“He’s put her into a house somewhere round about, I fancy,” said Freddy, “with a typewriting office to look after and live over the shop and run those comic charity stunts of his. Funny old soul, isn’t she? Stepped out of a magazine of the ’nineties. But she seems to suit his work all right and all that.”
“Yes – such a good thing too, answering all those shady advertisements and then getting the people shown up and so courageous too, some of them the horridest oily people, and murderers I shouldn’t wonder with automatic thingummies and life-preservers in every pocket, and very likely a gas-oven full of bones like Landru, so clever, wasn’t he? And really such women – born murderesses as somebody says – quite pig-faced but not of course deserving it and possibly the photographs don’t do them justice, poor things.”
The Duchess was even more rambling than usual, thought Freddy, and as she spoke her eyes wandered to her son with a kind of anxiety unusual in her.
“Top-hole to see old Wimsey back, isn’t it?” he said, with simple kindliness. “Wonderful how keen he is on this sort of thing, don’t you know. Rampages off the minute he gets home like the jolly old war-horse sniffing the T.N.T. Regularly up to the eyes in it.”
“Well, it’s one of Chief-Inspector Parker’s cases, and they’re such great friends, you know, quite like David and Beersheba – or do I mean Daniel?”
Wimsey joined them at this complicated moment, and tucked his mother’s arm affectionately in his own.
“Frightfully sorry to keep you waiting, Mater, but I had to say a word to Biggy. He’s having a rotten time, and that old Jeffreys of a judge looks as though he was getting measured for a black cap. I’m going home to burn my books. Dangerous to know too much about poisons, don’t you think? Be thou as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, thou shalt not escape the old Bailey.”
“The young woman doesn’t seem to have tried that recipe, does she?” remarked Freddy.
“You ought to be on the jury,” retorted Wimsey, with unusual acidity, “I bet that’s what they’re all saying at this moment. I’m convinced that that foreman is a teetotaller – I saw ginger-beer going into the jury-room, and I only hope it explodes and blows his inside through the top of his skull.”
“All right, all right,” returned Mr. Arbuthnot, soothingly, “what you want is a drink.”
CHAPTER II
The scramble for places subsided; the jury returned; the prisoner reappeared in the dock suddenly, like a jack-in-the-box; the judge resumed his seat. Some petals had spilt from the roses. The old voice took up its tale where it had left off.
“Members of the jury – there is no need, I think, for me to recall the course of Philip Boyes’ illness in great detail. The nurse was called in on June 21st, and during that day the doctors visited the patient three times. His condition grew steadily worse. There was persistent vomiting and diarrhoea, and he could not keep any food or medicine down at all. On the day after, the 22nd, he was worse still – in great pain, the pulse growing weaker, and the skin about the mouth getting dry and peeling off. The doctors gave him every attention, but could do nothing for him. His father was summoned, and when he arrived he found his son conscious, but unable to lift himself. He was able to speak, however, and in the presence of his father and Nurse Williams he made the remark, ‘I’m going out, Dad, and I’m glad to be through with it. Harriet’ll be rid of me now – I didn’t know she hated me quite so much.’ Now that was a very remarkable speech, and we have heard two very different interpretations put upon it. It is for you to say whether, in your opinion, he meant: ‘She has succeeded in getting rid of me; I didn’t know she hated me enough to poison me,’ or whether he meant, ‘When I realised she hated me so much, I decided I did not want to live any longer’ – or whether, perhaps, he meant neither of these things. When people are ill, they sometimes get fantastic ideas, sometimes they wander in their minds; perhaps you may feel that it is not profitable to take too much for granted. Still, those words are part of the evidence, and you are entitled to take them into account.
“During the night he became gradually weaker and lost consciousness, and at 3 o’clock in the morning he died, without ever regaining it. That was on the 23rd. of June.
“Now, up to this time, no suspicion of any kind had been aroused. Both Dr. Grainger and Dr. Weare formed the opinion that the cause of death was acute gastritis, and we need not blame them for coming to this conclusion, because it was quite consistent both with the symptoms of the illness and with the past history of the patient. A death-certificate was given in the usual way, and the funeral took place on the 28th.
“Well, then something happened which frequently does happen in cases of this kind, and that is that somebody begins to talk. It was Nurse Williams who talked in this particular case, and while you will probably think that this was a very wrong and very indiscreet thing for a nurse to do, yet, as it turns out, it was a good thing that she did. Of course, she ought to have told Dr. Weare or Dr. Grainger of her suspicions at the time, but she did not do this, and we may at least feel glad to know that, in the doctors’ opinions, even if she had done so, and if they had discovered that the illness was caused by arsenic, they would not have been able to anything more to save the life of this unfortunate man. At any rate, what happened was that Nurse Williams was sent, during the last week of June, to nurse another patient of Dr. Weare’s, who happened to belong to the same literary set in Bloomsbury as Philip Boyes and Harriet Vane, and while she was there she spoke about Philip Boyes, and said that, in her opinion, the illness looked very much like poisoning, and she even mentioned the word arsenic. Well, you know how a thing like that gets about. One person tells another and it is discussed at tea-parties, or what are known, I believe, as cocktail parties, and very soon a story gets spread about, and people mention names and take sides. Miss Marriott and Miss Price were told about it, and it also got to the ears of Mr. Vaughan. Now Mr. Vaughan had been greatly distressed and surprised by Philip Boyes’ death, especially as he had been with him in Wales, and knew how much he had improved in health while on his holiday, and he also felt very strongly that Harriet Vane had behaved badly about the love-affair. Mr. Vaughan felt that some action ought to be taken about the matter, and went to Mr. Urquhart and put the story before him. Now Mr. Urquhart is a solicitor, and is therefore inclined to take a cautious view of rumours and suspicions, and he warned Mr. Vaughan that it was not wise to go about making accusations against people, for fear of an action for libel. At the same time, he naturally felt uneasy that such a thing should be said about a relation who had died in his house. He took the course – the very sensible course – of consulting Dr. Weare and suggesting that, if he was quite certain that the illness was due to gastritis and nothing else, he should take steps to rebuke Nurse Williams and put an end to the talk. Dr. Weare was naturally very much surprised and upset to hear what was being said, but, since the suggestion had been made, he could not deny that – taking the symptoms only into account – there was just the bare.possibility of something of the sort, because, as you have already heard in the medical evidence, the symptoms of arsenical poisoning and of acute gastritis are really indistinguishable.
“When this was communicated to Mr. Vaughan, he was confirmed in his suspicions, and wrote to the elder Mr. Boyes suggesting an enquiry. Mr. Boyes was naturally very much shocked, and said at once that the matter should be taken up. He had known of the liaison with Harriet Vane, and had noticed that she did not come to enquire after Philip Boyes, nor attend the funeral, and this had struck him as heartless behaviour. In the end, the police were communicated with and an exhumation order obtained.