Ngaio Marsh - The Nursing Home Murder

Fox looked profound.

“What about Miss Banks and little Harold?” asked Alleyn.

“Nothing much. The Banks party has been chucking her weight about ever since the operation, but she doesn’t say anything useful. You might call it reflected glory.”

“How like Banks. And Sage?”

“Robinson hasn’t heard anything. Sage is not a prominent member.”

“He was lying about the second dose Miss O’Callaghan gave O’Callaghan. He admitted he had provided it, that it was from a doctor’s prescription, and that he had not noted it in his book. All my eye. We can sift that out easily enough by finding out her doctor, but of course Sage may simply be scared and as innocent as a babe. Well, there we are. Back again face to face with the clean breast of Sir John Phillips.”

“Not so clean, if you ask me.”

“I wonder. I’m doing a reconstruction to-morrow afternoon. Phillips is arranging it for me. Would you say he was a great loss to the stage?”

“How d’you mean, chief?”

“If he’s our man, he’s one of the best actors I’ve ever met. You come along to-morrow to the hospital, Fox, and see what you shall see. Five o’clock. And now I’m going to lunch. I want to see Lady O’Callaghan before the show, and Roberts too, if possible. I may as well get his version of the Lenin Hall lot. Au revoir , Fox.”

“Do you mind repeating that, sir?”

“ Au revoir. ”

“ Au revoir , monsieur,” said Fox carefully.

“I’m coming to hear those records of yours one of these nights, if I may.”

Fox became plum-coloured with suppressed pleasure.

“I’d take it very kindly,” he said stiffly and went out.

Alleyn rang up the house in Catherine Street and learnt that Lady O’Callaghan would be pleased to receive him at ten to three the following afternoon. He spent half an hour on his file of the case. The analyst’s report on Phillips’s tablets and the hyoscine solution had come in. Both contained the usual dosage. He sent off the “Fulvitavolts” and the scrap of paper that had enclosed Ruth O’Callaghan’s second remedy. It was possible, but extremely unlikely, that there might be a trace of the drug spilt on the wrapper. At one o’clock he went home and lunched. At two o’clock he rang up the Yard and found there was a message from Sir John Phillips to the effect that the reconstruction could be held the following afternoon at the time suggested. He asked them to tell Fox and then rang Phillips up and thanked him.

Alleyn spent the rest, of the day adding to the file on the case and in writing a sort of résumé for his own instruction. He sat over it until ten o’clock and then deliberately put it aside, read the second act of Hamlet , and wondered, not for the first time, what sort of a hash the Prince of Denmark would have made of a job at the Yard. Then, being very weary, he went to bed.

The next morning he reviewed his notes, particularly that part of them which referred to hyoscine.

“Possible sources of hyoscine,” he had written:

“1. The bottle of stock solution .

“Probably Banks, Marigold, Harden, Thoms, Phillips, all had opportunity to get at this. All in theatre before operation. Each could have filled anti-gas syringe with hyoscine. If this was done, someone had since filled up bottle with 10 c.c.’s of the correct solution. No one could have done this during the operation. Could it have been done later? No good looking for prints.

“2. The tablets .

“Phillips could have given an overdose when he prepared the syringe. May have to trace his purchases of h.

“3. The patent medicines .

“(a) ” Fulvitavolts .“ Negligible quantity unless Sage had doctored packet supplied to Ruth. Check up.

“(b) The second p.m . (more p.m.’s!) supplied to Ruth. May have been lethal dose concocted by Sage, hoping to do in O’Callaghan, marry Ruth and the money, and strike a blow for Lenin, Love, and Liberty.”

After contemplating these remarks with some disgust Alleyn went to the hospital, made further arrangements for the reconstruction at five and after a good deal of trouble succeeded in getting no further with the matter of the stock solution. He then visited the firm that supplied Sir John Phillips with drugs and learnt nothing that was of the remotest help. He then lunched and went to call on Lady O’Callaghan. Nash received him with that particular nuance of condescension that hitherto he had reserved for politicians. He was shown into the drawing-room, an apartment of great elegance and no character. Above the mantelpiece hung a portrait in pastel of Cicely O’Callaghan. The artist had dealt competently with the shining texture of the dress and hair, and had made a conscientious map of the face. Alleyn felt he would get about as much change from the original as he would from the picture. She came in, gave him a colourless greeting, and asked him to sit down.

“I’m so sorry to worry you again,” Alleyn began. “It’s a small matter, one of those loose ends that probably mean nothing, but have to be tidied up.”

“Yes. I shall be pleased to give you any help. I hope everything is quite satisfactory?” she said. She might have been talking about a new hot-water system.

“I hope it will be,” rejoined Alleyn. “At the moment we are investigating any possible sources of hyoscine. Lady O’Callaghan, can you tell me if Sir Derek had taken any drugs of any sort at all before the operation?” As she did not answer immediately, he added quickly: “You see, if he had taken any medicine containing hyoscine, it would be necessary to try and arrive at the amount in order to allow for it.”

“Yes,” she said, “I see.”

“Had he, do you know, taken any medicine? Perhaps when the pain was very bad?”

“My husband disliked drugs of all kinds.”

“Then Miss Ruth O’Callaghan’s suggestion about a remedy she was interested in would not appeal to him?”

“No. He thought it rather a foolish suggestion.”

“I’m sorry to hammer away at it like this, but do you think there’s a remote possibility that he did take a dose? I believe Miss O’Callaghan did actually leave some medicine here — something called ‘Fulvitavolts,’ I think she said it was?”

“Yes. She left a packet here.”

“Was it lying about where he might see it?”

“I’m afraid I don’t remember. The servants, perhaps— ” Her voice trailed away. “If it’s at all important— ” she said vaguely.

“It is rather.”

“I am afraid I don’t quite understand why. Obviously my husband was killed at the hospital.”

“That,” said Alleyn, “is one of the theories. The ‘Fulvitavolts’ are of some importance because they contain a small amount of hyoscine. You will understand that we must account for any hyoscine — even the smallest amount — that was given?”

“Yes,” said Lady O’Callaghan. She looked serenely over his head for a few seconds and then added: “I’m afraid I cannot help you. I hope my sister-in-law, who is already upset by what has happened, will not be unnecessarily distressed by suggestions that she was responsible in any way.”

“I hope not,” echoed Alleyn blandly. “Probably, as you say, he did not touch the ‘Fulvitavolts.’ When did Miss O’Callaghan bring them?”

“I believe one night before the operation.”

“Was it the night Sir John Phillips called?”

“That was on the Friday.”

“Yes — was it then, do you remember?”

“I think perhaps it was.”

“Can you tell me exactly what happened?”

“About Sir John Phillips?”

“No, about Miss O’Callaghan.”

She took a cigarette from a box by her chair. Alleyn jumped up and lit it for her. It rather surprised him to find that she smoked. It gave her an uncanny resemblance to something human.