Mystery at Olympia

by John Rhode

  ‘A strong girl like you doesn’t die as easily as all that,’ said Mrs Markle cheerfully. She beckoned to the kitchenmaid, a strapping wench, who was standing by helplessly, with eyes wide open in horror. ‘Take hold of her under the knees, Kate,’ she continued. ‘That’s right. We’ll carry her on to the sofa in the servants’ hall.’

  Jessie wailed piteously as they lifted her, but she seemed a little more comfortable when she had been deposited on the sofa. ‘Now then, Kate, look sharp!’ said Mrs Markle. ‘Fill a couple of hot-water bottles, and put them on her stomach. Then see if she can drink a drop of water, while I go and telephone for Doctor Formby.’

  She hurried away to the telephone. Doctor Formby, who lived a short distance away, and upon whose panel were all the members of the domestic staff at Firlands, was at lunch. On hearing Mrs Markle’s account of Jessie’s symptoms, he promised to come round at once.

  Mrs Markle returned to her patient. Jessie was suffering from a parching thirst, but every mouthful of water she managed to take caused a return of her sickness. She complained of cramp in the limbs, and continually tossed about to obtain relief. Mrs Markle was doing her best to make her comfortable when Doctor Formby arrived.

  He felt the girl’s pulse and looked at her tongue. Then he issued hurried instructions to Mrs Markle. Between them, they managed to wash out the remaining contents of the girl’s stomach. Then Doctor Formby gave her an injection, and watched her until it had taken effect. He turned to Mrs Markle. ‘She’s been sick, you say?’ he asked.

  ‘Terrible sick, doctor,’ the housekeeper replied. ‘All over the kitchen floor.’

  ‘Well, don’t let them clear it up just yet. I shall want a specimen. Have you got any weed-killer in the house?’

  ‘Weed-killer! No, there’s none in the house. Bulstrode, that does the garden, may have some in the potting-shed. But I could easily send one of the girls into the town to buy some, if you’re wanting it.’

  ‘No, I don’t want it,’ replied Doctor Formby slowly. He wondered if it were safe to confide in Mrs Markle, and decided that it was. He knew her as a sensible woman, who could hold her tongue, and was not in the habit of becoming panic-stricken. ‘I asked if you had any weed-killer in the house because I wondered whether Jessie could have taken any,’ he continued. ‘I don’t want you to say anything to anybody else, Mrs Markle. But, between ourselves, this looks to me very like a case of acute arsenical poisoning.’

  Mrs Markle gave him a horrified glance. ‘Arsenic!’ she exclaimed. ‘There’s never been anything like that in the house, to my knowledge.’

  ‘I can’t be certain, until I’ve had time to make a test,’ replied Doctor Formby. ‘But it’s only fair to warn you that I’m pretty sure of it. The point is, where did the stuff come from? She hasn’t seemed depressed or anything lately, has she?’

  ‘Jessie? Why, she’s the most cheerful girl I’ve ever had to do with. Always laughing and singing about the place.’

  ‘None of the other girls got a grudge against her, by any chance?’

  Mrs Markle shook her head decidedly. ‘Everybody who knows Jessie likes her,’ she replied.

  ‘Well, she must have taken it accidentally. Don’t let any of the others have any dinner. It won’t do them any harm to starve for a few hours. And try to find out what she’s had to eat today. I shall stay with her for the present, till I see how things go.’

  Mrs Markle went off to find the cook, whom she questioned closely. Jessie had had the same breakfast as the rest, none of whom had felt any ill effects. She had had a cup of tea at eleven, from a teapot which Mrs Rugg herself had shared with her. ‘And apart from that, she’s had nothing from my larder,’ concluded the cook with conviction.

  The housekeeper went up to Jessie’s room and searched it diligently. She found nothing whatever to eat or drink, not even a biscuit or a packet of sweets. Then she returned to the servants’ hall, and made her report to Doctor Formby.

  ‘Well, it’s very queer,’ said the doctor. ‘Stay with her for a minute or two, will you, Mrs Markle? I’ll go and collect my specimen, and then the mess can be cleared up.’

  He returned with a sealed jar, which he put in his bag. Then he resumed his vigil by the sofa, holding the unconscious girl’s wrist. Not until half-past three did he pronounce his verdict. ‘She’ll pull through now, I think,’ he said. ‘She’d better not be moved for the present, but keep her as warm as you can. I’ll send a nurse round, and come round myself in a few hours’ time.’ He paused, and looked fixedly at Mrs Markle. ‘I’m going back home now to test this specimen. You realise that if the test confirms the presence of arsenic, I shall have to inform the police?’

  Mrs Markle bowed her grey head silently. The idea of the police had been in her mind ever since the ominous word arsenic had first been mentioned. But, whatever would Mr Pershore say?

  A rather awkward pause ensued, broken by a timid knocking on the door. ‘Who’s there?’ Mrs Markle called out sharply.

  ‘It’s me, Kate, Mrs Markle. Sergeant Draper’s here, and he’s asking to see you.’

  Doctor Formby and Mrs Markle exchanged startled glances. Sergeant Draper was a genial officer from the local police station. This was talking of the devil, with a vengeance. Had news of Jessie’s attack and its cause got abroad already?’

  ‘We’ll see him together,’ said the doctor, with sudden determination. ‘I don’t want this girl left alone. It had better be in here.’

  Mrs Markle nodded. ‘Bring the sergeant down here, will you, Kate?’ she called.

  Again that awkward pause, till the door opened and Sergeant Draper appeared. He was a massive, imposing-looking person, and usually wore an expression of the utmost cheerfulness. But now his countenance was one of portentous solemnity.

  His eyebrows went up in astonishment as he recognised Doctor Formby and the unconscious girl on the sofa. ‘I beg pardon for intruding, I’m sure,’ he exclaimed. ‘I didn’t know that there was anybody taken bad in the house. Why, ’tis Jessie Twyford, surely!’ He took a step forward towards the sofa, then hurriedly checked himself, but his eyes remained fixed upon Jessie’s ashen face.

  ‘You didn’t know?’ said Doctor Formby slowly. ‘Then what brings you here, sergeant?’

  Sergeant Draper averted his gaze from the girl, and fixed it on Mrs Markle. ‘It’s sorrowful news I bring,’ he replied. ‘Do you know where Mr Pershore went today, Mrs Markle?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ said the housekeeper. ‘Mr Pershore doesn’t consult me on his comings and goings. To his office, likely enough. He usually goes there on Monday mornings.’

  ‘You didn’t know that he’d gone to the Motor Show, then?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. But why shouldn’t he, if he wanted to? It’s more than once that he’s spoken of buying a car.’

  ‘Well, however it may be, he did go to Olympia. They’ve just rung up the station from there.’

  ‘Rung up? What should they ring up for?’ And then a sudden comprehension of the sergeant’s meaning dawned upon Mrs Markle. ‘There’s—there’s nothing happened to Mr Pershore, is there?’ she whispered urgently.

  The sergeant lowered his head. ‘He’s dead, ma’am,’ he replied gently. ‘Fainted away suddenly, and passed off without a bit of pain.’

  Mrs Markle’s face contracted, but apart from that she gave no sign. Her experiences before she became Mr Pershore’s housekeeper had taught her to bear the hardest blows of Fate without complaint. The two men, watching her, had no indication of what was passing through her mind. Memories of childhood, perhaps. Nahum’s arm about her waist in that almost forgotten builder’s yard. Or of the future, stretching interminably into lonely old age, pervaded with the smell of soap-suds and dishwater.

  Doctor Formby was the first to make any move. He took Mrs Markle’s arm and led her to a chair. Then he opened his bag, uncorked a bottle, and poured some of its contents into a glass. ‘Drink this!’ he said.

  Mrs Markle obeyed him without prote
st. He watched her for a moment, then turned to the sergeant. ‘Do you know the cause of Mr Pershore’s death?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘No, sir, that I don’t. All they said on the telephone was that a gentleman had had a fit at the show and died. They’d found a card in his pocket with Mr Pershore’s name and address on it. When they described what the gentleman looked like I knew it must be Mr Pershore, and I told them so. Then they said I’d better come round here and break the news to his family. I thought the best thing I could do was to see Mrs Markle.’

  Dr Formby seemed to give only half his attention to what the sergeant was saying. ‘What have they done with the body?’ he asked abruptly.

  ‘It’s been taken to the mortuary, sir. There’ll be an inquest, and after that the relatives …’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ exclaimed Doctor Formby impatiently. ‘I’ve never attended Mr Pershore, nor so far as I know has any other doctor in this town. But he’s always struck me as a man of at least average health. Yet you say he has died suddenly from some unascertained cause. Two or three hours ago that girl on the sofa, who’s at least as healthy as Mr Pershore, was taken suddenly ill. Queer, isn’t it?’

  ‘What you would call a remarkable coincidence, sir,’ replied the sergeant. ‘Is it anything serious that’s the matter with Jessie Twyford?’

  ‘That I’ll tell you later,’ said Doctor Formby. He went up to the housekeeper, who was sitting motionless in her chair. ‘You’ll be all right if we leave you, Mrs Markle? I’ll have a nurse round here in less than an hour.’

  His voice seemed to galvanise her into life. ‘I shall be all right, doctor,’ she replied. ‘You can trust me to see that Jessie is properly looked after.’

  The doctor and the policeman left the house. Mrs Markle, after seeing that her patient was properly wrapped up, went into the kitchen and asked Mrs Rugg to make her a cup of tea. Then she returned to the servants’ hall, and drew up a chair to the sofa.

  But her thoughts were not of Jessie, who now appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Her brain was wrestling with the sergeant’s words, which refused to crystallise themselves into any credible fact. The idea of death and the idea of Mr Pershore were like drops of oil and vinegar, refusing to mingle. In her efforts to make herself realise that her employer was dead, everything else became of secondary importance. Even Jessie’s illness, Doctor Formby’s extraordinary suggestion that she had swallowed arsenic, seemed the merest trifles.

  As she sipped the hot, strong tea, the central fact, though remaining incomprehensible, became fixed in her brain. Mr Pershore was dead. It was her obvious duty to inform his relatives without delay.

  Nahum Pershore had been the youngest of three. Nancy Markle hardly remembered his two sisters. They had been much older than Nahum, had been out in the world when he was still a child playing in his father’s yard. But she knew all about them. Rebecca, the eldest, had married young Bryant, who worked in the office of the local solicitor. A pushing young fellow, was Bryant. He had passed all his examinations, and become a solicitor himself. Then he had gone into partnership in London. The Bryants had an only child, Philip, who had adopted his father’s profession, and was now a partner in the firm of Capes, Bryant and Capes, of Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Rebecca Bryant and her husband had both died many years ago. But Philip was very much alive. It was only the day before that he had spent the afternoon and evening at Firlands.

  Then there was Prudence, or as she was more generally known, Betty Rissington, Mr Pershore’s niece. She was the daughter of his other sister, Naomi. Miss Betty must be told, of course. But, unfortunately, Mrs Markle did not know where to find her. She had been staying at Firlands for the past fortnight, and had only left that very morning. But where she had gone Mrs Markle didn’t know. She was a very independent young lady, was Miss Betty. Liked going about on her own. But perhaps Mr Philip would know where to find her. Or Mr Philip’s wife, though it was Mrs Markle’s private opinion that the two ladies didn’t take to one another much.

  The housekeeper finished her tea, then, after calling in Mrs Rugg to keep an eye on Jessie, went upstairs to the telephone. She called up the office of Messrs Capes, Bryant and Capes, and asked to speak to Mr Philip Bryant upon a personal matter. She was put through and heard Philip’s voice, ‘Well, Mrs Markle, what is it?’

  It seemed to her that there was a tinge of anticipation in his tone, almost as though he expected to hear bad news of his uncle. But she dismissed the idea, as having its sole origin in her fancy. Clearly and concisely she told Philip of Sergeant Draper’s visit to Firlands, and of the news which he had brought.

  So long a pause ensued after she had finished speaking, that she thought she had been cut off. But at last came Philip’s voice again, high-pitched and irresolute. ‘I can’t understand it. My uncle died suddenly? And at the Motor Show? It’s most extraordinary. I must have further details. I’ll go round to Olympia now, at once. I think that will be best. Then I’ll come down to Firlands as soon as I can.’

  ‘Very well, Mr Philip. Excuse me, but do you know where I can find Miss Betty?’

  ‘Betty? Isn’t she staying with you? She was when I was there yesterday.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Philip. But she left this morning. I thought you might know where she was.’

  ‘I’ve no idea. It doesn’t matter. We’ll talk about that when I see you. Good-bye, Mrs Markle.’ And he rang off.

  Meanwhile Doctor Formby and Sergeant Draper had left the house together. ‘You’d better come along to my surgery,’ the doctor had said. ‘I’ll give you a lift in my car. Jump in. You’ll find you’ve got another job in front of you this afternoon, unless I’m greatly mistaken.’

  They drove to the surgery together, where the doctor told Draper to sit down and watch. He produced some chemical apparatus from a cupboard, and into it put some of the contents of the sealed jar, and then some fragments of zinc and acid. The mixture frothed and bubbled, evolving a gas which escaped through a narrow tube. Doctor Formby put his nose to the end of the tube and sniffed. ‘Ah, I thought so!’ he exclaimed. ‘Come here, Draper. Do you smell anything?’

  The sergeant inhaled deeply. ‘Yes, that I do, sir. Smells to me like garlic, same as them Eyetalian chaps do use.’

  Doctor Formby nodded. ‘Smells like it, but it isn’t,’ he said. ‘It’s arsenic.’

  ‘Arsenic, sir,’ exclaimed Draper, hurriedly withdrawing from the vicinity of the apparatus.

  ‘Yes, arsenic. That’s what we call Marsh’s Test. And that smell of garlic that you noticed means that Jessie Twyford has been swallowing arsenic. Fortunately for her, she was very sick, or she would have been a dead woman by now.’

  ‘Why, wherever did she get the stuff from, sir?’

  ‘That nobody seems to know. Perhaps she’ll be able to tell us when she’s feeling a bit better. Now, look here, Draper, it seems to me that there’s something devilish queer going on. Mr Pershore dies suddenly from some unexplained cause, and on the same afternoon his parlourmaid is found suffering from acute arsenical poisoning.’

  A malignant look came into the sergeant’s face. ‘You don’t think, do you, sir …’ he began. But he seemed unable to finish the sentence.

  ‘Think what?’ the doctor asked.

  ‘Why, that there was anything—anything between Mr Pershore and Jessie?’

  ‘That’s a question you can’t possibly expect me to answer. If I were you, I’d get along to the police station and report the facts at once. You can say that I was called to Firlands by Mrs Markle, and found Jessie suffering from arsenical poisoning. That test you have just seen me do was rough, but conclusive. If further tests are required, I’ve plenty more material in this jar, which I’ll seal up in your presence, I consider it most important that these facts should be made known to the coroner who conducts the inquest upon Mr Pershore.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ replied Sergeant Draper. ‘I’ll see to it at once.’

  CHAPTER III

  It was due to Sergeant Draper’s r
eport, and to the action taken upon it by his superiors, that Philip Bryant found a stranger installed at Firlands upon his arrival there that evening. This stranger, a heavily built man with searching eyes, introduced himself as Superintendent Hanslet, of the Criminal Investigation Department.

  Philip did not seem overjoyed at the presence of the intruder. ‘I assume that your presence here has some connection with my uncle’s death, superintendent?’ he said stiffly.

  ‘Hardly that, Mr Bryant,’ Hanslet replied. ‘I am here to investigate a case of poisoning which has occurred in this house.’

  Mr Pershore’s death seemed already to have had a disturbing effect upon his nephew’s nerves. And the abruptness of this second catastrophe threw him completely off his balance. He took a step backwards, holding out his hands in front of him as though to ward off some unseen danger. ‘Poison!’ he exclaimed, in a queer shrill voice. ‘What do you mean? Who’s been poisoned, and by what? Has there been an escape of gas?’

  ‘Shall we sit down, Mr Bryant?’ replied Hanslet quietly. They were still in the hall, where the superintendent had met Philip upon his arrival. ‘That’s better. I thought perhaps you might have heard. The parlourmaid, Jessie Twyford, has been poisoned by arsenic, and I am endeavouring to trace the source of the poison.’

  Philip’s face became a study in profound bewilderment. ‘By arsenic,’ he exclaimed. ‘What an extraordinary thing. And you don’t know where she got it from?’

  ‘Not yet. But I hope to find out very soon. Doctor Formby is here, and has gone to see whether the girl is in a fit state to be questioned. I expect him back any moment. Ah, here he is.’

  Doctor Formby appeared, with Mrs Markle in attendance. He nodded to Philip, and then addressed Hanslet. ‘We’ve got Jessie up to her own room, where she’ll be more comfortable,’ he said. ‘She’s conscious now, and there won’t be any harm in asking her a few questions. But you’d better leave it to Mrs Markle to do the talking. It may upset her to be questioned by a stranger. Shall we go up?’