“Mrs. Weed?”
“The housekeeper. Besides her, there are a cook, a maid, and a yard man. Mrs. Weed has been with old Rufus for many years. She has developed a kind of possessive feeling about him, and is apparently fiercely protective of what she considers his interests. Dr. Loos has made an ally of her in this business. She watches over the old man like a mother hawk and personally checks everything he eats and drinks.”
“And still he continues in suspiciously failing health?”
“He does.”
“That rather puts the good Mrs. Weed on a spot, doesn’t it?”
“It does.”
“The doctor wouldn’t be the first to make a mistake in an ally.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“Lieutenant, I am thoroughly captivated by your little drama. The cast of characters offers fascinating possibilities. Tell me, what are the provisions of the old man’s will? I suppose, since a considerable fortune is involved, that avarice is a possible motive.”
“It is, and it applies to all of them. There’s nothing devious or secretive about old Rufus. All five are generously provided for, and they all know it. After his death none of them will need to worry about money, I should say, for as long as he or she lives.”
“Well, I don’t think we need to pursue that any further at the moment. Someone, apparently, is simply in a hurry to collect. What I would like to know now is what method or technique is suspected. In what way is the poison being introduced into the old man’s system? Surely, if the doctor is right in his conviction, it must be something quite clever to be sustained so effectively in spite of all vigilance.”
The Lieutenant sat staring into the small blaze, rolling his empty glass between his palms. I relieved him of the glass and filled it.
“In the beginning and for some time afterward,” he said, “Dr. Loos was convinced that the old man was taking the poison orally. That’s when he came to me for help. With his assistance, and that of Mrs. Weed, we sampled and analyzed, I’ll swear, everything the old man took into his mouth — food, drink, mouth wash, medicine, even the solution he puts his dentures in. But we found nothing unusual — not the slightest trace of any poison.”
“What kind of poison, by the way, does the doctor suspect?”
“The symptoms point to arsenic, but he contends, and I agree with him, that it should be a simple matter to identify the poison and the poisoner once we determine how it is being given.”
“I also agree with that. In this case, as you have presented it, motive is obviously secondary to method.”
“That brings me to Dr. Loos’ current conviction. Failing to find the slightest evidence of oral ingestion, he is now convinced that the poison is being absorbed.”
“So? Regular external applications absorbed by the skin?”
“Something like that.”
“Have you also thoroughly investigated and analyzed pertinent items suggested by this theory?”
“Oh, of course. Right down to the old man’s shaving lather and lotion. Even the blade of the old straightedge razor he uses. He is confined to his bed now, and his physical contacts are easily kept under strict observation.”
“Do the members of the household visit him in his bedroom?”
“Yes. He’s a great family man, as I said — he won’t listen to a word against any of them. However, Mrs. Weed usually manages to be present. A devil of a lot depends on the integrity of this woman, I know, but Dr. Loos has complete confidence in her, and I have a feeling his confidence is justified.”
Risen sighed and drank from his glass, then leaned back in his chair with the definite indication that he had finished a wearisome account.
I waited quietly to see if he would take it up again, but he did not.
“Is that all?” I said.
“That’s all.”
“I must say that you have brought me a rare puzzle, Risen.”
“Is that all you have to say?” He gave me a sardonic sidewise glance. “You know all the characters and you have all the facts. Now let’s have the solution. Tell me who is poisoning old Coker, and how.”
I had been waiting for the challenge, and I’ll not deny there was an element of malice in my reply.
“As to the solution,” I said, “I am not prepared to claim that much. I have, however, formed a working hypothesis, based strictly on your account, which I think you should at least put to the test.”
“The devil you have! What is it?”
“As one must in mathematics, in order to proceed at all, I’ve made certain assumptions. I assume that Dr. Loos is a competent physician and that his evaluation of the situation is therefore basically correct. I assume that you are a competent policeman and reporter, and have given me a completely accurate report. I do not, however, assume that Dr. Loos’ absorption theory is necessarily valid. In my opinion, you have not exhausted the possibilities of oral ingestion.”
“I’d like to know what possibility we’ve overlooked.”
“So you shall. I suggest that Rufus Coker is swallowing minute doses of white arsenic. The doses would have to be minute, for two-tenths of one gram of white arsenic can be fatal. Such a minute dose could be carried into the mouth by a swallow of food or liquid, by any one of innumerable small and ordinary actions — provided the minute dose were already on the lips.”
“What in God’s name are you trying to say?”
“Let us clarify the matter by employing the Socratic method. Who, by your account, is the one person who shows affection for the old man? How, between the sexes, is affection traditionally demonstrated? What part of the anatomy, on the distaff side, is usually coated with a kind of perfumed and colored salve that could act both as a protective shield for the wearer and an adherent which could hold a minute dose of deadly powder until it could literally, with all the aspects of innocent affection, be rubbed off onto the corresponding part of someone else?
“If I were you, Lieutenant, I would interrupt this little demonstration the next time it occurs. In the words of the song so popular in my youth, A little kiss each morning, a little kiss each night...
We sat for a while in silence. Then Risen deliberately set his empty glass on the edge of the hearth and slowly stood up.
“Oh!” he said. “Oh, my God!”
He walked over to the door, and taking up his hat and coat he went out into the late gray afternoon.
I did not see him again until about forty-eight hours later when he returned to concede that I had been precisely right. He had two long scratches on his left cheek, but he wore them with pride as the marks of a triumphant encounter. It was the first time to his knowledge, he said, that anyone in his precarious trade had ever wiped poison from the lips of a pretty girl.
The Satin-Quilted Box
Originally published in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, December 1964.
Folk who had known Miriam Sterling for a long time were occasionally surprised to remember that she had once been a pretty girl. She may have been somewhat too thin, which had given her a deceptive look of frailty; but her flesh was nicely distributed on a frame of fine bones, and she had, besides, a kind of inner glow and intensity that made her quite appealing.
Having remembered this, these same folk were likely to realize — again with a mild feeling of surprise — that Miriam still had the basic ingredients of prettiness, and to wonder, therefore, why she was not considered a pretty woman. Her bones were still good, and her flesh was still firm, but she seemed, somehow, to have faded. Indeed, she gave a kind of spinsterish impression, but she had been married for fifteen years, and only the most perceptive understood that she was not really faded, as she seemed, but cold and hungry for want of love.