Frank Abbott had straightened up. His eyes were cool and keen. He said,
“Quite.”
Lamb went on.
“Miss Mercer comes next. She says she came into the drawing-room and found Mrs. Latter there, standing by the coffee-table. She says she was putting sugar in her coffee. Mrs. Latter said something about where were the others, and went out on to the terrace by way of looking for them. Miss Mercer says she followed her. If it ever comes to a trial, I suppose the defence will say it wasn’t sugar Mrs. Latter was putting into her cup, it was the morphia powdered up to look like sugar. I suppose that’s possible-but it don’t seem likely. On her own showing Miss Mercer had the opportunity of doctoring one of the cups.”
“That would mean premeditation.”
Lamb nodded.
“That goes for all of them… Mrs. Street comes next. She says she came into the drawing-room and found it empty. The coffee-tray was on the table. She hadn’t been there more than a moment, when Mr. Latter came in. He didn’t come along the terrace and in through the window, but followed her through the door. Mrs. Latter and Miss Mercer were on the terrace. She said she would call them, and went out by way of the window, leaving Mr. Latter alone in the room. She had her opportunity, and she left him with his. That’s all plain-each of them was alone with the coffee-tray. One of them must have poisoned the coffee which Mrs. Latter drank. I don’t think it’s reasonable to suppose it was the cook. She is by all accounts devoted to Mr. Latter, and if she poisoned one cup, it would be an absolute toss-up whether he got it or not. She could have no motive except general resentment, and she’d never have risked it. I think we’ll cut her out. That leaves us with Miss Vane, Mrs. Street, Miss Mercer, and Mr. Latter. They all had an equal opportunity to putting something into one of the cups. But Miss Vane, like the cook, had no control over who took which cup. They all agree that she didn’t come back into the drawing-room. So she’s in the same boat as the cook, and I’m going to leave her out too, at any rate for the present. Now we’ve got Mrs. Street, Miss Mercer, and Mr. Latter. And this is where they all go vague on us. I want to know who dished those cups out. When Miss Vane looked in Mr. Latter was in a chair by the window drinking his coffee, and Mrs. Latter was crossing the room with her cup in her hand. Mrs. Street was sitting quite close to the open terrace door. Miss Mercer was picking up some rose-leaves which had fallen from a vase on the mantelpiece. Mrs. Street says she didn’t touch the coffee-cups or notice who did-she was very tired, and she was only thinking about how soon she could get off to bed. Miss Mercer says she didn’t go near the tray or touch the cups after she and Mrs. Latter came in together from the terrace. She says Mrs. Latter walked straight up to the tray and took her cup. Mr. Latter says his cup was on the small table beside his chair. He says he didn’t notice whether it was there when he first came into the room. Well, maybe he’s lying. If he put morphia into one of the cups he wouldn’t want to risk getting that cup himself-he’d make sure there wasn’t any mistake by putting his own cup out of harm’s way. Mrs. Street says she can’t remember whether both cups were on the tray when she went through. She’d been to see her husband that afternoon-he’s being moved to a convalescent home at Brighton-and she says she was much too taken up with thinking about him and how tired she was to be bothering about coffee cups. Miss Mercer says both cups were on the tray when she came into the drawing-room. Of course either she or Mrs. Street could have put the morphia into one of the cups and shifted the other to the table by Mr. Latter’s chair. Or Mr. Latter could have done it himself when he was alone in the room.”
“So where are we?” said Frank Abbott.
“Motive,” said Lamb. “There’s four of them with opportunity. But if we’re to believe Miss Mercer, who says there were two cups on the tray when she came in, Miss Vane couldn’t have moved Mr. Latter’s cup, as she couldn’t have told who was going to take which. So she’s much less likely than the other three. Let’s take it that it lies between the three of them who could have put the harmless cup by Mr. Latter’s chair. We don’t know who it was. Two of them mayn’t know any more than we do. One of them must know, because one of them moved it, and the one who did is the one who knew what was in the other cup. That’s as far as we’re likely to get on opportunity, without direct evidence. So we come to motive. As I said to start with, Mr. Latter has the motive which is one of the strongest a man can have-he had actually heard his wife making love to another man in very compromising circumstances. Now for Mrs. Street. She’s got a motive too. It don’t seem so strong, but it’s a motive all right. Remember that Gladys Marsh saying, ‘They all hated her-they’d all have liked to do her in. Mrs. Street wanted to have her husband here, and Mrs. Latter wouldn’t have it-said she didn’t want to be cluttered up with relations, and she didn’t see turning the house into a hospital neither.’? And then she tossed her head and said, ‘ Mrs. Street ’s been crying her eyes out about it. There’s some good-looking nurses in that hospital. Afraid she’ll lose her husband the way she’s lost her looks, I shouldn’t wonder.’ She’s an unpleasant, spiteful young woman, but there’s a motive there, you know.”
Frank’s shoulder lifted in a slight shrug.
“ Mrs. Street hardly looks the type for murder.”
Lamb thumped his knee.
“There isn’t any type for murder-how often am I to tell you that? People do it when what they want and what they think they ought to have gets to be so important that there’s nothing else matters-they’ve lost their balance and come down on the side where there’s only themselves and they can do what they like-all the things that keep people back from killing when they’re angry don’t count any more. It’s liable to happen to anyone who doesn’t keep a hold of himself. Do you know what’s struck me most in what that Gladys Marsh said? It’s the bit about their all hating Mrs. Latter. She might be exaggerating, or she might not. But hate is a very dangerous thing to have knocking about-it’s one of the things that takes people off their balance. And-the woman’s dead. I don’t say I suspect Mrs. Street -not on the evidence we’ve got so far-but I’d say she had a motive.”
“I suppose so-”
“Then there’s Miss Mercer. She’s got a motive too, but I’d say it’s the weakest of the three. She’s lived here for twenty-five years-she’s leaving because Mrs. Latter wanted to start fresh with a staff she’s picked herself. Well, that’s the sort of thing that’s happening every day-a middle-aged man gets married, and the woman who’s been running his house for him don’t hit it off with the new wife. It may be a daughter, or a sister, or a housekeeper-it isn’t often it answers. By all accounts, this Miss Mercer is a quiet, gentle little woman. Not the kind to make trouble, or it wouldn’t have lasted two years as it has. I don’t doubt she’s got some sore feelings. Looks ill too. But, as I said, it’s the sort of thing that’s always happening, but not what you’d do murder for.”