Patricia Wentworth - Pilgrim’s Rest

“What makes you think he has been drugged? And why hashish?”

She answered the last part of the question.

“The painful and distressing dreams. Cannabis indica is, as you know, an illicit drug. It is not in the British Pharmacopoeia, but it is occasionally prescribed abroad. A friend of mine found it amongst the ingredients of a prescription given to her in India. The quantity was extremely small-quite microscopic in fact-but it produced the most terrible and distressing dreams. I have also heard of other similar cases. When I saw Captain Pilgrim at the door of his room I received a very strong impression that he had been drugged.”

“Why should anyone want to drug him?”

“In order to separate him from Miss Freyne. That would be one reason. There might be another. The person who had killed Henry Clayton might find it very useful to provide a scapegoat. If a death from violence occurs, or has occurred, in a house which contains an invalid subject to acute nervous attacks, it is not too difficult to turn suspicion in his direction. As far back as three years ago neither of the two young girls employed here was willing to sleep in the house-Gloria Pell does not sleep in the house. And the reason given has been the alarming nature of Captain Pilgrim’s attacks. Would not this be useful to a murderer, Randall?”

Looking at her doubtfully, he said,

“But-Miss Janetta-how in the world would she come by hashish?”

“That was naturally the first question I asked myself. If cannabis indica was being administered, who in the household could have been in possession of such a drug? There is no one who seems at all likely to be in touch with illicit drug distribution in this country. It has been for many years so strictly watched and so heavily punished that the risk, except to an addict who must have his drug at no matter what cost, is a very serious deterrent. There is no one in the house who can be suspected of being an addict. It then becomes a matter of past contacts which might have made a purchase possible somewhere abroad. Miss Day has been to India, Robbins spent nearly five years there during and immediately after the last war, and Miss Janetta wintered in Cairo in ’38/’39. Any one of these three people could, I imagine, have obtained the drug. What the motive may at that time have been, I am not prepared to say, but in India or in Egypt cannabis indica would be procurable. I do not wish to go farther than that.”

March said, “Miss Day-” in a meditative tone, and then, “In a matter of drugs one would naturally think first about the nurse. But what motive would she have for drugging her patient?”

Miss Silver coughed.

“There are several answers to that, Randall. She might wish to keep him-she might wish to keep a very comfortable situation. You will understand that I am not accusing Miss Day.”

He drew his brows together in a frowning line.

“Are you trying to link up this suggestion that Jerome Pilgrim is being drugged with the deaths of Henry Clayton and Roger Pilgrim?”

She said very soberly,

“There is no evidence of a link, is there? There is, in fact, no evidence at all, only an unexplored possibility which I have asked you to explore. It may lead you into a blind alley-I am not prepared to say that it will not do so. But you will, I think, agree that when a serious crime has been committed anything abnormal should be investigated. It may not prove to have any connection with the crime, but that is no reason for neglecting it.”

“No, of course not.”

Miss Silver came up to the table and stood there, a small dowdy figure in olive-green cashmere. She said,

“If Captain Pilgrim were being drugged, it would be an abnormal happening, would it not? But the sudden cessation of the drugging would be abnormal too.”

“What do you mean?”

“There has been no attack since the discovery of Henry Clayton’s body.”

“My dear Miss Silver, what does that amount to? We only found him yesterday?”

She coughed.

“I should have gone farther back. There has been no attack since Roger Pilgrim died.” She set a hand on the table and leaned towards him. “Randall, there has been no attack since the police came into the house.”

He smiled.

“No attack for two nights. Would that be so abnormal?”

It was the wrong answer. He was reminded of his schoolroom days. She said sharply,

“You are not giving your mind to it, Randall. It has been stressed that these attacks are the result of excitement or exertion. Consider the events of the last two days-the violent death of one person-the discovery of the murdered body of another- the necessity felt by Captain Pilgrim of assuming his place as head of the family. Could there be anything more conducive to an attack? Yet no attack has followed. Captain Pilgrim has exerted himself beyond what anyone would have considered prudent. He insisted on seeing Miss Freyne and breaking the news to her. The interview could hardly fail to be a most distressing one, yet there have been no ill effects. You will say that a nervous invalid may be roused and taken out of himself by a shock. That would be a possible explanation. But there is another explanation which is also possible. The presence of the police in the house, the careful scrutiny of everything and everyone, might quite reasonably alarm the person who had been using a drug and deter him or her from incurring any further risk.”

March said,

“Him-or her?”

“That is what I said, Randall.”

“Yes, but which?”

“That is not for me to say.”

He said gravely,

“You’ve said a good deal. For instance, you offered an alternative reason for Jerome being drugged. You indicated that the attacks seemed to be connected with Miss Freyne. You suggested that someone wished it to be inferred that her visits had an upsetting effect. You said that someone might be trying to separate them. Have you any reason to suppose that there is anything between her and Jerome?”

“There is friendship and a deep affection-on his side, I think, a very deep affection.”

“Do you mean that he is in love with her?”

“I cannot say. I have only seen them together on one occasion. He was like a different man.”

“And who would wish to separate them? His aunts, his nurse? You know, if it was just that kind of jealousy, there might be no connection with the murder.”

She inclined her head.

“Quite so.”

“The aunts might be possessive-Miss Columba in particular is obviously devoted to him. The nurse might want to keep her job, or she might be fond of him herself-there might be no more in it than a jealous woman’s trick. But why pick on Miss Janetta? She seems to me to have less motive than anyone else.” He looked at her enquiringly.

She did not speak. When he became aware that he would get no answer he pushed back his chair.

“Well, I must be getting along. I’m to have the reports on the two post-mortems. And then-well, then, I think, I shall come back with a warrant and arrest Robbins. I’ll leave Abbott and one of the men here-it had better be the sergeant. They can carry out your search. I suppose Miss Janetta can be induced to move into her sister’s room whilst it is going on. I think it must be done as part of a general routine job-less upsetting all round-” He broke off and looked at her shrewdly. “All the same I would very much like to know why you have asked me to have just that room searched. Why not Jerome’s room-the bathroom-and Miss Day’s?”

Miss Silver coughed primly.

“Because I have already searched them myself.”

Miss Silver came out of the study and went up to her room. The door to the back stair was open. She heard footsteps and voices, one of them Gloria’s. She turned back to look and listen. There were two girls at the open bathroom door-Gloria pink-cheeked and chattering, and a sensible-looking young woman in khaki with a corporal’s stripes on her sleeve.