The Nursing Home Murder Read online

  “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.

  “Can you remember at all?” he said.

  “My sister-in-law often came in after dinner. At times my husband found these visits a little trying. He liked to be quiet in the evenings. I believe on that night he suggested that she should be told he was out. However, she came in. We were in the study.”

  “You both saw her, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened?”

  “She urged him to try his medicine. He put her off. I told her he expected Sir John Phillips and that we ought to leave them alone. I remember she and I met Sir John in the hall. I thought his manner very odd, as I believe I told you.”

  “So you went out, leaving the medicine in the study?”

  “I suppose so—yes.”

  “Did you come across it again?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “May I speak to your butler—Nash, isn’t it?”

  “If you think it is any help.” She rang the bell.

  Nash came in and waited.

  “Mr. Alleyn wants to speak to you, Nash,” said Lady O’Callaghan. Nash turned a respectful eye towards him.

  “I want you to think back to the Friday evening before Sir Derek’s operation,” Alleyn began. “Do you remember that evening?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “There were visitors?”

  “Yes, sir. Miss O’Callaghan and Sir John Phillips.”

  “Exactly. Do you remember noticing a chemist’s parcel anywhere in the study?”

  “Yes, sir. Miss O’Callaghan brought it with her, I believe.”

  “That’s the one. What happened to it?”

  “I had it removed to a cupboard in Sir Derek’s bathroom the following morning, sir.”

  “I see. Had it been opened?”

  “Oh, yes, sir.”

  “Can you find it now, Nash, do you think?”

  “I will ascertain, sir.”

  “Do you mind, Lady O’Callaghan?” asked Alleyn apologetically.

  “Of course not.”

  Nash inclined his head solemnly and left the room. While he was away there was a rather uncomfortable silence. Alleyn, looking very remote and polite, made no effort to break it. Nash returned after a few minutes with the now familiar carton, on a silver salver. Alleyn took it and thanked him. Nash departed.

  “Here it is,” said the inspector cheerfully. “Oh, yes, Nash was quite right; it has been opened and—let me see—one powder has been taken. That doesn’t amount to much.” He put the carton in his pocket and turned to Lady O’Callaghan. “It seems ridiculous, I know, to worry about so small a matter, but it’s part of our job to pick up every thread, however unimportant. This, I suppose, was the last effort Miss O’Callaghan made to interest Sir Derek in any remedy?”

  Again she waited for a few seconds.

  “Yes,” she murmured at last, “I believe so.”

  “She did not mention another remedy to you after he had been taken to the hospital?”

  “Really, Inspector Alleyn, I cannot possibly remember. My sister-in-law talks a great deal about patent medicines. She tries to persuade everyone she knows to take them. I believe my uncle, Mr. James Rattisbon, has already explained this to you. He tells me that he made it quite clear that we did not wish this matter to be pursued.”

  “I am afraid I cannot help pursuing it.”

  “But Mr. Rattisbon definitely instructed you.”

  “Please forgive me,” said Alleyn very quietly, “if I seem to be unduly officious.” He paused. She looked at him with a kind of cold huffiness. After a moment he went on. “I wonder if you have ever seen or read a play called Justice, by Galsworthy? It is no doubt very dated, but there is an idea in it that I think explains far better than I can the position of people who become involved, whether voluntarily or involuntarily, with the Law. Galsworthy made one of his characters—a lawyer, I think—say that once you have set in motion the chariot wheels of Justice, you can do nothing at all to arrest or deflect their progress. Lady O’Callaghan, that is the exact truth. You, very properly, decided to place this tragic case in the hands of the police. In doing so you switched on a piece of complicated and automatic machinery which, once started, you cannot switch off. As the police officer in charge of this case I am simply a wheel in the machine. I must complete my revolutions. Please do not think I am impertinent if I say that neither you nor any other lay person, however much involved, has the power to stop the machine of justice or indeed to influence it in any way whatever.” He stopped abruptly. “I am afraid you will think me impertinent—I have no business to talk like this. If you will excuse me—”

  He bowed and turned away.

  “Yes,” said Lady O’Callaghan, “I quite understand. Good afternoon.”

  “There’s one other thing,” said Alleyn. “I had nearly forgotten it. It’s something that you can do, if you will, to help us as regards the hospital side of the problem.”

  She listened, apparently without any particular surprise or agitation, to his request, and agreed at once to do as he suggested.

  “Thank you very much indeed, Lady O’Callaghan. You understand that we should like Miss O’Callaghan to be with you?”

  “Yes,” she said after a long pause.

  “Shall I see her, or—perhaps you would rather ask her yourself?”

  “Perhaps that would be better. I would much prefer her to be spared this unnecessary ordeal.”

  “I assure you,” said Alleyn dryly, “that it may save her a more unpleasant one.”

  “I’m afraid I do not understand you. However, I shall ask her.”

  In the hall he walked straight into Miss Ruth O’Callaghan. When she saw him she uttered a noise that was something between a whoop of alarm and a cry of supplication, and bolted incontinently into the drawing-room. Nash, who had evidently just admitted her, looked scandalised.

  “Is Mr. Jameson in, Nash?” asked Alleyn.

  “Mr. Jameson has left us, sir.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, sir. His duties, as you might say, have drawn to a close.”

  “Yes,” said Alleyn, unconsciously echoing Lady O’Callaghan. “I quite understand. Good afternoon.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Reconstruction Begun

  Thursday, the eighteenth. Afternoon.

  ALLEYN FOUND HE still had over an hour to wait before the reconstruction. He had tea and then rang up Dr. Roberts, found he was at home, and made his way once more to the little house in Wigmore Street. He wanted, if possible, to surprise Roberts with an unexpected reference to the Lenin Hall meeting. The diminutive manservant admitted him and showed him into the pleasant sitting-room, where he found Roberts awaiting him.

  “I hope I’m not a great nuisance,” said Alleyn. “You did ask me to come back some time, you know.”

  “Certainly,” said Roberts, shaking hands. “I am delighted to see you. Have you read my book?” He swept a sheaf of papers off a chair and pulled it forward. Alleyn sat down.

  “I’ve dipped into it—no time really to tackle it yet, but I’m enormously interested. At Lord knows what hour this morning I read the chapter in which you refer to the Sterilization Bill.

  You put the case for sterilization better than any other sponsor I h
ave heard.”

  “You think so?” said Roberts acidly. “Then you will be surprised to hear that although I have urged that matter with all the force and determination I could command, I have made not one inch of headway—not an inch! I am forced to the conclusion that most of the people who attempt to administer the government of this country are themselves certifiable.” He gave a short falsetto laugh and glared indignantly at Alleyn, who contented himself with making an incredulous and sympathetic noise.

  “I have done everything—everything,” continued Roberts. “I joined a group of people professing enlightened views on the matter. They assured me they would stick at nothing to force this Bill through Parliament. They professed the greatest enthusiasm. Have they done anything?” He paused oratorically and then in a voice of indescribable disgust he said: “They merely asked me to wait in patience till the Dawn of the Proletariat Day in Britain.”

  Chief Inspector Alleyn felt himself to be in the foolish position of one who sets a match to the dead stick of a rocket. Dr. Roberts had most effectively stolen his fireworks. He had a private laugh at himself. Roberts continued angrily:

  “They call themselves Communists. They have no interest in the welfare of the community—none. Last night I attended one of their meetings and I was disgusted. All they did was to rejoice for no constructive or intelligent reason over the death of the late Home Secretary.”

  He stopped abruptly, glanced at Alleyn, and then with that curious return to nervousness which the inspector had noticed before he said: “But, of course, I had forgotten. That is very much your business. Thoms rang me up just now to ask me if I could attend at the hospital this afternoon.”

  “Thoms rang you up?”

  “Yes. Sir John had asked him to, I believe. I don’t know why,” said Dr. Roberts, suddenly looking surprised and rather bewildered, “but I sometimes find Thoms’s manner rather aggravating.”

  “Do you?” murmured Alleyn, smiling. “He is rather facetious.”

  “Facetious! Exactly. And this afternoon I found his facetiousness in bad taste.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said something to the effect that if I wished to make my get-away he would be pleased to lend me a pair of gingercoloured whiskers and a false nose. I thought it in bad taste.”

  “Certainly,” said Alleyn, hurriedly blowing his own nose.

  “Of course,” continued Dr. Roberts, “Mr. Thoms knows himself to be in an impregnable position, since he could not have given any injection without being observed, and had no hand in preparing the injection which he did give. I felt inclined to point out to him that I myself am somewhat similarly situated, but do not feel, on that account, free to indulge in buffoonery.”

  “I suppose Mr. Thoms was in the anteroom all the time until you went into the theatre?”

  “I’ve no idea,” said Roberts stiffly. “I myself merely went to the anteroom with Sir John, said what was necessary, and joined my patient in the anæsthetic-room.”

  “Ah, well—we shall get a better idea of all your movements from the reconstruction.”

  “I suppose so,” agreed Roberts, looking perturbed. “It will be a distressing experience for all of us. Except, no doubt, Mr. Thoms.”

  He waited a moment and then said nervously:

  “Perhaps this is a question that I should not ask, Inspector Alleyn, but I cannot help wondering if the police have a definite theory as regards this crime?”

  Alleyn was used to this question.

  “We’ve got several theories, Dr. Roberts, and all of them more or less fit. That’s the devil of it.”

  “Have you explored the possibility of suicide?” asked Roberts wistfully.

  “I have considered it.”

  “Remember his heredity.”

  “I have remembered it. After he had the attack in the House his physical condition would have rendered suicide impossible, and he could hardly have taken hyoscine while making his speech.”

  “Again remember his heredity. He might have carried hyoscine tablets with him for some time and under the emotional stimulus of the occasion suffered a sudden ungovernable impulse. In the study of suicidal psychology one comes across many such cases. Did his hand go to his mouth while he was speaking? I see you look incredulous, Inspector Alleyn. Perhaps you even think it suspicious that I should urge the point. I—I—have a reason for hoping you find that O’Callaghan killed himself, but it does not spring from a sense of guilt.”

  A strangely exalted look came into the little doctor’s eyes as he spoke. Alleyn regarded him intently.

  “Dr. Roberts,” he said as last, “why not tell me what is in your mind?”

  “No,” said Roberts emphatically, “no—not unless—unless the worst happens.”

  “Well,” said Alleyn, “as you know, I can’t force you to give me your theory, but it’s a dangerous business, withholding information in a capital charge.”

  “It may not be a capital charge,” cried Roberts in a hurry.

  “Even suppose your suicide theory is possible, it seems to me that a man of Sir Derek’s stamp would not have done it in such a way as to cast suspicion upon other people.”

  “No,” agreed Roberts. “No. That is undoubtedly a strong argument—and yet inherited suicidal mania sometimes manifests itself very abruptly and strangely. I have known instances…”

  He went to his bookcase and took down several volumes, from which he read in a rapid, dry and didactic manner, rather as though Alleyn was a collection of students. This went on for some time. The servant brought in tea, and with an air of patient benevolence, poured it out himself. He placed Roberts’s cup on a table under his nose, waited until the doctor closed the book with which he was at the moment engaged, took it firmly from him and directed his attention to the tea. He then moved the table between the two men and left the room.

  “Thank you,” said Roberts vaguely some time after he had gone.

  Roberts, still delivering himself of his learning, completely forgot to drink his tea or to offer some to Alleyn, but occasionally stretched out a hand towards the toast. The time passed rapidly. Alleyn looked at his watch.

  “Good Lord!” he exclaimed, “it’s half-past four. We’ll have to collect ourselves, I’m afraid.”

  “Tch!” said Roberts crossly.

  “I’ll call a taxi.”

  “No, no. I’ll drive you there, inspector. Wait a moment.” He darted out into the hall and gave flurried orders to the little servant, who silently insinuated him into his coat and gave him his hat. Roberts shot back into the sitting-room and fetched his stethoscope.

  “What about your anæsthetising apparatus?” ventured Alleyn.

  “Eh?” asked Roberts, squinting round at him.

  “Your anæsthetising apparatus.”

  “D’you want that?”

  “Please—if it’s not a great bore. Didn’t Sir John tell you?”

  “I’ll get it,” said Roberts. He darted off across the little hall.

  “Can I assist you, sir?” asked the servant.

  “No, no. Bring out the car.”

  He reappeared presently, wheeling the cruet-like apparatus with its enormous cylinders.

  “You can’t carry that down the steps by yourself,” said Alleyn. “Let me help.”

  “Thank you, thank you,” said Roberts. He bent down and examined the nuts that fastened the frame at the bottom. “Wouldn’t do for these nuts to come loose,” he said. “You take the top, will you? Gently. Ease it down the steps.”

  With a good deal of bother they got the thing into Roberts’s car and drove off to Brook Street, the little doctor talking most of the time.

  As they drew near the hospital, however, he grew quieter, seemed to get nervous, and kept catching Alleyn’s eye and hurriedly looking away again. After this had happened some three or four times Roberts laughed uncomfortably.

  “I—I’m not looking forward to this experiment,” he said. “One gets moderately case-hardene
d in our profession, I suppose, but there’s something about this affair”—he blinked hard twice—“something profoundly disquieting. Perhaps it is the element of uncertainty.”

  “But you have got a theory, Dr. Roberts?”

  “I? No. No. I did hope it might be suicide. No—I’ve no specific theory.”

  “Oh, well. If you won’t tell me, you won’t,” rejoined Alleyn.

  Roberts looked at him in alarm, but said no more.

  At Brook Street they found Fox placidly contemplating the marble woman in the waiting-room. He was accompanied by Inspector Boys, a large red-faced officer with a fruity voice and hands like hams. Boys kept a benevolent but shrewd eye on the activities of communistic societies, on near-treasonable propagandists, and on Soviet-minded booksellers. He was in the habit of alluding to such persons who came into these categories as though they were tiresome but harmless children.

  “Hullo,” said Alleyn. “Where are the star turns?”

  “The nurses are getting the operating theatre ready,” Fox told him. “Sir John Phillips asked me to let him know when we are ready. The other ladies are upstairs.”

  “Right. Mr. Thoms here?”

  “Is that the funny gentleman, sir?” asked Boys.

  “It is.”

  “He’s here.”

  “Then in that case we’re complete. Dr. Roberts has gone up to the theatre. Let us follow him. Fox, let Sir John know, will you?”

  Fox went away and Alleyn and Boys took the lift up to the theatre landing, where they found the rest of the dramatis personæ awaited them. Mr. Thoms broke off in the middle of some anecdote with which he was apparently regaling the company.

  “Hullo, ’ullo, ’ullo!” he shouted. “Here’s the Big Noise itself. Now we shan’t be long.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Thoms,” said Alleyn. “Good evening, matron. I hope I haven’t kept you all waiting.”

  “Not at all,” said Sister Marigold.

  Fox appeared with Sir John Phillips. Alleyn spoke a word to him and then turned and surveyed the group. They eyed him uneasily and perhaps inimically. It was a little as though they drew together, moved by a common impulse of self-preservation. He thought they looked rather like sheep, bunched together, their heads turned watchfully towards their protective enemy, the sheep-dog.