"Doc Drumm can't leave his patient just now," she informed us, seating herself. "So he sent me along. He'll be down presently."
"And what's the report?" Markham was still standing.
"She'll live, I guess. We've been giving her passive exercise and artificial breathing for half an hour, and the doc hopes to have her walking before long."
Markham, his nervousness somewhat abated, sat down again.
"Tell us all you can, Miss O'Brien. Was there any evidence as to how the poison was administered?"
"Nothing but an empty bouillon cup." The woman was ill at ease. "I guess you'll find remains of morphine in it, all right."
"Why do you think the drug was given by means of the bouillon?"
She hesitated and shot Heath an uneasy look.
"It's this way. I always bring a cup of bouillon to Mrs. Greene a little before eleven in the morning; and if Miss Ada's around I bring two cups— that's the old lady's orders. This morning the girl was in the room when I went down to the kitchen, so I brought up two cups. But Mrs. Greene was alone when I returned, so I gave the old lady hers and put the other cup in Miss Ada's room on the table by the bed. Then I went into the hall to call her. She was downstairs—in the living-room, I guess. Anyhow, she came up right away, and, as I had some mending to do for Mrs. Greene, I went to my room on the third floor..."
"Therefore," interpolated Markham, "the bouillon was on Miss Ada's table unprotected for a minute or so after you had left the room and before Miss Ada came up from the lower hall."
"It wasn't over twenty seconds. And I was right outside the door all the time. Furthermore, the door was open, and I'd have heard anyone in the room." The woman was obviously defending herself desperately against the imputation of negligence in Markham's remark.
Vance put the next question.
"Did you see anyone else in the hall besides Miss Ada?"
"No one except Doctor Von Blon. He was in the lower hall getting into his coat when I called down."
"Did he leave the house at once?"
"Why—yes."
"You actually saw him pass through the door?"
"No—o. But he was putting on his coat, and he had said good bye to Mrs. Greene and me..."
"When?"
"Not two minutes before. I'd met him coming out of Mrs. Greene's door just as I brought in the bouillon."
"And Miss Sibella's dog—did you notice it in the hall anywhere?"
"No; it wasn't around when I was there."
Vance lay back drowsily in his chair, and Markham again took up the interrogation.
"How long did you remain in your room, Miss O'Brien, after you had called Miss Ada?"
"Until the butler came and told me that Doctor Drumm wanted me."
"And how much later would you say that was?"
"About twenty minutes—maybe a little longer."
Markham smoked pensively a while.
"Yes," he commented at length; "it plainly appears that the morphine was somehow added to the bouillon.—You'd better return to Doctor Drumm now, Miss O'Brien. We'll wait here for him."
"Hell!" growled Heath, after the nurse had gone upstairs. "She's the best woman for this sort of a job that we've got. And now she goes and falls down on it."
"I wouldn't say she'd fallen down exactly, Sergeant." dissented Vance, his eyes fixed dreamily on the ceiling. "After all, she only stepped into the hall for a few seconds to summon the young lady to her matutinal broth. And if the morphine hadn't found its way into the bouillon this morning it would have done so to-morrow, or the day after, or some time in the future. In fact, the propitious gods may actually have favoured us this morning as they did the Grecian host before the walls of Troy."
"They will have favoured us," observed Markham, "if Ada recovers and can tell us who visited her room before she drank the bouillon."
The silence that ensued was terminated by the entrance of Doctor Drumm, a youthful, earnest man with an aggressive bearing. He sank heavily into a chair and wiped his face with a large silk handkerchief.
"She's pulled through," he announced. "I happened to be standing by the window looking out—sheer chance—when I saw the curtains go down—saw 'em before Hennessey[22] did. I grabbed up my bag and the pulmotor, and was over here in a jiffy. The butler was waiting at the door, and took me upstairs. Queer crab, that butler. The girl was lying across the bed, and it didn't take but one look to see that I wasn't dealing with strychnine. No spasms or sweating or risus sardonicus, you understand. Quiet and peaceful; shallow breathing; cyanosis. Morphine evidently. Then I looked at her pupils. Pinpoints. No doubt now. So I sent for the nurse and got busy."
"A close call?" asked Markham.
"Close enough." The doctor nodded importantly. "You can't tell what would have happened if somebody hadn't got to her in a hurry. I figured she'd got all six grains that were lost, and gave her a good stiff hypo of atropine—a fiftieth. It reacted like a shot. Then I washed her stomach out with potassium permanganate. After that I gave her artificial respiration—she didn't seem to need it, but I wasn't taking any chances. Then the nurse and I got busy exercising her arms and legs, trying to keep her awake. Tough work, that. Hope I don't get pneumonia sweating there with the windows all open... Well, so it went. Her breathing kept getting better, and I gave her another hundredth of atropine for good measure. At last I managed to get her on her feet. The nurse is walking her up and down now." He mopped his face again with a triumphant flourish of the handkerchief.
"We're greatly indebted to you, doctor," said Markham. "It's quite possible you have been the means of solving this case.—When will we be able to question your patient?"
"She'll be loggy and nauseated all day—kind of general collapse, you understand, with painful breathing, drowsiness, headache, and that sort of thing—no fit condition to answer questions. But to-morrow morning you'll be able to talk to her as much as you like."
"That will be satisfactory. And what of the bouillon cup the nurse mentioned?"
"It tasted bitter—morphine, all right."
As Drumm finished speaking Sproot passed down the hall to the front door. A moment later Von Blon paused at the archway and looked into the drawing-room. The strained silence which followed the exchange of greetings caused him to study us with growing alarm.
"Has anything happened?" he finally asked.
It was Vance who rose and, with quick decision, assumed the rôle of spokesman.
"Yes, doctor. Ada has been poisoned with morphine. Doctor Drumm here happened to be in the Narcoss Flats opposite and was called in."
"And Sibella—is she all right?" Von Blon spoke excitedly.
"Oh, quite."
A relieved sigh escaped him, and he sank into a chair. "Tell me about it. When was the—the murder discovered?"
Drumm was about to correct him when Vance said quickly:
"Immediately after you left the house this morning. The poison was administered in the bouillon the nurse brought from the kitchen."
"But... how could that be?" Von Blon appeared unbelieving. "I was just going when she brought the bouillon. I saw her enter with it. How could the poison—?"
"That reminds me, doctor." Vance's tone was almost dulcet. "Did you, by any hap, go upstairs again after you had donned your coat?"
Von Blon looked at him with outraged astonishment. "Certainly not! I left the house immediately."
"That would have been just after the nurse called down to Ada."
"Why—yes. I believe the nurse did call down; and Ada went upstairs at once—if I recall correctly."
Vance smoked a moment, his gaze resting curiously on the doctor's troubled face.
"I would suggest, without any intention of being impertinent, that your present visit follows rather closely upon your former one."
Von Blon's face clouded over, but I failed to detect any resentment in his expression.
"Quite true," he rejoined, and shifted his eyes. "The fact is, sir, that ever since thos
e drugs disappeared from my case I've felt that something tragic was impending, and that I was in some way to blame. Whenever I'm in this neighbourhood I can't resist the impulse to call here and—and see how things are going."
"Your anxiety is wholly understandable." Vance's tone was non-committal. Then he added negligently: "I suppose you will have no objection to Doctor Drumm continuing with Ada's case."
"Continuing?" Von Blon brought himself up straight in his chair. "I don't understand. You said a moment ago—"
"That Ada had been poisoned," finished Vance. "Quite. But d'ye see, she didn't die."
The other looked dumbfounded.
"Thank God for that!" he exclaimed, rising nervously.
"And," added Markham, "we are making no mention whatever of the episode. You will, therefore, be guided by our decision."
"Of course.—And is it permitted that I see Ada?"
Markham hesitated, and Vance answered:
"If you care to—certainly." He turned to Drumm. "Will you be so good as to accompany Doctor Von Blon?"
Drumm and Von Blon left the room together.
"I don't wonder he's on edge," commented Markham. "It's not pleasant to learn of people being poisoned with drugs lost through one's own carelessness."
"He wasn't worrying as much over Ada as he was over Sibella," remarked Heath.
"Observin' fella!" smiled Vance. "No, Sergeant; Ada's demise apparently bothered him far less than Sibella's possible state of health... Now, I wonder what that means. It's an inveiglin' point. But—dash it all—it everts my pet theory."
"So you have a theory." Markham spoke rebukingly.
"Oh, any number of 'em. And, I might add, they're all pets." Vance's lightness of tone meant merely that he was not ready to outline his suspicions; and Markham did not push the matter.
"We won't need any theories," declared Heath, "after we've heard what Ada's got to tell us. As soon as she talks to us to-morrow we'll be able to figure out who poisoned her"
"Perhaps," murmured Vance.
Drumm returned alone a few minutes later.
"Doctor Von Blon has stepped into the other girl's room. Said he'd be down right away."
"What did he have to say about your patient?" asked Vance.
"Nothing much. She put new energy into her walking the minute she saw him, though. Smiled at him, too, by Jove! A good sign, that. She'll come through fast. Lot of resistance in her."
Drumm had hardly ceased speaking when we heard Sibella's door close and the sound of descending footsteps on the stairs.
"By the by, doctor," said Vance to Von Blon as the latter re-entered the drawing-room, "have you seen Oppenheimer yet?"
I saw him at eleven. The fact is, I went direct to him after leaving here this morning. He has agreed to make an examination to-morrow at ten o'clock."
"And was Mrs. Greene agreeable?"
"Oh, yes. I spoke to her about it this morning; and she made no objection whatever."
A short while later we took our departure. Von Blon accompanied us to the gate, and we saw him drive off in his car.
"We'll know more by this time to-morrow, I hope," said Markham on the way down-town. He was unwontedly depressed, and his eyes were greatly troubled. "You know, Vance, I'm almost appalled by the thought of what Oppenheimer's report may be."
No report was ever made by Doctor Oppenheimer, however. At some time between one and two the next morning Mrs. Greene died in convulsions as a result of strychnine poisoning.
21. A DEPLETED HOUSEHOLD
(Friday, December 3rd; forenoon)
MARKHAM brought us the news of Mrs. Greene's death before ten o'clock the next morning. The tragedy had not been discovered until nine, when the nurse brought up her patient's morning tea. Heath had notified Markham, and Markham had stopped on his way to the Greene mansion to apprise Vance of the new development. Vance and I had already breakfasted, and we accompanied him to the house.
"This knocks out our only prop," Markham said despondently, as we sped up Madison Avenue. "The possibility that the old lady was guilty was frightful to contemplate; though all along I've been trying to console myself with the thought that she was insane. Now, however, I almost wish our suspicions had proved true, for the possibilities that are left seem even more terrible. We're dealing now with a cold-blooded calculating rationality."
Vance nodded.
"Yes, we're confronted with something far worse than mania. I can't say, though, that I'm deeply shocked by Mrs. Greene's death. She was a detestable woman, Markham—a most detestable woman. The world will not bemoan her loss."
Vance's comment expressed exactly the sentiment I had felt when Markham informed us of Mrs. Greene's death. The news had of course shaken me, but I had no pity for the victim. She had been vicious and unnatural; she had thrived on hatred, and had made life a hell for everyone about her. It was better that her existence was over.
Both Heath and Drumm were waiting for us in the drawing-room. Excitement and depression were mingled in the Sergeant's countenance, and the desperation of despair shone in his china-blue eyes. Drumm revealed only a look of professional disappointment: his chief concern apparently was that he had been deprived of an opportunity to display his medical skill.
Heath, after shaking hands absently, briefly explained the situation.
"O'Brien found the old dame dead at nine this morning, and told Sproot to wigwag to Doc Drumm. Then she phoned the Bureau, and I notified you and Doc Doremus. I got here fifteen or twenty minutes ago, and locked up the room."
"Did you inform Von Blon?" Markham asked.
"I phoned him to call off the examination he'd arranged for ten o'clock. Said I'd communicate with him later, and hung up before he had time to ask any questions."
Markham indicated his approval and turned toward Drumm.
"Give us your story, doctor."
Drumm drew himself up, cleared his throat, and assumed an attitude calculated to be impressive. "I was downstairs in the Narcoss dining-room eating breakfast when Hennesey came in and told me the curtains had gone down in the reception-room here. So I snatched my outfit and came over on the run. The butler took me to the old lady's room, where the nurse was waiting. But right away I saw I was too late to be of any good. She was dead—contorted, blue and cold—and rigor mortis had set in. Died of a big dose of strychnine. Probably didn't suffer much—exhaustion and coma came inside of half an hour, I'd say. Too old, you understand, to throw it off. Old people succumb to strychnine pretty swiftly..."
"What about her ability to cry out and give the alarm?"
"You can't tell. The spasm may have rendered her mute. Anyway, no one heard her. Probably passed into unconsciousness after the first seizure. My experience with such cases has taught me—"
"What time would you say the strychnine was taken?"
"Well, now, you can't tell exactly." Drumm became oracular. "The convulsions may have been prolonged before death supervened, or death may have supervened very shortly after the poison was swallowed."
At what hour, then, would you fix the time of death?"
"There again you can't say definitely. Confusion between rigor mortis and the phenomenon of cadaveric spasm is a pitfall into which many doctors fall. There are however, distinct points of dissimilarity—"
"No doubt." Markham was growing impatient with Drumm's sophomoric pedantries. "But leaving all explanation to one side, what time do you think Mrs. Greene died?"
Drumm pondered the point.
"Roughly, let us say, at two this morning."
"And the strychnine might have been taken as early as eleven or twelve?"
"It's possible."
"Anyhow, we'll know about it when Doc Doremus gets here," asserted Heath with brutal frankness. He was in vicious mood that morning.
"Did you find any glass or cup by which the drug might have been administered, doctor?" Markham hastened to ask, by way of covering up Heath's remark.
"There was a glass near the bed w
ith what appeared to be sulphate crystals adhering to the sides of it."
"But wouldn't a fatal dose of strychnine make an ordin'ry drink noticeably bitter?" Vance had suddenly become alert.
"Undoubtedly. But there was a bottle of citrocarbonate—a well-known antacid—on the night-table; and if the drug had been taken with this, the taste would not have been detected. Citrocarbonate is slightly saline and highly effervescing."
"Could Mrs. Greene have taken the citrocarbonate alone?"
"It's not likely. It has to be carefully mixed with water, and the operation would be highly awkward for anyone in bed."
"Now, that's most interestin'." Vance listlessly lighted a cigarette. "We may presume, therefore, that the person who gave Mrs. Greene the citrocarbonate also administered the strychnine." He turned to Markham. "I think Miss O'Brien might be able to help us."
Heath went at once and summoned the nurse.
But her evidence was unilluminating. She had left Mrs. Greene reading about eleven o'clock, had gone to her own room to make her toilet for the night, and had returned to Ada's room half an hour later, where she had slept all night, according to Heath's instructions. She had risen at eight, dressed, and gone to the kitchen to fetch Mrs. Greene's tea. As far as she knew, Mrs. Greene had drunk nothing before retiring—certainly she had taken no citrocarbonate up to eleven o'clock. Furthermore, Mrs. Greene never attempted to take it alone.
"You think, then," asked Vance, "that it was given to her by someone else?"
"You can bank on it," the nurse assured him bluntly. "If she'd wanted it, she'd have raised the house before mixing it herself."
"It's quite obvious," Vance observed to Markham, "that someone entered her room after eleven o'clock and prepared the citrocarbonate."
Markham got up and walked anxiously about the room.
"Our immediate problem boils down to finding out who had the opportunity to do it," he said. "You, Miss O'Brien, may return to her room..." Then he went to the bell-cord and rang for Sproot.
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