“I didn’t know that, but he was probably so larruping drunk he might’ve done anything.”
Shayne asked, “Do you think Marvin might have killed Rogell?”
“Why would he? He had it mighty soft here.”
“But Rogell didn’t like the way he sponged off Anita. With him out of the way, he’d have it a lot softer.”
“Then why would he go and kill himself a couple days later?”
“That,” said Shayne morosely, “is one of several questions that bothers me. I wish you’d remember back to the night Rogell died. I understand you were in the kitchen until about eleven o’clock, and went up to bed after heating his milk and putting it in the thermos jug.”
“Like I did every night in the world. Before he got married I used to measure out his medicine in the cup myself, and when she came she did it.”
Shayne looked around the surgically clean, white kitchen speculatively. “Think back to that night,” he urged her. “Let’s theorize that someone did add something to his drink that caused his death. Who could have done it… had the physical opportunity?”
“I had the best chance.”
Shayne said, “I know. Who else?”
“Well, Charles was in here while I was washing out the thermos with hot water and heating the milk to go in it. I remember because I had to stop him from drinking the last glass of milk there was left in the refrigerator. I remember because it was just a lucky chance I caught him in time. I would have sworn there was another bottle left after dinner, but there wasn’t. And I scolded Charles for not checking careful before he poured his glass out because he knew Mr. Rogell always had to have a cup at night. Everybody in the house knew they mustn’t ever drink the last cup until I’d fixed his thermos.”
“Then he actually had it poured out before you noticed?”
“Yes, he did. He had a plate of cookies here on the table and I was washing out the thermos at the sink.”
“Then if he knew it was the last glass, he could have put something in it and then stalled around before drinking it so you’d notice and take it away from him?”
“He could have done that,” she agreed doubtfully. “But I didn’t notice him stalling any. He was about to take a sip when I saw it was the last in the bottle and snatched it out of his hand.”
“So that gives us Charles,” Shayne said with satisfaction. “After you left the filled thermos on the dining table, what then?”
“I went upstairs. I think Anita and her brother were in the study. Henrietta came out of her door and met me in the hall and reminded me I was going to lend her a book I had from the library. She went up with me to the third floor and sat and visited in my room until we heard Mrs. Rogell screaming that John was taken sick. We both ran down together and Marvin and Mr. Peabody came up from downstairs.”
“Did Henrietta leave your room at all during that hour?”
“No. We just sat and talked.”
“And the thermos jug was downstairs all the time. You wouldn’t have heard anybody going up or down the stairs during that time?”
“I didn’t, and I don’t think I could’ve.”
“While you were in your room with Henrietta, was your door open or closed?”
She considered this thoughtfully, compressing her lips and blinking her eyelids. “The door was shut. I’m sure it was. I can see Henrietta coming in behind me and closing it.”
“So you were really shut off from the second floor and the other people in the house.”
“That’s right.” She regarded him steadily across the kitchen table.
“This medicine of Mr. Rogell’s that has been mentioned so often. Tincture of digitalis. Did he always take exactly the same amount?”
“Twelve drops out of a medicine dropper,” she replied promptly. “For two or three years now.”
“And everyone in the house knew about it? Where it was kept in the bathroom?”
“In the medicine cabinet there. It surely wasn’t any secret.”
“And was it common knowledge that an overdose would be dangerous?”
“It certainly was.”
“Do you know exactly what effect a large overdose might have had?”
Mrs. Blair hesitated a long moment before replying, giving the impression that she was trying hard and honestly to give a correct reply.
“I think I remember… I’m pretty sure I do now… that when Dr. Evans took over the case he gave us a lecture about it. About how careful we must be in measuring it out. That even a double dose might bring on a heart attack that would take him off.” An acid note crept into her voice as she added, “That’s when his wife said she’d see to it that he got his medicine every night… intimating that I wasn’t to be trusted any more to measure it careful enough.”
“Then all of you knew that an overdose might cause him to die… exactly as he did die,” pressed Shayne.
“Are you saying that’s what did happen, Mr. Shayne?” There was outraged horror in the housekeeper’s voice.
“I’m not saying anything. I’m pointing out that if someone in the house did want Rogell to die… and hoped it would appear a natural death… that the means was ready to his hand.”
“Did somebody put extra digitalis in his milk that night?”
Shayne shrugged. “If they did, Dr. Evans can’t be blamed for believing it was a natural death. And I understand the widow has refused to allow an autopsy which might have proved different.”
“I see what you’re driving at.” Mrs. Blair’s voice was grim. “And I stood up for her when she said she couldn’t stand having John’s body cut up like a dog or a rat in a laboratory. I felt just the same way. But now I wonder.”
Shayne said, “All we can do at this point is to wonder, Mrs. Blair. Let’s jump, now, to the evening when Daffy died.”
“What about it?” She settled herself heavily in an attitude that indicated she was prepared to defend herself against accusations.
Shayne said, “Harold Peabody was here for dinner.”
She nodded. “First time since Mr. Rogell died.”
“Who planned the dinner menu that night?”
“I did,” she told him defiantly. “Mrs. Rogell didn’t bother very often with things like that.”
“Then it was wholly your own idea to have a separate dish of creamed chicken for Henrietta?”
“What’s wrong in that? The others were having shrimp casserole and any kind of seafood made her deathly sick.”
“Nothing wrong with it in principle. I suppose everyone present knew of her allergy, and that there would be a special dish for her?”
“They did if they had ears to hear by. Always harping on it, she was.”
“And there were two separate chafing dishes on the sideboard from which you served dinner?”
“A chafing dish of creamed chicken, and the covered casserole on an electric warming plate.”
“Sitting there how long before dinner was served?”
“The chafing dish for maybe twenty minutes. I made the chicken in that, and gave it a stir now and then while I set up the table.”
“I understand that Mr. Rogell’s death was discussed before dinner.”
“There was hell to pay,” said Mrs. Blair succinctly. “Henrietta raving about how she knew John had been murdered and she was going to prove it if she had to go to the governor of the state of Florida to get an autopsy on John before he was cremated. And all the others trying to shush her, and her ranting louder than ever the more they shushed.”
“Suppose someone had decided to put strychnine in her chicken,” said Shayne quietly. “Who had the opportunity?”
“Any one of them. They were milling around in the dining room with drinks in their hands… all talking to Henrietta at once.”
“Including Charles?”
“Oh, no. He was here in the kitchen while that was going on.”
“Then we can eliminate Charles if something was put into her chicken?”
“Well, I… I don’t know as I’d say that. He’s always good about helping at the table beforehand. Like putting ice in the glasses and pouring water. He might have been in and out once or twice.”
“Did you see Henrietta give the dog a saucer of her chicken?”