Ngaio Marsh - The Nursing Home Murder

She stared at his darkened face. Her own, lit by the sallow light from the window, looked thin and secret.

“Sometimes.”

“Recently?”

“No. I can’t see what my acquaintanceship with him has to do with the matter.”

“Why did you faint?”

“I was — I wasn’t well; I’m run down.”

“It had nothing to do with the identity of the patient? It wasn’t because Sir Derek was so ill?”

“Naturally that distressed me.”

“Have you ever written to him?”

She seemed to shrink back into the chair as though he had actually hurt her.

“You need not answer any of these questions if you think it better not to,” he announced. “Still, I shall, of course, go to other people for the information.”

“ I have done nothing to hurt him ,” she said loudly.

“No. But have you ever written to him? That was my question, you know.”

She took a long time to answer this. At last she murmured: “Oh, yes.”

“How often?”

“I don’t know— ”

“Recently?”

“Fairly recently.”

“Threatening letters?”

She moved her head from side to side as though the increasing dusk held a menace.

“No,” said Jane.

He saw now that she looked at him with terror in her eyes. It was a glance to which he had become accustomed, but, since in his way he was a sensitive man, never quite reconciled.

“I think it would be better,” he pronounced slowly, “if you told me the whole story. There is no need, is there, for me to tell you that you are one of the people whom I must take into consideration? Your presence in the operating theatre brings you into the picture. Naturally I want an explanation.”

“I should have thought my — distress — would have given you that,” she whispered, and in that half-light he saw her pallor change to a painful red. “You see, I loved him,” added Jane.

“I think I understand that part of it,” he said abruptly. “I am extremely sorry that these beastly circumstances oblige me to pry into such very painful matters. Try to think of me as a sort of automaton, unpleasant but quite impersonal. Can you do that, do you think?”

“I suppose I must try.”

“Thank you. First of all — was there anything beyond ordinary friendship between you and O’Callaghan?”

She made a slight movement.

“Not— ” She paused and then said: “Not really.”

“Were you going to say ‘Not now’? I think there had been. You say you wrote to him. Perhaps your letters terminated a phase of your friendship?”

She seemed to consider this and then answered uneasily: “The second did.”

He thought: “Two letters. I wonder what happened to the other?”

Aloud, he said: “Now, as I understand it, you had known Sir Derek for some time — an old family friendship. Recently this friendship changed to a more intimate association. When was this?”

“Last June — three months ago.”

“And it went on — for how long?”

Her hands moved to her face. As if ashamed of this pitiful gesture she snatched them away, and raising her voice, said clearly: “Three days.”

“I see,” said Alleyn gently. “Was that the last time you saw him?”

“Yes — until the operation.”

“Had there been any quarrel?”

“No.”

“None?”

“No.” She tilted her head back and began to speak rapidly.

“It was a mutual agreement. People make such a fuss about sex. It’s only a normal physical experience, like hunger or thirst. The sensible thing is to satisfy it in a perfectly reasonable and natural way. That’s what we did. There was no need to meet again. We had our experience.”

“My poor child!” Alleyn ejaculated.

“What do you mean!”

“You reel it all off as if you’d learnt it out of a textbook. ‘First Steps in Sex.’ ‘O Brave New World,’ as Miranda and Mr. Huxley would say! And it didn’t work out according to the receipt?”

“Yes, it did.”

“ Then why did you write those letters ?”

Her mouth opened. She looked pitifully ludicrous and for a moment, not at all pretty.

“You’ve seen them — you’ve— ”

“I’m afraid so,” said Alleyn.

She gave a curious dry sob and put her hands up to the neck of her uniform as though it choked her.

“You see,” Alleyn continued, “it would be better to tell me the truth, really it would.”

She began to weep very bitterly.

“I can’t help it. I’m sorry. It’s been so awful — I can’t help it.”

Alleyn swung round to the light again.

“It’s all right,” he said to the window-pane. “Don’t mind about me — only an automaton, remember.”

She seemed to pull herself together quickly. He heard a stifled sob or two and a rustle as if she had made a violent movement of some sort.

“Better,” she murmured presently. When he turned back to the room she was sitting there, staring at him, as though there had been no break in their conversation.

“There’s not much more,” he began — very businesslike and pleasant. “Nobody accuses you of anything. I simply want to check up on the operation. You did not see Sir Derek from June until he was brought into the theatre. Very well. Beyond these two letters you did not communicate with him in any way whatever? All right. Now the only place where you step into the picture is where you fetched the syringe containing the anti-gas concoction. You delayed. You were faint. You are positive you brought the right syringe?”

“Oh, yes. It was much bigger than the others.”

“Good enough. I’ll look at it presently if I may. Now I understand that the jar, bottle, or pot containing the serum— ”

“It was an ampoule,” said Jane.

“So it was — and the pipkin, cruse, or pottle containing hyoscine were on the table. Could you, feeling all faint and bothered, have possibly sucked up hyoscine by mistake?”

“But, don’t you understand, it was ready!” she said impatiently.

“So I am told, but I’ve got to make sure, you know. You are positive, for instance, that you didn’t squirt out the contents and refill the syringe?”

“Of course — positive.” She spoke with more assurance and less agitation than he had expected.

“You remember getting the syringe? You were not so groggy that you did it more or less blindly?”

That seemed to get home. She looked frightened again.

“I–I was very faint, but I know— oh, I know I made no mistake.”

“Right. Anyone watch you?”

He watched her himself, closely. The light was now very dim, but her face was still lit from the window behind him.

“They — may — have. I didn’t notice.”

“I understand Mr. Thoms complained of the delay. Perhaps he turned to see what you were doing?”

“He’s always watching— I beg your pardon; that’s got nothing to do with it.”

“What were you going to say?”

“Only that Mr. Thoms has rather an offensive trick of staring.”

“Did you happen to notice, before the operation, how much of the hyoscine solution there was in the bottle?”

She thought for some time.

“I think it was full,” she said.

“Has it been used since?”

“Once, I believe.”

“Good.”

He moved away from the window briskly, found the light switch and snapped it down. Jane rose to her feet. Her hands shook and her face was a little marked with tears.

“That’s all,” said Alleyn brightly. “Cheer up, Nurse Harden.”

“I’ll try.”

She hesitated a moment after he had opened the door, looked as if she wanted to say something further, but finally, without another word, left the room.