“I fear, my lord, that it is not nearly all.”
The tone of this stung our host.
“Mr Holmes! On the recommendation of a close friend I have invited you to investigate a most sensitive family matter. You now inquire into things which I cannot see are in the least necessary. I am anxious to benefit from your advice but I am bound to say that there is a point beyond which I shall feel compelled to do without it!”
Holmes did not even blink.
“I trust not, my lord, for if I am compelled to relinquish the case, the advice which you will receive is likely to be that of the Metropolitan Police. Most probably, as matters stand, it will come in the person of Chief Inspector Lestrade or Inspector Tobias Gregson, both of the Criminal Investigation Division of Scotland Yard. My lord, I cannot afford to be party to compounding a felony.”
It is a cliché to say that a man looks stunned but that was exactly how Lord Blagdon appeared. Holmes allowed him no retreat.
“I have to tell you, Lord Blagdon, that the bonbonnière before you contains two deposits of melted chocolate or something of the kind. One of these, in my opinion, contained a lethal dose of Aconitum ferox, the most deadly and still one of the most secret of all poisons.”
“Stuff and nonsense! Balderdash!”
I had expected Lord Blagdon to be further stunned by this news but he came out fighting, as the saying is. Even Holmes paused and this gave me the chance to intervene between them.
“Since I am a medical man, Lord Blagdon, it may help us all if you can tell me quite simply how Lady Clementina died.”
He almost laughed at me.
“Quite simply, she died of heart failure at an advanced age, sir! Though she put on a brave face and went out and about as much as she could, she had been ailing for years. It was not unusual at her time of life. The wonder is she lived as long as she did. I have served in India with the 17th Lancers and I too know a little of vengeance by secret poison. I have some notion of what the symptoms are. She did not exhibit them.”
He turned away to the window, as if to conceal from us his exasperation. Then he swung round again with a spin of the hem of his morning coat and a wagging finger.
“Suspect me, if you like! I was present when Lady Clem died and I can tell you that she died of heart failure. Her final illness lasted for more than a week. During that time the bonbon dish you refer to was never within her reach and, believe me, she had no use for it during her last days. The Duchess of Paisley visited her just before the end and took dinner in Lady Clementina’s room. The poor old woman could manage nothing apart from broth and plain water. Her physician, Sir Matthew Reid, and a nurse were in constant attendance. A man of Sir Matthew’s eminence may be allowed, I think, to know the difference between heart failure and acute poisoning. Your suggestions are quite preposterous!”
“Lord Arthur…” Holmes began, but he got no further.
“I have already told you, Mr Holmes, that Lord Arthur was several hundred miles away. You or your friends at Scotland Yard may check for yourselves that he was staying at Danielli’s Hotel in Venice. When he was not at the hotel, he was yachting on the Adriatic or with a shooting party in the Pinetum, accompanied by at least a dozen witnesses. As for having a motive to murder, that is the most absurd thing of all. He would not benefit by her death and he knew it. Her intentions were never in doubt. I grant you Lord Arthur benefited a little in the end-only because after her death I asked that I should not have certain items she bequeathed to me. Lord Arthur did not know beforehand that this would happen. Despite your reputation, if this is the best you can do, Mr Holmes…”
“Perhaps it would help,” I said, with some sense of desperation, “if you could tell me what happened to the contents of the bonbon dish.”
“The dish was bequeathed to me as a keepsake. I lack a sweet tooth for such things and, in any case, there is something unappealing in eating the bonbons of the dead. I threw away such as remained in it and left the dish for the servants to clean. It was evidently dusted. I had assumed that the servant who did this would also have washed it out. If it should contain evidence of criminality of any kind, then of course I am glad that did not happen.”
This discussion of the dish had calmed the atmosphere somewhat.
“In that case, my lord,” said Holmes, “there is little more that I can suggest. The curiosity of Lord Arthur’s visit here in the middle of the night is a matter for your own consideration. Unless you wish to pursue it, the mystery may rest where it is. As to the death of Lady Clementina, however…”
“Very well, Mr Holmes, as to that I am there before you. I am, after all, a magistrate and know something of the law. You mean to have your way. Yet you must understand that I could not bear the thought of that kind old lady being made the subject of public gossip and the sniggerings of the gutter press.”
“It is the last thing I should wish. However…”
“Fortunately, she lies in the family vault at Beauchamp Chalcote. I will go this far with you. I will communicate with Sir Matthew Reid, who attended her from first to last. I will take his opinion whether an autopsy might be the proper course to silence speculation. If Sir Matthew thinks so, I shall make no objection. He may deal with the coroner. I will suggest, perhaps, that terms in her will, favouring medical science, make an examination desirable. I hope that may suffice. Because it is our family vault in the church at Beauchamp Chalcote no unseemly public exhumation from a churchyard or municipal cemetery is necessary. If it must be done, it must also be discreetly done.”
Holmes gave a half bow and said,
“Your lordship is too kind.”
He made it sound as if Lord Blagdon might withdraw his offer of an autopsy if he chose. Yet both men knew that his lordship had been allowed no choice.
As all the world does not know, because the secret was kept within the family circle, an autopsy was carried out within the week. The body of Lady Clementina Beauchamp showed no trace of poison whatever, let alone the atrocious effects of Aconitum ferox.
“I fear we have put Lord Blagdon to unnecessary distress,” I said to Holmes across the breakfast table, when the post communicated this news to us.
“I think not.”
“We were misled by the evidence of a smear which in itself would have killed no one. On that evidence, we allowed for the possibility of a far greater quantity of aconite in the bonbons before the box was emptied. Suppose there was not. Then all we have is a medicinal trace which may have leaked from a pastille or a gelatine capsule used to make a tonic dose palatable. A homoeopath might well have prescribed it for a failing heart.”
“No doubt,” said Holmes in the tone of one who is listening with less than half his attention.
“At the worst it was a quack remedy, bought and neglected. It lay in the box until heat and moisture caused chocolate and gelatine to melt. That is the rational explanation.”
“You really think so?”
“I cannot see why not.”
“I entirely accept that you cannot see why not. That is where your problem lies.”
“Mark my words, Holmes, you will find that we have seen the last of Lord Blagdon.”
“I think not.”
After this exchange of words, it seemed that our case had come to an end-and a most unsatisfactory end at that. The bonbonnière was thereafter washed, polished and returned to its shelf. The presence of aconite had been a red herring, if ever there was one. As I had remarked to Holmes, in medicinal doses even such poison has its place in every pharmacy cupboard, as a homoeopathic remedy for the onset of acute conditions, from the common cold to a congestion of the vital organs.
It was hard to see that the case could go any further. Certainly no murder had taken place. Such a minute trace of aconitum was not even sufficient evidence of attempted murder. What was left? A minor figure of the English aristocracy had behaved oddly, but that was hardly a novelty. He had arrived and departed, unannounced, at his cousin’s house in the middle of the night. While there, he had inspected several items of porcelain but had taken nothing. This, at any rate, was how the matter rested as the London season ended and the beau monde looked forward to country estates and shooting parties.