Flowering Death

by Angus MacVicar

  “Abraham McIntee went to visit his unsuspectin’ rival. Thinking Featherstone asleep when he entered the sick-room, the doctor transferred the bacillus, from the phial in which he carried it, to the other’s bottle of medicine. Featherstone, however, wasn’t asleep. He observed the action, but thought it of no importance at the time. He believed, probably, that the doctor had decided to strengthen the power of his medicine and had done so furtively so as not to alarm the patient. Later, however, when in the last stages of the malignant flower-disease, the incident came back to William Featherstone’s mind. Just before he died he wrote down his suspicions in a feeble, scrawling hand, put the document in a sealed envelope with other private papers and instructed his lawyer to present those documents — along with some little money he had left behind — to his brother, Konrad Featherstone.

  “Dr. McIntee, however, believed that he had triumphed. He had put William Featherstone out of existence and had aroused no suspicion, except, perhaps, in the mind of his victim. He imagined that now his way was clear to win Margaret.

  “And then, returning from the house of William Featherstone, he finds a message at his own home to the effect that Margaret had died that morning, too, having suddenly caught a chill which had developed rapidly into pneumonia.

  “I don’t know if we’d be able to find in the records of the Yard a situation which contains more irony — more pathos. The shock to Dr. McIntee must have been a grievous one. He would be filled with sorrow for the death of his Margaret, with remorse for a useless act of murder. But then his upbringing, his Scottish dourness would again assert themselves. He would decide to put a brave face to the world and to try, by giving the last ounce of his strength to the service of the sick and suffering, to expiate the one evil impulse of his life.

  “He became an honoured, trusted figure in the city of Bombay. And his reputation for dour kindliness grew so quickly that Miss Nevinson’s parents asked him, if anything ever happened to them, to take care of their daughter. And when the time came he did this, to the best of his ability.

  “There must have been many a time, during the period which followed the great tragedy in his life, when Dr. McIntee’s conscience dictated, in spite of danger, that he should make known to science the secret of the cure for the flowering death. But he wasn’t strong enough. He knew, if he gave the world the story of his find, that someone might point out his failure to employ the cure in the case of William Featherstone. So he kept his knowledge a secret. And who, knowin’ the great work he did amongst the poor of Bombay and London, will sit in judgment upon his decision?

  “And while he worked and struggled with his sadness, advertisements were appearing in all the important newspapers of the world to the effect that a firm of solicitors in Bombay wished to interview Konrad Featherstone, brother of William Featherstone, deceased.

  “Now there occurs the crownin’ irony.

  “Konrad Featherstone, durin’ the nine years which intervened between his brother’s death and his own arrival in India, had been travelling in all corners of the globe, a member of various theatrical tourin’ companies. He had been a clean-living, healthy youth — the typical Englishman whom he tried later to impersonate; but the temptations of his profession overcame the good that was inherent in his character. He had his affairs; but he hadn’t the strength of purpose to relinquish them before sexual desire became the predominant motive of his life.

  “It’s a queer psychological fact that sexual gluttony is most common in those whose early lives have been healthy and temperate. Another instance of repression I suppose ... Be that as it may, his desires crowded so strongly upon Konrad Featherstone that they ultimately affected his reason.

  “Despite the fact of his being an excellent actor — and well paid — his need for the money with which to satisfy his wants became so insistent that at last he descended to the rank of a white-slave agent. In this dangerous profession he was liable to receive immense sums. He carried on his nefarious task in various parts of the world, until his eye was finally caught by an advertisement. Then he decided, for the time being, to relinquish his job as an actor and go to Bombay to collect his late brother’s money and papers. While in India he would have a rare opportunity to exercise his talents as a white-slave dealer, for Bombay has a notorious reputation for vice.

  “During a spell of acting in London, Konrad Feather-stone had formed an attachment for a woman — a female counterpart of himself. She was the Hon. Miss Nancy Sanders, beautiful vicious daughter of Lord Eustace Sanders, the Naval Minister. And together the pair went to India and collected William Featherstone’s money and papers.

  “Calling himself Stranger and making himself up with the skill at his command to resemble an oldish, bearded man, Konrad Featherstone enlisted the services of Mexico Madge, Italian George and Peter Passos, to further the interests of his trade. At first he would be forced to engage those better acquainted than himself with the underworld of the city ...

  “Then quite suddenly, infected probably by a native woman with whom he had intercourse, he was attacked by ‘the scourge of the flowers’, and, naturally enough, his principal mistress also became ill with the disease. A servant brought to them the famous doctor and specialist in obscure diseases, Dr. Abraham McIntee.

  “The situation was dramatic. Konrad Featherstone knew the medico to be the man referred to with suspicion by his dead brother. But Dr. McIntee was quite unaware that Mervyn Lancaster was the brother of his old and now half-forgotten rival.

  “Konrad Featherstone waited until he was certain, through personal experience, that Dr. McIntee had knowledge of the cure for the flower-disease. Then his cunning mind realized that, after all, there might have been something in what his brother had written down. During his convalescence, acting the part of an interested and grateful patient, he deliberately questioned the doctor with regard to the cure. And in a moment of mental aberration, Dr. McIntee, by mentioning the date upon which the Pathan had given him the precious piece of paper, delivered himself into the power of Konrad Featherstone.

  “For some time after his convalescence and that of his mistress, Featherstone, a scar on one cheek, evidence of the unclean death which he had escaped, debated in his mind the course of action which he should follow. At first, perhaps, he decided that he would avenge his brother by putting the evidence against Dr. McIntee before the police; but then, gradually, there came into his depraved and twisted mind a better idea. He wanted money to pursue his pleasures. His brother had left him little, and the white-slave business, though lucrative, was infinitely dangerous. It occurred to him that by blackmailing Dr. McIntee he might assure for himself a pleasant competence. He made up his mind finally to put the matter before the old doctor.

  “We can imagine Dr. McIntee’s horror when he learned that the patient he had cured of the flower-disease was none other than William Featherstone’s brother. We can imagine the fear which entered his soul when he realized how he had given away to Konrad Featherstone his knowledge of the cure and the date upon which he had learned of it. We can imagine Konrad Featherstone gloatin’ over his victim’s confession and demanding the price of his silence.

  “And Dr. McIntee agreed to pay the price. He agreed to call Konrad Featherstone by his stage name, Mervyn Lancaster, and to refer to him as his nephew, in case awkward questions should be asked, based on the sudden death of the doctor’s old rival. He agreed to entertain him and to conceal the young man’s real identity from his household. But there must have arisen in his mind a cold and bitter hatred of his tormentor.

  “About this time the Hon. Nancy, fully recovered from her attack of the flower-disease but retaining on her neck the mark of Dr. McIntee’s knife, returned to England. Perhaps she had grown a little afraid of her lover in his new mood of exultant power. Konrad Featherstone alias Mervyn Lancaster stayed on, however, in Bombay, suckin’ at old McIntee’s purse like a vampire. And at last, in despair, the doctor decided, too, to return to England, in an effort
to rid himself of his burden. He bought a practice in the West End, asked Miss Nevinson to be his hostess and tried, at the same time, to begin anew his secret work of healing among the poor of the East End.

  “But when he had settled his affairs in India, Konrad Featherstone announced his intention to follow the old man, and this time demanded that he should be allowed to live in Arundel House. Learning of his tormentor’s impending visit, Dr. McIntee became afraid for Miss Nevinson, for he knew the reputation of his old rival’s brother. He decided upon semi-retirement and took as an assistant and successor a young man for whose medical skill he had come to have the highest regard — Dr. Kenneth Fayne. He installed Fayne in Arundel House, so that Joan — er — Miss Nevinson might not have the exclusive company of Konrad Featherstone when the latter arrived from India.

  “A month later Featherstone took up residence in Arundel House, and shortly afterwards his undoubted ability as an actor secured employment with the Elizabethan Players in the Paternoster Theatre. His vanity, fed by a long series of amatory conquests, by his immunity from arrest as a white-slave agent, by his power over Dr. McIntee, had now become overweening; and as he required an outlet for it, he saw no better way in which to achieve his desire than by appearing in historic roles before madly enthusiastic audiences.”

  Spike paused, glowered at his companions and lit another cigarette. The Assistant Commissioner looked anxiously at the clock. McGonagle and Spring sighed in chorus. Spike was a talker. They knew this fact of old. But never, before this time, had they heard him so long-winded or so leisurely in his speech. What was the purpose behind his loquacity?

  “Now,” continued the head of Department Q7, “we come to a section of the story based on conjecture ... For eleven months Konrad Featherstone lived at Arundel House, becoming more and more puffed up with self-conceit. He had resumed relations with the Hon. Nancy and had scored a great success as a player of Shakespearian parts. But all the while he must have known that Dr. McIntee was growing utterly desperate. He must have known that presently the doctor might make an attempt to rid himself of his intolerable burden.

  “And then, as the madness engendered by his mode of life waxed stronger, the germ of the great idea came to Mervyn Lancaster. He saw the tremendous power which the accomplishment of his idea would give him. He saw, too, that it would rid him of a threat to his life.

  “Learning from various conversations with his victim that Dr. McIntee possessed the bacillus of the flower-disease — a bacillus on which he was constantly experimenting — Lancaster went to the dispensary, probably in the middle of the night, picked the lock of the safe and stole the jar containing the bacillus.

  “He wanted now someone upon whom to experiment, someone to whom he could administer the bacillus so that he might be sure that it was that of the flower-disease. He knew, if the bacillus he’d discovered were not that of another disease, that it would enter the system by being swallowed, for he remembered that Dr. McIntee had infected his brother by putting the bacillus in his medicine. In the guise of Stranger he went to see his companions in crime, Mexico Madge, Italian George and Peter Passos, who, after being ordered to follow him from Bombay, had set up house at Aldersyde in Croydon. They introduced him to Nan Li-San, a person whose affliction with the flower-disease would occasion little interest or surprise.

  “All of you know this part of the story. It is one that I hate to think about ... My God! What a fiend Lancaster had become!

  “He poured some of the white blood containing the culture of the flower-disease bacillus into Nan Li-San’s tea. Then — the devil! — he lay in her arms and told her what he’d done. He said if the flowers came he would send a doctor to cure her ...

  “The flowers did come. Lancaster went home and explained to Dr. McIntee exactly what he had accomplished. He probably laughed shrilly at the horror in the old man’s face and at his victim’s unwillingness, on account of his own guilt, to expose the evil of his ‘nephew’.

  “We have now arrived at the day before the murder.

  “Dr. McIntee, filled with compassion for Nan Li-San, goes to the flat in Limehouse and carries out the first stage of the cure, promising to return and complete it on the followin’ day. He is filled with wild anger against Lancaster, and he has almost made up his mind to kill the second of the Featherstone brothers. I think we have evidence of this in Fayne’s statement to Spring that, while playing billiards with his assistant on the evening before his death, the old man had asked him if the murder of one might be justified by the safety of many. By now, you see, the doctor had realized Lancaster’s purpose — that of acquiring power by his ability to infect people with the flower-disease.

  “Meanwhile Lancaster is makin’ arrangements for his big coup.

  “He has planned to kill Dr. McIntee that night, to steal from his desk the details of the cure and to set afoot his scheme to hold the Government up to ransom under the title of ‘Black and White’. He has seen the Hon. Nancy and has persuaded her to send a bouquet of flowers to Fayne as from ‘a grateful patient’. By this means he hopes to set the police on a false trail. He has also asked her to present to himself, after the evening’s performance of Othello, other bouquets of flowers.

  “He is so vain, so mad, you see, that he cannot resist, even now, the temptation to be theatrical in carrying out his evil deed. We should have known from the beginning that the flower-strewn death chamber signified the murder to be the work of a mad actor, in whose mind there was inextricably mixed the memory of his brother’s murder, the flower-disease and theatrical vanity. We should have known that the vague sense of unreality which lay over the entire case was the result of the principal figure behind the tragedy being an actor and mad. We should have known that the murder was, in a way, a madman’s revenge. Because his brother had been killed by ‘flowers,’ Konrad Featherstone desired to kill the murderer of his brother in a room decorated with flowers. To his mad, perverted brain it would be an artistic revenge — an appropriate revenge. The flower motive would be continued ...

  “During the day, while Dr. Fayne is out on duty, Lancaster takes the bouquet of flowers sent by the ‘grateful patient’ and conceals it in the cavity beneath the mantelpiece in his room.

  “At night, with Miss Senga de Montfiore, he is given a great reception on the conclusion of his performance as Othello. Flowers are thrown on the stage by his admirers and by those of the leading lady. More flowers are handed up from the Hon. Nancy. He pretends to distribute all the flowers among the ladies in the cast — as is the custom — but he secretly retains all those presented to him by his mistress. Then he returns to Arundel House from the theatre at the usual time — about eleven. First of all he goes round to the back of the house and throws the bunches of flowers he has kept into an empty room. Later he comes in by the front door and Seale is able to state that the actor took home no parcels with him that night. Sending Seale off on some errand, Lancaster collects his flowers from the back room and takes them to his own, where he adds to their number Fayne’s bouquet ...

  “Then Seale locks up.

  “At an early hour of the morning — about half-past four, probably — Lancaster goes quietly to Dr. McIntee’s bedroom, rouses him and asks for an immediate interview in the library. The old man, his plans to kill the other not yet complete, has no option but to assent. He is completely in his ‘nephew’s’ power.

  “Downstairs he is amazed to see his library decorated with flowers. He begins to expostulate with his enemy; but Lancaster produces a revolver — one which he has owned since the beginning of his career in the vice racket.

  “‘Where is the paper you keep, showing how to cure the flower-disease?’

  “Lancaster’s question terrifies his victim. Dr. McIntee realizes now that his ‘nephew’ is mad. He points silently to the desk. Keeping the old man covered, Lancaster rummages in the desk, finds the paper explaining the cure and also, in a box, one of the fleshy flowers taken that day by Dr. McIntee from Nan Li-San�
�s body. Then, bein’ aware that his brother’s murderer, now desperate, has outlived his usefulness as a subject for blackmail, Lancaster shoots him in the back at short range.

  “Quickly he heaps the flowers upon the dead body. In his haste he drops the fungoid growth and has no time to search for it among the natural blooms. He strides to the window, and raises the sash ... Before Seale reaches the library Lancaster is back in his bedroom, waitin’ to be roused.”

  Spike pressed out the stub of his cigarette.

  “Oh, and by the way,” he continued: “just another point. I was fairly sure that Lancaster, in his role as Stranger, would come to the rendezvous at Wallace Common last night. When I saw him at the hospital during the afternoon I impressed on Fayne my confidence that I should find the cure. I had an idea that when he returned to Arundel House in the evening the Eurasian would tell Lancaster of this, for it was a spicy bit of gossip ... As I thought, Lancaster had a mild attack of panic at the news and tried to kill me. I believe he still thinks I’m dead ... ”

  He rose.

  “That’s all,” he remarked. “You know the remainder of the yarn ... Come with me, McGonagle and Spring. We’ll have a bite of dinner and then repair to the Paternoster Theatre for the arrest.”

  The Assistant Commissioner seemed so bewildered by the flood of speech just at an end that he could utter no word of warning or advice. He handed the warrant for Lancaster’s arrest to McGonagle.

  CHAPTER XXVII

  SPIKE seemed to linger over dinner. It was after ten o’clock when, with a puzzled McGonagle and an impatient Spring, he arrived at the Paternoster Theatre. The three men had a talk with the manager, explaining in as few words as possible their mission. Having been shown the warrant by McGonagle, the little Jew blenched. He spread wide his hands.

  “Oh, my God!” cried Mr. Jacob Levinson. “This is awful — awful — awful! Lancaster a murderer ... We shall be ruined. Think of the notoriety! For goodness’ sake, he is acting to-night: he is playing Othello like Martin-Harvey, like Irving, like Tree ... Oh, my God, I cannot believe it!”