Bruce Alexander - Jack, Knave and Fool

“But at this point,” said Mr. Goldsmith, “you have merely feelings … doubts? Not yet a good reason for such?”

“Well, let us consider the sequence of events, shall we? As I understand them, Lord Laningham quite hopped up to the stage when introduced by the innkeeper. He frisked about the stage for a good half of an hour until there came a break, at which time the choir came upon stage for the singing of the Saint Cecilia ode. As this transpired, he sat himself upon a chair to rest, and having developed a thirst, hailed a server and sent him off to fetch a bottle of wine. Now, where that bottle came from we cannot at this point be absolutely certain, for I have not yet had the opportunity to speak with the server. The innkeeper, however, volunteered to me that he was near certain it would have come from Lord Laningham’s own table, for it was Laningham’s habit to bring wines from his private stock to the Crown and Anchor on concert Sundays. The innkeeper has promised to ask among the servers until he has found the one who brought the wine and then to send him to us. Why should this be of such importance? Because Lord Laningham drank greedily of that bottle of wine, and it was only after he did so that he began to show signs of distress.”

“But,” objected Mr. Goldsmith, “those signs were by no means immediate. The better part of an hour passed before the spectacle of his collapse upon the stage.”

“Oh? Truly? I had judged it to be not near so long as that, myself,” said Sir John. “How long would you estimate the time that elapsed between the lord’s first taste of the wine and the moment he fell to the floor and vomited, Alfred?”

Mr. Humber considered. “Closer to half an hour, I should say, perhaps less.” Then, giving the matter a moment’s further thought, he added: “We could find out from the choirmaster or the concertmaster just how far along they were in the piece. That might help in making a more accurate estimate.

“Indeed it might,” said Sir John. “If it becomes a point of prime importance, we might consult with them. But leave it that it was only after he had drunk of the wine that he began to act, according to Jeremy’s description, ‘queer’ — to wit, that he wandered a bit aimlessly, let drag his staff, and staggered about before returning to his chair and suffering that final episode which we have chosen to call his ‘collapse.’”

“Yes, I seem to recall those earlier signs that all was not right with him,” said Mr. Humber. “You’re saying, Jack, that he was at least affected not long after drinking from that bottle? Well, it was indeed plain that he was less lively after the wine than before.”

It seemed that Mr. Humber, who had begun in doubt, was coming round to Sir John’s way of thinking on this matter. Mr. Goldsmith, however, remained firmly in opposition.

“The wine! the wine!” he blustered. “Ifyou will forgive me, Sir John-and I mean no disrespect — but your argument is not reasonable. It is based upon a logical fallacy — ” And here did Mr. Goldsmith raise a finger and point above him as he quoted: “Post hoc, ergo propter hoc.”

“I have little Latin,” said Sir John, “but enough, I think, to English that. Roughly, what you have said means, ‘after which, therefore because of which.’ Am I correct?”

“Indeed. You seem to feel — “

“Oh, I understand right enough,” said Sir John, cutting him off sharply. “You suggest I argue that the bottle of wine from which he drank accounts for his death. Nothing of the kind! I offer no argument, neither fallacious nor logical. I merely seek to account for my doubts. Yet I do concede, Mr. Goldsmith, that if the appearance of that bottle of wine were all I had to support my doubts, then it would certainly not be enough.”

Thinking he had won a point, Mr. Goldsmith puffed up a bit and smiled a smile that could only be termed self-satisfied. “Good of you to say so, Sir John,” said he.

“Nevertheless,” continued the magistrate, “when we consider the appearance of that bottle of wine along with its sudden and complete ^/appearance during that space of time when Lord Laningham was stricken and all did crowd around him, then — then, I say, there is quite sufficient support for doubt.”

“Come now, Jack,” said Mr. Humber. “A ‘disappearance, you say? Is that not too strong, too dramatic a word? Say, rather, that it was not afterward to be seen.”

“Yet it was searched for. Jeremy — I take it that you are still here — did you not search?”

“I did indeed, sir,” said I, “for ten minutes’ time and over every foot of the stage.”

“But good God,” said Goldsmith in evident exasperation, “there must have been near a hundred people up there — musicians, singers, Lord Laningham’s family, some of the Crown and Anchor staff, and the … the merely curious — all of them crowding in. I daresay a server may have picked up the bottle which we saw rolling around on the floor and spilling its contents, picked it up and simply disposed of it. That would be the most logical explanation for what you call its disappearance.”

Sir John then let forth a sigh, a rather melancholy sound in that room lit by only three candles. The depth and force of it extinguished the one on his desk and made the number two. Silence for a moment; then said he: “I shall, however, hold to my doubts. But Mr. Donnelly?”

“Yes, Sir John?” The surgeon spoke up almost reluctantly. He sat somewhat apart from the rest and had listened to the debate abstractedly, as if his mind were elsewhere.

“We have not heard from you. I had hoped you could enlighten us a bit on the nature of Lord Laningham’s death, a few facts perhaps. For instance, if you will indulge this maggot that nags at my brain, how long after he drank of that bottle of wine did he die?”

“About an hour, I should say.”

“Would you describe the nature of his death — his symptoms, so to speak?”

“Well, you noted the vomiting, of course.”

“Aye!” crowed Mr. Humber. “Like it or not, we all saw that!”

“Alfred, please, let Mr. Donnelly continue.”

And continue he did: “Like Jeremy, I’d noticed earlier signs — apparent dizziness and discomfort — but I counted them to his drunken state. Following his collapse and vomiting- By the bye, it was a true collapse, for he seemed to have little control over himself afterward, and it seemed there was nothing I could do for him. But after the collapse, I turned him over and loosened his collar to aid his breathing, which gave him obvious difficulty. There he lay, conscious but quite overcome, for a good many minutes. His wife arrived and tried to communicate with him, but he was unable to answer. Whether or not he grasped what she said to him — messages of endearment and encouragement they were — I really have no idea. He went into convulsions and then a state of coma, from which he could not be roused. I should say that last stage was of a duration of near ten minutes. His pulse grew weaker, and finally his heart stopped altogether.”

“Thank you, Mr. Donnelly,” said Sir John. “I should call that grim description up to your usual high standard — precise, graphic, and dispassionate. Now, again, simply to indulge me in this matter, do you know of any poison — to utter the word at last — which could cause a death such as the one you described?”

“No, Sir John, I do not.”

“There! You see?” hooted Mr. Goldsmith. “He knows ol none!

“But,” said Mr. Donnelly, raising his voice, overriding him somewhat, “I must make it clear that I know next to naught of poisons. They did not figure in my career with the Navy as a ship’s surgeon. As for my abortive practice in Lancashire, who knows? Perhaps some of those deaths I deemed natural may have been hurried on by henbane or foxglove. I had no reason to suspect, in any case.”