Antidote to Venom (17 page)

“Just what occurred to me, sir, when you spoke.”

“Might be no harm to make a few enquiries,” French considered.

“Yes, sir. Will you have Cochrane here and question him?”

“Not for the moment, I think. Let's trace the purchase of the combination. Can you put a man on to it?”

“Certainly, sir. I'll see to it at once.”

Either police efficiency or good luck produced an early result. In less than two hours the information had been obtained.

The combination consisted of a three-wheeled push cycle cart, carrying a long light sectional ladder and a box for cloths, etc. Cochrane had bought it, appearing alone in the transaction. He had paid cash—twenty-two one pound notes.

“It's not a big sum, sir,” Rankin pointed out. “He might have had it in the bank.”

“He can say so if he had,” French answered shortly. “I think now we'd better have him in.”

At nine o'clock that night French arrived at headquarters for the interview. Cochrane had just come, and after letting him wait for a little to induce the proper frame of mind, he was called into Rankin's room.

French was not greatly taken with either his manner or appearance. The man was strongly on the defensive and appeared to consider his summons a grievance. He was obviously unwilling to give information and suspicious of every question asked. All the same, French had to admit that he exhibited no actual signs of guilt.

“It's just a question or two,” Rankin began, French having left the interrogation to him. “You don't have to answer unless you want to, but,” he smiled, “it's always wise to help the police when you can.”

“You ain't got nothing on me at all,” Cochrane returned. “I ain't done nothing and I don't know w'y I should 'ave been brought 'ere like this.”

“We're not accusing you of anything. All we want to know is where you got the money you paid to Humphries for your cycle combination.”

Cochrane looked surprised, but not specially uneasy. “Think I sneaked it, do you? Well, you've got it wrong this time. I got it puffectly reg'lar, so there.”

“That's all right,” Rankin returned easily. “I never suggested you sneaked it. But we'd be glad to know where you got it all the same.”

“And if I don't tell you? You said I didn't 'ave to.”

“If you don't tell us we'll begin to suspect something's wrong. You can surely see that for yourself?”

Cochrane didn't reply. Rankin's quiet manner was having its effect and he seemed to be slowly growing reassured.

“I got it from the old professor, if you must know,” he said at last. “'E give it to me the week before 'e died.”

“That's all right: I'm not doubting you. Now if you will answer one more question, it'll be all we'll want. What did he give you the money for?”

“To buy me blooming outfit,” the man answered, more promptly.

“I didn't mean that. I mean, why did he give it to you? Was he paying you for a service or what?”

Again Cochrane grew aggressive. “No, 'e weren't paying me for no service. W'en I worked for 'im 'e paid me me wages. But this weren't for no blooming work.”

“Then why did he give it?”

“W'y did 'e give it?” Cochrane's voice took on a truculent note. “W'y, just because 'e were a gent. 'E saw me threw out of a job there at the Zoo through 'ardly any fault of me own, an' 'e saw I couldn't get another job, an' 'e just give it to me to get a start. An' wot's more, I didn't ask 'im for it. 'E suggested it 'imself, 'e did.”

“You mean he simply wanted to help you out of a hole?”

“Isn't that wot I say? 'E said I was to consider it a loan an' I was to pay it back, if an' w'en I could. An' so I meant to, an' would 'ave if 'e'd lived. But I'll not pay it now, not to no one.”

“Anyone else know about the gift?”

“Not a blessed soul except me son an' me wife an' daughter, if they're any good.”

This seemed all that Cochrane could tell and he was got rid of with a word of thanks for his trouble.

“I've been making inquiries about him since, sir,” Rankin went on when they were alone, “and he seems a quiet decent sort of man. He was dismissed for leaving his job as night watchman to go home and give medicine to his sick wife. I'm not excusing him, but it was different from leaving to get drink or something of that kind. Since then he's really been trying to pick up a job, and there's never been any hint of dishonesty against him.”

“My impression was that he was speaking the truth,” French returned. He spoke a little absently. It had suddenly occurred to him that he had been to some extent putting the cart before the horse. He should have gone on at once to Item 2 on his programme, which ran: “Blaney-Heaton on what Burnaby was working at.” The professor's evidence, he now saw, might give the test they required. It might, in fact, not only settle this matter of Cochrane's part in the affair, but also the major question of whether or not Burnaby was experimenting with the snake.

“I'll go round and have a word with Professor Blaney-Heaton,” he told Rankin. “He examined those notes of the deceased's, didn't he?”

“Yes, sir, he went through them carefully.”

“Where does he live?”

“‘Cortina,' Bloomfield Park. No. 17 bus passes the door.”

“Just ring him up, will you, and make an appointment. I'll go now if he can see me.”

Twenty minutes later French was ushered into the scientist's library.

“It's all right, Chief Inspector,” Blaney-Heaton replied to his apologies for the hour of his call, “I'm a late bird myself. What can I do for you?”

“What I wanted to know, sir, was the exact line of research upon which the deceased was working at the time of his death. I understand you looked over his papers, and I wondered whether you could answer the question?”

Blaney-Heaton passed across a box of cigarettes, and when both men had lit up, he replied: “Yes, I think I can, but I'm afraid,” he added, with a slight smile, “it's rather technical. Are you up in organic chemistry?”

“No,” French admitted. “I know very little about it. But I don't want technicalities. Really what I'm after is whether experiments with that particular snake were germane to what he was doing?”

Blaney-Heaton favoured him with a keen glance.

“Now that question interests me quite a lot. I should have thought it vital from your people's point of view, but until now no one has asked it. I confess I've been puzzled myself. From the papers I found, the late professor was working on kraits at the time of his death.”

“That would be quite a different family or species, however you divide them?”

“A different species, and a different venom.” The scientist's voice was dry.

French bent forward and became more confidential. “Clearly, sir, you follow what's in my mind. I want to know whether the deceased really had obtained the snake for experimental purposes?”

“You doubt it?”

French shrugged. “I see I must confide in you fully, sir, but I ask you to respect my confidence. It's important that no hint of this leaks out.”

“That's all right.”

“Then I may say,” French went on, “that there's a suggestion of murder, sufficiently strong to warrant investigation. That's what I'm doing now.”

Blaney-Heaton expressed a dignified surprise.

“You astonish me,” he declared. “I can't see anyone doing old Burnaby in. I should have said he hadn't an enemy in the world.”

“You may prove to be right, sir; at present we don't know. But you see now the purport of my question?”

“I do indeed, and I think I can answer it. Whatever the late professor was in everyday matters, in his research he was precise, accurate and systematic. His whole scheme of work was laid down in his notes. Following the discovery that small injections of venom will coagulate blood without other deleterious effects, it's being tried for every disease under the sun. Burnaby had been testing whether it would destroy cancer cells. He was working on the various venoms in rotation and he completed each before going on to the next. As I said, he was engaged on kraits at the time of his death and on nothing else. That's one answer to your question. But the next I consider even more conclusive. He had some four months earlier dealt in a complete way with Russell's vipers. Their venom proved useless.”

All this interested French profoundly. If it were true, as of course it must be, it practically proved that Burnaby had neither stolen the snake nor had it stolen for him. He put the point to Blaney-Heaton.

“I never believed Burnaby would steal or be a party to the theft of anything,” the professor answered, “and his papers convinced me of it in the case of this snake. I confess I did not think of murder, but now that you've suggested it, I can see what a very strong case for it there is.”

This was the view French himself took as he walked back a little later to his hotel. Mentally he summarised his conclusions to date. First, it was extremely unlikely that Burnaby stole the snake himself. Second, the only person he could have employed was Cochrane, and Cochrane had given French the impression of innocence. Neither of these points was proven, though French was inclined to accept both. Third, Burnaby did not want a snake of the kind in question for his work.

But if these points—and particularly the third—were true, the case made by the coroner broke down. If so, was not the only explanation of the affair that of murder?

Satisfied that the investigation must be continued, French reached his hotel and turned in.

Chapter XVII

Venom: Through Interrogation

The following morning, before returning to police headquarters, French sat down in the deserted hotel lounge to review his impressions of the case and plan his next moves.

If murder had been committed, the natural question was: Who might be guilty? He had seen at once that the heir to twenty-two thousand pounds had a pretty strong motive. That was the nephew, the solicitor, Capper. But Capper, Rankin said, had an alibi. He was forty miles away when the crime was committed.

This raised two further questions. First, had anyone else a motive for the crime? And second, was Capper's alibi watertight?

In answer to the first question, French could think of no one. The deceased was a man of kindly disposition, liberal, friendly and generally popular. So far as French knew, he had injured no one, and as his experiments had not been successful, there was no case for jealousy among other workers. From the facts so far ascertained, it certainly seemed as if only Capper could be guilty.

The second question, whether Capper's alibi was water-tight, French hadn't enough information to answer. As a rule, he was suspicious of alibis. He had known so many which had appeared convincing at first sight, but which had proved fakes on investigation. It looked as if his first job would be to test Capper's.

Apart from the motive and the alibi, how was Capper fitted for the role of murderer? Taking out his note-book, French entered the points as they occurred to him. From Rankin's dossier he was able to supply a number.

Firstly, Capper knew Burnaby and his disposition and habits. He also knew about his experiments. He was therefore in a position to devise a scheme which fitted in with these. Secondly, he was acquainted with “Riverview” and the routine of the house, and probably was aware of the hours at which Mrs. Pertwee would be out, as well as of the deceased's weekly chess expedition. Thirdly, he could have met Burnaby on his way to Leet's without startling him or causing him to cry out. In short, apart from the alibi, he had all the needful qualifications.

Except perhaps on one point. Could Capper have stolen the snake?

There was no evidence that Capper knew anything about snakes or the Zoo. There was no suggestion that he could have procured the necessary keys or could have used them if he had. Unless Rankin had gone badly adrift, French felt convinced that Capper could not have obtained the snake.

But could someone else have obtained it for him? Cochrane had been working on and off at “Riverview” since his dismissal, and Capper had probably met him there and knew his story. Had Cochrane been the dupe? Had the money for the cleaning outfit come from Capper and not Burnaby?

French wondered whether the fact that it had been bought with single notes showed design. If the transaction had been merely charitable, would Burnaby not have used fives or tens? On the other hand, Capper would necessarily have kept to singles.

After consideration, French decided he could deduce nothing from this point. Burnaby might easily have had the singles in his cash-box.

It was unlikely, however, that Cochrane would have done anything to injure Burnaby. But if Capper had approached him, he would certainly have told him some yarn to account innocently for his action. And when Burnaby was dead and Cochrane had guessed the truth, it would be too late. He would be in Capper's trap, and for his own safety his lips would be sealed.

French was reasonably satisfied with his progress. If he had not reached any very illuminating conclusions, at least he saw his next step. He must test Capper's alibi, and if it proved sound he must find out where Cochrane was at the time of the murder.

He had the details of the alibi in the dossier, but he thought he should meet Capper, so as to obtain for himself an idea of his mentality. There was, of course, the objection that it would put the man on his guard. But this would be done in any event by the mere re-opening of the case, of which Capper was certain to learn.

After a call at police headquarters French, with a local sergeant, took a train to Bursham. It was a town of eight or ten thousand inhabitants and Capper occupied a fine old house in what had evidently once been a fashionable street. He carried on business on the ground and first floors, and lived over his office on the second and third. French sent in his civilian card to prevent discussion among the clerks, and after a short delay was admitted to Capper's room.

“I must show you my business card,” he began, taking the chair to which Capper waved him. “I have been asked by the Birmington City Police to look into one or two puzzling points in connection with the recent stealing of the snake from the local Zoo: I mean the snake which caused the death of the late Professor Burnaby. I have called to ask your help.”

As French spoke he unobtrusively watched the solicitor. Capper got a slight fit of coughing and efficiently blew his nose, but when presently he answered, he had himself well in hand.

“You surprise me, Chief Inspector,” he returned in what French thought might be quite normal tones. “I thought the affair was over. What sort of points puzzle them?”

“Well,” French answered easily, “for one thing, they don't understand how, with all the precautions that are taken at the Zoo, the snake could have been stolen. It's a serious matter, because if it happened once, it may happen a second time.”

“I see that,” Capper said, cautiously, “but what I don't see, is how I can help you in the matter. I only know what came out at the inquest and you probably have more information than that. All the same, of course, I shall be glad to do anything I can.”

“Thank you, sir,” French replied with a cheery intonation. “Then I'd better tell you something else. But I'd be obliged if you'd kindly let it go no further.”

Capper nodded gravely.

“I may tell you then,” French continued, with a more confidential manner, “that we've discovered that the late professor was murdered.”

Once again French felt baffled. That Capper was completely taken aback at the news was obvious, but whether this was merely the reaction natural under the circumstances, or whether it indicated fear or a guilty conscience, he could not be sure.

“That's very startling news,” Capper said, with an air of concern. “I'm sorry to hear it. I presume you wouldn't say it unless you are sure, but I confess it seems unlikely to me. My late uncle was popular in his quiet way, and I can hardly believe he had enemies.”

“I agree,” French nodded, “the same point has been puzzling us. However, there must be some explanation for it.”

“Yes, if you're correct, there must be.”

Naturally Capper was not going to help in what might be his own downfall. French therefore went on. “As you must know, Mr. Capper, from your professional experience, in all cases of suspected murder certain enquiries are made as a matter of routine. All those who might have benefited in any way from the death are asked to account for their movements at the time of the crime. Now you are the deceased's heir, and it therefore becomes my duty to ask that question of you. Perhaps you would kindly tell me?”

Capper smiled a little grimly. “My professional experience, as you put it, also tells me that I am not bound to answer any such question,” he said drily. “However, I don't wish to stand on the letter of the law and I'll tell you everything I can. On that Wednesday evening I was here, at least in my rooms upstairs. Is that enough?”

“To be candid, sir,” French said, deprecatingly, “it isn't.”

“Perhaps you'd like the whole of my movements?”

“If you please, sir.”

Capper took a small diary from his pocket and turned the pages. “Let's see, that Wednesday—no, I'd better go back to the Tuesday. On Tuesday I was in London: I had appointments on that afternoon and evening, and I slept there that night. I returned here shortly before lunch on Wednesday. During the visit I was troubled with toothache. It had been bothering me off and on for some time, but on Tuesday night it kept me awake and I decided I must get it seen to on the Wednesday. I go to a dentist in Birmington and in the morning I rang him up from London and asked him if he could see me that evening. He fixed six o'clock. I finished in the office about half-past four, and after a cup of tea I drove to Birmington. I had to wait a little time for my appointment, but it was worth it, for I got the aching tooth filled. I really don't remember what time I left the dentist's, but I suppose it must have been about quarter to seven. I got home here about quarter past eight or a minute or two later. Something was rattling infernally about my car, so I ran it direct to the garage which does my repairs, asking them to see to it next morning. I sat down to my evening meal just before eight-thirty. I know that because I looked at the clock. The dentist had told me I mustn't eat too soon and I remember thinking that by eight-thirty the filling would be quite hard.”

“Thank you, Mr. Capper, that's all very clear. What happened then?”

“I had supper and just as I had finished Dr. Marr's message about my uncle came through.”

“When was that, do you remember?”

“About ten to nine. I hurried down to the garage, got the car, and drove over as quickly as I could.”

“That's just what I wanted. Thank you very much. Now, just a point or two for the routine checking. Who is your dentist?”

“Mr. Maxwell of Clovelly Street. But I gave all this information to the local inspector.”

French thought he had seen enough of the man and put his note-book in his pocket. “I'm sorry, sir. Did you tell him the name of your local garage?”

“Yes.”

“And where you called and stayed the night in London?”

“Yes, all of those things.”

“Then I needn't trouble you any more. I'm sorry if I've repeated what you've already been asked.”

If Capper's statement were true, his alibi was stronger than cast steel. French didn't see how it could possibly be faked, as every item was capable of a number of independent checks. The crucial point, of course, was whether the man was at or near his home at ten minutes past eight, the hour at which Burnaby was bitten by the snake. For this there should be the testimony of the housekeeper, the garage proprietor and probably others in the garage and elsewhere. To set the matter beyond doubt he must obtain this testimony. But the visit to the dentist was of little moment and he need not waste time upon it.

He thanked Capper for his help and went to see the manager of the garage, whose name he got from Rankin's notes. Capper's tale, it appeared, was true. The car was an Austin Seven and was fitted with a luggage carrier at the back. The loss of a bolt from this had caused the rattle. Repairs had not been carried out at that time, as Capper had come in for the car again that night, a little before nine, the manager thought. The bolt had, however, been replaced when the car was returned next day.

French reached Birmington feeling more baffled than when he had left it. From the dossier he knew that Rankin had obtained and tested all the particulars of the alibi. The account of the inspector's investigations in London was given, and though French felt that before he gave up the case he must repeat the enquiries, he decided he need not do so at the present juncture. It certainly did seem that Capper had been in Town when the snake was stolen, and forty miles from “Riverview” at the time of the tragedy.

Could Cochrane then have been his agent, or was he, Capper, definitely innocent? French didn't see how Cochrane could have been involved, and yet he supposed it was just possible. It would be better to find out what Cochrane had to say about it.

There followed a tedious and inconclusive investigation. Cochrane said he had been at his home on both nights. His wife supported his story, though neither was able to produce further confirmation. On the other hand, French learnt nothing which threw the slightest doubt on their word. He felt that while not proven, the statement was probably true.

He went home that Saturday evening, returning to Birmington on the Sunday night. He had taken the dossier with him and in the train had plenty of time to study it. So far the results of his investigations had proved most disappointing. These provincial police had been quite as wide awake as he himself. He had suggested to them nothing which they had not already thought of for themselves, and their objections to his theories were sound; indeed, unanswerable. He felt that so far he had not shone in the affair.

But, after all, he was no fool himself, and the fact that he was puzzled simply meant that he had not yet investigated sufficiently. He was convinced that this was a case of murder. He had suspected Capper, but there he had been wrong. He must therefore find some other suspect. And vague imaginings wouldn't do it. He must get down to it and use such brains as he had till he found the solution. Similar difficulties had arisen before in his life and he had met them in the same way: by hard work and by nothing else.

On Monday, as a matter of routine, he saw all the other persons who had featured in the case, George, Colonel Kirkman, Mrs. Pertwee, Lily Cochrane, and several others. But from none of them did he learn anything helpful.

It was then that an idea leaped into his mind which made him wonder had he at last hit on the truth. He had on various occasions come across delayed action appliances. Could this murder have been carried out by something of the kind?

The idea was not new to him; indeed, he had thought of it early in the case. But all the delayed action appliances he had known had been mechanical. Bombs were favourite instruments in this connection. A bomb could be set off by clockwork, or by the opening of the parcel which contained it, or when some other movement had been made—all hours after the murderer had left the site. Cords tied to the triggers of guns indicated another form of the principle. Poison left where it would afterwards be taken, still another. In fact, there was no end to the lethal devices which fell under the heading.