by John Rhode
He made a gesture towards the staircase. Mrs Markle led the way; followed by Hanslet and Doctor Formby. Philip was left standing alone in the hall.
Jessie Twyford was lying in bed, looking rather flustered at being the centre of so much attention. The room was in semi-darkness, and as the three entered it, the two men stayed by the door, where they were invisible to Jessie. Mrs Markle advanced, and sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Well, Jessie, how are you feeling now?’ she asked.
‘I wouldn’t be feeling too bad if it wasn’t for my insides, Mrs Markle,’ Jessie replied. ‘And they do burn something terrible, just as if I’d swallowed the coals from the kitchen fire.’
‘Well, you didn’t do that, Jessie, but you certainly swallowed something that didn’t agree with you. What did you have to eat this morning that the others didn’t? Do you remember?’
A slight flush came over Jessie’s pallid face, and her eyes filled with tears. ‘It’s a judgment on me, Mrs Markle, that’s what it is,’ she replied. ‘But it’ll be a lesson to me. I’ll never touch anything that doesn’t belong to me again.’
‘Never mind, Jessie, nobody’s going to scold you for that,’ said Mrs Markle kindly. ‘But you must tell me what it was you took. Just in case it should disagree with anyone else, you know.’
Jessie sobbed penitently. ‘I’ll never do it again, Mrs Markle. It was after you’d been helping me with the dining-room. I went into the study to look in the cupboard and see that there were enough olives in the bottle. And when I saw them I wondered what they tasted like, as I’ve often done before. And then the wicked thought came to me that if I took just one nobody would ever notice. So I opened the bottle, took one out with the fork, and ate it.’
‘You shouldn’t have done that, Jessie,’ said Mrs Markle gravely. ‘Did you only eat one?’
‘No, Mrs Markle, I—I didn’t. You see, it was such a funny taste, and I didn’t know whether I liked it or not. So I took another, just to see. And then I thought I did, and I took two more. But that was all. I didn’t have more than four, really I didn’t.’
Philip Bryant didn’t remain in the hall to await the return of the others. As soon as they had entered Jessie’s room, he followed them softly upstairs. On reaching the landing he walked to the door of his uncle’s bedroom and turned the handle. It was locked. So, he found, was the door of the dressing-room. He stood for a moment on the landing, overwhelmed by this discovery. Then he descended the stairs once more, and listened. Everything was quiet in the house. He picked up his hat and coat, and let himself out by the front door.
Mrs Markle, after telling Jessie that she mustn’t worry over her theft of the olives, led the way out of the room. Without a word she went downstairs, followed by Hanslet and Doctor Formby. They walked across the hall till they came to the study. ‘You have the key, superintendent,’ said Mrs Markle.
Hanslet took from his pocket three keys, tied together with string, and tried them till he found the one that fitted. He opened the door and stood aside for Mrs Markle to enter. She switched on the light, and they found themselves in the room which Mr Pershore had called his study.
Not that Mr Pershore had been in the habit of studying. The room was really his own private fortress. When he retired into it, it was fully understood that he was busy, and was on no account to be disturbed. This rule applied not only to the domestic staff, but to visitors as well, who were tactfully informed that their host’s business was of a nature that imperatively demanded solitude.
The truth was that Mr Pershore dearly loved half an hour’s sleep after his extensive meals. The room contained a few pieces of heavy Victorian furniture, upon which lay a few newspapers and periodicals, most of which had not been opened. But the most conspicuous object was a huge leather-covered arm-chair, drawn up in front of the fireplace. Beside it was a small table, on which stood a tobacco jar, a box of cigars, and a heavy match-stand.
Hanslet closed the door and walked towards the fireplace. ‘You did that very tactfully, Mrs Markle,’ he said. ‘I’m naturally very interested in these olives. Can you tell me anything about them?’
‘I’ll tell you what I can,’ Mrs Markle replied. ‘Some time ago, I think it was last year, Mr Pershore got it into his head that he was suffering from indigestion. Mr and Mrs Chantley were staying here for the weekend, and Mrs Chantley told him about Dobson’s Dyspepsia Drops.’
‘I know the stuff,’ remarked Formby. ‘Lots of my patients swear by it. Mainly, I fancy, because it has a particularly revolting taste. Some people judge the efficacy of a medicine entirely by its unpleasantness.’
‘Mr Pershore believed in it,’ Mrs Markle replied. ‘He got a bottle at once, and has taken it ever since. A dose just before he went to bed. But he was always grumbling about the taste. Said he couldn’t get it out of his mouth. And then one day Miss Betty brought him a bottle of stuffed olives, and told him to eat one after he’d taken the medicine. He found that took the taste away, and he told me always to see that there were some olives ready for him. They are kept with the medicine in this cupboard.’
She crossed the room to an oak corner cupboard, fixed to the wall. This she opened. On a shelf within it was a bottle, bearing a label, ‘Dobson’s Dyspepsia Drops. One teaspoonful to be taken as required,’ a graduated medicine glass, a bottle of Crescent and Whitewater’s stuffed olives, and a silver dessert fork.
‘It was Jessie’s business to look after this cupboard,’ Mrs Markle continued. ‘Mr Pershore used to pour out his medicine, drink it, and then take one of the olives from the bottle with the fork. Jessie used to come in in the morning, and take the glass and the fork to be washed. When she put them back in the cupboard, she used to look at the medicine and the olives. If either of them were getting low, she would tell me. The drops I got from the chemist, and the olives from the grocer. But I never waited until the bottles were actually empty. I always have one of each in my store-cupboard.’
‘That’s quite clear, Mrs Markle,’ said Hanslet. He took the bottle of olives from the cupboard and examined it closely. It was about two-thirds full of olives immersed in liquid. The stones of the olives had been removed, and the cavity filled with a pink stuffing of pimento.
‘Did this bottle come from your store-cupboard, Mrs Markle?’ the superintendent asked.
‘It must be the one I gave Jessie last Wednesday. She came to me that day, bringing an empty bottle, and asked me for a fresh one. I gave her one, and saw her take off the patent fastening and loosen the stopper. This must be the bottle.’
Hanslet thought for a moment. ‘Have you any unopened bottles of olives in your store-cupboard now?’ he asked.
‘Oh, yes. I ordered one from the grocer as soon as I had given Jessie this one.’
‘I wonder if you would mind fetching it? And I’d be very much obliged if you would bring a big deep saucer at the same time.’
Mrs Markle left the room, and Hanslet turned to Doctor Formby. ‘These olives will have to be analysed, of course,’ he said. ‘If they are found to contain arsenic, Jessie’s troubles are accounted for. But what I don’t understand is this. She said she took four. But, by the look of it, more than four are missing. Mr Pershore must have eaten the rest. How is it that he did not feel any ill effects?’
‘There’s more than one possible explanation of that. They may not all have been poisoned, and Jessie may have been unlucky. Or they may all contain a small quantity of arsenic. In that case, one would expect the effects on Jessie and Mr Pershore to be different. Jessie ate four at once on an empty stomach, hence her symptoms. Mr Pershore ate one at a time, at intervals of twenty-four hours, after a big dinner. In his case, therefore, the effects would be more gradual.’
‘Would they account for his collapsing suddenly at the Motor Show this afternoon?’
Doctor Formby shrugged his shoulders. ‘I shouldn’t have thought so,’ he replied. ‘I never heard of arsenical poisoning taking that form. But it will be easier to answer that question when
we know the results of the post-mortem and of the analysis of these olives.’
Mrs Markle returned, bearing an unopened bottle of olives and a saucer. In outward appearance the bottle was exactly similar to the one in the cupboard. Hanslet took it, opened it, and with the help of the fork, poured the contents into the saucer. Then he counted the olives. There were twenty-four.
‘The two bottles are the same size, so one may take it that there were appoximately the same number in the other,’ he said. ‘Now, we’ll put these back again. That’s right.’
Having returned the twenty-four olives to their bottle, he marked the label with a large ‘A’ in pencil. Then he poured the contents of the bottle from the cupboard into the saucer, and again counted the olives. There were fifteen.
‘Fifteen from twenty-four is nine,’ he said. ‘Allowing for the four eaten by Jessie, we have five to account for.’
‘That’s right,’ Mrs Markle replied. ‘Today is Monday, and Mr Pershore started this bottle on Wednesday last, five days ago.’
Hanslet nodded. ‘It all seems to fit in,’ he said. ‘Thank you, Mrs Markle. We needn’t trouble you any longer. The doctor and I will stay here and have a quiet chat. I wonder if you would mind asking Mr Bryant if he would be good enough to join us?’
Mrs Markle went out, closing the door behind her. ‘I’m glad I thought of locking up this room as soon as I got here,’ the superintendent continued. ‘I took the precaution of locking up Mr Pershore’s bedroom and dressing-room, too, till I had time to go through them. I thought I might find something fishy, as soon as I heard there was a case of poisoning in the house. And, from what I can see, somebody has deliberately attempted to murder Mr Pershore.’
As he spoke, he returned the suspected olives to their bottle, and marked this ‘B.’ ‘I’ll have both bottles analysed at once,’ he continued. ‘Now, if the olives from this cupboard are found to contain arsenic, how did the poison get into them? It’s very unlikely that it did so before they left the grocer’s. Mrs Markle opened the bottle and gave it to Jessie. Now, you know more about this household than I do, doctor. Can you think of any reason why either of them should want to poison their employer?’
Doctor Formby shook his head. ‘Quite frankly, I can’t,’ he replied. ‘And, what’s more, it would take a lot to persuade me that either of them had anything to do with it. You haven’t lost sight of the fact that this bottle has been left open in an unlocked cupboard since Wednesday?’
‘I haven’t. The point is, who had access to it? The members of the household, in the first place. Then anyone who came to the house. But whoever poisoned the olives must have had a pretty intimate knowledge of Mr Pershore’s habits. Do you happen to know anything about these Chantley people that Mrs Markle mentioned?’
‘I believe I met them once when I was dining here. I remember her. She was a rather pretty, foreign looking woman. But I’m afraid I can’t tell you much more than that.’
‘Bryant will know all these people, I suppose. That’s why I asked Mrs Markle to send him along. Ah, here he is, I think.’
But, when the door opened, it was only the housekeeper who appeared. ‘I’m very sorry, superintendent, but I can’t find Mr Bryant,’ she said. ‘His coat and hat aren’t in the hall. I think he must have gone back to London.’
Hanslet frowned. ‘I’d like to have seen him before he went,’ he replied. ‘Never mind. Come and sit down, Mrs Markle. I daresay you will be able to tell me what I want to know.’
Doctor Formby looked at his watch. ‘Have you anything else you want to ask me, Mr Hanslet?’ he asked.
‘Not just now, thank you, doctor.’
‘Very well, I’ll just run up and have one more look at Jessie, and then I’ll get home.’
Hanslet, left alone with Mrs Markle, adopted a disarming tone. ‘You will understand that I want as much information about Mr Pershore as possible,’ he said. ‘And not only about him, but about his friends and relations as well. We’ll begin with his relations. You have already told me about Mr Bryant and Miss Rissington. Are there any others?’
‘No, for Mr Pershore’s sisters are both dead, and so are their husbands. Oh, but I was forgetting. There was Micah Pershore, of course. But I don’t think that he has been heard of for years.’
‘The family seem to have indulged in Biblical names,’ Hanslet remarked. ‘Who was Micah Pershore?’
‘Mr Pershore’s half-brother. Mr Pershore’s father was married twice. Micah was his son by his first wife, and Mr Pershore and his two sisters his family by his second wife. Micah was quite a boy when his father married again. He never got on very well with his stepmother, and he went abroad as soon as he was old enough. I don’t think that he ever came home, and I never heard of him writing to any of the family after his father’s death. I don’t even know that he is still alive.’
‘Well, now we come to Mr Pershore’s friends. You mentioned some people of the name of Chantley, just now. Were they particular friends of his?’
Mrs Markle’s eyes narrowed for an instant. ‘Mr Pershore and Mr Chantley were very friendly at one time,’ she replied. ‘Mr and Mrs Chantley were often here for the weekend, but they haven’t been down lately. Not since the beginning of the year.’
‘Has there been a quarrel, or a disagreement of any kind?’
It seemed to Hanslet that Mrs Markle hesitated for an instant. ‘Not that I am aware of,’ she replied.
The superintendent did not press her. ‘What visitors did you have in the house last week?’ he asked.
‘Let me see now. There was Miss Betty, of course. She was staying here all the week. But you can hardly count her as a visitor, since she is here as much as she is away. Then Mr Bryant came to lunch on Sunday, yesterday, that is, and stayed till after dinner. Mrs Bryant was to have come too, but she had a cold and stayed at home. The only other visitor we had last week was Mrs Sulgrave. She drove over on Friday and lunched with Miss Betty.’
‘Who is Mrs Sulgrave?’
‘She’s the wife of Mr George Sulgrave, who is the son of old Mr Sulgrave, who was a great friend of Mr Pershore’s. Mr and Mrs Sulgrave live in a house called High Elms, in Byfleet, quite close. They often drive over. Mr Sulgrave has something to do with the motor business, but I don’t know exactly what it is.’
‘Had Mr Pershore any other intimate friends?’
‘Only Mr Odin Hardisen, who lives at Wells in Somersetshire. They used to see a lot of one another. Mr Hardisen used to come and stay here, and Mr Pershore would go and spend a few days with him at Wells. But I have an idea that they had fallen out about something.’
‘What gives you that idea, Mrs Markle? Did Mr Pershore say anything to you about it?’
‘No. It was Miss Betty who asked me if I knew anything. She likes Mr Hardisen, and she told me that she asked her uncle one day why he never came here now. He told her not to talk to him about the damned scoundrel Hardisen. Those were the very words Mr Pershore used, so Miss Betty told me.’
‘And you’ve no idea why he called Mr Hardisen a damned scoundrel?’
‘None at all. Mr Pershore has never so much as mentioned him to me.’
Hanslet made mental notes of all that Mrs Markle told him. Although they seemed to be straying a long way from the suspected olives, this information might come in useful later. And now he ventured to put a question which had been all the while at the back of his mind. ‘It’s rather a delicate subject, Mrs Markle,’ he said, ‘but do you know anything about the contents of Mr Pershore’s will? Who he has left his money to, I mean?’
‘Only what Miss Betty has told me. Mr Pershore never mentioned the matter to me himself.’
‘And what did Miss Rissington tell you?’
‘That her uncle had left her most of his money. Anything that might be over was to go to Mr Bryant.’
‘Has Miss Rissington been informed of her uncle’s death?’
‘Not yet. You see, I don’t know where she is, and Mr Bryant doesn’t eit
her. She left here this morning with Mr Pershore, and went up to London with him. She told me she wouldn’t be back for a few days, but she didn’t tell me where she was going.’
Having secured from Mrs Markle Bryant’s address. Hanslet brought his conversation with her to an end. There was nothing more for him to do at Firlands for the present. He returned to London, taking the two bottles of olives with him. On his arrival at Scotland Yard he handed these over for analysis, asking for a report as soon as possible. Then he set to work to make notes of the information he had gathered.
Assuming the olives to have been poisoned, as everything seemed to indicate, there was no doubt that the attempt had been aimed against Mr Pershore. It could not have been foreseen that Jessie’s curiosity would suddenly induce her to experiment upon them. But the attempt had apparently failed, since Doctor Formby was of the opinion that a sudden collapse, such as had been experienced by Mr Pershore, was not likely to have been caused by arsenical poisoning. On the other hand, it seemed probable that Mr Pershore had eaten five olives out of the same bottle.
The search for the poisoner was limited to the domestic staff at Firlands, and recent visitors to the house. Hanslet shared Doctor Formby’s conviction that Mrs Markle was innocent. If Jessie had been the culprit, she would have hardly have gone to the length of eating so many herself, even in the attempt to avert suspicion.
It seemed far more likely that one of Mr Pershore’s friends or relations was the guilty party. Hanslet proceeded to make a list of these, with appropriate comments. Philip Bryant, first. As Mr Pershore’s nephew he was frequently a visitor to the house. His movements in it would be unquestioned. He had spent Sunday afternoon there. His behaviour had been curious. On being told of a case of poisoning, he had evinced an emotion which, while it might have been due to natural horror, might also have been due to a guilty conscience. And yet, on being told that the poisoning was due to arsenic, his emotion had changed to one of bewilderment. Finally, why had he left the house so unaccountably? His behaviour distinctly suggested that he knew more about his uncle’s death than he had chosen to reveal. Yet, if Mrs Markle’s information about Mr Pershore’s will was correct, it would seem that Bryant had very little to gain by his uncle’s death.
