Ngaio Marsh - False Scent

Florence stretched out a shaking hand towards Charles Templeton. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, sir!” she stammered. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, come quick.”

“—And this chap said to the other chap…” Dr. Harkness recounted.

Charles said, “Good God, what’s the matter! Is it…?”

“It’s her, sir. Come quick.”

Charles thrust her aside, ran from the room and pelted upstairs.

“A doctor!” Florence said. “My God, a doctor!” It was Marchant who succeeded in bringing Dr. Harkness into focus.

“You’re wanted,” he said. “Upstairs. Mary.”

“Eh? Bit of trouble?” Dr. Harkness asked vaguely.

“Something’s happened to Mary.”

Timon Gantry said, “Pull yourself together, Harkness. You’ve got a patient.”

Dr. Harkness had forgotten to remove his smile, but a sort of awareness now overtook him. “Patient?” he said. “Where? Is it Charles?”

“Upstairs. Mary.”

“Good gracious!” said Dr. Harkness. “Very good. I’ll come.” He rocked slightly on his feet and remained stationary.

Maurice Warrender said to Florence, “Is it bad?”

Her hand to her mouth she nodded her head up and down like a mandarin.

Warrender took a handful of ice from a wine-cooler and suddenly thrust it down the back of Dr. Harkness’s collar. “Come on,” he said. Harkness let out a sharp oath. He swung round as if to protest, lost his balance and fell heavily.

Florence screamed.

“I’m a’right,” Dr. Harkness said from the door. “Tripped over something. Silly!”

Warrender and Gantry got him to his feet. “I’m all right !” he repeated angrily. “Gimme some water, will you?”

Gantry tipped some out of the ice bucket. Dr. Harkness swallowed it down noisily and shuddered. “Beastly stuff,” he said. “Where’s this patient?”

From the stairhead, Charles called in an unrecognizable voice, “Harkness! Harkness !”

“Coming,” Warrender shouted. Harkness, gasping, was led out.

Florence looked wildly round the now completely silent company, wrung her hands and followed them.

Timon Gantry said, “More ice, perhaps,” picked up the wine-cooler and overtook them on the stairs.

The party was left in suspension.

In Mary Bellamy’s bedroom all the windows were open. An evening breeze stirred the curtains and the ranks of tulips. Dr. Harkness knelt beside the pool of rose-coloured chiffon from which protruded, like rods, two legs finished with high-heeled shoes and two naked arms whose clenched hands glittered with diamonds. Diamonds were spattered across the rigid plane of the chest and shone through a hank of disarranged hair. A length of red chiffon lay across the face and this was a good thing.

Dr. Harkness had removed his coat. His ice-wet shirt stuck to his spine. His ear was laid against the place from which he had pulled away the red chiffon.

He straightened up, looked closely into the face, reveiled it and got to his feet.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing whatever to be done,” he said.

Charles said, “There must be. You don’t know. There must be. Try. Try something. My God, try!”

Warrender, in his short-stepped, square-shouldered way, walked over to Harkness and looked down for a moment.

“No good,” he said. “Have to face it. What?”

Charles satt on the bed and rubbed his freckled hand across his mouth. “I can’t believe it’s happened,” he said. “It’s there —it’s— happened . And I can’t believe it.”

Florence burst noisily into tears.

Dr. Harkness turned to her. “You,” he said. “Florence, isn’t it? Try to control yourself, there’s a good girl. Did you find her like this?”

Florence nodded and sobbed out something indistinguishable.

“But she was…” Harkness glanced at Charles. “Conscious?”

Florence said, “Not to know me. Not to speak,” and broke down completely.

“Were the windows open?”

Florence shook her head.

“Did you open them?”

She shook her head again. “I didn’t think to — I got such a wicked shock — I didn’t think…”

“I opened them,” Charles said.

“First thing to be done,” Warrender muttered.

Gantry, who from the time of his entry had stood motionless near the door, joined the others. “But what was it?” he asked. “What happened?”

Warrender said unevenly, “Perfectly obvious. She used that bloody spray thing there. I said it was dangerous. Only this morning.”

“What thing?”

Warrender stooped. The tin of Slaypest lay on its side close to the clenched right hand. A trickle of dark fluid stained the carpet. “This,” he said.

“Better leave it,” Dr. Harkness said sharply.

“What?”

“Better leave it where it is.” He looked at Gantry. “It’s some damned insecticide. For plants. The tin’s smothered in warnings.”

“We told her,” Warrender said. “Look at it.”

“I said don’t touch it.”

Warrender straightened up. The blood had run into his face. “Sorry,” he said, and then, “Why not?”

“You’re a bit too ready with your hands. I’m wet as hell and half frozen.”

“You were tight. Best cure, my experience.”

They eyed each other resentfully. Dr. Harkness looked at Charles, who sat doubled up with his hands on his chest. He went to him. “Not too good?” he said. Timon Gantry put a hand on Charles’s shoulder.

“I’m going to take you to your room, old boy. Next door, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Dr. Harkness said. “But not just yet. In a minute. Good idea.” He turned to Florence. “Do you know where Mr. Templeton keeps his tablets? Get them, will you? And you might bring some aspirin at the same time. Run along, now.” Florence went into the dressing-room. He sat beside

Charles on the bed and took his wrist. “Steady does it,” he said and looked at Gantry. “Brandy.”

“I know where it is,” Warrender said, and went out.

Gantry said, “What about the mob downstairs?”

“They can wait.” He held the wrist a little longer and then laid Charles’s hand on his knee, keeping his own over it. “We’ll move you in a moment. You must let other people think for you. It’s been a bad thing.”

“I can’t…” Charles said. “I can’t…” and fetched his breath in irregular, tearing sighs.

“Don’t try to work things out. Not just yet. Ah, here’s Florence. Good. Now then, one of these.”

He gave Charles a tablet. Warrender came back with brandy. “This’ll help,” Dr. Harkness said. They waited in silence.

“I’m all right,” Charles said presently.

“Fine. Now, an arm each and take it steady. His room’s next door. Lie down, Charles, won’t you?”

Charles nodded and Warrender moved towards him. “No,” Charles said quite strongly, and turned to Gantry. “I’m all right,” he repeated, and Gantry very efficiently supported him through the door into his dressing-room.

Warrender stood for a moment, irresolute, and then lifted his chin and followed them.

“Get him a hot bottle,” Harkness said to Florence.

When she’d gone he swallowed three aspirins, took up the bedside telephone and dialled a number.

“This is Dr. Frank Harkness. I’m speaking from Number 2 Pardoner’s Place. Mr. Charles Templeton’s house. There’s been an accident. A fatality. Some sort of pest killer. Mrs. Templeton. Yes. About fifty people — a party. Right. I’ll wait.”

As he replaced the receiver Gantry came back. He stopped short when he saw Harkness. “What now?” he asked.

“I’ve telephoned the police.”

“The police !”

“In cases like this,” Harkness said, “one notifies the police.”