The commissioner, who was in full uniform, picked up his leather-covered swagger-stick from the desk in front of him, appeared to give it a close scrutiny and then replaced it.
‘Tell me, Inspector,’ he said. ‘Have I got the situation right? Mr Boultbee died as the result of – ha – ingesting what appeared to be a common soda-mint lozenge – good God, I take the things myself on occasion – but which had been treated with a poison. Do we yet know what particular substance it was? Eh?’
‘No, sir, we don’t. None of the four remaining mints in the tin have proved to be other than what they ought to be, and – and we shan’t know precisely what was in the gentleman’s stomach until further tests have been carried out. But, as you will know, sir, it is by no means impossible for a determined murderer to get hold of what they need. A visit to some chemist’s shop at a distance, a false signature in the Poisons Book, it’s altogether too easy.’
‘Yes. Very well, Inspector. I suppose our man… Unless, by God, it’s a woman. Poison’s a woman’s weapon, you know. There were ladies present, weren’t there?’
‘Yes, sir. Miss Julia Hogsnorton, younger daughter of Earl Hogsnorton -’
‘Well, I don’t believe… No, perhaps we should bear that young lady in mind. Now I come to think of it, I’ve heard she’s rather wild like a lot of young women these days. What they’re calling the post-war generation. But who was the other lady there?’
‘Mrs Mary Andrews, sir, wife of Captain Vyvyan Andrews, who was also present of course.’
‘Hm. Anything known, eh?’
‘No, sir. A thoroughly respectable lady, sir. However, there is one circumstance that may be relevant.’
‘Well, let’s hear, man. Let’s hear it.’
‘Mrs Andrews is employed in the office of Mr Boultbee, sir. She works as a filing clerk. Something of a sinecure post, sir, I’ve gathered. Captain Andrews is one of the casualties of the War, sir, a victim, as I understand from his doctor, of neurasthenia arising from his experiences in the trenches and no man’s land.’
‘Hm. You seem to have covered a good deal of ground in the last twenty-four hours, Inspector.’
For a moment the Commissioner looked at his comparatively junior officer with an air of interest.
But it was for a moment only.
‘Very well. So much for the female element. Species more deadly than the male, eh? Rudyard Kipling said that somewhere just last year. We shouldn’t forget it. But who were the gentlemen present at the time?’
‘Well, sir, there is, I suppose, the Bishop of Cirencester…’
‘Ha. Bit of an awkward thing here. I know Rossiter pretty well. First met him, as a matter of fact, on the day of an Eton and Harrow match long ago. He was playing for Eton, a pretty fair bat, and I was, of course, an Harrovian. And, by golly, I took his wicket. Clean bowled him.’
Inspector Thompson watched the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police chuckling.
‘I think, sir,’ he said eventually, ‘that the Bishop can be safely discounted. He did, of course, according to PC Williams’s very thorough evidence, go into the empty tent with Mr Boultbee. But it was apparent to Williams, from the loud cry of agony he heard from where he was stationed not far away, that the poisoning occurred almost as soon as the two of them had entered. And the Bishop was certainly in a state of almost total collapse when Williams saw him immediately afterwards.’
‘Very well, I can take it then I shan’t have to bowl him out again.’
‘No, sir. I don’t think we will need to interview him further. He returned, with his chaplain, to Cirencester, by the first possible train and there took to his bed at the palace.’
‘Ha, poor old Rossy, bowled over if not bowled out, eh? But let’s get on with it Inspector. Let’s get on with it. We neither of us have time to spare today. So have you found out anything about the remaining gentlemen?’
‘Yes, sir. I have. If we’re to go by motive alone, there is a good deal of suspicion attaching to the Hon. Mr Peter Flaxman. And with the confusion there was in the tents as they all left after lunch, which my inquiries have shown must have been when the poisoned lozenge must have somehow been put there for Mr Boultbee to take, it looks as if we may well have to rely simply on what motives the – er – suspects might have.’
‘Young Flaxman, eh? Then spit it out, Inspector, spit it out. May as well hear the worst.’
‘Mr Flaxman is a gentleman of limited means, sir, but considerable expectations, as I learnt from the late Mr Boultbee’s junior partner. It seems Mr Boultbee was one of the trustees of a considerable fund which will come to the two beneficiaries, the cousins Peter Flaxman and Vyvyan Andrews, only when they attain the age of thirty. Neither will, in fact, do that for some five years yet.’
‘Ha, the root of all evil.’
‘Yes, sir. So we are told. And at Mr Boultbee’s office I managed to gather that both gentlemen have applied since the Armistice for advances on their expectations, something which their trustees are permitted to make. However, it seems the three other trustees relied entirely on the advice of the late Mr Boultbee. And that advice has consistently been that no disbursements should be made.’
‘I hope, Inspector, that you brought no improper pressure on to Mr Boultbee’s junior partner. You seem to have acquired a good deal of information which I should have thought was confidential.’
Inspector Thompson looked steadily at the Commissioner
‘No, sir,’ he said, ‘there could, of course, be no question of that.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. So we appear to have arrived at a point where two of the people, and perhaps their ladies, who could have placed a poisoned lozenge into the cachou-box in which Mr Boultbee kept his supply of soda-mints were-’
‘Excuse me, sir,’ Inspector Thompson broke in, with not a little daring, ‘but it is as well perhaps to have things entirely clear. Mr Boultbee, so his partner happened to mention, lost several years ago the silver box he carried his lozenges in, and – his partner indicated that he had, what shall I say, a certain mean streak – he refused to replace it but used instead a battered little tobacconist’s tin that had once contained snuff. My informant indicated that people used to joke about that.’
‘Rather poor taste on his part, Inspector, if I may venture to say so.’
‘Perhaps it was, sir. However, it may be helpful to know about it if it comes down to trying to discover exactly what happened at that table when the lunch party set off for a stroll.’
‘No. No, wait, Inspector, you’ve forgotten something. Important, you know, to keep every thread in your hands.’
A little frown gave added force to the rebuke.
‘The French gentleman, sir? The Conte de Charvey. I have made enquiries about him. It seems he was a slight acquaintance of Mr Flaxman’s and had put him in the position of being unable to withhold an invitation to the match.’
‘Had he indeed? A trifle suspicious that, eh? French fellow wanting to watch cricket. Unless, of course, he’s one of those froggies who seem to think the game is one of the secrets of British power. As I suppose it is, come to think of it.’
‘Yes, sir. However, I also learn from the late Mr Boultbee’s partner that Mr Boultbee knew something to the Count’s disadvantage. I have had a word with Fraud, and apparently they’ve been keeping a sharp eye on him.’
‘Fraud, eh? Why haven’t they informed me that a character of this sort has come to our shores? Eh? Eh?’
‘I’m sure I couldn’t say, sir.’
‘No. I dare say not. But… But do you think the fellow may have needed to get rid of someone who had come to learn too much about some underhand business of his? That sort of thing?’
‘It always could be, sir. But one ought perhaps to bear in mind that the murderer would need to have known Mr Boultbee’s habit of taking one of those soda-mint lozenges shortly after his every meal. But while all of the other four persons under consideration might well have been aware of that, it’s scarcely likely that a stranger such as the Count would be.’