The Nursing Home Murder Read online

  Sister Marigold stared at him so long that he wondered nervously if he had been inartistic. However, when she did speak, it was with the greatest air of earnestness.

  “I shall consider it my duty,” she said, “to give you what help I can.”

  Alleyn thought it better not to shake hands with her. He merely said with quiet reverence:

  “Thank you, matron, you have made a wise decision. Now to come down to tin tacks. I understand Sir John performed the operation, assisted by Mr. Thoms and with Dr. Roberts as anæsthetist. Sir John gave the hyoscine injection and prepared it himself.”

  “Yes. Sir John always does that. As I always say, he’s so conscientious.”

  “Splendid, isn’t he? And Mr. Thoms gave the anti-gas injection. Nurse Harden brought it to him, didn’t she?”

  “Yes, she did. Poor Harden, she was dreadfully upset. Sir Derek was a great friend of her own family, a very old Dorsetshire family, Mr.—er—”

  “Really? Strange coincidence. She fainted afterwards, didn’t she, poor girl?”

  “Yes. But I assure you she did her work all through the op., quite as usual—really.” Sister Marigold’s voice trailed away doubtfully.

  “Someone said something about a delay over the anti-gas injection.”

  “It was only for a moment. She told me afterwards she was so faint she had to pause before she brought it across.”

  “Yes, I see. Frightful bad luck. Nurse Banks gave the camphor injection, didn’t she?”

  “She did.” Sister Marigold’s thin lips closed in a whippy line.

  “And prepared the serum?”

  “That is so.”

  “I suppose I’ll have to see her. Between you and me and the Marble Lady, matron, she rather alarms me.”

  “H’m,” said Sister Marigold. “Really? Fancy!”

  “Still, it is my duty and I must. Is she on the premises?”

  “Nurse Banks is leaving us to-morrow. I believe she is in the hospital this afternoon.”

  “Leaving you, is she? Does she frighten you too, matron?”

  Sister Marigold pursed up her lips.

  “She is not a type I care to have nursing for me,” she said. “As I say, personal feelings should not interfere with a nurse’s work, much less political opinions.”

  “I thought she looked as if she was suffering from High Ideals,” Alleyn remarked.

  “Call them high ideals! Beastly Bolshevik nonsense,” said Sister Marigold vigorously. “She had the impertinence to tell me, in my own theatre, that she would be glad if the patient—” She stopped short and looked extremely uncomfortable. “Not, of course, that she meant anything. Still, as I say—”

  “Yes, quite. They’d say anything, some of these people. Of course with those views she’d loathe the very sight of O’Callaghan.”

  “How she dared!” fumed Sister Marigold.

  “Tell me about it,” said Alleyn winningly.

  After a little hesitation she did.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Three Nurses

  Tuesday, the sixteenth. Afternoon.

  THE UNBOSOMING OF Sister Marigold was almost an epic. Once the floodgates of her wrath were opened the spate of disclosure flowed turbulently. Alleyn decided that in the Marigold’s eye Banks was a murderess. Derek O’Callaghan’s nurse had told Sister Marigold of Banks’s triumph at the news of his death. The theatre scally had lost her head and told everybody. At first, prompted no doubt by her anxiety to stifle the breath of scandal in her hospital, Sister Marigold had determined to say as little as possible about the unspeakable Banks. Alleyn’s hints that Phillips, his assistants, even she herself, would come under suspicion had evidently decided her to speak. She now said that Banks was obviously an agent of Sir Derek’s political enemies. Alleyn let her talk and talk, and contrived to remain brilliantly non-committal. He discovered that she had an excellent memory and, by dint of careful questioning, he arrived at the procession of events during, and immediately before, the operation. It appeared that the only members of the party who had been alone in the theatre were Phillips, herself, Thoms, and possibly one of the nurses. Mr. Thoms, she thought, had come out of the theatre into the anteroom a few moments after Sir John had prepared his syringe. When she had told him everything two or three times over, Alleyn said that he was a brute to keep her so long and could he see the private nurse and the scally. He asked her not to mention the result of the postmortem. The scally came first. She was alarmed and inclined to shy off his questions, but quietened down presently and stuck to her story of Banks’s indecent rejoicing. She said Banks was always dinning Soviet teaching into the other nurses. She added nervously that Banks was a good nurse and would never forget her duty to a patient. She described the impedimenta that was put out on a side table before the operation—a full bottle of hyoscine solution, an ampoule of anti-gas serum, syringes, a bowl of distilled water. She was quite sure the bottle of hyoscine solution had been full. She believed that a small amount had since been used. She hadn’t looked at it immediately after the operation. This tallied with information already given by the matron. The scally herself had put all the things away and had cleaned the outsides of all the jars carefully. Matron was so particular. “No use looking for prints on this job,” thought Alleyn with a sigh. He thanked her and let her go.

  Nurse Graham, O’Callaghan’s special, was then sent into the room. She came in quietly, smiled at Alleyn and stood with her hands behind her back waiting. She had blue eyes, set far apart, a wide humorous mouth, slightly prominent teeth and a neat figure. She had an air of repose and efficiency which pleased the inspector.

  “Do sit down, won’t you?” Alleyn invited her. She sat down comfortably and didn’t fidget.

  “You nursed Sir Derek, didn’t you?” he began.

  “Yes.”

  “How long was it from the time he was admitted until the operation?”

  “Nearly an hour, I think. He came in soon after I went on duty at five o’clock. The operation was at a quarter to six.”

  “Yes. Look here, Nurse Graham, will you tell me the whole story of that hour as though you were writing it down in detail?”

  She looked gravely at him for a moment or two.

  “I’ll try,” she said at last. Alleyn took out a notebook and with an uneasy glance at it she began: “Soon after I came on duty a message came up that he was on his way and I was to ‘special’ him. I met the stretcher, put him to bed, and prepared him for operation.”

  “Did you give an injection of any sort?”

  “No. The usual injection of morphia and atropine was not given. Sir John’s injection of hyoscine took its place.”

  “I see. Well, nurse?”

  “While that was being done Lady O’Callaghan and Sir Derek’s sister arrived, and when the preparation was over they went into his room. He was semi-conscious. Am I doing this properly?”

  “Admirably. Please go on.”

  “Well, let me think. I was in the room with them at first. Lady O’Callaghan was very good—quiet, and didn’t upset the patient. Miss O’Callaghan was rather distressed. They sat down by the bed. I went out to speak to Sir John. When I came back they were talking together. Sir Derek was lying with his eyes closed, but he opened them for a moment and groaned. I think he was conscious just then and he seemed very uncomfortable. Lady O’Callaghan came out and spoke for a minute to Sir John. Then we all returned and Sir John made an examination. The patient seemed much easier, but I thought that now he was quite unconscious, more deeply so than he had been since he came in. Sir John diagnosed ruptured appendix abscess and offered to get Mr. Somerset Black to operate immediately. Lady O’Callaghan begged him to do it himself and he finally said he would. I took Lady O’Callaghan and Miss O’Callaghan out.”

  Nurse Graham paused and looked very earnestly at the inspector.

  “Was there any further incident before they left the room?” Alleyn asked.

  “You mean—? There was something else, but p
lease, Inspector Alleyn, do not attach too much importance to it. The patient, I am sure, did not realise in the least what he said.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He opened his eyes and said ‘Don’t—don’t let—’ and then relapsed again.”

  “Did you get any idea of what he was trying to say?”

  “It might have been anything.”

  “At what was he looking?”

  “He looked at Sir John, who was nearest the bed.”

  “How would you describe his look? Appealing? Entreating? What?”

  “N-no. He—he seemed frightened. It might have been anything. He looked rather like a patient who had been given a drug—morphia, for instance. It’s a kind of frowning stare—I have often noticed it appear when the drug is beginning to take effect.”

  “And yet you tell me he had not had anything of the sort.”

  “I gave him nothing,” Nurse Graham said.

  “There’s a curious inflexion in your voice, nurse. You gave him nothing? Now of what are you thinking?”

  She moved uneasily and her face became rather pink.

  “I have said nothing about this to anybody,” she told him. “It seemed to me a dangerous thing to speak of what was-was—not absolute fact.”

  “Quite right. Don’t you think, though, that you should tell me? Nurse Graham, Sir Derek O’Callaghan was murdered.” He watched her closely. She seemed both startled and shocked. She gave a quick look as if she hoped she had mistaken what he’d said. After a moment he went on:

  “He was given a lethal dose of hyoscine. At least four people come under the possibility of suspicion. The very incident you are shying away from might be the one to save an innocent person. I am too old a hand to jump at asinine conclusions. Do you really think you can do any good by keeping me in the dark?”

  “Perhaps not.”

  “Let me help you. You think, don’t you, that someone had given O’Callaghan something—a drug of some sort?”

  “It looked like it, and yet it was too soon for a drug to act.”

  “What happened when you returned to your patient? What did you find?”

  “You are—very acute,” she said. “When I went back I tidied the room. The patient seemed to be asleep. I lifted his eyelid and he was quite unconscious. The pupil was not contracted. I knew then that he could not have had morphia. Then I saw under a chair by the bed a small piece of white paper. I picked it up and noticed that it had broken pieces of sealing-wax on it. It was certainly not there when Sir Derek was admitted.”

  “Have you kept it?”

  “I—yes, I have. I wondered then if he had been given anything, and when the room was done out I put the paper into a drawer in his dressing-table. It will still be there.”

  “I’ll look at it later on if I may. Who had sat in the chair?”

  “Miss O’Callaghan,” she said uneasily.

  “And Miss O’Callaghan was alone with the patient for—how long? Three minutes? Five minutes?”

  “Quite five, I should think.”

  “Notice anything else? Had he had a drink of water, do you think?”

  “The glass on the bedside-table had been used.”

  “You are a model witness. I suppose this glass has also been cleaned? Yes. A hospital is a poor hunting ground for the likes of me. Now don’t worry too much about this. It may be quite beside the point. In any case it would have been criminal to withhold it. Consciousness of having done the right thing brings, I understand, solace to the troubled breast.”

  “I can’t say it does to mine.”

  “Nonsense. Now will you be very kind and get your scrap of paper for me? Bring Nurse Banks back with you, and don’t mention homicide. By the way, what did you think about her reception of the glad tidings—I gather she looked upon them as glad?”

  “She’s an ass,” answered Nurse Graham unexpectedly, “but she’s no murderer.”

  “What did she say exactly?”

  “Oh, something out of the Bible about praising the Lord for He hath cast down our enemies.”

  “Good lack!” apostrophised Alleyn. “What an old—I beg your pardon, nurse. Ask the lady to come here, will you? And if you hear me scream come in and rescue me. I’ve no desire to die at the feet of that marble goddess there—who is she, by the way—Anæsthesia?”

  “I’ve no idea, inspector,” said Nurse Graham with a sudden broad smile. She went out briskly and returned in a few minutes to give him a small square of white paper such as chemists use in wrapping up prescriptions. Fragments of red sealing-wax remained on the margins and the creases suggested that it had contained a round box. Alleyn put it in his pocketbook.

  “Nurse Banks is waiting,” remarked Nurse Graham.

  “Loose her,” said Alleyn. “Good-bye, nurse.”

  “Good-bye, inspector.”

  Miss Banks made a somewhat truculent entrance. She refused a chair and stood uncomfortably erect, just inside the door. Alleyn remained politely on his feet.

  “Perhaps Nurse Graham has told you of my business here?” he suggested.

  “She said something about Scotland Yard,” sniffed Banks. “I didn’t know what she was talking about.”

  “I am investigating the circumstances of Sir Derek O’Callaghan’s death.”

  “I said all there was to say about it at that inquest.”

  Alleyn decided that finesse was not indicated.

  “You didn’t mention it was murder,” he remarked.

  For a moment he thought she looked frightened. Then she said woodenly:

  “It is?”

  “Yes. What do you think of that?”

  “How do you know?”

  “The post-mortem revealed indications of at least a quarter of a grain of hyoscine.”

  “A quarter of a grain!” exclaimed Banks. He was reminded of Phillips. Neither of these two had ejaculated “Hyoscine!” as one might have expected, but had exclaimed at the amount.

  “Wouldn’t you have expected that to kill him?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes. Mr. Thoms said—” She stopped short.

  “What did Mr. Thoms say?”

  “Heard him say before the op. that a quarter-grain would be a fatal dose.”

  “How did the subject arise?”

  “Don’t remember.”

  “I understand you prepared and gave the camphor injection and prepared the anti-gas injection.”

  “Yes. I didn’t put hyoscine in either if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “No doubt there will be some means of proving that,” said Alleyn smoothly. “I shall have the matter investigated, of course.”

  “You’d better,” snorted Banks.

  “Sir John prepared and gave the hyoscine.”

  “Well, what if he did? Sir John Phillips wouldn’t poison his worst enemy in the theatre. Too much the little surgeon.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” said Alleyn mildly.

  Banks was silent.

  “I hear you look upon the affair as a dispensation of Providence,” he added.

  “I am an agnostic. I said ‘if.’”

  “‘If’?”

  “If I wasn’t, I would.”

  “Oh,” said Alleyn. “It’s cryptic, but I get you. Can you tell me which members of the party were alone in the theatre before the operation?”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “Do try. Do you remember if you were?”

  “No. Phillips was. Thoms was.”

  “When?”

  “Just before they washed up. We were in the anteroom. Phillips came in first and that little fool followed him.”

  “Meaning Mr. Thoms?”

  “I said so, didn’t I?”

  “Are you going to hear Nicholas Kakaroff speak to-night?”

  This was a shot in the dark. Kakaroff was to address a large meeting of Soviet sympathisers. The Yard would think it worth while to put in an amiable appearance. Nurse Banks threw up her chin and glared at him.

&n
bsp; “I shall be proud to be there,” she said loudly.

  “That’s the spirit!” cried Alleyn.

  Inspired perhaps by fiery recollections of former meetings, Nurse Banks suddenly came out strong with a speech.

  “You may stand there with a smile on your lips,” she stormed, “but you won’t smile for long. I know your type—the gentleman policeman—the latest development of the capitalist system. You’ve got where you are by influence while better men do bigger work for a slave’s pittance. You’ll go, and all others like you, when the Dawn breaks. You think I killed Derek O’Callaghan. I didn’t, but I’ll tell you this much—I should be proud—proud, do you hear, if I had.”

  She reeled all this out with remarkable fluency, as though it was a preposterous recitation. Alleyn had a swift picture of her covering her friends’ suburban tea-parties with exquisite confusion. Small wonder the other nurses fought shy of her.

  “Do you know, nurse,” he said, “until the Dawn does break I rather think I’d pipe down a bit if I were you. Unless you really fancy the martyr’s crown, you’re talking like a remarkably silly woman. You had as good a chance as anyone else of pumping hyoscine into the deceased. You’re now shrieking your motive into my capitalist face. I’m not threatening you. No, you’d better not say anything more at the moment, but when the mantle of Mr. Kakaroff is laid aside you may think it advisable to make a statement. Until then, Nurse Banks, if you’ll forgive me the suggestion, I should really pipe down. Will you tell Nurse Harden I’m ready?”

  He opened the door for her. She stood for a moment staring above his head. Then she walked to the door, paused, and looked directly at him.

  “I’ll tell you this much,” she said. “Neither Phillips nor Harden did it. Phillips is a conscientious surgeon and Harden is a conscientious nurse. They are hidebound by their professional code, both of them.”

  With which emphatic assertion she left him. Alleyn screwed his face sideways and opened his notebook. Here, in an incredibly fine and upright hand he wrote: “Thoms— conversation about hyoscine,” and after a moment’s hesitation: “P. and H.—hidebound by their professional code, says the B.”