Monday, 2 p.m.
DEAR MARY:
By the time you receive this I shall be outward-bound; and it will, I think, be difficult for anyone to trace me. I cannot help feeling bitter about this, for I have done nothing - absolutely nothing - of which I need be ashamed: on the contrary, I have tried to do you a good turn. But Tregannon suspects that Merrivale has got at Quigley, and will put him into the witness-box to-morrow; and pertain things I overheard at the house this afternoon lead me to the same belief.
I do not wish you to think too hardly of your old uncle. Believe mc, if I could have done the least good I should have spoken before. About certain parts of this business I am feeling rather wretched. I can tell you now that it was I who supplied the drug which went into Answell's whisky. It is 'brudine', a derivative of scopolamine or twilight-sleep, with which we have been experimenting at the hospital –
'Wow!' roared H.M., bringing his fist down on the table. 'This has got it, my wench.'
Her eyes were searching his face. 'You think that will clear him?'
'It's half of what we want. Now be quiet, dammit!'
- its effects are almost instantaneous, and it ensures unconsciousness for a little under half an hour. Answell woke up a few minutes sooner than had been intended: probably due to the fact that he had to be propped up while the mint extract was poured down his throat to take away the smell of whisky.
'Do you remember what Answell said himself?' demanded H.M. 'The first thing the feller noticed when he woke up was that there was an awful taste of mint in his mouth, and he seemed to have slobbered it a good deal. Ever since the Bartlett case there's been arguments as to whether you could pour liquid down the throat of a sleepin' man without choking him.'
I still could not make head or tail of it. 'But who drugged him? And why? And what in blazes were they trying to do? Either Avory Hume liked Answell or he hated him like poison: but which was it?'
I thought at the time that it was a mistake to load the whole decanter of whisky with the stuff, instead of merely putting it into a glass; because it meant getting rid of the decanter afterwards. Believe me, Mary, the thought that someone afterwards might find the decanter has given me some horribly unpleasant moments.
Finally, I arranged with Tregannon and Quigley to do what was to be done. That is the limit of my dereliction. It is not my fault that my well-meant efforts produced such unfortunate results. But you will see why I could not speak. .
At this point, as H.M. turned over the page, a strangled noise escaped him; and then it became a groan. Our hopes went down with a clang like a broken lift.
Of course, if Answell had really been innocent, I should have been compelled to speak out and tell the truth. You must believe that. But, as I told you, even the truth would do him no good. He is guilty, my dear - guilty as hell. He killed your father in one of those rages for which his family has been noted for a long time, and I cheerfully let him go to the hangman rather than set him loose on you. Perhaps his protestations of innocence are quite sincere. He may not even know that he killed your father. 'Brudine’ Is still a comparatively unknown quantity. It is quite harmless; but when its effect begins to wear off it often leaves the patient with a partial gap in the memory. I know this will be terrible news for you, but please let me tell you what really happened. Answell thought that your father was drugging him and tricking him in some way. He knew that his drink was drugged as soon as he felt the effects coming on. It remained in his memory, and it was the first thing he remembered when he began to wake up - farther back than his own memory extends now. They had been talking, unfortunately, about killing people with arrows. He got that arrow and stabbed your father before poor Avory knew what was happening: that is how this dear fiance of yours came to be sitting up in the chair when his memory returned to him. He had just finished his work.
Before God, Mary, this is what really happened. I saw it with my own eyes. Good-bye, and bless you for ever even if I do not see you again. °
Your affectionate uncle, SPENCER
H.M. put his hands up to his eyes and pressed his forehead. He lumbered up and down beside the table; finally he sat down in a chair. The little worm of doubt was in all of us now.
'But won't it -?' the girl cried.
'Save him?' asked H.M., lifting a dull face. 'My dear good wench, if you took that letter into court nothin' in the world could save him. I'm wondering if anything can save him now. Oh, my eye!'
'But couldn't we cut off the last part of the letter and just show them the first part? That's what I thought of.'
H.M. regarded her sourly. She was a very pretty piece, and very much more intelligent than this suggestion sounded.
'No, we couldn't,' he told her. 'Not that I'm above hocus-pocus; but the blazin' bad part of that letter is on the back of the sheet that tells about the drugged whisky. Here's proof - here's evidence - and, burn me, we don't dare use it! Tell me something, my wench. In the face of that letter, do you still believe he's innocent?'
'I most certainly ... Oh, I don't know I Yes. No. All I do know is that I love him, and you've got to get him off somehow! You're not going back on me, are you?'
H.M. sat twiddling his thumbs over his paunch and staring at the floor. He sniffed.
'Me? Oh, no. I'm a glutton for punishment, I am. They get the old man in a corner and whack him over the head with a club; and every so often they'll say: "What, ain't you unconscious yet? Soak him another one"; and yet -burn me, why should that chap lie? I mean your good old uncle. He admits it about the whisky. I was lookin’ forward, you see, to cross-examinin' him to-day. I was all ready to tear him to pieces and show up the truth. I could 'a' sworn he knew the truth, and even knew who the real murderer is. But here he is swearin' that Answell ..." H.M. brooded. ' "I saw it with my own eyes." That's the part I can't get over. Curse it all, how could he have seen it with his own eyes? He couldn't. He was at the hospital when it happened. He's got an alibi as big as a house; we tested all that. He's lyin' - but if I prove he's lyin' about that, the first part of the letter isn't worth firewood. We can't have it both ways.'
'Even at this late date,' I said, 'will you still keep from giving a hint as to how you mean to defend him? What are you going to say when you get up there to-morrow? What the devil is there to say?'
An expression of evil glee stole over H.M.'s face.
'You don't think the old man can be eloquent, do you?' he enquired. 'Just you watch me. I'm going to get up there and look 'em in the face, and I'm goin’ to say -
X
Call the Prisoner1
'ME lord; members of the jury.'
With one hand behind his back, and his feet planted wide apart, H.M. was certainly looking them in the eye. But I could have wished that his manner was not so much that of a lion-tamer entering a cage with whip and pistol, or at least that he would abate his murderous glare at the jury.
Court-room Number One was packed. The rumour of sensational developments had been all over town: since seven o'clock in the morning there had been a queue outside the door to the public gallery up over our heads. Where there had been only a few newspapermen in attendance yesterday, to-day every paper in London seemed to have put a man in the somewhat inadequate space provided for the press. Before the sitting of the court, Lollypop had spent some time talking with the prisoner over the rail of the dock; he looked shaken but composed, and ended by shrugging his shoulders wearily. This conversation appeared to interest the saturnine Captain Reginald Answell, who was watching them. It was just twenty minutes to eleven when Sir Henry Merrivale rose to open the case for the defence.