now?”
“Well, no.”
“Then at least you needn’t feel any blame, need you? Now, could anyone have gone to the packet—could they, perhaps, have taken some out and filled it up again?”
“But how could they? I had the key all the time.”
“Well, that’s just what I’m asking you. Could they have? And you say, no. All right, then—does that mean that you’ve had the key of the drawer ever since?”
“Yes. When poor Miss Doon—when they took her away in the ambulance, she gave me all her keys and I—I thought I’d better keep them like I keep my own,” choked Macaroni, quite overcome by her memories. “She always used to take them home with her at night.”
“That was very wise of you,” said Charlesworth, kindly. “Now, do you think that there’s any possibility of there being another key?”
“Oh, no, because there were only two and I’ve got the duplicate. It’s quite a new desk. I used to take one lot home with me and Miss Doon used to take the others and then, you see, if she was late or didn’t come in or was—was ill, or anything—or if I was ill, then at least one of us would be able to open the desk.”
“This is very interesting, Bedd, isn’t it?” said Charlesworth, leaning back in his chair, and forgetting Macaroni’s presence entirely. “You see the child says that the poison was untouched; and if she took the keys home with her, Miss Doon’s as well as her own, I don’t see how anyone else can have got at it. That’s definitely the only supply of poison Doon can have got from upstairs; it does seem to cut out accident and suicide, doesn’t it? It begins to look as if your something fishy was something very fishy after all. Equally, if this is a case of murder it must have been unpremeditated, because nobody can possibly have known that the stuff was going to be brought into the place—there were too many people concerned in the suggestion that it should be bought; and in that case there won’t have been time to juggle about with extra keys and things to have got any out of the desk; you might check up on that, will you? and see that none have been lost or anything funny; but it looks to me as if we can leave out that one teaspoonful of poison altogether. They had about four times that amount, and I suppose they must have used at least one teaspoonful to clean the hat … that leaves two spoonsful unaccounted for, including what was spilt when they first brought it into the place, and what they spilt later on … oh, my poor little faggot,” he cried, coming out of his reverie at the sound of Macaroni’s accelerated weeping. “I’d entirely forgotten you. Now, don’t upset yourself all over again! Murder and suicide are very ugly words, we know, but we want to find out all we can and prove that it wasn’t either of them, but just a very sad accident. You trot back to your work, now, and try to forget all about it—and God grant that she does forget,” he added piously, as Macaroni went wailing down the stairs again. “What an ass I was to blurt it all out in front of her. Fortunately, I don’t think she’s too bright in the upper storey, Bedd, do you? I shouldn’t think she’ll have taken much of it in.”
4
They left the shop and went at once to Judy’s address. Charlesworth was surprised to find it, in sharp contrast to Doon’s lodgings, a tall, comfortable house in a fashionable square. A parlourmaid showed them into the drawing-room where, after a moment, Judy’s mother joined them, a pretty, pleasant little woman, a tiny bit flustered at this intrusion of the law but still able to meet it with grace and charm. She gave an impression of trying to hide some pleasurable excitement beneath an appearance of suitable regret at their unhappy mission. He introduced himself and asked if it were possible to see her daughter.
“Oh, yes, of course—well, that is, I don’t know. She’s supposed to be ill; oh dear, I don’t know—how can I explain …
“Well, no.”
“Then at least you needn’t feel any blame, need you? Now, could anyone have gone to the packet—could they, perhaps, have taken some out and filled it up again?”
“But how could they? I had the key all the time.”
“Well, that’s just what I’m asking you. Could they have? And you say, no. All right, then—does that mean that you’ve had the key of the drawer ever since?”
“Yes. When poor Miss Doon—when they took her away in the ambulance, she gave me all her keys and I—I thought I’d better keep them like I keep my own,” choked Macaroni, quite overcome by her memories. “She always used to take them home with her at night.”
“That was very wise of you,” said Charlesworth, kindly. “Now, do you think that there’s any possibility of there being another key?”
“Oh, no, because there were only two and I’ve got the duplicate. It’s quite a new desk. I used to take one lot home with me and Miss Doon used to take the others and then, you see, if she was late or didn’t come in or was—was ill, or anything—or if I was ill, then at least one of us would be able to open the desk.”
“This is very interesting, Bedd, isn’t it?” said Charlesworth, leaning back in his chair, and forgetting Macaroni’s presence entirely. “You see the child says that the poison was untouched; and if she took the keys home with her, Miss Doon’s as well as her own, I don’t see how anyone else can have got at it. That’s definitely the only supply of poison Doon can have got from upstairs; it does seem to cut out accident and suicide, doesn’t it? It begins to look as if your something fishy was something very fishy after all. Equally, if this is a case of murder it must have been unpremeditated, because nobody can possibly have known that the stuff was going to be brought into the place—there were too many people concerned in the suggestion that it should be bought; and in that case there won’t have been time to juggle about with extra keys and things to have got any out of the desk; you might check up on that, will you? and see that none have been lost or anything funny; but it looks to me as if we can leave out that one teaspoonful of poison altogether. They had about four times that amount, and I suppose they must have used at least one teaspoonful to clean the hat … that leaves two spoonsful unaccounted for, including what was spilt when they first brought it into the place, and what they spilt later on … oh, my poor little faggot,” he cried, coming out of his reverie at the sound of Macaroni’s accelerated weeping. “I’d entirely forgotten you. Now, don’t upset yourself all over again! Murder and suicide are very ugly words, we know, but we want to find out all we can and prove that it wasn’t either of them, but just a very sad accident. You trot back to your work, now, and try to forget all about it—and God grant that she does forget,” he added piously, as Macaroni went wailing down the stairs again. “What an ass I was to blurt it all out in front of her. Fortunately, I don’t think she’s too bright in the upper storey, Bedd, do you? I shouldn’t think she’ll have taken much of it in.”
4
They left the shop and went at once to Judy’s address. Charlesworth was surprised to find it, in sharp contrast to Doon’s lodgings, a tall, comfortable house in a fashionable square. A parlourmaid showed them into the drawing-room where, after a moment, Judy’s mother joined them, a pretty, pleasant little woman, a tiny bit flustered at this intrusion of the law but still able to meet it with grace and charm. She gave an impression of trying to hide some pleasurable excitement beneath an appearance of suitable regret at their unhappy mission. He introduced himself and asked if it were possible to see her daughter.
“Oh, yes, of course—well, that is, I don’t know. She’s supposed to be ill; oh dear, I don’t know—how can I explain …
Similar Books
