Poisoned Chocolates Case (23 page)

“He signed a declaration for you, eh?” mused Mr. Bradley. “You must find detecting an expensive hobby too, Miss Dammers.”

“One can afford one expensive hobby, Mr. Bradley.”

“But just because she lunched with him . . .”

Mrs. Fielder - Flemming was once more speaking with the voice of charity. “I mean, it doesn't necessarily mean that she was his mistress, does it? Not, of course, that I think any the less of her if she was,” she added hastily, remembering the official attitude.

“Communicating with the room in which they had their meals is a bedroom,” replied Miss Dammers, in a desiccated tone of voice. “Invariably after they had gone, the waiter informed me, he found the bedclothes disarranged and the bed showing signs of recent use. I imagine that would be accepted as clear enough evidence of adultery, Sir Charles?”

“Oh, undoubtedly, undoubtedly,” rumbled Sir Charles, in high embarrassment. Sir Charles was always exceedingly embarrassed when women used words like “adultery” and “sexual perversions” and even “mistress” to him, out of business hours. Sir Charles was regrettably old - fashioned.

“Sir Eustace, of course,” added Miss Dammers in her detached way, “had nothing to fear from the King's Proctor.”

She took another sip of water, while the others tried to accustom themselves to this new light on the case and the surprising avenues it illuminated.

Miss Dammers proceeded to illuminate them still further, with powerful beams from her psychological searchlight. "They must have made a curious couple, those two. Their widely differing scales of values, the contrast of their respective reactions to the business that brought them together, the possibility that not even in a common passion could their minds establish any point of real contact. I want you to examine the psychology of the situation as closely as you can, because the murder was derived directly from it.

"What can have induced Mrs. Bendix in the first place to become that man's mistress I don't know. I won't be so trite as to say I can't imagine, because I can imagine all sorts of ways in which it may have happened. There is a curious mental stimulus to a good but stupid woman in a bad man's business. If she has a touch of the reformer in her, as most good women have, she soon becomes obsessed with the futile desire to save him from himself. And in seven cases out of ten her first step in doing so is to descend to his level.

"Not that she considers herself at first to be descending at all; a good woman invariably suffers for quite a long time from the delusion that whatever she does, her own particular brand of goodness cannot become smirched. She may share a reprobate's bed with him, because she knows that only through her body at first can she hope to influence him, until contact is established through the body with the soul and he may be led into better ways than a habit of going to bed in the daytime; but the initial sharing doesn't reflect on her own purity in the least. It is a hackneyed observation but I must insist on it once more: good women have the most astonishing powers of self - deception.

"I do consider Mrs. Bendix as a good woman, before she met Sir Eustace. Her trouble was that she thought herself so much better than she was. Her constant references to honour and playing the game, which Mr. Sheringham quoted, show that. She was infatuated with her own goodness. And so, of course, was Sir Eustace. He had probably never enjoyed the complaisance of a really good woman before. The seduction of her (which was probably very difficult) would have amused him enormously. He must have had to listen to hour after hour's talk about honour, and reform, and spirituality, but he would have borne it patiently enough for the exquisite revenge on which he had set his heart. The first two or three visits to Fellows's Hotel must have delighted him.

"But after that it became less and less amusing. Mrs. Bendix would discover that perhaps her own goodness wasn't standing quite so firm under the strain as she had imagined. She would have begun to bore him with her self - reproaches; bore him dreadfully. He continued to meet her there first because a woman, to his type, is always a woman, and afterwards because she gave him no choice. I can see exactly what must inevitably have happened. Mrs. Bendix begins to get thoroughly morbid about her own wickedness, and quite loses sight of her initial zeal for reform.

"They use the bed now because there happens to be a bed there and it would be a pity to waste it, but she has destroyed the pleasure of both. Her one cry now is that she must put herself right with her own conscience either by running away with Sir Eustace on the spot, or, more probably, by telling her husband, arranging for divorce (for, of course, he will never forgive her, never), and marrying Sir Eustace as soon as both divorces are through. In any case, although she almost loathes him by now nothing else can be contemplated but that the rest of her life must be spent with Sir Eustace and his with her. How well I know that type of mind.

"Naturally, to Sir Eustace, who is working hard to retrieve his fortunes by a rich marriage, this scheme has small appeal. He begins by cursing himself for having seduced the damned woman at all, and goes on to curse still more the damned woman for having been seduced. And the more pressing she becomes, the more he hates her. Then Mrs. Bendix must have brought matters to a head. She has heard about the Wildman girl affair. That must be stopped at once. She tells Sir Eustace that if he doesn't break it off himself, she will take steps to break it off for him. Sir Eustace sees the whole thing coming out, his own appearance in a second divorce - court, and all hopes of Miss Wildman and her fortune gone for ever. Something has got to be done about it. But what can be done? Nothing short of murder will stop the damned woman's tongue.

"Well - it's high time somebody murdered her anyhow.

"Now I'm on rather less sure ground, but the assumptions seems to me sound enough and I can produce a reasonable amount of proof to support them. Sir Eustace decided to get rid of the woman once and for all. He thinks it over carefully, remembers to have read about a case, several cases, in some criminological book, each of which just failed through some small mistake. Combine them, eradicate the small mistake from each, and so long as his relations with Mrs. Bendix are not known (and he is quite certain they aren't) there is no possibility of being found out. That may seem a long guess, but here's my proof.

"When I was studying him, I gave Sir Eustace every chance of plying his blandishments on me. One of his methods is to profess a deep interest in everything that interests the woman. Naturally therefore he discovered a profound, if hitherto latent, interest in criminology. He borrowed several of my books, and certainly read them. Among the ones he borrowed is a book of American poisoning cases. In it is an account of every single case that has been mentioned as a parallel by members of this Circle (except of course Marie Lafarge and Christina Edmunds).

“About six weeks ago, when I got in one evening my maid told me that Sir Eustace, who hadn't been near my flat for months, had called; he waited for a time in the sitting - room and then went. Shortly after the murder, having also been struck by the similarity between this and one or two of those American cases, I went to the bookstall in my sitting - room to look them up. The book was not there. Nor, Mr. Bradley, was my copy of Taylor. But I saw them both in Sir Eustace's rooms the day I had that long conversation with his valet.” Miss Dammers paused for comment.

Mr. Bradley supplied it. “Then the man deserves what's coming to him,” he drawled.

“I told you this murder wasn't the work of a highly intelligent mind,” said Miss Dammers.

"Well, now, to complete my reconstruction. Sir Eustace decides to rid himself of his encumbrance, and arranges what he thinks a perfectly safe way of doing so. The nitrobenzene, which appears to worry Mr. Bradley so much, seems to me a very simple matter. Sir Eustace has decided upon chocolates as the vehicle, and chocolate liqueurs at that. (Mason's chocolate liqueurs, I should say, are a favourite purchase of Sir Eustace's. It is significant that he had bought several one - pound boxes recently.) He is searching, then, for some poison with a flavour which will mingle well enough with that of the liqueurs. He is bound to come across oil of bitter almonds very soon in that connection, actually used as it is in confectionery, and from that to nitrobenzene, which is more common, easier to get hold of, and practically untraceable, is an obvious step.

"He arranges to meet Mrs. Bendix for lunch, intending to make a present to her then of the chocolates which are to come to him that morning by post, a perfectly natural thing to do. He will already have the porter's evidence of the innocent way in which he acquired them. At the last minute he sees the obvious flaw in this plan. If he gives Mrs. Bendix the chocolates in person, and especially at lunch at Fellows's Hotel, his intimacy with her must be disclosed. He hastily racks his brains and finds a very much better plan. Getting hold of Mrs. Bendix, he tells her some story of her husband and Vera Delorme.

"In characteristic fashion Mrs. Bendix loses sight of the beam in her own eye on learning of this mote in her husband's and at once falls in with Sir Eustace's suggestion that she shall ring Mr. Bendix up, disguising her voice and pretending to be Vera Delorme, and just find out for herself whether or not he will jump at the chance of an intimate little lunch for the following day.

"'And tell him you'll ring him up at the Rainbow tomorrow morning between ten - thirty and eleven,' Sir Eustace adds carelessly. 'If he goes to the Rainbow, you'll be able to know for certain that he's dancing attendance on her at any hour of the day.' And so she does. The presence of Bendix is therefore assured for the next morning at half - past ten. Who in the world is to say that he was not there by purest chance when Sir Eustace was exclaiming over that parcel?

"As for the bet, which clinched the handing over of the chocolates, I cannot believe that this was just a stroke of luck for Sir Eustace. That seems too good to be true. Somehow, I'm sure, though I won't attempt to show her (that would be mere guesswork). Sir Eustace arranged for that bet in advance. And if he did, the fact in no way destroys my initial deduction from it, that Mrs. Bendix was not so honest as she pretended; for whether it was arranged or whether it wasn't, the plain fact is left that it is dishonest to make a bet to which you know the answer.

“Lastly, if I am to follow the fashion and cite a parallel case, I decide unhesitatingly for John Tawell, who administered prussic acid in a bottle of beer to his mistress, Sarah Hart, when he was tired of her.”

The Circle looked at her admiringly. At last, it seemed, they really had got to the bottom of the business. Sir Charles voiced the general feeling. “If you've got any solid evidence to support this theory. Miss Dammers. . . .” He implied that in that case the rope was as good as round Sir Eustace's thick red neck.

“Meaning that the evidence I've given already isn't solid enough for the legal mind?” enquired Miss Dammers equably.

“Psy - psychological reconstructions wouldn't carry very much weight with a jury,” Sir Charles took refuge behind the jury in question.

“I've connected Sir Eustace with the piece of Mason's notepaper,” Miss Dammers pointed out.

“I'm afraid on that alone Sir Eustace would get the benefit of the doubt.” Sir Charles was evidently deprecating the psychological obtuseness of that jury of his.

“I've shown a tremendous motive, and I've connected him with a book of similar cases and a book of poisons.”

“Yes. Oh, quite so. But what I mean is, have you any real evidence to connect Sir Eustace quite definitely with the letter, the chocolates, or the wrapper?”

“He has an Onyx pen, and the inkpot in his library used to be filled with Harfield's Ink,” Miss Dammers smiled. "I've no doubt it is still. He was supposed to have been at the Rainbow the whole evening before the murder, but I've ascertained that there is a gap of half - an - hour between nine o'clock and nine - thirty during which nobody saw him. He left the dining - room at nine, and a waiter brought him a whisky - and - soda in the lounge at half - past. In the interim nobody knows where he was. He wasn't in the lounge. Where was he? The porter swears he did not see him go out, or come in again; but there is a back way which he could have used if he wanted to be unnoticed, as of course he did. I asked him myself, as if by way of a joke, and he said that he had gone up to the library after dinner to look up a reference in a book of big - game hunting. Could he mention the names of any other members in the library? He said there weren't any; there never were; he'd never seen a member in the library all the time he belonged to the club. I thanked him and rang off.

“In other words, he says he was in the library, because he knows there would be no other member there to prove he wasn't. What he really did during that half - hour, of course, was to slip out the back - way, hurry down to the Strand to post the parcel (just as Mr. Sheringham saw Mr. Bendix hurrying down), slip in again, run up to the library to make sure nobody was there, and then go down to the lounge and order his whisky - and - soda to prove his presence there later. Isn't that more feasible than your version of Mr. Bendix, Mr. Sheringham? ”

“I must admit that it's no less so,” Roger had to agree.

“Then you haven't any solid evidence at all?” lamented Sir Charles. “Nothing that would really impress a jury?”

“Yes, I have,” said Miss Dammers quietly. “I've been saving it up till the end because I wanted to prove my case (as I consider I have done) without it. But this is absolutely and finally conclusive. Will everybody examine these, please?”

Miss Dammers produced from her bag a brown - paper - covered parcel. Unwrapping it, she brought to light a photograph and a quarto sheet of paper which looked like a typed letter.

“The photograph,” she explained, “I obtained it from Chief Inspector Moresby the other day, but without telling him the specific purpose for which I wanted it. It is of the forged letter, actual size. I should like everybody to compare it with this typed copy of the letter. Will you look at them first, Mr. Sheringham, and then pass them round? Notice particularly the slightly crooked s's and the chipped capital H.”