Ngaio Marsh - The Nursing Home Murder

“Surely they, in themselves, are enough to arouse anybody’s suspicion?”

“Lady O’Callaghan, it is extremely unusual for a person contemplating homicide to write such letters. I do not say it is unknown, but it is very unusual. I expect Fox told you that.”

“I believe he said something of the sort. My point is this: I do not think the murderer contemplated homicide when writing the letter. I do think that a person capable of writing such a letter would also be capable of seizing the opportunity when it presented itself.”

“So it is Phillips and the girl she’s after,” thought Alleyn.

“I see your point, of course,” he said slowly.

“There is another incident which I did not go into with — Inspector Fox. Before my husband’s operation I was in his room with him. He did not realise where he was or what had happened to him. I tried to explain about the appendix. Then Sir John Phillips came into the room. When my husband saw him he exclaimed: ‘Don’t — don’t let— ’ and then he collapsed. He seemed terrified by the presence of Sir John Phillips and I am certain that he tried to say: ‘Don’t let him touch me.’ I must tell you that a week before this Sir John called on my husband. I hoped that it was for a consultation about his pain, which was then very severe. Next morning I asked my husband if Sir John had examined him. He evaded my question, and seemed very much upset. I had met Sir John in the hall and had thought his manner most unusual. His letter was written that same night, evidently as a result of the interview.”

“You definitely connect Sir John’s letter with the other, signed Jane Harden?”

“Yes. She is a nurse in the hospital where my husband was a patient. After your man left, this afternoon, I rang up the hospital and under pretext of wishing to thank the nurses concerned in the case, I found out their names. She was actually present in the operating theatre and I dare say assisted Sir John.”

She drawled all this out in her serene, high-pitched voice, exactly as though she was reading aloud.

“Forgive me,” said Alleyn, “but did you know anything about this business? I hope you will understand that I only ask because— ”

“Because you wonder if I am prejudiced?”

“Exactly.”

“I knew my husband was unfaithful to me from time to time. I also believed these incidents to be more or less casual encounters.”

“You were unaware of this Miss Harden’s existence?”

“Quite.”

Alleyn was silent for a little while. Then he rose to his feet.

“I think, with you, that there should be an inquest,” he told her.

She made a slight movement and the heavy folds of her dress stirred. It was as though she had suddenly gone tense all over. When she spoke, however, it was with her customary equanimity.

“You have, I am sure, made a very wise decision.”

“I’m afraid we shall have difficulty with the coroner. Naturally he is rather chary about starting such an alarming hare. It will be impossible to keep the thing even moderately quiet. The papers already have wind of these threatening letters from Sir Derek’s political enemies.”

He watched her closely, but beyond a faint expression of distaste, could find no evidence of any sort of emotion.

“That will be rather disagreeable,” she murmured.

“I am afraid so. Is there anything else that you would like to discuss?”

“I was going to suggest that you speak to Mr. Ronald Jameson, my husband’s secretary. He will, I think, confirm what I have said about Sir Derek’s reaction to these letters.”

“If you wish it, I will see him. Of course, if the postmortem shows that poison has been given, it will then be my duty to make very exhaustive inquiries.”

“Of course,” she agreed.

Evidently she had made up her mind Alleyn should see Jameson, because she sent for him then and there. Ronald came in looking very perturbed and uneasy.

“This is my husband’s secretary — Mr. Jameson, Mr. Alleyn.”

“How do you do, sir?” said Ronald. “You won’t have the foggiest recollection of me, I’m afraid, but we have met before.”

“I’ve a filthy memory,” declared Chief Inspector Alleyn.

“It was at Nigel Bathgate’s.”

“Oh, yes.” Alleyn was polite, but non-committaL

“Really?” murmured Lady O’Callaghan. “Yes. I thought too that perhaps I had seen you — that your face— ” She seemed uncertain how to go on.

“People often find they are familiar with the faces of the police,” said Alleyn gravely.

“It’s not that, sir.” Ronald turned to Lady O’Callaghan. “Mr. Alleyn is in some of Mr. Rattisbon’s photos in the study at Karnelly.”

“Ratsbane’s cricketing groups,” thought Alleyn. “Oh, Lord!”

“Oh,” said Lady O’Callaghan. “Yes.” She stared rather blankly at him.

“Mr. Jameson,” Alleyn began, “I believe Lady O’Callaghan wants me to speak to you about an incident that took place here a week before Sir Derek’s operation.”

Ronald jumped and glanced nervously at the lady.

“I have spoken to Mr. Alleyn about my suspicions. He agrees that there should be an inquest.”

“Really, sir? Look here — I mean, of course, you know best, but, well — it’s — it’s a pretty ghastly thought, isn’t it?”

“You remember the evening my husband had the letter signed Jane Harden?”

“Yes,” said Ronald very reluctantly.

“You remember that you told me the letter seemed to upset him very much?”

“Yes — but— ”

“And when he overheard you speaking of it he was quite unreasonably angry?”

“I don’t think unreasonably , Lady O’Callaghan,” Ronald protested. “Sir Derek was quite right. I should not have mentioned his correspondence. I had never done so before.”

“Why did you do so then?” she asked him.

“Really,” thought Alleyn, “she might be an Attorney-General.”

“Because — well, because it seemed to upset him so much.” Ronald saw the fence too late and crashed into it.

“Yes,” said Lady O’Callaghan.

“Would you describe him as being alarmed?” Alleyn asked.

“Well — more sort of disturbed and distressed. After all, sir, it was an unpleasant letter to get.”

Ronald seemed to be in a perfect agony of embarrassment.

“Certainly,” Alleyn agreed. “You were not present, were you, at any time during the interview between Sir Derek and Sir John Phillips?”

“No. I — no, I wasn’t.”

“What were you going to say? Was anyone else there?”

“Nash, the butler, took in the tray.”

“Has he spoken to you on the subject?” asked Alleyn casually.

“Er — yes. Servants’ gossip. I rather snubbed him, sir.”

“What did he say before you’d snubbed him?”

“He’s an awful old woman — Nash. He seemed to think Sir John had used some sort of threatening expression. Honestly, sir, he’s a fearful ass.”

“I see. I think that’s all, Lady O’Callaghan. Perhaps the apprehensive Nash will make an appearance when I go.”

She rang the bell.

“He should have come in with the tray by this time,” she said vaguely.

When Nash appeared it was with the tray, which he set down delicately.

“Mr. Alleyn, will you—?”

“No, thank you so much. I must be off. Good-bye, Lady O’Callaghan. I’ll ring you up if I may.”

“Yes. Thank you. Good-bye.”

Nash opened the door and followed Alleyn into the hall. Jameson made as if to see the inspector out.

“Oh — Mr. Jameson,” said Lady O’Callaghan. He hesitated and then returned to the study, closing the door.

As he took his hat and coat from the butler Alleyn paused and looked directly at him.