Behold, Here's Poison ih-2 Read online

  In the library Miss Matthews was proving the justice of this mistrust of her. Having discovered that Superintendent Hannasyde was a sympathetic listener she had soon lost her first dread of him, and had told him any number of things which her family would no doubt have preferred her to have kept hidden. She told him the whole history of the duck; she told him how disagreeable Gregory used to be; and she complained bitterly to him of the wicked unfairness of the Will.

  “I did think,” she said, “that after the years I've lived with him my brother would have had the common decency to have left the house all to me. But that's just the kind of man he was. I'm sure it's no wonder he was poisoned. And if we could only see him I've no doubt he's laughing about it now in that sneering way of his. If you were to ask me, I should have to say that I believe he liked to make people uncomfortable, which he certainly has done, getting himself poisoned in this tiresome way, and leaving a most unfair Will.”

  “You had lived with him a long time, Miss Matthews?”

  “Oh yes, ever since my mother died, eighteen—or was it only seventeen? no, I'm sure it was eighteen years ago. Not that I ever wanted to keep house for him; in fact, if it hadn't been for my sister I would much have preferred to work for my living, because I never did get on with Gregory, even when we were children. He always wanted to be top-dog, which I think very wrong myself, not that my opinion is likely to count with anyone in this family. But when you've looked forward for years to having the house to yourself one day, and then find you've got to share it with the last person in the world you'd choose—”

  “The house is left to you and to someone else as well?”

  “Yes, my sister-in-law,” nodded Miss Matthews. “Oh, I've no doubt you'll think she's very sweet and charming when you see her! People do. But I know better. She's pleasant enough on the surface, but never in my life have I met anyone, I don't care who it is, who's more thoroughly selfish! That woman,” she said impressively, “will go to any lengths to get her own way. My one comfort is that whatever she chooses to say I know she's just as disappointed in the Will as anyone else. I know very well that she counted on being left the house, and money too, if the truth be told. And if she tells you she's badly off, don't you believe it! She's got quite enough for one person; too much, if you ask me! In fact, I should have thought she could well have given some money to Guy, instead of expecting his uncle to do it!”

  “Guy?” repeated Hannasyde. “That is the nephew who came in with you a little while ago, isn't it?”

  “Yes,” answered Miss Matthews. “Such a nice boy! And I do hope you won't listen to any spiteful tales about him from my sister. Gregory was extremely unkind to him, and Guy had every reason to dislike him. The idea of sending a boy like that to South America! I shouldn't have been in the least surprised if he had poisoned his uncle. Not that he did, of course. I'm quite sure he didn't, and if you want to know I'd much rather think it was Randall—my other nephew. Only he wasn't here at the time, so I'm afraid that's out of the question.”

  Inspector Davis, who had been listening to this illuminating monologue with a slightly dazed but intent expression on his face made a stifled sound, and put up his hand to hide his mouth. But the Superintendent, though there was a twinkle at the back of his eyes, said with perfect gravity: “Well, yes, at first glance that does seem to rule him out. And to what part of South America was Mr Matthews proposing to send his nephew?”

  Miss Matthews who had seldom (except for Edward Rumbold) met with so encouraging an audience, answered with the utmost readiness: “Some place in Brazil: I forget the name of it. So unsuitable! Guy doesn't like rubber at all, and besides, he's doing so well at his work, which is really most original—I mean the way he does it—and you can't expect a new business to make money right away, can you?”

  “No,” agreed Hannasyde. “What is his business, if I may ask?”

  “Well, they call it Interior Decoration, and though I myself shouldn't want a gilded ceiling and black panels I can quite understand that tastes differ. But Gregory never did have any patience with Art, and besides, I don't think he liked Guy, and I must say that Guy was often needlessly rude to his uncle, though at the same time Gregory gave him plenty of excuse. And then about this South American business! Only there was a good deal of excuse for Guy over that too, because the poor boy felt quite desperate—he told me so himself—and no wonder! Altogether things have been very difficult, and though Gregory's death hasn't done as much good as one hoped it would, at least it has put a stop to all the incessant quarrelling and unpleasantness in the house.”

  “That sounds as though others beside Mr Guy Matthews have been at variance with your brother,” said Hannasyde, smiling.

  “I should call it being at daggers drawn!” said Miss Matthews candidly. “Most unfortunately my niece, Stella, wants to marry Dr Fielding, and I need hardly say that Gregory had taken one of his unreasonable dislikes to the poor man. As though anyone could be blamed for what his father did! Not that I should mention any of that, and I'm not going to, for I was thoroughly ashamed of my brother's behaviour, and what is more I told him that to my mind it was nothing less than blackmail! But it's something I prefer not to talk about, so I beg you won't ask me any questions about it.”

  “I quite understand,” said Hannasyde. “It must have been very trying both for you and for Mrs Matthews. I hope for your niece's sake she does not also oppose the marriage?”

  Miss Matthews gave a sniff. “I'm sure I don't know what her views are, for I never believe a word she says. Besides, if she cares for anyone but herself it's for Guy, not for Stella. As a matter of fact, I was agreeably surprised in her over the South American business at first. I didn't know she had so much feeling and I certainly didn't expect her to quarrel with my brother about it. At one time I thought it was really going to come to a breach between her and Gregory, but the instant she realised she couldn't force Gregory an inch she turned completely round, and butter wouldn't have melted in her mouth. My sister Gertrude was right—not that I've any desire to quote Gertrude, because I consider she's behaved most unkindly to me, calling me a bad housekeeper, and I don't know what beside! It just serves her right that Gregory only left her a picture of himself and a small legacy, and for my part I call it a judgment, and I only hope that it will teach her a lesson, and that in future she won't go about demanding post-mortems right and left!”

  The Inspector stiffened suddenly, and shot a look at Hannasyde. Hannasyde very slightly frowned, but he was watching Miss Matthews closely as he asked: “Was it your sister who put the matter into the Coroner's hands, Miss Matthews?”

  “Well, actually it was Dr Fielding who rang up the Coroner,” said Miss Matthews. “But he never would have done so if it hadn't been for Gertrude. He didn't suspect poison at all; in fact, he was very much against a post-mortem, but that's Gertrude all over! She always wants to interfere. She made an absurd fuss, and of course the doctor had to give way about it, and I should like to know what good it's done? I mean, if Gregory's dead he's dead, and we can only be thank—well, perhaps not quite that, but you know what I mean.”

  “Perfectly,” said the Superintendent. “I wonder if you would be so kind as to find out if Dr Fielding is still in the house? If he is, I should like to have a word with him.”

  Miss Matthews was a little disappointed at having her talk cut short, but she acquiesced with a fairly good grace, and went off to find the doctor. As he was still chatting to Stella in the hall this was not difficult, and the Inspector had had no time to say more than: “That's something we didn't know, anyway,” when he entered the library.

  “Come in, doctor,” said Hannasyde pleasantly. “There are just one or two questions still that I should like to put to you.” He glanced down at his open notebook. “I think you stated that when you saw the body of the deceased you noticed nothing that was not in your opinion compatible with death from syncope?”

  “Quite right,” said the doctor. “I doubt wheth
er anyone could have detected poisoning from a superficial examination.”

  Hannasyde nodded. “You had been treating Mr Matthews for some little time, I believe?”

  “About a year.”

  “You were no doubt fairly intimate with the various members of the household knew the ins and outs, in fact?”

  The doctor hesitated. “I hardly know how to reply. I have been very intimate with Miss Stella Matthews for some while—we are engaged to be married, in fact—and I have attended her aunt in a professional capacity. I know very little of the other members of the family.”

  “You knew that there was a good deal of friction in this house, I take it?”

  “Everyone knew that,” responded the doctor dryly.

  “Had you that friction in mind when you decided to put the matter into the hands of the police, doctor?”

  The doctor raised his eyes, and looked steadily across at Hannasyde. “You are under a misapprehension, Superintendent,” he said. “It was Mrs Lupton, not I, who insisted on an inquiry.”

  “You did not tell me that,” said Hannasyde.

  “I beg your pardon,” replied the doctor politely. “I suppose it slipped my memory. In any case, it doesn't seem very material to me. Mrs Lupton herself will tell you that I was in no sense averse from having a post-mortem inquiry. Quite the reverse:: if there was any suspicion of foul play I naturally was one of the first to want a full inquiry.”

  The Inspector shot a question at him. “Were you on good terms with the deceased?”

  Fielding looked at him with a slightly amused expression on his face. “No, Inspector,” he said. “I was not.”

  “Will you tell us why, doctor?” asked Hannasyde.

  The doctor regarded his finger-nails. “Since you ask me I am bound to tell you why,” he answered. “It is not particularly pleasant for me to have to do so, but I have not the smallest desire to hinder you by keeping anything back which you may think of importance. Mr Matthews was bitterly opposed to my engagement to his niece.”

  “Why?” asked the Inspector.

  The doctor was silent for a moment. Then he said in a somewhat constricted tone: “Mr Matthews had discovered—how, I don't know—that my father died in a Home for Hopeless Inebriates.”

  The Inspector looked very much shocked, and coughed in an embarrassed way. Hannasyde said in his unemotional voice: “It is naturally very distasteful for you to discuss such a matter, doctor, but did Mr Matthews impart this knowledge to Miss Stella Matthews?”

  “It made no difference to her,” replied the doctor.

  “I see. Had he any control over her actions?”

  “We should have got married whatever he said, if that is what you mean.” Fielding paused, and looked from one to the other with a rueful smile. “Come, Superintendent, why beat about the bush? You want to know whether he had been threatening me with exposure, don't you? Of course he had, and of course it would have been highly unpleasant for me if he had.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” said Hannasyde, and turned his head as the door opened.

  Mrs Matthews came into the room with Stella behind her. She looked charming in a black frock with touches of white at the throat and wrists, and if she had put her hair up in haste at least the ordered waves showed no signs of it. She checked on the threshold, and said: “Oh, have we interrupted you? I'm so sorry, but my son told me that you wanted to see me, er—Superintendent.”

  “No, please come in,” said Hannasyde, rising from his chair by the table. “I needn't keep you any longer now, doctor.”

  Mrs Matthews waited until Fielding had left the room, and then advanced towards Hannasyde, and sat down in a chair on the opposite side of the table, indicating to him with a graceful wave of her hand that he might resume his seat. Stella, admiring her exquisite poise, perched on the arm of her chair, and gravely regarded the Superintendent.

  “You wanted to see my daughter too, didn't you?” said Mrs Matthews. She laid her hand on one of Stella's, and added with a laugh that seemed to take the Superintendent into her confidence: “I know you won't mind my being here while you talk to her. I'm afraid she has a very guilty conscience, and is terrified lest you should ask her awkward questions about such things as driving without a rear light!”

  Stella wriggled uncomfortably, and muttered: “Mother, really!”

  “That isn't my department, Miss Matthews,” said Hannasyde.

  “I know,” replied Stella indignantly.

  The pressure of her mother's fingers silenced her. “Please ask me anything you like, Superintendent!” Mrs Matthews said kindly. “One shrinks from discussing it, but I know that it is necessary, and one must try and overcome one's instinctive distaste. I was very much attached to my poor brother-in-law, and this has all been terribly upsetting to me. I ought to tell you that my nerves are not my strong point. But I'm quite ready to answer anything I can.”

  “Thank you,” said Hannasyde. “Naturally I understand how you must feel. You have lived under Mr Gregory Matthews' roof for some years, I believe?”

  She bowed her head. “I have lived here for five years. My brother-in-law was very good to me at a time of deep sorrow, and I shall always think kindly of him for that reason alone.”

  “My father died five years ago,” interrupted Stella. “My uncle was joint guardian and trustee with my mother for my brother and me.”

  “I see,” said Hannasyde. “It was in the capacity of guardian that Mr Matthews proposed to send your son to South America, Mrs Matthews?”

  Mrs Matthews raised her brows. “That absurd scheme! I'm afraid I didn't take that very seriously, Superintendent. You have been listening to my sister-in-law, haven't you? She is a very dear soul, but, as I daresay you've realised, she is rather apt to exaggerate. Naturally I should not say so in her hearing, but she didn't understand her brother. I think that is so often the way when two people don't get on together. There is just that lack of sympathy which gives one insight into another person's character. I sometimes think that no one understood my brother-in-law as well as I did.”

  Inspector Davis caught the Superintendent's eye for an instant. His own glance spoke volumes. It seemed to him that the Matthews household consisted entirely of voluble females.

  “But was there not a serious plan to send your son to Brazil, Mrs Matthews?” asked Hannasyde.

  “My brother-in-law certainly thought it might be a good opening for him, but—”

  “And you? Did you agree?” interrupted Hannasyde ruthlessly.

  Mrs Matthews threw him an indulgent little smile. “You would not ask me that question if you were a woman, Superintendent,” she said. “I am Guy's mother. I could never agree to be parted from my boy unless it were for some very, very good reason.”

  “In fact, you opposed it, Mrs Matthews?”

  She gave a wise laugh. “Well, yes, I suppose you may say that I opposed it. But I have told you that I understood my brother-in-law, and I knew that his plan wouldn't come to anything.”

  Hannasyde glanced at Stella. She was sitting perfectly still with her eyes cast down and her mouth set rather sternly. His gaze returned to Mrs Matthews' face. “Was there any bad feeling between you over the affair?”

  “Thank God, no!” she replied. “When he died we were on the same affectionate terms as ever.”

  “There had been no quarrel between you?”

  She sank her voice a tone. “There had been—not a quarrel, but a feeling of—of—how shall I put it?—of hurt on my side, and I'm sorry to say a little bitterness. I did allow myself to be cross with him when he first broached the question of Brazil. It was mother-instinct, but very foolish of me, and I am thankful to say that I got it under. I knew all the time that my brother-in-law would never insist on doing anything against my wishes. One just had to be tactful. You do not know what a comfort it is to me to be able to say that at the time of Gregory's death there was no shadow of coolness between us.”

  “I can well imagine that it must
be,” replied Hannasyde.

  It was over an hour later when he and Inspector Davis left the Poplars, and the Inspector was frankly exasperated. As he walked beside Hannasyde down the drive he said: “Well, I always heard that the old lady was a caution, but if you ask me Mrs Matthews is the worst of the two! I'm darned if I know what to make of her, and that's a fact!”

  “Yes, she's difficult,” agreed Hannasyde. “It's always hard when dealing with that type of woman to know when they're speaking the truth as it was, and when they're speaking of it as they think it was… Hullo, Hemingway!”

  Sergeant Hemingway, a brisk person with a pair of bright eyes and an engaging smile, who had been waiting for his chief outside the gate, fell into step beside him, and said cheerfully: “I'll tell you something, Super. We aren't going to like this case, not by a long chalk. You know what it smelt like in the servants' quarters? Pea-soup!”

  The Inspector, who was not acquainted with Hemingway, looked a little puzzled, and said: “Eh?”

  “Figure of speech,” explained the Sergeant “Get anything your end, Super?”

  “Not much,” replied Hannasyde. “It's early yet.”

  “Early or late I don't like poisoning cases,” said the Sergeant. “Give me a nice clean bullet-wound where I've got something to go on, and not too many doctors to mess the case up disagreeing with one another! Ever handled a case of nicotine-poisoning before, Inspector?”

  “No, I can't say I have,” admitted the Inspector.

  “If I know anything about it you won't want to handle another by the time we're through with this,” prophesied the Sergeant. “Nor me either. The Superintendent here doesn't believe in premonitions, but I've got one right now.”

  “You've had them before,” remarked Hannasyde unkindly.

  “I won't say I haven't,” replied the Sergeant, quite unabashed. “This case remind you of anything, Super?”

  “No,” said Hannasyde. “But you'd better tell me, and get it off your chest. What does it remind you of?”