The 12.30 from Croydon (19 page)

‘Not at all, inspector. You have your work to do like the rest of us. Now you’re off duty, would you have something?’

The inspector was again obliged, but unhappily he wasn’t yet off duty and couldn’t break his rule. Ponderously he and his satellite removed themselves.

Charles wiped his forehead. It hadn’t been at all bad and yet he was glad it was over. He fancied he had done well. He had not kept back that business of the thousand pounds. That was wise: probably the inspector knew about it already. And that remark that he believed Andrew was going to give him more, was a stroke of genius. Even if it wasn’t true, no one could prove that he hadn’t thought it was. And it removed any special motive. He had certainly done well.

The next few days passed more rapidly for Charles than any within the last three months. For one thing he was busier at the works. The four jobs which had been obtained during his absence meant work for him as well as his staff, and he was also occupied in getting out a tender for a big job near Darlington. But the chief reason was the ease to his mind which had come since his dreadful plan had succeeded. If only the inquest were safely over, he might dismiss the whole horrible affair from his thoughts, marry Una, and live happily ever after!

Peter had decided to try to sell Otterton Farm, move to The Moat, and carry on Andrew’s market gardening on a larger scale. He had asked Mrs Pollifex and Margot to stay on with his own family, but they had refused this offer and were going to move to Hove. It would, of course, be some time before these changes were put into effect.

At last the day of the adjourned inquest arrived. It was to be held in the old town hall of Cold Pickerby at half-past ten, and at a few minutes before that hour Charles entered the building. The room was already packed, not only because the case had aroused unusual interest, but also because so many of the unemployed saw in it a means of escaping for one morning the tedium which pressed so heavily upon them. Indeed, there was in many instances a more personal motive than that. Several of these men had known Andrew Crowther, and not a few had actually worked for him.

Sergeant Bray, who had visited Charles with Inspector Appleby, now showed him to a reserved seat, and there a few minutes later he was joined by Mrs Pollifex, Margot, Peter and Elsie, who had returned from Paris, while Weatherup and some of the other servants slipped in behind them. Peter was still looking worn and anxious. Charles was surprised at his appearance. Surely the man wasn’t ill? He decided to ask Peter when he got an opportunity.

The coroner was Dr Emerson. Charles knew him by reputation as a clever man with a good knowledge of law in addition to his medical qualifications.

The preliminaries were quickly carried out. The jurors answered their names and then Dr Emerson read a brief résumé of the evidence already taken. Peter Morley had identified the deceased as his father-in-law, and stated that he had died in his presence while travelling from Croydon to Beauvais in an Imperial Airways liner. The French doctor at Beauvais had given a certificate that he had examined the body of the deceased and could find no natural cause of death, recommending that a post-mortem be carried out. Finally Inspector Appleby had stated that he had gone to Beauvais, where the French authorities had handed him over the remains, which he had brought to Cold Pickerby. The coroner then reminded the jury that he had adjourned the inquest to enable further inquiries to be made by the police. ‘I will now,’ he continued, ‘call Dr Claude Ingram.’

Dr Ingram was a big man with a determined manner. He strode forcefully into the box and took the oath with whole-heartedness.

‘You are the police surgeon of this district, Dr Ingram?’ the coroner went on.

‘Yes,’ the witness answered pugnaciously, as if daring anyone to dispute it.

‘Did you make a post-mortem examination of the remains of the deceased?’

‘Yes, I did, with the help of Dr Harrington.’

‘And with what result?’

‘I sent the stomach and certain other organs to Mr Grant of Messrs Grant & Colby, the analysts. I understand he found potassium cyanide present, but I see Mr Grant in court and no doubt he will give you this information.’

‘I shall call Mr Grant presently. Now, doctor, did you find anything else which might have caused death?’

‘Nothing; the organs, if not entirely healthy, were not dangerously diseased.’

‘And you do not think that death could have resulted from the unusual height or from excitement?’

‘I do not think so.’

‘Now, without prejudice to what Mr Grant may tell us later, will you tell the jury the effect of potassium cyanide?’

Dr Ingram shook himself importantly. ‘Potassium cyanide is one of the most deadly and rapid of known poisons,’ he declared with the air of a professor lecturing to a class. ‘Death has occurred within three or four minutes of taking it, and unconsciousness within a few seconds. Of course its effects are not always so rapid as this, but it is usually a matter of minutes. The symptoms,’ and Dr Ingram became highly technical, as also when the coroner asked him as to the quantity of the poison required to ensure death.

‘I shall remind you of these figures,’ went on Dr Emerson, ‘when we come to take Mr Grant’s evidence.’ He looked at his jury. ‘Any questions?’ he asked, including Inspector Appleby, who was seated with his chief, Superintendent Lucas.

No one wishing to obtain further information from Dr Ingram, he left the box, and Peter Morley was recalled.

Peter looked more worried and anxious than ever as he settled himself for the interrogation. It proved to be slow and extremely detailed. In answer to the coroner’s numberless questions the whole story of the ill-fated journey came out: the visit of Elsie to Paris, her accident there, the decision to go to Paris as quickly as possible, the deceased’s insistence on being of the party and the decision to include Weatherup and Rose. Peter described his and Mrs Pollifex’s anxiety as to how the deceased would stand the journey, the calling in, late at night, of Dr Gregory to make a special examination of the old man, the doctor’s favourable report, the start in the middle of the night and the journey to London. Then he told of the rest which Andrew had had in London, of the departure from Croydon, of lunch during the transit, and of Andrew’s apparent good health and enjoyment of the flight. Finally he recounted how the old man had leant back in the corner, supporting his head against the cabin wall. He had believed the deceased had gone to sleep, and he had been horrified when at Beauvais it was found that he was dead.

‘Was he dead or only unconscious when the plane landed?’ the coroner asked.

‘I think dead, but I am not sure. He was certainly dead about twenty minutes later when the doctor arrived.’

‘How were you sitting in the plane during lunch, Mr Morley?’

‘The seats are arranged across the cabin, two at each side of the corridor, as in a bus. The deceased and his attendant, Weatherup, were sitting together, the deceased next the side of the plane and Weatherup next the corridor. My daughter and I were immediately behind, she behind the deceased and I behind Weatherup.’

‘Both the seats were facing forward?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you speak to the deceased during the flight?’

‘Oh, yes, several times.’

‘Did you stand up to do so?’

‘No, I leant forward and spoke over his shoulder.’

‘And he seemed perfectly well?’

‘Perfectly, but, of course, when I saw him, as I thought, go to sleep, I didn’t speak to him again.’

The coroner nodded slowly. ‘I understand,’ he agreed and paused for some moments. Then, after a look over his notes, he started off again.

‘Now, Mr Morley, prior to the journey to France, when did you last see the deceased?’

‘On the evening before the journey. I dined that evening at The Moat. I was actually there when the message from Paris was forwarded from my house.’

‘Were there any other guests?’

‘Mr Crosby, the solicitor.’

‘Quite so. Now was that a purely social meeting or had you some business with the deceased?’

‘I had some business with the deceased.’

‘What was the nature of that business?’

‘I had applied to Mr Crowther for some financial assistance and it was to arrange the details of this.’

‘You were – eh – in difficulties financially?’

‘No,’ Peter answered, ‘it wasn’t as bad as that. But farming has not been very profitable lately and I should have been glad of some ready money.’

‘Quite so. You had applied to the deceased previous to the evening before his death?’

‘Oh, yes, I had asked him if he could do something for me and he had agreed to do so. The exact details of how it was to be done were not settled. That was what our meeting was for on that last night. My father-in-law – the deceased – wished to consult Mr Crosby on the matter.’

‘And that consultation took place?’

‘Yes.’

‘And was the matter settled satisfactorily?’

‘No. Various ways of settling it were discussed, but no decision was reached. Mr Crowther favoured taking up a mortgage on my farm, but he had not absolutely decided to do so.’

‘But he had definitely decided, one way or another, to give you the help you required?’

‘Quite definitely.’

Dr Emerson then questioned Peter on the deceased’s health. Peter said that Andrew was getting rapidly feebler, though he had seemed no worse on the day of his death than at other times. It had never occurred to Peter that his father-in-law was a likely subject for suicide. He was depressed at times, but not unduly, and certainly not enough, in Peter’s opinion, to make him take his life. He, Peter, was completely puzzled by the whole affair. He could not see why the deceased should have wished to commit suicide, particularly at such a time. Nor had he any idea how the old man could have obtained the poison.

No one wished to ask a question and when Peter had signed his deposition he stood down, relief struggling with anxiety on his somewhat melancholy countenance. Interest in the proceedings had become very keen and some of those present appeared to think Dr Emerson’s questions had thrown an entirely new light on the case.

Dr Emerson had buried his head in his notebook, but now he raised it and looked round as if unconsciously seeking for applause. None came, however, and he went on: ‘I will now call Mrs Penelope Pollifex.’

Mrs Pollifex stepped forward to the box. She looked grim and plain and was dressed quietly in black. She was quite collected and answered the questions in a clear though low voice.

The coroner was gentle with her. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Pollifex,’ he began, ‘to have to call you to-day. I can only say I shall be as quick as I can. You are the deceased’s sister?’

She was the deceased’s sister. She had lived at The Moat for some years, running the house for her brother. She was asked a few other questions about herself and then Dr Emerson turned to Andrew.

Mrs Pollifex somewhat amplified the evidence Peter had given. Her brother, she said, was sixty-five years old. He had been a fine figure of a man and had enjoyed excellent health until same five years previously, when he had had a severe illness. That had left him a comparative wreck. He had remained a semi-invalid, and though he was able still to take an interest in various hobbies, it was in a much feebler way. Latterly he had been failing more rapidly. He did not seem to have any organic disease, but he was just going slowly down the hill. The doctor could perhaps tell more about that.

Dr Emerson assured her that the doctor’s testimony would not be overlooked, but he now wished to have her views. Had she noticed any more sudden recent deterioration in his health?

Mrs Pollifex couldn’t say that she had. He was slowly and steadily getting worse, but there had been no sudden change. She didn’t think his depression would account for suicide. Yes, photography was one of her brother’s hobbies. Oh, yes, he had worked at it on and off up till the end.

This, it appeared, was all. Dr Emerson politely thanked the witness, asking her not to leave in case some other point might crop up. Then he called Weatherup.

Weatherup had entered the deceased’s service some five years previously. He had come as a male nurse during his illness and had stayed on as butler and attendant when Andrew grew better. Before that he had had experience in a mental home near Dunstable. Yes, he was a fully qualified nurse. He agreed with the opinions expressed by the last witness as to the deceased’s health. It was undoubtedly failing and he, Weatherup, believed his employer would not have lived for very many months. He had not, however, become suddenly worse at the time of his death.

Dr Emerson then took his witness over the events of the journey to France, Weatherup simply confirming what Peter had said. At last Emerson came to the lunch in the plane.

‘What did the deceased have for lunch?’ he went on.

‘Just what the rest of us had, sir: clear soup, cold tongue and salad, cheese and biscuits, an apple and coffee.’

‘And what did he drink?’

‘Whisky and soda; a very little whisky.’

‘Was that everything he had?’

‘He took a pill after the meal, same as always. Except for that, he had nothing.’

‘What sort of pill?’

‘Salter’s Anti-indigestion Pills.’

‘Well, that wouldn’t kill him. You say he took one after every meal?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘For how long had he been doing so?’

‘Oh, several weeks.’

‘You’ve just said you sat beside him at lunch. Are you sure he didn’t take anything from his pocket and put it into his mouth or his food?’

‘I didn’t see him do so, sir.’

‘Ah,’ said the coroner, ‘that’s just what I want to get at. Would you have seen him if he had?’

‘I think so, sir.’

‘But you can’t be sure?’

Weatherup hesitated. ‘I couldn’t be absolutely positive, sir, but I think I should have seen it, and I certainly didn’t.’

‘Could anyone else have slipped anything into his food unnoticed by you?’

‘I should say certainly not, sir.’

Dr Emerson leant forward. ‘Tell me, did you at any time during the meal look at the other side of the cabin or out of the opposite window?’