John Rhode - Mystery at Olympia

Philip did not seem overjoyed at the presence of the intruder. ‘I assume that your presence here has some connection with my uncle’s death, superintendent?’ he said stiffly.

‘Hardly that, Mr Bryant,’ Hanslet replied. ‘I am here to investigate a case of poisoning which has occurred in this house.’

Mr Pershore’s death seemed already to have had a disturbing effect upon his nephew’s nerves. And the abruptness of this second catastrophe threw him completely off his balance. He took a step backwards, holding out his hands in front of him as though to ward off some unseen danger. ‘Poison!’ he exclaimed, in a queer shrill voice. ‘What do you mean? Who’s been poisoned, and by what? Has there been an escape of gas?’

‘Shall we sit down, Mr Bryant?’ replied Hanslet quietly. They were still in the hall, where the superintendent had met Philip upon his arrival. ‘That’s better. I thought perhaps you might have heard. The parlourmaid, Jessie Twyford, has been poisoned by arsenic, and I am endeavouring to trace the source of the poison.’

Philip’s face became a study in profound bewilderment. ‘By arsenic,’ he exclaimed. ‘What an extraordinary thing. And you don’t know where she got it from?’

‘Not yet. But I hope to find out very soon. Doctor Formby is here, and has gone to see whether the girl is in a fit state to be questioned. I expect him back any moment. Ah, here he is.’

Doctor Formby appeared, with Mrs Markle in attendance. He nodded to Philip, and then addressed Hanslet. ‘We’ve got Jessie up to her own room, where she’ll be more comfortable,’ he said. ‘She’s conscious now, and there won’t be any harm in asking her a few questions. But you’d better leave it to Mrs Markle to do the talking. It may upset her to be questioned by a stranger. Shall we go up?’

He made a gesture towards the staircase. Mrs Markle led the way; followed by Hanslet and Doctor Formby. Philip was left standing alone in the hall.

Jessie Twyford was lying in bed, looking rather flustered at being the centre of so much attention. The room was in semi-darkness, and as the three entered it, the two men stayed by the door, where they were invisible to Jessie. Mrs Markle advanced, and sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Well, Jessie, how are you feeling now?’ she asked.

‘I wouldn’t be feeling too bad if it wasn’t for my insides, Mrs Markle,’ Jessie replied. ‘And they do burn something terrible, just as if I’d swallowed the coals from the kitchen fire.’

‘Well, you didn’t do that, Jessie, but you certainly swallowed something that didn’t agree with you. What did you have to eat this morning that the others didn’t? Do you remember?’

A slight flush came over Jessie’s pallid face, and her eyes filled with tears. ‘It’s a judgment on me, Mrs Markle, that’s what it is,’ she replied. ‘But it’ll be a lesson to me. I’ll never touch anything that doesn’t belong to me again.’

‘Never mind, Jessie, nobody’s going to scold you for that,’ said Mrs Markle kindly. ‘But you must tell me what it was you took. Just in case it should disagree with anyone else, you know.’

Jessie sobbed penitently. ‘I’ll never do it again, Mrs Markle. It was after you’d been helping me with the dining-room. I went into the study to look in the cupboard and see that there were enough olives in the bottle. And when I saw them I wondered what they tasted like, as I’ve often done before. And then the wicked thought came to me that if I took just one nobody would ever notice. So I opened the bottle, took one out with the fork, and ate it.’

‘You shouldn’t have done that, Jessie,’ said Mrs Markle gravely. ‘Did you only eat one?’

‘No, Mrs Markle, I—I didn’t. You see, it was such a funny taste, and I didn’t know whether I liked it or not. So I took another, just to see. And then I thought I did, and I took two more. But that was all. I didn’t have more than four, really I didn’t.’

Philip Bryant didn’t remain in the hall to await the return of the others. As soon as they had entered Jessie’s room, he followed them softly upstairs. On reaching the landing he walked to the door of his uncle’s bedroom and turned the handle. It was locked. So, he found, was the door of the dressing-room. He stood for a moment on the landing, overwhelmed by this discovery. Then he descended the stairs once more, and listened. Everything was quiet in the house. He picked up his hat and coat, and let himself out by the front door.

Mrs Markle, after telling Jessie that she mustn’t worry over her theft of the olives, led the way out of the room. Without a word she went downstairs, followed by Hanslet and Doctor Formby. They walked across the hall till they came to the study. ‘You have the key, superintendent,’ said Mrs Markle.

Hanslet took from his pocket three keys, tied together with string, and tried them till he found the one that fitted. He opened the door and stood aside for Mrs Markle to enter. She switched on the light, and they found themselves in the room which Mr Pershore had called his study.

Not that Mr Pershore had been in the habit of studying. The room was really his own private fortress. When he retired into it, it was fully understood that he was busy, and was on no account to be disturbed. This rule applied not only to the domestic staff, but to visitors as well, who were tactfully informed that their host’s business was of a nature that imperatively demanded solitude.

The truth was that Mr Pershore dearly loved half an hour’s sleep after his extensive meals. The room contained a few pieces of heavy Victorian furniture, upon which lay a few newspapers and periodicals, most of which had not been opened. But the most conspicuous object was a huge leather-covered arm-chair, drawn up in front of the fireplace. Beside it was a small table, on which stood a tobacco jar, a box of cigars, and a heavy match-stand.

Hanslet closed the door and walked towards the fireplace. ‘You did that very tactfully, Mrs Markle,’ he said. ‘I’m naturally very interested in these olives. Can you tell me anything about them?’

‘I’ll tell you what I can,’ Mrs Markle replied. ‘Some time ago, I think it was last year, Mr Pershore got it into his head that he was suffering from indigestion. Mr and Mrs Chantley were staying here for the weekend, and Mrs Chantley told him about Dobson’s Dyspepsia Drops.’

‘I know the stuff,’ remarked Formby. ‘Lots of my patients swear by it. Mainly, I fancy, because it has a particularly revolting taste. Some people judge the efficacy of a medicine entirely by its unpleasantness.’

‘Mr Pershore believed in it,’ Mrs Markle replied. ‘He got a bottle at once, and has taken it ever since. A dose just before he went to bed. But he was always grumbling about the taste. Said he couldn’t get it out of his mouth. And then one day Miss Betty brought him a bottle of stuffed olives, and told him to eat one after he’d taken the medicine. He found that took the taste away, and he told me always to see that there were some olives ready for him. They are kept with the medicine in this cupboard.’

She crossed the room to an oak corner cupboard, fixed to the wall. This she opened. On a shelf within it was a bottle, bearing a label, ‘Dobson’s Dyspepsia Drops. One teaspoonful to be taken as required,’ a graduated medicine glass, a bottle of Crescent and Whitewater’s stuffed olives, and a silver dessert fork.

‘It was Jessie’s business to look after this cupboard,’ Mrs Markle continued. ‘Mr Pershore used to pour out his medicine, drink it, and then take one of the olives from the bottle with the fork. Jessie used to come in in the morning, and take the glass and the fork to be washed. When she put them back in the cupboard, she used to look at the medicine and the olives. If either of them were getting low, she would tell me. The drops I got from the chemist, and the olives from the grocer. But I never waited until the bottles were actually empty. I always have one of each in my store-cupboard.’