Ngaio Marsh - The Nursing Home Murder

Alleyn produced his notebook and took this,down. Mr. Rattisbon got up.

“I must keep you no longer, Inspector Alleyn. This is an extremely distressing affair. I trust that the police may ultimately — um— ”

“I trust so, sir,” said Alleyn. He rose and opened the door.

“Oh, thank-yer, thank-yer,” ejaculated Mr. Rattisbon. He shot across the room, paused, and darted a final look at Alleyn.

“My nephew tells me you were at school together,” he said. “Henry Rattisbon, Lady O’Callaghan’s brother.”

“I believe we were,” answered Alleyn politely.

“Yes. Interesting work here? Like it?”

“It’s not a bad job.”

“Um? Oh, quite. Well, wish you success,” said Mr. Rattisbon, who had suddenly become startlingly human. “And don’t let poor Miss Ruth mislead you.”

“I’ll try not to. Thank you so much, sir.”

“Um? Not at all, not at all. Quite the reverse. Good morning. Good morning.”

Alleyn closed the door and stood in a sort of trance for some minutes. Then he screwed his face up sideways, as though in doubt, appeared to come to a decision, consulted the telephone directory, and went to call upon Mr. Harold Sage.

Mr. Sage had a chemist’s shop in Knightsbridge. Inspector Alleyn walked to Hyde Park Corner and then took a bus. Mr. Sage, behind his counter, served an elderly lady with dog powders, designed, no doubt, for a dyspeptic pug which sat and groaned after the manner of his kind at her feet.

“These are our own, madam,” said Mr. Sage. “I think you will find they give the little fellow immediate relief.”

“I hope so,” breathed the elderly lady. “And you really think there’s no need to worry?”

The pug uttered a lamentable groan. Mr. Sage made reassuring noises and tenderly watched them out.

“Yes, sir?” he said briskly, turning to Alleyn.

“Mr. Harold Sage?” asked the inspector.

“Yes,” agreed Mr. Sage, a little surprised.

“I’m from Scotland Yard. Inspector Alleyn.”

Mr. Sage opened his eyes very wide, but said nothing. He was naturally a pale young man.

“There are one or two questions I should like to ask you, Mr. Sage,” continued Alleyn. “Perhaps we could go somewhere a little more private? I shan’t keep you more than a minute or two.”

“Mr. Brayght,” said Mr. Sage loudly.

A sleek youth darted out from behind a pharmaceutical display.

“Serve, please,” said Mr. Sage. “Will you just walk this way?” he asked Alleyn and led him down a flight of dark steps into a store-room which smelt of chemicals. He moved some packages off the only two chairs and stacked them up, very methodically, in a dark corner of the room. Then he turned to Alleyn.

“Will you take a chair?” he asked.

“Thank you. I’ve called to cheek up one or two points that have arisen in my department. I think you may be able to help us.”

“In what connection?”

“Oh, minor details,” said Alleyn vaguely. “Nothing very exciting, I’m afraid. I don’t want to take up too much of your time. It’s in connection with certain medicines at present on the market. I believe you sell a number of remedies made up from your own prescriptions — such as the pug’s powders, for instance?” He smiled genially.

“Oh — quayte,” said Mr. Sage.

“You do? Right. Now with reference to a certain prescription which you have made up for a Miss Ruth O’Callaghan.”

“Pardon?”

“With reference to a certain prescription you made up for a Miss Ruth O’Callaghan.”

“I know the lady you mean. She has been a customer for quite a while.”

“Yes. This was one of your own prescriptions?”

“Speaking from memory, I think she has had several of my little lines — from tayme to tayme.”

“Yes. Do you remember a drug you supplied three weeks ago?”

“I’m afraid I don’t remember off-hand— ”

“This is the one that contained hyoscine,” said Alleyn. In the long silence that followed Alleyn heard the shop-door buzzer go, heard footsteps and voices above his head, heard the sound of the Brompton Road train down beneath them and felt its vibration. He watched Harold Sage. If there was no hyoscine in any of the drugs, the chemist would say so, would protest, would be bewildered. If there was hyoscine, an innocuous amount, he might or might not be flustered. If there was hyoscine, a fatal amount — what would he say?

“Yes,” said Mr. Sage.

“What was the name of this medicine?”

“ ‘Fulvitavolts.’ ”

“Ah, yes. Do you know if she used it herself or bought it for anyone else?”

“I reely can’t say. For herself, I think.”

“She did not tell you if she wanted it for her brother?”

“I reely don’t remember, not for certain. I think she said something about her brother.”

“May I see a packet of this medicine?”

Mr. Sage turned to his shelves, ferreted for some time and finally produced an oblong package. Alleyn looked at the spirited picture of a nude gentleman against an electric shock.

“Oh, this is not the one, Mr. Sage,” he said brightly. “I mean the stuff in the round box — so big — that you supplied afterwards. This has hyoscine in it as well, has it? What was the other?”

“It was simply a prescription. I–I made it up for Miss O’Callaghan.”

“From a doctor’s prescription, do you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Who was the doctor?”

“I reely forget. The prescription was returned with the powder.”

“Have you kept a record?”

“No.”

“But surely you have a prescription-book or whatever it is called?”

“I — yes — but — er — an oversight — it should have been entered.”

“How much hyoscine was there in this prescription?”

“May I ask,” said Mr. Sage, “why you think it contained hyoscine at all?”

“You have made that quite clear yourself. How much?”

“I — think — about one two-hundredth — something very small.”

“And in ‘Fulvitavolts’?”

“Less. One two-hundred-and-fiftieth.”

“Do you know that Sir Derek O’Callaghan was probably murdered?”

“My Gawd, yes.”

“Yes… With hyoscine.”

“My Gawd, yes.”

“Yes. So you see we want to be sure of our facts.”

“He ’ad no hoverdose of ’yoscine from ’ere,” said Mr. Sage, incontinently casting his aitches all over the place.

“So it seems. But, you see, if he had taken hyoscine in the minutest quantity before the operation we want to trace it as closely as possible. If Miss O’Callaghan gave him ‘Fulvitavolts’ and this other medicine, that would account for some of the hyoscine found at the post-mortem. Hyoscine was also injected at the operation. That would account for more.”

“You passed the remark that he was murdered,” said Mr. Sage more collectedly.

“The coroner did,” corrected Alleyn. “Still, we’ve got to explore the possibility of accident. If you could give me the name of the doctor who prescribed the powder, it would be a great help.”

“I can’t remember. I make up hundreds of prescriptions every week.”

“Do you often forget to enter them?”

Mr. Sage was silent.

Alleyn took out a pencil and an. envelope. On the envelope he wrote three names.

“Was it any of those?” he asked.

“No.”

“Will you swear to that?”

“Yes. Yes, I would.”

“Look here, Mr. Sage, are you sure it wasn’t your own prescription that you gave Miss O’Callaghan?”

“ ‘Fulvitavolts’ is my own invention. I told you that.”

“But the other?”

“No, I tell you — no.”

“Very well. Are you in sympathy with Comrade Kakaroff over the death of Sir Derek O’Callaghan?”