Strong Poison (31 page)

“It is not very difficult to introduce powdered arsenic into a cracked egg,” said Wimsey. “I have made the experiment myself with a small glass tube. Perhaps a small funnel would be even easier. Aarsenic is a fairly heavy substance – 7 or 8 grains will go into a tea-spoon. It collects at one end of the egg, and any traces on the exterior of the shell can be readily wiped off. Liquid arsenic could be poured in still more easily, of course, but for a particular reason I made my experiment with the ordinary white powder. It is fairly soluble.”

Mr. Urquhart had taken a cigar from his case, and was making rather a business of lighting it.

“Do you suggest,” he enquired, “that in the whisking together of four eggs, one particular poisoned egg was somehow kept miraculously separated from the rest and deposited with its load of arsenic at one end of the omelette only? Or that my cousin deliberately helped himself to the poisoned end and left the rest to me?”

“Not at all, not at all,“ said Wimsey.

“I suggest merely that the arsenic was in the omelette and came there by way of the egg.”

Mr. Urquhart threw his match into the fireplace.

“There seem to be some flaws in your theory, as well as in the egg.”

“I haven’t finished the theory yet. My next bit of it is built up from very trifling indications. Let me enumerate them. Your disinclination to drink at dinner, your complexion, a few nailparings, a snipping or so from your very well-kept hair – I put these together, add a packet of white arsenic from the secret cupboard in your office, rub the hands a little – so – and produce – hemp, Mr. Urquhart, hemp.”

He sketched the shape of a noose lightly in the air.

“I don’t understand you,” said the solicitor, hoarsely.

“Oh you know,” said Wimsey. “Hemp – what they make ropes of. Great stuff, hemp. Yes, well, about this arsenic. As you know, it’s not good for people in a general way, but there are some people – those tiresome peasants in Styria one hears so much about – who are supposed to eat it for fun. It improves their wind, so they say, and clears their complexions and makes their hair sleek, and they give it to their horses for the same reason; bar the complexion, that is, because a horse hasn’t much complexion, but you know what I mean. Then there was that horrid man Maybrick – he used to take it, or so they say. Anyhow, it’s well known that some people do take it and manage to put away large dollops after a bit of practice – enough to kill any ordinary person. But you know all this.”

“This is the first time I’ve heard of such a thing.”

“Where do you expect to go to? Never mind. We’ll pretend this is all new to you. Well, some fellow – I’ve forgotten his name, but it’s all in Dixon Mann – wondered how the dodge was worked, and he got going on some dogs and things and he dosed ’em and killed a lot of ’em I daresay, and in the end he found that whereas liquid arsenic was dealt with by the kidneys and was uncommonly bad for the system, solid arsenic could be given day by day, a little bigger dose each time, so that in time the doings – what an old lady I knew in Norfolk called ‘the tubes’ – got used to it and could push it along without taking any notice of it, so to speak. I read a book somewhere which said it was all done by leucocytes – those jolly little white corpuscles, don’t you know – which sort of got round the stuff and bustled it along so that it couldn’t do any harm. At all events, the point is that if you go on taking solid arsenic for a good long time – say a year or so – you establish a what-not, an immunity, and can take six or seven grains at a time without so much as a touch of indi-jaggers.”

“Very interesting,” said Mr. Urquhart.

“Apparently these beastly Styrian peasants do it that way, and they’re very careful not to drink for two hours or thereabouts after taking it, for fear it should all get washed into the kidneys and turn poisonous on ’em. I’m not being‘ very technical, I’m afraid, but that’s the gist of it. Well, it occurred to me, don’t you see, old horse, that if you’d had the bright idea to immunise yourself first, you could easily have shared a jolly old arsenical omelette with a friend. It would kill him and it wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I see.”

The solicitor licked his lips.

“Well, as I say, you have a nice clear complexion – except that I notice the arsenic has pigmented the skin here and there (it does sometimes), and you’ve got the sleek hair and so on, and I noticed you were careful not to drink at dinner, and I said to myself, ‘Peter, my bright lad, what about it?’ And when they found a packet of white arsenic in your cupboard – never mind how for the moment! – I said, ‘Hullo, hullo, how long has this been going on?’ Your handy foreign chemist has told the police two years – is that right? About the time of the Megatherium crash that would be, wouldn’t it? All right, don’t tell me if you don’t want to. Then we got hold of some bits of your hair and nails, and lo and behold, they were bung-full of arsenic. And we said ‘What-ho!’ So that’s why I asked you to come along and have a chat with me. I thought you might like to offer some sort of suggestion, don’t you know.”

“I can only suggest,” said Urquhart, with a ghastly face but a strictly professional manner, “that you should be careful before you communicate this ludicrous theory to anybody. What you and the police – whom, frankly, I believe to be capable of anything – have been planting on my premises I do not know, but to give out that I am addicted to drug-taking habits is slander and criminal. It is quite true that I have for some time been taking a medicine which contains slight traces of arsenic – Dr. Grainger can furnish the prescription – and that may very likely have left a deposit in my skin and hair, but further than that, there is no foundation for this monstrous accusation.”

“None?”

“None.”

“Then how is it,” asked Wimsey, coolly, but with something menacing in his rigidly controlled voice, “how is it that you have this evening consumed, without apparent effect, a dose of arsenic sufficient to kill two or three ordinary people? That disgusting sweetmeat on which you have been gorging yourself in, I may say, a manner wholly unsuited to your age and position, is smothered in white arsenic. You ate it, God forgive you, an hour and a half ago. If arsenic can harm you, you should have been rolling about in agonies for the last hour.”

“You devil!”

“Couldn’t you try to get up a few symptoms?” said Wimsey, sarcastically. “Shall I bring you a basin? Or fetch the doctor? Does your throat burn? Is your inside convulsed with agony? It is rather late in the day, but with a little goodwill you could surely produce some display of feeling, even now.”

“You are lying. You wouldn’t dare to do such a thing! It would be murder.”

“Not in this case, I fancy. But I am willing to wait and see.”

Urquhart stared at him. Wimsey got out of his chair in a single swift movement and stood over him.

“I wouldn’t use violence if I were you. Let the poisoner stick to his bottle. Besides, I am armed. Pardon the melodrama. Are you going to be sick or not?”

“You’re mad.”

“Don’t say that. Come, man – pull yourself together. Have a shot at it. Shall I show you the bathroom?”

“I’m ill.”

“Of course; but your tone is not convincing. Through the door, along the passage, and third on the left.”

The lawyer stumbled out. Wimsey returned to the library and rang the bell.

“I think, Bunter, Mr. Parker may require some assistance in the bathroom.”

“Very good, my lord.”

Bunter departed and Wimsey waited. Presently there were sounds of a scuffle in the distance. A group appeared at the door. Urquhart, very white, his hair and clothes disordered, flanked by Parker and Bunter, who held him firmly by the arms.

“Was he sick?” asked Wirnsey, with interest.

“No, he wasn’t,” said Parker, grimly, snapping the handcuffs on his prey. “He cursed you fluently for five minutes, then tried to get out of the window, saw it was a three-story drop, charged in through the dressing-room door and ran straight into me. Now don’t struggle, my lad, you’ll only hurt yourself.”

“And he still doesn’t know whether he’s poisoned or not?”

“He doesn’t seem to think he is. At any rate, he made no effort about it. His one idea was to hop it.”

“That’s feeble,” said Wimsey, “if I wanted people to think I’d been poisoned I’d put up a better show than that.”

“Stop talking, for God’s sake,” said the prisoner. “You’ve got me, by a vile, damnable trick. Isn’t that enough? You can shut up about it.”

“Oh,” said Parker, “we’ve got you, have we? Well, I warned you not to talk, and if you will do it, it’s not my fault. By the way, Peter, I don’t suppose you did actually poison him, did you? It doesn’t seem to have hurt him, but it’ll affect the doctor’s report.”

“No, I didn’t, as a matter of fact,” said Wimsey. “I only wanted to see how he’d react to the suggestion. Well, cheerio! I can leave it to you now.”

“We’ll look after him,” said Parker. “But you might let Bunter ring up a taxi.”

When the prisoner and his escort had departed, Wimsey turned thoughtfully to Bunter, glass in hand.

“Mithridates he died old, says the poet. But I doubt it, Bunter. In this case I very much doubt it.”

There were golden chrysanthemums on the judge’s bench; they looked like burning banners.

The prisoner, too, had a look in her eyes that was a challenge to the crowded court, as the clerk read the indictment. The judge, a plump, elderly man with an eighteenth-century face, looked expectantly at the Attorney-General.

“My lord – I am instructed that the Crown offers no evidence against this prisoner.” The gasp that went round the room sounded like the rustle of trees in a rising wind.

“Do I understand that the charge against the prisoner is withdrawn?”

“Those are my instructions, my lord.”

“In that case,” said the judge, impassively, turning to the jury, “there is nothing left for you but to return a verdict of ‘Not Guilty.’ Usher, keep those people quiet in the gallery.”

“One moment, my lord.” Sir Impey Biggs rose up, large and majestic.

“On my client’s behalf – on Miss Vane’s behalf, my lord, I beg your lordship’s indulgence for a few words. A charge has been brought against her, my lord, the very awful charge of murder, and I should like it to be made clear, my lord, that my client leaves this court without a stain upon her character. As I am informed, my lord, this is not a case of the charge being withdrawn in default of evidence. I understand, my lord, that further information has come to the police which definitely proves the entire innocence of my client. I also understand, my lord, that a further arrest has been made and that an inquiry will follow, my lord, in due course. My lord, this lady must go forth into the world acquitted, not only at this bar, but at the bar of public opinion. Any ambiguity would be intolerable, and I am sure, my lord, that I have the support of the learned AttorneyGeneral for what I say.”

“By all means,” said the Attorney. “I am instructed to say, my lord, that in withdrawing the charge against the prisoner, the Crown proceeds from complete conviction of her absolute innocence.”

“I am very glad to hear it,” said the judge. “Prisoner at the bar, the Crown, by unreservedly withdrawing this dreadful charge against you, has demonstrated your innocence in the clearest possible way. After this, nobody will be able to suppose that the slightest imputation rests upon you, and I most heartily congratulate you on this very satisfactory ending to your long ordeal. Now, please – I sympathise very much with the people who are cheering, but this is not a theatre or a football match, and if they are not quiet, they will have to be put out. Members of the jury, do you find the Prisoner Guilty or Not Guilty?”

“Not Guilty, my lord.”

“Very good. The prisoner is discharged without a stain upon her character. Next case.”

So ended, sensational to the last, one of the most sensational murder trials of the century.

Harriet Vane, a free woman, found Eiluned Price and Sylvia Mariott waiting for her as she descended the stairs.

“Darling!” said Sylvia.

“Three loud cheers!” said Eiluned.

Harriet greeted them a little vaguely. “Where is Lord Peter Wimsey?” she enquired. “I must thank him.”

“You won’t,” said Eiluned, bluntly. “I saw him drive off the moment the verdict was given.”

“Oh!” said Miss Vane.

“He’ll come and see you,” said Sylvia.

“No, he won’t,” said Eiluned.

“Why not?” said Sylvia.

“Too decent,” said Eiluned.

“I’m afraid you’re right,” said Harriet.

“I like that young man,” said Eiluned. “You needn’t grin. I do like him. He’s not going to do the King Cophetua stunt, and I take off my hat to him. If you want him, you’ll have to send for him.”

“I won’t do that,” said Harret.

“Oh, yes, you will,” said Sylvia. “I was right about who did the murder, and I’m going to be right about this.”

Lord Peter Wimsey went down to Duke’s Dnver that same evening. He found the family in a state of perturbation, all except the dowager, who sat placidly making a rug in the midst of the uproar.

“Look here, Peter,” said the Duke, “you’re the only person with an influence over Mary. You’ve got to do something. She wants to marry your policeman friend.”

“I know,” said Wimsey. “Why shouldn’t she?”

“It’s ridiculous,”said the Duke.

“Not at all,” said Lord Peter. “Charles is one of the best.”

“Very likely,” said the duke, “but Mary can’t marry a policeman.”

“Now, look here,” said Wimsey, tucking his sister’s arm in his, “you leave Polly alone. Charles made a bit of a mistake at the the begining of this murder cse, but he doesn’t make many, and one of these days he’ll be a big man, with a title, I shouldn’t wonder, and everything handsome about him. If you want to have a row with somebody, have it with me.”