"I can assure Mr. Bradley," said Miss Dammers with irony, "that Sir Eustace's standard of honour falls a good deal short of his own."
"In this case," Mr. Bradley told them, unmoved, "I think not."
"How is that?"
"Because I'm quite sure that apart from my unconscious informant, and Sir Eustace, and myself, there is nobody who knows of the connection at all. Except the lady, of course," added Mr. Bradley punctiliously. "Naturally it would not have escaped her."
"Then how did you find out?" demanded Miss Dammers.
"That," Mr. Bradley informed her equably, "I regret that I'm not at liberty to say."
Roger stroked his chin. Could there be another one of whom he had never heard? In that case, how would this new theory of his continue to stand up?
"Your so close parallel falls to the ground, then?" Mrs. Fielder - Flemming was stating.
"Not altogether. But if it does, I've got another just as good. Christina Edmunds. Almost the same case, with the insanity left out. Jealousy - mania. Poisoned chocolates. What could be better?"
"Humph! The mainstay of your last case, I gathered," observed Sir Charles, "or at any rate the starting - point, was the choice of nitrobenzene. I suppose that, and the deductions you drew from it, are equally important to this one. Are we to take it that this lady is an amateur chemist, with a copy of Taylor on her shelves?"
Mr. Bradley smiled gently. "That, as you rightly point out, was the mainstay of my last case, Sir Charles. It isn't of this one. I'm afraid my remarks on the choice of poison were rather special pleading. I was leading up to a certain person, you see, and therefore only drew the deductions which suited that particular person. However, there was a good deal of possible truth in them for all that, though I wouldn't rate their probability quite as high as I pretended to do then. I'm quite prepared to believe that nitrobenzene was used simply because it's so easy to get hold of. But it's perfectly true that the stuff's hardly known as a poison at all."
"Then you make no use of it in your present case?"
"Oh, yes, I do. I still think the point that the criminal not so much used it as knew of it to use, is a perfectly sound one. The reason for that knowledge should be capable of being established. I stuck out before for a copy of some such book as Taylor as the reason, and I still do. As it happens this good lady has got a copy of Taylor."
"She is a criminologist, then?" Mrs. Fielder - Flemming pounced.
Mr. Bradley leaned back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling. "That, I should think, is very much open to question. Frankly, I'm puzzled over the matter of criminology. Myself, I don't see that lady as an ' - ist' of any description. Her function in life is perfectly obvious, the one she fulfilled for Sir Eustace, and I shouldn't have thought her capable of any other. Except to powder her nose rather charmingly, and looked extremely decorative, but all that's part and parcel of her real raison d'etre. No, I don't think she could possibly be a criminologist, any more than a canary - bird could. But she certainly has a smattering of criminology, because in her flat there's a whole bookshelf filled with works on the subject."
"She's a personal friend of yours, then?" queried Mrs. Fielder - Flemming, very casually.
"Oh, no. I've only met her once. That was when I called at her flat with a brand - new copy of a recently published book of popular murders under my arm, and represented myself as a traveller for the publisher soliciting orders for the book; might I have the pleasure of putting her name down? The book had only been out four days, but she proudly showed me a copy of it on her shelves already. Was she interested in criminology, then. Oh, yes, she simply adored it; murder was too fascinating, wasn't it? Conclusive, I think."
"She sounds a bit of a fool," commented Sir Charles.
"She looks like a bit of a fool," agreed Mr. Bradley. "She talks like a bit of a fool. Meeting her at a tea - fight, I should have said she is a bit of a fool. And yet she carried through a really cleverly planned murder, so I don't see how she can be a bit of a fool."
"It doesn't occur to you," remarked Miss Dammers, "that perhaps she never did anything of the sort?"
"Well, no," Mr. Bradley had to confess. "I'm afraid it doesn't. I mean, a comparatively recent discarded mistress of Sir Eustace's (well, not more than three years ago, and hope dies hard), who thinks no small champagne of herself and considers murder too fascinating for words. Well, really!
"By the way, if you want any confirmatory evidence that she had been one of Sir Eustace's lady - loves, I might add that I saw a photograph of him in her flat. It was in a frame that had a very wide border. The border showed the word 'Your' and conveniently cut off the rest. Not 'Yours,' notice, but 'Your.' I think it's a reasonable assumption that something quite affectionate lies under that discreet border."
"I have it from his own lips that Sir Eustace changes his mistresses as often as his hats," Miss Dammers said briskly. "Isn't it possible that more than one may have suffered from a jealousy - complex?"
"But not, I think, have possessed a copy of Taylor as well," Mr. Bradley insisted.
"The criminological - knowledge factor seems to have taken the place in this case of the nitrobenzene factor in the last," meditated Mr. Chitterwick. "Am I right in thinking that?"
"Quite," Mr. Bradley assured him kindly. "That, in my opinion, is the really important clue. It's so emphasised, you see. We get it from two entirely different angles, the choice of poison and the reminiscent features of the case. In fact we're coming up against it all the time."
"Well, well," muttered Mr. Chitterwick, reproving himself as one might who had been coming up against a thing all the time and never even noticed it. There was a short silence, which Mr. Chitterwick imputed (quite wrongly) to a general condemnation of his own obtuseness.
"Your list of conditions," Miss Dammers resumed the charge. "You said you hadn't been able to check all of them. Which does this woman definitely fulfil, and which haven't you been able to check?"
Mr. Bradley assumed an air of alertness. "No. 1, I don't know whether she has any chemical knowledge. No. 2, I do know that she has at least an elementary knowledge of criminology. No. 3, she is almost certain to have had a reasonably good education (though whether she ever learnt anything is quite a different matter), and I think we may assume that she was never at a public - school. No. 4, I haven't been able to connect her with Mason's notepaper, except in so far as she has an account at Mason's; and if that is good enough for Sir Charles, it's good enough for me. No. 5, I haven't been able to connect her with a Hamilton typewriter, but that ought to be quite easy; one of her friends is sure to have one.
"No. 6, she could have been in the neighbourhood of Southampton Street. She tried to establish an alibi, but bungled it badly; it's full of holes. She's supposed to have been in a theatre, but she didn't even get there till well past nine. No. 7, I saw an Onyx fountain - pen on her bureau. No. 8, I saw a bottle of Harfield's Fountain - Pen Ink in one of the pigeon - holes of the bureau.
"No. 9, I shouldn't have said she had a creative mind; I shouldn't have said that she had a mind at all; but apparently we must give her the benefit of any doubt there is. No. 10, judging from her face, I should say she was very neat with her fingers. No. 11, if she is a person of methodical habits she must feel it an incriminating point, for she certainly disguises it very well. No. 12, this I think might be amended, to 'must have the poisoner's complete lack of imagination.' That's the lot."
"I see," said Miss Dammers. "There are gaps."
"There are," Mr. Bradley agreed blandly. "To tell the truth, I know this woman must have done it because really, you know, she must. But I can't believe it,"
"Ah!" said Mrs. Fielder - Flemming, putting a neat sentence into one word.
"By the way, Sheringham," remarked Mr. Bradley, "you know the bad lady."
"I do, do I?" said Roger, apparently coming out of a trance. "I thought I might. Look here, if I write a name down on a piece of paper, do you mind telling me if I'm right or wrong?"
"Not in the least," replied the equable Mr. Bradley. "As a matter of fact I was going to suggest something like that myself. I think as President you ought to know who I mean, in case there is anything in it."
Roger folded his piece of paper in two and tossed it down the table. "That's the person, I suppose."
"You're quite right," said Mr. Bradley.
"And you base most of your case on her reasons for interesting herself in criminology?"
"You might put it like that," conceded Mr. Bradley.
In spite of himself Roger blushed faintly. He had the best of reasons for knowing why Mrs. Verreker - le - Mesurer professed such an interest in criminology. Not to put too fine a point on it, the reasons had been almost forced on him.
"Then you're absolutely wrong, Bradley," he said without hesitation. "Absolutely."
"You know definitely?"
Roger suppressed an involuntary shudder. "Quite definitely."
"You know, I never believed she did it," said the philosophical Mr. Bradley.
THE POISONED CHOCOLATES CASE
CHAPTER XII
ROGER was very busy.
Flitting in taxis hither and thither, utterly regardless of what the clocks had to tell him, he was trying to get his case completed before the evening. His activities might have seemed to that artless criminologist, Mrs. Verreker - le - Mesurer, not only baffling but pointless.
On the previous afternoon, for instance, he had taken his first taxi to the Holborn Public Library and there consulted a work of reference of the most uninspiring description. After that he had driven to the offices of Messrs. Weall and Wilson, the well - known firm which exists to protect the trade interests of individuals and supply subscribers with highly confidential information regarding the stability of any business in which it is intended to invest money.
Roger, glibly representing himself as a potential investor of large sums, had entered his name as a subscriber, filled up a number of the special enquiry forms which are headed Strictly Confidential, and not consented to go away until Messrs. Weall and Wilson had promised, in consideration of certain extra moneys, to have the required information in his hands within twenty - seven hours.
He had then bought a newspaper and gone to Scotland Yard. There he sought out Moresby. "Moresby," he said without preamble, "I want you to do something important for me. Can you find me a taximan who took up a fare in Piccadilly Circus or its neighbourhood at about ten minutes past nine on the night before the Bendix murder, and deposited same at or near the Strand end of Southampton Street? And/or another taxi who took up a fare in the Strand near Southampton Street at about a quarter - past nine, and deposited same in the neighbourhood of Piccadilly Circus? The second is the more likely of the two; I'm not quite sure about the first. Or one taxi might have been used for the double journey, but I doubt that very much. Do you think you can do this for me?"
"We may not get any results, after all this time," said Moresby doubtfully. "It's really important, is it?"
"Quite important."
"Well, I'll try of course, seeing it's you, Mr. Sheringham, and I know I can take your word for it that it is important. But I wouldn't for any one else."
"That's fine," said Roger with much heartiness. "Make it pretty urgent, will you? And you might give me a ring at the Albany at about tea - time tomorrow, if you think you've got hold of my man." "What's the idea, then, Mr. Sheringham?"
"I'm trying to break down a rather interesting alibi," said Roger.
He went back to his rooms to dine. After the meal his head was buzzing far too busily for him to be able to do anything else but take it for a walk. Restlessly he wandered out of the Albany and turned down Piccadilly. He ambled round the Circus, thinking hard, and paused for a moment out of habit to inspect with unseeing eyes the photographs of the new revue hanging outside the Pavilion. The next thing he realised was that he must have turned down the Haymarket and swung round in a wide circle into Jermyn Street, for he was standing outside the Imperial Theatre in that fascinating thoroughfare, idly watching the last of the audience crowding in.
Glancing at the advertisements of The Creaking Skull, he saw that the terrible thing began at half - past eight. Glancing at his watch, he saw that the time was twenty - nine minutes past that hour.
There was an evening to be got through somehow.
He went inside.
The night passed somehow, too.
Early the next morning (or early, that is, for Roger; say half - past ten), in a bleak spot somewhere beyond the bounds of civilisation, in short in Acton, Roger found himself parleying with a young woman in the offices of the Anglo - Eastern Perfumery Company. The young woman was entrenched behind a partition just inside the main entrance, her only means of communication with the outer world being through a small window fitted with frosted glass. This window she would open (if summoned long and loudly enough) to address a few curt replies to importunate callers, and this window she would close with a bang by way of a hint that the interview, in her opinion, should now be closed.
"Good morning," said Roger blandly, when his third rap had summoned this maiden from the depths of her fastness. "I've called to - - - "
"Travellers, Tuesday and Friday mornings, ten to eleven," said the maiden surprisingly, and closed the window with one of her best bangs. That'll teach him to try and do business with a respectable English firm on a Thursday morning, good gracious me, said the bang.
Roger stared blankly at the closed window. Then it dawned on him that a mistake had been made. He rapped again. And again. At the fourth rap the window flew open as if something had exploded behind it. "I've told you already," snapped the maiden, righteously indignant, "that we only see - - "
"I'm not a traveller," said Roger hastily. "At least," he added with meticulousness, thinking of the dreary deserts he had explored before finding this inhospitable oasis, "at least, not a commercial one."
"You don't want to sell anything?" asked the maiden suspiciously. Impregnated with all that is best in the go - ahead spirit of English business methods, she naturally looked with the deepest distrust on anybody who might possibly wish to do such an unbusinesslike thing as sell her firm something.
"Nothing," Roger assured her with the utmost earnestness, impressed in his turn with the revolting vulgarity of such a proceeding.
On these conditions it appeared that the maiden, though - by no means ready to take him to her bosom, was prepared to tolerate him for a few seconds. "Well, what do you want then?" she asked, with an air of weariness patiently, even nobly borne. From her tone it was to be gathered that very few people penetrated as far as that door unless with the discreditable intention of trying to do business with her firm. Just fancy - business!
"I'm a solicitor," Roger told her now, without truth, "and I'm enquiring into the matter of a certain Mr. Joseph Lea Hardwick, who was employed here. I regret to say that - - "
"Sorry, never heard of the gentleman," said the maiden shortly, and intimated in her usual way that the interview had lasted quite long enough.
Once more Roger got busy with his stick. After the seventh application he was rewarded with another view of indignant young English girlhood. "I've told you already - - "
But Roger had had about enough of this. "And now, young woman, let me tell you something. If you refuse to answer my questions, let me warn you that you may find yourself in very serious trouble. Haven't you ever heard of contempt of court?" There are times when some slight juggling with the truth is permissible. There are times, too, when even a shrewd blow with a bludgeon may be excused. This time was one of both.
The maiden, though far from cowed, was at last impressed. "Well, what do you want to know then?" she asked, resignedly.
"This man, Joseph Lea Hardwick - - "
"I've told you, I've never heard of him."
As the gentleman in question had enjoyed an existence of only two or three minutes, and that solely in Roger's brain, his creator was not u
nprepared for this. "It is possible that he was known to you under a different name," he said darkly.
The maiden's interest was engaged. More, she looked positively alarmed. She spoke shrilly. "If it's divorce, let me tell you you can't hang anything on me. I never even knew he was married. Besides, it isn't as if there was a cause. I mean to say - well, at least - anyhow, it's a pack of lies. I never - - "
"It isn't divorce," Roger hastened to stem the tide, himself scarcely less alarmed at these quite unmaidenly revelations. "It's - it's nothing to do with your private life at all. It's about a man who was employed here."
"Oh!" The late maiden's relief turned rapidly into indignation. "Well, why couldn't you say so?"
"Employed here," pursued Roger firmly, "in the nitrobenzene department. You have a nitrobenzene department, haven't you? "
"Not that I'm aware of, I'm sure."
Roger made the noise that is usually spelt "Tchah! You know perfectly well what I mean. The department which handles the nitrobenzene used here. You are hardly prepared to deny that nitrobenzene is used here, I hope? And extensively?"
"Well, and what if it is?"
"It has been reported to my firm that this man met his death through insufficient warning having been issued to the employees here about the dangerous nature of this substance. I should like - - "
"What? One of our men died? I don't believe it. I should have been the first to know if - - "
"It's been hushed up," Roger inserted quickly. "I should like you to show me a copy of the warning that is hung up in the factory about nitrobenzene."
"Well, I'm sorry then, but I'm afraid I can't oblige you."
The Poisoned Chocolates Case rs-5 Page 13
