Mr. Fox, using a technique that Alleyn was in the habit of alluding to as his disappearing act, had contrived to make his large person unobservable. He had moved as far away from Alleyn as possible and to a chair behind Dr. Schramm. Here he palmed a notebook and his palm was vast. He used a stub of pencil and kept his work on his knee and his eyes respectfully on nothing in particular.
Alleyn and Fox made a point of not looking at each other but at this juncture he felt sure Fox contemplated him, probably with that air of bland approval that generally meant they were both thinking the same thing.
Alleyn said: “Are you still considering motive, Dr. Schramm?”
Schramm gave a short meaningless laugh. His manner, unexpected in a doctor, seemed to imply that nothing under discussion was of importance. Alleyn wondered if he treated his patients to this sort of display. “I don’t want to put ideas in your head,” Schramm said, “but to be quite, quite frank that did occur to me. Motive.”
“I’m resistant to ideas,” said Alleyn. “could you explain?”
“It’s probably a lot of bumph but it does seem to me that our engagement wouldn’t have been madly popular in certain quarters. Gardener, for one. And her family, to make no bones about it.”
“Are you thinking of Mrs. Foster’s stepson?”
“You said it. I didn’t.”
“Motive?”
“I know of no motive but I do know he sponged on her and pestered her and has a pretty disgraceful record. She was very much upset at the thought of his turning up here and I gave orders that if he did he must not be allowed to see her. Or speak to her on the telephone. I tell you this,” Dr. Schramm said, “as a fact. I don’t for a moment pretend that it has any particular significance.”
“But I think you have something more than this in mind, haven’t you?”
“If I have, I wouldn’t want too much weight to be given to it.”
“I shall not give too much weight to it, I hope.”
Dr. Schramm thumbed up the ends of his moustache. “It’s just that it does occur to me that he might have expectations. I’ve no knowledge of any such thing. None.”
“You know, do you, that Carter was on the premises that afternoon?”
“I do not!” he said sharply. “Where did you get that from?”
“From Miss Verity Preston,” said Alleyn.
Again the shadow of a smile: not quite a sneer, not entirely complacent.
“Verity Preston?” he said. “Oh, yes? She and Syb were old friends.”
“He arrived in the same bus as Bruce Gardener. I gather he was ordered off seeing Mrs. Foster.”
“I should bloody well hope so,” said Dr. Schramm. “Who by?”
“By Prunella Foster.”
“Good for her.”
“Tell me,” said Alleyn, “speaking as a medical man, and supposing, however preposterously, that there was foul play, how would you think it could be accomplished?”
“There you are again! Nothing to indicate it! Everything points to the suicide I can’t believe in. Everything. Unless,” he said sharply, “something else has been found.”
“Nothing, as I understand it.”
“Well then—!” He made a dismissive, rather ineloquent, gesture.
“Dr. Schramm, there’s one aspect of her death I wanted to ask you about. Knowing, now, the special relationship between you I am very sorry to have to put this to you: it can’t be anything but distressing to go over the circumstances again.”
“Christ Almighty!” he burst out, “do you suppose I don’t ‘go over’ them day in, day out? What d’you think I’m made of!” He raised his hand. “I’m sorry!” he said. “You’re doing your job. What is it you want to ask?”
“It’s about the partly dissolved tablets found in the throat and on the tongue. Do you find any inconsistency there? I gather the tablets take some twenty minutes to dissolve in water but are readily soluble in alcohol. It was supposed, wasn’t it, that the reason they were not swallowed was because she became unconscious after putting them in her mouth. But — I suspect this is muddled thinking — would the tablets she had already taken have had time to induce insensibility? And anyway she couldn’t have been insensible when she put these last ones in her mouth. I don’t seem able to sort it out.”
Dr. Schramm put his hand to his forehead, frowned and moved his head slowly from side to side.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Touch of migraine. Yes. The tablets. She took them with Scotch, you know. As you say, they dissolve readily in alcohol.”
“Then wouldn’t you think these would have dissolved in her mouth?”
“I would think that she didn’t take any more Scotch with them. Obviously, or she would have swallowed them.”
“You mean that she was conscious enough to put these four in her mouth but not conscious enough to drink or to swallow them? Yes,” said Alleyn. “I see.”
“Well,” Dr. Schramm said loudly, “what else? What do you suppose?”
“I? I don’t go in for supposing: we’re not allowed. Oh, by the way, do you know if Mrs. Foster had made a Will — recently, I mean?”
“Of that,” said Dr. Schramm, “I have no idea.” And after a brief pause: “Is there anything else?”
“Do you know if there are members of the staff here called G. M. Johnson and Marleena Briggs?”
“I have not the faintest idea. I have nothing to do with the management of the hotel.”
“Of course you haven’t. Stupid of me. I’ll ask elsewhere. If it’s convenient could we look at the room?”
“I’ll take you up.” He pressed a buzzer on his desk.
“Please don’t bother. Tell me the number and we’ll find our way.”
“No, no. Wouldn’t dream of it.”
These protestations were interrupted by the entrance of the nurse. She stood inside the door, her important bosom, garnished with its professional badge, well to the fore. A handsome, slightly florid lady, specifically plentiful.
“Oh, Sister,” said Dr. Schramm, “would you be very kind and hold the fort? I’m just going to show our visitors upstairs. I’m expecting that call from New York.”
“Certainly,” she said woodenly.
Alleyn said: “You must be Sister Jackson, mustn’t you? I’m very glad to see you. Would you be very kind and give us a moment or two?”
She looked fixedly at Dr. Schramm, who said grudgingly: “Chief Superintendent Alleyn.”
“And Inspector Fox,” said Alleyn. “Perhaps, as Dr. Schramm expects his long distance call, it won’t be troubling you too much to ask you to show us the way to Mrs. Foster’s room?”
She still looked at Dr. Schramm, who began: “No, that’s all right, I’ll—” when the telephone rang. Sister Jackson made a half-move as if to answer it but he picked up the receiver.
“Yes. Yes. Speaking. Yes, I accept the call.”
Alleyn said: “Shall we?” to Sister Jackson and opened the door.
Schramm nodded to her and with the suggestion of a bridle she led the way back to the hall.
“Do we take the lift?” Alleyn asked. ‘I’d be very much obliged if you would come. There are one or two points about the room that I don’t quite get from the reports. We’ve been asked by the local Force to take a look at the general picture. A formality, really, but the powers-that-be are always rather fussy in these sorts of cases.”
“Oh yes?” said Sister Jackson.
In the lift it became apparent that she used scent.
For all her handsome looks, she was a pretty tough lady, Alleyn thought. Black, sharp eyes and a small hard mouth, set at the corners. It wouldn’t be long before she settled into the battle-axe form.
The room, Number 20, was on the second floor at the end of a passage and at a corner of the building. The Quintern police had put a regulation seal on the door and had handed the key over to Alleyn. They had also taken the precaution of slipping an inconspicuous morsel of wool between door and jamb. Sister Jackson looked on in silence while Mr. Fox, who wore gloves, dealt with these obstructions.