Ngaio Marsh - The Nursing Home Murder

“Well,” said Fox, “so far they all agree.”

“Yes, but did you notice that where it came to the bit about Jane Harden fetching the syringe with the anti-gas, as they call it for short, they all went rather warily. She herself looked pretty sick when the coroner asked her about it. Here it is:

“ ‘The coroner: I understand you brought the syringe containing the anti-gas, to Dr. Thoms?

“ ‘Nurse Harden (after a pause): Yes.

“ ‘The Coroner: There was no unusual delay, or anything of that sort?

“ ‘Nurse Harden: I–I did hesitate a moment. The syringe was already full and I paused to make sure it was the right one.

“ ‘The Coroner: Did you not expect to find it prepared?

“ ‘Nurse Harden: I was not sure. I–I wasn’t well, and for a moment I hesitated and then Nurse Banks said it was the large syringe and I brought it to Dr. Thoms.

“ ‘Sir John Phillips, recalled, said that the delay was of no significance. Nurse Harden was unwell and had subsequently fainted.

“ ‘The Coroner: I understand you were personally acquainted with the deceased?

“ ‘Nurse Harden: Yes.’ ”

Alleyn laid down the report.

“That’s the incident,” he said. “It’s all perfectly natural, but I smelt high tension among the expert witnesses, whenever it was mentioned.”

He waited for a movement and then said slowly:

“That incident would never have come out if it hadn’t been for Thoms.”

“I noticed that, sir. Mr. Thoms let it out during his evidence and then looked as if he wished he hadn’t.”

“Yes,” said Alleyn dryly.

Fox eyed him cautiously and then went on:

“That girl must have been in a pretty good fatigue— in the light of what we know, I mean. There was this man to whom she’d been writing — the man she’d gone off with, as far as we can tell. She’d reckoned on some sort of permanent understanding, anyway, according to her letter, and when there was nothing doing she’d said she’d like to kill him and — there he was.”

“Very dramatic,” said Alleyn. “The same line of chat, with a difference, may be applied to Sir John Phillips.”

“That’s so,” admitted Fox. “They may have been in collusion.”

“I’m entirely against any sort of speculation until we get the analyst’s report, Fox. I have not interviewed any of these people. As you know, I thought it best to start no hares before the inquest. I wanted the inquest to be as colourless as possible. The post-mortem may be a wash-out, in which case we’ll want to fade away with the minimum amount of publicity.”

“That’s right,” said Fox heavily. “We’re only noting any points of interest in the evidence that may come in handy for future reference. Exhibit A — Nurse Harden and the anti-gas. Exhibit B — curious behaviour of Nurse Banks while giving evidence. The woman closely resembled a chestnut on the hob. She might have spontaneously combusted at any moment. However, she didn’t, more’s the pity perhaps, but I think she managed to fill the minds of the jury with strange surmises. It struck me that she hadn’t exactly hero-worshipped the late Home Secretary. There was more than a suspicion of a snort in her references to him.”

“Bolshie-minded, perhaps,” ruminated Fox. “Dare say. She looks like that.”

“He may have carried on with her too.”

“Oh, Fox! She does not look like that.”

“People take very strange fancies sometimes, sir.”

“How true that is. No speculations, Foxkin.”

“All right, sir, all right. What about Exhibit C?”

“Exhibit C. In re above. Heavy restraint of the matron, Sister Marigold, when Banks was mentioned. Marigold seemed to me to seethe with suppressed information. ‘Wild horses wouldn’t get me to tell, but, my oath, if wild horses could—?’ ”

“And Sir John himself?”

“ Agitato ma non troppo , and unnaturally... This abbreviation business is insidious. Sir John was so anxious to let everybody know he had prepared the hyoscine injection, wasn’t he?”

“Very straightforward of him, I thought,” remarked Fox doubtfully.

“Oh,” said Alleyn vaguely, “so did I. As honest as the day.”

Fox regarded him suspiciously.

“Lady O’Callaghan gave her evidence well,” he said.

“Admirably. But, oh, lummie, how we did hover on the brink of those letters. I’d warned the coroner, who had, of course, read them and thought they were sufficient grounds for a post-mortem. However, he agreed it was better they should not come out. He was very coy about the whole thing, anyway, and would have repressed pints of hyoscine— ”

“Hyoscine!” shouted Fox. “Aha — you are thinking of hyoscine!”

“Don’t shriek at me like that; I nearly bit my pipe-stem in half. I’m not thinking particularly of hyoscine. I was about to remark that I was in deadly fear Lady O’Callaghan would drag in the letters. I’d warned her, advised her, implored her not to, but she’s not a Ratsbane for nothing, and you never know.”

“And Thoms?”

“Thoms took the line that the whole show was unnecessary, but he gave his evidence well, appeared to have nothing to conceal apart from his regret over divulging the fainting episode, and seemed to resent the slightest criticism of Phillips.”

“Yes,” Fox agreed, “I noticed that. Roberts took much the same line. That’s what I mean about the experts sticking together.”

“Oh, quite. They wanted to pull together, but I’m pretty certain they were not all agreed. I did rather feel that they were uneasy about Nurse Harden’s delay over the anti-gas syringe, and that there was something about Nurse Banks that both Sister Marigold and Jane Harden shied away from.”

“There were three injections altogether,” said Fox thoughtfully. He held up as many short fingers. “The hyoscine, prepared and injected by Phillips; the camphor, prepared and injected by Nurse Banks, and the anti-gas, prepared by Nurse Banks and injected by Mr. Thoms.”

“Sounds like a petrol station. Well, there it is. If his tummy turns up a natural, we can forget all about it. If dirty weather sets in, it’ll be with a vengeance. Do you like cocktail metaphors?”

“I’ve been talking to Inspector Boys about the political side,” said Fox. “He’s got all the Kakaroff crowd taped out and he doesn’t think there’s much in it.”

“Nor do I. Since the Krasinky lot were roped in they’ve piped down considerably. [See A Man Lay Dead ] Still, you never know with these people. They may mean business. If that Bill goes through next week, it’ll larn ’em. I hope there’s no nonsense at the funeral to-morrow. We’re making elaborate enough arrangements for burying the poor chap — shutting the stable door with a gold padlock. They might possibly choose the moment to celebrate at the funeral, but, no, I don’t think they were in on the murder. I’m inclined to think they would have staged something more spectacular — a suitable echo to the Yugoslavia affair. Hyoscine doesn’t sound their cup of tea at all.”

“Why hyoscine?” asked Fox with massive innocence.

“You old devil,” said Alleyn, “I refuse to discuss the case with you. Go and catch pickpockets.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“And if anything comes of this P.M. business, you can jolly well deal with Lady O’Callaghan yourself. That makes you blanch. What’s the time?”

“Three o’clock, sir. The results of the post-mortem ought to come in fairly soon.”

“I suppose so. Our famous pathologist is going to ring me up himself as soon as he has informed the coroner.”

Alleyn got up and walked about the room hunching up one shoulder and whistling under his breath. The desk telephone rang. Fox answered it.