Behold Here's Poison (25 page)

'Oh, both!' said Randall, turning away from the mirror and facing him. 'The police are so disbelieving. They don't think Hyde is dead. In fact, unless I am much mistaken they suspect him of having murdered Uncle Gregory and gone into hiding. So you see, Aunt Harriet's death must be very upsetting to them. It abolishes Hyde.'

Stella, who had been following this dialogue in some bewilderment, said: 'But what has someone we've never even heard of got to do with it? I mean, what had he to do with uncle, and why should he have murdered him?'

'Why, indeed?' said Randall.

'Yes, but what makes the police suspect him?'

'Well, he's vanished, you see.'

'Yes, but —'

'Darling, don't keep on saying "yes, but." Use your intelligence. The police don't like people to vanish. It isn't seemly.'

'That's all very well,' said Rumbold, 'but the police must have had some reason for suspecting him other than his disappearance—or death, whichever it was.'

'Oh, they had,' agreed Randall. 'They discovered that uncle had had dealings with him. So they went to call on him, and he wasn't there. Then they went to look for his papers, and they weren't there either.'

'Weren't where?' asked Rumbold.

'In a safe-deposit. All very mysterious. You ask the Superintendent.'

Mrs Matthews heaved a weary sigh. 'I can't see what any of this rigmarole has to do with your aunt's death, Randall.'

'As usual, my dear Aunt Zoë, you hit the nail on the head. It has nothing whatsoever to do with it.'

'Then why do you waste time discussing it?' she said. 'Surely —'

'Just to create a diversion,' said Randall sweetly. 'But I'll discuss Aunt Harriet's death instead if you prefer it. When and how did she die?'

Mrs Matthews shuddered. 'I am sorry, Randall. I am afraid I can't bring myself to talk about it.'

'Then my little cousin Stella shall tell me all about it,' said Randall, and turned to her. 'Would you like to drive slowly round the heath, my pet, and unburden yourself to me?'

'All right,' Stella said, after a moment's hesitation. 'You've got to know, anyway. I'll go and put a hat on.'

Guy looked up quickly. 'Look here, Stella —' he began, and then stopped, uncertain how to proceed.

Randall said kindly: 'You mustn't be shy of me, little cousin. Naturally you want to warn her not to say anything indiscreet.'

This left Guy without a word to say. He glared at Randall, who smiled and opened the door for Stella to pass out.

She did not keep him waiting long while she put on her hat, but soon came out to the car, and got in beside him. 'Thank God to be out of it for half-an-hour!' she said. 'It's absolutely awful, Randall.'

'Yes, I didn't flatter myself you came for the pleasure of my company,' he returned, letting in the clutch.

'Sorry. I didn't mean to be rude.'

'My sweet, you're not yourself. You mustn't let it get on your nerves, you know.'

She gave a reluctant laugh. 'Well, it is on them. You've got to help, Randall.'

He did not answer for a moment, and then he said with a marked drawl: 'What leads you to suppose that I can help?'

'You did. You practically said you knew something.'

'Your imagination runs away with you, my pet. I said I didn't want the mystery to be solved.'

'Well, it's got to be!' said Stella fiercely.

'I'm very much afraid that it may be,' said Randall.

'Randall, what is it you know? Why do you say you're afraid it may be? You didn't kill Aunt Harriet!'

'Certainly not,' he replied calmly. 'In fact, I regard Aunt Harriet's death as an entirely needless complication. You had better tell me how it happened.'

'Well, she said she didn't feel well at breakfast. Dinner the evening before had been about the worst ever, and Guy suggested it might have something to do with it.'

'By way of being helpful, or mere airy persiflage?' inquired Randall.

'Airy persiflage. Your style,' said Stella.

'You must learn to appreciate me better, darling. My style is unique.'

'All right. Just as well if it is. Anyway, aunt was annoyed and she ate some bacon, by way of proving that the sardine hadn't upset her.'

'One moment,' interposed Randall. 'I like to have things clear. Does the sardine play a major part in the story? Because if so I should wish to have its role carefully explained to me.'

'No, it was the savoury at dinner, that's all.'

'If it was really all, Aunt Harriet's economy must have reached a staggering pitch,' commented Randall.

Stella gave a spurt of laughter, but became instantly sober again. 'Randall, you mustn't joke. It isn't funny.

And it's beastly of you to laugh at—at a thing like this.'

'Acquit me, darling. I only wanted to raise a laugh out of you.'

She turned her head to look at him. 'Why?'

He smiled. 'Such a solemn Stella. I don't like it. But go on with this entrancing story.'

'Well, there isn't much more. Apparently she felt worse after breakfast, and went up to tell Mummy she wasn't well. Mummy put her back to bed, and gave her some dope, and—and she felt sleepy. And Mummy looked into her room about twelve o'clock, only she seemed to be fast asleep, so Mummy didn't disturb her, and at lunch-time I went up to her, and—and she was dead.'

Randall shot the car forward past a lorry, and slackened speed again. 'And now tell me all the bits you've left out,' he said.

'I—I haven't, really. Except that I can't help feeling that the police—think Mummy had something to do with it.'

'They do not seem to be alone in that belief,' remarked Randall.

'What do you mean?' said Stella.

'If you are not afraid that your sainted parent had a hand in this, what are you worrying about, my love? Tell me the whole truth!'

'I'm not afraid she did it! I'm not, I tell you! I'm only afraid that it's going to look black against her, and I don't know what to do. She washed up the glass she gave the medicine in, and she gave orders no one was to go into aunt's room. It was what anyone would have done, Randall! but the police—made it sound fishy, and Mummy—I think Mummy saw that it did, because she said that she couldn't remember who'd washed the glass, and it was obvious that she did remember. And she kept on saying she was sure aunt had had a stroke, and—and finding reasons for it. She was worst with Deryk, but—but I don't trust him, and I'm afraid he may have told the police how she fought against having a post-mortem. Supposing they arrest her?'

'Supposing we wait and see whether Aunt Harriet was poisoned or not?' countered Randall.

'Randall, why won't you tell what you know?' said Stella imploringly. 'Deryk wouldn't have said that if he hadn't been pretty sure. And if she was poisoned, don't you see that Mummy, or Guy (or me, I suppose), are the only people who had any motive at all?'

'I do,' said Randall. 'But if you would all of you contrive to keep your heads, you may yet escape the gallows.'

'Don't!' she said sharply. 'I thought at first you were going to be decent, and take it seriously. I might have known you'd only sneer!'

'Strange as it may seem to you, my love, I am taking it extremely seriously.'

She looked curiously at him. 'Were you fond of Aunt Harriet?'

'Not in the least. But I infinitely preferred her alive to dead.'

'Why do you say it like that?'

'Because, my dear Stella, by dying Aunt Harriet has created a damnably awkward situation!' he answered.

Chapter Thirteen

The rest of Sunday passed uncomfortably. Randall left the Poplars soon after lunch, Mrs Matthews retired to rest, and her children, finding it impossible to occupy themselves indoors, went for a walk. Mrs Matthews remarked three times during the course of the evening that she felt quite lost without her sister-in-law, and when Guy, whose nerves were badly frayed, said caustically that he had been under the impression that life under the same roof with Harriet had become insupportable to her, she read him a lecture on the folly of exaggeration, and went to bed proclaiming herself not angry, but merely hurt. Stella then took her brother to task for having started a quarrel, and Guy, announcing that a little more from her (or anyone else) would be productive of the direst results, slammed out of the room. After that Stella too went to bed, and was troubled with bad dreams till morning.

Guy's praiseworthy resolve to go to work as usual had, he felt, to be abandoned. He came down to breakfast looking pale and heavy-eyed, drank a great deal of rather strong tea, and crumbled a piece of toast. His answers to Stella's remarks were monosyllabic, so she presently gave up trying to talk to him, finished her breakfast, and went off to interview the cook.

Mrs Beecher added her mite to the day's ills by greeting her with a month's notice. She and Beecher, she said, were very sorry, but they were feeling Unsettled.

'Well, I can't say I'm surprised,' replied Stella candidly.

'No, miss, and I'm sure it's not your fault. But one's got to think of oneself, when all's said and done, and right or wrong, we don't neither of us care to stay in a house where people drop down dead with poison six days out of the seven. 'Tisn't natural.'

'No,' agreed Stella, too dispirited to point out a somewhat gross overstatement. 'Is anything wanted in the town?'

Mrs Beecher thereupon produced a sheet of paper, which seemed to be entirely covered with writing, and said there were just one or two little things she needed.

Stella took the list, and went upstairs to consult her mother.

Mrs Matthews was just about to get up when her daughter entered the room. She, like Guy, looked rather heavy-eyed. She said that she had had a bad night, and upon being shown Mrs Beecher's shopping list, moaned faintly, and implored Stella not to worry her with that.

'There's worse than this,' said Stella, pocketing the list. 'The Beechers have given notice. Leaving at the end of the month. Shall I call in at the Registry Office?'

Mrs Matthews said that it made her sad to think of all the people in the world who never gave a thought to anyone but themselves. However, after moralising in this strain for about five minutes, she remembered that she had always meant to get rid of the Beechers if Gregory had left the house to her, so really it was a blessing in disguise. Stella left her planning the new staff, and went off to do the shopping.

When she returned, nearly an hour later, she found Guy pacing up and down the hall. She commented unfavourably on this, but he turned a strained, pale face towards her, and said abruptly: 'The police are here. She was poisoned.'

Stella put her parcels rather carefully down on the table, and replied after a slight pause: 'Well, we practically knew that. What was it?'

'Nicotine. Same as uncle.'

She nodded. 'Bound to be. Where are the police?'

'In the library, with mother. They wouldn't let me stay.'

'Have they found out what the poison was put into?'

'No. At least, I don't think so. They took away a lot of medicines and things from Aunt Harriet's room on Saturday. I suppose there hasn't been time to analyse them yet.'

Stella slowly pulled off her gloves, and smoothed out the fingers. 'As long as they don't know how the stuff was given, there's no need for us to panic,' she said.

'No one's panicking,' he answered irritably. 'But they'll go on motive. I tell you, I've thought it all out from A to Z. It was all right when uncle died. Anybody might have done it. But Aunt Harriet's death has narrowed the field down to two: myself and Mother. And the serious part of it is that we had motives for both murders. No one else had the slightest motive for murdering Aunt Harriet. It's no use blinking facts: one or other of us is going to be arrested—perhaps both of us.

'Don't be such an ass!' said Stella. 'They can't prove anything against either of you—can they?'

Guy stopped pacing up and down, and came to a halt by the table, and stood facing his sister across it. 'If you'll take the trouble to look at it fair and square you'll see they've got a nasty-looking case against us,' he said forcibly. 'I was in a jam, and nothing would induce me to go to South America, so I poisoned uncle. Then I found that Aunt Harriet had left her money to me, and because I'm hard-up, I poisoned her, too.'

'No one would commit a murder for ,000,' said Stella.

'Wouldn't they just? Don't you believe it, my girl! People commit murders for much less.'

'At that rate, I might have murdered her because she made the house unbearable.'

'I don't think so. Of course, you might have murdered uncle because he threatened to ruin Fielding, but that isn't likely either, especially now it's all off between you. It's Mother the police suspect. She was dressing when they turned up, and I interviewed them first. The Superintendent asked me a whole lot of questions—damned awkward ones! Those blasted servants must have been talking. If you think it over, you can see for yourself how suspicious things must look. You remember the row Mother had with Uncle Gregory about me going to Brazil? Well, naturally, you do: it's the only real quarrel she ever had with him, and the whole household knows of it. But as I see it, it wouldn't matter so much about that if she hadn't so suddenly stopped having a row, and gone all honey-sweet to uncle.'

'Oh, that's just Mummy!' Stella said quickly. 'Partly remembering she was a Christian, and partly hoping to coax uncle. Anyone who knows Mummy would recognise that act.'

'The point is the police don't know her. Why, good Lord, even I was surprised at her giving in so soon! And apparently she told the police she never took uncle seriously over the Brazilian business, and that's an obvious lie. I don't mind betting the servants are ready to swear she was more serious than she's ever been before. And you know what she is! She always believes things happened in exactly the way she wants to think they did, and consequently she comes out with the most idiotic fibs, which a babe in arms could see through.'

'Yes, but surely the police can't think that she'd murder Aunt Harriet simply for the sake of getting this house to herself?'

Guy brought his open palm down on the table. 'Don't be such a thick-headed little fool! Don't you realise that uncle left a trust of ,000 a year for the upkeep of this place? Well, as things were, not only did Aunt Harriet run the show, but £2,000 was just about enough. With Aunt Harriet dead it's a good deal more than enough! Now do you see?'

'No, I don't,' said Stella stoutly. 'The money wasn't going to be given to Aunt to spend as she liked.'

'Thanks, I know exactly how it was left. The trustees have to pay the rates and taxes, and that kind of thing, but the balance is paid into the Bank quarterly, and as long as it isn't overstepped, who's to say how it shall be spent?'

'Yes, I see that,' admitted Stella. 'At the same time, it's a bit thick to think a thing like that about Mummy, whatever her faults may be.'

'It isn't what I think. It's what the police are going to think,' said Guy.

'Well, I should imagine they'd think twice before arresting her,' replied Stella. 'If she'd wanted to murder Aunt Harriet she could surely have waited till uncle's death blew over. I mean, to do it now is absolutely asking for trouble!'

'No, I don't agree with you,' said Guy instantly. 'If she did it, she probably thought it would be safer while the police were in a complete fog over uncle's death. Lots of people to suspect. If she'd waited she'd probably have been the only suspect. Something like that might have gone on in her mind.'

Stella gave a shiver. 'It's too beastly. Shut up about it, for God's sake! What about that man Randall spoke of—I can't remember his name?'

'What man? Oh, that rubbish! I don't know: it sounded to me like Randall trying to be funny.'

'No, it wasn't. He meant it.'

'Well, if he did I can't see what it can have to do with Aunt Harriet's death.'

'No,' said Stella heavily. 'Randall said that too.' She glanced towards the library-door. 'How long has Mother been shut up with the police?'

'About twenty minutes.' Guy began to walk up and down again. 'I can't make Mother out!' he said. 'Generally she doesn't give away much. She didn't when uncle died. But this time she seems—badly rattled.'

'It's enough to rattle anybody.'

'Well, I wish to God she'd stop telling everybody how much she's going to miss Aunt, and how heartbroken she is!' said Guy explosively. 'It rings so dam' false!'

Stella considered this. 'Do you know, I'm not so sure of that? It's quite possible she does miss her.'

Guy stared at her. 'They fought like cats!'

'Yes, I know, but—but they were awfully used to each other, and they often joined forces against uncle, or Aunt Gertrude, and if ever one of them was ill the other always rallied round at once.'

'Better if they hadn't!' Guy said significantly. 'Oh, hell, why did Mother give Aunt a medicine of her own instead of sending for the doctor? And what possessed her to forbid anyone to go into Aunt's room? The servants all say that she impressed it on them that they weren't to disturb Aunt, and it came out today that she even forbade Mary to sweep the landing that morning.'

'Anyone would have done the same,' insisted Stella. 'Aunt said she was sleepy, so naturally Mummy wouldn't let Mary fidget about outside her room.'

Guy started to reply, but broke off as the library-door was opened, and looked quickly round. Mrs Matthews stood holding the door-handle, and said in a faint voice: 'Stella, I want you.'

Both her children at once went towards her. Stella slipped a sustaining arm round her waist, and said: 'It's all right, Mummy; I'm here. What is it?'

Mrs Matthews led her into the library. 'Darling child, I want you to think back carefully, and tell the Superintendent. Do you remember when poor Aunt Harriet was taken ill how you and I discussed whether we should send for Dr Fielding or not?'

'Yes, of course,' responded Stella, whose only recollection was of her mother stating that a doctor was quite unnecessary. She looked across the room to where Hannasyde stood, and met his searching gaze unflinchingly. 'I didn't think it was in the least called-for.'

Hannasyde did not reply to her, but instead addressed her mother. 'Mrs Matthews, this is quite useless. The fact remains that you did not send for a doctor, though it must surely have been obvious to a woman of your experience that your sister-in-law was very unwell indeed.'

Stella felt her mother's fingers tighten unconsciously on her own arm. 'But it was not obvious!' Mrs Matthews said, in a low, unsteady voice. 'I knew she felt sick, and I saw that she was a bad colour, but I put that down to acute indigestion. She never had what I call a really healthy colour, never!'