diff options
Diffstat (limited to '75476-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 75476-0.txt | 7699 |
1 files changed, 7699 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/75476-0.txt b/75476-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..69f75a1 --- /dev/null +++ b/75476-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7699 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75476 *** + + +The Poisoned Chocolates Case + +by Anthony Berkeley + +Published in 1929 by W. Collins Sons & Co. Ltd +Reprinted in 2016 by The British Library + + + + To + S. H. J. Cox + because for once he + did not guess it + + + +Chapter I + +Roger Sheringham took a sip of the old brandy in front of him and +leaned back in his chair at the head of the table. + +Through the haze of cigarette-smoke eager voices reached his ears from +all directions, prattling joyfully upon this and that connected with +murder, poisons and sudden death. For this was his own, his very own +Crimes Circle, founded, organised, collected, and now run by himself +alone; and when at the first meeting five months ago he had been +unanimously elected its president, he had been as full of proud +delight as on that never-to-be-forgotten day in the dim past when a +cherub disguised as a publisher had accepted his first novel. + +He turned to Chief Inspector Moresby of Scotland Yard who, as the +guest of the evening, was sitting on his right, engaged, a little +uneasily, with a positively enormous cigar. + +“Honestly, Moresby, without any disrespect to your own institution, I +do believe that there’s more solid criminological genius in this room +(intuitive genius, I mean; not capacity for taking pains) than +anywhere in the world outside the _Sûreté_ in Paris.” + +“Do you, Mr. Sheringham?” said Chief Inspector Moresby tolerantly. +Moresby was always kind to the strange opinions of others. “Well, +well.” And he applied himself again to the lighted end of his cigar, +which was so very far from the other that Moresby could never tell by +mere suction at the latter whether the former were still alight or +not. + +Roger had some grounds for his assertion beyond mere parental pride. +Entry into the charmed Crimes Circle’s dinners was not to be gained by +all and hungry. It was not enough for a would-be member to profess an +adoration for murder and let it go at that; he or she had got to prove +that they were capable of worthily wearing their criminological spurs. + +Not only must the interest be intense in all branches of the science, +in the detection side, for instance, just as much as the side of +criminal psychology, with the history of all cases of the least +importance at the applicant’s finger-tips, but there must be +constructive ability too; the candidate must have a brain and be able +to use it. To this end, a paper had to be written, from a choice of +subjects suggested by members, and submitted to the president, who +passed on such as he considered worthy to the members in conclave, who +thereupon voted for or against the suppliant’s election; and a single +adverse vote meant rejection. + +It was the intention of the club to acquire eventually thirteen +members, but so far only six had succeeded in passing their tests, and +these were all present on the evening when this chronicle opens. There +was a famous lawyer, a scarcely less famous woman dramatist, a +brilliant novelist who ought to have been more famous than she was, +the most intelligent (if not the most amiable) of living +detective-story writers, Roger Sheringham himself, and Mr. Ambrose +Chitterwick, who was not famous at all, a mild little man of no +particular appearance who had been even more surprised at being +admitted to this company of personages than they had been at finding +him amongst them. + +With the exception of Mr. Chitterwick, then, it was an assembly of +which any organiser might have been proud. Roger this evening was not +only proud but excited too, because he was going to startle them; and +it is always exciting to startle personages. He rose to do so. + +“Ladies and gentlemen,” he proclaimed, after the welcome of glasses +and cigarette-cases drummed on the table had died away. “Ladies and +gentlemen, in virtue of the powers conferred by you the president of +our Circle is permitted to alter at his discretion the arrangements +made for any meeting. You all know what arrangements were made for +this evening. Chief Inspector Moresby, whom we are so glad to welcome +as the first representative of Scotland Yard to visit us”—more +drumming on the table—“Chief Inspector Moresby was to be lulled by +rich food and sound wine into being so indiscreet as to tell us about +such of his experiences as could hardly be given to a body of +pressmen.” More and longer drumming. + +Roger refreshed himself with a sip of brandy and continued. “Now I +think I know Chief Inspector Moresby pretty well, ladies and +gentlemen, and the occasions are not a few on which I too have tried, +and tried very hard, to lure him similarly into the paths of +indiscretion; but never once have I succeeded. I have therefore little +hope that this Circle, lure it never so cooingly, will succeed in +getting from the Chief Inspector any more interesting stories than he +would mind being published in _The Daily Courier_ to-morrow. Chief +Inspector Moresby, I am afraid, ladies and gentlemen, is unlurable. + +“I have therefore taken upon myself the responsibility of altering our +entertainment for this evening; and the idea that has occurred to me +in this connection will, I both hope and believe, appeal to you very +considerably. I venture to think that it is both novel and +enthralling.” Roger paused and beamed on the interested faces around +him. Chief Inspector Moresby, a little puce below the ears, was still +at grips with his cigar. + +“My idea,” Roger said, “is connected with Mr. Graham Bendix.” There +was a little stir of interest. “Or rather,” he amended, more slowly, +“with Mrs. Graham Bendix.” The stir subsided into a still more +interested hush. + +Roger paused, as if choosing his words with more care. “Mr. Bendix +himself is personally known to one or two of us here. Indeed, his name +has actually been mentioned as that of a man who might possibly be +interested, if approached, to become a member of this Circle. By Sir +Charles Wildman, if I remember rightly.” + +The barrister inclined his rather massive head with dignity. “Yes, I +suggested him once, I think.” + +“The suggestion was never followed up,” Roger continued. “I don’t +quite remember why not; I think somebody else was rather sure that he +would never be able to pass all our tests. But in any case the fact +that his name was ever mentioned at all shows that Mr. Bendix is to +some extent at least a criminologist, which means that our sympathy +with him in the terrible tragedy that has befallen him is tinged with +something of a personal interest, even in the case of those who, like +myself, are not actually acquainted with him.” + +“Hear, hear,” said a tall, good-looking woman on the right of the +table, in the clear tones of one very well accustomed to saying “hear, +hear” weightily at appropriate moments during speeches, in case no one +else did. This was Alicia Dammers, the novelist, who ran Women’s +Institutes for a hobby, listened to other people’s speeches with +genuine and altruistic enjoyment, and, in practice the most staunch of +Conservatives, supported with enthusiasm the theories of the Socialist +party. + +“My suggestion is,” Roger said simply, “that we turn that sympathy to +practical uses.” + +There was no doubt that the eager attention of his audience was +caught. Sir Charles Wildman lifted his bushy grey brows, from under +which he was wont to frown with menacing disgust at the prosecution’s +witnesses who had the bad taste to believe in the guilt of his own +client, and swung his gold-rimmed eye-glasses on their broad black +ribbon. On the other side of the table Mrs. Fielder-Flemming, a short, +round, homely-looking woman who wrote surprisingly improper and most +successful plays and looked exactly like a rather superior cook on her +Sunday out, nudged the elbow of Miss Dammers and whispered something +behind her hand. Mr. Ambrose Chitterwick blinked his mild blue eyes +and assumed the appearance of an intelligent nanny-goat. The writer of +detective-stories alone sat apparently unmoved and impassive; but in +times of crisis he was wont to model his behaviour on that of his own +favourite detective, who was invariably impassive at the most exciting +moments. + +“I took the idea to Scotland Yard this morning,” Roger went on, “and +though they never encourage that sort of idea there, they were really +unable to discover any positive harm in it; with the result that I +came away with a reluctant, but nevertheless official permission to +try it out. And I may as well say at once that it was the same cue +that prompted this permission as originally put the whole thing into +my head”—Roger paused impressively and glanced round—“the fact that +the police have practically given up all hope of tracing Mrs. Bendix’s +murderer.” + +Ejaculations sounded on all sides, some of dismay, some of disgust, +and some of astonishment. All eyes turned upon Moresby. That +gentleman, apparently unconscious of the collective gaze fastened upon +him, raised his cigar to his ear and listened to it intently, as if +hoping to receive some intimate message from its depths. + +Roger came to his rescue. “That information is quite confidential, by +the way, and I know none of you will let it escape beyond this room. +But it is a fact. Active inquiries, having resulted in exactly +nothing, are to be stopped. There is always hope of course that some +fresh fact may turn up, but without it the authorities have come to +the conclusion that they can get no farther. My proposal is, +therefore, that this Club should take up the case where the +authorities have left it.” And he looked expectantly round the circle +of upturned faces. + +Every face asked a question at once. + +Roger forgot his periods in his enthusiasm and became colloquial. + +“Why, you see, we’re all keen, we’re not fools, and we’re not (with +apologies to my friend Moresby) tied to any hard-and-fast method of +investigation. Is it too much to hope that, with all six of us on our +mettle and working quite independently of each other, one of us might +achieve some result where the police have, to put it bluntly, failed? +I don’t think it’s outside the possibilities. What do you say, Sir +Charles?” + +The famous counsel uttered a deep laugh. “’Pon my word, Sheringham, +it’s an interesting idea. But I must reserve judgment till you’ve +outlined your proposal in a little more detail.” + +“I think it’s a wonderful idea, Mr. Sheringham,” cried Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming, who was not troubled with a legal mind. “I’d like to +begin this very evening.” Her plump cheeks positively quivered with +excitement. “Wouldn’t you, Alicia?” + +“It has possibilities,” smiled that lady. + +“As a matter-of-fact,” said the writer of detective-stories, with an +air of detachment, “I’d formed a theory of my own about this case +already.” His name was Percy Robinson, but he wrote under the +pseudonym of Morton Harrogate Bradley, which had so impressed the more +simple citizens of the United States of America that they had bought +three editions of his first book on the strength of that alone. For +some obscure psychological reason Americans are always impressed by +the use of surnames for Christian, and particularly when one of them +happens to be the name of an English watering-place. + +Mr. Ambrose Chitterwick beamed in a mild way, but said nothing. + +“Well,” Roger took up his tale, “the details are open to discussion, +of course, but I thought that, if we all decide to make the trial, it +would be more amusing if we worked independently. Moresby here can +give us the plain facts as they’re known to the police. He hasn’t been +in charge of the case himself, but he’s had one or two jobs in +connection with it and is pretty well up in the facts; moreover he has +very kindly spent most of the afternoon examining the dossier at +Scotland Yard so as to be sure of omitting nothing this evening. + +“When we’ve heard him some of us may be able to form a theory at once; +possible lines of investigation may occur to others which they will +wish to follow up before they commit themselves. In any case, I +suggest that we allow ourselves a week in which to form our theories, +verify our hypotheses, and set our individual interpretations on the +facts that Scotland Yard has collected, during which time no member +shall discuss the case with any other member. We may achieve nothing +(most probably we shall not), but in any case it will be a most +interesting criminological exercise; for some of us practical, for +others academical, just as we prefer. And what I think should be most +interesting will be to see if we all arrive at the same result or not. +Ladies and gentlemen, the meeting is open for discussion, or whatever +is the right way of putting it. In other words: what about it?” And +Roger dropped back, not reluctantly, into his seat. + +Almost before his trousers had touched it the first question reached +him. + +“Do you mean that we’re to go out and act as our own detectives, Mr. +Sheringham, or just write a thesis on the facts that the Chief +Inspector is going to give us?” asked Alicia Dammers. + +“Whichever each one of us preferred, I thought,” Roger answered. +“That’s what I meant when I said that the exercise would be practical +for some of us and academic for others.” + +“But you’ve got so much more experience than us on the practical side, +Mr. Sheringham,” pouted Mrs. Fielder-Flemming (yes, pouted). + +“And the police have so much more than me,” Roger countered. + +“It will depend whether we use deductive or inductive methods, no +doubt,” observed Mr. Morton Harrogate Bradley. “Those who prefer the +former will work from the police-facts and won’t need to make any +investigations of their own, except perhaps to verify a conclusion or +two. But the inductive method demands a good deal of inquiry.” + +“Exactly,” said Roger. + +“Police-facts and the deductive method have solved plenty of serious +mysteries in this country,” pronounced Sir Charles Wildman. “I shall +rely on them for this one.” + +“There’s one particular feature of this case,” murmured Mr. Bradley to +nobody, “that ought to lead one straight to the criminal. I’ve thought +so all the time. I shall concentrate on that.” + +“I’m sure I haven’t the remotest idea how one sets about investigating +a point, if it becomes desirable,” observed Mr. Chitterwick uneasily; +but nobody heard him, so it did not matter. + +“The only thing that struck me about this case,” said Alicia Dammers, +very distinctly, “regarded, I mean, as a pure case, was its complete +absence of any psychological interest whatever.” And without actually +saying so, Miss Dammers conveyed the impression that if that were so, +she personally had no further use for it. + +“I don’t think you’ll say that when you’ve heard what Moresby’s got to +tell us,” Roger said gently. “We’re going to hear a great deal more +than has appeared in the newspapers, you know.” + +“Then let’s hear it,” suggested Sir Charles, bluntly. + +“We’re all agreed, then?” said Roger, looking round as happily as a +child who has been given a new toy. “Everybody is willing to try it +out?” + +Amid the ensuing chorus of enthusiasm, one voice alone was silent. Mr. +Ambrose Chitterwick was still wondering, quite unhappily, how, if it +ever became necessary to go a-detecting, one went. He had studied the +reminiscences of a hundred ex-detectives, the real ones, with large +black boots and bowler hats; but all he could remember at that moment, +out of all those scores of fat books (published at eighteen and +sixpence, and remaindered a few months later at eighteen-pence), was +that a real, _real_ detective, if he means to attain results, never +puts on a false moustache but simply shaves his eyebrows. As a +mystery-solving formula, this seemed to Mr. Chitterwick inadequate. + +Fortunately in the buzz of chatter that preceded the very reluctant +rising of Chief Inspector Moresby, Mr. Chitterwick’s poltroonery went +unnoticed. + + + +Chapter II + +Chief Inspector Moresby, having stood up and blushingly received his +tribute of hand-claps, was invited to address the gathering from his +chair and thankfully retired into that shelter. Consulting the sheaf +of notes in his hand, he began to enlighten his very attentive +audience as to the strange circumstances connected with Mrs. Bendix’s +untimely death. Without reproducing his own words, and all the +numerous supplementary questions which punctuated his story, the gist +of what he had to tell was as follows:— + + +On Friday morning, the fifteenth of November, Graham Bendix strolled +into his club, the Rainbow, in Piccadilly, at about ten-thirty and +asked if there were any letters for him. The porter handed him a +letter and a couple of circulars, and he walked over to the fireplace +in the hall to read them. + +While he was doing so another member entered the club. This was a +middle-aged baronet, Sir Eustace Pennefather, who had rooms just round +the corner, in Berkeley Street, but spent most of his time at the +Rainbow. The porter glanced up at the clock, as he did every morning +when Sir Eustace came in, and, as always, it was exactly half-past +ten. The time was thus definitely fixed by the porter beyond any +doubt. + +There were three letters and a small parcel for Sir Eustace, and he, +too, took them over to the fireplace to open, nodding to Bendix as he +joined him there. The two men knew each other only very slightly and +had probably never exchanged more than half-a-dozen words in all. +There were no other members in the hall just then. + +Having glanced through his letters, Sir Eustace opened the parcel and +snorted with disgust. Bendix looked at him enquiringly, and with a +grunt Sir Eustace thrust out the letter which had been enclosed in the +parcel, adding an uncomplimentary remark upon modern trade methods. +Concealing a smile (Sir Eustace’s habits and opinions were a matter of +some amusement to his fellow-members), Bendix read the letter. It was +from the firm of Mason & Sons, the big chocolate manufacturers, and +was to the effect that they had just put on the market a new brand of +liqueur-chocolates designed especially to appeal to the cultivated +palates of Men of Taste. Sir Eustace being, presumably, a Man of +Taste, would he be good enough to honour Mr. Mason and his sons by +accepting the enclosed one-pound box, and any criticisms or +appreciation that he might have to make concerning them would be +esteemed almost more than a favour. + +“Do they think I’m a blasted chorus-girl,” fumed Sir Eustace, a +choleric man, “to write ’em testimonials about their blasted +chocolates? Blast ’em! I’ll complain to the blasted committee. That +sort of blasted thing can’t blasted well be allowed here.” For the +Rainbow Club, as every one knows, is a very proud and exclusive club +indeed, with an unbroken descent from the Rainbow Coffee-House, +founded in 1734. Not even a family founded by a king’s bastard can be +quite so exclusive to-day as a club founded on a coffee-house. + +“Well, it’s an ill wind so far as I’m concerned,” Bendix soothed him. +“It’s reminded me of something. I’ve got to get some chocolates +myself, to pay an honourable debt. My wife and I had a box at the +Imperial last night, and I bet her a box of chocolates to a hundred +cigarettes that she wouldn’t spot the villain by the end of the second +act. She won. I must remember to get them. It’s not a bad show. _The +Creaking Skull_. Have you seen it?” + +“Not blasted likely,” replied the other, unsoothed. “Got something +better to do than sit and watch a lot of blasted fools messing about +with phosphorescent paint and pooping off blasted pop-guns at each +other. Want a box of chocolates, did you say? Well, take this blasted +one.” + +The money saved by this offer had no weight with Bendix. He was a very +wealthy man, and probably had enough on him in actual cash to buy a +hundred such boxes. But trouble is always worth saving. “Sure you +don’t want them?” he demurred politely. + +In Sir Eustace’s reply only one word, several times repeated, was +clearly recognisable. But his meaning was plain. Bendix thanked him +and, most unfortunately for himself, accepted the gift. + +By an extraordinarily lucky chance the wrapper of the box was not +thrown into the fire, either by Sir Eustace in his indignation or by +Bendix himself when the whole collection, box, covering letter, +wrapper and string, was shovelled into his hands by the almost +apoplectic baronet. This was the more fortunate as both men had +already tossed the envelopes of their letters into the flames. + +Bendix however merely walked over to the porter’s desk and deposited +everything there, asking the man to keep the box for him. The porter +put the box aside, and threw the wrapper into the waste-paper basket. +The covering letter had fallen unnoticed from Bendix’s hand as he +walked across the floor. This the porter tidily picked up a few +minutes later and put in the waste-paper basket too, whence, with the +wrapper, it was retrieved later by the police. + +These two articles, it may be said at once, constituted two of the +only three tangible clues to the murder, the third of course being the +chocolates themselves. + +Of the three unconscious protagonists in the impending tragedy, Sir +Eustace was by far the most remarkable. Still a year or two under +fifty, he looked, with his flaming red face and thickset figure, a +typical country squire of the old school, and both his manners and his +language were in accordance with tradition. There were other +resemblances too, but they were equally on the surface. The voices of +the country squires of the old school were often slightly husky +towards late middle age, but it was not with whisky. They hunted, and +so did Sir Eustace, with avidity; but the country squires confined +their hunting to foxes, and Sir Eustace was far more catholic in his +predatory tastes. Sir Eustace in short, without doubt, was a +thoroughly bad baronet. But his vices were all on the large scale, +with the usual result that most other men, good or bad, liked him well +enough (except perhaps a few husbands here and there, or a father or +two), and women openly hung on his husky words. + +In comparison with him Bendix was rather an ordinary man, a tall, +dark, not unhandsome fellow of eight-and-twenty, quiet and somewhat +reserved, popular in a way but neither inviting nor apparently +reciprocating anything beyond a somewhat grave friendliness. + +He had been left a rich man on the death five years ago of his father, +who had made a fortune out of land-sites, which he had bought up in +undeveloped areas with an uncanny foresight to sell later, at never +less than ten times what he had given for them, when surrounded by +houses and factories erected with other people’s money. “Just sit +tight and let other people make you rich,” had been his motto, and a +very sound one it proved. His son, though left with an income that +precluded any necessity to work, had evidently inherited his father’s +tendencies, for he had a finger in a good many business pies just (as +he explained a little apologetically) out of sheer love of the most +exciting game in the world. + +Money attracts money. Graham Bendix had inherited it, he made it, and +inevitably he married it too. The orphaned daughter of a Liverpool +ship-owner she was, with not far off half-a-million in her own right +to bring to Bendix, who needed it not at all. But the money was +incidental, for he needed her if not her fortune, and would have +married her just as inevitably (said his friends) if she had had not a +farthing. + +She was so exactly his type. A tall, rather serious-minded, +highly-cultured girl, not so young that her character had not had time +to form (she was twenty-five when Bendix married her, three years +ago), she was the ideal wife for him. A bit of a Puritan, perhaps, in +some ways, but Bendix himself was ready enough to be a Puritan by then +if Joan Cullompton was. + +For in spite of the way he developed later Bendix had sown as a youth +a few wild oats in the normal way. Stage-doors, that is to say, had +not been entirely strange to him. His name had been mentioned in +connection with that of more than one frail and fluffy lady. He had +managed, in short, to amuse himself, discreetly but by no means +clandestinely, in the usual manner of young men with too much money +and too few years. But all that, again in the ordinary way, had +stopped with his marriage. + +He was openly devoted to his wife and did not care who knew it, while +she too, if a trifle less obviously, was equally said to wear her +heart on her sleeve. To make no bones about it, the Bendixes had +apparently succeeded in achieving that eighth wonder of the modern +world, a happy marriage. + +And into the middle of it there dropped, like a clap of thunder, the +box of chocolates. + +“After depositing the box of chocolates with the porter,” Moresby +continued, shuffling his papers to find the right one, “Mr. Bendix +followed Sir Eustace into the lounge, where he was reading the +_Morning Post_.” + +Roger nodded approval. There was no other paper that Sir Eustace could +possibly have been reading but the _Morning Post_. + +Bendix himself proceeded to study _The Daily Telegraph_. He was rather +at a loose end that morning. There were no board meetings for him, and +none of the businesses in which he was interested called him out into +the rain of a typical November day. He spent the rest of the morning +in an aimless way, read the daily papers, glanced through the +weeklies, and played a hundred up at billiards with another member +equally idle. At about half-past twelve he went back to lunch to his +house in Eaton Square, taking the chocolates with him. + +Mrs. Bendix had given orders that she would not be in to lunch that +day, but her appointment had been cancelled and she too was lunching +at home. Bendix gave her the box of chocolates after the meal as they +were sitting over their coffee in the drawing-room, explaining how +they had come into his possession. Mrs. Bendix laughingly teased him +about his meanness in not buying her a box, but approved the make and +was interested to try the firm’s new variety. Joan Bendix was not so +serious-minded as not to have a healthy feminine interest in good +chocolates. + +Their appearance, however, did not seem to impress her very much. + +“Kümmel, Kirsch, Maraschino,” she said, delving with her fingers among +the silver-wrappered sweets, each bearing the name of its filling in +neat blue lettering. “Nothing else, apparently. I don’t see anything +new here, Graham. They’ve just taken those three kinds out of their +ordinary liqueur-chocolates.” + +“Oh?” said Bendix, who was not particularly interested in chocolates. +“Well, I don’t suppose it matters much. All liqueur-chocolates taste +the same to me.” + +“Yes, and they’ve even packed them in their usual liqueur-chocolate +box,” complained his wife, examining the lid. + +“They’re only a sample,” Bendix pointed out. “They may not have got +the right boxes ready yet.” + +“I don’t believe there’s the slightest difference,” Mrs. Bendix +pronounced, unwrapping a Kümmel. She held the box out to her husband. +“Have one?” + +He shook his head. “No, thank you, dear. You know I never eat the +things.” + +“Well, you’ve got to have one of these, as a penance for not buying me +a proper box. Catch!” She threw him one. As he caught it she made a +wry face. “Oh! I was wrong. These are different. They’re twenty times +as strong.” + +“Well, they can bear at least that,” Bendix smiled, thinking of the +usual anæmic sweetmeat sold under the name of chocolate-liqueur. + +He put the one she had given him in his mouth and bit it up; a burning +taste, not intolerable but far too pronounced to be pleasant, followed +the release of the liquid. “By Jove,” he exclaimed, “I should think +they are strong. I believe they’ve filled them with neat alcohol.” + +“Oh, they wouldn’t do that, surely,” said his wife, unwrapping +another. “But they are very strong. It must be the new mixture. +Really, they almost burn. I’m not sure whether I like them or not. And +that Kirsch one tasted far too strongly of almonds. This may be +better. You try a Maraschino too.” + +To humour her he swallowed another, and disliked it still more. +“Funny,” he remarked, touching the roof of his mouth with the tip of +his tongue. “My tongue feels quite numb.” + +“So did mine at first,” she agreed. “Now it’s tingling rather. Well, I +don’t notice any difference between the Kirsch and the Maraschino. And +they do burn! I can’t make up my mind whether I like them or not.” + +“I don’t,” Bendix said with decision. “I think there’s something wrong +with them. I shouldn’t eat any more if I were you.” + +“Well, they’re only an experiment, I suppose,” said his wife. + +A few minutes later Bendix went out, to keep an appointment in the +City. He left his wife still trying to make up her mind whether she +liked the chocolates or not, and still eating them to decide. Her last +words to him were that they were making her mouth burn again so much +that she was afraid she would not be able to manage any more. + +“Mr. Bendix remembers that conversation very clearly,” said Moresby, +looking round at the intent faces, “because it was the last time he +saw his wife alive.” + +The conversation in the drawing-room had taken place approximately +between a quarter-past and half-past two. Bendix kept his appointment +in the City at three, where he stayed for about half-an-hour, and then +took a taxi back to his club for tea. + +He had been feeling extremely ill during his business-talk, and in the +taxi he very nearly collapsed; the driver had to summon the porter to +help get him out and into the club. They both described him as pale to +the point of ghastliness, with staring eyes and livid lips, and his +skin damp and clammy. His mind seemed unaffected, however, and once +they had got him up the steps he was able to walk, with the help of +the porter’s arm, into the lounge. + +The porter, alarmed by his appearance, wanted to send for a doctor at +once, but Bendix, who was the last man to make a fuss, absolutely +refused to let him, saying that it could only be a bad attack of +indigestion and that he would be all right in a few minutes; he must +have eaten something that disagreed with him. The porter was doubtful, +but left him. + +Bendix repeated this diagnosis of his own condition a few minutes +later to Sir Eustace Pennefather, who was in the lounge at the time, +not having left the club at all. But this time Bendix added: “And I +believe it was those infernal chocolates you gave me, now I come to +think of it. I thought there was something funny about them at the +time. I’d better go and ring up my wife and find out if she’s been +taken like this too.” + +Sir Eustace, a kind-hearted man, who was no less shocked than the +porter at Bendix’s appearance, was perturbed by the suggestion that he +might in any way be responsible for it, and offered to go and ring up +Mrs. Bendix himself as the other was in no fit condition to move. +Bendix was about to reply when a strange change came over him. His +body, which had been leaning limply back in his chair, suddenly heaved +rigidly upright; his jaws locked together, the livid lips drawn back +in a hideous grin, and his hands clenched on the arms of the chair. At +the same time Sir Eustace became aware of an unmistakable smell of +bitter almonds. + +Thoroughly alarmed now, believing indeed that Bendix was dying under +his eyes, he raised a shout for the porter and a doctor. There were +two or three other men at the further end of the big room (in which a +shout had probably never been heard before in the whole course of its +history) and these hurried up at once. Sir Eustace sent one off to +tell the porter to get hold of the nearest doctor without a second’s +delay, and enlisted the others to try to make the convulsed body a +little more comfortable. There was no doubt among them that Bendix had +taken poison. They spoke to him, asking how he felt and what they +could do for him, but he either would not or could not answer. As a +matter of fact, he was completely unconscious. + +Before the doctor had arrived, a telephone message was received from +an agitated butler asking if Mr. Bendix was there, and if so would he +come home at once as Mrs. Bendix had been taken seriously ill. + +At the house in Eaton Square matters had been taking much the same +course with Mrs. Bendix as with her husband, though a little more +rapidly. She remained for half-an-hour or so in the drawing-room after +the latter’s departure, during which time she must have eaten about +three more of the chocolates. She then went up to her bedroom and rang +for her maid, to whom she said that she felt very ill and was going to +lie down for a time. Like her husband, she ascribed her condition to a +violent attack of indigestion. + +The maid mixed her a draught from a bottle of indigestion-powder, +which consisted mainly of bicarbonate of soda and bismuth, and brought +her a hot-water bottle, leaving her lying on the bed. Her description +of her mistress’s appearance tallied exactly with the porter’s and +taxi-man’s description of Bendix, but unlike them she did not seem to +have been alarmed by it. She admitted later to the opinion that Mrs. +Bendix, though anything but a greedy woman, must have overeaten +herself at lunch. + +At a quarter past three there was a violent ring from the bell in Mrs. +Bendix’s room. + +The girl hurried upstairs and found her mistress apparently in a +cataleptic fit, unconscious and rigid. Thoroughly frightened now, she +wasted some precious minutes in ineffectual attempts to bring her +round, and then hurried downstairs to telephone for the doctor. The +practitioner who regularly attended the house was not at home, and it +was some time before the butler, who had found the half-hysterical +girl at the telephone and taken matters into his own hands, could get +into communication with another. By the time the latter did get there, +nearly half-an-hour after Mrs. Bendix’s bell had rung, she was past +help. Coma had set in, and in spite of everything the doctor could do +she died in less than ten minutes after his arrival. + +She was, in fact, already dead when the butler telephoned to the +Rainbow Club. + + + +Chapter III + +Having reached this stage in his narrative Moresby paused, for effect, +breath and refreshment. So far, in spite of the eager interest with +which the story had been followed, no fact had been brought out of +which his listeners were unaware. It was the police investigations +that they wanted to hear, for not only had no details of these been +published but not so much as a hint had been given even as to the +theory that was officially held. + +Perhaps Moresby had gathered something of this sentiment, for after a +moment’s rest he resumed with a slight smile. “Well, ladies and +gentlemen, I shan’t keep you much longer with these preliminaries, but +it’s just as well to run through everything while we’re on it, if we +want to get a view of the case as a whole. + +“As you know, then, Mr. Bendix himself did not die. Luckily for +himself he had eaten only two of the chocolates, as against his wife’s +seven, but still more luckily he had fallen into the hands of a clever +doctor. By the time her doctor saw Mrs. Bendix it was too late for him +to do anything; but the smaller amount of poison that Mr. Bendix had +swallowed meant that its progress was not so rapid, and the doctor had +time to save him. + +“Not that the doctor knew then what the poison was. He treated him +chiefly for prussic acid poisoning, thinking from the symptoms and the +smell that Mr. Bendix must have taken oil of bitter almonds, but he +wasn’t sure and threw in one or two other things as well. Anyhow, it +turned out in the end that he couldn’t have had a fatal dose, and he +was conscious again by about eight o’clock that night. They’d put him +into one of the club bedrooms, and by the next day he was +convalescent.” + +At first, Moresby went on to explain, it was thought at Scotland Yard +that Mrs. Bendix’s death and her husband’s narrow escape were due to a +terrible accident. The police had of course taken the matter in hand +as soon as the woman’s death was reported to them and the fact of +poison established. In due course a District Detective Inspector +arrived at the Rainbow Club, and as soon as the doctor would permit +after Bendix’s recovery of consciousness held an interview with the +still very sick man. + +The fact of his wife’s death was kept from him in his doubtful +condition and he was questioned solely upon his own experience, for it +was already clear that the two cases were bound up together and light +on one would equally clarify the other. The Inspector told Bendix +bluntly that he had been poisoned and pressed him as to how the stuff +could have been taken: could he account for it in any way? + +It was not long before the chocolates came into Bendix’s mind. He +mentioned their burning taste, and he mentioned having already spoken +to Sir Eustace about them as the possible cause of his illness. + +This the inspector already knew. + +He had spent the time before Bendix came round in interviewing such +people as had come into contact with him since his return to the club +that afternoon. He had heard the porter’s story and he had taken steps +to trace the taxi-man; he had spoken with the members who had gathered +round Bendix in the lounge, and Sir Eustace had reported to him the +remark of Bendix about the chocolates. + +The inspector had not attached very much importance to this at the +moment, but simply as a matter of routine had questioned Sir Eustace +closely as to the whole episode and, again as a matter of routine, had +afterwards rummaged through the waste-paper basket and extricated the +wrapper and the covering-letter. Still as a matter of routine, and +still not particularly impressed, he now proceeded to question Bendix +on the same topic, and then at last began to realise its significance +as he heard how the two had shared the chocolates after lunch and how, +even before Bendix had left home, the wife had eaten more than the +husband. + +The doctor now intervened, and the inspector had to leave the +sick-room. His first action was to telephone to his colleague at the +Bendix home and tell him to take possession without delay of the box +of chocolates which was probably still in the drawing-room; at the +same time he asked for a rough idea of the number of chocolates that +were missing. The other told him, nine or ten. The inspector, who on +Bendix’s information had only accounted for six or seven, rang off and +telephoned what he had learnt to Scotland Yard. + +Interest was now centred on the chocolates. They were taken to +Scotland Yard that evening, and sent off at once to be analysed. + +“Well, the doctor hadn’t been far wrong,” said Moresby. “The poison in +those chocolates wasn’t oil of bitter almonds as a matter of fact, it +was nitrobenzene; but I understand that isn’t so very different. If +any of you ladies or gentlemen have a knowledge of chemicals, you’ll +know more about the stuff than I do, but I believe it’s used +occasionally in the cheaper sorts of confectionery (less than it used +to be, though) to give an almond-flavour as a substitute for oil of +bitter almonds, which I needn’t tell you is a powerful poison too. But +the most usual way of employing nitrobenzene commercially is in the +manufacture of aniline dyes.” + +When the analyst’s preliminary report came through Scotland Yard’s +initial theory of accidental death was strengthened. Here definitely +was a poison used in the manufacture of chocolates and other sweets. A +terrible mistake must have been made. The firm had been employing the +stuff as a cheap substitute for genuine liqueurs and too much of it +had been used. The fact that the only liqueurs named on the silver +wrappings were Maraschino, Kümmel and Kirsch, all of which carry a +greater or lesser flavour of almonds, supported this conception. + +But before the firm was approached by the police for an explanation, +other facts had come to light. It was found that only the top layer of +chocolates contained any poison. Those in the lower layer were +completely free from anything harmful. Moreover in the lower layer the +fillings inside the chocolate cases corresponded with the description +on the wrappings, whereas in the top layer, besides the poison, each +sweet contained a blend of the three liqueurs mentioned and not, for +instance, plain Maraschino and poison. It was further remarked that no +Maraschino, Kirsch or Kümmel was to be found in the two lower layers. + +The interesting fact also emerged, in the analyst’s detailed report, +that each chocolate in the top layer contained, in addition to its +blend of the three liqueurs, exactly six minims of nitrobenzene, no +more and no less. The cases were a fair size and there was plenty of +room for quite a considerable quantity of the liqueur-blend besides +this fixed quantity of poison. This was significant. Still more so was +the further fact that in the bottom of each of the noxious chocolates +there were distinct traces of a hole having been drilled in the case +and subsequently plugged up with a piece of melted chocolate. + +It was now plain to the police that foul play was in question. + +A deliberate attempt had been made to murder Sir Eustace Pennefather. +The would-be murderer had acquired a box of Mason’s chocolate +liqueurs; separated those in which a flavour of almonds would not come +amiss; drilled a small hole in each and drained it of its contents; +injected, probably with a fountain-pen filler, the dose of poison; +filled the cavity up from the mixture of former fillings; carefully +stopped the hole, and re-wrapped it in its silver-paper covering. A +meticulous business, meticulously carried out. + +The covering letter and wrapper which had arrived with the box of +chocolates now became of paramount importance, and the inspector who +had had the foresight to rescue these from destruction had occasion to +pat himself on the back. Together with the box itself and the +remaining chocolates, they formed the only material clues to this +cold-blooded murder. + +Taking them with him, the Chief Inspector now in charge of the case +called on the managing director of Mason & Sons, and without informing +him of the circumstances as to how it had come into his possession, +laid the letter before him and invited him to explain certain points +in connection with it. How many of these (the managing director was +asked) had been sent out, who knew of this one, and who could have had +a chance of handling the box that was sent to Sir Eustace? + +If the police had hoped to surprise Mr. Mason, the result was nothing +compared with the way in which Mr. Mason surprised the police. + +“Well, sir?” prompted the Chief Inspector, when it seemed as if Mr. +Mason would go on examining the letter all day. + +Mr. Mason adjusted his glasses to the angle for examining Chief +Inspectors instead of letters. He was a small, rather fierce, elderly +man who had begun life in a back street in Huddersfield, and did not +intend any one to forget it. + +“Where the devil did you get this?” he asked. The papers, it must be +remembered, had not yet got hold of the sensational aspect of Mrs. +Bendix’s death. + +“I came,” replied the Chief Inspector with dignity, “to ask you about +your sending it out, sir, not tell you about my getting hold of it.” + +“Then you can go to the devil,” replied Mr. Mason with decision. “And +take Scotland Yard with you,” he added, by way of a comprehensive +afterthought. + +“I must warn you, sir,” said the Chief Inspector, somewhat taken aback +but concealing the fact beneath his weightiest manner, “I must warn +you that it may be a serious matter for you to refuse to answer my +questions.” + +Mr. Mason, it appeared, was exasperated rather than intimidated by +this covert threat. “Get out o’ ma office,” he replied in his native +tongue. “Are ye druffen, man? Or do ye just think you’re funny? Ye +know as well as I do that that letter was never sent out from ’ere.” + +It was then that the Chief Inspector became surprised. “Not—not sent +out by your firm at all?” he yammered. It was a possibility that had +not occurred to him. “It’s—forged, then?” + +“Isn’t that what I’m telling ye?” growled the old man, regarding him +fiercely from under bushy brows. But the Chief Inspector’s evident +astonishment had mollified him somewhat. + +“Sir,” said that official, “I must ask you to be good enough to answer +my questions as fully as possible. It’s a case of murder I’m +investigating, and—” he paused and thought cunningly “—and the +murderer seems to have been making free use of your business to cloak +his operations.” + +The cunning of the Chief Inspector prevailed. “The devil ’e ’as!” +roared the old man. “Damn the blackguard. Ask any questions thou +wants, lad; I’ll answer right enough.” + +Communication thus being established, the Chief Inspector proceeded to +get to grips. + +During the next five minutes his heart sank lower and lower. In place +of the simple case he had anticipated it became rapidly plain to him +that the affair was going to be very difficult indeed. Hitherto he had +thought (and his superiors had agreed with him) that the case was +going to prove one of sudden temptation. Somebody in the Mason firm +had a grudge against Sir Eustace. Into his (or more probably, as the +Chief Inspector had considered, her) hands had fallen the box and +letter addressed to him. The opportunity had been obvious, the means, +in the shape of nitrobenzene in use in the factory, ready to hand; the +result had followed. Such a culprit would be easy enough to trace. + +But now, it seemed, this pleasant theory must be abandoned, for in the +first place no such letter as this had ever been sent out at all; the +firm had produced no new brand of chocolates, if they had done so it +was not their custom to dispense sample boxes among private +individuals, the letter was a forgery. But the notepaper on the other +hand (and this was the only remnant left to support the theory) was +perfectly genuine, so far as the old man could tell. He could not say +for certain, but was almost sure that this was a piece of old stock +which had been finished up about six months ago. The heading might be +forged, but he did not think so. + +“Six months ago?” queried the Inspector unhappily. + +“About that,” said the other, and plucked a piece of paper out of a +stand in front of him. “This is what we use now.” The Inspector +examined it. There was no doubt of the difference. The new paper was +thinner and more glossy. But the heading looked exactly the same. The +Inspector took a note of the firm who had printed both. + +Unfortunately no sample of the old paper was available. Mr. Mason had +a search made on the spot, but not a sheet was left. + +“As a matter of fact,” Moresby now said, “it had been noticed that the +piece of paper on which the letter was written was an old one. It is +distinctly yellow round the edges. I’ll pass it round and you can see +for yourselves. Please be careful of it.” The bit of paper, once +handled by a murderer, passed slowly from each would-be detective to +his neighbour. + +“Well, to cut a long story shorter,” Moresby went on, “we had it +examined by the firm of printers, Webster’s, in Frith Street, and +they’re prepared to swear that it’s their work. That means the paper +was genuine, worse luck.” + +“You mean, of course,” put in Sir Charles Wildman impressively, “that +had the heading been a copy, the task of discovering the printers who +executed it should have been comparatively simple?” + +“That’s correct, Sir Charles. Except if it had been done by somebody +who owned a small press of their own; but that would have been +traceable too. All we’ve actually got is that the murderer is someone +who had access to Mason’s notepaper up to six months ago; and that’s +pretty wide.” + +“Do you think it was stolen with the actual intention of putting it to +the purpose for which it was used?” asked Alicia Dammers. + +“It seems like it, madam. And something kept holding the murderer up.” + +As regards the wrapper, Mr. Mason had been unable to help at all. This +consisted simply of a piece of ordinary, thin brown paper, such as +could be bought anywhere, with Sir Eustace’s name and address +hand-printed on it in neat capitals. Apparently there was nothing to +be learnt from it at all. The post-mark showed that it had been +despatched by the nine-thirty p. m. post from the post office in +Southampton Street, Strand. + +“There is a collection at 8.30 and another at 9.30,” Moresby +explained, “so it must have been posted between those two times. The +packet was quite small enough to go into the opening for letters. The +stamps make up the right value. The post office was shut by then, so +it could not have been handed in over the counter. Perhaps you’d care +to see it.” The piece of brown paper was handed gravely round. + +“Have you brought the box too, and the other chocolates?” asked Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming. + +“No, madam. It was one of Mason’s ordinary boxes, and the chocolates +have all been used for analysis.” + +“Oh!” Mrs. Fielder-Flemming was plainly disappointed. “I thought there +might be finger-prints on it,” she explained. + +“We have already looked for those,” replied Moresby without a flicker. + +There was a pause while the wrapper passed from hand to hand. + +“Naturally, we’ve made inquiries as to any one seen posting a packet +in Southampton Street between half-past eight and half-past nine,” +Moresby continued, “but without result. We’ve also carefully +interrogated Sir Eustace Pennefather to discover whether he could +throw any light on the question why any one should wish to take his +life, or who. Sir Eustace can’t give us the faintest idea. Of course +we followed up the usual line of inquiry as to who would benefit by +his death, but without any helpful results. Most of his possessions go +to his wife, who has a divorce suit pending against him; and she’s out +of the country. We’ve checked her movements and she’s out of the +question. Besides,” added Moresby unprofessionally, “she’s a very nice +lady. + +“And as to facts, all we know is that the murderer probably had some +connection with Mason & Sons up to six months ago, and was almost +certainly in Southampton Street at some time between eight-thirty and +nine-thirty on that particular evening. I’m very much afraid we’re up +against a brick wall.” Moresby did not add that so were the amateur +criminologists in front of him too, but he very distinctly implied it. + +There was a silence. + +“Is that all?” asked Roger. + +“That’s all, Mr. Sheringham,” Moresby agreed. + +There was another silence. + +“Surely the police have a theory?” Mr. Morton Harrogate Bradley threw +out in a detached manner. + +Moresby hesitated perceptibly. + +“Come along, Moresby,” Roger encouraged him. “It’s quite a simple +theory. I know it.” + +“Well,” said Moresby, thus stimulated, “we’re inclined to believe that +the crime was the work of a lunatic, or semi-lunatic, possibly quite +unknown personally to Sir Eustace. You see . . .” Moresby looked a +trifle embarrassed. “You see,” he went on bravely, “Sir Eustace’s life +was a bit, well, we might say hectic, if you’ll excuse the word. We +think at the Yard that some religious or social maniac took it on +himself to rid the world of him, so to speak. Some of his escapades +had caused a bit of talk, as you may know. + +“Or it might just be a plain homicidal lunatic, who likes killing +people at a distance. + +“There’s the Horwood case, you see. Some lunatic sent poisoned +chocolates to the Commissioner of Police himself. That caused a lot of +attention. We think this case may be an echo of it. A case that +creates a good deal of notice is quite often followed by another on +exactly the same lines, as I needn’t remind you. + +“Well, that’s our theory. And if it’s the right one, we’ve got about +as much chance of laying our hands on the murderer as—as—” Chief +Inspector Moresby cast about for something really scathing. + +“As we have,” suggested Roger. + + + +Chapter IV + +The Circle sat on for some time after Moresby had gone. There was a +lot to discuss, and everybody had views to put forward, suggestions to +make, and theories to advance. + +One thing emerged with singular unanimity: the police had been working +on the wrong lines. Their theory must be mistaken. This was not a +casual murder by a chance lunatic. Somebody very definite had gone +methodically about the business of helping Sir Eustace out of the +world, and that somebody had behind him an equally definite motive. +Like almost all murders, in fact, it was a matter of _cherchez le +motif_. + +On the exposition and discussion of theories Roger kept a firmly +quelling hand. The whole object of the experiment, as he pointed out +more than once, was that everybody should work independently, without +bias from any other brain, form his or her own theory, and set about +proving it in his or her own way. + +“But oughtn’t we to pool our facts, Sheringham?” boomed Sir Charles. +“I should suggest that though we pursue our investigations +independently, any new facts we discover should be placed at once at +the disposal of all. The exercise should be a mental one, not a +competition in routine-detection.” + +“There’s a lot to be said for that view, Sir Charles,” Roger agreed. +“In fact, I’ve thought it over very carefully. But on the whole I +think it will be better if we keep any new facts to ourselves after +this evening. You see, we’re already in possession of all the facts +that the police have discovered, and anything else we may come across +isn’t likely to be so much a definite pointer to the murderer as some +little thing, quite insignificant in itself, to support a particular +theory.” + +Sir Charles grunted, obviously unconvinced. + +“I’m quite willing to have it put to the vote,” Roger said handsomely. + +A vote was taken. Sir Charles and Mrs. Fielder-Flemming voted for all +facts being disclosed: Mr. Bradley, Alicia Dammers, Mr. Chitterwick +(the last after considerable hesitation) and Roger voted against. + +“We retain our own facts,” Roger said, and made a mental note of who +had voted for each. He was inclined to guess that the voting indicated +pretty correctly who was going to be content with general theorising, +and who was ready to enter so far into the spirit of the game as to go +out and work for it. Or it might simply show who already had a theory +and who had not. + +Sir Charles accepted the result with resignation. + +“We start equal as from now, then,” he announced. + +“As from the moment we leave this room,” amended Morton Harrogate +Bradley, rearranging the set of his tie. “But I agree so far with Sir +Charles’s proposition as to think that any one who can at this moment +add anything to the Chief Inspector’s statement should do so.” + +“But can any one?” asked Mrs. Fielder-Flemming. + +“Sir Charles knows Mr. and Mrs. Bendix,” Alicia Dammers pointed out +impartially. “And Sir Eustace. And I know Sir Eustace too, of course.” + +Roger smiled. This statement was a characteristic meiosis on the part +of Miss Dammers. Everybody knew that Miss Dammers had been the only +woman (so far as rumour recorded) who had ever turned the tables on +Sir Eustace Pennefather. Sir Eustace had taken it into his head to add +the scalp of an intellectual woman to those other rather +unintellectual ones which already dangled at his belt. Alicia Dammers, +with her good looks, her tall, slim figure, and her irreproachable +sartorial taste, had satisfied his very fastidious requirements so far +as feminine appearance was concerned. He had laid himself out to +fascinate. + +The results had been watched by the large circle of Miss Dammers’s +friends with considerable joy. Miss Dammers had apparently been only +too ready to be fascinated. It seemed that she was living entirely on +the point of succumbing to Sir Eustace’s blandishments. They had +dined, visited, lunched and made excursions together without respite. +Sir Eustace, stimulated by the daily prospect of surrender on the +following one, had exercised his ardour with every art he knew. + +Miss Dammers had then retired serenely, and the next autumn published +a book in which Sir Eustace Pennefather, dissected to the last +ligament, was given to the world in all the naked unpleasingness of +his psychological anatomy. + +Miss Dammers never talked about her “art,” because she was a really +brilliant writer and not just pretending to be one, but she certainly +held that everything had to be sacrificed (including the feelings of +the Sir Eustace Pennefathers of this world) to whatever god she +worshipped privately in place of it. + +“Mr. and Mrs. Bendix are quite incidental to the crime, of course, +from the murderer’s point of view,” Mr. Bradley now pointed out to +her, in the gentle tones of one instructing a child that the letter A +is followed in the alphabet by the letter B. “So far as we know, their +only connection with Sir Eustace is that he and Bendix both belonged +to the Rainbow.” + +“I needn’t give you my opinion of Sir Eustace,” remarked Miss Dammers. +“Those of you who have read _Flesh and the Devil_ know how I saw him, +and I have no reason to suppose that he has changed since I was +studying him. But I claim no infallibility. It would be interesting to +hear whether Sir Charles’s opinion coincides with mine or not.” + +Sir Charles, who had not read _Flesh and the Devil_, looked a little +embarrassed. “Well, I don’t see that I can add much to the impression +the Chief Inspector gave of him. I don’t know the man well, and +certainly have no wish to do so.” + +Everybody looked extremely innocent. It was common gossip that there +had been the possibility of an engagement between Sir Eustace and Sir +Charles’s only daughter, and that Sir Charles had not viewed the +prospect with any perceptible joy. It was further known that the +engagement had even been prematurely announced, and promptly denied +the next day. + +Sir Charles tried to look as innocent as everybody else. “As the Chief +Inspector hinted, he is something of a bad lot. Some people might go +so far as to call him a blackguard. Women,” explained Sir Charles +bluntly. “And he drinks too much,” he added. It was plain that Sir +Charles Wildman did not approve of Sir Eustace Pennefather. + +“I can add one small point, of purely psychological value,” amplified +Alicia Dammers. “But it shows the dullness of his reactions. Even in +the short time since the tragedy rumour has joined the name of Sir +Eustace to that of a fresh woman. I was somewhat surprised to hear +that,” added Miss Dammers drily. “I should have been inclined to give +him credit for being a little more upset by the terrible mistake, and +its fortunate consequences to himself, even though Mrs. Bendix was a +total stranger to him.” + +“Yes, by the way, I should have corrected that impression earlier,” +observed Sir Charles. “Mrs. Bendix was not a total stranger to Sir +Eustace, though he may probably have forgotten ever meeting her. But +he did. I was talking to Mrs. Bendix one evening at a first night (I +forget the play) and Sir Eustace came up to me. I introduced them, +mentioning something about Bendix being a member of the Rainbow. I’d +almost forgotten.” + +“Then I’m afraid I was completely wrong about him,” said Miss Dammers, +chagrined. “I was far too kind.” To be too kind in the dissecting-room +was evidently, in Miss Dammers’s opinion, a far greater crime than +being too unkind. + +“As for Bendix,” said Sir Charles rather vaguely, “I don’t know that I +can add anything to your knowledge of him. Quite a decent, steady +fellow. Head not turned by his money in the least, rich as he is. His +wife too, charming woman. A little serious perhaps. Sort of woman who +likes sitting on committees. Not that that’s anything against her +though.” + +“Rather the reverse, I should have said,” observed Miss Dammers, who +liked sitting on committees herself. + +“Quite, quite,” said Sir Charles hastily, remembering Miss Dammers’s +curious predilections. “And she wasn’t too serious to make a bet, +evidently, although it was a trifling one.” + +“She had another bet, that she knew nothing about,” chanted in solemn +tones Mrs. Fielder-Flemming, who was already pondering the dramatic +possibilities of the situation. “Not a trifling one: a grim one. It +was with Death, and she lost it.” Mrs. Fielder-Flemming was +regrettably inclined to carry her dramatic sense into her ordinary +life. It did not go at all well with her culinary aspect. + +She eyed Alicia Dammers covertly, wondering whether she could get in +with a play before that lady cut the ground away from under her with a +book. + +Roger, as chairman, took steps to bring the discussion back to +relevancies. “Yes, poor woman. But after all, we mustn’t let ourselves +confuse the issue. It’s rather difficult to remember that the murdered +person has no connection with the crime at all, so to speak, but there +it is. Just by accident the wrong person died; it’s on Sir Eustace +that we have to concentrate. Now, does anybody else here know Sir +Eustace, or anything about him, or any other fact bearing on the +crime?” + +Nobody responded. + +“Then we’re all on the same footing. And now, about our next meeting. +I suggest that we have a clear week for formulating our theories and +carrying out any investigations we think necessary, that we then meet +on consecutive evenings, beginning with next Monday, and that we now +draw lots as to the order in which we are to read our several papers +or give our conclusions. Or does any one think we should have more +than one speaker each evening?” + +After a little talk it was decided to meet again on Monday, that day +week, and for purposes of fuller discussion allot one evening to each +member. Lots were then drawn, with the result that members were to +speak in the following order: (1) Sir Charles Wildman, (2) Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming, (3) Mr. Morton Harrogate Bradley, (4) Roger +Sheringham, (5) Alicia Dammers, and (6) Mr. Ambrose Chitterwick. + +Mr. Chitterwick brightened considerably when his name was announced as +last on the list. “By that time,” he confided to Morton Harrogate, +“somebody is quite sure to have discovered the right solution, and I +shall therefore not have to give my own conclusions. If indeed,” he +added dubiously, “I ever reach any. Tell me, how _does_ a detective +really set to work?” + +Mr. Bradley smiled kindly and promised to lend Mr. Chitterwick one of +his own books. Mr. Chitterwick, who had read them all and possessed +most of them, thanked him very gratefully. + +Before the meeting finally broke up, Mrs. Fielder-Flemming could not +resist one more opportunity of being mildly dramatic. “How strange +life is,” she sighed across the table to Sir Charles. “I actually saw +Mrs. Bendix and her husband in their box at the Imperial the night +before she died. (Oh, yes; I knew them by sight. They often came to my +first nights.) I was in a stall almost directly under their box. +Indeed life is certainly stranger than fiction. If I could have +guessed for one minute at the dreadful fate hanging over her, I—” + +“You’d have had the sense to warn her to steer clear of chocolates, I +hope,” observed Sir Charles, who did not hold very much with Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming. + +The meeting then broke up. + +Roger returned to his rooms in the Albany feeling exceedingly pleased +with himself. He had a suspicion that the various attempts at a +solution were going to be almost as interesting to him as the problem +itself. + +Nevertheless he was on his mettle. He had not been very lucky in the +draw and would have preferred the place of Mr. Chitterwick, which +would have meant that he would have the advantage of already knowing +the results achieved by his rivals before having to disclose his own. +Not that he intended to rely on others’ brains in the least; like Mr. +Morton Harrogate Bradley he already had a theory of his own; but it +would have been pleasant to be able to weigh up and criticise the +efforts of Sir Charles, Mr. Bradley and particularly Alicia Dammers +(to these three he gave credit for possessing the best minds in the +Circle) before irrevocably committing himself. And more than any other +crime in which he had been interested, it seemed to him, he wanted to +find the right solution of this one. + +To his surprise when he got back to his rooms he found Moresby waiting +in his sitting-room. + +“Ah, Mr. Sheringham,” said that cautious official. “Thought you +wouldn’t mind me waiting here for a word with you. Not in a great +hurry to go to bed, are you?” + +“Not in the least,” said Roger, doing things with a decanter and +syphon. “It’s early yet. Say when.” + +Moresby looked discreetly the other way. + +When they were settled in two huge leather armchairs before the fire +Moresby explained himself. “As a matter of fact, Mr. Sheringham, the +Chief’s deputed me to keep a sort of unofficial eye on you and your +friends over this business. Not that we don’t trust you, or think you +won’t be discreet, or anything like that, but it’s better for us to +know just what’s going on with a massed-detective attack like this.” + +“So that if any of us finds out something really important, you can +nip in first and make use of it,” Roger smiled. “Yes, I quite see the +official point.” + +“So that we can take measures to prevent the bird from being scared,” +Moresby corrected reproachfully. “That’s all, Mr. Sheringham.” + +“Is it?” said Roger, with unconcealed scepticism. “But you don’t think +it very likely that your protecting hand will be required, eh, +Moresby?” + +“Frankly, sir, I don’t. We’re not in the habit of giving up a case so +long as we think there’s the least chance of finding the criminal; and +Detective-Inspector Farrar, who’s been in charge of this one, is a +capable man.” + +“And that’s his theory, that it’s the work of some criminal lunatic, +quite untraceable?” + +“That’s the opinion he’s been led to form, Mr. Sheringham, sir. But +there’s no harm in your Circle amusing themselves,” added Moresby +magnanimously, “if they want to and they’ve got the time to waste.” + +“Well, well,” said Roger, refusing to be drawn. + +They smoked their pipes in silence for a few minutes. + +“Come along, Moresby,” Roger said gently. + +The chief inspector looked at him with an expression that indicated +nothing but bland surprise. “Sir?” + +Roger shook his head. “It won’t wash, Moresby; it won’t wash. Come +along, now; out with it.” + +“Out with what, Mr. Sheringham?” queried Moresby, the picture of +innocent bewilderment. + +“Your real reason for coming round here,” Roger said nastily. “Wanted +to pump me, for the benefit of that effete institution you represent, +I suppose? Well, I warn you, there’s nothing doing this time. I know +you better than I did eighteen months ago at Ludmouth, remember.” + +“Well, what can have put such an idea as that into your head, Mr. +Sheringham, sir?” positively gasped that much misunderstood man, Chief +Inspector Moresby, of Scotland Yard. “I came round because I thought +you might like to ask me a few questions, to give you a leg up in +finding the murderer before any of your friends could. That’s all.” + +Roger laughed. “Moresby, I like you. You’re a bright spot in a dull +world. I expect you try to persuade the very criminals you arrest that +it hurts you more than it does them. And I shouldn’t be at all +surprised if you don’t somehow make them believe it. Very well, if +that’s all you came round for I’ll ask you some questions, and thank +you very much. Tell me this, then. Who do _you_ think was trying to +murder Sir Eustace Pennefather?” + +Moresby sipped delicately at his whisky-and-soda. “You know what I +think, Mr. Sheringham, sir.” + +“Indeed I don’t,” Roger retorted. “I only know what you’ve told me you +think.” + +“I haven’t been in charge of the case at all, Mr. Sheringham,” Moresby +hedged. + +“Who do you really think was trying to murder Sir Eustace +Pennefather?” Roger repeated patiently. “Is it your own opinion that +the official police theory is right or wrong?” + +Driven into a corner, Moresby allowed himself the novelty of speaking +his unofficial mind. He smiled covertly, as if at a secret thought. +“Well, Mr. Sheringham, sir,” he said with deliberation, “our theory is +a useful one, isn’t it? I mean, it gives us every excuse for not +finding the murderer. We can hardly be expected to be in touch with +every half-baked creature in the country who may have homicidal +impulses. + +“Our theory will be put forward at the conclusion of the adjourned +inquest, in about a fortnight’s time, with reason and evidence to +support it, and any evidence to the contrary not mentioned, and you’ll +see that the coroner will agree with it, and the jury will agree with +it, and the papers will agree with it, and every one will say that +really, the police can’t be blamed for not catching the murderer this +time, and everybody will be happy.” + +“Except Mr. Bendix, who doesn’t get his wife’s murder avenged,” added +Roger. “Moresby, you’re being positively sarcastic. And from all this +I deduce that you personally will stand aside from this general and +amicable agreement. Do you think the case has been badly handled by +your people?” + +Roger’s last question followed so closely on the heels of his previous +remarks that Moresby had answered it almost before he had time to +reflect on the possible indiscretion of doing so. “No, Mr. Sheringham, +I don’t think that. Farrar’s a capable man, and he’d leave no stone +unturned—no stone, I mean, that he _could_ turn.” Moresby paused +significantly. + +“Ah!” said Roger. + +Having committed himself to this lamb, Moresby seemed disposed to look +about for a sheep. He re-settled himself in his chair and recklessly +drank a gill from his tumbler. Roger, scarcely daring to breathe too +audibly for fear of scaring the sheep, studiously examined the fire. + +“You see, this is a very difficult case, Mr. Sheringham,” Moresby +pronounced. “Farrar had an open mind, of course, when he took it up, +and he kept an open mind even after he’d found out that Sir Eustace +was even a bit more of a daisy than he’d imagined at first. That is to +say, he never lost sight of the fact that it _might_ have been some +outside lunatic who sent those chocolates to Sir Eustace, just out of +a general socialistic or religious feeling that he’d be doing a favour +to society or Heaven by putting him out of the world. A fanatic, you +might say.” + +“Murder from conviction,” Roger murmured. “Yes?” + +“But naturally what Farrar was concentrating on was Sir Eustace’s +private life. And that’s where we police-officers are handicapped. +It’s not easy for us to make enquiries into the private life of a +baronet. Nobody wants to be helpful; everybody seems anxious to put a +spoke in our wheel. Every line that looked hopeful to Farrar led to a +dead end. Sir Eustace himself told him to go to the devil, and made no +bones about it.” + +“Naturally, from his point of view,” Roger said thoughtfully. “The +last thing he’d want would be a sheaf of his peccadilloes laid out for +a harvest festival in court.” + +“Yes, and Mrs. Bendix lying in her grave on account of them,” retorted +Moresby with asperity. “No, he was responsible for her death, though +indirectly enough I’ll admit, and it was up to him to be as helpful as +he could to the police-officer investigating the case. But there +Farrar was; couldn’t get any further. He unearthed a scandal or two, +it’s true, but they led to nothing. So—well, he hasn’t admitted this, +Mr. Sheringham, and you’ll realise I ought not to be telling you; it’s +to go no further than this room, mind.” + +“Good heavens, no,” Roger said eagerly. + +“Well then, it’s my private opinion that Farrar was driven to the +other conclusion in self-defence. And the chief had to agree with it +in self-defence too. But if you want to get to the bottom of the +business, Mr. Sheringham (and nobody would be more pleased if you did +than Farrar himself) my advice to you is to concentrate on Sir +Eustace’s private life. You’ve a better chance than any of us there; +you’re on his level, you’ll know members of his club, you’ll know his +friends personally, and the friends of his friends. And that,” +concluded Moresby, “is the tip I really came round to give you.” + +“That’s very decent of you, Moresby,” Roger said with warmth. “Very +decent indeed. Have another spot.” + +“Well, thank you, Mr. Sheringham, sir,” said Chief Inspector Moresby. +“I don’t mind if I do.” + +Roger was meditating as he mixed the drinks. “I believe you’re right, +Moresby,” he said slowly. “In fact, I’ve been thinking along those +lines ever since I read the first full account. The truth lies in Sir +Eustace’s private life, I feel sure. And if I were superstitious, +which I’m not, do you know what I should believe? That the murderer’s +aim misfired and Sir Eustace escaped death for an express purpose of +Providence: so that he, the destined victim, should be the ironical +instrument of bringing his own intended murderer to justice.” + +“Well, Mr. Sheringham, would you really?” said the sarcastic Chief +Inspector, who was not superstitious either. + +Roger seemed rather taken with the idea. “_Chance, the Avenger._ Make +a good film title, wouldn’t it? But there’s a terrible lot of truth in +it. + +“How often don’t you people at the Yard stumble on some vital piece of +evidence out of pure chance? How often isn’t it that you’re led to the +right solution by what seems a series of mere coincidences? I’m not +belittling your detective-work; but just think how often a piece of +brilliant detective-work which has led you most of the way but not the +last vital few inches, meets with some remarkable stroke of sheer luck +(thoroughly well-deserved luck, no doubt, but _luck_), which just +makes the case complete for you. I can think of scores of instances. +The Milsom and Fowler murder, for example. Don’t you see what I mean? +Is it chance every time, or is it Providence avenging the victim?” + +“Well, Mr. Sheringham,” said Chief Inspector Moresby, “to tell you the +truth, I don’t mind what it is, so long as it lets me put my hands on +the right man.” + +“Moresby,” laughed Roger, “you’re hopeless.” + + + +Chapter V + +Sir Charles Wildman, as he had said, cared more for honest facts than +for psychological fiddle-faddle. + +Facts were very dear to Sir Charles. More, they were meat and drink to +him. His income of roughly thirty thousand pounds a year was derived +entirely from the masterful way in which he was able to handle facts. +There was no one at the bar who could so convincingly distort an +honest but awkward fact into carrying an entirely different +interpretation from that which any ordinary person (counsel for the +prosecution, for instance) would have put upon it. He could take that +fact, look it boldly in the face, twist it round, read a message from +the back of its neck, turn it inside out and detect auguries in its +entrails, dance triumphantly on its corpse, pulverise it completely, +re-mould it if necessary into an utterly different shape, and finally, +if the fact still had the temerity to retain any vestige of its +primary aspect, bellow at it in the most terrifying manner. If that +failed he was quite prepared to weep at it in open court. + +No wonder that Sir Charles Wildman, K.C., was paid that amount of +money every year to transform facts of menacing appearance to his +clients into so many sucking-doves, each cooing those very clients’ +tender innocence. If the reader is interested in statistics it might +be added that the number of murderers whom Sir Charles in the course +of his career had saved from the gallows, if placed one on top of the +other, would have reached to a very great height indeed. + +Sir Charles Wildman had rarely appeared for the prosecution. It is not +considered etiquette for prosecuting counsel to bellow, and there is +scant need for their tears. His bellowing and his public tears were +Sir Charles Wildman’s long suit. He was one of the old school, one of +its very last representatives; and he found that the old school paid +him handsomely. + +When therefore he looked impressively round the Crimes Circle on its +next meeting, one week after Roger had put forward his proposal, and +adjusted the gold-rimmed pince-nez on his somewhat massive nose, the +other members could feel no doubt as to the quality of the +entertainment in store for them. After all, they were going to enjoy +for nothing what amounted to a thousand-guinea brief for the +prosecution. + +Sir Charles glanced at the note-pad in his hand and cleared his +throat. No barrister could clear his throat quite so ominously as Sir +Charles. + +“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, in weighty tones, “it is not +unnatural that I should have been more interested in this murder than +perhaps any one else, for personal reasons which will no doubt have +occurred to you already. Sir Eustace Pennefather’s name, as you must +know, has been mentioned in connection with that of my daughter; and +though the report of their engagement was not merely premature, but +utterly without foundation, it is inevitable that I should feel some +personal connection, however slight, with this attempt to assassinate +a man who has been mentioned as a possible son-in-law to myself. + +“I do not wish to stress this personal aspect of the case, which +otherwise I have tried to view as impersonally as any other with which +I have been connected; but I put it forward more as an excuse than +anything. For it has enabled me to approach the problem set us by our +President with a more intimate knowledge of the persons concerned than +the rest of you could have, and with, too, I fear, information at my +disposal which goes a long way towards indicating the truth of this +mystery. + +“I know that I should have placed this information at the disposal of +my fellow-members last week, and I apologise to them wholeheartedly +for not having done so; but the truth is that I did not realise then +that this knowledge of mine was in any way germane to the solution, or +even remotely helpful, and it is only since I began to ponder over the +case with a view to clearing up the tragic tangle, that the vital +import of this information has impressed itself upon me.” Sir Charles +paused and allowed his resounding periods to echo round the room. + +“Now, with its help,” he pronounced, looking severely from face to +face, “I am of opinion that I have read this riddle.” + +A twitter of excitement, no less genuine because obviously awaited, +ran round the faithful Circle. + +Sir Charles whisked off his pince-nez and swung them, in a +characteristic gesture, on their broad ribbon. “Yes, I think, in fact +I am sure, that I am about to elucidate this dark business to you. And +for this reason I regret that the lot has fallen upon me to speak +first. It would have been more interesting perhaps had we been +permitted to examine some other theories first, and demonstrate their +falsity, before we probed to the truth. That is, assuming that there +are other theories to examine. + +“It would not surprise me, however, to learn that you had all leapt to +the conclusion to which I have been driven. Not in the least. I claim +no extraordinary powers in allowing the facts to speak to me for +themselves; I pride myself on no superhuman insight in having been +able to see further into this dark business than our official solvers +of mysteries and readers of strange riddles, the trained detective +force. Very much the reverse. I am only an ordinary human being, +endowed with no more powers than any of my fellow-creatures. It would +not astonish me for an instant to be apprised that I am only following +in the footsteps of others of you in fixing the guilt on the +individual who did, as I submit I am about to prove to you beyond any +possibility of doubt, commit this foul crime.” + +Having thus provided for the improbable contingency of some other +member of the Circle having been so clever as himself, Sir Charles cut +some of the cackle and got down to business. + +“I set about this matter with one question in my mind and one only—the +question to which the right answer has proved a sure guide to the +criminal in almost every murder that has ever been committed, the +question which hardly any criminal can avoid leaving behind him, +damning though he knows the answer must be: the question—_cui bono?_” +Sir Charles allowed a pregnant moment of silence. “Who,” he translated +obligingly, “was the gainer? Who,” he paraphrased, for the benefit of +any possible half-wits in his audience, “would, to put it bluntly, +_score_ by the death of Sir Eustace Pennefather?” He darted looks of +enquiry from under his tufted eyebrows, but his hearers dutifully +played the game; nobody undertook to enlighten him prematurely. + +Sir Charles was far too practised a rhetorician to enlighten them +prematurely himself. Leaving the question as an immense query-mark in +their minds, he veered off on another track. + +“Now there were, as I saw it, only three definite clues in this +crime,” he continued, in almost conversational tones. “I refer of +course to the forged letter, the wrapper, and the chocolates +themselves. Of these the wrapper could only be helpful so far as its +post-mark. The hand-printed address I dismissed as useless. It could +have been done by any one, at any time. It led, I felt, nowhere. And I +could not see that the chocolates or the box that contained them were +of the least use as evidence. I may be wrong, but I could not see it. +They were specimens of a well-known brand, on sale at hundreds of +shops; it would be fruitless to attempt to trace their purchaser. +Moreover any possibilities in that direction would quite certainly +have been explored already by the police. I was left, in short, with +only two pieces of material evidence, the forged letter and the +post-mark on the wrapper, on which the whole structure of proof must +be erected.” + +Sir Charles paused again, to let the magnitude of this task sink into +the minds of the others; apparently he had overlooked the fact that +his problem must have been common to all. Roger, who with difficulty +had remained silent so long, interposed a gentle question. + +“Had you already made up your mind as to the criminal, Sir Charles?” + +“I had already answered to my own satisfaction the question I had +posed to myself, to which I made reference a few minutes ago,” replied +Sir Charles, with dignity but without explicitness. + +“I see. You had made up your mind,” Roger pinned him down. “It would +be interesting to know, so that we can follow better your way of +approaching the proof. You used inductive methods then?” + +“Possibly, possibly,” said Sir Charles testily. Sir Charles strongly +disliked being pinned down. + +He glowered for a moment in silence, to recover from this indignity. + +“The task, I saw at once,” he resumed, in a sterner voice, “was not +going to be an easy one. The period at my disposal was extremely +limited, far-reaching enquiries were obviously necessary, my own time +was far too closely engaged to permit me to make, in person, any +investigations I might find advisable. I thought the matter over and +decided that the only possible way in which I could arrive at a +conclusion was to consider the facts of the case for a sufficient +length of time till I was enabled to formulate a theory which would +stand every test I could apply to it out of such knowledge as was +already at my disposal, and then make a careful list of further points +which were outside my own knowledge but which must be facts if my +theory were correct; these points could then be investigated by +persons acting on my behalf and, if they were substantiated, my theory +would be conclusively proved.” Sir Charles drew a breath. + +“In other words,” Roger murmured with a smile to Alicia Dammers, +turning a hundred words into six, “‘I decided to employ inductive +methods.’” But he spoke so softly that nobody but Miss Dammers heard +him. + +She smiled back appreciatively. The art of the written word is not +that of the spoken one. + +“I formed my theory,” announced Sir Charles, with surprising +simplicity. Perhaps he was still a little short of breath. + +“I formed my theory. Of necessity much of it was guesswork. Let me +give an example. The possession by the criminal of a sheet of Mason & +Sons’ notepaper had puzzled me more than anything. It was not an +article which the individual I had in mind might be expected to +possess, still less to be able to acquire. I could not conceive any +method by which, the plot already decided upon and the sheet of paper +required for its accomplishment, such a thing could be deliberately +acquired by the individual in question without suspicion being raised +afterwards. + +“I therefore formed the conclusion that it was the actual ability to +obtain a piece of Mason’s notepaper in a totally unsuspicious way, +which was the reason of the notepaper of that particular firm being +employed at all.” Sir Charles looked triumphantly round as if awaiting +something. + +Roger supplied it; no less readily for all that the point must have +occurred to every one as being almost too obvious to need any comment. +“That’s a very interesting point indeed, Sir Charles. Most ingenious.” + +Sir Charles nodded his agreement. “Sheer guesswork, I admit. Nothing +but guesswork. But guesswork that was justified in the result.” Sir +Charles was becoming so lost in admiration of his own perspicacity +that he had forgotten all his love of long, winding sentences and +smooth-rolling subordinate clauses. His massive head positively jerked +on his shoulders. + +“I considered how such a thing might come into one’s possession, and +whether the possession could be verified afterwards. It occurred to me +at last that many firms insert a piece of notepaper with a receipted +bill, with the words ‘With Compliments’ or some such phrase typed on +it. That gave me three questions. Was this practice employed at +Mason’s? Had the individual in question an account at Mason’s, or more +particularly, to explain the yellowed edge of the paper, had there +been such an account in the past? Were there any indications on the +paper of such a phrase having been carefully erased? + +“Ladies and gentlemen,” boomed Sir Charles, puce with excitement, “you +will see that the odds against those three questions being answered in +the affirmative were enormous. Overwhelming. Before I posed them I +knew that, should it prove to be the case, no mere chance could be +held responsible.” Sir Charles dropped his voice. “I knew,” he said +slowly, “that if those three questions of mine were answered in the +affirmative, the individual I had in mind must be as guilty as if I +had actually watched the poison being injected into those chocolates.” + +He paused and looked impressively round him, riveting all eyes on his +face. + +“Ladies and gentlemen, those three questions _were_ answered in the +affirmative.” + +Oratory is a powerful art. Roger knew perfectly well that Sir Charles, +out of sheer force of habit, was employing on them all the usual and +hackneyed forensic tricks. It was with difficulty, Roger felt, that he +refrained from adding “of the jury” to his “Ladies and gentlemen.” But +really this was only what might have been expected. Sir Charles had a +good story to tell, and a story in which he obviously sincerely +believed, and he was simply telling it in the way which, after all +these years of practice, came most naturally to him. That was not what +was annoying Roger. + +What did annoy him was that he himself had been plodding on the scent +of quite a different hare and, convinced as he had been that his must +be the right one, had at first been only mildly amused as Sir Charles +flirted round the skirts of his own quarry. Now he had allowed himself +to be influenced by mere rhetoric, cheap though he knew it to be, into +wondering. + +But was it only rhetoric that had made him begin to doubt? Sir Charles +seemed to have some substantial facts to weave into the airy web of +his oratory. And pompous old fellow though he might be, he was +certainly no fool. Roger began to feel distinctly uneasy. For his own +hare, he had to admit, was a very elusive one. + +As Sir Charles proceeded to develop his thesis, Roger’s uneasiness +began to turn into downright unhappiness. + +“There can be no doubt about it. I ascertained through an agent that +Mason’s, an old-fashioned firm, invariably paid such private customers +as had an account with them (nine-tenths of their business of course +is wholesale) the courtesy of including a statement of thanks, just +two or three words typed in the middle of a sheet of notepaper. I +ascertained that this individual had had an account with the firm, +which was apparently closed five months ago; that is to say, a cheque +was sent then in settlement and no goods have been ordered since. + +“Moreover I found time to pay a special visit myself to Scotland Yard +in order to examine that letter again. By looking at the back I could +make out quite distinct though indecipherable traces of former +typewritten words in the middle of the page. These latter cut halfway +down one of the lines of the letter and so prove that they could not +have been an erasure from that; they correspond in length to the +statement I expected; and they show signs of the most careful +attempts, by rubbing, rolling and re-roughening the smoothed paper, to +eradicate not only the typewriter-ink but even the actual indentations +caused by the metal letter-arms. + +“This I held to be conclusive proof that my theory was correct, and at +once I set about clearing up such other doubtful points as had +occurred to me. Time was short, and I had recourse to no less than +four firms of trustworthy inquiry-agents among whom I divided the task +of providing the data I was seeking. This not only saved me +considerable time, but had the advantage of not putting the sum-total +of the information obtained into any hands but my own. Indeed I did my +best so to split up my queries as to prevent any of the firms from +even guessing what object I had in mind; and in this I am of the +opinion that I have been successful. + +“My next care was the post-mark. It was necessary for my case that I +should prove that my suspect had actually been in the neighbourhood of +the Strand at the time in question. You will say,” suggested Sir +Charles, searching the interested faces round him, and apparently +picking upon Mr. Morton Harrogate Bradley as the raiser of this futile +objection. “You will say,” said Sir Charles sternly to Mr. Bradley, +“that this was not necessary. The parcel might have been posted quite +innocently by an unwitting accomplice to whom it had been entrusted, +so that the actual criminal had an unshakable alibi for that period; +the more so as the individual to whom I refer was actually not in this +country, so that it would be all the easier to request a friend who +might be travelling to England to undertake the task of posting the +parcel in this country and so saving the cost of the foreign postage, +which on parcels is not inconsiderable. + +“I do not agree,” said Sir Charles to Mr. Bradley, still more +severely. “I have considered that point, and I do not think the +individual I have in mind would undertake such a very grave risk. For +the friend would almost certainly remember the incident when she read +of the affair in the papers, as would be almost inevitable. + +“No,” concluded Sir Charles, finally crushing Mr. Bradley once and for +all, “I am convinced that the individual I am thinking of would +realise that nobody else must handle that parcel till it had passed +into the keeping of the post-office.” + +“Of course,” said Mr. Bradley academically, “Lady Pennefather may have +had not an innocent accomplice but a guilty one. You’ve considered +that, of course?” Mr. Bradley managed to convey that the matter was of +no real interest, but as Sir Charles had been addressing these remarks +directly to him it was only courteous to comment on them. + +Sir Charles purpled visibly. He had been priding himself on the +skilful way in which he had been withholding his suspect’s name, to +bring it out with a lovely plump right at the end after proving his +case, just like a real detective story. And now this wretched +scribbler of the things had spoilt it all. + +“Sir,” he intoned, in proper Johnsonian manner, “I must call your +attention to the fact that I have mentioned no names at all. To do +such a thing is most imprudent. Do I need to remind you that there is +such a thing as a law of libel?” + +Morton Harrogate smiled his maddeningly superior smile (he really was +a most insufferable young man). “Really, Sir Charles!” he mocked, +stroking his little sleek object he wore on his upper lip. “I’m not +going to write a story about Lady Pennefather trying to murder her +husband, if that’s what you’re warning me against. Or could it +possibly be that you were referring to the law of slander?” + +Sir Charles, who had meant slander, enveloped Mr. Bradley in a crimson +glare. + +Roger sped to the rescue. The combatants reminded him of a bull and a +gadfly, and that is a contest which it is often good fun to watch. But +the Crimes Circle had been founded to investigate the crimes of +others, not to provide opportunities for new ones. Roger did not +particularly like either the bull or the gadfly, but both amused him +in their different ways; he certainly disliked neither. Mr. Bradley on +the other hand disliked both Roger and Sir Charles. He disliked Roger +the more of the two because Roger was a gentleman and pretended not to +be, whereas he himself was not a gentleman and pretended he was. And +that surely is cause enough to dislike any one. + +“I’m glad you raised that point, Sir Charles,” Roger now said +smoothly. “It’s one we must consider. Personally I don’t see how we’re +to progress at all unless we come to some arrangement concerning the +law of slander, do you?” + +Sir Charles consented to be mollified. “It is a difficult point,” he +agreed, the lawyer in him immediately swamping the outraged human +being. A born lawyer will turn aside from any other minor pursuit, +even briefs, for a really knotty legal point, just as a born woman +will put on her best set of underclothes and powder her nose before +inserting the latter in the gas-oven. + +“I think,” Roger said carefully, anxious not to wound legal +susceptibilities (it was a bold proposition for a layman to make), +“that we should disregard that particular law. I mean,” he added +hastily, observing the look of pain on Sir Charles’s brow at being +asked to condone this violation of a _lex intangenda_, “I mean, we +should come to some such arrangement as that anything said in this +room should be without prejudice, or among friends, or—or not in the +spirit of the adverb,” he plunged desperately, “or whatever the legal +wriggle is.” On the whole it was not a tactful speech. + +But it is doubtful whether Sir Charles heard it. A dreamy look had +come into his eyes, as of a Lord of Appeal crooning over a piece of +red tape. “Slander, as we all know,” he murmured, “consists in the +malicious speaking of such words as render the party who speaks them +in the hearing of others liable to an action at the suit of the party +to whom they apply. In this case, the imputation being of a crime or +misdemeanour which is punishable corporeally, pecuniary damage would +not have to be proved, and, the imputation being defamatory, its +falsity would be presumed and the burden of proving its truth would be +laid upon the defendant. We should therefore have the interesting +situation of the defendant in a slander action becoming, in essence, +the plaintiff in a civil suit for murder. And really,” said Sir +Charles in much perplexity, “I don’t know what would happen then.” + +“Er—what about privilege?” suggested Roger feebly. + +“Of course,” Sir Charles disregarded him, “there would have to be +stated in the declaration the actual words used, not merely their +meaning and general inference, and failure to prove them as stated +would result in the plaintiff being nonsuited; so that unless notes +were taken here and signed by a witness who had heard the defamation, +I do not quite see how an action could lie.” + +“Privilege?” murmured Roger despairingly. + +“Moreover I should be of the opinion,” said Sir Charles, brightening, +“that this might be regarded as one of those proper occasions upon +which statements, in themselves defamatory, and even false, may be +made if from a perfectly proper motive and with an entire belief in +their truth. In that case the presumption would be reversed and the +burden would be on the plaintiff to prove, and that to the +satisfaction of a jury, that the defendant was actuated by express +malice. In that case I rather fancy that the court would be guided +almost wholly by considerations of public expediency, which would +probably mean that—” + +“Privilege!” said Roger loudly. + +Sir Charles turned on him the dull eye of a red-ink fiend. But this +time the word had penetrated. “I was coming to that,” he reproved. +“Now in our case I hardly think that a plea of public privilege would +be accepted. As to private privilege, the limits are of course +exceedingly difficult to define. It would be doubtful if we could +plead successfully that all statements made here are matters of purely +private communication, because it is a question whether this Circle +does constitute, in actual fact, a private or a public gathering. One +could,” said Sir Charles with much interest, “argue either way. Or +even, for the matter of that, that it is a private body meeting in +public, or, _vice versa_, a public gathering held in private. The +point is a very debatable one.” Sir Charles swung his glasses for a +moment to emphasise the extreme debatability of the point. + +“But I do feel inclined to venture the opinion,” he plunged at last, +“that on the whole we might be justified in taking up our stand upon +the submission that the occasion _is_ privileged in so far as it is +concerned entirely with communications which are made with no _animus +injuriandi_ but solely in performance of a duty not necessarily legal +but moral or social, and any statements so uttered are covered by a +plea of _veritas convicii_ being made within proper limits by persons +in the _bona fide_ prosecution of their own and the public interest. I +am bound to say however,” Sir Charles immediately proceeded to hedge +as if horrified at having committed himself at last, “that this is not +a matter of complete certainty, and a wiser policy might be to avoid +the direct mention of any name, while holding ourselves free to +indicate in some unmistakable manner, such as by signs, or possibly by +some form of impersonation or acting, the individual to whom we +severally refer.” + +“Still,” pursued the President, faint but persistent, “on the whole +you do think that the occasion may be regarded as privileged, and we +may go ahead and mention any name we like?” + +Sir Charles’s glasses described a complete and symbolical circle. “I +think,” said Sir Charles very weightily indeed (after all it was an +opinion which would have cost the Circle such a surprisingly round sum +had it been delivered in chambers that Sir Charles need not be grudged +a little weight in the delivering of it). “I think,” said Sir Charles, +“that we might take that risk.” + +“Right-ho!” said the President with relief. + + + +Chapter VI + +“I dare say,” resumed Sir Charles, “that many of you will have already +reached the same conclusion as myself, with regard to the identity of +the murderer. The case seems to me to afford so striking a parallel +with one of the classical murders, that the similarity can hardly have +passed unnoticed. I refer of course, to the Marie Lafarge case.” + +“Oh!” said Roger, surprised. So far as he was concerned the similarity +had passed unnoticed. He wriggled uncomfortably. Now one came to +consider it, of course the parallel was obvious. + +“There too we have a wife, accused of sending a poisoned article to +her husband. Whether the article was a cake or a box of chocolates is +beside the point. It will not do perhaps to—” + +“But nobody in their sane senses still believes that Marie Lafarge was +guilty,” Alicia Dammers interrupted, with unusual warmth. “It’s been +practically proved that the cake was sent by the foreman, or whatever +he was. Wasn’t his name Dennis? His motive was much bigger than hers, +too.” + +Sir Charles regarded her severely. “I think I said, _accused_ of +sending. I was referring to a matter of fact, not of opinion.” + +“Sorry,” nodded Miss Dammers, unabashed. + +“In any case, I just mention the coincidence for what it is worth. Let +us now go back to resume our argument at the point we left it. In that +connection, the question was raised just now,” said Sir Charles, +determinedly impersonal, “as to whether Lady Pennefather may have had +not an innocent accomplice but a guilty one. That doubt had already +occurred to me. I have satisfied myself that it is not the case. She +planned and carried through this affair alone.” He paused, inviting +the obvious question. + +Roger tactfully supplied it. + +“How could she, Sir Charles? We know that she was in the South of +France the whole time. The police investigated that very point. She +has a complete alibi.” + +Sir Charles positively beamed at him. “She _had_ a complete alibi. I +have destroyed it. + +“This is what actually happened. Three days before the parcel was +posted Lady Pennefather left Mentone and went, ostensibly, for a week +to Avignon. At the end of the week she returned to Mentone. Her +signature is in the hotel-register at Avignon, she has the receipted +bill, everything is quite in order. The only curious thing is that +apparently she did not take her maid, a very superior young woman of +smart appearance and good manners, to Avignon with her, for the +hotel-receipt is for one person only. And yet the maid did not stay at +Mentone. Did the maid then vanish into thin air?” demanded Sir Charles +indignantly. + +“Oh!” nodded Mr. Chitterwick, who had been listening intently. “I see. +How ingenious.” + +“Highly ingenious,” agreed Sir Charles, complacently taking the credit +for the erring lady’s ingenuity. “The maid took the mistress’s place; +the mistress paid a secret visit to England. And I have verified that +beyond any doubt. An agent, acting on telegraphic instructions from +me, showed the hotel-proprietor at Avignon a photograph of Lady +Pennefather and asked whether such a person had ever stayed in the +hotel; the man averred that he had never seen her in his life. My +agent showed him a snapshot which he had obtained of the maid; the +proprietor recognised her instantly as Lady Pennefather. Another +‘guess’ of mine had proved only too accurate.” Sir Charles leaned back +in his chair and swung his glasses in silent tribute to his own +astuteness. + +“Then Lady Pennefather did have an accomplice?” murmured Mr. Bradley, +with the air of one discussing _The Three Bears_ with a child of four. + +“An innocent accomplice,” retorted Sir Charles. “My agent questioned +the maid tactfully, and learned that her mistress has told her that +she had to go over to England on urgent business but, having already +spent six months of the current year in that country, would have to +pay British income-tax if she so much as set foot in England again +that year. A considerable sum was in question, and Lady Pennefather +suggested this plan as a means of getting round the difficulty, with a +handsome bribe to the girl. Not unnaturally the offer was accepted. +Most ingenious; most ingenious.” He paused again and beamed round, +inviting tributes. + +“How very clever of you, Sir Charles,” murmured Alicia Dammers, +stepping into the breach. + +“I have no actual proof of her stay in this country,” regretted Sir +Charles, “so that from the legal point of view the case against her is +incomplete in that respect, but that will be a matter for the police +to discover. In all other respects, I submit, my case is complete. I +regret, I regret exceedingly, having to say so, but I have no +alternative: Lady Pennefather is Mrs. Bendix’s murderess.” + +There was a thoughtful silence when Sir Charles had finished speaking. +Questions were in the air, but nobody seemed to care to be the first +to put one. Roger gazed into vacancy, as if looking longingly after +the spoor of his own hare. There was no doubt that, as matters stood +at present, Sir Charles seemed to have proved his case. + +Mr. Ambrose Chitterwick plucked up courage to break the silence. “We +must congratulate you, Sir Charles. Your solution is as brilliant as +it is surprising. Only one question occurs to me, and that is the one +of motive. Why should Lady Pennefather desire her husband’s death when +she is actually in process of divorcing him? Had she any reason to +suspect that a decree would not be granted?” + +“None at all,” replied Sir Charles blandly. “It was just because she +was so certain that a decree would be granted that she desired his +death.” + +“I—I don’t quite understand,” stammered Mr. Chitterwick. + +Sir Charles allowed the general bewilderment to continue for a few +more moments before he condescended to dispel it. He had the orator’s +feeling for atmosphere. + +“I referred at the beginning of my remarks to a piece of knowledge +which had come into my possession and which had helped me materially +towards my solution. I am now prepared to disclose, in strict +confidence, what that piece of knowledge was. + +“You already know that there was talk of an engagement between Sir +Eustace and my daughter. I do not think I shall be violating the +secrets of the confessional if I tell you that not many weeks ago, Sir +Eustace came to me and formally asked me to sanction an engagement +between them as soon as his wife’s decree _nisi_ had been pronounced. + +“I need not tell you all that transpired at that interview. What is +relevant is that Sir Eustace informed me categorically that his wife +had been extremely unwilling to divorce him, and he had only succeeded +in the end by making a will entirely in her favour, including his +estate in Worcestershire. She had a small private income of her own, +and he was going to make her such allowance in addition as he was +able; but with the interest on the mortgage on his estate swallowing +up nearly all the rent he was getting for it, and his other expenses, +this could not be a large one. His life, however, was heavily insured +in accordance with Lady Pennefather’s marriage settlements, and the +mortgage on the estate was in the nature of an endowment policy, and +lapsed with his death. He had therefore, as he candidly admitted, very +little to offer my daughter. + +“Like myself,” said Sir Charles impressively, “you cannot fail to +grasp the significance of this. According to the will then in +existence, Lady Pennefather from being not even comfortably off would +become a comparatively rich woman on her husband’s death. But rumours +are reaching her ears of a possible marriage between that husband and +another woman as soon as the divorce is complete. What is more +probable than that when such an engagement is actually concluded, a +new will will be made? + +“Her character is already shown in a strong enough light by her +willingness to accept the bribe of the will as an inducement to +divorce. She is obviously a grasping woman, greedy for money. Murder +is only another step for such a woman to take. And murder is her only +hope. I do not think,” concluded Sir Charles, “that I need to labour +the point any further.” His glasses swung deliberately. + +“It’s uncommonly convincing,” Roger said, with a little sigh. “Are you +going to hand this information over to the police, Sir Charles?” + +“I conceive that failure to do so would be a gross dereliction of my +duty as a citizen,” Sir Charles replied, with a pomposity that in no +way concealed how pleased he was with himself. + +“Humph!” observed Mr. Bradley, who evidently was not going to be so +pleased with Sir Charles as Sir Charles was. “What about the +chocolates? Is it part of your case that she prepared them over here, +or brought them with her?” + +Sir Charles waved an airy hand. “Is that material?” + +“I should say that it would be very material to connect her at any +rate with the poison.” + +“Nitrobenzene? One might as well try to connect her with the purchase +of the chocolates. She would have no difficulty in getting hold of +that. I regard her choice of poison, in fact, as on a par with the +ingenuity she has displayed in all the other particulars.” + +“I see.” Mr. Bradley stroked his little moustache and eyed Sir Charles +combatively. “Come to think of it, you know, Sir Charles, you haven’t +really proved a case against Lady Pennefather at all. All you’ve +proved is motive and opportunity.” + +An unexpected ally ranged herself beside Mr. Bradley. “Exactly!” cried +Mrs. Fielder-Flemming. “That’s just what I was about to point out +myself. If you hand over the information you’ve collected to the +police, Sir Charles, I don’t think they’ll thank you for it. As Mr. +Bradley says, you haven’t proved that Lady Pennefather’s guilty, or +anything like it. I’m quite sure you’re altogether mistaken.” + +Sir Charles was so taken aback that for a moment he could only stare. +“_Mistaken?_” he managed to ejaculate. It was clear that such a +possibility had never entered Sir Charles’s orbit. + +“Well, perhaps I’d better say—wrong,” amended Mrs. Fielder-Flemming, +quite drily. + +“But my dear madam—” For once words did not come to Sir Charles. “But +why?” he fell back upon, feebly. + +“Because I’m sure of it,” retorted Mrs. Fielder-Flemming, most +unsatisfactorily. + +Roger had been watching this exchange with a gradual change of +feeling. From being hypnotised by Sir Charles’s persuasiveness and +self-confidence into something like reluctant agreement, he was +swinging round now in reaction to the other extreme. Dash it all, this +fellow Bradley had kept a clearer head after all. And he was perfectly +right. There were gaps in Sir Charles’s case that Sir Charles himself, +as counsel for Lady Pennefather’s defence, could have driven a +coach-and-six through. + +“Of course,” he said thoughtfully, “the fact that before she went +abroad Lady Pennefather may have had an account at Mason’s isn’t +surprising in the least. Nor is the fact that Mason’s send out a +complimentary chit with their receipts. As Sir Charles himself said, +very many old-fashioned firms of good repute do. And the fact that the +sheet of paper on which the letter was written had been used +previously for some such purpose is not only not surprising, when one +comes to consider; it’s even obvious. Whoever the murderer, the same +problem of getting hold of the piece of notepaper would arise. Yes, +really, that Sir Charles’s three initial questions should have +happened to find affirmative answers, does seem little more than a +coincidence.” + +Sir Charles turned on this new antagonist like a wounded bull. “But +the odds were enormous against it!” he roared. “If it was a +coincidence, it was the most incredible one in the whole course of my +experience.” + +“Ah, Sir Charles, but you’re prejudiced,” Mr. Bradley told him gently. +“And you exaggerate dreadfully, you know. You seem to be putting the +odds at somewhere round about a million to one. I should put them at +six to one. Permutations and combinations, you know.” + +“Damn your permutations, sir!” riposted Sir Charles with vigour. “And +your combinations too.” + +Mr. Bradley turned to Roger. “Mr. Chairman, is it within the rules of +this club for one member to insult another member’s underwear? +Besides, Sir Charles,” he added to that fuming knight, “I don’t wear +the things. Never have done, since I was an infant.” + +For the dignity of the chair Roger could not join in the delighted +titters that were escaping round the table; in the interests of the +Circle’s preservation he had to pour oil on these very seething +waters. + +“Bradley, you’re losing sight of the point, aren’t you? I don’t want +to destroy your theory necessarily, Sir Charles, or detract in any way +from the really brilliant manner in which you’ve defended it; but if +it’s to stand its ground it must be able to resist any arguments we +can bring against it. That’s all. And I honestly do think that you’re +inclined to attach a little too much importance to the answers to +those three questions. What do you say, Miss Dammers?” + +“I agree,” Miss Dammers said crisply. “The way Sir Charles emphasised +their importance reminded me at the time of a favourite trick of +detective-story writers. He said, if I remember rightly, that if those +questions were answered in the affirmative he knew that his suspect +was guilty just as much as if he’d seen her with his own eyes putting +the poison into the chocolates, because the odds against a +coincidental affirmative to all three of them were incalculable. In +other words he simply made a strong assertion, unsupported by evidence +or argument.” + +“And that is what detective-story writers do, Miss Dammers?” queried +Mr. Bradley, with a tolerant smile. + +“Invariably, Mr. Bradley. I’ve often noticed it in your own books. You +state a thing so emphatically that the reader does not think of +questioning the assertion. ‘Here,’ says the detective, ‘is a bottle of +red liquid and here is a bottle of blue. If these two liquids turn out +to be ink, then we know that they were purchased to fill up the empty +inkpots in the library as surely as if we had read the dead man’s very +thoughts.’ Whereas the red ink might have been bought by one of the +maids to dye a jumper, and the blue by the secretary for his +fountain-pen; or a hundred other such explanations. But any +possibilities of that kind are silently ignored. Isn’t that so?” + +“Perfectly,” agreed Bradley, unperturbed. “Don’t waste time on +unessentials. Just tell the reader very loudly what he’s to think, and +he’ll think it all right. You’ve got the technique perfectly. Why +don’t you try your hand at it? It’s quite a paying game, you know.” + +“I may one day. And anyhow I will say for you, Mr. Bradley, that your +detectives do detect. They don’t just stand about and wait for +somebody else to tell them who committed the murder, as the so-called +detectives do in most of the so-called detective-stories I read.” + +“Thank you,” said Mr. Bradley. “Then you actually read +detective-stories, Miss Dammers?” + +“Certainly,” said Miss Dammers, crisply. “Why not?” She dismissed Mr. +Bradley as abruptly as she had answered his challenge. “And the letter +itself, Sir Charles? The typewriting. You don’t attach any importance +to that?” + +“As a detail, of course it would have to be considered; I was only +sketching out the broad lines of the case.” Sir Charles was no longer +bull-like. “I take it that the police would ferret out pieces of +conclusive evidence of that nature.” + +“I think they might have some difficulty in connecting Pauline +Pennefather with the machine that typed that letter,” observed Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming, not without tartness. + +The tide of feeling had obviously set in against Sir Charles. + +“But the motive,” he pleaded, now pathetically on the defensive. “You +must admit that the motive is overwhelming.” + +“You don’t know Pauline, Sir Charles—Lady Pennefather?” Miss Dammers +suggested. + +“I do not.” + +“Evidently,” commented Miss Dammers. + +“You don’t agree with Sir Charles’s theory, Miss Dammers?” ventured +Mr. Chitterwick. + +“I do not,” said Miss Dammers with emphasis. + +“Might one enquire your reason?” ventured Mr. Chitterwick further. + +“Certainly you may. It’s a conclusive one, I’m afraid, Sir Charles. I +was in Paris at the time of the murder, and just about the very hour +when the parcel was being posted I was talking to Pauline Pennefather +in the foyer of the Opera.” + +“What!” exclaimed the discomfited Sir Charles, the remnants of his +beautiful theory crashing about his ears. + +“I should apologise for not having given you this information before, +I suppose,” said Miss Dammers with the utmost calmness, “but I wanted +to see what sort of a case you could put up against her. And I really +do congratulate you. It was a remarkable piece of inductive reasoning. +If I hadn’t happened to know that it was built up on a complete +fallacy you would have quite convinced me.” + +“But—but why the secrecy, and—and the impersonation by the maid, if +her visit was an innocent one?” stammered Sir Charles, his mind +revolving wildly round private aeroplanes and the time they would take +from the _Place de l’Opéra_ to Trafalgar Square. + +“Oh, I didn’t say it was an innocent one,” retorted Miss Dammers +carelessly. “Sir Eustace isn’t the only one who is waiting for the +divorce to marry again. And in the interim Pauline, quite rightly, +doesn’t see why she should waste valuable time. After all, she isn’t +so young as she was. And there’s always a strange creature called the +King’s Proctor, isn’t there?” + +Shortly after that the Chairman adjourned the meeting of the Circle. +He did so because he did not wish one of the members to die of +apoplexy on his hands. + + + +Chapter VII + +Mrs. Fielder-Flemming was nervous. Actually nervous. + +She shuffled the pages of her notebook aimlessly, and seemed hardly +able to sit through the few preliminaries which had to be settled +before Roger asked her to give the solution which she had already +affirmed, privately, to Alicia Dammers, to be indubitably the correct +one of Mrs. Bendix’s murder. With such a weighty piece of knowledge in +her mind one would have thought that for once in her life Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming had a really heaven-sent opportunity to be +impressive, but for once in her life she made no use of it. If she had +not been Mrs. Fielder-Flemming, one might have gone so far as to say +that she dithered. + +“Are you ready, Mrs. Fielder-Flemming?” Roger asked, gazing at this +surprising manifestation. + +Mrs. Fielder-Flemming adjusted her very unbecoming hat, rubbed her +nose (being innocent of powder, it did not suffer under this habitual +treatment; just shone a little more brightly in pink embarrassment), +and shot a covert glance round the table. Roger continued to gaze in +astonishment. Mrs. Fielder-Flemming was positively shrinking from the +lime-light. For some occult reason she was approaching her task with +real distaste, and a distaste at that quite out of comparison with the +task’s significance. + +She cleared her throat, nervously. “I have a very difficult duty to +perform,” she began in a low voice. “Last night I hardly slept. +Anything more distasteful to a woman like myself it is impossible to +imagine.” She paused, moistening her lips. + +“Oh, come, Mrs. Fielder-Flemming,” Roger felt himself impelled to +encourage her. “It’s the same for all of us, you know. And I’ve heard +you make a most excellent speech at one of your own first nights.” + +Mrs. Fielder-Flemming looked at him, not at all encouraged. “I was not +referring to that aspect of it, Mr. Sheringham,” she retorted, rather +more tartly. “I was speaking of the burden which has been laid on me +by the knowledge that has come into my possession, the terrible duty I +have to perform in consequence of it.” + +“You mean you’ve solved the little problem?” enquired Mr. Bradley, +without reverence. + +Mrs. Fielder-Flemming regarded him sombrely. “With infinite regret,” +she said, in low, womanly tones, “I have.” Mrs. Fielder-Flemming was +recovering her poise. + +She consulted her notes for a moment, and then began to speak in a +firmer voice. “Criminology I have always regarded with something of a +professional eye. Its main interest has always been for me its immense +potentialities for drama. The inevitability of murder; the predestined +victim, struggling unconsciously and vainly against fate; the +predestined killer, moving first unconsciously too and then with full +and relentless realisation, towards the accomplishment of his doom; +the hidden causes, unknown perhaps to both victim and killer, which +are all the time urging on the fulfilment of destiny. + +“Apart from the action and the horror of the deed itself, I have +always felt that there are more possibilities of real drama in the +most ordinary or sordid of murders than in any other situation that +can occur to man. Ibsenish in the inevitable working out of certain +circumstances in juxtaposition that we call fate, no less than +Edgar-Wallacish in the _καθαρσις_ undergone by the emotions of the +onlooker at their climax. + +“It was perhaps natural then that I should regard not only this +particular case from something of the standpoint of my calling (and +certainly no more dramatic twist could well be invented), but the task +of solving it too. Anyhow, natural or not, this is what I did; and the +result has terribly justified me. I considered the case in the light +of one of the oldest dramatic situations, and very soon everything +became only too clear. I am referring to the situation which the +gentlemen who pass among us in these days for dramatic critics, +invariably call the Eternal Triangle. + +“I had to begin of course with only one of the triangle’s three +members, Sir Eustace Pennefather. Of the two unknown one must be a +woman, the other might be woman or man. So I fell back on another very +old and very sound maxim, and proceeded to _chercher la femme_. And,” +said Mrs. Fielder-Flemming, very solemnly, “I found her.” + +So far, it must be admitted, her audience was not particularly +impressed. Even the promising opening had not stirred them, for it was +only to be expected that Mrs. Fielder-Flemming would feel it her duty +to emphasise her feminine shrinkings from handing a criminal over to +justice. Her somewhat laborious sentences too, obviously learned off +by heart for the occasion, detracted if anything from the interest of +what she had to convey. + +But when she resumed, having waited in vain for a tributary gasp at +her last momentous piece of information, the somewhat calculated +tenseness of her style had given way to an unrehearsed earnestness +which was very much more impressive. + +“I wasn’t expecting the triangle to be the hackneyed one,” she said, +with a slight dig at the deflated remains of Sir Charles. “Lady +Pennefather I hardly considered for a moment. The subtlety of the +crime, I felt sure, must be a reflection of an unusual situation. And +after all a triangle need not necessarily include a husband and wife +among its members; any three people, if the circumstances arrange them +so, can form one. It is the circumstances, not the three protagonists, +that make the triangle. + +“Sir Charles has told us that this crime reminded him of the Marie +Lafarge case, and in some respects (he might have added) the Mary +Ansell case too. It reminded me of a case as well, but it was neither +of these. The Molineux case in New York, it seems to me, provides a +much closer parallel than either. + +“You all remember the details of course. Mr. Cornish, a director of +the important Knickerbocker Athletic Club, received in his Christmas +mail a small silver cup and a phial of bromo-seltzer, addressed to him +at the club. He thought they had been sent by way of a joke, and kept +the wrapper in order to identify the humorist. A few days later a +woman who lived in the same boarding-house as Cornish complained of a +headache and Cornish gave her some of the bromo-seltzer. In a very +short time she was dead, and Cornish, who had taken just a sip because +she complained of it being bitter, was violently ill but recovered +later. + +“In the end a man named Molineux, another member of the same club, was +arrested and put on trial. There was quite a lot of evidence against +him, and it was known that he hated Cornish bitterly, so much so that +he had already assaulted him once. Moreover another member of the +club, a man named Barnet, had been killed earlier in the year through +taking what purported to be a sample of a well-known headache powder +which had also been sent to him at the club and, shortly before the +Cornish episode, Molineux married a girl who had actually been engaged +to Barnet at the time of his death; he had always wanted her, but she +had preferred Barnet. Molineux, as you remember, was convicted at his +first trial and acquitted at his second; he afterwards became insane. + +“Now this parallel seems to me complete. Our case is to all purposes a +composite Cornish-cum-Barnet case. The resemblances are extraordinary. +There is the poisoned article addressed to the man’s club; there is, +in the case of Cornish, the death of the wrong victim; there is the +preservation of the wrapper; there is, in Barnet’s case, the triangle +element (and a triangle, you will notice, without husband and wife). +It’s quite startling. It is, in fact, more than startling; it’s +significant. Things don’t happen like that quite by chance.” + +Mrs. Fielder-Flemming paused and blew her nose, delicately but with +emotion. She was getting nicely worked up now, and so, in consequence, +was her audience. If there were no gasps there was at any rate the +tribute of complete silence till she was ready to go on. + +“I said that this similarity was more than startling, that it was +significant. I will explain its particular significance later; at +present it is enough to say that I found it very helpful also. The +realisation of the extreme closeness of the parallel came as quite a +shock to me, but once I had grasped it I felt strangely convinced that +it was in this very similarity that the clue to the solution of Mrs. +Bendix’s murder was to be found. I felt this so strongly that I +somehow actually _knew_ it. These intuitions do come to me sometimes +(explain them as you will) and I have never yet known them fail me. +This one did not do so either. + +“I began to examine this case in the light of the Molineux one. Would +the latter help me to find the woman I was looking for in the former? +What were the indications, so far as Barnet was concerned? Barnet +received his fatal package because he was purposing to marry a girl +whom the murderer was resolved he should not marry. With so many +parallels between the two cases already, was there—” Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming pushed back her unwieldy hat to a still more +unbecoming angle and looked deliberately round the table with the air +of an early Christian trying the power of the human eye on a +doubtfully intimidated covey of lions—“_was there another here?_” + +This time Mrs. Fielder-Flemming was rewarded with several real and +audible gasps. That of Sir Charles was quite the most audible, an +outraged, indignant gasp that came perilously near to a snort. Mr. +Chitterwick gasped apprehensively, as if fearing something like a +physical sequel to the sharp exchange of glances between Sir Charles +and Mrs. Fielder-Flemming, those of the former positively menacing in +their warning, those of the lady almost vocal with her defiance of it. + +The Chairman gasped too, wondering what a Chairman should do if two +members of his circle, and of opposite sexes at that, should proceed +to blows under his very nose. + +Mr. Bradley forgot himself so far as to gasp as well, in sheer, +blissful ecstasy. Mrs. Fielder-Flemming looked as if she were to prove +a better hand at bull-baiting than himself, but Mr. Bradley did not +grudge her the honour so long as he was to be allowed to sit and hug +himself in the audience. Not in his most daring toreador-like antics +would Mr. Bradley have ever dared to postulate the very daughter of +his victim as the cause of the murder itself. Could this magnificent +woman really bring forward a case to support so puncturing an idea? +And what if it should actually turn out to be true? After all, such a +thing was conceivable enough. Murders have been committed for the sake +of lovely ladies often enough before; so why not for the lovely +daughter of a pompous old silk? Oh God, oh Montreal. + +Finally Mrs. Fielder-Flemming gasped too, at herself. + +Alone without a gasp sat Alicia Dammers, her face alight with nothing +but an intellectual interest in the development of her fellow-member’s +argument, determinedly impersonal. One was to gather that to Miss +Dammers it was immaterial whether her own mother had been mixed up in +the murder, so long as her part in it had provided opportunities for +the sharpening of wits and the stimulation of intelligence. Without +ever acknowledging her recognition that a personal element was being +introduced into the Circle’s investigations, she yet managed to +radiate the idea that Sir Charles ought, if anything, to be detachedly +delighted at the possibility of such enterprise on the part of his +daughter. + +Sir Charles however was far from delighted. From the red swelling of +the veins on his forehead it was obvious that something was going to +burst out of him in a very few seconds. Mrs. Fielder-Flemming leapt, +like an agitated but determined hen, for the gap. + +“We have agreed to waive the law of slander here,” she almost +squawked. “Personalities don’t exist for us. If the name crops up of +any one personally known to us, we utter it as unflinchingly, in +whatever connection, as if it were a complete stranger’s. That is the +definite arrangement we came to last night, Mr. President, isn’t it? +We are to do what we conceive to be our duty to society quite +irrespective of any personal considerations?” + +For a moment Roger indulged his tremors. He did not want his beautiful +Circle to explode in a cloud of dust, never again to be re-united. And +though he could not but admire the flurried but undaunted courage of +Mrs. Fielder-Flemming, he had to be content to envy it so far as Sir +Charles was concerned, for he certainly did not possess anything like +it himself. On the other hand there was no doubt that the lady had +right on her side, and what can any President do but administer +justice? + +“Perfectly correct, Mrs. Fielder-Flemming,” he had to admit, hoping +his voice sounded as firm as he would have wished. + +For a moment a blue glare, emanating from Sir Charles, enveloped him +luridly. Then, as Mrs. Fielder-Flemming, evidently heartened by this +official support, took up her bomb again, the rays of the glare were +switched again on to her. Roger, nervously watching the two of them, +could not help reflecting that blue rays are things which should never +be directed on to bombs. + +Mrs. Fielder-Flemming juggled featly with her bomb. Often though it +seemed about to slip through her fingers, it never quite reached the +ground or detonated. “Very well, then. I will go on. My triangle now +had the second of its members. On the analogy of the Barnet murder, +where was the third to be found? Obviously, with Molineux as the +prototype, in some person who was anxious to prevent the first member +from marrying the second. + +“So far, you will see, I am not out of harmony with the conclusions +Sir Charles gave us last night, though my method of arriving at them +was perhaps somewhat different. He gave us a triangle also, without +expressly defining it as such (perhaps even without recognising it as +such). And the first two members of his triangle are precisely the +same as the first two of mine.” + +Here Mrs. Fielder-Flemming made a notable effort to return something +of Sir Charles’s glare, in defiant challenge to contradiction. As she +had simply stated a plain fact however, which Sir Charles was quite +unable to refute without explaining that he had not meant what he had +meant the evening before, the challenge passed unanswered. Also the +glare visibly diminished. But for all that (patently remarked Sir +Charles’s expression) a triangle by any other name does _not_ smell so +unsavoury. + +“It is when we come to the third member,” pursued Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming, with renewed poise, “that we are at variance. Sir +Charles suggested to us Lady Pennefather. I have not the pleasure of +Lady Pennefather’s acquaintance, but Miss Dammers who knows her well, +tells me that in almost every particular the estimate given us by Sir +Charles of her character was wrong. She is neither mean, grasping, +greedy, nor in any imaginable way capable of the awful deed with which +Sir Charles, perhaps a little rashly, was ready to credit her. Lady +Pennefather, I understand, is a particularly sweet and kindly woman; +somewhat broad-minded no doubt, but none the worse for that; indeed as +some of us would think, a good deal the better.” + +Mrs. Fielder-Flemming encouraged the belief that she was not merely +tolerant of a little harmless immorality, but actually ready to act as +godmother to any particular instance of it. Indeed she went sometimes +quite a long détour out of her way in order to propagate this belief +among her friends. But unfortunately her friends would persist in +remembering that she had refused to have anything more to do with one +of her own nieces since the latter, on learning that her middle-aged +husband kept, for purposes of convenience, a different mistress in +each of the four quarters of England, and just to be on the safe side +one in Scotland too, had run away with a young man of her own with +whom she happened to be very devotedly in love. + +“Just as I differ from Sir Charles over the identity of the third +person in the triangle,” went on Mrs. Fielder-Flemming, happily +ignorant of her friends’ memories, “so I differ from him in the means +by which that identity is to be established. We are at complete +variance in our ideas regarding the very heart of the problem, the +motive. Sir Charles would have us think that this was a murder +committed (or attempted, rather) for gain; I am convinced that the +incentive was, at any rate, a less ignoble one than that. Murder, we +are taught, can never be really justifiable; but there are occasions +when it comes dangerously near it. This, in my opinion, was one of +them. + +“It is in the character of Sir Eustace himself that I see the clue to +the identity of the third person. Let us consider it for a moment. We +are not restricted by any considerations of slander, and we can say at +once that, from certain points of view, Sir Eustace is a quite +undesirable member of the community. From the point of view of a young +man, for the sake of example, who is in love with a girl, Sir Eustace +must be one of the very last persons with whom the young man would +wish that girl to come into contact. He is not merely immoral, he is +without excuse for his immorality, a far more serious thing. He is a +rake, a spendthrift, without honour or scruples where women are +concerned, and a man moreover who has already made a mess of marriage +with a very charming woman and one by no means too narrow to overlook +even a more than liberal allowance of the usual male peccadilloes and +lapses. As a prospective husband for any young girl Sir Eustace +Pennefather is a tragedy. + +“And as a prospective husband for a young girl whom a man loves with +all his heart,” intoned Mrs. Fielder-Flemming very solemnly, “it is +easy to conceive that, in that particular man’s regard, Sir Eustace +Pennefather becomes nothing short of an impossibility. + +“And a man who _is_ a man,” added Mrs. Fielder-Flemming, quite mauve +with intensity, “does not admit impossibilities.” + +She paused, pregnantly. + +“Curtain, Act I,” confided Mr. Bradley behind his hand to Mr. Ambrose +Chitterwick. + +Mr. Chitterwick smiled nervously. + + + +Chapter VIII + +Sir Charles took the usual advantage of the first interval to rise +from his seat. Like so many of us in these days by the time of the +first interval (when it is not a play of Mrs. Fielder-Flemming’s that +is in question) he felt almost physically unable to contain himself +longer. + +“Mr. President,” he boomed, “let us get this clear. Is Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming making the preposterous accusation that some friend +of my daughter’s is responsible for this crime, or is she not?” + +The President looked somewhat helplessly up at the bulk towering +wrathfully above him and wished he were anything but the President. “I +really don’t know, Sir Charles,” he professed, which was not only +feeble but untrue. + +Mrs. Fielder-Flemming however was by now quite able to speak up for +herself. “I have not yet specifically accused any one of the crime, +Sir Charles,” she said, with a cold dignity that was only marred by +the fact that her hat, which had apparently been sharing its +mistress’s emotions, was now perched rakishly over her left ear. “So +far I have been simply developing a thesis.” + +To Mr. Bradley Sir Charles would have replied, with Johnsonian scorn +of evasion: “Sir, damn your thesis.” Hampered now by the puerilities +of civilised convention regarding polite intercourse between the +sexes, he could only summon up once more the blue glare. + +With the unfairness of her sex Mrs. Fielder-Flemming promptly took +advantage of his handicap. “And,” she added pointedly, “I have not yet +finished doing so.” + +Sir Charles sat down, the perfect allegory. But he grunted very +naughtily to himself as he did so. + +Mr. Bradley restrained an impulse to clap Mr. Chitterwick on the back +and then chuck him under the chin. + +Her serenity so natural as to be patently artificial, Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming proceeded to call the interval closed and ring up the +curtain on her second act. + +“Having given you my processes towards arriving at the identity of the +third member of the triangle I postulated, in other words towards that +of the murderer, I will go on to the actual evidence and show how that +supports my conclusions. Did I say ‘supports’? I meant, confirms them +beyond all doubt.” + +“But what are your conclusions, Mrs. Fielder-Flemming?” Bradley asked, +with an air of bland interest. “You haven’t defined them yet. You only +hinted that the murderer was a rival of Sir Eustace’s for the hand of +Miss Wildman.” + +“Exactly,” agreed Alicia Dammers. “Even if you don’t want to tell us +the man’s name yet, Mabel, can’t you narrow it down a little more for +us?” Miss Dammers disliked vagueness. It savoured to her of the +slipshod, which above all things in this world she detested. Moreover +she really was extremely interested to know upon whom Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming’s choice had alighted. Mabel, she knew, might look +like one sort of fool, talk like another sort, and behave like a +third; and yet really she was not a fool at all. + +But Mabel was determined to be coy. “Not yet, I’m afraid. For certain +reasons I want to prove my case first. You’ll understand later, I +think.” + +“Very well,” sighed Miss Dammers. “But do let’s keep away from the +detective-story atmosphere. All we want to do is to solve this +difficult case, not mystify each other.” + +“I have my reasons, Alicia,” frowned Mrs. Fielder-Flemming, and rather +obviously proceeded to collect her thoughts. “Where was I? Oh yes, the +evidence. Now this is very interesting. I have succeeded in obtaining +two pieces of quite vital evidence which I have never heard brought +forward before. + +“The first is that Sir Eustace was not in love with—” Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming hesitated; then, as the plunge had already been taken +for her, followed the intrepid Mr. Bradley into the deeps of complete +candour “—with Miss Wildman at all. He intended to marry her simply +for her money—or rather, for what he hoped to get of her father’s +money. I hope, Sir Charles,” added Mrs. Fielder-Flemming frostily, +“that you will not consider me slanderous if I allude to the fact that +you are an exceedingly rich man. It has a most important bearing on my +case.” + +Sir Charles inclined his massive, handsome head. “It is hardly a +matter of slander, madam. Simply one of taste, which is outside my +professional orbit. I fear it would be a waste of time for me to +attempt to advise you on it.” + +“That is very interesting, Mrs. Fielder-Flemming,” Roger hastily +interposed on this exchange of pleasantries. “How did you discover +it?” + +“From Sir Eustace’s man, Mr. Sheringham,” replied Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming not without pride. “I interrogated him. Sir Eustace +had made no secret of it. He seems to confide most freely in his man. +He expected, apparently, to be able to pay off his debts, buy a +racehorse or two, provide for the present Lady Pennefather, and +generally make a fresh and no doubt discreditable start. He had +actually promised Barker (that is his man’s name) a present of a +hundred pounds on the day he ‘led the little filly to the altar,’ as +he phrased it. I am sorry to hurt your feelings, Sir Charles, but I +have to deal with facts, and feelings must go down before them. A +present of ten pounds bought me all the information I wanted. Quite +remarkable information, as it turned out.” She looked round +triumphantly. + +“You don’t think, perhaps,” ventured Mr. Chitterwick with an +apologetic smile, “that information from such a tainted source might +not be entirely reliable? The source seems so very tainted. Why, I +don’t think my own man would sell me for a ten-pound note.” + +“Like master like man,” returned Mrs. Fielder-Flemming shortly. “His +information was perfectly reliable. I was able to check nearly +everything he told me, so that I think I am entitled to accept the +small residue as correct too. + +“I should like to quote another of Sir Eustace’s confidences. It is +not pretty, but it is very, very illuminating. He had made an attempt +to seduce Miss Wildman in a private room at the Pug-Dog Restaurant +(that, for instance, I checked later), apparently with the object of +ensuring the certainty of the marriage he desired. (I am sorry again, +Sir Charles, but these facts must be brought out.) I had better say at +once that the attempt was unsuccessful. That night Sir Eustace +remarked (and to his valet of all people, remember); ‘You can take a +filly to the altar, but you can’t make her drunk.’ That, I think, will +show you better than any words of mine just what manner of man Sir +Eustace Pennefather is. And it will also show you how overwhelmingly +strong was the incentive of the man who really loved her to put her +for ever out of the reach of such a brute. + +“And that brings me to the second piece of my evidence. This is really +the foundation stone of the whole structure, the basis on which the +necessity for murder (as the murderer saw it) rested, and the basis at +the same time of my own reconstruction of the crime. Miss Wildman was +hopelessly, unreasonably, irrevocably infatuated with Sir Eustace +Pennefather.” + +As an artist in dramatic effect, Mrs. Fielder-Flemming was silent for +a moment to allow the significance of this information to sink into +the minds of her audience. But Sir Charles was far too personally +preoccupied to be interested in significances. + +“And may one ask how you found _that_ out, madam?” he demanded, +swelling with sarcasm. “From my daughter’s maid?” + +“From your daughter’s maid,” responded Mrs. Fielder-Flemming sweetly. +“Detecting, I discover, is an expensive hobby, but one mustn’t regret +money spent in a good cause.” + +Roger sighed. It was plain that, once this ill-fortuned child of his +invention had died a painful death, the Circle (if it had not been +completely squared by then) would be found to be without either Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming or Sir Charles Wildman; and he knew which of the two +it would be. It was a pity. Sir Charles, besides being such an asset +from the professional point of view, was the only leavening apart from +Mr. Ambrose Chitterwick of the literary element; and Roger, who had +attended a few literary parties in his earlier days, was quite sure he +would not be able to face a gathering that consisted of nothing but +people who made their livings by their typewriters. + +Besides, Mrs. Fielder-Flemming really was being a little hard on the +old man. After all, it was his daughter who was in question. + +“I have now,” said Mrs. Fielder-Flemming, “established an overwhelming +motive for the man who is in my mind to eliminate Sir Eustace. In fact +it must have seemed to him the only possible way out of an intolerable +situation. Let me now go on to connect him with the few facts allowed +us by the anonymous murderer. + +“When the Chief Inspector the other evening permitted us to examine +the forged letter from Mason & Sons I examined it closely, because I +know something about typewriters. That letter was typed on a Hamilton +machine. The man I have in mind has a Hamilton typewriter at his place +of business. You may say that might be only a coincidence, the +Hamilton being so generally used. So it might; but if you get enough +coincidences lumped together, they cease to become coincidences at all +and become certainties. + +“In the same way we have the further coincidence of Mason’s notepaper. +This man has a definite connection with Mason’s. Three years ago, as +you may remember, Mason’s were involved in a big lawsuit. I forget the +details, but I think they brought an action against one of their +rivals. You may remember, Sir Charles?” + +Sir Charles nodded reluctantly, as if unwilling to help his antagonist +even with this unimportant information. “I ought to,” he said shortly. +“It was against the Fearnley Chocolate Company for infringement of +copyright in an advertisement figure. I led for Mason’s.” + +“Thank you. Yes, I thought it was something like that. Very well, +then. This man was connected with that very case. He was helping +Mason’s, on the legal side. He must have been in and out of their +office. His opportunities for possessing himself of a piece of their +notepaper would have been legion. The chances by which he might have +found himself three years later in possession of a piece would be +innumerable. The paper had yellowed edges; it must have been quite +three years old. It had an erasure. That erasure, I suggest, is the +remains of a brief note on the case jotted down one day in Mason’s +office. The thing is obvious. Everything fits. + +“Then there is the matter of the post-mark. I agree with Sir Charles +that we may take it for granted that the murderer, cunning though he +is, and anxious though he might be to establish an alibi, would not +entrust the posting of the fatal parcel to any one else. Apart from a +confederate, which I am sure we may rule out of the question, it would +be far too dangerous; the name of Sir Eustace Pennefather could hardly +escape being seen, and the connection later established. The murderer, +secure in his conviction that suspicion will never fall on himself of +all people (just like all murderers that have ever been), gambles a +possible alibi against a certain risk and posts the thing himself. It +is therefore advisable, just to clinch the case against him, to +connect the man with the neighbourhood of the Strand between the hours +of eight-thirty and nine-thirty on that particular evening. + +“Surprisingly enough I found this task, which I had expected to be the +most difficult, the easiest of all. The man of whom I am thinking +actually attended a public dinner that night at the Hotel Cecil, a +re-union dinner to be exact of his old school. The Hotel Cecil, I need +not remind you, is almost opposite Southampton Street. The Southampton +Street post-office is the nearest one to the Hotel. What could be +easier for him than to slip out of his seat for the five minutes which +is all that would be required, and be back again almost before his +neighbours had noticed his action?” + +“What indeed?” murmured the rapt Mr. Bradley. + +“I have two final points to make. You remember that in pointing out +the resemblance of this case to the Molineux affair, I remarked that +this similarity was more than surprising, it was significant. I will +explain what I meant by that. What I meant was that the parallel was +far too close for it to be just a coincidence. This case is a +deliberate _copy_ of that one. And if it is, there is only one +inference. This murder is the work of a man steeped in criminal +history—of a criminologist. And the man I have in mind _is_ a +criminologist. + +“My last point concerns the denial in the newspaper of the rumoured +engagement between Sir Eustace Pennefather and Miss Wildman. I learnt +from his valet that Sir Eustace did not send that denial himself. Nor +did Miss Wildman. Sir Eustace was furiously angry about it. It was +sent, on his own initiative without consulting either of them, by the +man whom I am accusing of having committed this crime.” + +Mr. Bradley stopped hugging himself for a moment. “And the +nitrobenzene? Were you able to connect him with that too?” + +“That is one of the very few points on which I agree with Sir Charles. +I don’t think it in the least necessary, or possible, to connect him +with such a common commodity, which can be bought anywhere without the +slightest difficulty or remark.” + +Mrs. Fielder-Flemming was holding herself in with a visible effort. +Her words, so calm and judicial to read, had hitherto been spoken too +with a strenuous attempt towards calm and judicial delivery. But with +each sentence the attempt was obviously becoming more difficult. Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming was clearly getting so excited that a few more such +sentences seemed likely to choke her, though to the others such +intensity of feeling seemed a little unnecessary. She was approaching +her climax, of course, but even that seemed hardly an excuse for such +a very purple face and a hat that had now managed somehow to ride to +the very back of her head where it trembled agitatedly in sympathy +with its mistress. + +“That is all,” she concluded jerkily. “I submit that I have proved my +case. This man is the murderer.” + +There was complete silence. + +“Well?” said Alicia Dammers impatiently. “Who is he, then?” + +Sir Charles, who had been regarding the orator with a frown that grew +more and more lowering every minute, thumped quite menacingly on the +table in front of him. “Precisely,” he growled. “Let us get out in the +open. Against whom are these ridiculous insinuations of yours +directed, madam?” One gathered that Sir Charles did not find himself +in agreement with the lady’s conclusions, even before knowing what +they were. + +“Accusations, Sir Charles,” Mrs. Fielder-Flemming squeaked correction. +“You—you pretend you don’t know?” + +“Really, madam,” retorted Sir Charles, with massive dignity, “I’m +afraid I have no idea.” + +And then Mrs. Fielder-Flemming became regrettably dramatic. Rising +slowly to her feet like a tragedy queen (except that tragedy queens do +not wear their hats tremblingly on the very backs of their heads, and +if their faces are apt to go brilliant purple with emotion disguise +the tint with appropriate grease paints), heedless of the chair +overturning behind her with a dull, doom-like thud, her quivering +finger pointing across the table, she confronted Sir Charles with +every inch of her five-foot nothing. + +“Thou!” shrilled Mrs. Fielder-Flemming. “Thou art the man!” Her +outstretched finger shook like a ribbon on an electric fan. “The brand +of Cain is on your forehead! Murderer!” + +In the silence of ecstatic horror that followed Mr. Bradley clung +deliriously to the arm of Mr. Chitterwick. + +Sir Charles succeeded in finding his voice, temporarily mislaid. “The +woman’s mad,” he gasped. + +Finding that she had not been shot on the spot, or even blasted by +blue lightning from Sir Charles’s eyes, either of which possibilities +it seemed that she had been dreading, Mrs. Fielder-Flemming proceeded +rather less hysterically to amplify her charge. + +“No, I am not mad, Sir Charles; I am very, very sane. You loved your +daughter, and with the twofold love that a man who has lost his wife +feels for the only feminine thing left to him. You considered that any +lengths were justified to prevent her from falling into the hands of +Sir Eustace Pennefather—from having her youth, her innocence, her +trust exploited by such a scoundrel. + +“Out of your own mouth I convict you. Already you’ve told us that it +was not necessary to mention everything that took place at your +interview with Sir Eustace. No; for then you would have had to give +away the fact that you informed him you would rather kill him with +your own hands than see your daughter married to him. And when matters +reached such a pass, what with the poor girl’s infatuation and +obstinacy and Sir Eustace’s determination to take advantage of them, +that no means short of that very thing was left to you to prevent the +catastrophe, you did not shrink from employing them. Sir Charles +Wildman, may God be your judge, for I cannot.” Breathing heavily, Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming retrieved her inverted chair and sat down on it. + +“Well, Sir Charles,” remarked Mr. Bradley, whose swelling bosom was +threatening to burst his waistcoat. “Well, I wouldn’t have thought it +of you. Murder, indeed. Very naughty; very, very naughty.” + +For once Sir Charles took no notice of his faithful gadfly. It is +doubtful whether he even heard him. Now that it had penetrated into +his consciousness that Mrs. Fielder-Flemming really intended her +accusation in all seriousness and was not the victim of a temporary +attack of insanity, his bosom was swelling just as tumultuously as Mr. +Bradley’s. His face, adopting the purple tinge that Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming’s was relinquishing, took on the aspect of the frog +in the fable who failed to realise his own bursting-point. Roger, +whose emotions on hearing Mrs. Fielder-Flemming’s outburst had been so +mixed as to be almost scrambled, began to feel quite alarmed for him. + +But Sir Charles found the safety-valve of speech just in time. “Mr. +President,” he exploded through it, “if I am not right in assuming +this to be a jest on this lady’s part, even though a jest in the worst +possible taste, am I to be expected to take this preposterous nonsense +seriously?” + +Roger glanced at Mrs. Fielder-Flemming’s face, now set in flinty +masses, and gulped. However, preposterous though Sir Charles might +term it, his antagonist had certainly made out a case, and not a +flimsy, unsupported case either. “I think,” he said, as carefully as +he could, “that if it had been any one but yourself in question, Sir +Charles, you would agree that a charge of this kind, when there is +real evidence to support it, does at least require to be taken +seriously so far as to need refuting.” + +Sir Charles snorted and Mrs. Fielder-Flemming nodded her head several +times with vehemence. + +“If refuting is possible,” observed Mr. Bradley. “But I must admit +that, personally, I am impressed. Mrs. Fielder-Flemming seems to me to +have made out her case. Would you like me to go and telephone for the +police, Mr. President?” He spoke with an air of earnest endeavour to +do his duty as a citizen, however distasteful it might be. + +Sir Charles glared, but once more seemed bereft of words. + +“Not yet, I think,” Roger said gently. “We haven’t heard yet what Sir +Charles has to answer.” + +“Well, I suppose we may as well _hear_ him,” conceded Mr. Bradley. + +Five pairs of eyes glued themselves on Sir Charles, five pairs of ears +were strained. + +But Sir Charles, struggling mightily with himself, was silent. + +“As I expected,” murmured Mr. Bradley. “There is no defence. Even Sir +Charles, who has snatched so many murderers from the rope, can find +nothing to say in such a glaring case. It’s very sad.” + +From the look he flashed at his tormentor it was to be deduced that +Sir Charles might have found plenty to say had the two of them been +alone together. As it was, he could only rumble. + +“Mr. President,” said Alicia Dammers, with her usual brisk efficiency, +“I have a proposal to make. Sir Charles appears to be admitting his +guilt by default, and Mr. Bradley, as a good citizen, wishes to hand +him over to the police.” + +“Hear, hear!” observed the good citizen. + +“Personally I should be sorry to do that. I think there is a good deal +to be said for Sir Charles. Murder, we are taught, is invariably +anti-social. But is it? I am of the opinion that Sir Charles’s +intention, that of ridding the world (and incidentally his own +daughter) of Sir Eustace Pennefather, was quite in the world’s best +interests. That his intention miscarried and an innocent victim was +killed is quite beside the point. Even Mrs. Fielder-Flemming seemed to +be doubtful whether Sir Charles ought to be condemned, as a jury would +certainly condemn him, though she added in conclusion that she did not +feel competent to judge him. + +“I differ from her. Being a person of, I hope, reasonable +intelligence, I feel perfectly competent to judge him. And I consider +further that all five of us are competent to judge him. I therefore +suggest that we do in fact judge him ourselves. Mrs. Fielder-Flemming +could act as prosecutor; somebody (I propose Mr. Bradley) could defend +him; and all five of us constitute a jury, the finding to be by +majority in favour or against. We would bind ourselves to abide by the +result, and if it is against him we send for the police; if it is in +his favour we agree never to breathe a word of his guilt outside this +room. May this be put to the meeting?” + +Roger smiled at her reprovingly. He knew quite well that Miss Dammers +no more believed in Sir Charles’s guilt than he, Roger, did himself, +and he knew that she was only pulling that eminent counsel’s leg; a +little cruelly, but no doubt she thought it was good for him. Miss +Dammers professed herself a strong believer in seeing the other side, +and held that it would be a very good thing for the cat occasionally +to find itself chased by the mouse; certainly therefore it was most +salutary for a man who had prosecuted other men for their lives to +find himself for once in the dock on just such a terrifying charge. +Mr. Bradley, on the other hand, though he, too, obviously did not +believe that Sir Charles was the murderer, mocked not out of +conviction but because only so could he get a little of his own back +against Sir Charles for having made more of a success of his life than +Mr. Bradley was likely to do. + +Nor, Roger thought, had Mr. Chitterwick any serious doubts as to the +possibility of Sir Charles being guilty, though he was still looking +so alarmed at Mrs. Fielder-Flemming’s temerity in suggesting such a +thing that it was not altogether possible to say what he did think. +Indeed Roger was quite sure that nobody entertained the least +suspicion of Sir Charles’s innocence except Mrs. Fielder-Flemming—and +perhaps, from the look of him, Sir Charles himself. As that outraged +gentleman had pointed out, such an idea, looked at in sober +reflection, was plainly the most preposterous nonsense. Sir Charles +could not be guilty because—well, because he was Sir Charles, and +because such things don’t happen, and because he obviously couldn’t +be. + +On the other hand Mrs. Fielder-Flemming had very neatly proved that he +was. And Sir Charles had not even attempted yet to prove that he +wasn’t. + +Not for the first time Roger wished, very sincerely, that anybody were +sitting in the presidential chair but himself. + +“I think,” he now repeated, “that before we take any steps at all we +ought to hear what Sir Charles has to say. I am sure,” added the +President kindly, remembering the right phrase, “that he will have a +complete answer to all charges.” He looked expectantly towards the +criminal. + +Sir Charles appeared to jerk himself out of the haze of his wrath. “I +am really expected to defend myself against this—this hysteria?” he +barked. “Very well. I admit I am a criminologist, which Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming appears to think so damning. I admit that I attended +a dinner at the Hotel Cecil on that night, which it seems is enough to +put the rope round my neck. I admit, since it appears that my private +affairs are to be dragged into public, regardless of taste or decency, +that I would rather have strangled Sir Eustace with my own hands than +see him married to my daughter.” + +He paused, and passed his hand rather wearily over his high forehead. +He was no longer formidable, but only a rather bewildered old man. +Roger felt intensely sorry for him. But Mrs. Fielder-Flemming had +stated her case too well for it to be possible to spare him. + +“I admit all this, but none of it is evidence that would have very +much weight in a court of law. If you want me to prove that I did not +actually send those chocolates, what am I to say? I could bring my two +neighbours at the dinner, who would swear that I never left my seat +till—well, it must have been after ten o’clock. I can prove by means +of other witnesses that my daughter finally consented, on my +representations, to give up the idea of marriage with Sir Eustace and +has gone voluntarily to stay with relations of ours in Devonshire for +a considerable time. But there again I have to admit that this has +happened since the date of posting the chocolates. + +“In short, Mrs. Fielder-Flemming has managed, with considerable skill, +to put together a _prima facie_ case against me, though it was based +on a mistaken assumption (I would point out to her that counsel is +never constantly in and out of his client’s premises, but meets him +usually only in the presence of his solicitor, either at the former’s +place of business or in his own chambers), and I am quite ready, if +this meeting thinks it advisable, for the matter to be investigated +officially. More, I welcome such investigation in view of the slur +that has been cast upon my name. Mr. President, I ask you, as +representing the members as a whole, to take such action as you think +fit.” + +Roger steered a wary course. “Speaking for myself, Sir Charles, I am +quite sure that Mrs. Fielder-Flemming’s reasoning, exceedingly clever +though it was, has been based as you say upon an error, and really, as +a matter of mere probability, I cannot see a father sending poisoned +chocolates to the would-be fiancé of his own daughter. A moment’s +thought would show him the practical inevitability of the chocolates +reaching eventually the daughter herself. I have my own opinion about +this crime, but even apart from that I feel quite certain in my own +mind that the case against Sir Charles has not really been proved.” + +“Mr. President,” cut in Mrs. Fielder-Flemming, not without heat, “you +may say what you like, but in the interests of—” + +“I agree, Mr. President,” Miss Dammers interrupted incisively. “It is +unthinkable that Sir Charles could have sent those chocolates.” + +“Humph!” said Mr. Bradley, unwilling to have his sport spoiled quite +so soon. + +“Hear, hear!” Mr. Chitterwick, with surprising decision. + +“On the other hand,” Roger pursued, “I quite see that Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming is entitled to the official investigation which Sir +Charles asks for, no less than is Sir Charles himself on behalf of his +good name. And I agree with Sir Charles that she has certainly made +out a _prima facie_ case for investigation. But what I should like to +stress is that so far only two members out of six have spoken, and it +is not outside possibility that such startling developments may have +been traced out by the time we have all had our turn, that the one we +are discussing now may (I do not say that it will, but it _may_) have +faded into insignificance.” + +“Oho!” murmured Mr. Bradley. “What has our worthy President got up his +sleeve?” + +“I therefore propose, as a formal motion,” Roger concluded, +disregarding the somewhat sour looks cast on him by Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming, “that we shelve the question regarding Sir Charles +entirely, for discussion or report either inside or outside this room, +for one week from to-day, when any member who wishes may bring it up +again for decision, failing which it passes into oblivion for good and +all. Shall we vote on that? Those in favour?” + +The motion was carried unanimously. Mrs. Fielder-Flemming would have +liked to vote against it, but she had never yet belonged to any +committee where all motions were not carried unanimously and habit was +too strong for her. + +The meeting then adjourned, rather oppressed. + + + +Chapter IX + +Roger sat on the table in Moresby’s room at Scotland Yard and swung +his legs moodily. Moresby was being no help at all. + +“I’ve told you, Mr. Sheringham,” said the Chief Inspector, with a +patient air. “It’s not a bit of good you trying to pump me. I’ve told +you all we know here. I’d help you if I could, as you know”—Roger +snorted incredulously—“but we’re simply at a dead end.” + +“So am I,” Roger grunted. “And I don’t like it.” + +“You’ll soon get used to it, Mr. Sheringham,” consoled Moresby, “if +you take on this sort of job often.” + +“I simply can’t get any further,” Roger lamented. “In fact I don’t +think I want to. I’m practically sure I’ve been working on the wrong +tack altogether. If the clue really does lie in Sir Eustace’s private +life, he’s shielding it like the very devil. But I don’t think it +does.” + +“Humph!” said Moresby, who did. + +“I’ve cross-examined his friends, till they’re tired of the sight of +me. I’ve cadged introductions to the friends of his friends, and the +friends of his friends of his friends, and cross-examined them too. +I’ve haunted his club. And what have I discovered? That Sir Eustace +was not only a daisy, as you’d told me already, but a perfectly +indiscreet daisy at that; the quite unpleasant type, fortunately very +much rarer than women suppose, that talks of his feminine successes, +with names—though I think that in Sir Eustace’s case this was simply +through lack of imagination and not any natural caddishness. But you +see what I mean. I’ve collected the names of scores of women, and they +all lead—nowhere! If there is a woman at the bottom of it, I should +have been sure to have heard of her by this time. And I haven’t.” + +“And what about that American case, which we thought such an +extraordinary parallel, Mr. Sheringham?” + +“That was cited last night by one of our members,” said Roger +gloomily. “And a very pretty little deduction she drew from it.” + +“Ah, yes,” nodded the chief inspector. “That would be Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming, I suppose. She thinks Sir Charles Wildman is the +guilty party, doesn’t she?” + +Roger stared at him. “How the devil did you know that? Oh! The +unscrupulous old hag. She passed you the wink, did she?” + +“Certainly not, sir,” retorted Moresby with a virtuous air, as if half +the difficult cases Scotland Yard solves are not edged in the first +place along the right path by means of “information received.” “She +hasn’t said a word to us, though I’m not saying it wouldn’t have been +her duty to do so. But there isn’t much that your members are doing +which we don’t know about, and thinking too for that matter.” + +“We’re being shadowed,” said Roger, pleased. “Yes, you told me at the +beginning that we were to have an eye kept on us. Well, well. So in +that case, are you going to arrest Sir Charles?” + +“Not yet, I think, Mr. Sheringham,” Moresby returned gravely. + +“What do you think of the theory, then? She made out a very striking +case for it.” + +“I should be very surprised,” said Moresby with care, “to be convinced +that Sir Charles Wildman had taken to murdering people himself instead +of preventing us from hanging other murderers.” + +“Less paying, certainly,” Roger agreed. “Yes, of course there can’t be +anything in it really, but it’s a nice idea.” + +“And what theory are you going to put forward, Mr. Sheringham?” + +“Moresby, I haven’t the faintest idea. And I’ve got to speak to-morrow +night, too. I suppose I can fake up something to pass muster, but it’s +a disappointment.” Roger reflected for a moment. “I think the real +trouble is that my interest in this case is simply academic. In all +the others it has been personal, and that not only gives one such a +much bigger incentive to get to the bottom of a case but somehow +actually helps one to do so. Bigger gleanings in the way of +information, I suppose. And more intimate sidelights on the people +concerned.” + +“Well, Mr. Sheringham,” remarked Moresby, a little maliciously, +“perhaps you’ll admit now that we people here, whose interest is never +personal (if you mean by that looking at a case from the inside +instead of from the outside), have a bit of an excuse when we do come +to grief over a case. Which, by the way,” Moresby added with +professional pride, “is precious seldom.” + +“I certainly do,” Roger agreed feelingly. “Well, Moresby, I’ve got to +go through the distressing business of buying a new hat before lunch. +Do you feel like shadowing me to Bond Street? I might afterwards walk +into a neighbouring hostelry, and it would be nice for you to be able +to shadow me in there too.” + +“Sorry, Mr. Sheringham,” said Chief Inspector Moresby pointedly, “but +_I_ have some work to do.” + +Roger removed himself. + +He was feeling so depressed that he took a taxi to Bond Street instead +of a ’bus, to cheer himself up. Roger, having been in London +occasionally during the war-years and remembering the interesting +habits cultivated by taxi-drivers during that period, had never taken +one since when a ’bus would do as well. The public memory is +notoriously short, but the public’s prejudices are equally notoriously +long. + +Roger had reason for his depression. He was, as he had told Moresby, +not only at a dead end, but the conviction was beginning to grow in +him that he had actually been working completely on the wrong lines; +and the possibility that all the labour he had put into the case had +simply been time wasted was a sad one. His initial interest in the +affair, though great, had been as he had just realised only an +academic one, such as he would feel in any cleverly planned murder; +and in spite of the contacts established with persons who were +acquainted with various of the protagonists he still felt himself +awkwardly outside the case. There was no personal connection somehow +to enable him really to get to grips with it. He was beginning to +suspect that it was the sort of case, necessitating endless inquiries +such as a private individual has neither the skill, the patience nor +the time to prosecute, which can really only be handled by the +official police. + +It was hazard, two chance encounters that same day and almost within +an hour, which put an entirely different complexion on the case to +Roger’s eyes, and translated at last his interest in it from the +academic into the personal. + +The first was in Bond Street. + +Emerging from his hat-shop, the new hat at just the right angle on his +head, he saw bearing down on him Mrs. Verreker-le-Mesurer. Mrs. +Verreker-le-Mesurer was small, exquisite, rich, comparatively young, +and a widow, and she coveted Roger. Why, even Roger, who had his share +of proper conceit, could not understand, but whenever he gave her the +opportunity she would sit at his feet (metaphorically of course; he +had no intention of giving her the opportunity to do so literally) and +gaze up at him with her big brown eyes melting in earnest uplift. But +she talked. She talked, in short, and talked, and talked. And Roger, +who rather liked talking himself, could not bear it. + +He tried to dart across the road, but there was no opening in the +traffic stream. He was cornered. With a gay smile that masked a +vituperative mind he spoilt the angle of his beautiful new hat. + +Mrs. Verreker-le-Mesurer fastened on him gladly. “Oh, Mr. Sheringham! +Just the very person I wanted to see. Mr. Sheringham, _do_ tell me. In +the strictest confidence of course. _Are_ you taking up this dreadful +business of _poor_ Joan Bendix’s death? Oh, don’t—_don’t_ tell me +you’re not.” Roger tried to tell her that he had hoped to do so, but +she gave him no chance. “Oh, aren’t you really? But it’s too dreadful. +You ought, you know, you really _ought_ to try and find out who sent +those chocolates to Sir Eustace Pennefather. I do think it’s naughty +of you not to.” + +Roger, the frozen grin of civilised intercourse on his face, again +tried to edge a word in; without result. + +“I was horrified when I heard of it. Simply horrified.” Mrs. +Verreker-le-Mesurer registered horror. “You see, Joan and I were such +_very_ close friends. Quite intimate. In fact we were at school +together.—Did you say anything, Mr. Sheringham?” + +Roger, who had allowed a faintly incredulous groan to escape him, +hastily shook his head. + +“And the awful thing, the truly _terrible_ thing is that Joan brought +the whole thing on herself. Isn’t that appalling, Mr. Sheringham?” + +Roger no longer wanted to escape. “What did you say?” he managed to +insert, again incredulously. + +“I suppose it’s what they call tragic irony,” Mrs. Verreker-le-Mesurer +chattered happily. “Certainly it was tragic enough and I’ve never +heard of anything so terribly ironical. You know about that bet she +made with her husband, of course, so that he had to get her a box of +chocolates and if he hadn’t Sir Eustace would never have given him the +poisoned ones but would have eaten them and died himself, and from all +I hear about him good riddance? Well, Mr. Sheringham—” Mrs. +Verreker-le-Mesurer lowered her voice to a conspirator-like whisper +and glanced about her in the approved manner. “I’ve never told any one +else this, but I’m telling you because I know you’ll appreciate it. +You _are_ interested in irony, aren’t you?” + +“I adore it,” Roger said mechanically. “Yes?” + +“Well—_Joan wasn’t playing fair!_” + +“How do you mean?” Roger asked, bewildered. Mrs. Verreker-le-Mesurer +was artlessly pleased with her sensation. “Why, she ought not to have +made that bet at all. It was a judgment on her. A terrible judgment of +course, but the appalling thing is that she did bring it on herself, +in a way. I’m so terribly distressed about it. Really, Mr. Sheringham, +I can hardly bear to turn the light out when I go to bed. I see Joan’s +face simply looking at me in the dark. It’s awful.” And for a fleeting +instant Mrs. Verreker-le-Mesurer’s face did for once really mirror the +emotion she professed: it looked quite haggard. + +“Why oughtn’t Mrs. Bendix to have made the bet?” Roger asked +patiently. + +“Oh! Why, because she’d seen the play before. We went together, the +very first week it was on. She _knew_ who the villain was all the +time.” + +“By Jove!” Roger was as impressed as Mrs. Verreker-le-Mesurer could +have wished. “The Avenging Chance again, eh? We’re none of us immune +from it.” + +“Poetic justice, you mean?” twittered Mrs. Verreker-le-Mesurer, to +whom these remarks had been a trifle obscure. “Yes it was, in a way, +wasn’t it? Though really, the punishment was out of all proportion to +the crime. Good gracious, if every woman who cheats over a bet is to +be killed for it, where would any of us be?” demanded Mrs. +Verreker-le-Mesurer with unconscious frankness. + +“Umph!” said Roger tactfully. + +Mrs. Verreker-le-Mesurer glanced rapidly up and down the pavement, and +moistened her lips. Roger had an odd impression that she was talking +not as usual just for the sake of talking, but in some recondite way +to escape from not talking. It was as if she was more distressed over +her friend’s death than she cared to show and found some relief in +babbling. It interested Roger also to notice that fond though she had +probably been of the dead woman, she now found herself driven as if +against her will to hint at blame even while praising her. It was as +though she was able thus to extract some subtle consolation for the +actual death. + +“But Joan Bendix of all people! That’s what I can’t get over, Mr. +Sheringham. I should never have thought Joan _would_ do a thing like +that. Joan was such a nice girl. A little close with money perhaps, +considering how well-off she was, but that isn’t anything. Of course I +know it was only fun, and pulling her husband’s leg, but I always used +to think Joan was such a _serious_ girl, if you know what I mean.” + +“Quite,” said Roger, who could understand plain English as well as +most people. + +“I mean, ordinary people don’t talk about honour, and truth, and +playing the game, and all those things one takes for granted. But Joan +did. She was always saying that this wasn’t honourable, or that +wouldn’t be playing the game. Well, she paid herself for not playing +the game, poor girl, didn’t she? Still, I suppose it all goes to prove +the truth of the old saying.” + +“What old saying?” asked Roger, almost hypnotised by this flow. + +“Why, that still waters run deep. Joan must have been deep after all, +I’m afraid.” Mrs. Verreker-le-Mesurer sighed. It was evidently a grave +social error to be deep. “Not that I want to say anything against her +now she’s dead, poor darling, but—well, what I mean is, I do think +psychology is so very interesting, don’t you, Mr. Sheringham?” + +“Quite fascinating,” Roger agreed gravely. “Well, I’m afraid I must +be—” + +“And what does that man, Sir Eustace Pennefather, think about it all?” +demanded Mrs. Verreker-le-Mesurer, with an expression of positive +vindictiveness. “After all, he’s as responsible for Joan’s death as +anybody.” + +“Oh, really.” Roger had not conceived any particular love for Sir +Eustace, but he felt constrained to defend him against this charge. +“Really, I don’t think you can say that, Mrs. Verreker-le-Mesurer.” + +“I can, and I do,” affirmed that lady. “Have you ever met him, Mr. +Sheringham? I hear he’s a horrible creature. Always running after some +woman or other, and when he’s tired of her just drops her—biff!—like +that. Is it true?” + +“I’m afraid I can’t tell you,” Roger said coldly. “I don’t know him at +all.” + +“Well, it’s common talk who he’s taken up with now,” retorted Mrs. +Verreker-le-Mesurer, perhaps a trifle more pink than the delicate aids +to nature on her cheeks would have warranted. “Half-a-dozen people +have told me. That Bryce woman, of all people. You know, the wife of +the oil man, or petrol, or whatever he made his money in.” + +“I’ve never heard of her,” Roger said, quite untruthfully. + +“It began about a week ago, they say,” rattled on this red-hot +gossiper. “To console himself for not getting Dora Wildman, I suppose. +Well, thank goodness Sir Charles had the sense to put his foot down +there. He did, didn’t he? I heard so the other day. Horrible man! +You’d have thought that such a dreadful thing as being practically +responsible for poor Joan’s death would have sobered him up a little, +wouldn’t you? But not a bit of it. As a matter of fact I believe he—” + +“Have you seen any shows lately?” Roger asked in a loud voice. + +Mrs. Verreker-le-Mesurer stared at him, for a moment nonplussed. +“Shows? Yes, I’ve seen almost everything, I think. Why, Mr. +Sheringham?” + +“I just wondered. The new revue at the Pavilion’s quite good, isn’t +it? Well, I’m afraid I must—” + +“Oh, don’t!” Mrs. Verreker-le-Mesurer shuddered delicately. “I was +there the night before Joan’s death.” (Can no subject take us away +from that for a moment? thought Roger). “Lady Cavelstoke had a box and +asked me to join her party.” + +“Yes?” Roger was wondering if it would be considered rude if he simply +handed the lady off, as at rugger, and dived for the nearest opening +in the traffic. “Quite a good show,” he said at random, edging +restlessly towards the curb. “I liked that sketch, _The Sempiternal +Triangle_, particularly.” + +“_The Sempiternal Triangle_?” repeated Mrs. Verreker-le-Mesurer +vaguely. + +“Yes, quite near the beginning.” + +“Oh! Then I may not have seen it. I got there a few minutes late, I’m +afraid. But then,” said Mrs. Verreker-le-Mesurer with pathos, “I +always do seem to be late for everything.” Roger noted mentally that +the few minutes was by way of a euphemism, as were most of Mrs. +Verreker-le-Mesurer’s statements regarding herself. _The Sempiternal +Triangle_ had certainly not been in the first half-hour of the +performance. + +“Ah!” Roger looked fixedly at an oncoming ’bus. “I’m afraid you’ll +have to excuse me, Mrs. Verreker-le-Mesurer. There’s a man on that +’bus who wants to speak to me. _Scotland Yard!_” he hissed, in an +impressive whisper. + +“Oh! Then—then does that mean you _are_ looking into poor Joan’s +death, Mr. Sheringham? _Do_ tell me! I won’t breathe it to a soul.” + +Roger looked round him with a mysterious air and frowned in the +approved manner. “Yes!” he nodded, his finger to his lips. “But not a +word, Mrs. Verreker-le-Mesurer.” + +“Of course not, I promise.” But Roger was disappointed to notice that +the lady did not seem quite so impressed as he had hoped. From her +expression he was almost ready to believe that she suspected how +unavailing his efforts had been, and was a little sorry that he had +taken on more than he could manage. + +But the ’bus had now reached them, and with a hasty “Good-bye” Roger +swung himself on to the step as it lumbered past. With awful stealth, +feeling those big brown eyes fixed in awe on his back, he climbed the +steps and took his seat, after an exaggerated scrutiny of the other +passengers, beside a perfectly inoffensive little man in a bowler-hat. +The little man, who happened to be a clerk in the employment of a +monumental mason at Tooting, looked at him resentfully. There were +plenty of quite empty seats all round them. + +The ’bus swung into Piccadilly, and Roger got off at the Rainbow Club. +He was lunching once again with a member. Roger had spent most of the +last ten days asking such members of the Rainbow Club as he knew, +however remotely, out to lunch in order to be asked to the club in +return. So far nothing helpful had arisen out of all this wasted +labour, and he anticipated nothing more to-day. + +Not that the member was at all reluctant to talk about the tragedy. He +had been at school with Bendix, it appeared, and was as ready to adopt +responsibility for him on the strength of this tie as Mrs. +Verreker-le-Mesurer had been for Mrs. Bendix. He plumed himself more +than a little therefore on having a more intimate connection with the +business than his fellow-members. Indeed one gathered that the +connection was even a trifle closer than that of Sir Eustace himself. +Roger’s host was that kind of man. + +As they were talking a man entered the dining-room and walked past +their table. Roger’s host became abruptly silent. The newcomer threw +him an abrupt nod and passed on. + +Roger’s host leant forward across the table and spoke in the hushed +tones of one to whom a revelation has been vouchsafed. “Talk of the +devil! That was Bendix himself. First time I’ve seen him in here since +it happened. Poor devil! It knocked him all to pieces, you know. I’ve +never seen a man so devoted to his wife. It was a byword. Did you see +how ghastly he looked?” All this in a tactful whisper that must have +been far more obvious to the subject of it had he happened to be +looking their way than the loudest bellowing. + +Roger nodded shortly. He had caught a glimpse of Bendix’s face and +been shocked by it even before he learned his identity. It was haggard +and pale and seamed with lines of bitterness, prematurely old. “Hang +it all,” he now thought, much moved, “somebody really must make an +effort. If the murderer isn’t found soon it will kill that chap too.” + +Aloud he said, somewhat at random and certainly without tact: “He +didn’t exactly fall on your neck. I thought you two were such bosom +friends?” + +His host looked uncomfortable. “Oh, well, you must make allowances +just at present,” he hedged. “Besides, we weren’t _bosom_ friends +exactly. As a matter of fact he was a year or two senior to me. Or it +might have been three even. We were in different houses too. And he +was on the modern side of course (can you imagine the son of his +father being anything else?), while I was a classical bird.” + +“I see,” said Roger quite gravely, realising that his host’s actual +contact with Bendix at school had been limited, at most, to that of +the latter’s toe with the former’s hinder parts. + +He left it at that. + +For the rest of lunch he was a little inattentive. Something was +nagging at his brain, and he could not identify it. Somewhere, +somehow, during the last hour, he felt, a vital piece of information +had been conveyed to him and he had never grasped its importance. + +It was not until he was putting on his coat half-an-hour later, and +for the moment had given up trying to worry his mind into giving up +its booty, that the realisation suddenly came to him unbidden, in +accordance with its usual and maddening way. He stopped dead, one arm +in his coat-sleeve, the other in act to fumble. + +“_By Jove!_” he said softly. + +“Anything the matter, old man?” asked his host, now mellowed by much +port. + +“No, thanks; nothing,” said Roger hastily, coming to earth again. + +Outside the club he hailed a taxi. + +For probably the first time in her life Mrs. Verreker-le-Mesurer had +given somebody a constructive idea. + +For the rest of the day Roger was very busy indeed. + + + +Chapter X + +The President called on Mr. Bradley to hold forth. + +Mr. Bradley stroked his moustache and mentally shot his cuffs. + +He had begun his career (when still Percy Robinson) as a +motor-salesman, and had discovered that there is more money in +manufacturing. Now he manufactured detective stories, and found his +former experience of the public’s gullibility not unhelpful. He was +still his own salesman, but occasionally had difficulty in remembering +that he was no longer mounted on a stand at Olympia. Everything and +everybody in this world, including Morton Harrogate Bradley, he +heartily despised, except only Percy Robinson. He sold, in tens of +thousands. + +“This is rather unfortunate for me,” he began, in the correct +gentlemanly drawl, as if addressing an audience of morons. “I had +rather been under the impression that I should be expected to produce +as a murderer the most unlikely person, in the usual tradition; and +Mrs. Fielder-Flemming has cut the ground away from under my feet. I +don’t see how I can possibly find you a more unlikely murderer than +Sir Charles here. All of us who have the misfortune to speak after +Mrs. Fielder-Flemming will have to be content to pile up so many +anti-climaxes. + +“Not that I haven’t done my best. I studied the case according to my +own lights, and it led me to a conclusion which certainly surprised +myself quite a lot. But as I said, after the last speaker it will +probably seem to everybody else a dismal anti-climax. Let me see now, +where did I begin? Oh, yes; with the poison. + +“Now the use of nitrobenzene as the poisoning agent interested me +quite a lot. I find it extremely significant. Nitrobenzene is the last +thing one would expect inside those chocolates. I’ve made something of +a study of poisons, in connection with my work, and I’ve never heard +of nitrobenzene being employed in a criminal case before. There are +cases on record of its use in suicide, and in accidental poisoning, +but not more than three or four all told. + +“I’m surprised that this point doesn’t seem to have struck either of +my predecessors. The really interesting thing is that so few people +know nitrobenzene as a poison at all. Even the experts don’t. I was +speaking to a man who got a Science scholarship at Cambridge and +specialised in chemistry, and he had actually never heard of it as a +poison. As a matter of fact I found I knew a good deal more about it +than he did. A commercial chemist would certainly never think of it as +among the ordinary poisons. It isn’t even listed as such, and the list +is comprehensive enough. Well, all this seems most significant to me. + +“Then there are other points about it. It’s used most extensively in +commerce. In fact it’s the kind of thing that might be used in almost +any manufacture. It’s a solvent, of quite a universal kind. We’ve been +told that its chief use is in making aniline dyes. That may be the +most important one, but it certainly isn’t the most extensive. It’s +used a lot in confectionery, as we were also told, and in perfumery as +well. But really I can’t attempt to give you a list of its uses. They +range from chocolates to motor-car tyres. The important thing is that +it’s perfectly easy to get hold of. + +“For that matter it’s perfectly easy to make too. Any schoolboy knows +how to treat benzol with nitric acid to get nitrobenzene. I’ve done it +myself a hundred times. The veriest smattering of chemical knowledge +is all that’s wanted, and nothing in the way of expensive apparatus. +Or, so far as that goes, it could be done equally by somebody without +any chemical knowledge at all; that is, the actual process of making +it. Oh, and it could be made quite secretly by the way. Nobody need +even guess. But I think just a little chemical knowledge at any rate +would be wanted, ever to set one about making it at all. At least, for +this particular purpose. + +“Well, so far as the case as a whole was concerned, this use of +nitrobenzene seemed to me not only the sole original feature but by +far the most important piece of evidence. Not in the way that prussic +acid is valuable evidence for the reason that prussic acid is so hard +to obtain, because once its use was determined anybody could get hold +of or make nitrobenzene, and that of course is a tremendous point in +favour of it from the would-be murderer’s point of view. No, what I +mean is that the sort of person who would ever think of employing the +stuff at all ought to be definable within surprisingly narrow limits.” + +Mr. Bradley stopped a moment to light a cigarette, and if he was +secretly pleased that his fellow-members showed the extent to which he +had engaged their interest by not uttering a word until he was ready +to go on, he did not divulge the fact. Surveying them for a moment as +if inspecting a class composed entirely of half-wits, he took up his +argument again. + +“First of all, then, we can credit this user of nitrobenzene with a +minimum at any rate of chemical knowledge. Or perhaps I ought to +qualify that. Either chemical knowledge, or specialised knowledge. A +chemist’s assistant, for instance, who was interested enough in his +job to read it up after shop-hours would fit the bill for the first +case, and a woman employed in a factory where nitrobenzene was used +and where the employees had been warned against its poisonous +properties would do for an example of the second. There are two kinds +of person, it seems to me, who might think of using the stuff as a +poison at all, and the first kind is subdivided into the two classes +I’ve mentioned. + +“But it’s the second kind that I think we are much more probably +dealing with in this crime. This is a more intelligent sort of person +altogether. + +“In this category the chemist’s assistant becomes an amateur dabbler +in chemistry, the girl in the factory a woman-doctor, let us say, with +an interest in toxicology, or, to get away from the specialist, a +highly intelligent lady with a strong interest in criminology +particularly on its toxicological side—just, in fact, like Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming here.” Mrs. Fielder-Flemming gasped indignantly and +Sir Charles, though momentarily startled at the unexpected quarter +from which was dealt this tit for the tats he had lately suffered at +the gasping lady’s hands, emitted the next instant a sound which from +anybody else could only have been described as a guffaw. “All of them, +you understand,” continued Mr. Bradley with complete serenity, “the +kind of people who might be expected not only to keep a Taylor’s +Medical Jurisprudence on their shelves but to consult it frequently. + +“I agree with you, you see, Mrs. Fielder-Flemming, that the method of +this crime does show traces of criminological knowledge. You cited one +case which was certainly a remarkable parallel, Sir Charles cited +another, and I am going to cite yet a third. It is a regular jumble of +old cases, and I am quite sure, as you are, that this is something +more than a mere coincidence. I’d arrived at this conclusion myself, +of criminological knowledge, before you mentioned it at all, and I was +helped to it as well by the strong feeling that whoever sent those +chocolates to Sir Eustace possesses a Taylor. That is a pure guess, I +admit, but in my copy of Taylor the article on nitrobenzene occurs on +the very next page after cyanide of potassium; and there seems to me +food for thought there.” The speaker paused a moment. + +Mr. Chitterwick nodded. “I think I see. You mean, anybody deliberately +searching the pages for a poison that would fulfil certain +requirements. . . ?” + +“Exactly,” Mr. Bradley concurred. + +“You lay great stress on this matter of the poison,” Sir Charles +remarked, almost genial. “Do you tell us that you think you’ve +identified the murderer by deductions drawn from this one point +alone?” + +“No, Sir Charles, I don’t think I can go quite so far as that. I lay +so much stress on it because, as I said, it’s the only really original +feature of the crime. By itself it won’t solve the problem, but +considered in conjunction with other features I do think it should go +a long way towards doing so—or at any rate provide such a check on a +person suspected for other reasons as to turn suspicion into +certainty. + +“Let’s look at it for instance in the light of the crime as a whole. I +think the first thing one realises is that this crime is the work not +only of an intelligent person but of a well-educated one too. Well, +you see, that rules out at once the first division of people who might +be expected to think of using nitrobenzene as the poisoning agent. +Gone are our chemist’s assistant and our factory-girl. We can +concentrate on our intelligent, well-educated person, with an interest +in criminology, some knowledge of toxicology, and, if I’m not very +much mistaken (and I very seldom am), a copy of Taylor or some similar +book on his or her shelves. + +“That, my dear Watsons, is what the criminal’s singular choice of +nitrobenzene has to tell me.” And Mr. Bradley stroked the growth on +his upper lip with an offensive complacency that was not wholly +assumed. Mr. Bradley took some pains to impress on the world how +pleased he was with himself, but the pose was not without its +foundation in fact. + +“Most ingenious, certainly,” murmured Mr. Chitterwick, duly impressed. + +“So now let’s get on with it,” observed Miss Dammers, not at all +impressed. “What’s your theory? That is, if you’ve really got one.” + +“Oh, I’ve got one all right.” Mr. Bradley smiled in a superior manner. +This was the first time he had succeeded in provoking Miss Dammers to +snap at him, and he was rather pleased. “But let’s take things in +their proper order. I want to show you how inevitably I was led to my +conclusion, and I can only do that by tracing out my own footsteps, so +to speak. Having made my deductions from the poison itself, then, I +set about examining the other clues to see if they would lead me to a +result that I could check by the other. First of all I concentrated on +the notepaper of the forged letter, the only really valuable clue +apart from the poison. + +“Now this piece of notepaper puzzled me. For some reason, which I +couldn’t identify, the name of Mason’s seemed to strike a reminiscent +note to me. I felt sure that I’d heard of Mason’s in some other +connection than just through their excellent chocolates. At last I +remembered. + +“I’m afraid I must touch here on the personal, and I apologise in +advance, Sir Charles, for the lapse of taste. My sister, before she +married, was a shorthand-typist.” Mr. Bradley’s extreme languor all of +a sudden indicated that he felt this connection needed some defence +and was determined not to give it. The next instant he gave it. “That +is to say, her education put her on rather a different level from the +usual shorthand-typist, and she was, in point of fact, a trained +secretary. + +“She had joined an establishment run by a lady who supplied +secretaries to business firms to take the places temporarily of girls +in responsible positions who were ill, or away on holiday, or anything +like that. Including my sister there were only two or three girls at +the place, and the posts they went to only lasted as a rule for two or +three weeks. Each girl would therefore have a good many such posts in +the course of a year. However, I did remember distinctly that one of +the firms to which my sister went while she was there was Mason’s, as +temporary secretary to one of the directors. + +“This seemed to me possibly useful. It wouldn’t be likely that she +could throw a sidelight on the murder, but at any rate she might be +able to give me introductions to one or two members of Mason’s staff +if necessary. So I went down to see her about it. + +“She remembered quite well. It was between three and four years ago, +and she liked being there so much that she had thought quite seriously +of putting in for a permanent secretaryship with the firm, should one +be available. Naturally she hadn’t got to know any of the staff really +well, but quite enough to give me the introductions if I wanted them. + +“‘By the way,’ I happened to say to her casually, ‘I saw the letter +that was sent to Sir Eustace with the chocolates, and not only Mason’s +name but the actual paper itself struck me as familiar. I suppose you +wrote to me on it while you were there?’ + +“‘I don’t know that I ever did that,’ she said, ‘but of course the +paper was familiar to you. You’ve played paper-games here often +enough, haven’t you? You know we always use it. It’s such a convenient +size.’ Paper-games, I should explain, have always been a favourite +thing in our family. + +“It’s funny how a connection will stick in the mind, but not the +actual circumstances of it. Of course I remembered then at once. There +was quite a pile of the paper, in one of the drawers of my sister’s +writing-table. I’d often torn it into strips for our paper-games +myself. + +“‘But how did you get hold of it?’ I asked her. + +“It seemed to me that she answered rather evasively, just saying that +she’d got it from the office when she was working there. I pressed +her, and at last she told me that one evening she was just on the +point of leaving the office when she remembered that some friends were +coming in after dinner at home. We should almost certainly play a +paper-game of some kind, and we had run out of suitable paper. She +hurried up the stairs again back to the office, dumped her +attaché-case on the table and opened it, hastily snatched up some +paper from the pile beside her typewriter, and threw it into the case. +In her hurry she didn’t realise how much she’d taken, and that supply, +which was supposed to tide us over one evening, had actually lasted +for nearly four years. She must have taken something like half a ream. + +“Well, I went away from my sister’s house rather startled. Before I +left I examined the remaining sheets, and so far as I could see they +were exactly like the one on which the letter was typed. Even the +edges were a little discoloured too. I was more than startled: I was +alarmed. Because I ought to tell you that it had already occurred to +me that of all the ways of going about the search for the person who +had sent that letter to Sir Eustace, the one that seemed most hopeful +was to look for its writer among the actual employees, or +ex-employees, of the firm itself. + +“As a matter of fact this discovery of mine had a more disconcerting +side still. On thinking over the case the idea had struck me that in +the two matters of the notepaper and the method itself of the crime it +was quite possible that the police, and every one else, had been +putting the cart before the horse. It had been taken for granted +apparently that the murderer had first of all decided on the method, +and then set about getting hold of the notepaper to carry it out. + +“But isn’t it far more feasible that the notepaper should have been +already there, in the criminal’s ownership, and that it was the chance +possession of it which actually suggested the method of the crime? In +that case, of course, the likelihood of the notepaper being traced to +the murderer would be very small indeed, whereas in the other case +there is always that possibility. Had that occurred to you for +instance, Mr. President?” + +“I must admit that it hadn’t,” Roger confessed. “And yet, like +Holmes’s tricks, the possibility’s evident enough now it’s brought +forward. I must say, it strikes me as being a very sound point, +Bradley.” + +“Psychologically, of course,” agreed Miss Dammers, “it’s perfect.” + +“Thank you,” murmured Mr. Bradley. “Then you’ll be able to understand +just how disconcerting that discovery of mine was. Because if there +was anything in that point at all, anybody who had in his or her +possession some old notepaper of Mason’s, with slightly discoloured +edges, immediately became suspect.” + +“Hr-r-r-r-mph!” Sir Charles cleared his throat forcibly by way of +comment. The implication was obvious. Gentlemen don’t suspect their +own sisters. + +“Dear, dear,” clucked Mr. Chitterwick, more humanly. + +Mr. Bradley went on to pile up the agony. “And there was another +thing, which I could not overlook. My sister before she went in for +her training as a secretary, had played with the idea of becoming a +hospital nurse. She went through a short course in nursing as a young +girl, and was always thoroughly interested in it. She would read not +only books on nursing itself, but medical books too. Several times,” +said Mr. Bradley solemnly, “I’ve seen her studying my own copy of +Taylor, apparently quite absorbed in it.” + +He paused again, but this time nobody commented. The general feeling +was that this was getting really too much of a good thing. + +“Well, I went home and thought it over. Of course it seemed absurd to +put my own sister on the list of suspects, and at the very head of it +too. One doesn’t connect one’s own circle with the idea of murder. The +two things don’t mix at all. Yet I couldn’t fail to realise that if it +had been anybody else in question but my sister I should be feeling +quite jubilant over the prospect of solving the case. But as things +were, what was I to do? + +“In the end,” said Mr. Bradley smugly, “I did what I thought my duty +and faced the situation. I went back to my sister’s house the next day +and asked her squarely whether she had ever had any kind of relations +with Sir Eustace Pennefather, and if so what. She looked at me blankly +and said that up till the time of the murder she had never heard of +the man. I believed her. I asked her if she could remember what she +had been doing on the evening before the murder. She looked at me +still more blankly and said that she had been in Manchester with her +husband at that time, they had stayed at the Peacock Hotel, and in the +evening had been to a cinema where they had seen a film called, so far +as she could recall, _Fires of Fate_. Again I believed her. + +“As a matter of routine precaution however I checked her statements +later and found them perfectly correct; for the time of the posting of +the parcel she had an unshakable alibi. I felt more relieved than I +can say.” Mr. Bradley spoke in a low voice, with pathos and restraint, +but Roger caught his eye as he looked up and there was a mocking glint +in it which made the President feel vaguely uneasy. The trouble with +Mr. Bradley was that one never quite knew with him. + +“Having drawn a blank with my first ticket, then, I tabulated the +conclusions I’d formed to date and set about considering the other +points in the case. + +“It then struck me that the Chief Inspector from Scotland Yard had +been somewhat reticent about the evidence that night he addressed us. +So I rang him up and asked him a few questions that had occurred to +me. From him I learnt that the typewriter was a Hamilton No. 4, that +is, the ordinary Hamilton model; that the hand-printed address on the +cover was written with a fountain-pen, almost certainly an Onyx fitted +with a medium-broad nib; that the ink was Harfield’s Fountain-Pen Ink; +and that there was nothing to be learned from the wrapping-paper +(ordinary brown) or the string. That there were no finger-prints +anywhere we had been told. + +“Well, I suppose I ought not to admit it, considering how I earn my +living, but upon my soul I haven’t the faintest idea how a +professional detective goes about a job of work,” said Mr. Bradley +with candour. “It’s easy enough in a book, of course, because there +are a certain number of things which the author wants found out and +these he lets his detective discover, and no others. In real life, no +doubt, it doesn’t pan out quite like that. + +“Anyhow, what I did was to copy my own detectives’ methods and set +about the business in as systematic a way as I could. That is to say, +I made a careful list of all the available evidence, both as to fact +and to character (and it was surprising how much there was when one +came to tabulate it), and drew as many deductions as I could from each +piece, at the same time trying to keep a perfectly open mind as to the +identity of the person who was to hatch out from my nest of completed +conclusions. + +“In other words,” said Mr. Bradley, not without severity, “I did _not_ +decide that Lady A or Sir Somebody B had such a good motive for the +crime that she or he must undoubtedly have done it, and then twist my +evidence to fit this convenient theory.” + +“Hear, hear!” Roger felt constrained to approve. + +“Hear, hear!” echoed in turn both Alicia Dammers and Mr. Ambrose +Chitterwick. + +Sir Charles and Mrs. Fielder-Flemming glanced at each other and then +hastily away again, for all the world like two children in a +Sunday-school who have been caught doing quite the wrong thing +together. + +“Dear me,” murmured Mr. Bradley, “this is all very exhausting. May I +have five minutes’ rest, Mr. President, and half a cigarette?” + +The President kindly gave Mr. Bradley an interval in which to restore +himself. + + + +Chapter XI + +“I have always thought,” resumed Mr. Bradley, restored, “I have always +thought that murders may be divided into two classes, closed or open. +By a closed murder I mean one committed in a certain closed circle of +persons, such as a house-party, in which it is known that the murderer +is limited to membership of that actual group. This is by far the +commoner form in fiction. An open murder I call one in which the +criminal is not limited to any particular group but might be almost +any one in the whole world. This, of course, is almost invariably what +happens in real life. + +“The case with which we’re dealing has this peculiarity, that one +can’t place it quite definitely in either category. The police say +that it’s an open murder; both our previous speakers here seem to +regard it as a closed one. + +“It’s a question of the motive. If one agrees with the police that it +is the work of some fanatic or criminal lunatic, then it certainly is +an open murder; anybody without an alibi in London that night might +have posted the parcel. If one’s of the opinion that the motive was a +personal one, connected with Sir Eustace himself, then the murderer is +confined to the closed circle of people who have had relations of one +sort or another with Sir Eustace. + +“And talking of posting that parcel, I must just make a diversion to +tell you something really interesting. For all I know to the contrary, +I might have seen the murderer with my own eyes, in the very act of +posting it! As it happened, I was passing through Southampton Street +that evening at just about a quarter to nine. Little did I guess, as +Mr. Edgar Wallace would say, that the first act of this tragic drama +was possibly being unfolded at that very minute under my unsuspecting +nose. Not even a premonition of disaster caused me to falter in my +stride. Providence was evidently being somewhat close with +premonitions that night. But if only my sluggish instincts had warned +me, how much trouble I might have saved us all. Alas,” said Mr. +Bradley sadly, “such is life. + +“However, that’s neither here nor there. We were discussing closed and +open murders. + +“I was determined to form no definite opinions either way, so to be on +the safe side I treated this as an open murder. I then had the +position that every one in the whole wide world was under suspicion. +To narrow down the field a little, I set to work to build up the one +individual who really did it, out of the very meagre indications he or +she had given us. + +“I had the conclusions drawn already from the choice of nitrobenzene, +which I’ve explained to you. But as a corollary to the good education, +I added the very significant postscript: but not public-school or +university. Don’t you agree, Sir Charles? It simply wouldn’t be done.” + +“Public-school men have been known to commit murders before now,” +pointed out Sir Charles, somewhat at sea. + +“Oh, granted. But not in such an underhand way as this. The +public-school code does stand for something, surely, even in murder. +So, I am sure, any public-school man would tell me. This isn’t a +gentlemanly murder at all. A public-school man, if he could ever bring +himself to anything so unconventional as murder, would use an axe or a +revolver or something which would bring him and his victim face to +face. He would never murder a man behind his back, so to speak. I’m +quite sure of that. + +“Then another obvious conclusion is that he’s exceptionally neat with +his fingers. To unwrap those chocolates, drain them, re-fill them, +plug up the holes with melted chocolate, and wrap them up in their +silver paper again to look as if they’ve never been tampered with—I +can tell you, that’s no easy job. And all in gloves too, remember. + +“I thought at first that the beautiful way it was done pointed +strongly to a woman. However, I carried out an experiment and got a +dozen or so of my friends to try their hands at it, men and women, and +out of the whole lot I was the only one (I say it without any +particular pride) who made a really good job of it. So it wasn’t +necessarily a woman. But manual dexterity’s a good point to establish. + +“Then there was the matter of the exact six-minim dose in each +chocolate. That’s very illuminating, I think. It argues a methodical +turn of mind amounting to a real passion for symmetry. There are such +people. They can’t bear that the pictures on a wall don’t balance each +other exactly. I know, because I’m rather that way myself. Symmetry is +synonymous with order, to my mind. I can quite see how the murderer +came to fill the chocolates in that way. I should probably have done +so myself. Unconsciously. + +“Then I think we can credit him or her with a creative mind. A crime +like this isn’t done on the spur of the moment. It’s deliberately +created, bit by bit, scene by scene, built up exactly as a play is +built up. Don’t you agree, Mrs. Fielder-Flemming?” + +“It wouldn’t have occurred to me, but it may be true.” + +“Oh, yes; a lot of thought must have gone to the carrying of it +through. I don’t think we need worry about the plagiarism from other +crimes. The greatest creative minds aren’t above adapting the ideas of +other people to their own uses. I do myself. So do you, I expect, +Sheringham; so do you, no doubt, Miss Dammers; so do you at times, I +should imagine, Mrs. Fielder-Flemming. Be honest now, all of you.” + +A subdued murmur of honesty acknowledged occasional lapses in this +direction. + +“Of course. Look how Sullivan used to adapt old church music, and turn +a Gregorian chant into _A Pair of Sparkling Eyes_, or something +equally unchantlike. It’s permissible. Well, there’s all that to help +with the portrait of our unknown and, lastly, there must be present in +his or her mental make-up the particular cold, relentless inhumanity +of the poisoner. That’s all, I think. But it’s something, isn’t it? +One ought to be able to go a fair way towards recognising our criminal +if one ever ran across a person with these varied characteristics. + +“Oh, and there’s one other point I mustn’t forget. The parallel crime. +I’m surprised nobody’s mentioned this. To my mind it’s a closer +parallel than any we’ve had yet. It isn’t a well-known case, but +you’ve all probably heard of it. The murder of Dr. Wilson, at +Philadelphia, just twenty years ago. + +“I’ll run through it briefly. This man Wilson received one morning +what purported to be a sample bottle of ale, sent to him by a +well-known brewery. There was a letter with it, written apparently on +their official notepaper, and the address-label had the firm’s name +printed on it. Wilson drank the beer at lunch, and died immediately. +The stuff was saturated with cyanide of potassium. + +“It was soon established that the beer hadn’t come from the brewery at +all, which had sent out no samples. It had been delivered through the +local express company, but all they could say was that it had been +sent to them for delivery by a man. The printed label and the +letter-paper had been forged, printed specially for the occasion. + +“The mystery was never solved. The printing-press used to print the +letter-heading and label couldn’t be traced, though the police visited +every printing-works in the whole of America. The very motive for the +murder was never even satisfactorily ascertained. A typical open +murder. The bottle arrived out of the blue, and the murderer remained +in it. + +“You see the close resemblance to this case, particularly in the +supposed sample. As Mrs. Fielder-Flemming has pointed out, it’s almost +too good to be a coincidence. Our murderer _must_ have had that case +in mind, with its (for the murderer) most successful outcome. As a +matter of fact there was a possible motive. Wilson was a notorious +abortionist, and somebody may have wanted to stop his activities. +Conscience, I suppose. There are people who have such a thing. That’s +another parallel with this affair, you see. Sir Eustace is a notorious +evil-liver. And that goes to support the police view, of an anonymous +fanatic. There’s a good deal to be said for that view, I think. + +“But I must get on with my own exposition. + +“Well, having reached this stage I tabulated my conclusions and drew +up a list of conditions which this criminal of ours must fulfil. Now I +should like to point out that these conditions of mine were so many +and so varied that if anybody could be found to fit them the chances, +Sir Charles, would not be a mere million to one but several million to +one that he or she must be the guilty person. This isn’t just +haphazard statement, it’s cold mathematical fact. + +“I have twelve conditions, and the mathematical odds against their all +being fulfilled in one person are actually (if my arithmetic stands +the test) four hundred and seventy-nine million, one thousand and six +hundred to one. And that, mark you, is if all the chances were even +ones. But they’re not. That he should have some knowledge of +criminology is at least a ten to one chance. That he should be able to +get hold of Mason’s notepaper must be more than a hundred to one +against. + +“Well, taking it all in all,” opined Mr. Bradley, “I should think the +real odds must be somewhere about four billion, seven hundred and +ninety thousand million, five hundred and sixteen thousand, four +hundred and fifty-eight to one. In other words, it’s a snip. Does +every one agree?” + +Every one was far too stunned to disagree. + +“Right; then we’re all of one mind,” said Mr. Bradley cheerfully. “So +I’ll read you my list.” + +He shuffled the pages of a little pocket-book and began to read:— + + Conditions to be Filled by the Criminal. + + 1. Must have at least an elementary amount of chemical knowledge. + 2. Must have at least an elementary knowledge of criminology. + 3. Must have had a reasonably good education, but not public school + or University. + 4. Must have possession of, or access to, Mason’s notepaper. + 5. Must have possession of, or access to, a Hamilton No. 4 + typewriter. + 6. Must have been in the neighbourhood of Southampton Street, + Strand, during the critical hour, 8.30–9.30, on the evening + before the murder. + 7. Must be in possession of, or had access to, an Onyx fountain-pen, + fitted with a medium-broad nib. + 8. Must be in possession of, or had access to, Harfield’s + Fountain-Pen Ink. + 9. Must have something of a creative mind, but not above adapting + the creations of others. + 10. Must be more than ordinarily neat with the fingers. + 11. Must be a person of methodical habits, probably with a strong + feeling for symmetry. + 12. Must have the cold inhumanity of the poisoner. + +“By the way,” said Mr. Bradley, stowing away his pocket-book again, +“you see that I’ve agreed with you too, Sir Charles, that the murderer +would never have entrusted the posting of the parcel to another +person. Oh, and one other point. For purposes of reference. If anybody +wants to see an Onyx pen, and fitted with a medium-broad nib as well, +take a look at mine. And curiously enough it’s filled with Harfield’s +Fountain-Pen Ink too.” The pen circulated slowly round the table while +Mr. Bradley, leaning back in his chair, surveyed its progress with a +fatherly smile. + +“And that,” said Mr. Bradley, when the pen had been restored to him, +“is that.” + +Roger thought he saw the explanation of the glint that had appeared +from time to time in Mr. Bradley’s eye. “You mean, the problem’s still +to solve. The four billion chances were too much for you. You couldn’t +find any one to fit your own conditions?” + +“Well,” said Mr. Bradley, apparently most reluctant all of a sudden, +“if you must know, I have found some one who does.” + +“You have? Good man! Who?” + +“Hang it all, you know,” said the coy Mr. Bradley, “I hardly like to +tell you. It’s really too ridiculous.” + +A chorus of expostulation, cajolement, and encouragement was +immediately directed at him. Never had Mr. Bradley found himself so +popular. + +“You’ll laugh at me if I do tell you.” + +It appeared that everybody would rather suffer the tortures of the +Inquisition than laugh at Mr. Bradley. Never can five people less +disposed to mirth at Mr. Bradley’s expense have been gathered +together. + +Mr. Bradley seemed to take heart. “Well, it’s very awkward. Upon my +soul I don’t know what to do about it. If I can show you that the +person I have in mind not only fulfils each of my conditions exactly, +but also had a certain interest (remote I admit, but capable of proof) +in sending those chocolates to Sir Eustace, have I your assurance, Mr. +President, that the meeting will give me its serious advice as to what +my duty is in the matter?” + +“Good gracious, yes,” at once agreed Roger, much excited. Roger had +thought that he might be on the verge of solving the problem himself, +but he was quite sure that he and Bradley had not hit upon the same +solution. And if the fellow really had got some one . . . “Good Lord, +yes!” said Roger. + +Mr. Bradley looked round the table in a worried way. “Well, can’t you +see who I mean? Dear me, I thought I’d told you in almost every other +sentence.” + +Nobody had seen whom he meant. + +“The only possible person, so far as I can see, who could ever be +expected to fulfil all those twelve conditions?” said this harassed +version of Mr. Bradley, dishevelling his carefully flattened hair. +“Why, dash it, not my sister at all, but—but—but _me_, of course!” + +There was a stupefied silence. + +“D-did you say, _you_?” finally ventured Mr. Chitterwick. + +Mr. Bradley turned gloomy eyes on him. “Obviously, I’m afraid. I have +more than an elementary knowledge of chemistry. I can make +nitrobenzene and often have. I’m a criminologist. I’ve had a +reasonably good education, but not public-school or University. I had +access to Mason’s notepaper. I possess a Hamilton No. 4 typewriter. I +was in Southampton Street itself during the critical hour. I possess +an Onyx pen, fitted with a medium-broad nib and filled with Harfield’s +ink. I have something of a creative mind, but I’m not above adapting +the ideas of other people. I’m far more than ordinarily neat with my +fingers. I’m a person of methodical habits, with a strong feeling for +symmetry. And apparently I have the cold inhumanity of the poisoner. + +“Yes,” sighed Mr. Bradley, “there’s simply no getting away from it. +_I_ sent those chocolates to Sir Eustace. + +“I must have done. I’ve proved it conclusively. And the extraordinary +thing is that I don’t remember a single jot about it. I suppose I did +it when I was thinking about something else. I’ve noticed I’m getting +a little absent-minded at times.” + +Roger was struggling with an inordinate wish to laugh. However he +managed to ask gravely enough: “And what do you imagine was your +motive, Bradley?” + +Mr. Bradley brightened a little. “Yes, that was a difficulty. For +quite a time I couldn’t establish my motive at all. I couldn’t even +connect myself with Sir Eustace Pennefather. I’d heard of him of +course, as anybody who’s ever been to the Rainbow must. And I’d +gathered he was somewhat savoury. But I’d no grudge against the man. +He could be as savoury as he liked so far as I cared. I don’t think +I’d ever even seen him. Yes, the motive was a real stumbling-block, +because of course there must be one. What should I have tried to kill +him for otherwise?” + +“And you’ve found it?” + +“I think I’ve managed to ferret out what must be the real cause,” said +Mr. Bradley, not without pride. “After puzzling for a long time I +remembered that I had heard myself once say to a friend, in a +discussion on detective-work, that the ambition of my life was to +commit a murder, because I was perfectly certain that I could do so +without ever being found out. And the excitement, I pointed out, must +be stupendous; no gambling game ever invented can come anywhere near +it. A murderer is really making a magnificent bet with the police, I +demonstrated, with the lives of himself and his victim as the stakes; +if he gets away with it, he wins both; if he’s caught, he loses both. +For a man like myself, who has the misfortune to be extremely bored by +the usual type of popular recreation, murder should be the hobby _par +excellence_.” + +“Ah!” Roger nodded portentously. + +“This conversation, when I recalled it,” pursued Mr. Bradley very +seriously, “seemed to me significant in the extreme. I at once went to +see my friend and asked him if he remembered it and was prepared to +swear that it took place at all. He was. In fact he was able to add +further details, more damning still. I was so impressed that I took a +statement from him. + +“Amplifying my notion (according to his statement), I had gone on to +consider how it could best be carried out. The obvious thing, I had +decided, was to select some figure of whom the world would be well +rid, not necessarily a politician (I was at some pains to avoid the +obvious, apparently), and simply murder him at a distance. To play the +game, one should leave a clue or two, more or less obscure. Apparently +I left rather more than I intended. + +“My friend concluded by saying that I went away from him that evening +expressing the firmest intention of carrying out my first murder at +the earliest opportunity. Not only would the practice make such an +admirable hobby, I told him, but the experience would be invaluable to +a writer of detective-stories such as myself. + +“That, I think,” said Mr. Bradley with dignity, “establishes my motive +only too certainly.” + +“Murder for experiment,” remarked Roger. “A new category. Most +interesting.” + +“Murder for jaded pleasure-seekers,” Mr. Bradley corrected him. “There +is a precedent, you know. Loeb and Leopold. Well, there you have it. +Have I proved my case, Mr. President?” + +“Completely, so far as I can see. I can’t detect a flaw in your +argument.” + +“I’ve been at some pains to make it a good deal more water-tight than +I ever bother to do in my books. You could argue a very nasty case +against me in court on those lines, couldn’t you, Sir Charles?” + +“Well, I should want to go into it a little more closely, but at first +sight, Bradley, I admit that so far as circumstantial evidence is +worth (and in my opinion, as you know, it is worth everything), I +can’t see room for very much doubt that you sent those chocolates to +Sir Eustace.” + +“And if I said here and now that in sober truth I _did_ send them?” +persisted Mr. Bradley. + +“I couldn’t disbelieve you.” + +“And yet I didn’t. But given time, I’m quite prepared to prove to you +just as convincingly that the person who really sent them was the +Archbishop of Canterbury, or Sybil Thorndike, or Mrs. Robinson-Smythe +of The Laurels, Acacia Road, Upper Tooting, or the President of the +United States, or anybody else in this world you like to name. + +“So much for proof. I built that whole case up against myself out of +the one coincidence of my sister having a few sheets of Mason’s +notepaper. I told you nothing but the truth. But I didn’t tell you the +whole truth. Artistic proof is, like artistic anything else, simply a +matter of selection. If you know what to put in and what to leave out +you can prove anything you like, quite conclusively. I do it in every +book I write, and no reviewer has ever hauled me over the coals for +slipshod argument yet. But then,” said Mr. Bradley modestly, “I don’t +suppose any reviewer has ever read one of my books.” + +“Well, it was a very ingenious piece of work,” Miss Dammers summed up. +“And most instructive.” + +“Thank you,” murmured Mr. Bradley, with gratitude. + +“And what it all amounts to,” Mrs. Fielder-Flemming delivered a +somewhat tart verdict, “is that you haven’t the faintest idea who is +the real criminal.” + +“Oh, I know _that_, of course,” said Mr. Bradley languidly. “But I +can’t prove it. So it’s not much good telling you.” + +Everybody sat up. + +“You’ve found some one else, in spite of the odds, to fit those +conditions of yours?” demanded Sir Charles. + +“I suppose she must,” admitted Mr. Bradley, “as she did it. But +unfortunately I haven’t been able to check them all.” + +“She!” Mr. Chitterwick caught him up. + +“Oh, yes, it was a woman. That was the most obvious thing about the +whole case—and incidentally one of the things I was careful to leave +out just now. Really, I wonder that’s never been mentioned before. +Surely if there’s anything evident about this affair at all it is that +it’s a woman’s crime. It would never occur to a man to send poisoned +chocolates to another man. He’d send a poisoned sample razor-blade, or +whisky, or beer like the unfortunate Dr. Wilson’s friend. Quite +obviously it’s a woman’s crime.” + +“I wonder,” Roger said softly. + +Mr. Bradley threw him a sharp glance. “You don’t agree, Sheringham?” + +“I only wondered,” said Roger. “But it’s a very defendable point.” + +“Impregnable, I should have said,” drawled Mr. Bradley. + +“Well,” said Miss Dammers, impatient of these minor matters, “aren’t +you going to tell us who did it, Mr. Bradley?” + +Mr. Bradley looked at her quizzically. “But I said that it wasn’t any +good, as I can’t prove it. Besides, there’s a small matter of the +lady’s honour involved.” + +“Are you resuscitating the law of slander, to get you out of a +difficulty?” + +“Oh, dear me, no. I wouldn’t in the least mind giving her away as a +murderess. It’s a much more important thing than that. She happens to +have been Sir Eustace’s mistress at one time, you see, and there’s a +code governing that sort of thing.” + +“Ah!” said Mr. Chitterwick. + +Mr. Bradley turned to him politely. “You were going to say something?” + +“No, no. I was just wondering whether you’d been thinking on the same +lines as I have. That’s all.” + +“You mean the discarded mistress theory?” + +“Well,” said Mr. Chitterwick uncomfortably, “yes.” + +“Of course. You’d hit on that line of research, too?” Mr. Bradley’s +tone was that of a benevolent headmaster patting a promising pupil on +the head. “It’s the right one, obviously. Viewing the crime as a +whole, and in the light of Sir Eustace’s character, a discarded +mistress, radiating jealousy, stands out like a beacon in the middle +of it. That’s one of the things I conveniently omitted too from my +list of conditions—No. 13, the criminal must be a woman. And touching +on artistic proof again, both Sir Charles and Mrs. Fielder-Flemming +practised it, didn’t they? Both of them omitted to establish any +connection of nitrobenzene with their respective criminals, though +such a connection is vital to both their cases.” + +“Then you really think jealousy is the motive?” Mr. Chitterwick +suggested. + +“I’m absolutely convinced of it,” Mr. Bradley assured him. “But I’ll +tell you something else of which I’m not by any means convinced, and +that is that the intended victim really was Sir Eustace Pennefather.” + +“Not the intended victim?” queried Roger, very uneasily. “How do you +make that out?” + +“Why, I’ve discovered,” said Mr. Bradley, dissembling his pride, “that +Sir Eustace had had an engagement for lunch on the day of the murder. +He seems to have been very secretive about it, and it was certainly +with a woman; and not only with a woman, but with a woman in whom Sir +Eustace was more than a little interested. I think probably not Miss +Wildman, but somebody of whom he was anxious that Miss Wildman +shouldn’t know. But in my opinion the woman who sent the chocolates +knew. The appointment was cancelled, but the other woman might not +have known that. + +“My suggestion (it’s only a suggestion, and I can’t substantiate it in +any way at all except that it makes chocolates still more reasonable) +is that those chocolates were intended not for Sir Eustace at all but +for the sender’s rival.” + +“Ah!” breathed Mrs. Fielder-Flemming. + +“This is quite a new idea,” complained Sir Charles. + +Roger had been hastily conning over the names of Sir Eustace’s various +ladies. He had been unable to fit one before into the crime, and he +was unable now; yet he did not think that any had escaped him. “If the +woman you’re thinking of, Bradley, the sender,” he said tentatively, +“really was a mistress of Sir Eustace, I don’t think you need worry +about being too punctilious. Her name is almost certainly on the lips +of the whole Rainbow Club in that connection, if not of every club in +London. Sir Eustace is not a reticent man.” + +“I can assure Mr. Bradley,” said Miss Dammers with irony, “that Sir +Eustace’s standard of honour falls a good deal short of his own.” + +“In this case,” Mr. Bradley told them, unmoved, “I think not.” + +“How is that?” + +“Because I’m quite sure that apart from my unconscious informant, and +Sir Eustace, and myself, there is nobody who knows of the connection +at all. Except the lady, of course,” added Mr. Bradley punctiliously. +“Naturally it would not have escaped her.” + +“Then how did you find out?” demanded Miss Dammers. + +“That,” Mr. Bradley informed her equably, “I regret that I’m not at +liberty to say.” + +Roger stroked his chin. Could there be another one of whom he had +never heard? In that case, how would this new theory of his continue +to stand up? + +“Your so close parallel falls to the ground, then?” Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming was stating. + +“Not altogether. But if it does, I’ve got another just as good. +Christina Edmunds. Almost the same case, with the insanity left out. +Jealousy-mania. Poisoned chocolates. What could be better?” + +“Humph! The mainstay of your last case, I gathered,” observed Sir +Charles, “or at any rate the starting-point, was the choice of +nitrobenzene. I suppose that, and the deductions you drew from it, are +equally important to this one. Are we to take it that this lady is an +amateur chemist, with a copy of Taylor on her shelves?” + +Mr. Bradley smiled gently. “That, as you rightly point out, was the +mainstay of my _last_ case, Sir Charles. It isn’t of this one. I’m +afraid my remarks on the choice of poison were rather special +pleading. I was leading up to a certain person, you see, and therefore +only drew the deductions which suited that particular person. However, +there was a good deal of possible truth in them for all that, though I +wouldn’t rate their probability quite as high as I pretended to do +then. I’m quite prepared to believe that nitrobenzene was used simply +because it’s so easy to get hold of. But it’s perfectly true that the +stuff’s hardly known as a poison at all.” + +“Then you make no use of it in your present case?” + +“Oh, yes, I do. I still think the point that the criminal not so much +used it as knew of it to use, is a perfectly sound one. The reason for +that knowledge should be capable of being established. I stuck out +before for a copy of some such book as Taylor as the reason, and I +still do. As it happens this good lady _has_ got a copy of Taylor.” + +“She _is_ a criminologist, then?” Mrs. Fielder-Flemming pounced. + +Mr. Bradley leaned back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling. “That, +I should think, is very much open to question. Frankly, I’m puzzled +over the matter of criminology. Myself, I don’t see that lady as an +‘-ist’ of any description. Her function in life is perfectly obvious, +the one she fulfilled for Sir Eustace, and I shouldn’t have thought +her capable of any other. Except to powder her nose rather charmingly, +and look extremely decorative; but all that’s part and parcel of her +real _raison d’être_. No, I don’t think she could possibly be a +criminologist, any more than a canary-bird could. But she certainly +has a smattering of criminology, because in her flat there’s a whole +bookshelf filled with works on the subject.” + +“She’s a personal friend of yours, then?” queried Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming, very casually. + +“Oh, no. I’ve only met her once. That was when I called at her flat +with a bran-new copy of a recently published book of popular murders +under my arm, and represented myself as a traveller for the publisher +soliciting orders for the book; might I have the pleasure of putting +her name down? The book had only been out four days, but she proudly +showed me a copy of it on her shelves already. Was she interested in +criminology, then? Oh, yes, she simply adored it; murder was _too_ +fascinating, wasn’t it? Conclusive, I think.” + +“She sounds a bit of a fool,” commented Sir Charles. + +“She looks like a bit of a fool,” agreed Mr. Bradley. “She talks like +a bit of a fool. Meeting her at a tea-fight, I should have said she +_is_ a bit of a fool. And yet she carried through a really cleverly +planned murder, so I don’t see how she can be a bit of a fool.” + +“It doesn’t occur to you,” remarked Miss Dammers, “that perhaps she +never did anything of the sort?” + +“Well, no,” Mr. Bradley had to confess. “I’m afraid it doesn’t. I +mean, a comparatively recent discarded mistress of Sir Eustace’s +(well, not more than three years ago, and hope dies hard), who thinks +no small champagne of herself and considers murder too fascinating for +words. Well, really! + +“By the way, if you want any confirmatory evidence that she had been +one of Sir Eustace’s lady-loves, I might add that I saw a photograph +of him in her flat. It was in a frame that had a very wide border. The +border showed the word ‘Your’ and conveniently cut off the rest. Not +‘Yours,’ notice, but ‘Your.’ I think it’s a reasonable assumption that +something quite affectionate lies under that discreet border.” + +“I have it from his own lips that Sir Eustace changes his mistresses +as often as his hats,” Miss Dammers said briskly. “Isn’t it possible +that more than one may have suffered from a jealousy-complex?” + +“But not, I think, have possessed a copy of Taylor as well,” Mr. +Bradley insisted. + +“The criminological-knowledge factor seems to have taken the place in +this case of the nitrobenzene factor in the last,” meditated Mr. +Chitterwick. “Am I right in thinking that?” + +“Quite,” Mr. Bradley assured him kindly. “That, in my opinion, is the +really important clue. It’s so emphasised, you see. We get it from two +entirely different angles, the choice of poison and the reminiscent +features of the case. In fact we’re coming up against it all the +time.” + +“Well, well,” muttered Mr. Chitterwick, reproving himself as one might +who had been coming up against a thing all the time and never even +noticed it. + +There was a short silence, which Mr. Chitterwick imputed (quite +wrongly) to a general condemnation of his own obtuseness. + +“Your list of conditions,” Miss Dammers resumed the charge. “You said +you hadn’t been able to check all of them. Which does this woman +definitely fulfil, and which haven’t you been able to check?” + +Mr. Bradley assumed an air of alertness. “No. 1, I don’t know whether +she has any chemical knowledge. No. 2, I do know that she has at least +an elementary knowledge of criminology. No. 3, she is almost certain +to have had a reasonably good education (though whether she ever +learnt anything is quite a different matter), and I think we may +assume that she was never at a public-school. No. 4, I haven’t been +able to connect her with Mason’s notepaper, except in so far as she +has an account at Mason’s; and if that is good enough for Sir Charles, +it’s good enough for me. No. 5, I haven’t been able to connect her +with a Hamilton typewriter, but that ought to be quite easy; one of +her friends is sure to have one. + +“No. 6, she could have been in the neighbourhood of Southampton +Street. She tried to establish an alibi, but bungled it badly; it’s +full of holes. She’s supposed to have been in a theatre, but she +didn’t even get there till well past nine. No. 7, I saw an Onyx +fountain-pen on her bureau. No. 8, I saw a bottle of Harfield’s +Fountain-Pen Ink in one of the pigeon-holes of the bureau. + +“No. 9, I shouldn’t have said she had a creative mind; I shouldn’t +have said that she had a mind at all; but apparently we must give her +the benefit of any doubt there is. No. 10, judging from her face, I +should say she was very neat with her fingers. No. 11, if she is a +person of methodical habits she must feel it an incriminating point, +for she certainly disguises it very well. No. 12, this I think might +be amended, to ‘must have the poisoner’s complete lack of +imagination.’ That’s the lot.” + +“I see,” said Miss Dammers. “There are gaps.” + +“There are,” Mr. Bradley agreed blandly. “To tell the truth, I know +this woman must have done it because really, you know, she must. But I +can’t believe it.” + +“Ah!” said Mrs. Fielder-Flemming, putting a neat sentence into one +word. + +“By the way, Sheringham,” remarked Mr. Bradley, “you know the bad +lady.” + +“I do, do I?” said Roger, apparently coming out of a trance. “I +thought I might. Look here, if I write a name down on a piece of +paper, do you mind telling me if I’m right or wrong?” + +“Not in the least,” replied the equable Mr. Bradley. “As a matter of +fact I was going to suggest something like that myself. I think as +President you ought to know who I mean, in case there is anything in +it.” + +Roger folded his piece of paper in two and tossed it down the table. +“That’s the person, I suppose.” + +“You’re quite right,” said Mr. Bradley. + +“And you base most of your case on her reasons for interesting herself +in criminology?” + +“You might put it like that,” conceded Mr. Bradley. + +In spite of himself Roger blushed faintly. He had the best of reasons +for knowing why Mrs. Verreker-le-Mesurer professed such an interest in +criminology. Not to put too fine a point on it, the reasons had been +almost forced on him. + +“Then you’re absolutely wrong, Bradley,” he said without hesitation. +“Absolutely.” + +“You know definitely?” + +Roger suppressed an involuntary shudder. “Quite definitely.” + +“You know, I never believed she did it,” said the philosophical Mr. +Bradley. + + + +Chapter XII + +Roger was very busy. + +Flitting in taxis hither and thither, utterly regardless of what the +clocks had to tell him, he was trying to get his case completed before +the evening. His activities might have seemed to that artless +criminologist, Mrs. Verreker-le-Mesurer, not only baffling but +pointless. + +On the previous afternoon, for instance, he had taken his first taxi +to the Holborn Public Library and there consulted a work of reference +of the most uninspiring description. After that he had driven to the +offices of Messrs. Weall and Wilson, the well-known firm which exists +to protect the trade interests of individuals and supply subscribers +with highly confidential information regarding the stability of any +business in which it is intended to invest money. + +Roger, glibly representing himself as a potential investor of large +sums, had entered his name as a subscriber, filled up a number of the +special enquiry forms which are headed Strictly Confidential, and not +consented to go away until Messrs. Weall and Wilson had promised, in +consideration of certain extra moneys, to have the required +information in his hands within twenty-seven hours. + +He had then bought a newspaper and gone to Scotland Yard. There he +sought out Moresby. + +“Moresby,” he said without preamble, “I want you to do something +important for me. Can you find me a taximan who took up a fare in +Piccadilly Circus or its neighbourhood at about ten minutes past nine +on the night before the Bendix murder, and deposited same at or near +the Strand end of Southampton Street? And/or another taxi who took up +a fare in the Strand near Southampton Street at about a quarter-past +nine, and deposited same in the neighbourhood of Piccadilly Circus? +The second is the more likely of the two; I’m not quite sure about the +first. Or one taxi might have been used for the double journey, but I +doubt that very much. Do you think you can do this for me?” + +“We may not get any results, after all this time,” said Moresby +doubtfully. “It’s really important, is it?” + +“Quite important.” + +“Well, I’ll try of course, seeing it’s you, Mr. Sheringham, and I know +I can take your word for it that it is important. But I wouldn’t for +any one else.” + +“That’s fine,” said Roger with much heartiness. “Make it pretty +urgent, will you? And you might give me a ring at the Albany at about +tea-time to-morrow, if you think you’ve got hold of my man.” + +“What’s the idea, then, Mr. Sheringham?” + +“I’m trying to break down a rather interesting alibi,” said Roger. + +He went back to his rooms to dine. + +After the meal his head was buzzing far too busily for him to be able +to do anything else but take it for a walk. Restlessly he wandered out +of the Albany and turned down Piccadilly. He ambled round the Circus, +thinking hard, and paused for a moment out of habit to inspect with +unseeing eyes the photographs of the new revue hanging outside the +Pavilion. The next thing he realised was that he must have turned down +the Haymarket and swung round in a wide circle into Jermyn Street, for +he was standing outside the Imperial Theatre in that fascinating +thoroughfare, idly watching the last of the audience crowding in. + +Glancing at the advertisements of _The Creaking Skull_, he saw that +the terrible thing began at half-past eight. Glancing at his watch, he +saw that the time was twenty-nine minutes past that hour. + +There was an evening to be got through somehow. + +He went inside. + +The night passed somehow, too. + +Early the next morning (or early, that is, for Roger; say half-past +ten), in a bleak spot somewhere beyond the bounds of civilisation, in +short in Acton, Roger found himself parleying with a young woman in +the offices of the Anglo-Eastern Perfumery Company. The young woman +was entrenched behind a partition just inside the main entrance, her +only means of communication with the outer world being through a small +window fitted with frosted glass. This window she would open (if +summoned long and loudly enough) to address a few curt replies to +importunate callers, and this window she would close with a bang by +way of a hint that the interview, in her opinion, should now be +closed. + +“Good morning,” said Roger blandly, when his third rap had summoned +this maiden from the depths of her fastness. “I’ve called to—” + +“Travellers, Tuesdays and Friday mornings, ten to eleven,” said the +maiden surprisingly, and closed the window with one of her best bangs. +That’ll teach him to try and do business with a respectable English +firm on a Thursday morning, good gracious me, said the bang. + +Roger stared blankly at the closed window. Then it dawned on him that +a mistake had been made. He rapped again. And again. + +At the fourth rap the window flew open as if something had exploded +behind it. “I’ve told you already,” snapped the maiden, righteously +indignant, “that we only see—” + +“I’m not a traveller,” said Roger hastily. “At least,” he added with +meticulousness, thinking of the dreary deserts he had explored before +finding this inhospitable oasis, “at least, not a commercial one.” + +“You don’t want to sell anything?” asked the maiden suspiciously. +Impregnated with all that is best in the go-ahead spirit of English +business methods, she naturally looked with the deepest distrust on +anybody who might possibly wish to do such an unbusinesslike thing as +_sell_ her firm something. + +“Nothing,” Roger assured her with the utmost earnestness, impressed in +his turn with the revolting vulgarity of such a proceeding. + +On these conditions it appeared that the maiden, though by no means +ready to take him to her bosom, was prepared to tolerate him for a few +seconds. “Well, what _do_ you want then?” she asked, with an air of +weariness patiently, even nobly borne. From her tone it was to be +gathered that very few people penetrated as far as that door unless +with the discreditable intention of trying to do business with her +firm. Just fancy—business! + +“I’m a solicitor,” Roger told her now, without truth, “and I’m +enquiring into the matter of a certain Mr. Joseph Lea Hardwick, who +was employed here. I regret to say that—” + +“Sorry, never heard of the gentleman,” said the maiden shortly, and +intimated in her usual way that the interview had lasted quite long +enough. + +Once more Roger got busy with his stick. After the seventh application +he was rewarded with another view of indignant young English girlhood. + +“I’ve told you already—” + +But Roger had had about enough of this. “And now, young woman, let me +tell _you_ something. If you refuse to answer my questions, let me +warn you that you may find yourself in very serious trouble. Haven’t +you ever heard of contempt of court?” There are times when some slight +juggling with the truth is permissible. There are times, too, when +even a shrewd blow with a bludgeon may be excused. This time was one +of both. + +The maiden, though far from cowed, was at last impressed. “Well, what +do you want to know then?” she asked, resignedly. + +“This man, Joseph Lea Hardwick—” + +“I’ve told you, I’ve never heard of him.” + +As the gentleman in question had enjoyed an existence of only two or +three minutes, and that solely in Roger’s brain, his creator was not +unprepared for this. “It is possible that he was known to you under a +different name,” he said darkly. + +The maiden’s interest was engaged. More, she looked positively +alarmed. She spoke shrilly. “If it’s divorce, let me tell you you +can’t hang anything on _me_. I never even knew he was married. +Besides, it isn’t as if there was a cause. I mean to say—well, at +least—anyhow, it’s a pack of lies. I never—” + +“It isn’t divorce,” Roger hastened to stem the tide, himself scarcely +less alarmed at these quite unmaidenly revelations. “It’s—it’s nothing +to do with your private life at all. It’s about a man who was employed +here.” + +“Oh!” The late maiden’s relief turned rapidly into indignation. “Well, +why couldn’t you say so?” + +“Employed here,” pursued Roger firmly, “in the nitrobenzene +department. You have a nitrobenzene department, haven’t you?” + +“Not that I’m aware of, I’m sure.” + +Roger made the noise that is usually spelt “Tchah! You know perfectly +well what I mean. The department which handles the nitrobenzene used +here. You are hardly prepared to deny that nitrobenzene _is_ used +here, I hope? And extensively?” + +“Well, and what if it is?” + +“It has been reported to my firm that this man met his death through +insufficient warning having been issued to the employees here about +the dangerous nature of this substance. I should like—” + +“What? One of our men died? I don’t believe it. I should have been the +first to know if—” + +“It’s been hushed up,” Roger inserted quickly. “I should like you to +show me a copy of the warning that is hung up in the factory about +nitrobenzene.” + +“Well, I’m sorry then, but I’m afraid I can’t oblige you.” + +“Do you mean to tell me,” said Roger, much shocked, “that no warning +is issued at all to your employees about this most dangerous +substance? They’re not even told that it is a deadly poison?” + +“I didn’t say that, did I? Of course they’re warned that it’s +poisonous. Everybody is. And they’re most careful about the way it’s +handled, I’m sure. It just happens that there isn’t a warning hung up. +And if you want to know any more about it, you’d better see one of the +directors. I’ll—” + +“Thank you,” said Roger, speaking the truth at last, “I’ve learned all +I wanted. Good morning.” He retreated jubilantly. + +He retreated to Webster’s, the printers, in a taxi. + +Webster’s of course are to printing what Monte Carlo is to the +Riviera. Webster’s, practically speaking, _are_ printing. So where +more naturally should Roger go if he wanted some new notepaper printed +in a very special and particular way, as apparently he did? + +To the young woman behind the counter who took him in charge he +specified at great length and in the most meticulous detail exactly +what he did want. The young woman handed him her book of specimen +pieces and asked him to see if he could find a style there which would +suit him. While he looked through it she turned to another customer. +Not to palter with the truth, that young woman had been getting a +little weary of Roger and his wants. + +Apparently Roger could not find a style to suit him, for he closed the +book and edged a little along the counter till he was within the +territory of the next young woman. To her in turn he embarked on the +epic of his needs, and in turn too she presented him with her book of +specimens and asked him to choose one. As the book was only another +copy of the same edition, it is not surprising that Roger found +himself no further forward. + +Once more he edged along the counter, and once more he recited his +saga to the third, and last, young woman. Knowing the game, she handed +him her book of specimens. But this time Roger had his reward. This +book was one of the same edition, but it was not an exact copy. + +“Of course I’m sure you’ll have what I want,” he remarked garrulously +as he flicked over the pages, “because I was recommended here by a +friend who is really most particular. _Most_ particular.” + +“Is that so?” said the young woman, doing her best to appear extremely +interested. She was a very young woman indeed, young enough to study +the technique of salesmanship in her spare time; and one of the first +rules in salesmanship, she had learned, was to receive a customer’s +remark that it is a fine day with the same eager and respectful +admiration of the penetrating powers of his observation as she would +accord to a fortune-teller who informed her that she would receive a +letter from a dark stranger across the water containing an offer of +money, on her note of hand alone. “Well,” she said, trying hard, “some +people are particular, and that’s a fact.” + +“Dear me!” Roger seemed much struck. “Do you know, I believe I’ve got +my friend’s photograph on me this very minute. Isn’t that an +extraordinary coincidence?” + +“Well, I never,” said the dutiful young woman. + +Roger produced the coincidental photograph and handed it across the +counter. “There! Recognise it?” + +The young woman took the photograph and studied it closely. “So that’s +your friend! Well, isn’t that extraordinary? Yes, of course I +recognise it. It’s a small world, isn’t it?” + +“About a fortnight ago, I think my friend was in here last,” Roger +persisted. “Is that right?” + +The young woman pondered. “Yes, it would be about a fortnight ago, I +suppose. Yes, just about. Now this is a line we’re selling a good deal +of just at present.” + +Roger bought an inordinate quantity of notepaper he didn’t want in the +least, out of sheer lightness of heart. And because she really was a +very nice young woman, and it was a shame to take advantage of her. + +Then he went back to his rooms for lunch. + +Most of the afternoon he spent in trying apparently to buy a +second-hand typewriter. + +Roger was very particular that his typewriter should be a Hamilton No. +4. When the salesmen tried to induce him to consider other makes he +refused to look at them, saying that he had had the Hamilton No. 4 so +strongly recommended to him by a friend, who had bought a second-hand +one just about three weeks ago. Perhaps it was at this very shop? No? +They hadn’t sold a Hamilton No. 4 for the last two months? How very +odd. + +But at one shop they had; and that was odder still. The obliging +salesman looked up the exact date, and found that it was just a month +ago. Roger described his friend, and the salesman at once agreed that +Roger’s friend and his own customer were one and the same. + +“Good gracious, and now I come to think of it,” Roger cried, “I +actually believe I’ve got my friend’s photograph on me at this very +minute. Let me see!” He rummaged in his pockets, and to his great +astonishment produced the photograph in question. + +The salesman most obligingly proceeded to identify his customer +without hesitation. He then went on, just as obligingly, to sell Roger +the second-hand Hamilton No. 4 which that enthusiastic detective felt +he had not the face to refuse to buy. Detecting, Roger was +discovering, is for the person without official authority to back him, +a singularly expensive business. But like Mrs. Fielder-Flemming, he +did not grudge money spent in a good cause. + +He went back to his rooms to tea. There was nothing more to be done +except await the call from Moresby. + +It came sooner than he expected. + +“Is that you, Mr. Sheringham? There are fourteen taxi-drivers here, +littering up my office,” said Moresby offensively. “They all took +fares from Piccadilly Circus to the Strand, or _vice versa_, at your +time. What do you want me to do with ’em?” + +“Kindly keep them till I come, Chief Inspector,” returned Roger with +dignity, and grabbed his hat. He had not expected more than three at +the most, but he was not going to let Moresby know that. + +The interview with the fourteen was brief enough however. To each +grinning man in turn (Roger deduced a little heavy humour on the part +of Moresby before he arrived) Roger showed the photograph, taking some +pains to hold it so that Moresby could not see it, and asked if he +could recognise his fare. Not a single one could. + +Moresby dismissed the men with a broad grin. “That’s a pity, Mr. +Sheringham. Puts a bit of a spoke in the case you’re trying to work +up, no doubt?” + +Roger smiled at him in a superior manner. “On the contrary, my dear +Moresby, it just about clinches it.” + +“It what did you say?” asked Moresby, startled out of his grammar. +“What are you up to, Mr. Sheringham, eh?” + +“I thought you knew all that. Aren’t we being sleuthed?” + +“Well!” Moresby actually looked a shade out of countenance. “To tell +you the truth, Mr. Sheringham, all your people seemed to be going so +far off the lines that I called my men off; it didn’t seem worth while +keeping ’em on.” + +“Dear, dear,” said Roger gently. “Fancy that. Well, it’s a small +world, isn’t it?” + +“So what have you been doing, Mr. Sheringham? You’ve no objection to +telling me that, I suppose?” + +“None in the least, Moresby. Your work for you. Does it interest you +to know that I’ve found out who sent those chocolates to Sir Eustace?” + +Moresby eyed him for a moment. “It certainly does, Mr. Sheringham. If +you really have.” + +“Oh, I have, yes,” said Roger very nonchalantly; even Mr. Bradley +himself could not have spoken more so. “I’ll give you a report on it +as soon as I’ve got my evidence in order.—It was an interesting case,” +he added. And suppressed a yawn. + +“Was it now, Mr. Sheringham?” said Moresby, in a choked voice. + +“Oh, yes; in its way. But absurdly simple once one had grasped the +really essential factor. Quite ridiculously so. I’ll let you have that +report some time. So long, then.” And he strolled out. + +One cannot conceal the fact that Roger had his annoying moments. + + + +Chapter XIII + +Roger called on himself. + +“Ladies and gentlemen, as the one responsible for this experiment, I +think I can congratulate myself. The three members who have spoken so +far have shown an ingenuity of observation and argument which I think +could have been called forth by no other agency. Each was convinced +before beginning to speak that he or she had solved the problem and +could produce positive proof in support of such solution, and each, I +think, is still entitled to say that his or her reading of the puzzle +has not yet been definitely disproved. + +“Even Sir Charles’s choice of Lady Pennefather is perfectly arguable, +in spite of the positive alibi that Miss Dammers is able to give to +Lady Pennefather herself; Sir Charles is quite entitled to say that +Lady Pennefather has an accomplice, and to adduce in support of that +the rather dubious circumstances attending her stay in Paris. + +“And in this connection I should like to take the opportunity of +retracting what I said to Bradley last night. I said that I knew +definitely that the woman he had in mind could not have committed the +murder. That was a mis-statement. I didn’t know definitely at all. I +found the idea, from what I personally know of her, to be quite +incredible. + +“Moreover,” said Roger bravely, “I have some reason to suspect the +origin of her interest in criminology, and I’m pretty sure it’s quite +a different one from that postulated by Bradley. What I should have +said was, that her guilt of this crime was a psychological +impossibility. But so far as facts go, one can’t prove psychological +impossibilities. Bradley is still perfectly entitled to believe her +the criminal. And in any case she must certainly remain on the list of +suspects.” + +“I agree with you, Sheringham, you know, about the psychological +impossibility,” remarked Mr. Bradley. “I said as much. The trouble is +that I consider I proved the case against her.” + +“But you proved the case against yourself too,” pointed out Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming sweetly. + +“Oh, yes; but that doesn’t worry me with its inconsistency. That +involves no psychological impossibility, you see.” + +“No,” said Mrs. Fielder-Flemming. “Perhaps not.” + +“Psychological impossibility!” contributed Sir Charles robustly. “Oh, +you novelists. You’re all so tied up with Freud nowadays that you’ve +lost sight of human nature altogether. When I was a young man nobody +talked about psychological impossibilities. And why? Because we knew +very well that there’s no such thing.” + +“In other words, the most improbable person may, in certain +circumstances, do the most unlikely things,” amplified Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming. “Well, I may be old-fashioned, but I’m inclined to +agree with that.” + +“Constance Kent,” led Sir Charles. + +“Lizzie Borden,” Mrs. Fielder-Flemming covered. + +“The entire Adelaide Bartlett case,” Sir Charles brought out the ace +of trumps. + +Mrs. Fielder-Flemming gathered the cards up into a neat pack. “In my +opinion, people who talk of psychological impossibilities are treating +their subjects as characters in one of their own novels—they’re +infusing a certain percentage of their own mental make-up into them +and consequently never see clearly that what they think may be the +impossible for themselves may quite well be the possible (however +improbable) in somebody else.” + +“Then there is something to be said after all for the detective story +merchant’s axiom of the most unlikely person,” murmured Mr. Bradley. +“Good!” + +“Shall we hear what Mr. Sheringham’s got to say about the case now?” +suggested Miss Dammers. + +Roger took the hint. + +“I was going on to say how interestingly the experiment had turned +out, too, in that the three people who have already spoken happen each +to have hit on a different person for the criminal. I, by the way, am +going to suggest another, so even if Miss Dammers and Mr. Chitterwick +each agree with one of us, that gives us four entirely different +possibilities. I don’t mind confessing that I’d hoped something like +that would happen, though I hardly looked for such an excellent +result. + +“Still, as Bradley has pointed out in his remarks about closed and +open murders, the possibilities in this case really are almost +infinite. That, of course, makes it so much more interesting from our +point of view. For instance, I began my own investigations from the +point of view of Sir Eustace’s private life. It was there, I felt +convinced, that the clue to the murder was to be found. Just as +Bradley did. And like him, I thought that this clue would be in the +form of a discarded mistress; jealousy or revenge, I was sure, would +turn out to be the mainspring of the crime. Lastly, like him I was +convinced from the very first glance at the business that the crime +was the work of a woman. + +“The consequence was that I began work entirely from the angle of Sir +Eustace’s women. I spent a good many not too savoury days collecting +data, until I was convinced that I had a complete list of all his +affairs during the past five years. It was not too difficult. Sir +Eustace, as I said last night, is not a reticent man. Apparently I had +not got the full list, for mine hadn’t included the lady whose name +was not mentioned last night, and if there was one omission it’s +possible there may be more. At any rate, it seems that Sir Eustace, to +do him justice, did have his moments of discretion. + +“But now all that is really beside the point. What matters is that at +first I was certain that the crime was the work not only of a woman, +but of a woman who had comparatively recently been Sir Eustace’s +mistress. + +“I have now changed all my opinions, _in toto_.” + +“Oh, really!” moaned Mr. Bradley. “Don’t tell me I was wrong all along +the line.” + +“I’m afraid so,” said Roger, trying to keep the triumph out of his +voice. It is a difficult thing, when one has really and truly solved a +problem which has baffled so many excellent brains, to appear entirely +indifferent about it. + +“I regret to have to say,” he went on, hoping he appeared humbler than +he felt, “I regret to have to say that I can’t claim all credit for +this change of view for my own perspicacity. To be quite honest, it +was sheer luck. A chance meeting with a silly woman in Bond Street put +me in possession of a piece of information, trivial in itself (my +informant never for one moment saw its possible significance), but +which immediately altered the whole case for me. I saw in a flash that +I’d been working from the beginning on mistaken premises. That I’d +been making, in fact, the particular fundamental mistake which the +murderer had intended the police and everybody else to make. + +“It’s a curious business, this element of luck in the solution of +crime-puzzles,” Roger ruminated. “As it happens I was discussing it +with Moresby, in connection with this very case. I pointed out to him +the number of impossible problems which Scotland Yard solves +eventually through sheer luck—a vital piece of evidence turning up of +its own accord so to speak, or a piece of information brought in by an +angry woman because her husband happened to have given her grounds for +jealousy just before the crime. That sort of thing is happening all +the time. _The Avenging Chance_, I suggested as a title, if Moresby +ever wanted to make a film out of such a story. + +“Well, The Avenging Chance has worked again. By means of that lucky +encounter in Bond Street, in one moment of enlightenment it showed me +who really had sent those chocolates to Sir Eustace Pennefather.” + +“Well, well, well!” Mr. Bradley kindly expressed the feelings of the +Circle. + +“And who was it, then?” queried Miss Dammers, who had an unfortunate +lack of dramatic feeling. For that matter Miss Dammers was inclined to +plume herself on the fact that she had no sense of construction, and +that none of her books ever had a plot. Novelists who use words like +‘values’ and ‘reflexes’ and ‘Œdipus-complex’ simply won’t have +anything to do with plots. “Who appeared to you in this interesting +revelation, Mr. Sheringham?” + +“Oh, let me work my story up a little first,” Roger pleaded. + +Miss Dammers sighed. Stories, as Roger as a fellow-craftsman ought to +have known, simply weren’t done nowadays. But then Roger was a +best-seller, and anything is possible with a creature like that. + +Unconscious of these reflections, Roger was leaning back in his chair +in an easy attitude, meditating gently. When he began to speak again +it was in a more conversational tone than he had used before. + +“You know, this really was a very remarkable case. You and Bradley, +Mrs. Fielder-Flemming, didn’t do the criminal justice when you +described it as a hotch-potch of other cases. Any ideas of real merit +in previous cases may have been borrowed, perhaps; but as Fielding +says, in _Tom Jones_, to borrow from the classics, even without +acknowledgment, is quite legitimate for the purposes of an original +work. And this _is_ an original work. It has one feature which not +only absolves it from all charge to the contrary, but which puts it +head and shoulders above all its prototypes. + +“It’s bound to become one of the classical cases itself. And but for +the merest accident, which the criminal for all his ingenuity couldn’t +possibly have foreseen, I think it would have become one of the +classical mysteries. On the whole I’m inclined to consider it the most +perfectly-planned murder I’ve ever heard of (because of course one +doesn’t hear of the even more perfectly-planned ones that are never +known to be murders at all). It’s so exactly right—ingenious, utterly +simple, and as near as possible infallible.” + +“Humph! Not so very infallible, as it turned out, Sheringham, eh?” +grunted Sir Charles. + +Roger smiled at him. + +“The motive’s so obvious, when you know where to look for it; but you +didn’t know. The method’s so significant, once you’ve grasped its real +essentials; but you didn’t grasp them. The traces are so thinly +covered, when you’ve realised just what is covering them; but you +didn’t realise. Everything was anticipated. The soap was left lying +about in chunks, and we all hurried to stuff our eyes with it. No +wonder we couldn’t see clearly. It really was beautifully planned. The +police, the public, the press—everybody completely taken in. It seems +almost a pity to have to give the murderer away.” + +“Really, Mr. Sheringham,” remarked Mrs. Fielder-Flemming. “You’re +getting quite lyrical.” + +“A perfect murder makes me feel lyrical. If I was this particular +criminal I should have been writing odes to myself for the last +fortnight.” + +“And as it is,” suggested Miss Dammers, “you feel like writing odes to +yourself for having solved the thing.” + +“I do rather,” Roger agreed. + +“Well, I’ll begin with the evidence. As to that, I won’t say that I’ve +got such a collection of detail as Bradley was able to amass to prove +his first theory, but I think you’ll all agree that I’ve got quite +enough. Perhaps I can’t do better than run through his list of twelve +conditions which the murderer must fulfil, though as you’ll see I +don’t by any means agree with all of them. + +“I grant and can prove the first two, that the murderer must have at +least an elementary knowledge of chemistry and criminology, but I +disagree with both parts of the third; I don’t think a good education +is really essential, and I should certainly not rule out any one with +a public-school or university education, for reasons which I’ll +explain later. Nor do I agree with the fourth, that he or she must +have had possession of or access to Mason’s notepaper. It was an +ingenious idea of Bradley’s that the possession of the notepaper +suggested the method of the crime, but I think it mistaken; a previous +case suggested the method, chocolates were decided on (for a very good +reason indeed, as I’ll show later) as the vehicle, and Mason’s as +being the most important firm of chocolate manufacturers. It then +became necessary to procure a piece of their notepaper, and I’m in a +position to show how this was done. + +“The fifth condition I would qualify. I don’t agree that the criminal +must have possession of or access to a Hamilton No. 4 typewriter, but +I do agree that such possession must have existed. In other words, I +would put that condition in the past tense. Remember that we have to +deal with a very astute criminal, and a very carefully planned crime. +I thought it most unlikely that such an incriminating piece of +evidence as the actual typewriter would be allowed to lie about for +anyone to discover. Much more probable that a machine had been bought +specially for the occasion. It was clear from the letter that it +wasn’t a new machine which had been used. With the courage of my +deduction, therefore, I spent a whole afternoon making inquiries at +second-hand typewriter-shops till I ran down the place where it had +been bought, and proved the buying. The shopman was able to identify +my murderer from a photograph I had with me.” + +“And where’s the machine now?” asked Mrs. Fielder-Flemming eagerly. + +“I expect, at the bottom of the Thames. That’s my point. This criminal +of mine leaves nothing to chance at all. + +“With the sixth condition, about being near the post-office during the +critical hour, of course I agree. My murderer has a mild alibi, but it +doesn’t hold water. As to the next two, the fountain-pen and the ink, +I haven’t been able to check them at all, and while I agree that their +possession would be rather pleasing confirmation I don’t attach great +importance to them; Onyx pens are so universal, and so is Harfield’s +ink, that there isn’t much argument there either way. Besides, it +would be just like my criminal not to own either of them but to have +borrowed the pen unobtrusively. Lastly, I agree about the creative +mind, and the neatness with the fingers, and of course with the +poisoner’s peculiar mentality, but not with the necessity for +methodical habits.” + +“Oh, come,” said Mr. Bradley, pained. “That was rather a sound +deduction, I thought. And it stands to reason, too.” + +“Not to my reason,” Roger retorted. + +Mr. Bradley shrugged his shoulders. + +“It’s the notepaper I’m interested in,” said Sir Charles. “In my +opinion that’s the point on which the case against any one must hang. +How do you prove possession of the notepaper, Sheringham?” + +“The notepaper,” said Roger, “was extracted about three weeks ago from +one of Webster’s books of sample notepaper-headings. The erasure would +be some private mark of Webster’s, the price, for instance: ‘This +style, 5s. 9d.’ There are three books at Webster’s, containing exactly +the same samples. Two of them include a piece of Mason’s paper; from +the third it’s missing. I can prove contact of my suspect with the +book about three weeks ago.” + +“You can, can you?” Sir Charles was impressed. “That sounds pretty +conclusive. What put you on the idea of the sample books?” + +“The yellowed edges of the letter,” Roger said, not a little pleased +with himself. “I didn’t see how a bit of paper that had been kept in a +pile could get its edges quite so discoloured as all that, so +concluded that it must have been an isolated piece. Then it struck me +that walking about London, one does see isolated pieces of notepaper +stuck on a board in the windows of printing-firms. But this piece +showed no drawing-pin holes or any other signs of having been fixed to +a board. Besides, it would be difficult to remove it from a board. +What was the next best thing? Obviously, a sample-book, such as one +usually finds inside the same shops. So to the printers of Mason’s +notepaper I went, and there, so to speak, my piece wasn’t.” + +“Yes,” muttered Sir Charles, “certainly that sounds pretty +conclusive.” He sighed. One gathered that he was gazing wistfully in +his mind’s eye at the diminishing figure of Lady Pennefather, and the +beautiful case he had built up around her. Then he brightened. This +time one had gathered that he had switched his vision to the figure, +equally diminishing, of Sir Charles Wildman, and the beautiful case +that had been built up around him too. + +“So now,” said Roger, feeling he could really put it off no longer, +“we come to the fundamental mistake to which I referred just now, the +trap the murderer laid for us and into which we all so neatly fell.” + +Everybody sat up. + +Roger surveyed them benignly. + +“You got very near seeing it, Bradley, last night, with your casual +suggestion that Sir Eustace himself might not have been the intended +victim after all. That’s right enough. But I go further than that.” + +“I fell in the trap, though, did I?” said Mr. Bradley, pained. “Well, +what is this trap? What’s the fundamental mistake we all side-slipped +into?” + +“Why,” Roger brought out in triumph, “that the plan had +miscarried—that the wrong person had been killed!” + +He got his reward. + +“What!” said every one at once. “Good heavens, you don’t mean. . . ?” + +“Exactly,” Roger crowed. “That was just the beauty of it. The plan had +_not_ miscarried. It had been brilliantly successful. The wrong person +had _not_ been killed. Very much the right person was.” + +“What’s all this?” positively gaped Sir Charles. “How on earth do you +make that out?” + +“Mrs. Bendix was the objective all the time,” Roger went on more +soberly. “That’s why the plot was so ingenious. Every single thing was +anticipated. It was foreseen that, if Bendix could be brought +naturally into Sir Eustace’s presence when the parcel was being +opened, the latter would hand the chocolates over to him. It was +foreseen that the police would look for the criminal among Sir +Eustace’s associates, and not the dead woman’s. It was probably even +foreseen, Bradley, that the crime would be considered the work of a +woman, whereas really, of course, chocolates were employed because it +was a woman who was the objective.” + +“Well, well well!” said Mr. Bradley. + +“Then it’s your theory,” pursued Sir Charles, “that the murderer was +an associate of the dead woman’s, and had nothing to do with Sir +Eustace at all?” He spoke as if not altogether averse from such a +theory. + +“It is,” Roger confirmed. “But first let me tell you what finally +opened my eyes to the trap. The vital piece of information I got in +Bond Street was this: _that Mrs. Bendix had seen that play_, _The +Creaking Skull_, _before_. There’s no doubt about it; she actually +went with my informant herself. You see the extraordinary +significance, of course. That means that she already knew the answer +to that bet she made with her husband about the identity of the +villain.” + +A little intake of breath testified to a general appreciation of this +information. + +“Oh! What a marvellous piece of divine irony.” Miss Dammers was +exercising her usual faculty of viewing things from the impersonal +aspect. “Then she actually brought her own retribution on herself. The +bet she won virtually killed her.” + +“Yes,” said Roger. “The irony hadn’t failed to strike even my +informant. The punishment, as she pointed out, was so much greater +than the crime. But I don’t think,”—Roger spoke very gently, in a +mighty effort to curb his elation—“I don’t think that even now you +quite see my point.” + +Everybody looked inquiringly. + +“You’ve all heard Mrs. Bendix quite minutely described. You must all +have formed a tolerably close mental picture of her. She was a +straightforward, honest girl, making if anything (also according to my +informant) almost too much of a fetich of straight dealing and playing +the game. Does the making of a bet to which she already knew the +answer, fit into that picture or does it not?” + +“Ah!” nodded Mr. Bradley. “Oh, very pretty.” + +“Just so. It is (with apologies to Sir Charles) a psychological +impossibility. It really is, you know, Sir Charles; one simply can’t +see her doing such a thing, in fun or out of it; and I gather that fun +wasn’t her strong suit, by any means. + +“_Ergo_,” concluded Roger briskly, “she didn’t. _Ergo_, that bet was +never made. _Ergo_, there never was such a bet. _Ergo_, Bendix was +lying. _Ergo_, Bendix wanted to get hold of those chocolates for some +reason other than he stated. And the chocolates being what they were, +there was only one other reason. + +“That’s my case.” + + + +Chapter XIV + +When the excitement that greeted this revolutionary reading of the +case had died down, Roger went on to defend his theory in more detail. + +“It _is_ something of a shock, of course, to find oneself +contemplating Bendix as the very cunning murderer of his own wife, but +really, once one has been able to rid one’s mind of all prejudice, I +don’t see how the conclusion can possibly be avoided. Every item of +evidence, however minute, goes to support it.” + +“But the motive!” ejaculated Mrs. Fielder-Flemming. + +“Motive? Good heavens, he’d motive enough. In the first place he was +frankly—no, not frankly; secretly!—tired of her. Remember what we were +told of his character. He’d sown his wild oats. But apparently he +hadn’t finished sowing them, because his name has been mentioned in +connection with more than one woman even since his marriage, usually, +in the good old-fashioned way, actresses. So Bendix wasn’t such a +solemn stick by any means. He liked his fun. And his wife, I should +imagine, was just about the last person in the world to sympathise +with such feelings. + +“Not that he hadn’t liked her well enough when he married her, quite +possibly, though it was her money he was after all the time. But she +must have bored him dreadfully very soon. And really,” said Roger +impartially, “I think one can hardly blame him there. Any woman, +however charming otherwise, is bound to bore a normal man if she does +nothing but prate continually about honour and duty and playing the +game; and that, I have on good authority, was Mrs. Bendix’s habit. + +“Just look at the _ménage_ in this new light. The wife would never +overlook the smallest peccadillo. Every tiny lapse would be thrown up +at him for years. Everything she did would be right and everything he +did wrong. Her sanctimonious righteousness would be forever being +contrasted with his vileness. She might even work herself into the +state of those half-mad creatures who spend the whole of their married +lives reviling their husbands for having been attracted by other women +before they even met the girl it was their misfortune to marry. Don’t +think I’m trying to blacken Mrs. Bendix. I’m just showing you how +intolerable life with her might have been. + +“But that’s only the incidental motive. The real trouble was that she +was too close with her money, and that too I know for a fact. That’s +where she sentenced herself to death. He wanted it, or some of it, +badly (it’s what he married her for), and she wouldn’t part. + +“One of the first things I did was to consult a Directory of Directors +and make a list of the firms he’s interested in, with a view to +getting a confidential report on their financial condition. The report +reached me just before I left my rooms. It told me exactly what I +expected—that every single one of those firms is rocky, some only a +little but some within sight of a crash. They all need money to save +them. It’s obvious, isn’t it? He’s run through all his own money, and +he had to get more. I found time to run down to Somerset House and +again it was as I expected: her will was entirely in his favour. The +really important point (which no one seems to have suspected) is that +he isn’t a good business-man at all; he’s a rotten one. And +half-a-million . . . Well! + +“Oh, yes. There’s motive enough.” + +“Motive allowed,” said Mr. Bradley. “And the nitrobenzene? You said, I +think, that Bendix has some knowledge of chemistry.” + +Roger laughed. “You remind me of a Wagner opera, Bradley. The +nitrobenzene _motif_ crops up regularly from you whenever a possible +criminal is mentioned. However, I think I can satisfy even you in this +instance. Nitrobenzene as you know, is used in perfumery. In the list +of Bendix’s businesses is the Anglo-Eastern Perfumery Company. I made +a special, and dreadful, journey out to Acton for the express purpose +of finding out whether the Anglo-Eastern Company used nitrobenzene at +all, and, if so, whether its poisonous qualities were thoroughly +recognised. The answer to both questions was in the affirmative. So +there can be no doubt that Bendix is thoroughly acquainted with the +stuff. + +“He might easily enough have got his supply from the factory, but I’m +inclined to doubt that. I think he’d be cleverer than that. He +probably made the stuff himself, if the process is as easy as Bradley +told us. Because I happen to know that he was on the modern side at +Selchester (that I heard quite by chance too), which presupposes at +any rate an elementary knowledge of chemistry. Do you pass that, +Bradley?” + +“Pass, friend nitrobenzene,” conceded Mr. Bradley. + +Roger drummed thoughtfully on the table with his finger-tips. “It was +a well-planned affair, wasn’t it?” he meditated. “And so extremely +easy to reconstruct. Bendix must have thought he’d provided against +every possible contingency. And so he very nearly had. It was just +that little bit of unlucky grit that gets into the smooth machinery of +so many clever crimes: he didn’t know that his wife had seen the play +before. He’d decided on the mild alibi of his presence at the theatre, +you see, just in case suspicion should ever impossibly arise, and no +doubt he stressed his desire to see the play and take her with him. +Not to spoil his pleasure, she would have unselfishly concealed from +him the fact that she had seen the play before and didn’t much want to +see it again. That unselfishness let him down. Because it’s +inconceivable that she would have turned it to her own advantage to +win the bet he pretends to have made with her. + +“He left the theatre of course during the first interval, and hurried +as far as he dare go in the ten minutes at his disposal, to post the +parcel. I sat through the dreadful thing myself last night just to see +when the intervals came. The first one fits excellently. I’d hoped he +might have taken a taxi one way, as time was short, but if he did no +driver of such taxis as did make a similar journey that evening can +identify him. Or possibly the right driver hasn’t come forward yet. I +got Scotland Yard to look into that point for me. But it really fits +much better with the cleverness he’s shown all through, that he should +have gone by ’bus or underground. Taxis, he’d know, are traceable. But +if so he’d run it very fine indeed, and I shouldn’t be surprised if he +got back to his box a few minutes late. The police may be able to +establish that.” + +“It seems to me,” observed Mr. Bradley, “that we made something of a +mistake in turning the man down from membership here. We thought his +criminology wasn’t up to standard, didn’t we? Well, well.” + +“But we could hardly be expected to know that he was a practical +criminologist rather than a mere theoretical one,” Roger smiled. “It +was a mistake, though. It would have been pleasant to include a +practical criminologist among our members.” + +“I must confess that I thought at one time that we did,” said Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming, making her peace. “Sir Charles,” she added +unnecessarily, “I apologise, without reserve.” + +Sir Charles inclined his head courteously. “Please don’t refer to it, +madam. And in any event the experience for me was an interesting one.” + +“I may have been misled by the case I quoted,” said Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming, rather wistfully. “It was a strangely close +parallel.” + +“It was the first parallel that occurred to me, too,” Roger agreed. “I +studied the Molineux case quite closely, hoping to get a pointer from +it. But now, if I were asked for a parallel, I should reply with the +Carlyle Harris case. You remember, the young medical student who sent +a pill containing morphine to the girl Helen Potts, to whom it turned +out that he had been secretly married for a year. He was by way of +being a profligate and a general young rotter too. A great novel, as +you know, has been founded on the case, so why not a great crime too?” + +“Then why, Mr. Sheringham,” Miss Dammers wanted to know, “do you think +that Mr. Bendix took the risk of not destroying the forged letter and +the wrapper when he had the chance?” + +“He very carefully didn’t do so,” Roger replied promptly, “because the +forged letter and the wrapper had been calculated not only to divert +suspicion from himself but actually to point away from him to somebody +else—an employee of Mason’s, for instance, or an anonymous lunatic. +Which is exactly what they did.” + +“But wouldn’t it be a great risk, to send poisoned chocolates like +that to Sir Eustace?” suggested Mr. Chitterwick diffidently. “I mean, +Sir Eustace might have been ill the next morning, or not offered to +hand them over at all. Suppose he had given them to somebody else +instead of Bendix.” + +Roger proceeded to give Mr. Chitterwick cause for his diffidence. He +was feeling something of a personal pride in Bendix by this time, and +it distressed him to hear a great man thus maligned. + +“Oh, really! You must give my man credit for being what he is. He’s +not a bungler, you know. It wouldn’t have had any serious results if +Sir Eustace had been ill that morning, or eaten the chocolates +himself, or if they’d been stolen in transit and consumed by the +postman’s favourite daughter, or any other unlikely contingency. Come, +Mr. Chitterwick! You don’t imagine he’d send the poisoned ones through +the post, do you? Of course not. He’d send harmless ones, and exchange +them for the others on the way home. Dash it all, he wouldn’t go out +of his way to present opportunities to chance.” + +“Oh! I see,” murmured Mr. Chitterwick, properly subdued. + +“We’re dealing with a very great criminal,” went on Roger, rather less +severely. “That can be seen at every point. Take the arrival at the +club, just for example—that most unusual early arrival (why this early +arrival at all, by the way, if he isn’t guilty?). Well, he doesn’t +wait outside and follow his unconscious accomplice in, you see. Not a +bit of it. Sir Eustace is chosen because he’s known to get there so +punctually at half-past ten every morning; takes a pride in it; boasts +of it; goes out of his way to keep up the good old custom. So Bendix +arrives at ten thirty-five, and there things are. It had puzzled me at +the beginning of the case, by the way, to see why the chocolates had +been sent to Sir Eustace at his club at all, instead of to his rooms. +Now it’s obvious.” + +“Well, I wasn’t so far out with my list of conditions,” Mr. Bradley +consoled himself. “But why don’t you agree with my rather subtle point +about the murderer not being a public-school or University man, +Sheringham? Just because Bendix happens to have been at Selchester and +Oxford?” + +“No, because I’d make the still more subtle point that where the code +of a public-school and University might influence a murderer in the +way he murdered another man, it wouldn’t have much effect when a woman +is to be the victim. I agree that if Bendix had been wanting to +dispose of Sir Eustace, he would probably have put him out of the +world in a nice, straightforward, manly way. But one doesn’t use nice, +straightforward, manly ways in one’s dealings with women, if it comes +to hitting them on the head with a bludgeon or anything in that +nature. Poison, I fancy, would be quite in order. And there’s very +little suffering with a large dose of nitrobenzene. Unconsciousness +soon intervenes.” + +“Yes,” admitted Mr. Bradley, “that is rather too subtle a point for +one of my unpsychological attributes.” + +“I think I dealt with most of your other conditions. As regards the +methodical habits, which you deduced from the meticulous doses of +poison in each chocolate, my point of course is that the doses were +exactly equal in order that Bendix could take any two of the +chocolates and be sure of having got the right amount of nitrobenzene +into his system to produce the symptoms he wanted, and not enough to +run any serious risk. That dosing of himself with the poison really +was a master-stroke. And it’s so natural that a man shouldn’t have +taken so many chocolates as a woman. He exaggerated his symptoms +considerably, no doubt, but the effect on everybody was tremendous. + +“We must remember, you see, that we’ve only got his word for the +conversation in the drawing-room, over the eating of the chocolates, +just as we’ve only got his word for it that there ever was a bet at +all. Most of that conversation certainly took place, however. Bendix +is far too great an artist not to make all possible use of the truth +in his lying. But of course he wouldn’t have left her that afternoon +till he’d seen her take, or somehow made her take, at least six of the +chocolates, which he’d know made up more than a lethal dose. That was +another advantage in having the stuff in those exact six-minim +quantities.” + +“In fact,” Mr. Bradley summed up, “our Uncle Bendix is a great man.” + +“He really is,” said Roger, quite solemnly. + +“You’ve no doubt at all that he is the criminal?” queried Miss +Dammers. + +“None at all,” said Roger, astonished. + +“Um,” said Miss Dammers. + +“Why, have you?” + +“Um,” said Miss Dammers. + +The conversation then lapsed. + +“Well,” said Mr. Bradley, “let’s all tell Sheringham how wrong he is, +shall we?” + +Mrs. Fielder-Flemming looked tense. “I’m afraid,” she said in a hushed +voice, “that he is only too right.” + +But Mr. Bradley refused to be impressed. “Oh, I think I can find a +hole or two to pick at. You seem to attach a good deal of importance +to the motive, Sheringham. Don’t you exaggerate? One doesn’t poison a +wife one’s tired of; one leaves her. And really, I find some +difficulty in believing (_a_) that Bendix should have been so set on +getting hold of more money to pour down the drainpipe of his +businesses as to commit murder for it, and (_b_) that Mrs. Bendix +should have been so close as to refuse to come to her husband’s help +if he really was badly pressed.” + +“Then I think you fail to estimate the characters of both of them,” +Roger told him. “They were both obstinate as the devil. It was Mrs. +Bendix, not her husband, who realised that his businesses _were_ a +drainpipe. I could give you a list a yard long of murders that have +been committed with far less motive than Bendix had.” + +“Motive allowed again, then. Now you remember that Mrs. Bendix had had +a lunch appointment for the day of her death, which was cancelled. +Didn’t Bendix know of that? Because if he did, would he have chosen a +day for the delivery of the chocolates when he knew his wife wouldn’t +be at home for lunch to receive them?” + +“Just the point I had thought of putting to Mr. Sheringham myself,” +remarked Miss Dammers. + +Roger looked puzzled. “It seems to me a most unimportant point. If it +comes to that, why should he necessarily want to give the chocolates +to his wife at lunch-time?” + +“For two reasons,” responded Mr. Bradley glibly. + +“Firstly because he would naturally want to put them to their right +purpose as soon as he possibly could, and secondly because his wife +being the only person who can contradict his story of the bet, he +would obviously want her silenced as soon as practicable.” + +“You’re quibbling,” Roger smiled, “and I refuse to be drawn. For that +matter, I don’t see why Bendix should have known of his wife’s +lunch-appointment at all. They were constantly lunching out, both of +them, and I don’t suppose they took any particular care to inform each +other beforehand.” + +“Humph!” said Mr. Bradley, and stroked his chin. + +Mr. Chitterwick ventured to raise his recently crushed head. “You +really base your whole case on the bet, Mr. Sheringham, don’t you?” + +“And the psychological deduction I drew from the story of it. Yes, I +do. Entirely.” + +“So that if the bet could be proved after all to have been made, you +would have no case left?” + +“Why,” exclaimed Roger, in some alarm, “have you any independent +evidence that the bet was made?” + +“Oh, no. Oh, dear me, no. Nothing of the sort. I was merely thinking +that if any one did want to disprove your case, as Bradley suggested, +it is the bet on which he would have to concentrate.” + +“You mean, quibbling about the motive, and the lunch-appointment, and +such minor matters, is altogether beside the point?” suggested Mr. +Bradley amiably. “Oh, I quite agree. But I was only trying to test his +case, you know, not disprove it. And for why? Because I think it’s the +right one. The Mystery of the Poisoned Chocolates, so far as I’m +concerned, is at an end.” + +“Thank you, Bradley,” said Mr. Sheringham. + +“So three cheers for our sleuth-like President,” continued Mr. Bradley +with great heartiness, “coupled with the name of Graham Reynard Bendix +for the fine run he’s given us. Hip, hip—” + +“And you say you’ve definitely proved the purchase of the typewriter, +and the contact of Mr. Bendix with the sample-book at Webster’s, Mr. +Sheringham?” remarked Alicia Dammers, who had apparently been pursuing +a train of thought of her own. + +“I do, Miss Dammers,” said Roger, not without complacence. + +“Would you give me the name of the typewriter-shop?” + +“Of course,” Roger tore a page from his notebook and copied out the +name and address. + +“Thank you. And can you give me a description of the girl at Webster’s +who identified the photograph of Mr. Bendix?” + +Roger looked at her a little uneasily; she gazed back with her usual +calm serenity. Roger’s uneasiness grew. He gave her as good a +description of Webster’s young woman as he could recall. Miss Dammers +thanked him imperturbably. + +“Well, what are we going to do about it all?” persisted Mr. Bradley, +who seemed to have adopted the rôle of showman for his President. +“Shall we send a delegation to Scotland Yard consisting of Sheringham +and myself, to break the news to them that their troubles are over?” + +“You are assuming that everybody agrees with Mr. Sheringham?” + +“Of course.” + +“Isn’t it customary to put this sort of question to a vote?” suggested +Miss Dammers coolly. + +“‘Carried unanimously,’” quoted Mr. Bradley. “Yes, do let’s have the +correct procedure. Well, then, Sheringham moves that this meeting do +accept his solution of the Poisoned Chocolates Mystery as the right +one, and send a delegation of himself and Mr. Bradley to Scotland Yard +to talk pretty severely to the police. I second the motion. Those in +favour. . . ? Mrs. Fielder-Flemming?” + +Mrs. Fielder-Flemming endeavoured to conceal her disapproval of Mr. +Bradley in her approval of Mr. Bradley’s suggestion. “I certainly +think that Mr. Sheringham has proved his case,” she said stiffly. + +“Sir Charles?” + +“I agree,” said Sir Charles, in stern tones, equally disproving Mr. +Bradley’s frivolity. + +“Chitterwick?” + +“I agree too.” Was it Roger’s fancy, or did Mr. Chitterwick hesitate +just a moment before he spoke, as if troubled by some mental +reservation which he did not care to put into words? Roger decided +that it was his fancy. + +“And Miss Dammers?” concluded Mr. Bradley. + +Miss Dammers looked calmly round the table. “I don’t agree at all. I +think Mr. Sheringham’s exposition was exceedingly ingenious, and +altogether worthy of his reputation; at the same time I think it quite +wrong. To-morrow I hope to be able to prove to you who really +committed this crime.” + +The Circle gaped at her respectfully. + +Roger, wondering whether his ears had not really been playing tricks +with him, found that his tongue too utterly refused to work. An +inarticulate sound oozed from him. + +Mr. Bradley was the first to recover himself. “Carried, +non-unanimously. Mr. President, I think this is a precedent. Does +anybody know what happens when a resolution is not carried +unanimously?” + +In the temporary disability of the President, Miss Dammers took it +upon herself to decide. “The meeting stands adjourned, I think,” she +said. + +And adjourned the meeting found itself. + + + +Chapter XV + +Roger arrived at the Circle’s meeting-room the next evening even more +agog than usual. In his heart on hearts he could not believe that Miss +Dammers would ever be able to destroy his case against Bendix, or even +dangerously shake it, but in any event what she had to say could not +fail to be of absorbing interest, even without its animadversions of +his own solution. Roger had been looking forward to Miss Dammers’s +exposition more than to that of any one else. + +Alicia Dammers was so very much a reflection of the age. + +Had she been born fifty years ago, it is difficult to see how she +could have gone on existing. It was impossible that she could have +become the woman-novelist of that time, a strange creature (in the +popular imagination) with white cotton gloves, an intense manner, and +passionate, not to say hysterical yearnings towards a romance from +which her appearance unfortunately debarred her. Miss Dammers’s +gloves, like her clothes, were exquisite, and cotton could not have +touched her since she was ten (if she ever had been); tensity was for +her the depth of bad form; and if she knew how to yearn, she certainly +kept it to herself. Passion and purple, one gathered, Miss Dammers +found quite unnecessary to herself, if interesting phenomena in lesser +mortals. + +From the caterpillar in cotton gloves the woman-novelist has +progressed through the stage of cook-like cocoondom at which Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming had stuck, to the detached and serious butterfly, not +infrequently beautiful as well as pensive, whose decorative pictures +the illustrated weeklies are nowadays delighted to publish. +Butterflies with calm foreheads, just faintly wrinkled in analytical +thought. Ironical, cynical butterflies; surgeon-butterflies thronging +the mental dissecting-rooms (and sometimes, if we must be candid, +inclined to loiter there a little too long); passionless butterflies, +flitting gracefully from one brightly-coloured complex to another. And +sometimes completely humourless, and then distressingly boring +butterflies, whose gathered pollen seems to have become a trifle +mud-coloured. + +To meet Miss Dammers and look at her classical, oval face, with its +delicately small features and big grey eyes, to glance approvingly +over her tall, beautifully dressed figure, nobody whose imagination +was still popular would ever have set her down as a novelist at all. +And that in Miss Dammers’s opinion, coupled with the ability to write +good books, was exactly what a properly-minded modern authoress should +hope to achieve. + +No one had ever been brave enough to ask Miss Dammers how she could +hope successfully to analyse in others emotions which she had never +experienced in herself. Probably because the plain fact confronted the +enquirer that she both could and did. Most successfully. + +“We listened last night,” began Miss Dammers, at five minutes past +nine on the following evening, “to an exceedingly able exposition of a +no less interesting theory of this crime. Mr. Sheringham’s methods, if +I may say so, were a model to all of us. Beginning with the deductive, +he followed this as far as it would take him, which was actually to +the person of the criminal; he then relied on the inductive to prove +his case. In this way he was able to make the best possible use of +each method. That this ingenious mixture should have been based on a +fallacy and therefore never had any chance of leading Mr. Sheringham +to the right solution, is rather a piece of bad luck than his fault.” + +Roger, who still could not believe that he had not reached the truth, +smiled dubiously. + +“Mr. Sheringham’s reading of the crime,” continued Miss Dammers, in +her clear, level tones, “must have seemed to some of us novel in the +extreme. To me, however, it was perhaps more interesting than novel, +for it began from the same starting-point as the theory on which I +myself have been working; namely, that the crime had not failed in its +objective.” + +Roger pricked up his ears. + +“As Mr. Chitterwick pointed out, Mr. Sheringham’s whole case rested on +the bet between Mr. and Mrs. Bendix. From Mr. Bendix’s story of that +bet, he draws the psychological deduction that the bet never existed +at all. That is clever, but it is the wrong deduction. Mr. Sheringham +is too lenient in his interpretation of feminine psychology. I began, +I think I may say, with the bet too. But the deduction I drew from it, +knowing my sister-women perhaps a little more intimately than Mr. +Sheringham could, was that Mrs. Bendix was not quite so honourable as +she was painted by herself.” + +“I thought of that, of course,” Roger expostulated. “But I discarded +it on purely logical grounds. There’s nothing in Mrs. Bendix’s life to +show that she wasn’t honest, and everything to show that she was. And +when there exists no evidence at all for the making of the bet beyond +Bendix’s bare word . . .” + +“Oh, but there does,” Miss Dammers took him up. “I’ve been spending +most of to-day in establishing that point. I knew I should never +really be able to shake you till I could definitely prove that there +was a bet. Let me put you out of your agony at once, Mr. Sheringham. +I’ve overwhelming evidence that the bet was made.” + +“You have?” said Roger, disconcerted. + +“Certainly. It was a point you really should have verified yourself, +you know,” chided Miss Dammers gently, “considering its importance to +your case. Well, I have two witnesses. Mrs. Bendix mentioned the bet +to her maid when she went up to her bedroom to lie down, actually +saying (like yourself, Mr. Sheringham) that the violent indigestion +from which she thought herself to be suffering was a judgment on her +for having made it. The second witness is a friend of my own, who +knows the Bendixes. She saw Mrs. Bendix sitting alone in her box +during the second interval, and went in to speak to her. In the course +of the conversation Mrs. Bendix remarked that she and her husband had +a bet on the identity of the villain, mentioning the character in the +play whom she herself fancied. But (and this completely confirms my +own deduction) Mrs. Bendix did _not_ tell my friend that she had seen +the play before.” + +“Oh!” said Roger, now quite crestfallen. + +Miss Dammers dealt with him as tenderly as possible. “There were only +those two deductions to be made from that bet, and by bad luck you +chose the wrong one.” + +“But how did you know,” said Roger, coming to the surface for the +third time, “that Mrs. Bendix had seen the play before? I only found +that out myself a couple of days ago, and by the merest accident.” + +“Oh, I’ve known that from the beginning,” said Miss Dammers +carelessly. “I suppose Mrs. Verreker-le-Mesurer told you? I don’t know +her personally, but I know people who do. I didn’t interrupt you last +night when you were talking about the amazing chance of this piece of +knowledge reaching you. If I had, I should have pointed out that the +agency by which anything known to Mrs. Verreker-le-Mesurer (as I see +her) might become known to her friends too, isn’t chance at all, but +certainty.” + +“I see,” said Roger, and sank for the third, and final, time. But as +he did so he remembered one piece of information which Mrs. +Verreker-le-Mesurer had succeeded, not wholly as it seemed but very +nearly so, in withholding from her friends; and catching Mr. Bradley’s +ribald eye knew that his thought was shared. So even Miss Dammers was +not quite infallible in her psychology. + +“We then,” resumed that lady, somewhat didactically, “have Mr. Bendix +displaced from his temporary rôle of villain and back again in his old +part of second victim.” She paused for a moment. + +“But without Sir Eustace returning to the cast in his original star +part of intended victim of the piece,” amplified Mr. Bradley. + +Miss Dammers rightly ignored him. “Now here, I think, Mr. Sheringham +will find my case as interesting as I found his last night, for though +we differ so vitally in some essentials we agree remarkably in others. +And one of the points on which we agree is that the intended victim +certainly was killed.” + +“What, Alicia?” exclaimed Mrs. Fielder-Flemming. “You think too that +the plot was directed against Mrs. Bendix from the beginning?” + +“I have no doubt of it. But to prove my contention I must demolish yet +another of Mr. Sheringham’s conclusions. + +“You made the point, Mr. Sheringham, that half-past ten in the morning +was a most unusual time for Mr. Bendix to arrive at his club and +therefore highly significant. That is perfectly true. Unfortunately +you attached the wrong significance to it. His arrival at that hour +doesn’t necessarily argue a guilty intention, as you assumed. It +escaped you (as in fairness I must say it seems to have escaped every +one else) that if Mrs. Bendix was the intended victim and Mr. Bendix +himself not her murderer, his presence at the club at that convenient +time might have been secured by the real murderer. In any case I think +Mr. Sheringham might have given Mr. Bendix the benefit of the doubt in +so far as to ask him if he had any explanation of his own to offer. As +I did.” + +“You asked Bendix himself how it had happened that he arrived at the +club at half-past ten that morning?” Mr. Chitterwick said in awed +tones. This was certainly the way real detecting should be done. +Unfortunately his own diffidence seemed to have prevented Mr. +Chitterwick from doing any real detecting at all. + +“Certainly,” agreed Miss Dammers briskly. “I rang him up, and put the +point to him. From what I gathered, not even the police had thought to +put it before. And though he answered it in a way I quite expected, it +was clear that he saw no significance in his own answer. Mr. Bendix +told me that he had gone there to receive a telephone message. But why +not have had the message telephoned to his home? you will ask. +Exactly. So did I. The reason was that it was not the sort of message +one cares about receiving at home. I must admit that I pressed Mr. +Bendix about this message, and as he had no idea of the importance of +my questions he must have considered my taste more than questionable. +However, I couldn’t help that. + +“In the end I got him to admit that on the previous afternoon he had +been rung up at his office by a Miss Vera Delorme, who plays a small +part in _Heels Up!_ at the Regency Theatre. He had only met her once +or twice, but was not averse from doing so again. She asked him if he +were doing anything important the next morning, to which he replied +that he was not. Could he take her out to a quiet little lunch +somewhere? He would be delighted. But she was not quite sure yet +whether she was free. She would ring him up the next morning between +ten-thirty and eleven o’clock at the Rainbow Club.” + +Five pairs of brows were knitted. + +“I don’t see any significance in that either,” finally plunged Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming. + +“No?” said Miss Dammers. “But if Miss Delorme straightly denies having +ever rung Mr. Bendix up at all?” + +Five pairs of brows unravelled themselves. + +“_Oh!_” said Mrs. Fielder-Flemming. + +“Of course that was the first thing I verified,” said Miss Dammers +coolly. + +Mr. Chitterwick sighed. Yes, undoubtedly this was real detecting. + +“Then your murderer had an accomplice, Miss Dammers?” Sir Charles +suggested. + +“He had two,” retorted Miss Dammers. “Both unwitting.” + +“Ah, yes. You mean Bendix. And the woman who telephoned?” + +“Well—!” Miss Dammers looked in her unexcited way round the circle of +faces. “Isn’t it obvious?” + +Apparently it was not at all obvious. + +“At any rate it must be obvious why Miss Delorme was chosen as the +telephonist: because Mr. Bendix hardly knew her, and would certainly +not be able to recognise her voice on the telephone. And as for the +real speaker . . . Well, really!” Miss Dammers looked her opinion of +such obtuseness. + +“Mrs. Bendix!” squeaked Mrs. Fielder-Flemming catching sight of a +triangle. + +“Of course. Mrs. Bendix, carefully primed by _somebody_ about her +husband’s minor misdemeanours.” + +“The somebody being the murderer of course,” nodded Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming. “A friend of Mrs. Bendix’s then. At least,” amended +Mrs. Fielder-Flemming in some confusion, remembering that real friends +seldom murder each other, “she thought of him as a friend. Dear me, +this is getting very interesting, Alicia.” + +Miss Dammers gave a small, ironical smile. “Yes, it’s a very intimate +little affair after all, this murder. Tightly closed, in fact, Mr. +Bradley. + +“But I’m getting on rather too fast. I had better complete the +destruction of Mr. Sheringham’s case before I build up my own.” Roger +groaned faintly and looked up at the hard, white ceiling. It reminded +him of Miss Dammers, and he looked down again. + +“Really, Mr. Sheringham, your faith in human nature is altogether too +great, you know,” Miss Dammers mocked him without mercy. “Whatever +anybody chooses to tell you, you believe. A confirmatory witness never +seems necessary to you. I’m sure that if some one had come to your +rooms and told you he’d seen the Shah of Persia injecting the +nitrobenzene into those chocolates you would have believed him +unhesitatingly.” + +“Are you hinting that somebody hasn’t told me the truth?” groaned the +unhappy Roger. + +“I’ll do more than hint it; I’ll prove it. When you told us last night +that the man in the typewriter shop had positively identified Mr. +Bendix as the purchaser of a second-hand No. 4 Hamilton I was +astounded. I took a note of the shop’s address. This morning, first +thing, I went there. I taxed the man roundly with having told you a +lie. He admitted it, grinning. + +“So far as he could make out, all you wanted was a good Hamilton No. +4, and he had a good Hamilton No. 4 to sell. He saw nothing wrong in +leading you to suppose that his was the shop where your friend had +bought his own good Hamilton No. 4, because he had quite as good a one +as any other shop could have. And if it eased your mind that he should +recognise your friend from his photograph—well,” said Miss Dammers +drily, “he was quite prepared to ease it as many times as you had +photographs to produce.” + +“I see,” said Roger, and his thoughts dwelt on the eight pounds he had +handed over to that sympathetic, mind-easing shopman in return for a +Hamilton No. 4 he didn’t want. + +“As for the girl in Webster’s,” continued Miss Dammers implacably, +“she was just as ready to admit that perhaps she might have made a +mistake in recognising that friend of the gentleman who called in +yesterday about some notepaper. But really, the gentleman had seemed +so anxious she should that it would have seemed quite a pity to +disappoint him, like. And if it came to that, she couldn’t see the +harm in it not even now she couldn’t.” Miss Dammers’s imitation of +Webster’s young woman was most amusing. Roger did not laugh heartily. + +“I’m sorry if I seem to be rubbing it in, Mr. Sheringham,” said Miss +Dammers. + +“Not at all,” said Roger. + +“But it’s essential to my own case, you see.” + +“Yes, I quite see that,” said Roger. + +“Then that evidence is disposed of. I don’t think you really had any +other, did you?” + +“I don’t think so,” said Roger. + +“You will see,” Miss Dammers resumed, over Roger’s corpse, “that I am +following the fashion of withholding the criminal’s name. Now that it +has come to my turn to speak, I am realising the advantages of this; +but really, I can’t help fearing that you will all have guessed it by +the time I come to my denouement. To me, at any rate, the murderer’s +identity seems quite absurdly obvious. Before I disclose it +officially, however, I should like to deal with a few of the other +points, not actual evidence, raised by Mr. Sheringham in his argument. + +“Mr. Sheringham built up a very ingenious case. It was so very +ingenious that he had to insist more than once on the perfect planning +that had gone to its construction, and the true greatness of the +criminal mind that had evolved it. I don’t agree,” said Miss Dammers +crisply. “My case is much simpler. It was planned with cunning but not +with perfection. It relied almost entirely upon luck: that is to say, +upon one vital piece of evidence remaining undiscovered. And finally +the mind that evolved it is not great in any way. But it _is_ a mind +which, dealing with matters outside its usual orbit would certainly be +imitative. + +“That brings me to a point of Mr. Bradley’s. I agree with him to the +extent that I think a certain acquaintance with criminological history +is postulated, but not when he argues that it is the work of a +creative mind. In my opinion the chief feature of the crime is its +servile imitation of certain of its predecessors. I deduced from it, +in fact, the type of mind which is possessed of no originality of its +own, is intensely conservative because without the wit to recognise +the progress of change, is obstinate, dogmatic, and practical, and +lacks entirely any sense of spiritual values. As one who am inclined +to suffer myself from something of an aversion from matter, I sensed +my exact antithesis behind the whole atmosphere of this case.” + +Everybody looked suitably impressed. As for Mr. Chitterwick, he could +only gasp before these detailed deductions from a mere atmosphere. + +“With another point of Mr. Sheringham’s I have already inferred that I +agree: that chocolates were used as the vehicle of the poison because +they were meant to reach a woman. And here I might add that I am sure +no harm was intended to Mr. Bendix himself. We know that Mr. Bendix +did not care for chocolates, and it is a reasonable assumption that +the murderer knew it too; he never expected that Mr. Bendix would eat +any himself. + +“It is curious how often Mr. Sheringham hits the mark with small +shafts, while missing it with the chief one. He was quite right about +the notepaper being extracted from that sample-book at Webster’s. I’m +bound to admit that the possession of the piece of notepaper had +worried me considerably. I was at a complete loss there. Then Mr. +Sheringham very handily presented us with his explanation, and I have +been able to-day to destroy his application of it to his own theory +and incorporate it in my own. The attendant who pretended out of +innocent politeness to recognise the photograph Mr. Sheringham showed +her, was able to recognise in earnest the one I produced. And not only +recognise it,” said Miss Dammers with the first sign of complacence +she had yet shown, “but identify the original of it actually by name.” + +“Ah!” nodded Mrs. Fielder-Flemming, much excited. + +“Mr. Sheringham made a few other small points, which I thought it +advisable to-day to blunt,” Miss Dammers went on, with a return to her +impersonal manner. “Because most of the small firms in which Mr. +Bendix figures on the board of directors are not in a flourishing +state, Mr. Sheringham deduced not only that Mr. Bendix was a bad +business-man, with which I am inclined to agree, but that he was +desperately in need of money. Once again Mr. Sheringham failed to +verify his deduction, and once again he must pay the penalty in +finding himself utterly wrong. + +“The most elementary channels of enquiry would have brought Mr. +Sheringham the information that only a very small proportion of Mr. +Bendix’s money is invested in these concerns, which are really a +wealthy man’s toys. By far the greater part is still where his father +left it when he died, in government stock and safe industrial concerns +so large that even Mr. Bendix could never aspire to a seat on the +board. And from what I know of him, Mr. Bendix is quite a big enough +man to recognise that he is not the business-genius his father was, +and has no intention of spending on his toys more than he can +comfortably afford. The real motive Mr. Sheringham gave him for his +wife’s death therefore completely disappears.” + +Roger bowed his head. For ever afterwards, he felt, would genuine +criminologists point the finger of contempt at him as the man who +failed to verify his own deductions. Oh, shameful future! + +“As for the subsidiary motive, I attach less importance to that but on +the whole I am inclined to agree with Mr. Sheringham. I think Mrs. +Bendix must have become a dreadful bore to her husband, who after all +was a normal man, with a normal man’s reactions and scale of values. I +should be inclined to think that she morally drove him into the arms +of his actresses, in search of a little light companionship. I’m not +saying he wasn’t deeply in love with her when he married her; no doubt +he was. And he’d have had a naturally deep respect for her then. + +“But it’s an unfortunate marriage,” observed the cynical Miss Dammers, +“in which the respect outstays its usefulness. A man wants a piece of +humanity in his marriage-bed; not an object of deep respect. But I’m +bound to say that if Mrs. Bendix did bore her husband before the end, +he was gentleman enough not to show it. The marriage was generally +considered an ideal one.” + +Miss Dammers paused for a moment to sip at the glass of water in front +of her. + +“Lastly, Mr. Sheringham made the point that the letter and wrapper +were not destroyed, because the murderer thought they would not only +not harm him but definitely help him. With that too I agree. But I do +not draw the same deduction from it that Mr. Sheringham did. I should +have said that this entirely confirms my theory that the murder is the +work of a second-rate mind, because a first-rate mind would never +consent to the survival of any clue which could be easily destroyed, +however helpful it might be expected to prove, because he would know +how often such clues, deliberately left to mislead, have actually led +to the criminal’s undoing. And I would draw the subsidiary deduction +that the wrapper and letter were not expected to be just generally +helpful, but that there was some definite piece of misleading +information contained in them. I think I know what that piece of +information was. + +“That is all the reference I have to make to Mr. Sheringham’s case.” + +Roger lifted his bowed head, and Miss Dammers sipped again at her +water. + +“With regard to this matter of the respect Mr. Bendix had for his +wife,” Mr. Chitterwick hazarded, “isn’t there something of an anomaly +there, Miss Dammers? Because I understood you to say at the very +beginning that the deduction you had drawn from that bet was that Mrs. +Bendix was not quite so worthy of respect as we had all imagined. +Didn’t that deduction stand the test, then?” + +“It did, Mr. Chitterwick, and there is no anomaly.” + +“Where a man doesn’t suspect, he will respect,” said Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming swiftly, before her Alicia could think of it. + +“Ah, the horrid sepulchre under the nice white paint,” remarked Mr. +Bradley, who didn’t approve of that sort of thing, even from +distinguished dramatists. “Now we’re getting down to it. Is there a +sepulchre, Miss Dammers?” + +“There is,” Miss Dammers agreed, without emotion. “And now, as you +say, Mr. Bradley, we’re getting down to it.” + +“Oh!” Mr. Chitterwick positively bounced on his chair. “If the letter +and wrapper _could_ have been destroyed by the murderer . . . and +Bendix wasn’t the murderer . . . and I suppose the porter needn’t be +considered . . . Oh, _I_ see!” + +“I wondered when somebody would,” said Miss Dammers. + + + +Chapter XVI + +“From the very beginning of this case,” Miss Dammers proceeded, +imperturbable as ever, “I was of the opinion that the greatest clue +the criminal had left us was one of which he would have been totally +unconscious: the unmistakable indications of his own character. Taking +the facts as I found them, and not assuming others as Mr. Sheringham +did to justify his own reading of the murderer’s exceptional +mentality—” She looked challengingly towards Roger. + +“Did I assume any facts that I couldn’t substantiate?” Roger felt +himself compelled to answer her look. + +“Certainly you did. You assumed for instance that the typewriter on +which the letter was written is now at the bottom of the Thames. The +plain fact that it is not, once more bears out my own interpretation. +Taking the established facts as I found them, then, I was able without +difficulty to form the mental picture of the murderer that I have +already sketched out for you. But I was careful not to look for +somebody who would resemble my picture and then build up a case +against him. I simply hung the picture up in my mind, so to speak, in +order to compare with it any individual towards whom suspicion might +seem to point. + +“Now, after I had cleared up Mr. Bendix’s reason for arriving at his +club that morning at such an unusual hour, there remained so far as I +could see only one obscure point, apparently of no importance, to +which nobody’s attention seemed to have been directed. I mean, the +engagement Sir Eustace had had that day for lunch, which must +subsequently have been cancelled. I don’t know how Mr. Bradley +discovered this, but I am quite ready to say how I did. It was from +that same useful valet who gave Mrs. Fielder-Flemming so much +interesting information. + +“I must admit in this connection that I have advantages over the other +members of this Circle so far as investigations regarding Sir Eustace +were concerned, for not only did I know Sir Eustace himself so well +but I knew his valet too; and you may imagine that if Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming was able to extract so much from him with the aid of +money alone, I myself, backed not only by money but by the advantage +of a previous acquaintance, was in a position to obtain still more. In +any case, it was not long before the man casually mentioned that four +days before the crime Sir Eustace had told him to ring up Fellows’s +Hotel in Jermyn Street and reserve a private room for lunch-time on +the day on which the murder subsequently took place. + +“That was the obscure point, which I thought it worth while to clear +up if I could. With whom was Sir Eustace going to lunch that day? +Obviously a woman, but which of his many women? The valet could give +me no information. So far as he knew, Sir Eustace actually had not got +any women at the moment, so intent was he upon the pursuit of Miss +Wildman (you must excuse me, Sir Charles), her hand and her fortune. +Was it Miss Wildman herself then? I was very soon able to establish +that it wasn’t. + +“Does it strike you that there is a reminiscent ring about this +cancelled lunch-appointment on the day of the crime? It didn’t occur +to me for a long time, but of course there is. Mrs. Bendix had a +lunch-engagement for that day too, which was cancelled for some reason +unknown on the previous afternoon.” + +“_Mrs. Bendix!_” breathed Mrs. Fielder-Flemming. Here was a juicy +triangle. + +Miss Dammers smiled faintly. “Yes, I won’t keep you on the +tenterhooks, Mabel. From what Sir Charles told us I knew that Mrs. +Bendix and Sir Eustace at any rate were not total strangers, and in +the end I managed to connect them. Mrs. Bendix was to have lunched +with Sir Eustace, in a private room, at the somewhat notorious +Fellows’s Hotel.” + +“To discuss her husband’s shortcomings, of course?” suggested Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming, more charitably than her hopes. + +“Possibly, among other things,” said Miss Dammers nonchalantly. “But +the chief reason, no doubt was because she was his mistress.” Miss +Dammers dropped this bombshell among the company with as little +emotion as if she had remarked that Mrs. Bendix was wearing a +jade-green taffeta frock for the occasion. + +“Can you—can you substantiate that statement?” asked Sir Charles, the +first to recover himself. + +Miss Dammers just raised her fine eyebrows. “But of course. I shall +make no statements that I can’t substantiate. Mrs. Bendix had been in +the habit of lunching at least twice a week with Sir Eustace, and +occasionally dining too, at Fellows’s Hotel, always in the same room. +They took considerable precautions and used to arrive not only at the +hotel but in the room itself quite independently of each other; +outside the room they were never seen together. But the waiter who +attended them (always the same waiter) has signed a declaration for me +that he recognised Mrs. Bendix, from the photographs published after +her death, as the woman who used to come there with Sir Eustace +Pennefather.” + +“He signed a declaration for you, eh?” mused Mr. Bradley. “You must +find detecting an expensive hobby too, Miss Dammers.” + +“One can afford one expensive hobby, Mr. Bradley.” + +“But just because she lunched with him . . .” Mrs. Fielder-Flemming +was once more speaking with the voice of charity. “I mean, it doesn’t +necessarily mean that she was his mistress, does it? Not, of course, +that I think any the less of her if she was,” she added hastily, +remembering the official attitude. + +“Communicating with the room in which they had their meals is a +bedroom,” replied Miss Dammers, in a desiccated tone of voice. +“Invariably after they had gone, the waiter informed me, he found the +bedclothes disarranged and the bed showing signs of recent use. I +imagine that would be accepted as clear enough evidence of adultery, +Sir Charles?” + +“Oh, undoubtedly, undoubtedly,” rumbled Sir Charles, in high +embarrassment. Sir Charles was always exceedingly embarrassed when +women used words like “adultery” and “sexual perversions” and even +“mistress” to him, out of business hours. Sir Charles was regrettably +old-fashioned. + +“Sir Eustace, of course,” added Miss Dammers in her detached way, “had +nothing to fear from the King’s Proctor.” + +She took another sip of water, while the others tried to accustom +themselves to this new light on the case and the surprising avenues it +illuminated. + +Miss Dammers proceeded to illuminate them still further, with powerful +beams from her psychological searchlight. “They must have made a +curious couple those two. Their widely differing scales of values, the +contrast of their respective reactions to the business that brought +them together, the possibility that not even in a common passion could +their minds establish any point of real contact. I want you to examine +the psychology of the situation as closely as you can, because the +murder was derived directly from it. + +“What can have induced Mrs. Bendix in the first place to become that +man’s mistress I don’t know. I won’t be so trite as to say I can’t +imagine, because I can imagine all sorts of ways in which it may have +happened. There is a curious mental stimulus to a good but stupid +woman in a bad man’s badness. If she has a touch of the reformer in +her, as most good women have, she soon becomes obsessed with the +futile desire to save him from himself. And in seven cases out of ten +her first step in doing so is to descend to his level. + +“Not that she considers herself at first to be descending at all; a +good woman invariably suffers for quite a long time from the delusion +that whatever she does, her own particular brand of goodness cannot +become smirched. She may share a reprobate’s bed with him, because she +knows that only through her body at first can she hope to influence +him, until contact is established through the body with the soul and +he may be led into better ways than a habit of going to bed in the +daytime; but the initial sharing doesn’t reflect on her own purity in +the least. It is a hackneyed observation but I must insist on it once +more: good women have the most astonishing powers of self-deception. + +“I do consider Mrs. Bendix as a good woman, before she met Sir +Eustace. Her trouble was that she thought herself so much better than +she was. Her constant references to honour and playing the game, which +Mr. Sheringham quoted, show that. She was infatuated with her own +goodness. And so, of course, was Sir Eustace. He had probably never +enjoyed the complaisance of a really good woman before. The seduction +of her (which was probably very difficult) would have amused him +enormously. He must have had to listen to hour after hour’s talk about +honour, and reform, and spirituality, but he would have borne it +patiently enough for the exquisite revenge on which he had set his +heart. The first two or three visits to Fellows’s Hotel must have +delighted him. + +“But after that it became less and less amusing. Mrs. Bendix would +discover that perhaps her own goodness wasn’t standing quite so firm +under the strain as she had imagined. She would have begun to bore him +with her self-reproaches; bore him dreadfully. He continued to meet +her there first because a woman, to his type, is always a woman, and +afterwards because she gave him no choice. I can see exactly what must +inevitably have happened. Mrs. Bendix begins to get thoroughly morbid +about her own wickedness, and quite loses sight of her initial zeal +for reform. + +“They use the bed now because there happens to be a bed there and it +would be a pity to waste it, but she has destroyed the pleasure of +both. Her one cry now is that she must put herself right with her own +conscience either by running away with Sir Eustace on the spot, or, +more probably, by telling her husband, arranging for divorce (for, of +course, he will never forgive her, _never_), and marrying Sir Eustace +as soon as both divorces are through. In any case, although she almost +loathes him by now nothing else can be contemplated but that the rest +of her life must be spent with Sir Eustace and his with her. How well +I know that type of mind. + +“Naturally, to Sir Eustace, who is working hard to retrieve his +fortunes by a rich marriage, this scheme has small appeal. He begins +by cursing himself for having seduced the damned woman at all, and +goes on to curse still more the damned woman for having been seduced. +And the more pressing she becomes, the more he hates her. Then Mrs. +Bendix must have brought matters to a head. She has heard about the +Wildman girl affair. That must be stopped at once. She tells Sir +Eustace that if he doesn’t break it off himself, she will take steps +to break it off for him. Sir Eustace sees the whole thing coming out, +his own appearance in a second divorce-court, and all hopes of Miss +Wildman and her fortune gone for ever. Something has got to be done +about it. But what can be done? Nothing short of murder will stop the +damned woman’s tongue. + +“Well—it’s high time somebody murdered her anyhow. + +“Now I’m on rather less sure ground, but the assumptions seem to me +sound enough and I can produce a reasonable amount of proof to support +them. Sir Eustace decides to get rid of the woman once and for all. He +thinks it over carefully, remembers to have read about a case, several +cases, in some criminological book, each of which just failed through +some small mistake. Combine them, eradicate the small mistake from +each, and so long as his relations with Mrs. Bendix are not known (and +he is quite certain they aren’t) there is no possibility of being +found out. That may seem a long guess, but here’s my proof. + +“When I was studying him, I gave Sir Eustace every chance of plying +his blandishments on me. One of his methods is to profess a deep +interest in everything that interests the woman. Naturally therefore +he discovered a profound, if hitherto latent, interest in criminology. +He borrowed several of my books, and certainly read them. Among the +ones he borrowed is a book of American poisoning cases. In it is an +account of every single case that has been mentioned as a parallel by +members of this Circle (except of course Marie Lafarge and Christina +Edmunds). + +“About six weeks ago, when I got in one evening my maid told me that +Sir Eustace, who hadn’t been near my flat for months, had called; he +waited for a time in the sitting-room and then went. Shortly after the +murder, having also been struck by the similarity between this and one +or two of those American cases, I went to the bookshelf in my +sitting-room to look them up. The book was not there. Nor, Mr. +Bradley, was my copy of Taylor. But I saw them both in Sir Eustace’s +rooms the day I had that long conversation with his valet.” + +Miss Dammers paused for comment. + +Mr. Bradley supplied it. “Then the man deserves what’s coming to him,” +he drawled. + +“I told you this murder wasn’t the work of a highly intelligent mind,” +said Miss Dammers. + +“Well, now, to complete my reconstruction. Sir Eustace decides to rid +himself of his encumbrance, and arranges what he thinks a perfectly +safe way of doing so. The nitrobenzene, which appears to worry Mr. +Bradley so much, seems to me a very simple matter. Sir Eustace has +decided upon chocolates as the vehicle, and chocolate liqueurs at +that. (Mason’s chocolate liqueurs, I should say, are a favourite +purchase of Sir Eustace’s. It is significant that he had bought +several one-pound boxes recently.) He is searching, then, for some +poison with a flavour which will mingle well enough with that of the +liqueurs. He is bound to come across oil of bitter almonds very soon +in that connection, actually used as it is in confectionery, and from +that to nitrobenzene, which is more common, easier to get hold of, and +practically untraceable, is an obvious step. + +“He arranges to meet Mrs. Bendix for lunch, intending to make a +present to her then of the chocolates which are to come to him that +morning by post, a perfectly natural thing to do. He will already have +the porter’s evidence of the innocent way in which he acquired them. +At the last minute he sees the obvious flaw in this plan. If he gives +Mrs. Bendix the chocolates in person, and especially at lunch at +Fellows’s Hotel, his intimacy with her must be disclosed. He hastily +racks his brains and finds a very much better plan. Getting hold of +Mrs. Bendix, he tells her some story of her husband and Vera Delorme. + +“In characteristic fashion Mrs. Bendix loses sight of the beam in her +own eye on learning of this mote in her husband’s and at once falls in +with Sir Eustace’s suggestion that she shall ring Mr. Bendix up, +disguising her voice and pretending to be Vera Delorme, and just find +out for herself whether or not he will jump at the chance of an +intimate little lunch for the following day. + +“‘And tell him you’ll ring him up at the Rainbow to-morrow morning +between ten-thirty and eleven,’ Sir Eustace adds carelessly. ‘If he +goes to the Rainbow, you’ll be able to know for certain that he’s +dancing attendance on her at any hour of the day.’ And so she does. +The presence of Bendix is therefore assured for the next morning at +half-past ten. Who in the world is to say that he was not there by +purest chance when Sir Eustace was exclaiming over that parcel? + +“As for the bet, which clinched the handing over of the chocolates, I +cannot believe that this was just a stroke of luck for Sir Eustace. +That seems too good to be true. Somehow, I’m sure, though I won’t +attempt to show how (that would be mere guesswork), Sir Eustace +arranged for that bet in advance. And if he did, the fact in no way +destroys my initial deduction from it, that Mrs. Bendix was not so +honest as she pretended; for whether it was arranged or whether it +wasn’t, the plain fact is left that it is dishonest to make a bet to +which you know the answer. + +“Lastly, if I am to follow the fashion and cite a parallel case, I +decide unhesitatingly for John Tawell, who administered prussic acid +in a bottle of beer to his mistress, Sarah Hart, when he was tired of +her.” + +The Circle looked at her admiringly. At last, it seemed, they really +had got to the bottom of the business. + +Sir Charles voiced the general feeling. “If you’ve got any solid +evidence to support this theory, Miss Dammers . . .” He implied that +in that case the rope was as good as round Sir Eustace’s thick red +neck. + +“Meaning that the evidence I’ve given already isn’t solid enough for +the legal mind?” enquired Miss Dammers equably. + +“Psy—psychological reconstructions wouldn’t carry _very_ much weight +with a jury,” Sir Charles took refuge behind the jury in question. + +“I’ve connected Sir Eustace with the piece of Mason’s notepaper,” Miss +Dammers pointed out. + +“I’m afraid on that alone Sir Eustace would get the benefit of the +doubt.” Sir Charles was evidently deprecating the psychological +obtuseness of that jury of his. + +“I’ve shown a tremendous motive, and I’ve connected him with a book of +similar cases and a book of poisons.” + +“Yes. Oh, quite so. But what I mean is, have you any real evidence to +connect Sir Eustace quite definitely with the letter, the chocolates, +or the wrapper?” + +“He has an Onyx pen, and the inkpot in his library used to be filled +with Harfield’s Ink,” Miss Dammers smiled. “I’ve no doubt it is still. +He was supposed to have been at the Rainbow the whole evening before +the murder, but I’ve ascertained that there is a gap of half-an-hour +between nine o’clock and nine-thirty during which nobody saw him. He +left the dining-room at nine, and a waiter brought him a +whisky-and-soda in the lounge at half-past. In the interim nobody +knows where he was. He wasn’t in the lounge. Where was he? The porter +swears he did not see him go out, or come in again; but there is a +back way which he could have used if he wanted to be unnoticed, as of +course he did. I asked him myself, as if by way of a joke, and he said +that he had gone up to the library after dinner to look up a reference +in a book of big-game hunting. Could he mention the names of any other +members in the library? He said there weren’t any; there never were; +he’d never seen a member in the library all the time he belonged to +the club. I thanked him and rang off. + +“In other words, he says he was in the library, because he knows there +would be no other member there to prove he wasn’t. What he really did +during that half-hour, of course, was to slip out the back-way, hurry +down to the Strand to post the parcel (just as Mr. Sheringham saw Mr. +Bendix hurrying down), slip in again, run up to the library to make +sure nobody was there, and then go down to the lounge and order his +whisky-and-soda to prove his presence there later. Isn’t that more +feasible than your vision of Mr. Bendix, Mr. Sheringham?” + +“I must admit that it’s no less so,” Roger had to agree. + +“Then you haven’t any solid evidence at all?” lamented Sir Charles. +“Nothing that would really impress a jury?” + +“Yes, I have,” said Miss Dammers quietly. “I’ve been saving it up till +the end because I wanted to prove my case (as I consider I have done) +without it. But this is absolutely and finally conclusive. Will +everybody examine these, please.” + +Miss Dammers produced from her bag a brown-paper-covered parcel. +Unwrapping it, she brought to light a photograph and a quarto sheet of +paper which looked like a typed letter. + +“The photograph,” she explained, “I obtained from Chief Inspector +Moresby the other day, but without telling him the specific purpose +for which I wanted it. It is of the forged letter, actual size. I +should like everybody to compare it with this typed copy of the +letter. Will you look at them first, Mr. Sheringham, and then pass +them round? Notice particularly the slightly crooked s’s and the +chipped capital H.” + +In dead silence Roger pored over the two. He examined them for a full +two minutes, which seemed to the others more like two hours, and then +passed them on to Sir Charles on his right. + +“There isn’t the slightest doubt that those two were done on the same +machine,” he said soberly. + +Miss Dammers showed neither less nor more emotion than she had +displayed throughout. Her voice carried exactly the same impersonal +inflection. She might have been announcing her discovery of a match +between two pieces of dress-material. From her level tone it could +never have been guessed that a man’s neck depended on her words no +less than on the rope that was to hang him. + +“You will find the machine in Sir Eustace’s rooms,” she said. + +Even Mr. Bradley was moved. “Then as I said, he deserves all that’s +coming to him,” he drawled, with a quite impossible nonchalance, and +even attempted a yawn. “Dear me, what a distressing bungler.” + +Sir Charles passed on the evidence. “Miss Dammers,” he said +impressively, “you have rendered a very great service to society. I +congratulate you.” + +“Thank you, Sir Charles,” replied Miss Dammers, matter-of-factly. “But +it was Mr. Sheringham’s idea, you know.” + +“Mr. Sheringham,” intoned Sir Charles, “sowed better than he knew.” + +Roger, who had hoped to add another feather to his cap by solving the +mystery himself, smiled in a somewhat sickly way. + +Mrs. Fielder-Flemming improved the occasion. “We have made history,” +she said with fitting solemnity. “When the whole police-force of a +nation had failed, a woman has uncovered the dark mystery. Alicia, +this is a red-letter day, not only for you, not only for this Circle, +but for Woman.” + +“Thank you, Mabel,” responded Miss Dammers. “How very nice of you to +say so.” + +The evidence passed slowly round the table and returned to Miss +Dammers. She handed it on to Roger. + +“Mr. Sheringham, I think you had better take charge of these. As +President, I leave the matter in your hands. You know as much as I do. +As you may imagine, to inform the police officially myself would be +extremely distasteful. I should like my name kept out of any +communication you make to them, entirely.” + +Roger was rubbing his chin. “I think that can be done. I could just +hand these things over to him, with the information where the machine +is, and let Scotland Yard work the case up themselves. These, and the +motive, with the evidence of the porter at Fellows’s Hotel of which I +shall have to tell Moresby, are the only things that will really +interest the police, I think. Humph! I suppose I’d better see Moresby +to-night. Will you come with me, Sir Charles? It would add weight.” + +“Certainly, certainly,” Sir Charles agreed with alacrity. + +Everybody looked, and felt, very serious. + +“I suppose,” Mr. Chitterwick dropped shyly into all this solemnity, “I +suppose you couldn’t put it off for twenty-four hours, could you?” + +Roger looked his surprise. “But why?” + +“Well, you know . . .” Mr. Chitterwick wriggled with diffidence. +“Well—I haven’t spoken yet, you know.” + +Five pairs of eyes fastened on him in astonishment. Mr. Chitterwick +blushed warmly. + +“Of course. No, of course.” Roger was trying to be as tactful as he +could. “And—well, that is to say, you want to speak, of course?” + +“I have a theory,” said Mr. Chitterwick modestly. “I—I don’t _want_ to +speak, no. But I have a theory.” + +“Yes, yes,” said Roger, and looked helplessly at Sir Charles. + +Sir Charles marched to the rescue. “I’m sure we shall all be most +interested to hear Mr. Chitterwick’s theory,” he pronounced. “Most +interested. But why not let us have it now, Mr. Chitterwick?” + +“It isn’t quite complete,” said Mr. Chitterwick, unhappy but +persistent. “I should like another twenty-four hours to clear up one +or two points.” + +Sir Charles had an inspiration. “Of course, of course. We must meet +to-morrow and listen to Mr. Chitterwick’s theory, of course. In the +meantime Sheringham and I will just call in at Scotland Yard and—” + +“I’d much rather you didn’t,” said Mr. Chitterwick, now in the deeps +of misery. “Really I would.” + +Again Roger looked helplessly at Sir Charles. This time Sir Charles +looked helplessly back. + +“Well—I suppose another twenty-four hours wouldn’t make _much_ +difference,” said Roger with reluctance. “After all this time.” + +“Not _very_ much difference,” pleaded Mr. Chitterwick. + +“Well, not very much difference certainly,” agreed Sir Charles, +frankly puzzled. + +“Then have I your word, Mr. President?” persisted Mr. Chitterwick, +very mournfully. + +“If you put it like that,” said Roger, rather coldly. + +The meeting then broke up, somewhat bewildered. + + + +Chapter XVII + +It was quite evident that, as he had said, Mr. Chitterwick did not +want to speak. He looked appealingly round the circle of faces the +next evening when Roger asked him to do so, but the faces remained +decidedly unsympathetic. Mr. Chitterwick, expressed the faces plainly, +was being a silly old woman. + +Mr. Chitterwick cleared his throat nervously two or three times and +took the plunge. + +“Mr. President, ladies and gentlemen, I quite realise what you must be +thinking, and I must plead for leniency. I can only say in excuse of +what you must consider my perversity, that convincing though Miss +Dammers’s clever exposition was and definite as her proofs appeared, +we have listened to so many apparently convincing solutions of this +mystery and been confronted with so many seemingly definite proofs, +that I could not help feeling that perhaps even Miss Dammers’s theory +might not prove on reflection to be not quite so strong as one would +at first think.” Mr. Chitterwick, having surmounted this tall +obstacle, blinked rapidly but was unable to recall the next sentence +he had prepared so carefully. + +He jumped it, and went on a little. “As the one to whom has fallen the +task, both a privilege and a responsibility, of speaking last, you may +not consider it out of place if I take the liberty of summing up the +various conclusions that have been reached here, so different in both +their methods and results. Not to waste time however in going over old +ground, I have prepared a little chart which may show more clearly the +various contrasting theories, parallels, and suggested criminals. +Perhaps members would care to pass it round.” + +With much hesitation Mr. Chitterwick produced the chart on which he +had spent so much careful thought, and offered it to Mr. Bradley on +his right. Mr. Bradley received it graciously, and even condescended +to lay it on the table between himself and Miss Dammers and examine +it. Mr. Chitterwick looked artlessly gratified. + + Mr. Chitterwick’s Chart + + ANGLE OF SALIENT + SOLVER MOTIVE VIEW FEATURE + ---------------------------------------------------------------- . . . + Sir Charles Gain _Cui bono_ Notepaper + Wildman + Mrs. Fielder- Elimination _Cherchez la Hidden triangle + Flemming femme_ + Bradley (1) Experiment Detective- Nitrobenzene + novelist’s + Bradley (2) Jealousy Character of Criminological + Sir Eustace knowledge of murderer + Sheringham Gain Character of Bet + Mr. Bendix + Miss Dammers Elimination Psychology of Criminal’s + all participants character + Police Conviction, General Material clues + or lust of + killing + + Mr. Chitterwick’s Chart (continued) + + METHOD OF PARALLEL + SOLVER PROOF CASE CRIMINAL + ------------ . . . --------------------------------------------------- + Sir Charles Inductive Marie Lafarge Lady Pennefather + Wildman + Mrs. Fielder- Intuitive and Molineux Sir Charles + Flemming Inductive Wildman + Bradley (1) Scientific Dr. Wilson Bradley + deduction + Bradley (2) Deductive Christina Woman unnamed + Edmunds + Sheringham Deductive and Carlyle Harris Bendix + Inductive + Miss Dammers Psychological Tawell Sir Eustace + deduction Pennefather + Police Routine Horwood Unknown fanatic + or lunatic + +“You will see,” said Mr. Chitterwick, with a shade more confidence, +“that practically speaking no two members have agreed on any one +single matter of importance. The divergence of opinion and method is +really remarkable. And in spite of such variations each member has +felt confident that his or her solution was the right one. This chart, +more than any words of mine could, emphasises not only the extreme +openness, as Mr. Bradley would say, of the case before us, but +illustrates another of Mr. Bradley’s observations too, that is how +surprisingly easy it is to prove anything one may desire, by a process +either of conscious or of unwitting selection. + +“Miss Dammers, I think,” suggested Mr. Chitterwick, “may perhaps find +that chart especially interesting. I am not myself a student of +psychology, but even to me it was striking to notice how the solution +of each member reflected, if I may say so, that particular member’s +own trend of thought and character. Sir Charles, for instance, whose +training has naturally led him to realise the importance of the +material, will not mind if I point out that the angle from which he +viewed the problem was the very material one of _cui bono_, while the +equally material evidence of the notepaper formed for him its salient +feature. At the other end of the scale, Miss Dammers herself regards +the case almost entirely from a psychological view-point and takes as +its salient feature the character, as unconsciously revealed, of the +criminal. + +“Between these two, other members have paid attention to psychological +and material evidence in varying proportions. Then again the methods +of building up the case against a suspected person have been widely +different. Some of us have relied almost entirely on inductive +methods, some almost wholly on deductive; while some, like Mr. +Sheringham, have blended the two. In short, the task our President set +us has proved a most instructive lesson in comparative detection.” + +Mr. Chitterwick cleared his throat, smiled nervously, and continued. +“There is another chart which I might have made, and which I think +would have been no less illuminating than this one. It is a chart of +the singularly different deductions drawn by different members from +the undisputed facts in the case. Mr. Bradley might have found +particular interest in this possible chart, as a writer of +detective-stories. + +“For I have often noticed,” apologised Mr. Chitterwick to the writers +of detective-stories _en masse_, “that in books of that kind it is +frequently assumed that any given fact can admit of only one single +deduction, and that invariably the right one. Nobody else is capable +of drawing any deductions at all but the author’s favourite detective, +and the ones he draws (in the books where the detective is capable of +drawing deductions at all which, alas, are only too few) are +invariably right. Miss Dammers mentioned something of the kind one +evening herself, with her illustration of the two bottles of ink. + +“As an example of what really happens therefore, I should like to cite +the sheet of Mason’s notepaper in this case. From that single piece of +paper the following deductions have at one time or another been drawn: + + 1. That the criminal was an employee or ex-employee of Mason & Sons. + 2. That the criminal was a customer of Mason & Sons. + 3. That the criminal was a printer, or had access to a + printing-press. + 4. That the criminal was a lawyer, acting on behalf of Mason & Sons. + 5. That the criminal was a relative of an ex-employee of + Mason & Sons. + 6. That the criminal was a would-be customer of Webster’s, the + printers. + +“There have been plenty of other deductions of course from that sheet +of paper, such as that the chance possession of it suggested the whole +method of the crime, but I am only calling attention to the ones which +were to point directly to the criminal’s identity. There are no less +than six of them, you see, and all mutually contradictory.” + +“I’ll write a book for you, Mr. Chitterwick,” promised Mr. Bradley, +“in which the detective shall draw six contradictory deductions from +each fact. He’ll probably end up by arresting seventy-two different +people for the murder and committing suicide because he finds +afterwards that he must have done it himself. I’ll dedicate the book +to you.” + +“Yes, do,” beamed Mr. Chitterwick. “For really, it wouldn’t be far +from what we’ve had in this case. For example, I only called attention +to the notepaper. Besides that there were the poison, the typewriter, +the post-mark, the exactness of the dose—oh, many more facts. And from +each one of them not much less than half-a-dozen different deductions +have been drawn. + +“In fact,” Mr. Chitterwick summed up, “it was as much as anything the +different deductions drawn by different members that proved their +different cases.” + +“On second thoughts,” decided Mr. Bradley, “my detectives in future +will be the kind that don’t draw any deductions at all. Besides, that +will be so much easier for me.” + +“So with these few remarks on the solutions we have already heard,” +continued Mr. Chitterwick, “which I hope members will pardon me, I +will hurry on to my explanation of why I asked Mr. Sheringham so +urgently last evening not to go to Scotland Yard at once.” + +Five faces expressed silent agreement that it was about time Mr. +Chitterwick was heard on that point. + +Mr. Chitterwick appeared to be conscious of the thoughts behind the +faces, for his manner became a little flurried. + +“I must first deal very briefly with the case against Sir Eustace +Pennefather, as Miss Dammers gave it us last night. Without belittling +her presentation of it in any way at all, I must just point out that +her two chief reasons for fixing the guilt upon him seemed to me to be +firstly that he was the type of person whom she had already decided +the criminal must be, and secondly that he had been conducting an +intrigue with Mrs. Bendix and certainly would have seemed to have some +cause for wishing her out of the way—_if_ (but only if) Miss Dammers’s +own view of the progress of that intrigue was the correct one.” + +“But the typewriter, Mr. Chitterwick!” cried Mrs. Fielder-Flemming, +loyal to her sex. + +Mr. Chitterwick started. “Oh, yes; the typewriter. I’m coming to that. +But before I reach it, I should like to mention two other points which +Miss Dammers would have us believe are important material evidence +against Sir Eustace, as opposed to the psychological. That he should +be in the habit of buying Mason’s liqueur chocolates for his—his +female friends hardly seems to me even significant. If every one who +is in the habit of buying Mason’s liqueur chocolates is to be suspect, +then London must be full of suspects. And surely even so unoriginal a +murderer as Sir Eustace would seem to be, would have taken the +elementary precaution of choosing some vehicle for the poison which is +not generally associated with his name, instead of one that is. And if +I may venture the opinion, Sir Eustace is not quite such a dunderhead +as Miss Dammers would seem to think. + +“The second point is that the girl in Webster’s should have +recognised, and even identified, Sir Eustace from his photograph. That +also doesn’t appear to me, if Miss Dammers doesn’t mind my saying so, +nearly as significant as she would have us believe. I have +ascertained,” said Mr. Chitterwick, not without pride (here too was a +piece of real detecting) “that Sir Eustace Pennefather buys his +notepaper at Webster’s, and has done so for years. He was in there +about a month ago to order a fresh supply. It would be surprising, +considering that he has a title, if the girl who served him had not +remembered him; it cannot be considered significant,” said Mr. +Chitterwick quite firmly, “that she does. + +“Apart from the typewriter, then, and perhaps the copies of the +criminological books, Miss Dammers’s case has no real evidence to +support it at all, for the matter of the broken alibi, I am afraid, +must be held to be neither here nor there. I don’t wish to be unfair,” +said Mr. Chitterwick carefully, “but I think I am justified in saying +that Miss Dammers’s case against Sir Eustace rests entirely and solely +upon the evidence of the typewriter.” He gazed round anxiously for +possible objections. + +One came, promptly. “But you can’t possibly get round that,” exclaimed +Mrs. Fielder-Flemming impatiently. + +Mr. Chitterwick looked a trifle distressed. “Is ‘get round’ quite the +right expression? I’m not trying wilfully or maliciously to pick holes +in Miss Dammers’s case just for amusement. You must really believe +that. Please think that I am actuated only by a desire to bring this +crime home to its real perpetrator. And with that end alone in view, I +can certainly suggest an explanation of the typewriter evidence which +excludes the guilt of Sir Eustace.” + +Mr. Chitterwick looked so unhappy at what he conceived to be Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming’s insinuation that he was merely wasting the Circle’s +time, that Roger spoke to him kindly. + +“You can?” he said gently, as one encourages one’s daughter on drawing +a cow, which if not much like a cow is certainly unlike any other +animal on earth. “That’s very interesting, Mr. Chitterwick. How do you +explain it then?” + +Mr. Chitterwick, responding to treatment, shone with pride. “Dear me! +You can’t see it really? Nobody sees it?” + +It seemed that nobody saw it. + +“And yet the possibility of such a thing has been before me right from +the beginning of the case,” crowed the now triumphant Mr. Chitterwick. +“Well, well!” He arranged his glasses on his nose and beamed round the +circle, his round red face positively aglow. + +“Well, what is the explanation, Mr. Chitterwick?” queried Miss +Dammers, when it seemed that Mr. Chitterwick was going to continue +beaming in silence for ever. + +“Oh! Oh, yes; of course. Why, to put it one way, Miss Dammers, that +you were wrong and Mr. Sheringham was right, in your respective +estimates of the criminal’s ability. That there was, in fact, an +extremely able and ingenious mind behind this murder (Miss Dammers’s +attempts to prove the contrary were, I’m afraid another case of +special pleading). And that one of the ways in which this ingenuity +was shown, was to arrange the evidence in such a way that if any one +were to be suspected it would be Sir Eustace. That the evidence of the +typewriter, in a word, and of the criminological books was, as I +believe the technical word is, ‘_rigged_.’” Mr. Chitterwick resumed +his beam. + +Everybody sat up with what might have been a concerted jerk. In a +flash the tide of feeling towards Mr. Chitterwick had turned. The man +_had_ got something to say after all. There actually was an idea +behind that untimely request of the previous evening. + +Mr. Bradley rose to the occasion, and he quite forgot to speak quite +so patronisingly as usual. “I say—dam’ good, Chitterwick! But can you +substantiate that?” + +“Oh, yes. I think so,” said Mr. Chitterwick, basking in the rays of +appreciation that were being shone on him. + +“You’ll be telling us next you know who did it,” Roger smiled. + +Mr. Chitterwick smiled back. “Oh, I know _that_.” + +“_What!_” exclaimed five voices in chorus. + +“I know that, of course,” said Mr. Chitterwick modestly. “You’ve +practically told me that yourselves. Coming last of all, you see, my +task was comparatively simple. All I had to do was to sort out the +true from the false in everybody else’s statements, and—well, there +_was_ the truth.” + +The rest of the Circle looked their surprise at having told Mr. +Chitterwick the truth without knowing it themselves. + +Mr. Chitterwick’s face took on a meditative aspect. “Perhaps I may +confess now that when our President first propounded his idea to us, I +was filled with dismay. I had had no practical experience of +detecting, I was quite at a loss as to how to set about it, and I had +no theory of the case at all. I could not even see a starting-point. +The week flew by, so far as I was concerned, and left me exactly where +I had been at its beginning. On the evening Sir Charles spoke he +convinced me completely. The next evening, for a short time, Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming convinced me too. + +“Mr. Bradley did not altogether convince me that he had committed the +murder himself, but if he had named any one else then I should have +been convinced; as it was, he convinced me that his—his discarded +mistress theory,” said Mr. Chitterwick bravely, “must be the correct +one. That indeed was the only idea I had had at all, that the crime +might be the work of one of Sir Eustace’s—h’m!—discarded mistresses. + +“But the next evening Mr. Sheringham convinced me just as definitely +that Mr. Bendix was the murderer. It was only last night, during Miss +Dammers’s exposition, that I at last began to realise the truth.” + +“Then I was the only one who didn’t convince you, Mr. Chitterwick?” +Miss Dammers smiled. + +“I’m afraid,” apologised Mr. Chitterwick, “that is so.” + +He mused for a moment. + +“It is really remarkable, quite remarkable, how near in some way or +other everybody got to the truth of this affair. Not a single person +failed to bring out at least one important fact, or make at least one +important deduction correctly. Fortunately, when I realised that the +solutions were going to differ so widely, I made copious notes of the +preceding ones and kept them up to date each evening as soon as I got +home. I thus had a complete record of the productions of all these +brains, so much superior to my own.” + +“No, no,” murmured Mr. Bradley. + +“Last night I sat up very late, poring over these notes, separating +the true from the false. It might perhaps interest members to hear my +conclusions in this respect?” Mr. Chitterwick put forward the +suggestion with the utmost diffidence. + +Everybody assured Mr. Chitterwick that they would be only too +gratified to hear where they had stumbled inadvertently on the truth. + + + +Chapter XVIII + +Mr. Chitterwick consulted a page of his notes. For a moment he looked +a little distressed. “Sir Charles,” he began. “Er—Sir Charles . . .” +It was plain that Mr. Chitterwick was finding difficulty in +discovering any point at all on which Sir Charles had been right, and +he was a kindly man. He brightened. “Oh, yes, of course. Sir Charles +was the first to point out the important fact that there had been an +erasure on the piece of notepaper used for the forged letter. That +was—er—very helpful. + +“Then he was right too when he put forward the suggestion that Sir +Eustace’s impending divorce was really the mainspring of the whole +tragedy. Though I am afraid,” Mr. Chitterwick felt compelled to add, +“that the inference he drew was not the correct one. He was quite +right too in feeling that the criminal, in such a clever plot, would +take steps to arrange an alibi, and that there was, in fact, an alibi +in the case that would have to be circumvented. But then again it was +not Lady Pennefather’s. + +“Mrs. Fielder-Flemming,” continued Mr. Chitterwick, “was quite right +to insist that the murder was the work of somebody with a knowledge of +criminology. That was a very clever inference, and I am glad,” beamed +Mr. Chitterwick, “to be able to assure her that it was perfectly +correct. She contributed another important piece of information too, +just as vital to the real story underlying this tragedy as to her own +case, namely that Sir Eustace was not in love with Miss Wildman at all +but was hoping to marry her simply for her money. Had that not been +the case,” said Mr. Chitterwick, shaking his head, “I fear, I very +much fear, that it would have been Miss Wildman who met her death +instead of Mrs. Bendix.” + +“Good God!” muttered Sir Charles; and it is perhaps as great a tribute +as Mr. Chitterwick was ever to receive that the K.C. accepted this +startling news without question. + +“That clinches it,” muttered Mr. Bradley to Mrs. Fielder-Flemming. +“Discarded mistress.” + +Mr. Chitterwick turned to him. “As for you, Bradley, it’s astonishing +how near you came to the truth. Amazing!” Mr. Chitterwick registered +amazement. “Even in your first case, against yourself, so many of your +conclusions were perfectly right. The final result of your deductions +from the nitrobenzene, for instance; the fact that the criminal must +be neat-fingered and of a methodical and creative mind; even, what +appeared to me at the time just a trifle far-fetched, that a copy of +Taylor would be found on the criminal’s shelves. + +“Then beyond the fact that No. 4 must be qualified to ‘must have had +an opportunity of secretly obtaining a sheet of Mason’s notepaper,’ +all twelve of your conditions were quite right, with the exception of +6, which does not admit of an alibi, and 7 and 8, about the Onyx pen +and Harfield’s ink. Mr. Sheringham was right in that matter with his +rather more subtle point of the criminal’s probable unobtrusive +borrowing of the pen and ink. Which is exactly what happened, of +course, with regard to the typewriter. + +“As for your second case—well!” Mr. Chitterwick seemed to be without +words to express his admiration of Mr. Bradley’s second case. “You +reached to the truth in almost every particular. You saw that it was a +woman’s crime, you deduced the outraged feminine feelings underlying +the whole affair, you staked your whole case on the criminal’s +knowledge of criminology. It was really most penetrating.” + +“In fact,” said Mr. Bradley, carefully concealing his gratification, +“I did everything possible except find the murderess.” + +“Well, that is so, of course,” deprecated Mr. Chitterwick, somehow +conveying the impression that after all finding the murderess was a +very minor matter compared with Mr. Bradley’s powers of penetration. + +“And then we come to Mr. Sheringham.” + +“Don’t!” implored Roger. “Leave him out.” + +“Oh, but your reconstruction was very clever,” Mr. Chitterwick assured +him with great earnestness. “You put a new aspect on the whole affair, +you know, by your suggestion that it was the right victim who was +killed after all.” + +“Well, it seems that I erred in good company,” Roger said tritely, +with a glance at Miss Dammers. + +“But you didn’t err,” corrected Mr. Chitterwick. + +“Oh?” Roger showed his surprise. “Then it was all aimed against Mrs. +Bendix?” + +Mr. Chitterwick looked confused. “Haven’t I told you about that? I’m +afraid I’m doing this in a very muddle-headed way. Yes, it is +partially true to say that the plot was aimed against Mrs. Bendix. But +the real position, I think, is that it was aimed against Mrs. Bendix +and Sir Eustace jointly. You came very near the truth, Mr. Sheringham, +except that you substituted a jealous husband for a jealous rival. +Very near indeed. And of course you were entirely right in your point +that the method was not suggested by the chance possession of the +notepaper or anything like that, but by previous cases.” + +“I’m glad I was entirely right over something,” murmured Roger. + +“And Miss Dammers,” bowed Mr. Chitterwick, “was most helpful. _Most_ +helpful.” + +“Although not convincing,” supplemented that lady drily. + +“Although I’m afraid I did not find her altogether convincing,” agreed +Mr. Chitterwick, with an apologetic air. “But it was really the theory +she gave us that at last showed me the truth. For she also put yet +another aspect on the crime, with her information regarding +the—h’m!—the affair between Mrs. Bendix and Sir Eustace. And that +really,” said Mr. Chitterwick, with another little bow to the +informant, “was the foundation-stone of the whole business.” + +“I didn’t see how it could fail to be,” said Miss Dammers. “But I +still maintain that my deductions from it are the correct ones.” + +“Perhaps if I may just put my own forward?” hesitated Mr. Chitterwick, +apparently somewhat dashed. + +Miss Dammers accorded a somewhat tart permission. + +Mr. Chitterwick collected himself. “Oh, yes; I should have said that +Miss Dammers was quite right in one important particular, her +assumption that it was not so much the affair between Mrs. Bendix and +Sir Eustace that was at the bottom of the crime, as Mrs. Bendix’s +character. That really brought about her own death. Miss Dammers, I +should imagine, was perfectly right in her tracing out of the +intrigue, and her imaginative insight into Mrs. Bendix’s reactions—I +think that is the word?” Mr. Chitterwick inquired diffidently of +authority. “Mrs. Bendix’s reactions to it, but not, I consider, in her +deductions regarding Sir Eustace’s growing boredom. + +“Sir Eustace, I am led to believe, was less inclined to be bored than +to share the lady’s distress. For the real point, which happened to +escape Miss Dammers, is that Sir Eustace was quite infatuated with +Mrs. Bendix. Far more so than she with him. + +“That,” pronounced Mr. Chitterwick, “is one of the determining factors +in this tragedy.” + +Everybody pinned the factor down. The Circle’s attitude towards Mr. +Chitterwick by this time was one of intelligent expectation. Probably +no one really thought that he had found the right solution, and Miss +Dammers’s stock had not been appreciably lowered. But certainly it +seemed that the man had at any rate got something to offer. + +“Miss Dammers,” proceeded the object of their attention, “was right in +another point she made too, namely that the inspiration of this +murder, or perhaps I should say the method of it, certainly came from +that book of poisoning cases she mentioned, of which her own copy (she +tells us) is at present in Sir Eustace’s rooms—planted there,” added +Mr. Chitterwick, much shocked, “by the murderess. + +“And another useful fact she established. That Mr. Bendix had been +lured (really,” apologised Mr. Chitterwick, “I can use no other word) +to the Rainbow Club that morning. But it was not Mrs. Bendix who +telephoned to him on the previous afternoon. Nor was he sent there for +the particular purpose of receiving the chocolates from Sir Eustace. +The fact that the lunch appointment had been cancelled was altogether +outside the criminal’s knowledge. Mr. Bendix was sent there to be a +witness to Sir Eustace receiving the parcel; that was all. + +“The intention was, of course, that Mr. Bendix should have Sir Eustace +so connected in his mind with the chocolates that if suspicion should +ever arise against any definite person, that of Mr. Bendix would be +directed before long to Sir Eustace himself. For the fact of his +wife’s intrigue would be bound to come to his knowledge, as indeed I +understand privately that it has, causing him naturally the most +intense distress.” + +“So that’s why he’s been looking haggard,” exclaimed Roger. + +“Without doubt,” Mr. Chitterwick agreed gravely. “It was a wicked +plot. Sir Eustace, you see, was expected to be dead by then and +incapable of denying his guilt, and such evidence as there was had +been carefully arranged to point to murder and suicide on his part. +That the police never suspected him (that is, so far as we know), +simply shows that investigations do not always take the turn that the +criminal expects. And in this case,” observed Mr. Chitterwick with +some severity, “I think the criminal was altogether too subtle.” + +“If that was her very involved reason for ensuring the presence of Mr. +Bendix at the Rainbow Club,” agreed Miss Dammers with some irony, “her +subtlety certainly overreached itself.” It was evident that not only +on the point of psychology did Miss Dammers not find herself ready to +accept Mr. Chitterwick’s conclusions. + +“That, indeed, is exactly what happened,” Mr. Chitterwick pointed out +mildly. “Oh, and while we are on the subject of the chocolates, I +ought to add that the reason why they were sent to Sir Eustace’s club +was not only so that Mr. Bendix might be a witness of their arrival, +but also, I should imagine, so that Sir Eustace would be sure to take +them with him to his lunch-appointment. The murderess of course would +be sufficiently conversant with his ways to know that he would almost +certainly spend the morning at his club and go straight on to lunch +from there; the odds were enormous that he would take the box of Mrs. +Bendix’s favourite chocolates with him. + +“I think we may regard it as an instance of the criminal’s habitual +overlooking of some vital point that is to lead eventually to +detection, that this murderess completely lost sight of the +possibility that the appointment for lunch might be cancelled. She is +a particularly ingenious criminal,” said Mr. Chitterwick with gentle +admiration, “and yet even she is not immune from this failing.” + +“Who is she, Mr. Chitterwick?” ingenuously asked Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming. + +Mr. Chitterwick answered her with a positively roguish smile. +“Everybody else has withheld the name of the suspect till the right +moment. Surely I may be allowed to do so too. + +“Well, I think I have cleared up most of the doubtful points now. +Mason’s notepaper was used, I should say, because chocolates had been +decided on as the vehicle and Mason’s were the only chocolate +manufacturing firm who were customers of Webster’s. As it happened, +this fitted very well, because it was always Mason’s chocolates that +Sir Eustace bought for his—er—his friends.” + +Mrs. Fielder-Flemming looked puzzled. “Because Mason’s were the only +firm who were customers of Webster’s? I’m afraid I don’t understand.” + +“Oh, I _am_ explaining all this badly,” cried Mr. Chitterwick in much +distress, assuming all blame for this obtuseness. “It had to be some +firm on Webster’s books, you see, because Sir Eustace has his +notepaper printed at Webster’s, and he was to be identified as having +been in there recently if the purloined piece was ever connected with +the sample book. Exactly, in fact, as Miss Dammers did.” + +Roger whistled. “Oh, I see. You mean, we’ve all been putting the cart +before the horse over this piece of notepaper?” + +“I’m afraid so,” regretted Mr. Chitterwick with earnestness. “Really, +I’m very much afraid so.” + +Insensibly opinion was beginning to turn in Mr. Chitterwick’s favour. +To say the least, he was being just as convincing as Miss Dammers had +been, and that without subtle psychological reconstructions and +references to “values.” Only Miss Dammers herself remained outwardly +sceptical; but that, after all, was only to be expected. + +“Humph!” said Miss Dammers, sceptically. + +“What about the motive, Mr. Chitterwick?” nodded Sir Charles with +solemnity. “Jealousy, did you say? I don’t think you’ve quite cleared +up that yet, have you?” + +“Oh, yes, of course.” Mr. Chitterwick actually blushed. “Dear me, I +meant to make that clear right at the beginning. I _am_ doing this +badly. No, not jealousy, I’m inclined to fancy. Revenge. Or revenge at +any rate so far as Sir Eustace was concerned, and jealousy as regards +Mrs. Bendix. From what I can understand, you see, this lady is—dear +me,” said Mr. Chitterwick, in distress and embarrassment, “this is +very delicate ground. But I must trespass on it. Well—though she had +concealed it successfully from her friends, this lady had been very +much in love with Sir Eustace, and become—er—had become,” concluded +Mr. Chitterwick bravely, “his mistress. That was a long time ago. + +“Sir Eustace was very much in love with her too, and though he used to +amuse himself with other women it was understood by both that this was +quite permissible so long as there was nothing serious. The lady, I +should say, is very modern and broad-minded. It was understood, I +believe, that he was to marry her as soon as he could induce his wife +(who was quite ignorant of this affair) to divorce him. But when this +was at last arranged, Sir Eustace found that owing to his extreme +financial stringency, it was imperative that he should marry money +instead. + +“The lady was naturally very disappointed, but knowing that Sir +Eustace did not care at all for—er—was not really in love with Miss +Wildman and the marriage would only be, so far as he was concerned, +one of convenience, she reconciled herself to the future and, quite +seeing Sir Eustace’s necessity, did not resent the introduction of +Miss Wildman—whom indeed,” Mr. Chitterwick felt himself compelled to +add, “she considered as quite negligible. It never occurred to her to +doubt, you see, that the old arrangement would hold good, and she +would still have Sir Eustace’s real love with which to content +herself. + +“But then something quite unforeseen happened. Sir Eustace not only +fell out of love with her. He fell unmistakably in love with Mrs. +Bendix. Moreover, he succeeded in making her his mistress. That was +quite recently, since he began to pay his addresses to Miss Wildman. +And I think Miss Dammers has given us a true picture of the results in +Mrs. Bendix’s case if not in that of Sir Eustace. + +“Well, you can see the position then, so far as this other lady was +concerned. Sir Eustace was getting his divorce, marriage with the +negligible Miss Wildman was now out of the question, but marriage with +Mrs. Bendix, tortured in her conscience and seeing in divorce from her +husband and marriage with Sir Eustace the only means of solving +it—marriage with Mrs. Bendix, the real beloved, and even more eligible +than Miss Wildman so far as the financial side was concerned, was to +all appearances inevitable. I deprecate the use of hackneyed +quotations as much as anybody, but really I feel that if I permit +myself to add that hell has no fury like—” + +“Can you prove all this, Mr. Chitterwick?” interposed Miss Dammers +coolly on the hackneyed quotation. + +Mr. Chitterwick started. “I—I think so,” he said, though a little +dubiously. + +“I’m inclined to doubt it,” observed Miss Dammers briefly. + +Somewhat uncomfortable, under Miss Dammers’s sceptical eye, Mr. +Chitterwick explained. “Well Sir Eustace, whose acquaintance I have +been at some pains to cultivate recently . . .” Mr. Chitterwick +shivered a little, as if the acquaintance had not been his ideal one. +“Well, from a few indications that Sir Eustace has unconsciously given +me . . . That is to say, I was questioning him at lunch to-day as +adroitly as I could, my conviction as to the murderer’s identity +having been formed at last, and he did unwittingly let fall a few +trifles which . . .” + +“I doubt it,” repeated Miss Dammers bluntly. + +Mr. Chitterwick looked quite nonplussed. + +Roger hurried to the rescue. “Well, shelving the matter of proof for +the moment, Mr. Chitterwick, and assuming that your reconstruction of +the events is just an imaginative one. You’d reached the point where +marriage between Sir Eustace and Mrs. Bendix had become inevitable.” + +“Yes; oh, yes,” said Mr. Chitterwick, with a grateful look towards his +saviour. “And then of course, this lady formed her terrible decision +and made her very clever plan. I think I’ve explained all that. Her +old right of access to Sir Eustace’s rooms enabled her to type the +letter on his typewriter one day when she knew he was out. She is +quite a good mimic, and it was easy for her when ringing up Mr. Bendix +to imitate the sort of voice Miss Delorme might be expected to have.” + +“Mr. Chitterwick, do any of us know this woman?” demanded Mrs. +Fielder-Flemming abruptly. + +Mr. Chitterwick looked more embarrassed than ever. “Er—yes,” he +hesitated. “That is, you must remember it was she who smuggled Miss +Dammers’s two books into Sir Eustace’s rooms too, you know.” + +“I shall have to be more careful about my friends in future, I see,” +observed Miss Dammers, gently sarcastic. + +“An ex-mistress of Sir Eustace’s eh?” Roger murmured, conning over in +his mind such names as he could remember from that lengthy list. + +“Well, yes,” Mr. Chitterwick agreed. “But nobody had any idea of it. +That is— Dear me, this is very difficult.” Mr. Chitterwick wiped his +forehead with his handkerchief, and looked extremely unhappy. + +“She’d managed to conceal it?” Roger pressed him. + +“Er—yes. She’d certainly managed to conceal the true state of matters +between them, very cleverly indeed. I don’t think anybody suspected it +at all.” + +“They apparently didn’t know each other?” Mrs. Fielder-Flemming +persisted. “They were never seen about together?” + +“Oh, at one time they were,” said Mr. Chitterwick, looking in quite a +hunted way from face to face. “Quite frequently. Then, I understand, +they thought it better to pretend to have quarrelled and—and met only +in secret.” + +“Isn’t it time you told us this woman’s name, Chitterwick?” boomed Sir +Charles down the table, looking judicial. + +Mr. Chitterwick scrambled desperately out of this fire of questions. +“It’s very strange, you know, how murderers never will let well alone, +isn’t it?” he said breathlessly. “It happens so often. I’m quite sure +I should never have stumbled on the truth in this case if the +murderess had only left things as they were, in accordance with her +own admirable plot. But this trying to fix the guilt on another +person . . . Really, from the intelligence displayed in this +case, she ought to have been above that. Of course her plot _had_ +miscarried. Been only half-successful, I should say. But why not +accept the partial failure? Why tempt Providence? Trouble was +inevitable—inevitable—” + +Mr. Chitterwick seemed by this time utterly distressed. He was +shuffling his notes with extreme nervousness, and wriggling in his +chair. The glances he kept darting from face to face were almost +pleading. But what he was pleading for remained obscure. + +“Dear me,” said Mr. Chitterwick, as if at his wits’ end. “This is very +difficult. I’d better clear up the remaining point. It’s about the +alibi. + +“In my opinion the alibi was an afterthought, owing to a piece of +luck. Southampton Street is near both the Cecil and the Savoy, isn’t +it? I happen to know that this lady has a friend, another woman, of a +somewhat unconventional nature. She is continually away on exploring +expeditions and so on, usually quite alone. She never stays in London +more than a night or two, and I should imagine she is the sort of +woman who rarely reads the newspapers. And if she did, I think she +would certainly not divulge any suspicion they might convey to her, +especially concerning a friend of her own. + +“I have ascertained that immediately preceding the crime this woman, +whose name by the way is Jane Harding, stayed for two nights at the +Savoy Hotel, and left London, on the morning the chocolates were +delivered, for Africa. From there she was going on to South America. +Where she may be now I have not the least idea. Nor, I should say, has +any one else. But she came to London from Paris, where she had been +staying for a week. + +“The—er—criminal would know about this forthcoming trip to London, and +so hurried to Paris. (I am afraid,” apologised Mr. Chitterwick +uneasily, “there is a good deal of guess-work here.) It would be +simple to ask this other lady to post the parcel in London, as the +parcel postage is so heavy from France, and just as simple to ensure +it being delivered on the morning of the lunch-appointment with Mrs. +Bendix, by saying it was a birthday present, or some other pretext, +and—and—must be posted to arrive on that particular day.” Mr. +Chitterwick wiped his forehead again and glanced pathetically at +Roger. Roger could only stare back in bewilderment. + +“Dear me,” muttered Mr. Chitterwick distractedly, “this is _very_ +difficult.—Well, I have satisfied myself that—” + +Alicia Dammers had risen to her feet and was unhurriedly picking up +her belongings. “I’m afraid,” she said, “I have an appointment. Will +you excuse me, Mr. President?” + +“Of course,” said Roger, in some surprise. + +At the door Miss Dammers turned back. “I’m so sorry not to be able to +stay to hear the rest of your case, Mr. Chitterwick. But really, you +know, as I said, I very much doubt whether you’ll be able to prove +it.” + +She went out of the room. + +“She’s perfectly right,” whispered Mr. Chitterwick, gazing after her +in a petrified way. “I’m quite sure I can’t. But there isn’t the +faintest doubt. I’m afraid, not the faintest.” + +Stupefaction reigned. + +“You—you _can’t_ mean. . . ?” twittered Mrs. Fielder-Flemming in a +strangely shrill voice. + +Mr. Bradley was the first to get a grip on himself. “So we did have a +practising criminologist amongst us after all,” he drawled, in a +manner that was never Oxford. “How quite interesting.” + +Again silence held the Circle. + +“So now,” asked the President helplessly, “what the devil do we do?” + +Nobody enlightened him. + + + The End + + + +Transcriber’s Note + +This transcription follows the text of The British Library edition, +published in 2016. However, the following errors have been corrected +from the text: + + * A mismatched quotation mark was repaired (Chapter VI). + * “unwieldly” was changed to “unwieldy” (Chapter VII). + * “appears to thinks” was changed to “appears to think” + (Chapter VIII). + * “Aways” was changed to “Always” (Chapter IX). + * “Masons’” was changed to “Mason’s” (Chapter XIII). + * “assumptions seems” was changed to “assumptions seem” + (Chapter XVI). + +All other seeming errors and unusual phrasings have been left +unchanged. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75476 *** |