Читать книгу Death at Breakfast - John Rhode, John Rhode - Страница 6

1

Doctor Mortimer Oldland, though no longer young, was still full of energy. He would tell his patients, sometimes rather acidly, that hard work had never killed anybody yet. It certainly showed no signs of killing him. His extensive practice in Kensington left him very little leisure. But he always seemed ready at any moment to tackle a fresh case or to persevere with an old one.

He believed in early rising, summer or winter. By half-past eight on the morning of January 21st he had finished his breakfast, and was sitting over the fire consulting his case-book. As the clock struck the half hour, the door opened, and the parlourmaid appeared. ‘There’s a lady called to see you. sir. She says it’s urgent.’

‘It’s always urgent when ladies call at this hour,’ replied Oldland calmly. ‘I suppose she has brought the usual small boy, suspected of swallowing a sixpence?’

‘No, sir. She’s alone, and seems in a terrible state. She was too upset to tell me her name. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen her here before, sir.’

‘All right. I’ll see what I can do for her.’ Oldland put down his case-book, and walked into his surgery.

He was confronted by a distraught woman, a perfect stranger to him. ‘Oh, Doctor!’ she exclaimed, as soon as he appeared. ‘Can you come round at once? My brother has been taken very ill, and I don’t know what to do for him.’

Oldland’s experience had made him a pretty fair judge of character. She did not seem to him the sort of woman who would fly into a panic over nothing. ‘I’ll come,’ he replied shortly. ‘Where is your brother?’

‘At home, 8 Matfield Street. It’s quite close …’

‘So close that it will be quicker to walk there than ring up for a taxi. And you can tell me the details as you go.’

He picked up his emergency bag, and they set off, Oldland walking at his usual smart pace, the girl, for it was evident that she was quite young, half running to keep up with him. In broken words she described the symptoms. Her brother had come down to breakfast as usual, but complaining of not feeling very well. He had drunk a cup of coffee, but had been almost immediately sick. He had complained of being terribly giddy, and had seemed unable to walk. On leaving the dining-room, he had collapsed on the floor of the hall, where he lay, unable to speak or move.

‘I see,’ said Oldland. ‘We’ll see what we can do for him. By the way, I don’t think I caught the name?’

‘Harleston. I’m Janet Harleston, and my brother’s name is Victor. He’s only my half-brother, and he’s a good deal older than I am. I keep house for him. I’ve never known him like this before. He’s always perfectly well.’

Oldland asked no more questions, and they covered the remainder of the distance in silence. The front door of number eight Matfield Street was standing ajar. Janet Harleston ran up the half-dozen steps which led to it, and pushed it open.

Oldland followed her into a narrow, linoleum-laid hall. He had no need to inquire the whereabouts of his patient. Victor Harleston lay huddled on the floor. At a first glance Oldland saw that he was completely unconscious. He examined the patient rapidly, then took a syringe from his bag and administered an injection. ‘Is there a sofa handy?’ he asked sharply.

Janet was standing by, watching him anxiously. ‘Yes, in the sitting room,’ she replied. ‘Just through this door.’

‘Is there a maid in the house?’

‘No, my brother and I live alone. We have a charwoman, but she doesn’t come until the afternoon.’

‘That’ll be too late. He’s a heavy man, and I hardly think we could manage him between us. Will you run out, please Miss Harleston, and fetch a policeman. There’s one at the corner of the Fulham Road, I noticed him as we passed. Tell him I sent you. He’s sure to know my name.’

She ran out obediently, and Oldland resumed his examination of the patient. Victor Harleston, his toilet completed, was more presentable than he had appeared in bed. His hair was brushed and neatly parted, and his clothes, if not smart, were clean and nearly new. But he had apparently cut himself while shaving, and the patch of sticking-plaster adhering to his cheek was scarcely an ornament. Oldland, holding his pulse, shook his head ominously.

Within a couple of minutes Janet returned with a policeman. He and Oldland exchanged nods of mutual recognition. ‘This young lady asked me to come along, sir …’ he began.

‘Yes, that’s right, Carling.’ Oldland cut in curtly. ‘Poor fellow. Taken ill. I want to get him on to the sofa next door. You take his shoulders, and I’ll take his legs. That’s right.’

The two men carried Victor Harleston into the sitting-room, Janet following them. The unconscious man having been deposited on the sofa, the policeman turned to go. But Oldland detained him. ‘Don’t run away for a moment’ he said. ‘I may want you to help me move him again presently. Miss Harleston, I want you to run over to my house again. When the parlourmaid opens the door, ask her to give you the small black case which is lying on the mantelpiece in the surgery. The black one, mind, not the red. And bring it back here as soon as you can.’

For the second time she ran off, and Oldland listened to her footsteps as they descended the front steps. As though to satisfy himself of her departure, he went to the front door and watched her till she disappeared round the corner of Matfield Street. Then he came back to the policeman. ‘Your turn to run errands, now, Carling,’ he said. ‘There’s no telephone in this house, that I can see. Slip round to the nearest box, and ring up Scotland Yard. Ask for Superintendent Hanslet. He knows me well enough. And tell him that there’s a job waiting for him here. I’ll stop in the house until he comes, or sends somebody else. Got that?’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Carling. ‘Will you want me again?’

Oldland shook his head. ‘Neither you nor I can do any more for this poor chap. He’ll be dead within the next few minutes.’

Left alone with his patient, Oldland’s expression changed. His usual rather cynical smile gave place to a look of sterness such as few of his friends had seen. He picked up the inert wrist once more, and remained holding it until the irregular pulse had fluttered into lifelessness. Then, with a sharp sigh, he composed the body in a natural attitude, and stood for a moment looking at it as though he half expected the departing soul to reveal its secret. At last he shrugged his shoulders, and abruptly left the room.

He had already taken in the arrangement of the house. Two doors opened off the hall. The one nearest the front was that of the sitting-room, into which Victor Harleston had been carried. The second door was ajar, revealing a table laid for breakfast. Evidently the dining-room. At the end of the hall was a flight of steps leading downwards to the basement, and another flight leading upwards to the first floor. Oldland hesitated for a moment, then walked into the dining-room.

It was adequately furnished with objects of a peculiarly ugly type. A heavy, clumsy looking table stood in the middle of the floor, which was covered with a rather worn carpet. On the table was spread a white cloth, apparently fresh from the wash. The room contained a set of dining-room chairs, two of which had been drawn up to the table. One of these had been overturned, and lay on its side. The other, on the opposite side of the table, seemed to have been pushed back hurriedly.

Oldland inspected the preparations for breakfast, being careful, however, to touch nothing. In front of the overturned chair was a respectable meal. A couple of fried eggs and two rashers of bacon on a plate. These had not been touched, and were now cold and greasy. The knife and fork lying beside the plate were not soiled. A second plate, on which was a piece of toast, broken in half, but otherwise untouched, and a pat of butter. A cup, which had evidently been drunk from, empty but for some dregs of coffee at the bottom.

The meal laid at the other side of the table was more modest. No eggs and bacon, merely a plate with toast and butter, some of which seemed to have been eaten. A cup of coffee, full and untouched. At this end of the table stood a coffee-pot. Oldland, anxious to disturb nothing, did not lift the lid. Beside it stood a jug, about a third full of milk which had once been hot. In the centre of the table was a toast-rack, with four pieces of toast still in it. There was also a butter dish, with a few pats of butter, and a cruet with salt, pepper, and mustard.

At one end of the room was a recess, with a window looking out at the back of the house, over an unkempt patch of garden. In this recess was a roll-top desk, with the top closed. Oldland noticed that the key was in the lock. This key was on a ring with three others of various kinds. Two of these were Yale keys.

Oldland, who had quick ears, heard the sound of hurried footsteps on the pavement. He returned to the hall, in time to confront Janet Harleston as she entered the house. ‘I’m sorry, Doctor,’ she said breathlessly. ‘But the parlourmaid said she couldn’t find the black case anywhere.’

‘No, I’m afraid you had your trouble for nothing. Miss Harleston,’ Oldland replied. ‘It was in my bag all the time. I found it just after you had gone.’

‘Oh, I’m so glad!’ she exclaimed. ‘How’s poor Victor? Is he any better?’

‘I’m sorry to say that your brother is dead, Miss Harleston,’ replied Oldland, with what seemed cruel curtness.

But amazement, rather than grief, appeared to be the effect caused by this bold statement. ‘Dead!’ she exclaimed incredulously. ‘But he was perfectly well when I took him his tea at half-past seven.’

‘That may be, Miss Harleston. You understand that, under the circumstances, I cannot give a death certificate, and that I shall have to communicate with the coroner?’

She shook her head helplessly. ‘I don’t know anything about these things, Doctor. Does that mean there’ll be an inquest?’

‘I’m afraid so. In any case, arrangements will have to be made to take the body to the mortuary. Have you any other relations alive, Miss Harleston?’

‘My mother and father are dead. But I have another brother. Philip, who lives in Kent. He’s my real brother, a year older than I am. He was here to supper yesterday evening. I’d better send him a wire to come up at once, hadn’t I?’

‘Plenty of time, plenty of time’ replied Oldland absently. He glanced at his watch. Past nine o’clock! His car and chauffeur would be waiting for him. He had a long round of visits to pay that morning. But he couldn’t leave this sinister house, yet. It was a damnable nuisance. ‘What was your brother’s occupation?’ he asked abruptly, more for the sake of continuing the conversation, than because he felt any interest in the matter.

‘He was a clerk in an accountant’s office. Slater & Knott is the name of the firm. Their offices are in Chancery Lane. Victor had been with them for years.’

‘Had he many friends in London?’

She shook her head. ‘No, Victor wasn’t the sort to make friends. He … Oh!’

Janet Harleston broke off with a sudden exclamation. She seemed suddenly to have remembered something, and Oldland glanced at her with a faint renewal of interest. ‘You were going to say?’ he suggested.

‘I was going to say that as far as I know, he hadn’t any friends, and then I remembered the man at the door, when I went to fetch you. I’ve been so upset, that I never thought of him again until this moment.’

Oldland might have pursued the subject, but at that moment the door bell rang insistently. ‘I’ll answer it,’ he said. ‘I expect it’s somebody for me.’ He walked swiftly to the door and opened it. On the threshold stood Superintendent Hanslet himself. ‘Morning, Doctor!’ he exclaimed cheerfully. ‘What’s the matter here?’

Oldland made no reply, but drew him inside and propelled him into the sitting-room. Janet, motionless in the hall, watched them with wide-open, frightened eyes, but said nothing. It was not until he and Hanslet were standing together in front of the sofa that Oldland spoke. ‘That’s what’s the matter,’ he said curtly.

Hanslet took a step forward, and bent over the body. ‘Dead?’ he asked.

‘Dead,’ replied Oldland grimly. ‘I was called in, and reached here at five-and-twenty minutes to nine. The man was then alive, but his condition was hopeless, and he died a few minutes later.’

‘What did he die of?’ asked Hanslet suspiciously.

‘Acute poisoning of some kind. And it appears that he lived alone with his half-sister, the girl you saw in the hall just now. The rest is up to you. I’ve got my work to attend to. You know where to find me if you want me.’

And before Hanslet could protest, he had slipped out of the house.

2

The superintendent shrugged his shoulders. He had always considered Oldland a bit eccentric, though he fully recognised his abilities. The two men had been acquainted for some few years.

Though Hanslet continued to stare at the body for some few moments, he did so more out of curiosity than in the hope of learning anything from it. He was fully prepared to accept Oldland’s statement. The problem before him would be simply expressed. The task of the police was to find out how the poison had been administered, and by whom.

Hanslet turned swiftly on his heel, and left the sitting-room, to find Janet still rooted to the spot where he had last seen her. ‘Allow me to introduce myself,’ he said. ‘I am Superintendent Hanslet of the Criminal Investigation Department. Acting upon information received, I have come here to make inquiries. To begin with, may I ask you your name?

She started, as though his words had awakened her from a deep reverie. ‘My name?’ she replied. ‘Janet Harleston.’

‘And the dead man was your brother?’

‘My half-brother, Victor Harleston. My father married twice. Both he and my mother have been dead for some years.’

‘You and your half-brother lived here alone?’

‘Yes. My father left the house to Victor. I stayed with him to look after him, since he was not married.’

‘I see. Now, will you tell me what you can of your brother’s illness? Everything that you can remember, please. But we need not stand here. I expect you would like to sit down?’

She led the way into the dining-room, and sat down stiffly upon one of the chairs which stood against the wall. Hanslet seated himself beside her. Before them were displayed the remains of the interrupted breakfast.

Janet began to speak without emotion, as though she were describing some remote event, entirely unconnected with herself. ‘I took him up his cup of tea at half-past seven, as I always do. He was all right then. I’m sure he was, for he looked just the same as he always did. I put his tray down by his bed …’

Hanslet interrupted her. ‘One moment, Miss Harleston. Did you speak to your brother when you took him his tea?’

‘I asked him if he was awake, before I opened his door, and he answered me.’

‘You didn’t ask him how he was, or any similar question?’

‘No,’ she replied sharply. ‘I didn’t speak to him while I was in his room.’

The tone of her voice did not escape Hanslet. It was clear to him that brother and sister had not been on the best of terms. But he did not comment on this. ‘What happened next?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. I went down to the kitchen to get breakfast. It was a little after eight when I brought it in here. Victor came down a few minutes later. I saw that he looked rather pale, and I noticed that he had a piece of sticking-plaster on his face. I asked him if he had cut himself shaving, and he said something about any fool being able to tell that, since he wasn’t in the habit of putting plaster on his face to improve his appearance. I saw that he was as grumpy as usual, and didn’t say any more.’

Hanslet made a mental note of that phrase, ‘as grumpy as usual.’ ‘You had no reason to think that your brother was seriously ill?’ he asked.

‘Not for a few minutes. I poured out his coffee and passed it to him. Usually he eats his breakfast and then drinks his coffee. This morning he took a piece of toast and a pat of butter, but though he broke the toast in half he didn’t eat any of it. And he didn’t eat any of the eggs and bacon I had done for him, either. He seemed impatient for his coffee to get cool, and, as soon as he could, he drank it all off at once.’

‘Had he previously drunk the cup of tea which you had brought him?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t been up to his room since. I saw that his hand shook as he held the coffee-cup, and I wondered what was the matter. After he had drunk his coffee, he sat for a minute or two in his chair, twitching all over. Then he got up, as though he was so stiff that he could hardly move. He was so clumsy that he upset his chair. Then he staggered to the door, waving his arms and trying to speak. He was very sick as soon as he got into the hall, and then he swayed for a moment, and fell down flat. I ran out to him, and saw that he was very ill. He didn’t seem able to move, and he couldn’t speak. I thought he had a stroke, or something. So I ran out at once to fetch the doctor.’

‘Is Doctor Oldland your usual medical attendant?’

‘Oh, no. We had no regular doctor. Nobody has been ill in the house since my father died, and the doctor who attended him has gone away now. But I had often noticed Doctor Oldland’s plate when I was out shopping, and as he lives quite close, I went to him.’

‘Since there was nobody else in the house, you had to leave your brother alone while you went for the doctor?’

A puzzled look came into her face. ‘That’s the funny part about it,’ she said, using the adjective in its commonly perverted sense. ‘I opened the front door and ran out, almost colliding with a man who was coming up the steps. He said, “Excuse me, are you Miss Harleston? I’m a friend of your brother’s.” I told him that my brother had been suddenly taken ill, and that I was just going for the doctor. He replied that he would stay with him while I was gone. I ran on towards Doctor Oldland’s, and I was so upset about Victor that I never gave the man another thought.’

‘But you and Doctor Oldland found him when you came back, I suppose?’

‘No, that’s the funny thing about it. We didn’t, there was nobody here.’

‘Are you sure that this man actually entered the house?’

She hesitated. ‘I’m almost sure. You see, I was in a desperate hurry, and only stopped on the steps for a moment when he spoke to me. I feel pretty certain that he walked through the front door as I ran away, but I didn’t look back to see what had become of him. I’m sure I didn’t shut the door, and Doctor Oldland and I found it ajar when we got back here.’

‘I gather that this man was a stranger to you, Miss Harleston?’

‘I had never seen him before. He said he was a friend of my brother’s, which would have surprised me if I had had time to think, for I didn’t know that Victor had any friends. Oh! I’ve just thought! Perhaps he meant that he was a friend of Philip’s.’

‘Philip?’ Hanslet repeated inquiringly.

‘Yes, my real brother. He was here to supper last night, and perhaps this man thought that he had stayed for the night.’

‘Can you give any description of this man?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t. I shouldn’t know him again if I saw him. You understand how it was. I was thinking only of getting the doctor as soon as I could, and I didn’t take any notice of him.’

‘How long were you away from the house?’

‘Oh, not long. Not more than ten minutes, I should think. Doctor Oldland was very good, and came back with me at once.’

Hanslet nodded absently. He was rather puzzled as to his next move. He wanted this girl out of the house, and yet it was imperative that she should be kept under close observation. ‘Have you any friends in London?’ he asked.

‘No, I hardly know anybody. Victor didn’t like people coming to the house.’

‘I don’t like the idea of you staying here alone, after the shock you’ve had. You mentioned your brother Philip. Where does he live?’

‘At Lassingford, near Maidstone. He manages a fruit farm there. I could go to him. He asked me, yesterday evening, if I couldn’t go and stay with him for a few days. That’s what all the row was about.’

So there had been a row. Hanslet had already suspected as much. And then he had a bright idea. ‘Look here, Miss Harleston!’ he said. ‘I’m going to put you under the care of a friend of mine. He’ll send a message for you to your brother, and do anything else you want him to. Now, run upstairs and put on your hat, and we’ll go out and get a taxi.’

He watched her go upstairs and into a bedroom, the door of which she shut behind her. It might have been her brother’s room, but he had to take that risk. However, she appeared again a few minutes later, dressed to go out and carrying her bag. Hanslet met her at the foot of the stairs. ‘Perhaps you had better give me your keys,’ he suggested.

Without protest she handed over a bunch, which Hanslet put in his pocket. ‘Now, I’ll just write a note to this friend of mine,’ he said. ‘Then we’ll be ready to start.’

He took out his notebook, and scribbled a few lines on a blank leaf. ‘Dear Jimmy. This is Miss Janet Harleston. Keep your eye on her till further orders. Let her send any messages she likes, but secure a copy of them. She is not, at present, to be detained.’

They went out of the house together, and walked as far as the Fulham Road. Here Carling was still on duty. Hanslet beckoned to him, and drew him aside. ‘Get a taxi, and take this lady to the Yard,’ he said. ‘She’s not under arrest, so treat her as politely as you can. When you get there, ask for Inspector Waghom and give him this note.’

Carling saluted. A purring taxi was stopped, and he helped Janet into it, clambering in beside her. Hanslet watched them drive off. He went to a nearby telephone box, and put through two calls, one to the divisional police surgeon, the other to the police ambulance station. Then he returned to number eight, Matfield Street, where he went into the sitting-room and sat down in the most comfortable chair. He was in no hurry. Plenty of time to get things straight in his mind before he started looking about.

The case was a very simple one. The dead man and his sister had been the sole occupants of the house. That cleared a bit of complications out of the way, at the very start. There was no uncertainty as to the cause of death. Oldland had said that it had been due to acute poisoning. Oldland was a cautious chap. He would not have committed himself so definitely, if he had not been certain.

In such a case, there were three possibilities to be considered. In the first place, accident. For instance, Harleston might have put poison in his early tea, in mistake for his usual daily dose of Kruschen. In the second place, suicide. He might deliberately have poisoned himself, though this, on the face of it, seemed unlikely. And in the third and last place, murder. The poison might have been administered by somebody with intent to kill.

If the evidence pointed to murder, there was only one person upon whom suspicion could fall. His half-sister. Nobody else had had access to him, by her own admission. The visionary figure standing on the doorstep, even had he really existed, could have had no connection with the crime, since Harleston had obviously taken the poison before he appeared on the scene.

Hanslet had not been very favourably impressed by Janet Harleston. She had told her story readily enough. Almost too readily, perhaps. But she had displayed very little sign of grief at her brother’s death. She had almost given Hanslet the impression that the event was a relief to her. She showed a lack of half-sisterly feeling, to say the least of it. And, by her own confession, she had quarrelled with her brother, as recently as the previous day.

The superintendent rose from his chair, passed into the hall, and went upstairs. He opened the door of the room into which he had seen Janet go. Her bedroom, quite obviously, from the articles which it contained. This room had a window looking out over Matfield Street. Next to it was a smaller room, used as a box-room. On the other side of the landing were two doors, one leading into a bathroom and lavatory, the other into a second bedroom. Both these rooms had windows looking out at the back of the house, over the tiny plot of untended garden.

This second bedroom was certainly the one occupied by Victor Harleston. The bed was unmade, and his striped pyjamas had been carelessly thrown upon it. Hanslet’s eye was immediately caught by the tray which stood on the table beside the bed. This was obviously the tray upon which Janet Harleston had brought her brother’s early tea. Hanslet examined the objects which stood upon it. A tea-pot, about one-third full of tea, now cold. A cup and saucer, the former containing dregs. A sugar-basin, with a few lumps of sugar in it, and a milk-jug, about half-full.

Hanslet examined the room with considerable care. But he could find nothing unusual about it, nothing for instance, which might suggest poison. There was no bottle or other receptacle which seemed in any way suspicious. He passed into the bathroom. This was in a state of considerable disorder, but again it appeared to contain nothing suspicious. He went downstairs again. The ground floor of the house he had already explored, and he continued his way to the basement. Here he found a kitchen, pantry, scullery and larder. There was nothing in any of them beyond the usual food and appliances to be expected in such places.

He was still poking about when he was summoned by a loud knocking on the front door. His visitor proved to be the police surgeon, Doctor Bishop.

‘Well, Superintendent, what have you got here?’ the latter asked in a business-like tone.

‘Come inside,’ Hanslet replied, ‘and I’ll show you.’

The two went into the sitting-room where the body still lay. Doctor Bishop listened attentively to the superintendent’s account of what had happened.

‘Oldland,’ he said. ‘Yes, I know him. Very sound chap. If he said the man died of acute poisoning, you may take it that he did. Your trouble is I suppose, to find out where the poison came from.’

‘I’ve a pretty good idea of that already,’ Hanslet replied. ‘Look here, doctor. The man had a cup of tea soon after seven. He had nothing else until he drank a cup of coffee about half an hour later. Immediately after taking the coffee he was violently ill. No amount of poison in the coffee would act so quickly as that, would it?’

‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said Doctor Bishop thoughtfully. ‘It would seem more reasonable to suspect the tea.’

‘That’s just what I thought. Now then, doctor, if you’ll be good enough to come upstairs I’ll show you the whole outfit still untouched.’

They went up to Harleston’s bedroom. Dr Bishop removed the lid of the teapot and sniffed its contents.

‘Ah!’ he exclaimed, ‘I shouldn’t care to drink that tea. Here, smell it for yourself.’

Hanslet followed his example.

‘It smells to me more like rank tobacco than tea,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ replied Dr Bishop. ‘And that’s the characteristic odour of nicotine, a most virulent poison of which two or three drops would probably be fatal. I don’t think you need look much further for the cause of this man’s death. But what I can’t understand is how he came to drink the decoction which smells like this. And it probably tastes even filthier than it smells, but I shouldn’t advise you to try. I’ll take the contents of the teapot and the dregs in the cup and send them to the Home Office for analysis.’

‘We’d better look round and see if there’s any more nicotine about the place, I suppose,’ he said. ‘Just to make sure.’

They searched the house, but without any further results. The coffee on the dining-room table had no suspicious smell, but Dr Bishop decided to send this for analysis just as a matter of precaution. The food in the kitchen and larder appeared to be equally free from nicotine. And then it occurred to Hanslet that if Janet Harleston had administered the poison, the most likely place to look for it was in her room. They went upstairs again. Conspicuous in the centre of Janet’s dressing table was a bottle labelled ‘eau-de-Cologne’ and containing a liquid of a dark brown colour. Dr Bishop looked at this suspiciously.

‘I’ve never seen eau-de-Cologne that colour before,’ he said.

He took the stopper from the bottle and applied his nose to it. ‘There you are,’ he said, ‘a most remarkable odour which seems to be a blend of eau-de-Cologne and nicotine. This liquid is a strong solution of the latter in the former, I’ll be bound. This bottle must go with the rest for analysis.’

There seemed to be little more to be done for the present. The case was clear as daylight. Harleston had been poisoned by nicotine administered in his early tea, and his sister was the only person who could have administered it. Well, Hanslet thought, she was in safe keeping till she was wanted, anyhow.

Dr Bishop went off with the material for analysis. A few minutes after his departure the ambulance men arrived and the body was taken away to the mortuary. Hanslet remained alone in possession of the house.

It seemed, on the face of it, as though there was nothing more to be done in Matfield Street. And yet Hanslet could not tear himself away. He had an uncomfortable feeling that the house possessed some secret which he had not yet succeeded in penetrating. Everything hitherto had been too simple, too obvious. Why should the girl have left that most compromising bottle on her dressing-table when she had had every opportunity of removing it? Why had she not cleared away the tea-tray before summoning Dr Oldland? And yet, unless Harleston had himself put the nicotine in his tea, her guilt was manifest.

Once more Hanslet began to prowl restlessly about the house. His wanderings took him into the bathroom. Here there were abundant signs of Harleston’s toilet. The bath had recently been used and had been cleaned. On a ledge beside the wash basin was an array of shaving materials. A safety razor, rinsed and not dried. A stick of shaving soap, and a shaving brush. Rather to Hanslet’s surprise he found that the brush was already dry. Yet Harleston had undoubtedly shaved himself that morning. The smoothness of his cheeks was sufficient evidence of that. And he had cut himself while doing it.

He had certainly cut himself. There were two or three drops of blood on the edge of the basin. A roll of sticking plaster and a pair of scissors lay beside the shaving brush. The only towel in the room was a rough bath towel, and curiously enough, there were no traces of blood on this.

However, there was nothing here to throw any light upon Harleston’s death. Hanslet, remembering the bureau which he had seen in the dining-room, went downstairs once more. The bureau stood as Oldland had noticed it, with the key in the lock. Hanslet opened it. Immediately inside were a few sheets of headed notepaper. He removed these and made a further search. Harleston appeared to have used the desk to contain his private papers and accounts. There was nothing else of interest in it.

Hanslet glanced at the sheets of headed paper. They bore the inscription of Novoshave Ltd. with an address in Oxford Street. He wondered idly how they came to be in Harleston’s possession. He put them back where he had found them, locked up the desk and put the bunch of keys in his pocket.

There was a second bureau in the sitting-room, and Hanslet thought that it might be as well to examine this. He found it locked, but the lock was a very flimsy affair, and he had no difficulty in breaking it open. Inside was an untidy mass of letters and household bills. It was easy to guess that Janet was the user of this bureau. Hanslet picked up the letters and glanced through them. One, signed Philip, caught his eye. It bore the address, Hart’s Farm, Lassingford, and was dated on the previous Friday. Its contents were brief and to the point.

‘DEAR JANET. I will come up on Sunday afternoon and put forward the proposition I mentioned to you before. Victor, I suppose, will make himself unpleasant about it, as usual. If only you could get him out of the way there would be no difficulty.

Cheerio, Yours, PHILIP.’

Hanslet smiled grimly as he read this last sentence. Get him out of the way! He was pretty effectually out of the way now, at all events. And what was this proposition that brother and sister had between them?

Hanslet tore himself away from the house at last, still not quite satisfied in his mind. His immediate problem was, how to deal with Janet Harleston. Should he arrest her on the evidence he had already obtained? On the whole he thought better not. Let her remain at large for the present until the case was complete. It would, for instance, be necessary to ascertain the source of the nicotine.

3

Junior Station-Inspector James Waghorn, familiarly known to his associates at Scotland Yard as ‘Jimmy’ had made considerable progress in his career. Since he had so nearly lost his life in the course of his investigations in the Threlfall Murder, he had become considerably more circumspect. He had found favour with his superiors and now occupied a room of his own at the Yard. Although not yet entrusted with cases of the first importance, he had more than once made himself useful as an assistant to men of greater experience. Hanslet in particular found him a very useful collaborator.

Jimmy was the finished product of Cambridge and the Metropolitan Police College. To his relatively high standard of education, he added an intense enthusiasm for the profession which he had adopted. He thoroughly enjoyed police work, especially that part of it which dealt with the detection of crime. Already he had learnt to combine the experience of the older members of the Force with a certain natural ability for differentiating between the false and the true.

The arrival of Janet Harleston, escorted by the imperturbable Carling, afforded him no surprise. Hanslet was given to issuing instructions without adding any explanation. His duty was to entertain this girl, without the slightest knowledge of the why or wherefore. She was obviously under the influence of some strong emotion, but what it was Jimmy found himself unable to discover. She seemed to think that Jimmy knew what had happened and their conversation was, at first, not very explicit.

But it soon transpired that her most pressing desire was to communicate with her brother Philip. Jimmy offered her every assistance and assisted her to compile a telegram. In its final form this read as follows:

‘Harleston, Hart’s Farm, Lassingford. Victor dead very sudden come at once to Scotland Yard.

JANET.’

This telegram was despatched at once and while awaiting the reply Jimmy set himself to study his unexpected visitor.

He soon made up his mind that whatever emotion it was that gripped her it was not profound grief. She neither wept, nor showed that frozen look so often produced by a sudden bereavement. The death of Victor had not touched her heart, of that Jimmy felt pretty certain. Was she suffering from remorse? Possibly, but Jimmy thought not. It seemed to him rather that she was puzzled—profoundly puzzled. And perhaps, as the occasional flick of her eyelids seemed to suggest, she was relieved.

She displayed no desire to talk about what had happened at Matfield Street. Indeed, after her first nervousness due to her unfamiliar surroundings had left her, she showed no disposition to talk at all. Jimmy tried her on two or three subjects but obtained no response. In the end they relapsed into a rather uncomfortable silence.

All at once she spoke abruptly, as though her thoughts had taken a practical turn.

‘Oh, I ought to let Mr Mowbray know at once,’ she exclaimed.

‘Mr Mowbray?’ inquired Jimmy politely.

‘Yes, he’s our lawyer. He’ll have to see to things, won’t he?’

It struck Jimmy that Mr Mowbray might have more to see to than the girl realised.

‘Where does he live?’ he asked.

‘In Lincoln’s Inn. Perhaps you could telephone to him for me.’

Jimmy hesitated. If he were to telephone the lawyer, he would almost certainly come round to the Yard at once and insist upon interviewing his client. This might not conform to Hanslet’s wishes. Jimmy had already learnt that under certain circumstances, detectives do not welcome lawyers. The latter had a way of seeing further than their clients. They would suggest a refusal to answer certain questions, or even object that those questions should not be put. Hanslet would probably turn up sooner or later to interview this girl, and he might not be best pleased if he found her under the protection of her lawyer. So, on the whole, Jimmy thought it best to temporise.

‘I think it would be better not to telephone,’ he said. ‘Telephone messages are so apt to be misunderstood. Besides, Mr Mowbray might not be in his office. Suppose you write him a note and I’ll have it sent round at once?’

She wrote a note, Jimmy contriving to overlook her as she did so. It was very brief, stating merely that Victor had died suddenly that morning and that she was going down to stay with Philip. It did not seem to occur to her to mention that the police were already in charge of the matter.

She gave the envelope to Jimmy, who left the room with it. He found a messenger and handed over the note to him with instructions that it was not to be delivered until three o’clock that afternoon. Then he returned to Janet, who had once more relapsed into silence.

He was greatly relieved when, shortly before eleven o’clock, he was summoned to Hanslet’s room. The superintendent welcomed him with a grin.

‘Well Jimmy, how are you getting on with that charming young woman I sent you?’ he asked.

‘Oh, pretty well, so far,’ replied Jimmy cheerfully. ‘She’s not exactly communicative, and I haven’t got any information out of her. Here are the copies of the only two messages she has sent so far.’

Hanslet looked at these and nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I know something about Philip, but who’s this fellow Mowbray in Lincoln’s Inn?’

‘Her lawyer. But I’ve taken steps to see that he doesn’t get that message till this afternoon.’

Hanslet laughed. ‘You’re a bright lad, Jimmy,’ he said approvingly. ‘I think I’ll go and see this Mr Mowbray before he gets the message. Now, sit down and I’ll tell you what it’s all about.’

Jimmy listened with interest to his superior’s story. At its conclusion he said nothing for a few moments, then:

‘This girl doesn’t look to me like a murderess.’ he exclaimed.

Hanslet fixed him with a critical eye. ‘If you can tell by inspection whether a woman is a murderess or not, you’ll be a valuable acquisition to the Force,’ he said. ‘There doesn’t seem to be a shadow of doubt about it. They were alone in the house, the poison was found in her room. And yet, Jimmy, my lad, in spite of everything that stares me in the face, I don’t believe she did it.’

This was a remarkable admission for Hanslet. He seemed to realise this, for he added hastily, ‘Don’t let that go any further, Jimmy. It’s merely the expression of my private opinion. A man would never have left all that damning evidence lying about. But in the case of a woman, you never can tell. She may have lost her head when she saw the effect of the poison upon her brother. Poison is all very well in theory, but it’s a nasty, sticky business in practice. I dare say she didn’t realise the unpleasantness involved. Her first instinct was to run for the doctor, and as soon as he appeared on the scene it was too late for her to do anything to cover her tracks.’

‘I wasn’t thinking so much of the evidence as of her state of mind,’ said Jimmy.

‘State of mind! What do you know of her state of mind? She’s probably been thinking a hell of a lot since it happened. I feel almost sorry for her, though. It’s a clear case of either murder or suicide. There’s no possibility of death having been accidental. And, if it was murder, she is the only possible culprit.’

Their conversation was interrupted by the ringing of Hanslet’s telephone bell. The expected Philip Harleston had arrived, and was asking for his sister Janet. Hanslet winked knowingly towards Jimmy.

‘Here’s the third party,’ he said. Then turning towards the telephone, ‘All right, bring him in here.’

It was not long before Philip Harleston appeared. He was a fresh-faced, rather simple looking young man, with a decided likeness to his sister. He seemed rather disconcerted at finding himself at Scotland Yard and shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Hanslet motioned him to a chair.

‘Well, Mr Harleston, you know what has happened,’ he said curtly.

‘My sister sent me a wire,’ replied Philip in a puzzled voice. ‘I don’t understand it at all. Victor was perfectly well when I last saw him. And that was only yesterday evening.’

‘You were on very friendly terms with your half-brother, I expect,’ said Hanslet innocently.

Philip scratched his head with a peculiar gesture of uncertainty. ‘I don’t know that we were particularly friendly,’ he replied. ‘I didn’t like the way he treated Janet. Of course, he had to provide a home for her, but that was no reason for making her slave for him as he did.’

‘Your sister was dependent upon her half-brother?’

‘Completely. She had nothing whatever of her own. Now, of course, she’ll be independent.’

Hanslet glanced triumphantly in Jimmy’s direction. Here was the first hint of motive coming as a gift from Heaven. Victor Harleston had made his sister slave for him. His death made her independent. The reason for the murder became immediately apparent. However, Hanslet did not pursue the subject. He preferred to learn the relations between these three people from an independent source. He seemed at the moment more interested in Philip’s visit to Matfield Street.

‘You had supper at your half-brother’s house yesterday evening, did you not?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I went there to see Janet and she asked me to stop,’ Philip replied. ‘I had a suggestion to make to her which I knew that Victor would not like. I knew she was a bit run-down and wanted a change. So I suggested to her that she should come and stay with me in the country for a bit.’

‘And this suggestion did not meet with your half-brother’s approval?’ Hanslet asked.

‘Most decidedly not. In fact, he put his foot on it at once. He said that his bargain with Janet was this. He provided for her and in return she kept house for him. Who was going to do her work while she was away? Was he expected to pay somebody to come in? In fact, Janet’s place was at Matfield Street and she could only leave there with his permission.’

Hanslet nodded. ‘And you accepted your half-brother’s decision without protest?’ he asked.

Once more Philip scratched his head. It was evidently a characteristic gesture. ‘Well, I don’t know,’ he replied slowly. ‘I told Victor just what I thought of his behaviour and we had a few words. In the end he told me to get outside the house and stop there. If I liked to take Janet with me, I might. But if she went it would have to be for good. He would wash his hands of her as he would be entitled to.’

‘What time was it when you left the house?’ Hanslet asked.

‘About nine o’clock. I caught the nine forty-five from Charing Cross.’

‘What is your occupation, Mr Harleston?’

‘I am the manager of a fruit farm. I have a small cottage and I could easily put Janet up. The trouble is that what I earn would not be enough to keep both of us.’

‘I think you said that your half-brother’s death will make your sister independent?’ Hanslet suggested.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ Philip replied cheerfully. ‘There’s nothing to prevent Janet coming and living with me now.’

Hanslet made no reply. He pressed a button upon his desk and a few seconds later a messenger appeared. ‘Will you take Mr Harleston to Inspector Waghorn’s room, please,’ he said. And then, turning to Philip, ‘You’ll find your sister waiting for you there,’ he added.

Philip left the room in charge of the messenger.

‘Well, that’s that,’ said Hanslet. ‘Victor Harleston’s death seems to have come as a godsend to those two young people. I don’t want them hanging about Matfield Street. Run along and talk to them, Jimmy. Persuade Philip Harleston to take his sister away with him. Only, keep your eye on them. And if they show any signs of making a bolt for it, have them detained.’

It was by now lunch-time, a meal which Hanslet never missed if he could help it. He went out and had his favourite chop and a pint of beer. He then decided to pay a visit to Mr Mowbray. He thought it probable that he would secure some useful information from this quarter.

Mr Mowbray occupied a dark and musty office in Lincoln’s Inn. Hanslet was received by an elderly clerk, who immediately told him that on no account could he see Mr Mowbray without an appointment. Hanslet, however, produced his card, and this had the usual effect. The clerk shuffled off with it into an inner office. He reappeared a few minutes later with the information that Mr Mowbray would make an exception to his invariable rule and see the superintendent at once.

Hanslet passed into the inner room and found himself confronted by a wizened old man with a peevish and distinctly unwelcoming expression. From his appearance Hanslet guessed that he had been interrupted in his quiet after-lunch doze. The lawyer glared at him.

‘Well, Superintendent,’ he wheezed, ‘what is your business?’

‘Not a particularly pleasant one, I’m afraid,’ Hanslet replied. ‘Mr Victor Harleston, of eight Matfield Street, was one of your clients, I believe?’

‘Was!’ exclaimed the lawyer. ‘Was? Is, you mean. What about him?’

‘He died under extremely suspicious circumstances about nine o’clock this morning,’ Hanslet replied equably.

‘Eh! What’s this?’ exclaimed the lawyer. ‘Why wasn’t I told about it before?’

‘The information has been conveyed to you at the earliest possible moment, Mr Mowbray. Perhaps you will be good enough to give me certain information respecting your late client.’

The lawyer looked at him obliquely. ‘I must first demand an explanation of the words you used just now,’ he replied. ‘Suspicious circumstances, I think you said. In what way were the circumstances of my client’s death suspicious?’

‘It is believed that Victor Harleston died as the result of acute poisoning,’ said Hanslet deliberately.

‘Then an inquest will be held?’ Mr Mowbray snapped.

‘That is so. It is in view of this inquest that I am asking for information.’

‘Well, what do you want to know?’

‘First of all I should like information as to Victor Harleston’s age, occupation, and so forth.’

‘Victor Harleston was forty-two. He has for many years been employed as a clerk by Messrs. Slater & Knott, Accountants, Chancery Lane. I have every reason to believe that his work has given his employers the fullest satisfaction.’

‘Did he possess means beyond his salary?’ Hanslet asked.

The lawyer glanced at him suspiciously. ‘He enjoys the proceeds of a trust established by his father,’ he replied.

‘Were there any conditions attaching to this?’

This question seemed to rouse the lawyer from his apathy. ‘A most ridiculous affair altogether,’ he exclaimed. ‘Victor’s father, Peter, was always doing the most unaccountable things. He made this foolish will without consulting me and I always told him that trouble would come of it.’

‘May I ask for an outline of the provisions of the will, Mr Mowbray?’

‘Well, I suppose you’ve a right to know,’ the lawyer replied ungraciously. ‘Peter Harleston began life as a van boy. After that he became an assistant in a greengrocer’s shop. He managed to save money and when his employer died he bought the business. He made a very good thing of it and at the time of his death he was the owner of the house in Matfield Street, and had other investments amounting to between ten and fifteen thousand pounds in all.

‘Peter Harleston married twice. By his first wife he had Victor and a girl who died young. By his second wife, he had a boy Philip and a year later a girl, Janet. Peter and his second wife died within a few months of one another, about three years ago.

‘Peter was one of those people who imagine that after they are gone their children will squander the money which they have so laboriously amassed. He imagined that he had found a way of preventing this. Victor was already in a good position in an accountant’s office. Philip he provided for by buying him a small share in a fruit farm which carried with it the position of manager. Victor as the eldest son and the one who took most after his father secured the lion’s share. Peter, in that ridiculous will of his, left him the house in Matfield Street, with reversion to Philip if Victor died without issue. The remainder of Peter’s estate was to be formed into a Trust so long as he provided a home for his half-sister Janet. Those were the testator’s actual words. There was no explanation of this exceedingly vague term. There was no provision made for Janet getting married or for her wishing to leave her half-brother’s roof of her own accord. Of course, had I been consulted I should never have allowed such lamentable looseness of expression.’

‘And in the event of Victor’s death?’ Hanslet suggested.

‘I’m coming to that, I’m coming to that,’ replied the lawyer testily. ‘In that case, the proceeds of the Trust were to be divided. If Victor had married, his widow, or, failing her, his children, were to receive one-third share. The remaining two-thirds were to be enjoyed by Philip and Janet in equal proportion. If Victor had not married, the proceeds of the Trust were to be divided equally between Philip and Janet.’

‘The three children were, of course, aware of the contents of their father’s will?’

‘Naturally. It was my business to inform them. In fact, Philip came to see me not long ago. He wished to know whether it would be possible for the Trustees to provide for his sister independently. He inquired as to Janet’s condition should she decline to continue to live with her half-brother.’

‘I should be interested to know what you told him.’ said Hanslet.

‘Told him! My dear sir, I could only refer him to the conditions of the will. Victor was to enjoy the proceeds of the Trust so long as he provided a home for Janet. Whether she availed herself of that home did not affect the issue. If she left it, Victor was under no obligation to support her. He would, however, be bound to re-admit her should she at any time decide to return.’

This Hanslet thought was sufficient for the moment. He took his leave of the lawyer, and, since he found himself in that neighbourhood, he decided to call upon Victor Harleston’s employers in Chancery Lane. He ascertained that the offices of Slater & Knott were situated in Cobalt Buildings, and proceeded thither. He was received by Mr Knott, a keen, alert looking man of between thirty and forty, who seemed very much surprised to hear of the sudden death of his employee.

‘Why, I’ve never known Harleston have a day’s illness,’ he exclaimed. ‘I couldn’t understand it when he didn’t turn up this morning. I don’t think he’s missed a day for years. In fact, if I didn’t hear in the course of the day, I intended to go round and see him after office hours and find out what was the matter.’

‘Has Victor Harleston seemed in his usual health and spirits lately?’ Hanslet asked.

Mr Knott smiled. ‘Health, yes,’ he replied. ‘As for spirit, well, he never displayed any exuberance in that respect. He was always a quiet, rather morose sort of chap who seemed to avoid his fellow-men. I have an idea that he disliked friendship because of the expense attached to it. So far as I know he never drank, and smoked only the cheapest cigarettes he could buy. He was the last person in the world to spend a penny when a halfpenny would do as well.’

‘He carried out his duties efficiently?’ Hanslet asked.

‘Perfectly. Like a machine without any imagination. In our profession that’s not a bad thing in its way. I suppose you’ve got the idea of suicide in your mind. I can only tell you straight out that I know of no reason why Harleston should have committed suicide. No financial or business reasons, I mean. But fellows like that who have no resources beyond themselves often do these unaccountable things.’

‘Can you tell me if Harleston has any connection with a firm of Novoshave in Oxford Street?’

Mr Knott looked at the superintendent, sharply. ‘May I ask what makes you ask that question?’

‘Only this. I found some of their headed notepaper in his desk at Matfield Street.’

Mr Knott seemed relieved. ‘Oh, is that all!’ he exclaimed. ‘Naturally, we don’t like discussing our client’s business with anybody. I think I can account for the presence of that headed notepaper. We are the auditors to Novoshave Ltd. Harleston was employed upon the job most of last week at their offices and no doubt he took some of their paper home to work upon. He had no connection with Novoshave except as our employee.’

Hanslet rather perfunctorily asked one last question. ‘There was no suggestion that Harleston might lose his job, I suppose?’

Mr Knott shook his head. ‘Good heavens, no!’ he replied. ‘There was no reason why Harleston should not have stayed with us till the day of his death. We always found him a very useful man, so useful that we paid him a special bonus of a hundred pounds at the beginning of this year.’

From Chancery Lane Hanslet returned to Scotland Yard. On his desk he found a message awaiting him. It was as follows.

‘Dr Priestley would be glad if you could find it convenient to dine with him this evening. Oldland, who would like to see you, will be present.

H. MEREFIELD.’

Hanslet smiled. ‘So the Professor’s on the job already, is he?’ he muttered. ‘You bet I’ll go. But I’m afraid there isn’t enough meat in this case to suit the old boy’s appetite.’

4

Dr Priestley, who lived in a spacious if rather gloomy house in Westbourne Terrace, was, in his own line, a distinguished scientist. His name was hardly familiar to the general public, but to his fellow-savants he was very well known indeed. He was a man of considerable means and since his retirement from a professorship, he had devoted himself to scientific criticism. His articles and monographs, though usually couched in somewhat acrid terms, were treated with profound respect in the learned world.

But in addition to his scientific employment, he had a hobby. This hobby, which he liked to pursue in secret, was criminology. He maintained that criminology, properly treated, presented problems of absorbing interest to the scientist. Many years ago he had made Hanslet’s acquaintance. They had become fast friends and Hanslet got into the habit of laying his more difficult cases before the acute brain of the professor.

It happened that Dr Oldland was one of Dr Priestley’s oldest acquaintances. It was natural therefore that he and Hanslet should meet frequently at the professor’s house. The reason for the present invitation was fairly obvious. Oldland had told the professor about his experience of that morning, and some feature of his account had interested the latter. In any case dinner at the house in Westbourne Terrace was an event to be remembered. Hanslet was always ready to enjoy an excellent meal in such distinguished company.

So that evening at eight o’clock he sat down at the professor’s table. He found himself one of a party of four, the other two being Oldland and Dr Priestley’s secretary, Harold Merefield. The professor never encouraged the discussion of problems during dinner, holding that such a procedure might divert his guests’ attention from their food. It was not until the company was assembled in the study afterwards that he made any reference to the Harleston case.

‘Oldland tells me, Superintendent, that you and he met under rather peculiar circumstances this morning,’ he remarked.

‘We met because Oldland sent for me,’ Hanslet replied. ‘He had been called in to attend a suspiciously sudden case of poisoning and he seemed to think that I ought to know about it.’

‘It was a devilish awkward,’ said Oldland reminiscently, helping himself to a whisky and soda. ‘There was I, alone in the house with that girl and a remarkably suspicious looking corpse. I didn’t know what the dickens to do. If I went out to call the police I should have had to leave her alone. For all I knew, there might be evidence in the house that she would take the opportunity to destroy. So I hit upon the idea of sending her back to my place for a wholly imaginary black case, and employed her absence in telephoning to you. How did you get on after I left?’

Hanslet laughed. ‘So that was the dodge, was it? I was faced with the same difficulty. I got out of it by sending the girl to the Yard and putting her in charge of young Waghorn. You remember him, I expect, Professor?’

Dr Priestley nodded solemnly. ‘Yes, I remember him in connection with the Threlfall case.’

‘Well, having got rid of her, I started to have a look round,’ said Hanslet. ‘I sent for Dr Bishop, the police surgeon, to lend me a hand. We didn’t have far to look. Harleston’s early tea had been liberally doctored with nicotine.’

‘Nicotine!’ exclaimed Dr Priestley. ‘Why, the presence of the most minute quantity of nicotine would surely be detected by anybody with normal powers of taste and smell?’

‘I should have thought so,’ Hanslet replied. ‘The tea in the pot stank like a rank pipe. But there was the nicotine and there was the man dead of acute poisoning. I shall hear tomorrow what the post-mortem has revealed.’

‘I can tell you that now,’ said Oldland quietly. ‘The coroner asked Bishop to carry it out, and he, knowing that I had been called in, invited me to attend. At my suggestion we called in Grantham, the pathologist from the Home Office. The three of us set to work and, if you’re interested, I can tell you what we found.’

‘Not unnaturally, I’m profoundly interested,’ said Hanslet.

Oldland grinned. ‘Well, we found the nicotine all right,’ he said slowly. ‘There’s not a shadow of doubt that nicotine poisoning was the cause of Harleston’s death. But curiously enough, we didn’t find it where you might have expected. In his tummy, that is.’

‘Well, where did you find it?’ Hanslet asked impatiently.

‘Absorbed into his system. You may have noticed that the chap had a piece of sticking plaster on his face, suggesting that he had cut himself while shaving. Well, we removed that and found a nice clean cut underneath it. From the appearance of the edges of the cut we had no doubt that it was through this that the nicotine had been absorbed.

‘Now nicotine is one of the most virulent poisons known. Cases of fatal poisoning have been due to nicotine being absorbed through the unbroken skin. A very small quantity taken internally produces rapid death. Priestley will bear me out in that.’

‘Nicotine is known to be extremely rapid in its action,’ Dr Priestley remarked. ‘In the celebrated case of Count Bocarmé, who poisoned his wife’s brother with nicotine which he prepared for the purpose, death took place in five minutes.’

‘Since in this case the poisoning was by absorption, death was rather less rapid than that,’ said Oldland. ‘How the nicotine came in contact with the cut, I can’t say.’

Hanslet looked in bewilderment from one to the other. ‘There was nicotine in the teapot,’ he said stubbornly. ‘Somebody drank a cup of tea from that pot and there seems no doubt that it was Harleston.’

Oldland shrugged his shoulders. ‘I can’t help it,’ he replied. ‘There was practically no trace of nicotine in the man’s stomach. Grantham carried off the contents for analysis, of course, but I’m willing to bet anything you like that he won’t find more than a trace. Whereas the tissues in the neighbourhood of the cut were literally impregnated with nicotine.’

‘You mean that he can’t have drunk the tea?’ Hanslet asked.

‘Not if it was so saturated with nicotine as you suggest. I may as well say that Bishop told me about the tea, and the absence of nicotine in the stomach troubled him as much as it does you. The only theory he could suggest was this. Harleston had not drunk the tea owing to its offensive taste and smell. On the other hand, after he had cut himself, he applied some of the leaves to his face in an attempt to stop the bleeding. I believe that people do employ tea-leaves for that purpose.’

‘Well,’ Hanslet exclaimed, ‘somebody must have put it there,’ Oldland agreed readily enough. ‘But where did she get it from? That’s the question.’

‘What is nicotine used for?’ Hanslet asked.

Dr Priestley glanced towards his secretary. ‘Will you get down the Chemical Encyclopaedia, please, Harold?’ he said. ‘Thank you. Now will you turn to the article on nicotine, and extract from it the answer to the Superintendent’s question?’

Harold turned over the pages of the volume until he found what he wanted. After a moment or two he began to read. ‘Nicotine is soluble in water, alcohol and ether, and preparations of it are extensively used for horticultural purposes as an insecticide, also as a dip for the destruction of ticks and other pests on the wool of sheep.’

Oldland nodded. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘Almost every gardener uses nicotine in some form or another. Fruit growers especially. They make a wash from it with which they spray their trees.’

Hanslet suddenly stiffened in his chair. ‘Fruit growers!’ he exclaimed. ‘Do they, by jove! I learnt this morning that young Philip Harleston is the manager of a fruit farm.’

‘That certainly suggests the possible source of the nicotine,’ Oldland remarked. ‘You found some more of the stuff mixed with the girl’s eau-de-Cologne, Bishop tells me.’

‘Yes, on her dressing table. I’ve been wondering whether the mixture was made in the hope that the eau-de-Cologne would drown the smell of the nicotine.’

‘It’s possible,’ said Oldland shortly. ‘By the way, did the girl say anything to you about a man at the door?’

Hanslet appeared rather astonished at this question. ‘Oh, she mentioned him to you, did she?’ he said. ‘I was inclined to think that rather nebulous individual was an afterthought.’

‘She didn’t mention him to me until we had had some conversation together. And then she mentioned him quite suddenly, and I think genuinely.’

‘You’d have thought it would have been the first thing she would have talked about,’ Hanslet objected. ‘Dash it all, a stranger on the doorstep just at the critical moment when she was going out to fetch the doctor! According to her account, this stranger volunteered to come in and look after her brother while she was away. Yet, when she returned, he wasn’t there and she showed no astonishment.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Oldland replied. ‘You must remember her mind was fully occupied with her brother. The momentary incident of the stranger might well have slipped her memory.’

‘Well, the stranger, even though he may have been a confederate, cannot have been the actual poisoner,’ said Hanslet. ‘Unless he was in the house earlier in the morning unknown to its occupants, and I don’t see how that can have happened. No, I’m afraid the matter’s plain enough. Janet Harleston poisoned her half-brother, possibly at the instigation of Philip.’

Dr Priestley had been listening attentively to this conversation. ‘Do you not think, Superintendent, that you are accepting things at their face value without adequate investigation?’

‘Well, Professor, I was inclined to think at first that things were too easy,’ Hanslet replied. ‘But then, I made some inquiries into the question of motive. I went to see the family solicitor. From him I obtained the information that there are only two people who could possibly benefit by Victor Harleston’s death. And those two people are his half-sister and brother.’

Dr Priestley frowned. ‘Benefit financially, I suppose you mean,’ he said. ‘Surely you are not yet sufficiently acquainted with Harleston’s history to state that nobody else might have found his death desirable?’

‘Well no, I suppose I’m not,’ Hanslet replied. ‘But from what I can hear of Harleston, he was a man without any particular history. He seems to have been mean and uncompanionable, but otherwise inoffensive.’

Dr Priestley put the tips of his fingers together, a favourite gesture with him, and stared at the ceiling. ‘It seems to me,’ he said oracularly, ‘that the chief interest of this case lies in the manner by which the poison was administered. It appears to be proved fairly conclusively that the poison was not swallowed, but absorbed through a cut sustained while Harleston was shaving. It appears to me hardly probable that Harleston applied the whole of a cup of tea to his cut. He might have dipped a towel in the tea and dabbed this on his face. But that would account for hardly more than a spoonful of the tea. Yet, I understand, the tea-cup found in his room was nearly empty.’

Hanslet laughed. ‘Perhaps you will remember a case in which you helped me not long ago, Professor,’ he replied. ‘Then you asked me if I had looked for lip marks on a wine glass. I remembered that this morning and I particularly looked for lip marks on the cup. I found them, all right. There’s not a shadow of doubt that the cup had been drunk from. And yet, here is Dr Oldland, assuring us that the poison had not been swallowed.’

‘I do not see that that need present any difficulty,’ said Dr Priestley quietly. ‘If the poison were already in the tea when Harleston poured out his cupful he certainly did not drink it. The post-mortem evidence is conclusive proof of that. On the other hand, if Harleston drank the cup of tea, the poison was not then in it. We should then be driven to explore the possibility of the poison having been added at some later time.’

‘Added later!’ Hanslet exclaimed. ‘When? Why? And by whom?’

Dr Priestley seemed indisposed to reply. It was Oldland who stepped into the breach. ‘I’d hazard a guess to all three parts of your question, Superintendent,’ he said. ‘When, during the period that Janet Harleston was absent from the house on her errand to fetch me. Why, to produce a false impression. The poisoner may not have known that post-mortem examination would enable us to say positively that the poison had not been swallowed but absorbed through the skin. Finally, by whom, suggests a very interesting speculation. What about the man whom Janet met on the doorstep?’

Dr Priestley protested. ‘This is carrying conjecture to an unwarrantable length,’ he said severely.

‘Sorry, Priestley,’ said Oldland contritely. ‘That was a wild bit of guesswork, I’ll admit. But the facts are there and they’ve got to be explained somehow.’

‘They are more likely to be explained by careful investigation than by conjecture,’ Dr Priestley replied. ‘The central point, I still insist, is this. How did the nicotine come in contact with the wound? You have, no doubt, made a careful examination of the house, Superintendent. In the course of that, did you find a bloodstained towel?’

‘No, it’s rather a queer thing, but I didn’t,’ Hanslet replied. ‘I looked for one in the bathroom, but couldn’t find it. However, it must be about the place somewhere. I’ll have another look.’

‘I should very strongly advise you to do so,’ said Dr Priestley. ‘This morning, you were under the impression that the poison had been swallowed. The cut on the dead man’s face had therefore but slight significance for you. Now, however, you know that cut to have been vital. How and when the cut was sustained should be the basis of your future inquiries.’

5

Next morning, upon his arrival at the Yard, Hanslet found the official report of the post-mortem awaiting him. It was a voluminous and highly technical document, but it told him no more than he had already learnt from Oldland.

He put it aside and turned to greet Inspector Waghorn, who entered his room at that moment.

‘Well, Jimmy, and what about our two young friends?’ he asked.

‘I saw them down to this place, Lassingford, yesterday afternoon,’ Jimmy replied. ‘It’s only a village, and, of course, everybody there knows Philip Harleston. He lives in a cottage on Hart’s Farm. Nice little place, wouldn’t mind living there myself. They didn’t know I was behind them all the way, of course. When I had seen them safely installed, I went and had a chat with the local constable. He’ll let us know if they attempt to make any move.’

‘Janet will have had a summons to attend the inquest by now,’ said Hanslet. ‘It’s fixed for this afternoon at half-past two. We shan’t produce any evidence at this stage, and there’s bound to be an adjournment. That will give us time to look round. And, since you’re here, Jimmy, you may as well come along with me and we’ll have another look over that house in Matfield Street.’

On the way Hanslet explained to his subordinate the disconcerting paradox revealed by the post-mortem. ‘You see how it is,’ he said. ‘The experts say that Harleston could not have been poisoned by the tea. They are confident that his death was due to absorbing the poison through the cut on his face. How did the poison reach that cut? That’s the question we’ve got to answer.’

‘The only thing I can think of, is that he must have used his early morning tea as shaving water,’ suggested Jimmy flippantly.

‘You’ll have to think of something a bit more sensible than that,’ Hanslet replied. ‘Here we are, I’ve got the key in my pocket, and the local people have had instructions to keep an eye on the place.’

The superintendent unlocked the door and they entered. A rapid survey was sufficient to assure Hanslet that nothing had been touched since his last visit. In the dining-room Harleston’s untouched breakfast looked more unappetising than ever. The imprint made by the body on the sofa in the sitting-room was still visible. A woman’s crumpled handkerchief lay in the hall. It had evidently been dropped by Janet in the course of her hurried departure. Hanslet picked it up and sniffed at it. It smelt faintly of eau-de-Cologne.

Remembering Dr Priestley’s hint, Hanslet led the way to the bathroom. He and Jimmy stood just inside the doorway whence they could survey the whole room. On the ledge by the wash-basin they saw the safety razor, the stick of shaving soap and the brush. Thrown carelessly over a towel rail was a bath towel, but this seemed to bear no trace of blood. Only those two or three drops of blood on the edge of the basin showed that the cut must have bled fairly freely.

‘We know that Victor Harleston has a recent cut on the right side of his face,’ said Hanslet. ‘We can’t say for certain, of course, that he made this cut while he was shaving himself. The cut may have been caused in some other way. Yet, if we accept Janet’s statement, we have confirmation of the shaving theory. She asked him whether he had cut himself shaving and he admitted it rather surlily.

‘On the other hand, Janet may have had some reason for her statement. She may have wished to create the impression that her half-brother had cut himself while shaving. Again, where is the towel he must have used? He may have thrown it into a dirty clothes basket somewhere. No, from what one may judge of his habits he was not a very tidy man. Let’s have a look round and see if we can’t unearth it somewhere.’

They scoured the house without success. In the little boxroom was a clothes basket containing a few items of dirty linen. But the towel they were seeking was not among these. There were no coal fires in the house, so the theory that it might have been burnt was untenable. After an exhaustive search of every corner, they were bound to confess themselves nonplussed.

‘I can’t make it out,’ said Hanslet petulantly. ‘What do you do, when you cut yourself shaving, Jimmy?’

‘Grab hold of the towel and dab my face with it,’ Jimmy replied promptly.

‘Exactly. So I imagine does everybody else. In this case, the cut began to bleed at once. These drops on the basin show that. Harleston must have dabbed his face with something, but what? Not the bath towel—there’s no blood on that. His handkerchief, as I happened to notice yesterday morning, has no blood upon it. In any case, blood or no blood, the man must have used a towel to dry his face after shaving. Where is it? And there’s another queer thing, Jimmy. This shaving brush was bone dry when I looked at it yesterday morning. That seems to me pretty queer, for in my experience a shaving brush remains wet for a long time after use.’

‘That is rather queer,’ said Jimmy thoughtfully. ‘I wonder whether Harleston was right or left-handed?’

‘What the devil has that got to do with it?’ Hanslet demanded.

‘I was just thinking of the technique of shaving. Most people lather their face all over and then begin to use the razor. If they are right-handed, they almost invariably start on the right side of their faces on a level with the ear. If, then, Harleston was right-handed, he probably cut himself as soon as he started shaving.’

‘That’s rather a neat point, Jimmy,’ said Hanslet approvingly. ‘But I don’t see that it is of any particular use to us.’

‘Only this. Apparently he finished shaving after he had cut himself. In which case he must continually have dabbed his face with something, and that something must have absorbed a considerable quantity of blood.’

‘Well, since we can’t find it, that’s hardly helpful.’

‘What is he likely to have done with it?’ Jimmy insisted. ‘His face probably continued bleeding after he had finished shaving. He might have taken this towel, or whatever it was, into his bedroom to use while he was dressing. If you don’t mind I’ll have one last search in there.’

Hanslet raised no objection to this. Jimmy went into Harleston’s bedroom and proceeded to examine everything which the room contained. In the course of his search he came upon the vase containing the spills. He turned these out and looked inside the vase. There was no towel or fragment of rag within it. As he replaced the spills, he noticed the fragment of an embossed word upon one of them. He unfolded the spill, thus revealing the word Novoshave.

Hanslet was still pursuing his search in the bathroom. Jimmy took in the spills.

‘Did not you tell me that you found some headed paper belonging to Novoshave Ltd?’ he asked.

‘Yes, in the desk in the dining-room,’ Hanslet replied. ‘Why?’

‘Because here’s a bit of another sheet of the same paper. And this sheet has had a letter typed upon it.’

Hanslet seemed unimpressed. ‘Well, that’s not a very sensational discovery,’ he said. ‘You’d much better keep your mind fixed on the towel.’

But Jimmy’s imagination had been set to work. Novoshave Ltd. He had seen their advertisement. They were, he knew, a firm who specialised in the manufacture of safety razors and other shaving requisites.

The tiresome and recurrent business of shaving seemed to be the background of this case. It might be worth while ascertaining the nature of the communication from Novoshave Ltd. to Victor Harleston.

It was an easy matter to unfold the four spills and so to piece together the letter from which they had been made. It was typewritten and ran as follows:

‘DEAR MR. HARLESTON. As you are no doubt aware we are about to place upon the market our new model K. safety razor. This model has certain features which render it the most efficient safety razor yet produced. We are confident that it will meet with a ready welcome from the general public.

‘We are anxious, however, to have a few opinions other than our own. For this purpose we have decided to distribute specimens of this model among certain of our friends. We have the greatest pleasure in including you among the number. Enclosed you will find one of our model K. razors in leather case. We have also included a tube of our famous Novoshave cream. This is applied direct to the face and no brush or water are necessary.

‘We shall be greatly indebted to you if you will be good enough to make an early trial of the razor and cream, and at your convenience to report to us the results obtained by you.’

The letter was dated January 18th, three days’ prior to Harleston’s death. He had been in no hurry to make the trial, Jimmy thought. The safety razor found in the bathroom was an ordinary Gillette, not a Novoshave. Nor had the tube of shaving cream come to light. Harleston had apparently been in the habit of using Pears shaving soap. Perhaps he had put away the gift so generously made him by Novoshave Ltd., intending to use it upon some future occasion.

Jimmy idly turned over the strips of paper forming the letter. On the back he observed some figures in pencil. These were as follows:

Jimmy put the letter aside and proceeded to unfold the remaining spills. These, having been made of fragments of newspaper, contained no information of significance. He resumed his search for the towel, even going so far as to lift the carpet in case it should have been hidden underneath it. At last he was compelled to admit to complete failure.

Hanslet had had no better luck in the bathroom. He seemed put out by his lack of success.

‘It’s no good wasting any more of our time here,’ he exclaimed crossly. ‘We’d better get back to the Yard. ‘There’s plenty to do there. And then after lunch we shall have to put in an appearance at this confounded inquest.’

That afternoon, Jimmy reached the coroner’s court before his superior. Not long after his arrival, Janet Harleston appeared, escorted by her brother Philip. Jimmy greeted her and drew her aside. ‘There are one or two questions I should like to ask you, Miss Harleston,’ he said. ‘To begin with, where did your brother shave yesterday morning?’

‘In the bathroom, I suppose, as he always did,’ she replied. ‘I put a jug of hot water in there for him, just after I had brought him his early tea.’

‘Did you visit the bathroom again before you left the house yesterday?’

‘No, I always tidied upstairs after Victor had gone to the office, but yesterday I hadn’t the chance.’

‘How many towels were there in the bathroom yesterday morning?’

Janet smiled at the apparent absurdity of the question. ‘Well, there was Victor’s bath towel on the rail,’ she replied. ‘And a clean face towel, which I had put over the jug of hot water to keep it warm.’

Jimmy pursued this subject no further. It was very remarkable that this face towel should so mysteriously have vanished. He went on to his next point.

‘Did your brother receive a package of any kind on Saturday?’ he inquired.

Janet thought for a minute. ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘A small parcel came for him in the morning after he had left the house. I gave it to him when he came back in the middle of the day and I don’t remember seeing it since.’

‘Have you any idea who sent him the parcel?’

She shook her head. ‘Not the slightest. I didn’t take any particular notice. It was just an ordinary parcel, quite small, with a typewritten label on it.’

‘What did your brother do with the parcel when you gave it him?’

‘I went out of the room directly afterwards. He had picked up a knife and was cutting the string then.’

‘In which room was this?’

‘In the dining-room. Victor always came home to lunch on Saturdays. The table was laid before he came home and I went down to the kitchen to bring up the food.’

All this sounded reasonable enough. ‘If your brother had opened the parcel what would he have done with the brown paper and string?’ Jimmy asked.

‘He would probably have put them in the wastepaper basket beside his desk. Now I come to think of it, I believe I remember seeing some crumpled brown paper and string in it when I emptied the basket on Sunday evening.’

‘What did you empty the waste-paper basket into, Miss Harleston?’

‘Why, into the dustbin, of course. Where else?’

Jimmy smiled ingratiatingly. ‘I’m sorry to be so persistent, Miss Harleston, but what became of the dustbin?’ he asked.

‘Why, I put it outside first thing on Monday morning for the dustman to empty. He’s always round between seven and eight, and when he has emptied it, I take the dustbin in again. And of course, he emptied it yesterday morning as usual. I took the dustbin in while I was getting breakfast.’

The court was now about to open and Jimmy had no further opportunity for conversation. The inquest lasted no more than a few minutes. Merely formal evidence was taken and the coroner adjourned the proceedings for a fortnight. Jimmy returned to the Yard, deeply perplexed by the problem of the missing towel.

He sat down to consider the mystery. Towels do not vanish of themselves. This particular towel must have been removed from the bathroom by human agency. Harleston might have removed it himself, certainly. But in that case what could he have done with it? He had not left the house between the time of his shaving and the time of his death. He could not have destroyed the towel without leaving some traces. The search had been so thorough that Jimmy felt convinced the towel must have been removed from the house. By whom? Perhaps by Janet when she went to fetch Dr Oldland. Perhaps by the mysterious man on the doorstep. But why should anyone have removed the towel? For the first time Jimmy saw clearly the answer to this question. Harleston had been poisoned by nicotine absorbed through the cut. He had probably dabbed the cut with the towel. Therefore the towel would show traces of the poison.

This suggested to Jimmy a possible theory. Suppose the towel had been saturated with the nicotine and eau-de-Cologne mixture? As soon as Harleston cut himself he would naturally apply the towel to his face. This would account for the absorption of the poison by the cut. But how could it have been predicted that he would cut himself? Poisonous though nicotine might be, the mere dabbing of the unbroken skin with a solution of it would hardly be sufficient to cause death.

This point set Jimmy’s mind afloat on a current of speculation. Nobody habitually cuts himself while shaving. He doesn’t come down to breakfast every morning of his life with a gash across his face. He either learns to keep the razor in its proper path or he grows a beard. Harleston was accustomed to shaving himself. His familiar safety razor probably performed its task without accident at least nine times out of ten. This was a very mild estimate of the chances against Harleston cutting himself on any particular morning. And it was ridiculous to suppose that he could be provided with a poisoned towel every morning on the off-chance that he would cut himself sooner or later.

And yet there might have been a reason why Harleston should have cut himself on that particular morning. The odds against a man cutting himself with a familiar razor were pretty great. But suppose he were to use an unfamiliar razor for the first time? Every different make of razor requires a slight variation in the manner of its use. A man accustomed to one type might very easily make a slip with another. If Harleston had shaved himself with the razor so thoughtfully sent him by Novoshave Ltd., the odds against him cutting himself would have been considerably increased.

But he hadn’t. That was just the trouble. The razor he had used was a Gillette which, judging by its appearance, was an old and trusty friend. How he had managed to cut himself with it was something of a mystery. Jimmy had heard the wound described in the course of the medical evidence at the inquest. It was a vertical cut, three-quarters of an inch long, on the right side of the face, close to the lobe of the ear. Now that Jimmy came to think of it, it seemed to him that it was rather a curious sort of cut to be sustained while shaving. In his experience, the cuts caused by razor blades were usually horizontal rather than vertical. That is to say, they were parallel to the edge of the blade. The reason for this being, no doubt, that they were caused by the blade not being properly secured in the holder. The edge of the blade was thus held at the wrong angle and cut the skin along a considerable proportion of its length. A vertical cut would appear to mean that only one point on the blade was out of adjustment, and that seemed to Jimmy rather extraordinary.

Another perplexing point was this. What had become of the Novoshave razor and shaving cream? These had evidently arrived by post on Saturday morning in the parcel described by Janet Harleston. Victor Harleston had unpacked his parcel. He had done so in the dining-room. There, the only receptacle for objects was the desk. Jimmy, in the course of his search that morning, had examined the desk so thoroughly that he felt convinced that the razor and shaving cream were not in it now.

What was Harleston likely to have done with them? Presumably he would neither have destroyed them nor given them away. His reputation for meanness suggested the alternative that he might have sold them. But when, and to whom? He had hardly had much opportunity before his death. On the whole, that alternative seemed most unlikely. They must be in the house somewhere. Unless, like the towel, they had disappeared. Things seemed to have an uncanny way of disappearing from that rather drab house in Matfield Street.

Jimmy felt impelled to further search. He and Hanslet between them had already turned the house upside down. Still, there might be some obscure corner which he had overlooked. Jimmy went to the superintendent’s room.

‘Do you mind if I go and have another look over that house in Matfield Street?’ he asked.

Hanslet looked up from some papers at which he was working.

‘You’re welcome to look as much as you please,’ he replied. ‘And if you can find that infernal towel, I’ll stand you an expensive drink. Here you are, take the keys.’

Jimmy let himself into the house and went upstairs to the bathroom. He tried to imagine how and where he would stand if he were about to shave himself. In front of the wash-basin, of course. There was a mirror conveniently fixed to the wall behind it. He would stand so, facing the mirror, and the light from the window would fall upon his face.

The window!

Jimmy stiffened suddenly. The various uses of a window had not occurred to him until this moment. Primarily, no doubt, windows were intended to admit light. But they had another use as well. They could be opened for the admission of air. And, once opened, things could be thrown out of them.

Jimmy went to the window, which was of the ordinary sash type. It opened readily enough at his touch. He put out his head. Beneath him was the untended plot of garden, completely overgrown with weeds and coarse rank grass.

Perhaps he had half-expected to find the missing towel there. But there was no sign of anything of the kind. A towel thrown out of the window would lie on the surface and not bury itself under the grass. But anything heavier would be hidden in the tangle. Jimmy decided that it might be worth while to go outside and look.

The only way into the garden was through a door in the basement and up a short flight of stone steps. This door was bolted and locked, but the key was on the inside. Jimmy tried the bolts and had difficulty in forcing them back. The key, again, turned rustily in its lock. It was evident that this door had not been opened for some considerable time. A quantity of rubbish had collected behind it and Jimmy had some difficulty in forcing it open. However, he succeeded at last, passed through the doorway, and up the crumbling steps.

Once in the garden he placed himself beneath the bathroom window. From this point he began his search. He examined the rough and tangled grass foot by foot. But he found nothing until he was nearly half-way across the garden. And then, about a dozen yards from the bathroom window he caught sight of a square brown object. He picked it up. It was a leather case, empty and bearing the word ‘Novoshave’ embossed in gold upon its lid.

The case was practically new, and had obviously not been lying out in the open for long. The letter from Novoshave to Harleston had mentioned a razor in a case. This undoubtedly was the case. But why, in the name of all that was wonderful, had it been thrown out of the window? And where was the razor which it had contained?

Perhaps the razor had followed the case in its inexplicable flight. Jimmy continued his search. Again he quartered the grass for some time without results. Then, almost at the farther end of the garden he caught a gleam of metal. This was the missing razor. The spot where it lay was nearly twenty yards from the house. It must have been flung out of the window with some considerable violence.

Very carefully Jimmy picked up the razor and carried it and the case into the house. Then, methodically, he searched the remainder of the garden, but no further discoveries rewarded him. He returned to the house, carefully shutting and locking the door leading to the garden. Then he proceeded to examine the razor. It appeared to be quite new. Nor could it have lain long in the garden, for the blade was free from rust. It bore the word ‘Novoshave’ and the trade mark of the firm. And it had evidently been used. The edge of the blade was clogged with a small quantity of thick brownish substance of the consistency of soft soap. And on the chromium-plated frame was a stain which Jimmy recognised as that of blood.

It was not long before Jimmy’s imagination supplied him with a theory to account for what had happened. Harleston had decided to experiment with this new razor. Unfortunately, probably owing to some clumsiness on his part, he had cut himself at the first stroke. Impetuously, he had flung the razor out of the window and the case after it. He had finished his shave with the Gillette with which he was familiar. But that did not account for the disappearance of the towel. What in the world could he have done with that?

However, this find was sufficient for the moment, Jimmy carefully wrapped up the razor and case, and took them back to Scotland Yard, where he showed them to Hanslet. The superintendent was puzzled, but at the same time impressed.

‘You seem pretty successful at finding things, Jimmy,’ he said. ‘What do you suggest doing with these?’

‘I’d like to know what that brown stuff on the razor is,’ Jimmy replied. ‘How would it be to send this little lot to Dr Grantham and the Home Office for analysis?’

Hanslet agreed to this suggestion, which Jimmy immediately carried out. He then returned to his own room. The question uppermost in his mind was this. How did the discovery of the razor affect, if at all, the theory of Janet Harleston’s guilt?

He was quite ready to admit to himself that the girl interested him. Hanslet himself had doubts of her guilt. If she were a murderess, Jimmy thought, she was at the same time a superlative actress. At the inquest she had shown no signs of nervousness. She had managed to convey the impression that her half-brother’s death was as great a mystery to her as to anybody else. And she had seemed considerably brighter than when Jimmy had seen her first. Of course, she had secured her independence and that might account for it. But if she had murdered her brother, would not her relief have been tempered by some fears for her own safety?

And yet it seemed extremely difficult to establish a theory which would account for her innocence. It occurred to Jimmy that she might have been the unconscious tool of Philip, but somehow the idea did not ring true. From what he had seen of the two, Jimmy had come to the conclusion that Janet had far more intelligence and initiative than her brother. In fact, Philip had struck him as a rather simple-minded individual. He might have had the will to commit a murder, but surely not the ability. And this, if it were indeed a murder, showed signs of ingenuity of a very high order.

It seemed that the superintendent’s mind must have been running in a very similar channel. He called up Jimmy and asked him to come round to his room.

‘Sit down,’ he said, ‘and listen to me. This case has got to be investigated very thoroughly, and it’s a job that will take two of us. I’ve seen the Assistant Commissioner and he agrees that you shall help me. Now, I’m going to Lassingford first thing tomorrow morning. I want to make a few inquiries there. The reports of analysis will probably come in while I’m away. Look through them and see if they throw any fresh light upon the affair. And you’d better keep the key of that house in Matfield Street in case you want to make any further explorations.’

6

On the following morning, which was Wednesday, Jimmy went to Hanslet’s room as soon as he arrived at the Yard. There he found the report from the Home Office analyst. This dealt with the various objects that had been submitted.

The first paragraph of the report dealt with the contents of the teapot found in Harleston’s bedroom. This had been found to be an infusion of tea, heavily impregnated with nicotine. From the fact that the liquid was more greatly contaminated than the leaves, it seemed probable that the poison had been added after the tea was made. Next came the dregs of tea found in Harleston’s cup. These also contained a percentage of nicotine. But in the latter case the proportion was higher than in the case of the tea in the pot. The analyst made the suggestion that further nicotine might have been added to the cup after the tea had been poured out.

The next article to be dealt with was the eau-de-Cologne found in Janet’s bedroom.

This bottle contained a mixture of two liquids. The first was the cheaper type of eau-de-Cologne in which the solvent employed had been propyl alcohol. The second was nicotine which was present to the extent of rather over ten per cent. This percentage was rather greater than in the case of the tea.

The report then dealt with the coffee found in the dining-room. Neither the liquid in the pot nor the few drops remaining in Harleston’s cup contained any trace of nicotine.

The contents of the stomach were then reported upon at length. Only a very slight trace of nicotine had been discovered here. This was consistent with the view that the nicotine had not been swallowed but absorbed through the skin. The nature of the contents was such as to suggest that the deceased had consumed nothing for several hours before his death but a quantity of tea and a quantity of coffee. The quantities in each case might be estimated at an ordinary cupful.

Lastly the report dealt with the deposit on the razor. This had been removed and analysed. It had been found to consist of a mixture of cold cream and glycerine. To this mixture had been added nicotine to the extent of rather less than five per cent.

The analyst had appended a note upon this. Cold cream and glycerine form the basis of many well-known commercial shaving creams. Particularly those which render unnecessary the application of soap. It is quite possible that the basis of this deposit is one of these to which nicotine has been added subsequently. The application of such a preparation to the unbroken skin would be very dangerous. If it were to come into contact with a cut or any form of abrasion under conditions which would allow of its absorption, the consequences would probably be fatal.

To Jimmy this note was full of significance. He remembered the letter from Messrs. Novoshave. They had presented Harleston with a razor and a tube of shaving cream. The razor had been found, but what had become of the cream?

He proceeded to elaborate the mental picture which he had already formed. Harleston had decided to try the experiment which the letter had suggested. He had done so thoroughly, using the cream as well as the razor. He had no doubt covered his face with the cream and then started to shave. The razor had cut him and he had flung it away. But the cream remained on his face in intimate contact with the wound. He had probably not troubled to wipe it off but had finished his shave with his old razor, by its aid.

Now if the cream had contained nicotine, Harleston’s death was accounted for. But how had it happened that the nicotine had been present? Nicotine could hardly be a normal ingredient of Novoshave cream. Then somebody must have added it with a definitely homicidal purpose. Who could have had access to the cream between the time of its receipt by Harleston and the following Monday morning?

The razor, now freed of its deposit, had been returned. Jimmy examined it carefully. It seemed in perfect order and the blade was in its correct position. He drew the razor idly across a pad of blottimg paper. A fine sharp cut, running the whole length of the stroke, was the result. The razor had two cutting edges. He turned it over and repeated his experiment, with exactly the same results.

It seemed, then, that this particular razor was a remarkably dangerous weapon. Jimmy took a lens and examined the guard which protected the blade. He found that a minute notch had been cut in one of the ribs of the guard, and that the sharp edge of steel thus produced had been turned outwards. This operation, almost invisible to the naked eye, had been carried out on both sides of the razor. Anybody using it in its present state must certainly cut himself.

Things were becoming distinctly clearer, Jimmy thought. Harleston had been provided with a razor with which he would inevitably cut himself, and with shaving cream which would prove fatal if it came in contact with that cut. But who had provided them? It was fantastic to suppose that the firm of Novoshave should have designs upon the life of their accountant. The razor and cream must have been tampered with after despatch. The parcel containing them had been taken in by Janet during her half-brother’s absence at his office. She alone had had access to it until his return. The contents of the parcel must have been in the house during Sunday when Philip had paid his apparently stormy visit. And the shaving cream, together with the towel with which Harleston had wiped his face, had disappeared.

The reason for their disappearance was now fairly obvious. They formed valuable evidence of the means by which Harleston had met his death. It was natural that the murderer should wish to destroy his evidence. Someone had entered the bathroom after Harleston had left it. They had taken the towel and the tube of shaving cream. They would, no doubt, have taken the razor as well. But Harleston’s petulant gesture had prevented them. He had flung the razor and its case out of the window and they were not to be found.

But this reasoning, though perfectly logical, contained no clue to the identity of the culprit. However, upon consideration, Jimmy thought that it tended to exonerate Janet. The unknown individual had not contented himself with entering the bathroom. He had gone into Harleston’s room and poured nicotine into the teapot and cup. He had also gone into Janet’s room and added the poison to her eau-de-Cologne. His reason for doing so was easy to understand. He wished to create the impression that Janet had poisoned her half-brother by adding nicotine to his early tea.

If this exonerated Janet, it also exonerated Philip. It was hardly conceivable that the latter should have laid a trail of false clues directly pointing to his sister. There remained the period when Janet had been absent from the house. According to her, the stranger she had met on the doorstep had volunteered to go in and look after her brother. Had he done so, he would have had an opportunity for traversing the whole house. Was this stranger the murderer? And if so, how and when had he found an opportunity of tampering with the razor and shaving cream?

It seemed to Jimmy that Scotland Yard was faced with a very pretty problem. The method of the murder might now be established. But, if Janet and Philip were eliminated, the search for the culprit would be beset with difficulties. His motive was particularly baffling. Harleston might have had few friends, but, on the other hand, he was not the type of man to incur violent enmities. Nobody, apart from the members of the family, could hope to gain anything by his death. He seemed to have been too colourless an individual to have furnished any motive for revenge.

Even supposing that the man seen by Janet on the doorstep were indeed the murderer, how was he to be traced? She had no recollection of him and would be wholly unable to identify him if she were to see him again. He had appeared for a moment and disappeared. Nor, in the course of his visit to Matfield Street, had he left any visible clue behind him.

There was one fairly obvious thing to be done. Jimmy had brought with him to Scotland Yard the torn slips of paper on which the letter from Novoshave had been written. These he had stuck together with transparent paper. He went to his own room, placed the letter in an envelope and started off for the offices of Novoshave Ltd.

Upon reaching them he asked to see Mr Topliss. After a short interval he was shown into a private office where a keen-faced middle-aged man greeted him.