We chatted, therefore, of Angela (and the officers appeared quite to share our conviction that, whatever had happened, Angela was not guilty), of the conversation once more the last evening we had dined there (and the officers quite agreed that, since the poisoning had been proved to be acute and not chronic, John’s spasms on that and similar occasions had no importance), of Glen as man and doctor (and the officers almost outdid us in their admiration of Glen in both capacities), of village life (and the officers, who surprisingly both turned out to come from rural homes, each regretted their change to urban surroundings), and of twenty other things. Only when they had already risen to go did the detective inspector, in the most courteous way possible, explode a small bombshell under my feet and with it blow up all my pitying assumptions of their helplessness and inefficiency.
‘There’s only one thing I don’t understand,’ he said in an even more apologetic tone than before, ‘but no doubt you can explain it. I should have thought you would have mentioned to the local police officers the fact that Mr Waterhouse was here on the morning of his death. We have to try to trace all his movements that morning, you know.’
I stared at the man. ‘Here?’ I repeated incredulously.
‘Why, yes,’ apologised the chief inspector. He consulted a little red notebook. ‘He was in this house roughly between 11.20 and 11.45 a.m. He came by way of the meadow that divides his land from yours, and your pear orchard. Some nice trees you have there, too, sir, if I may say so.’
‘But – but I have no idea of this,’ I expostulated. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Oh yes.’ The chief inspector was gently reproachful. ‘I think there can be no doubt about it.’
‘Did he see me?’ asked Frances suddenly.
‘Our information is that he did, madam. You received him, I believe, in this room. He had a glass of sherry with you, did he not?’
‘Yes, he did. I remember now. At least I suppose it was that day. But it was such an ordinary thing for Mr Waterhouse to stroll round here, especially in the mornings, that I’d forgotten all about it. Yes…that would have been the last time… Yes, it must have been that day. He came to see you about some winter wash for his fruit trees, Douglas,’ Frances added, turning to me. ‘At least that was the excuse. Really, he wanted to tell me about his pains and drink a glass of sherry.’
‘Yes, he’d been making some experiments in fruit-tree washes, in the intervals of building,’ I said mechanically. ‘He was always saying the standard washes were no good for the type of bug his trees bred. John had an experimental mind.’ I was talking quite at random, for the sake of talking. It was not like Frances to have forgotten such an important detail as that John had been actually in our house, to say nothing of having had a drink there, between the very hours which Glen had fixed as the probably fatal period. On the other hand it was inconceivable that she had deliberately concealed the fact.
‘You didn’t see Mr Waterhouse that morning, then, sir?’
‘No,’ I said slowly. ‘I remember the morning well. It was a wretched one, and I had to be out in the rain all the time.’
‘Yes, that fixes it,’ Frances said quickly. ‘John said he hadn’t seen you on the way over, and it was too wet to go looking for you. He’d talk to you about the wash another time.’
‘I see,’ said the chief inspector. ‘Mr Waterhouse’s visit seemed to you quite unimportant, then, madam?’
‘Oh, quite. He would come over like that two or three times a week.’
‘And he said nothing significant about his aches and pains? I think you said he discussed them?’
‘Oh, nothing: except that he let me understand that he was rather more worried about his indigestion than he would have liked everyone to know. I think he used to tell me, or rather hint, things like that, because he knew I didn’t talk. He just said he was really rather glad that we’d bullied him into consulting Glen professionally, and he supposed he’d have to go on a diet and all the rest of it like any other middle-aged crock. I laughed and told him he was just as vain about his health as a woman about her looks.’
‘I see. Well, there doesn’t seem to be much in that, does there? It’s very good of you and Mr Sewell to have answered our questions so frankly. I’m afraid we’ve repaid you rather ill by keeping you from your dinner, so we won’t detain you any longer.’
I accompanied the officers out into the hall, and there was the usual pause by the front door.
‘Expensive sort of hobby, Mr Waterhouse’s,’ remarked the chief inspector casually.
‘You mean building? Yes, very,’ I agreed, my hand on the latch.
‘A bit of a weakness of mine, if only I could afford it. What I should like to build would be one of those real old houses, with secret cupboards and concealed staircases and priest holes and all the rest. That must be real good fun, planning a place like that.’
‘Yes,’ I said perfunctorily, ‘I expect they got some fun out of it.’
‘Was that how it took Mr Waterhouse, I wonder?’
‘Not that I know of,’ I said in some surprise. ‘Why?’
‘Oh, I was only trying to get some idea of his mind. But perhaps it takes a twisted one like mine to have a weakness for secret hiding places, ha-ha. Not that they wouldn’t be useful, for storing valuables in when one was going away. I should have thought, from what I can gather of him, that might have appealed to Mr Waterhouse.’
‘Well, he hardly ever went away.’
‘To stay away, you mean, sir? But I suppose he was in to Torminster often enough?’
‘Oh yes. I think he used to run in there fairly often, in his car. He had a weakness for the cinema, I know.’
‘Did he indeed? Well, it all helps to make a picture. Good night then, sir, and thank you again.’
I went back to the drawing-room and poured myself out another glass of sherry.
‘Well, I seem to have put my foot in it again,’ Frances said cheerfully. ‘Poor John! The last time he came, too. And I never thought about it again. Do you think they’ll arrest me and not Angela after all?’
‘I shouldn’t be surprised,’ I said. ‘In any case I don’t think I should do it again if I were you. But what I want to know is, how the deuce did those two know John had been here when I didn’t even know it myself?’
‘They’re not so soft as they look,’ said Frances. ‘I began by feeling rather sorry for them. Now… I don’t know… I think I’m a little frightened.’
4
At a quarter to ten that evening the telephone bell rang. I answered it.
‘Hullo!’ said a voice. ‘That you, Douglas? Alec here. Are you and Frances alone?’
‘Yes,’ I said wonderingly. ‘Why?’
‘Could you give me a bed tonight?’
‘Of course. Where are you?’
‘Speaking from Torminster. Sorry, and all that, but it’s a bit urgent. All right, I’ll be with you in half an hour.’
I went back to the sitting-room.
‘Alec’s just rung up from Torminster,’ I told Frances in the slightly guilty tone of every husband when one of his own relatives is to be entertained. A wife takes for granted that hers have a prior claim. ‘He wants a bed tonight. I said we could give him one.’
‘Well, really.’ Frances rose. ‘It’s a little late, isn’t it?’
‘He said it was urgent.’
‘The maids will have gone to bed. All right. I shall have to see to it myself. The room isn’t aired, but I can’t help that.’
‘Of course not,’ I soothed. ‘He won’t mind. What on earth can he want to see me about?’
‘I should ask him,’ said Frances, and made her exit. The best of women are apt to turn a little acid before the unexpected and untimely guest. They seem to think that guests, even male guests, expect so much more than they do. I was quite sure Alec would not notice whether
his bed was aired or not. So long as he had something to sleep on, and bacon and eggs for breakfast, he would be perfectly content.
Alec Jeans, I should explain, is a cousin of mine and an excellent fellow. He retired from the Indian army with the rank of major two or three years ago, found leisure very heavy on his hands, and in consequence managed to land some kind of a job at the War Office which occupies him adequately except when he wants to get away for a bit of shooting or fishing.
He drove up to the front door just half an hour later. I helped him put his car away in the garage, watched him instinctively stoop as usual as he came in at the front door, for he is an extremely tall man and many bumped foreheads have made him wary even of doors with six inches clearance for him, and took him into the sitting-room.
From Frances’ greeting no one could have suspected her views as implied, but nobly not expressed, half an hour earlier. As a matter of fact Frances has rather a weak spot for Alec.
‘Well, what brings you to these parts?’ I asked when we were furnished with drinks and settled in our chairs.
‘Oh, nothing much. Just mooching round the country, you know. Hope I didn’t put you out, by the way, dropping in at this hour?’
‘Not a bit,’ Frances said sweetly. ‘I like informality. It’s unexpected, and that’s always welcome in a humdrum life.’
I said nothing. Alex had accompanied his explanation with an almost imperceptible wink at me. I interpreted this as a request to ask no questions, so asked none.
I had been right. Not till Frances had gone to bed and left us to ourselves did Alec say a word that was not frivolous. Then he grinned at me.
‘Good for you. Not that Frances isn’t safe as houses, but what the mind doesn’t know the imagination can’t worry over.’
‘It is something urgent, then?’ I said.
‘Well, yes, in a way. Look here, mind if I keep you up a bit late tonight?’
‘Not in the least. What about?’
‘You knew this chap Waterhouse pretty well, didn’t you?’
‘Very well.’
‘I thought so. In fact that’s why I’m here. I want you to tell me everything about him that you can. And that’s official.’
‘Official?’ I repeated stupidly.
‘That’s right. I’m hot from headquarters. I told them one of the blokes in the case was a cousin of mine, and they sent me down right away.’
‘Headquarters? Do you mean Scotland Yard?’
‘No, no. The War House.’
‘But what have they got to do with Waterhouse?’
‘Well, strictly between ourselves, quite a bit. Waterhouse was doing a job of work for us, and the theory is that he got bumped off as a result. But it seems so darned unlikely that we can’t believe it. I’ve been sent down to try to find out what I can.’
A light slowly dawned on me. ‘Oh! You’re Military Intelligence, of course. Yes, I believe John told me he was in the branch for a short time at the end of the war. But what’s all this? Do you mean he was doing spy work of some sort?’
‘No, no,’ said Alec disgustedly. ‘None of your cheap thrillers. He was just doing a bit of routine organisation work in this district. Nothing out of the ordinary. Dozens of chaps who were in the branch during the war still lend a hand. You’d be surprised if I told you some of their names. And in addition this chap Waterhouse had sent in a few darned useful reports when he was working out East. But nothing that anyone would want to bump him off for. Still, he had a German in the house, hadn’t he? Girl called Bergmann?’
‘Yes. But it’s impossible that she could have had anything to do with his death. A most inoffensive, harmless, amiable creature.’
‘Is that so? Well, you may like to know that your inoffensive, amiable creature was smuggled out of this country by German agency, and semi-official at that; and what’s more, they were in a deuce of a stew to get her out.’
‘But why?’
‘That’s what we want to know. You’ve no idea?’
‘None. But that she didn’t poison John I’m convinced.’
‘Um! This wife, now. Any chance of her having done it?’
‘None,’ I said emphatically.
‘Then who did? What’s the local theory? What’s your own idea?’
‘There is no local theory. We’re all flummoxed. My own idea is that he took the stuff himself, by accident; but don’t ask me how, because I can’t imagine.’
‘You may not be so far wrong, at that,’ said Alec drily. ‘What about this girl of his in Torminster? Know anything about her?’
‘What girl in Torminster?’
‘You didn’t know he kept a girl in Torminster? Good Lord, what’s happened to the nose for scandal in rural England? I thought everyone here would know about her. Still, I believe she’s harmless enough; or so Scotland Yard seems to think.’
‘They’d got onto her so soon?’
‘Oh yes. Smart chaps, Wentworth and Daggers. By the way, it was sporting of that old chap Ventnor not to mention the legacy to her.’
‘There’s a legacy? Yes, there would be. You could trust John to do the right thing.’
‘So I gather. In fact he did the right thing sometimes in a pretty big way.’
Something in Alec’s tone caught my attention. ‘What do you mean by that?’ I asked.
He shook his head. ‘Not at liberty to say. But don’t worry. You’ll hear tomorrow.’
‘It’s the resumed inquest tomorrow.’
‘It’s the inquest I’m talking about. Don’t drop a hint to anyone, Douglas,’ Alec grinned suddenly, ‘but there’s going to be a shock or two tomorrow; and the biggest shock of all is coming to…’
‘Whom?’ I asked apprehensively.
‘The Coroner,’ said Alec.
chapter ten
Shocks for the Coroner
I got to bed late that night. Alec kept me up talking till nearly 2 a.m. and by the time we had finished he must have obtained a fairly clear picture of Waterhouse and his household. But beyond the interesting item that John had been engaged in some kind of mild work for the Intelligence Department, I received no information in return.
When we took our seats in court again on the next morning, therefore, I was feeling distinctly heavy in the head; and it was only hearing my own name loudly repeated that brought me to my senses. Startled, I jumped to my feet.
‘Ah yes,’ the Coroner said to me. ‘Mr Sewell, will you take the stand again, please. I think there are one or two points which you may be able to clear up for us while we are waiting for the report on the contents of the medicine. Yes.’ He rapidly turned over some papers in front of him.
Not any too happily, I made my way to the stand, wondering what was in store for me now.
‘Let me see,’ said the Coroner pleasantly enough. ‘I think you told us you were a fruit farmer, Mr Sewell. You make use of a number of different kinds of spray for your trees, of course?’
‘I do.’
‘In some of these sprays, is arsenic employed?’
‘Yes,’ I agreed, outwardly (I hoped) calm but inwardly a little apprehensive.
‘You have arsenic in your possession, then?’
‘Yes, but…’
‘Well?’
‘Not solid arsenic,’ I explained. ‘I mean, I don’t make up my washes myself. I buy them ready mixed. That is to say, they contain other ingredients besides arsenic’
‘Oh, quite so. What other ingredients?’
‘Well, lime,’ I said, trying hard to remember what were the components of the ordinary arsenical washes. ‘And sulphur. And perhaps copper in some form or another.’
‘Nevertheless, these washes are highly poisonous?’
‘Oh, certainly.’
‘And the poisonous agent would be the arsenic?’
�
�I suppose so. Yes.’
‘Had Mr Waterhouse been carrying out any experiments with fruit-tree washes?’
‘I believe he had. He had spoken to me about it. But…’
‘Yes?’
‘I don’t know whether he had been experimenting with arsenical washes. I had gathered that it was the ordinary tar-oil distillate washes, for winter spraying.’
‘But it might have been arsenic, so far as you knew?’
‘It might have been,’ I conceded.
‘One other question, Mr Sewell. Have you checked your supply of arsenical washes lately? That is, since you learned that Mr Waterhouse had met his death from arsenical poisoning?’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘I never connected the two ideas. In any case it would have been quite useless.’
‘How is that?’
‘These washes are contained in large five-gallon drums. I have a fair idea of the amount left over when the spraying is finished but certainly not to within a dozen fatal doses.’
‘You mean the fatal dose would be very small in size?’
‘I imagine so.’
‘Even the dregs left in an apparently empty drum might constitute a fatal dose?’
‘Probably.’
‘What happens to your empty drums, Mr Sewell?’
‘Various things. Sometimes the tops are cut off and they are used as containers, sometimes they are thrown on the rubbish heap and left to rust.’
‘You take no special precautions with those which have contained arsenic?’
‘No.’
The Coroner sighed, as if wondering why the whole population of Anneypenny had not got itself poisoned before now with such carelessness about, and dismissed me.
Alec, who was sitting next to me, muttered something facetious as I sat down, and I grinned feebly.
The evidence of two men employed by Waterhouse on his building operations followed mine. These testified to having seen him at certain times during the fatal morning, and one of them explained for me the mysterious knowledge of the Scotland Yard men by adding that he had noticed Mr Waterhouse disappearing, through the field which bordered on my pear orchard, at about a quarter past eleven.
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