the track of this bag too. There must be important evidence against Ulder’s victims in it, he wouldn’t come without bringing evidence to support him. What rooms are on this floor in that new wing?”
“The pantry is below, sir, and I wanted to speak to you about the butler, Soames. I think he’s worth attention. Only been here a few months, and I could swear he’s seen the inside of a cell in his time. Says he was invalided out of the R.A.S.C. with shell shock at Rennes. I’m prepared to swear no German aeroplanes ever reached it, and I should fancy he was dismissed the Service for quite other reasons.”
“That’s all very well,” said Mack impatiently. “I expect he is a bad egg, most butlers are nowadays.” (Mack detested menservants on principle.) “But have a little sense! What conceivable motive could such a fellow have? We’ll make enquiries about him of course, but it’s a weary business getting through to the Yard from this dog hole. Did any of your corps go into the C.I.D.?”
“One great friend of mine, Herriot. He’s a detective inspector now, I fancy.”
“Well, look here, you get on to him, and tell him to get a line on your friend’s army record and doings since. Ten to one he’s taken another name by now, but, of course, all you clever young men think nothing of needle-spotting in haystacks. But I can see well enough you’re only starting this hare to take me off the scent for bigger game, but you won’t. I’ve my duty to do, however strange the consequences. Any reason for suspicion?”
“I can’t see how any one else would have stolen a bag. It seems so stupid. Of course it probably contained incriminating papers but why didn’t—well, any possible sufferer from Ulder’s activities—just abstract the papers and leave the rest? Soames equivocated about the luggage he brought up, that was clear, and he’s the look of a sneak-thief. Not of a murderer, I admit. I don’t really suspect him but I feel he comes in the puzzle somewhere.”
“Well, it’s murder we’re investigating, not bag-snatching. What’s this fellow on the list for a mere £50—Staples is it? Oh well, no one is going to bump a man off for £50.”
“Fifty down, you see,” Dick pointed out. “Staples is an Ordination candidate, was under Ulder, like me, five years ago, left when war broke out.”
“What was he in?”
“Well, he was a conchie and was, I fancy, in jug for a bit and then took up some sort of essential work. I’ve hardly seen him yet but he’s a very good chap, I’m sure. I can’t imagine what Ulder had against him but I’ve no doubt £50 would mean as much to him as £2,000 to the others and Ulder may have planned some small regular contribution for him. But though he’s a bit excitable and half Irish, I believe, I can’t imagine—”
Dick’s voice died away. Before all the suspects so obviously in Mack’s mind, his imagination was even more powerless.
“Well, Tonks shall start off with his room and your pantries, and, yes, Mrs. Mortimer’s room, and Corn shall see what gossip he can get from the servants and make a list of them and find their references. Ask the Yard’s help, do you suggest?”
“No, certainly not, not at present. I’m hoping to get a man from Blacksea to work in our Evelake office so that I can keep the men on the job here. But it’s such a confounded haystack of a house to search in, and for a tube about the size of a needle too.”
“What about old Moira’s medicine chest? She has probably more dangerous drugs in her cubby holes than any one else.”
“The old housekeeper? That’s true. I must put them on to her room at once.”
“You can’t possibly search it till the ambulance takes her away for her operation!”
“I suppose not,” admitted Mack unwillingly. “Well, I’ll tell them to do it thoroughly the minute she’s taken away, and keep a look out on people passing in and out. They’ll spot it at hospital if she arrives with her own drugs, and I’ll tell them to let me know. But if any one managed to get anything out of her room last night they couldn’t get it back this morning for she’s not allowed to see any one, you say. Now I suppose I must get down to interviews. I want you to come and take notes for me, Dick. (Can’t keep to Marling with every one here Dicking away!)”
“But look here, sir, I’m here as an Ordinand, not as a sleuth. And surely it’s most unusual to take notes at a preliminary interview? You can’t give the Bishop and the rest a preliminary warning, and a chance to send for their lawyer, before you’ve seen them, and got your own impressions and their version of last night quietly.”
“Now, my dear fellow,” said Mack almost persuasively, “there’s one thing you’ve got to get into your head at once, and that is that murder has been done in this house and that everyone is suspect, everyone, however many mitres and cassocks he wears. But, of course, I don’t want to antagonize any one. That’s why I want you to come and take notes quietly and unofficially. I’ll explain it’s pure routine, just a matter of getting things clear in my own mind.”
Dick gave a reluctant consent. Better he should jot down remarks quietly than that Tonks should sit staring at the Bishop and licking his pencil. But another protest he must make.
“You talk of searching rooms, sir? But surely you can’t do that without a warrant? Except, I imagine, Moira’s, when she has been removed. That would be permissible, but as for the rest—”
“The police must use their discretion in cases of murder,” said Mack sourly. “How can I get a search warrant from the nearest magistrate ten miles away? I’m going to call it a search for the missing bag and papers and tell Tonks and Corn to keep their eyes skinned for poison while they’re on it. I’ll ask leave, you know, and if they refuse one can always put on a bit of pressure—let them see that implies they’ve something to conceal. I’m going to have a look round that Mrs. Fly-by-night Mortimer’s—Judith, as they call her—for myself. She’s the criminal type, you know, low wide forehead and lobeless ears! I can’t help wondering if there might be collusion between father and daughter—”
“What about Staples, sir?” asked Dick impatiently. How had this impulsive, prejudiced old fellow ever risen one step in the police force?
“The fifty-pound entry? Not enough motive. I’ll tell them to search his room, and you have a preliminary talk to him. I haven’t time for everything. Now, come on, Dick, to the Bishop’s room! And remember I want you to study every one’s reactions very closely. So far, you see, it’s only supposed to be a case of suicide. Now they’re going to hear the truth, so keep your eyes open!”
VI
THURSDAY MORNING (12-1)
Apparently Mack was justified in his belief that the clergy were too ignorant to object to notes being taken of their statements at this stage. The Bishop obviously welcomed Dick as a friend and ally against this stout, fiery opponent of the Anglican Church, and Dick settled himself miserably in a corner of the big room, with pen and note book five minutes later. If the portraits of the preceding bishops, if the very calf-bound volumes on the long rows of shelves which lined one side of the room had eyes and ears, what would they think of the plight of their successor? The Chief Constable sat forward uncomfortably in a high armed chair by the fire: the Bishop had swung round from the swivel chair to face Mack, his back to the light, a pale, bent, yet courtly St. Joseph. Some predecessor in the See had employed a local artist to make imaginary portraits of the holders of the diocese, and opposite Dick’s seat hung a forbidding representation of that Bishop Odo of Evelake who in the year 1210 was brought to justice for the murder of the Dean on the altar steps of t
he Cathedral. He had got off indeed by his violent championship of King John against the Pope—but here and now!—Dick pulled himself together. He had been taking down mechanically the answers to Mack’s enquiries about Ulder’s arrival which could bring no new light to their problem. But now the Chief Constable was beginning to move more swiftly.
“I understand, my lord, that the deceased came here without an appointment, and indeed, in defiance of your wishes. Will you tell me what his object in seeking you was?”
“It was a most unpleasant one.” The Bishop raised his arm to the desk and shaded his eyes. “Now that he has gone to his account, his sins, his crimes, had best be forgotten.”
“That depends on the way he went to it,” said Mack slowly and emphatically. “Bishop, you saw him twice at least, I understand, in his bedroom, during the course of the evening?”
“I paid him a visit as my guest, about nine-thirty,” replied the Bishop. “I had occasion then to reprove him for the manner of his life, but as he was not readily impressed, and I laid full stress, I trust, on the infinite mercy of God, I cannot honestly blame myself for driving him to the dreadful step he took. Later on, about eleven o’clock, I looked in, but he was sleeping, as I thought, so I left him undisturbed.”
“You noticed nothing unusual on that second occasion?”
“Why, no, but I did not turn on the light as I judged from his heavy breathing that he was asleep.”
Arrest the Bishop? Page 9
