Ngaio Marsh - The Nursing Home Murder

After she had gone Alleyn stood stock-still and stared at the opposite wall.

At last, catching sight of himself in an ornate mirror, he made a wry face at his own reflection.

“Oh, damn the doings,” said Alleyn.

Tuesday, the sixteenth. Afternoon.

It was Mr. Thoms who took Alleyn into the theatre.

After Jane left him the inspector had wandered into the hall and run into the plump little surgeon. Alleyn had explained who he was, and Thoms instantly assumed an expression of intense seriousness that made him look rather like a clown pulling a mock-tragic face.

“I say!” he exclaimed. “You’re not here about Sir Derek O’Callaghan’s business, are you?”

“That’s it, Mr. Thoms,” Alleyn rejoined wearily. “The man was murdered.”

Thoms began to babble excitedly. Alleyn held up a long hand.

“Hyoscine. At least a quarter of a grain. Wilful murder,” he said briefly.

“Lor’!” ejaculated Thoms.

“Lor’ it is. I’ve been badgering nurses and now I want to see the theatre of operations. It never struck me till just then what a localised implication that phrase has.”

“See the theatre?” said Thoms. “Yes. Of course. Look here. It’s not in use now. Sir John’s gone out. I’ll show you round if you like.”

“Thank you so much,” said Alleyn.

Thoms talked excitedly as he led the way. “It’s the most amazing thing I ever heard. Damn’ nasty business, too. I hope to God you don’t think I pumped hyoscine into the man. Thought you police chaps must have something up your sleeves when you pushed the inquest. Yes. Well, here we are. This is an anteroom to the theatre, where we wash and dress ourselves up for the business. Along there’s the anæsthetising-room. Here’s the theatre.”

He butted open the swing-doors.

“Wait a bit,” said Alleyn. “Let’s get a sort of picture of the proceedings, may we? Before the operation you and the other medical men forgathered in here.”

“That’s it. Sir John and I came in here together. Dr. Roberts came in for a moment and then went off to the anæsthetising-room, where the patient was brought to him.”

“Anyone else in here during that time?”

“With Phillips and me, you mean? Oh, yes — the matron, Sister Marigold, you know. She does theatre sister. It’s only a small hospital, and she rather fancies herself at the job, does old Marigold. Then, let me see, the other two nurses were dodging about. Thingummy, the Bolshie one, and that pretty girl that did a faint — Harden.”

“What did you all talk about?”

“ Talk about?” echoed Thoms. He had a curious trick of gaping at the simplest question as though much taken aback. His eyes popped and his mouth fell open. He then gave a short and, to Alleyn, tiresome guffaw.

“What did we talk about?” he repeated. “Well, let’s see. Oh, I asked Sir John if he had seen the show at the Palladium this week and— ” He stopped short and again his eyes bolted.

“Well — what about it?” asked Alleyn patiently.

“He said he hadn’t,” said Thoms. He looked ridiculously uncomfortable, as though he had nearly said something frightfully improper.

“I missed the Palladium this week,” Alleyn remarked. “It’s particularly good, I hear.”

“Oh,” Thoms mumbled, “not bad. Rather rot really.”

He seemed extraordinarily embarrassed.

“And had Sir John seen the show?” asked Alleyn lightly.

“Er — no, no, he hadn’t.”

“Did you discuss any particular part of it?”

“No. Only mentioned the show — nothing particular.”

There was a long pause during which Thoms whistled under his breath.

“During this time,” said Alleyn as last, “was any one member of the theatre party alone?”

“In here?”

“In here.”

“Let me think,” begged Thoms. Alleyn let him think. “No — no. As far as I remember, we were all here. Then one of the nurses showed Roberts to the anæsthetising-room. That left Sir John and the other two nurses and myself. I went with Marigold into the theatre to look round. That left Sir John and the other nurse — the pretty one — in this room. They were here when I got back. Then Roberts and I washed up while Sir John went into the theatre to fix his hyoscine injection. He always does that and gives it himself. Rum idea. We usually leave all that game to the anæsthetist. Of course, in this instance everything had been very hurried. The patient had not been given the usual morphia and atropine injection. Well, let’s see. The females were dodging about, I suppose. I remember the — what’s-her-hame— the Banks woman asked me why Sir John didn’t use the stock solution.”

“Why didn’t he?”

“Oh — well, because he wanted to be sure of the dosage, I suppose.”

“And then?”

“I went into the theatre.”

“Where you joined Phillips?”

“Yes. He’d just put the hyoscine tablet into the water, I think.”

“Did you notice the little bottle — how many tablets were left? I simply want to check up, you understand.”

“Of course. Well, it’s a tube; you can’t see the number of tablets unless you peer into it, and then you can only guess, but, of course, there would be nineteen, because it was a new lot.”

“How do you know that, Mr. Thoms?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I saw he had two tubes and said something about it, and he said one of them was empty, so he’d opened another.”

“What happened to the empty one?”

“Eh? Search me. Chucked it away, I suppose. I say — er — look here, what is your name?”

“Alleyn.”

“Oh. Well, look here, Alleyn, you’re not attaching any importance to the second tube, are you? Because you jolly well needn’t. It’s all perfectly simple. Phillips uses a hypodermic case which holds two of these little phials. He’d obviously used the last tablet on a previous case without realising it was the last. Very easy thing to do.”

“I see that. All this business is merely by way of checking up.”

“Yes, but—”

“For my own sake I’ve got to account for every movement of the game, Mr. Thoms. It’s all frightfully muddling and I’ve got to try to learn it like a lesson. Do you remember anything that was said just then?”

“Well, I — well, I chaffed him about the two tubes— said he was doing Sir Derek proud, and then I–I remarked that he used a lot of water.”

“Did this seem to upset him at all?”

“Oh, Lord — no. I mean, Sir John always stands a bit on his dignity. I mean, he rather shut me up. He hasn’t got what I call a sense of humour.”

“Really? Did you go out together?”

“Yes. I went into the anteroom and Sir John into the anæsthetic-room to give the injection. I went first.”

“Sure, Mr. Thoms?”

“Oh, yes,” said Thoms, opening his eyes very wide. “Why?”

“I only want to get the order of events. Now let’s look at the theatre, shall we?”

Once again Thoms butted the swing-doors with his compact little stern, and this time Inspector Alleyn followed him through.

The theatre was scrupulously, monstrously immaculate — a place of tiles and chromium and white enamel. Thoms turned on a switch and for a moment an enormous high-powered cluster of lights poured down its truncated conical glare on the blank surface of the table. The theatre instantly became alive and expectant. He snapped it off and in its stead an insignificant wall bracket came to life over a side table on rubber castors.

“Is this how it was for the operation?” asked Alleyn. “Everything in its right place?”