The Hog's Back Mystery (20 page)

Here at once was motive, and strong motive at that. To change a life of bondage and worry and fear of being disinherited, for freedom, a charming place and £60,000, was something for which it would be worth running a risk.

He had of course met Mrs. Frazer only once, but in that short interview he had obtained a very definite impression of her character. She was, he guessed, selfish, efficient and probably cruel. He did not think that qualms of conscience would hold her back from anything she might undertake. Undoubtedly Mrs. Frazer was a suspect.

This seemed progress, though when he began to consider how Mrs. Frazer could have murdered Ursula Stone, he didn't think he had progressed so far. However, let him take his fences when he came to them. On a fresh page of his notebook, under the heading “Possible Suspects”, he wrote, “1. Mrs. Hermione Frazer.”

Equally obvious as a suspect was the nephew, Gates. Gates so far seemed to him somewhat of a dark horse. He had evidently led a rough life among a rough crowd in Australia. Why when he was heir to much money he should have done so, was not clear, but it looked as if there had been some early trouble in his life. Hearsay told French moreover, first, that Gates was hard up, and secondly, that he was due a large sum on his uncle's death. Under Mrs. Hermione Frazer's name French wrote, “2. Arthur Gates.”

But when he came to consider a third suspect, French's facility deserted him. So far as he could tell from the information in his possession, no one else had any motive at all.

He decided to get hold of the Frazer will and see for himself just how the money had been left. For the moment, then, he might leave this point.

But money was not the only motive for murder. Could anyone have been in love with Mrs. Frazer? Could she have been in love with anyone? Here was something to be looked into at once. And also another point: Who could have got at the medicine and the food? If these questions were answered, and the results tabulated and compared with lists of those who could have murdered Ursula, Earle and the nurse, the main problem should be solved.

And then, as in warfare an attack is followed by a counterattack, French saw the inevitable snag. Earle and Helen Nankivel could scarcely have suspected that Frazer had been poisoned, as if they had, they would never have acquiesced in the burial. They would never have kept silence about their doubts for so long a time as seventeen days after the old man's death.

At the same time the mere fact that a rich man had died with symptoms similar to those of arsenical poisoning, was in itself suspicious. French decided that there was sufficient doubt on the point to demand an enquiry. For some time longer he considered whether he could proceed with this unknown to Sheaf. Finally he decided that he could not.

Next morning therefore he had a talk with the superintendent. Sheaf at first was sceptical, but on thinking over French's arguments, he also agreed that the matter could not be left as it then stood.

“What will you do?” he asked.

“I thought of trying to get some more details about conditions in the Frazer household, and the possibilities of tampering with food or medicine. If I come on anything suspicious I thought then of going to Campion and getting his views.”

“He'll not admit much,” Sheaf grunted. “Didn't he give the certificate.”

“He mayn't be able to help himself. However, I'm afraid that's going a bit too fast.”

Then began one of those nebulous enquiries which French loathed; the search for motives and possibilities rather than facts. He wanted to find out if anyone besides Mrs. Frazer and Gates had an interest in Frazer's death, and also who could have administered the poison. And this when the possibility of poison could not be hinted at.

French found the job tedious and disappointing. His veiled enquiries at Polperro roused antagonisms and the assurances that his questionees knew nothing. And indeed he was forced to the belief that at least in most cases, that reply was true.

He began by seeing Mr. Hunter, the senior partner of Hunter, Newnes & Hunter, the late gentleman's solicitors. He made an impressive start by producing his Yard credentials, but Mr. Hunter was not impressed. The only information the solicitor would give was that he was now acting for Mrs. Frazer. As to Mr. Frazer's will, that would be made known in due course, but was now confidential. If the inspector wished to see it and produced the necessary authority, it would at once be handed over. In the meantime if that was all the inspector wanted, he wished him a very good day.

At Polperro practically the only thing he learned was that both Mrs. Frazer and Gates had had ample opportunity of tampering with the deceased gentleman's medicine, as one or other sat with him while Nurse Nankivel was out in the afternoon. Apparently, however, any other member of the household could have done the same, as in the course of their business both nurses occasionally left the sick-room during their periods of duty and towards the end old Frazer was too exhausted to observe who might enter.

The same pretty well applied to the question of food. The cook and the nurses could of course have doped it, and French believed so could anyone else. There was, moreover, in the toolsheds any amount of weedkiller containing arsenic, and any member of the household could have secretly helped him or herself.

But French learned nothing to indicate that any of these things had been done.

He thereupon widened the mouth of his net. Since coming down to Farnham he had made a number of acquaintances; local people at the hotel, shopkeepers, postmen, occupants of houses near Hampton Common. Now he made it his business to meet these people accidentally. When he did so he was expansive, ready to give information—information due in any case for the newspapers. In the hope of getting further details these people willingly prolonged the conversations, which somehow always turned on the Frazers. French was extraordinarily skilful at what might be called the painless extraction of information, but here his most persistent efforts brought him little result.

One thing which seemed certain was that there had been no illicit love affair in the case of Mrs. Frazer. At least if there had, she had been extraordinarily discreet.

About Gates French found it easier to obtain information. Gates was a well-known member of the sporting community and plenty of comment had passed on his doings. Judicious enquiries revealed the fact that he had had pretty expensive dealings with moneylenders. One of these gentlemen, anxious to remain on good terms with the police, produced documentary evidence that a part of Frazer's money was entailed and that Gates was expecting its reversion. In fact his testimony bore witness to the accuracy of Constable Black's incidental statements, when he was asked about Slade.

French was much dissatisfied with the result of his enquiries, though he did not see how he could have done better. He had obtained nothing positive. Suspicion against Mrs. Frazer, and still more against Gates, was possible, but there was no positive evidence against either.

Moreover, he had to remind himself sharply that the same doubt applied to the fundamental question of Frazer's murder itself. To suspect poison was possible, but the suspicion was not backed up by the slightest scintilla of real evidence.

Yet French could not leave the matter in its present state. He decided that he must approach Campion. The interview would, he was afraid, prove embarrassing, for it practically meant accusing Campion of giving a false certificate. However, there was nothing else to be done, and once again he rode out to the Red Cottage.

Chapter XIX

Chemical Analysis

Campion was out when French called, but he was expected at any moment, and French was shown into the consulting-room to wait. It was not the first time he had called on a doctor to suggest that the latter had been professionally remiss, and these interviews had never been happy. Campion, however, seemed a sensible sort of man and he would probably be able to see something besides his own dignity.

The servant's expectations were justified, and French had not waited more than five minutes when the doctor appeared. He seemed surprised to see French, but greeted him civilly enough.

“I wanted a word with you, sir, but I'm not in a hurry and can wait if the present is not convenient.”

As French had hoped, this mild beginning appeared to impress Campion favourably. He sat down and said that in all business there was no time like the present.

“It's rather a serious matter,” French went on. “A certain suspicion has been aroused in my mind by the events which I've been investigating, and I wanted to consult you about it before proceeding any further. I may say that I have mentioned my idea to no one except Superintendent Sheaf of Farnham, and that only in the strictest confidence. There is no question therefore of any whisper of the thing having got out.”

“That's a good mysterious beginning,” Campion returned. “What's it all about?”

“I'll tell you, sir. It's about the late Mr. Frazer, of Polperro. Not to beat about the bush, may I ask you, Are you, and were you at all times, quite satisfied as to the death of Mr. Frazer?”

Campion stared. “Satisfied?” he repeated. “What do you mean by that? Explain yourself.”

“I mean, doctor, satisfied in your own mind as to the cause of death?”

Campion continued to stare. “Even now, inspector,” he said slowly, “I'm not sure that I've entirely grasped your meaning. Are you suggesting that I gave a certificate the correctness of which I doubted?”

“No, sir,” French answered promptly. “I'm not questioning your good faith for a moment. But you know as well as I that many a certificate has been signed in the best of good faith, which owing to later information has proved not entirely correct.”

Campion made a gesture of irritation. “For goodness sake, inspector, get down to it. What are you questioning? Are you suggesting the certificate was wrong?”

“Not necessarily, sir. I'm coming to you, as the doctor in charge of the case, to ask your opinion and advice upon certain suspicious circumstances which have come to my knowledge, but which may not have come to yours.”

Campion looked bewildered as well as exasperated. “As I said, you're very mysterious. What are these suspicious circumstances you speak of?”

“The first one is—and this is where I want your opinion and advice—the first one is that the death had all the symptoms of arsenical poisoning. Now tell me, doctor, am I right or wrong in that?”

A light seemed to dawn on Campion. “Oh, so that's it, is it? Poison, no less.” He laughed shortly. “I'm afraid, inspector, you've allowed your calling to run away with your imagination.” Then more gravely: “But that's a very serious suggestion you're making. I take it you're not by any chance pulling my leg?”

“I'm afraid the matter is serious, sir,” French said directly. “At all events I should like an answer to my question.”

For the first time Campion seemed impressed. “Well, I take it you wouldn't say that unless you had something to back it up. It's a very nasty suggestion.” He paused, then went on: “As to the symptoms, of course they were like those of arsenical poisoning. That is because Frazer had gastro-enteritis. Everyone knows the symptoms are similar. But that's a very different thing from saying the man was poisoned.”

“Quite so: I appreciate that, doctor. But I should like to ask this, Was there any symptom inconsistent with death from arsenical poisoning?”

Campion sat back in his chair and squared his shoulders. “The man was suffering from gastro-enteritis,” he said firmly, “and had been for a considerable time. He died from gastro-enteritis,
plus
old age and a weak heart. There were no symptoms inconsistent with death from arsenical poisoning: there aren't in that disease. But as I said before, that's no reason to suspect poisoning. Why”—he warmed to his subject—“the whole idea is ludicrous. Do you mean seriously to tell me that there's no such disease as gastro-enteritis? That everyone who is supposed to have died from it was poisoned with arsenic? Because that's really what you're arguing. Unless”—his manner changed suddenly—“you've got some further information up your sleeve. Have you?”

French shrugged. “My other points are really confidential,” he returned. “Just as I came to you about the symptoms and kept this point secret from everyone except the super, so I do not think it fair to discuss with you what may concern other people. But two points you can see for yourself. The first is that Mr. Frazer was wealthy and had to leave his money to someone; the second, that mysterious death has overtaken two of the persons concerned with that illness. Come now, doctor, you can see for yourself that without mentioning names or other facts, of which there are a few, that I am justified in making enquiries. In any case the matter is out of my hands; Superintendent Sheaf has agreed it must be gone into.”

Campion was visibly impressed. “That's all very disquieting, inspector,” he said anxiously, “very disquieting indeed. If you're right, it means that I've given a false certificate. Not a very pleasant thing to contemplate. But I can't and don't believe it. I need scarcely say such an idea never for a moment occurred to me, and looking back now, I can't see anything about the case in the slightest degree suspicious.” He moved uneasily. “The idea's damnable. But I don't believe it; not for a moment. You're on the wrong track; unless you know a darned sight more than you've told me.”

Campion paused, then before French could speak, went on again. “And there's another thing. Dr. Earle saw Mr. Frazer twice—the last time just two days before he died—and Dr. Earle was satisfied. If he had had the slightest doubt he would have raised the question. He would never have allowed the burial to take place if he had suspected poison. The same applies to the two nurses.” He sat back as if relieved. “No, inspector, I'm afraid this time you're barking up the wrong tree. Besides, who would do such a thing? No one!”

French gave a crooked smile. “Now you're going a bit too fast for me,” he declared. “I've not gone to the length of considering possible criminals. But I suppose I may take it from your question that poison is not impossible?”

“My God!” Campion cried, twisting about in his chair and striking the table a heavy blow with his fist, “of course it's not impossible! But there was no evidence and is no evidence that it was anything but gastro-enteritis. I said gastro-enteritis in the certificate and I stick to it. There's no reason to think anything else!”

“I agree, sir,” French declared smoothly, “that at the time there was nothing in any way suspicious. I suppose every other doctor would have acted exactly as you did. But now things are different. Information has been obtained which was not at your disposal, and this information makes all the difference.”

“But bless my soul, inspector, who could have done such a thing? You speak of legatees. But there were only two, Mrs. Frazer and Mr. Gates, and I know them both. And anything more absurd and iniquitous than attributing murder to either, I never heard!”

“I'm very far from attributing murder to either,” French returned. Suddenly it occurred to him to try a bluff and he leant forward and sank his voice impressively. “What about the nurse?” he asked knowingly.

Campion stared and French continued. “Might not the nurse have slipped a little arsenic into the old man's medicine?”

“But what for?”

“For a consideration. If, for instance, the nurse proves to have come into money, it might be worth tracing where it came from.”

Campion laughed contemptuously. “What about your superintendent?” he asked with heavy sarcasm. “Have you thought of him? If probability's not to be considered, Sheaf's as likely as anyone else.”

“The super has an alibi,” French said smoothly. “But ser-iously, sir, I want any information I can get. You said you knew Mrs. Frazer and Mr. Gates. Do you mind telling me anything you know about them?”

This proved too wide for the mark. French, as conversationally as he could, narrowed his enquiries down.

Campion could not, or would not, tell him much. According to the doctor, Mrs. Frazer had been a model wife. Admittedly Frazer had been sometimes hard to bear; people with stomach troubles were often depressed and cantankerous. She had been unfailingly good to him, and it would be stupid as well as wicked to suspect her of such a crime.

As to the innocence of Gates, which French next touched on, the doctor was equally emphatic. Gates was well known to the doctor. They had met, Campion told him, on many race-courses. Gates was a bit rough in his manner, but as good-hearted as they were made. Campion did not believe he was hard up, as he could have got all the money he wanted because of his expectations.

In the end French left the Red Cottage convinced that Campion might have made a mistake and that the man knew it.

For some time the case dragged. It was indeed nearly a week before French made his next discovery. During that week he was by no means idle. He worked as hard as he knew how trying to pick up information about the Polperro household, and particularly about Mrs. Frazer and Gates. Gates he saw on two occasions, on each seizing the opportunity to have a long chat. But he could learn nothing in the slightest degree helpful.

His next discovery came from a quite different line of enquiry. He had returned to Town on the Saturday, intending on the Monday to start a more complete investigation into Nurse Nankivel's life, in the rather desperate hope of coming on something which might give a new lead to his ideas. He began by a call at Bryanston Square.

Lady Hazzard herself saw him. She appeared genuinely interested in the nurse and horrified as to her fate. With some eagerness she asked French whether there was any hope of the murderer being brought to justice.

French did not so far know, but trusted this end would be duly attained. In the meantime had anything of the nurse's been left behind at Bryanston Square?

Only, Lady Hazzard returned, a letter which had come by that morning's delivery and which she had been about to send to the nursing-home. French, glancing at the address, “Miss H. Nankivel, C/of Brig.-Gen. Sir Ormsby Hazzard, C.M.G., D.S.O.”, said that he was going to the nursing-home and would take it.

Instead of the home, however, he went into Hyde Park, and sitting down on an empty seat, carefully slit open the envelope.

It contained a bill for three guineas from Messrs. Morgan & Winterton, who described themselves as analytical chemists, and whose address was Room 174, Ocean Buildings, Tabbilet Street, W.C.2. There were no items, the charge being merely, “To a/c rendered.”

Tabbilet Street, French knew, was in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden. In two minutes he was in a taxi on his way thither, and in another fifteen he was knocking at Room 174 in Ocean Buildings. Mr. Winterton was disengaged and saw him at once.

“I called, sir,” French began, “in connection with this account,” and he handed over the contents of the envelope.

“Ah yes,” said Winterton, “we shall be glad to have it settled. But how, inspector, has it become a matter for the Yard?”

“I'm afraid, sir,” French returned with a faint smile, “I've not come to settle it. Unhappily I am the bearer of bad news. I have to tell you that this Miss H. Nankivel has been the victim of a serious crime; in fact, I may say at once that she has been murdered.”

“Bless my soul!” Winterton exclaimed. “Did I hear you say
murdered
?” He was tall and thin and curved his long back forward over the table, blinking at French like a draggled old bird.

“I fear so, sir,” French answered. “I am in charge of the case, and I am anxious to get some information from you as to the transaction for which this debt was incurred.”

“Quite so. Very natural. But dear me, murdered! How very dreadful! Very dreadful indeed!” He cleared his throat pompously. “I shall of course place any information I may have at your disposal.”

Presently he came to the point. He sent for a file, turned up a letter, and handed it to French. “We received that on the 30th of September last, as you will see, together with the enclosure. Better read the letter before I go on.”

French did so. It was written in a feminine hand, which French at once recognised as that of the dead nurse. Above the printed legend, “129B, Bryanston Square, W.1”, was written, “C/of Brig.-Gen. Sir Ormsby Hazzard, C.M.G., D.S.O.” It was dated 29th September and read:

“M
essrs
. M
organ
& W
interton
,

Analytical Chemists
.

“D
ear
S
irs
,

“I send you herewith a small bottle containing a solution, and should be obliged if you would kindly analyse same and let me have a note of the contents. If you let me have your account, I will send the necessary amount.

“Yours faithfully,

“(M
iss
) H. N
ankivel
.”

“Yes?” said French.

“We carried out the analysis as requested,” went on Winterton. “Unfortunately the bottle contained too small a quantity of the solution to enable a really accurate quantitative analysis to be made. Our work, however, was very close to the truth. We then wrote the following report.” He delved in his file and handed across another document. It was a carbon copy of the letter and read: