The Ginger Cat Mystery (10 page)

“He said he didn't and from what I know of Tapp, I should say he was speaking the truth. The trouble about a germ-carrier is that ostensibly he is in perfect health. It is most difficult to recognize a healthy carrier as a potential danger to his fellows and so far all ‘cures' of the carrier state have been unsuccessful. It's a problem that the State in conjunction with the medical profession will have to face soon and boldly, and it's one of the most difficult of problems. You can't lock up and segregate a decent man for being a carrier through no fault of his own.”

“But what has this germ-carrier business of Tapp's to do with Cornell's death from pneumonia?” asked Vereker pointedly.

“A very pertinent question, Vereker. Cerebro-spinal fever can be very easily mistaken for the so-called cerebral type of pneumonia. Unless the ordinary medical practitioner was acquainted with the former, the mistake would be a pardonable one.”

“Redgrave, you think, made that mistake?” asked Vereker.

“That's not for me to say definitely but old Cornell's symptoms were the very symptoms of meningitis. The epidemic which caused the deaths of my mother and sister naturally gave me a morbid interest in everything pertaining to the disease. Knowing the symptoms, in conjunction with Tapp's presence in the house and close attendance on his master, I'm certain in my own mind that John Cornell died of cerebro-spinal fever.”

“How is the infection transmitted?” asked Vereker now suppressing with difficulty the excitement he was feeling.

“The germs, it appears, are in the carrier's nose and throat secretions and are transmitted by coughing, sneezing and spitting, or even by handkerchiefs, spoons, or other fomites.”

“I suppose a medical man could make a culture?”

“Quite easily, but the germ is a very delicate one and particularly sensitive to cold.”

“This is all very interesting, Carstairs. As a layman you seem to have a good knowledge of the subject, but if Redgrave introduced Tapp into the Cornell household, he cannot possibly have known the man was a germ-carrier.”

“We're now treading on extremely dangerous ground, Vereker, and I'm going to be very guarded. It's quite possible that Redgrave was ignorant of the fact. When I told Frank in great secrecy about George Tapp's unhappy affliction, and that I was fairly certain that indirectly his presence in the house had caused his father's death, he simply lost all sense of proportion. Always a bit imaginative and suspicious, for his light reading consisted solely of the rubbish we now put under the generic name of ‘thriller,' he immediately saw in the matter a subtle and fiendish plot on the part of Redgrave to get rid of his father so that he could marry Jo. His very words to me were, ‘It looks to me, Roly, that it's simply a case of murder by natural death.' When I pointed out to him the terrible nature of the charge and that such a means of killing would also endanger his life and Jo's, he replied with a certain amount of truth that neither he nor Jo nor any of the servants was of a susceptible age to catch the infection. He began to inquire secretly into the history of George Tapp and found that my story was correct. Moreover, he found that Redgrave had a practice in Richmond at the time and must have been cognizant of the whole affair of the epidemic and Tapp's connection with it. The one thing he couldn't discover was how Redgrave got in touch with Tapp for the purpose of introducing him into the Cornell household. At first he was going openly to tax Redgrave with the business, but on my earnest pleading refrained from such a reckless course. But he couldn't keep the matter entirely to himself and once in a vindictive mood, he'd possibly been drinking, hinted to Stella that Redgrave was directly responsible for his father's death. He didn't explain to her how or give her any details. She, in turn, confided in her father what Frank had said, and the blind brother, who knew all about the indiscreet friendship between Jo and Redgrave, at once began to suspect that his brother had been subtly poisoned. This suspicion preyed on his mind to such an extent that without making definite charges he communicated with the Home Office. The whole sorry business of the exhumation resulted from his action. Redgrave was naturally terribly upset. The accusing finger of the public was silently pointing at him and if not at him at Jo, with whom he was now passionately in love. You can imagine the distress of a medical man in such a predicament; it was sufficient to wreck his career and ruin his life. The relations between Redgrave, Jo and David Cornell became very strained to put it in the mildest way. The matter unfortunately didn't rest there. One day Redgrave, who now openly made love to Jo and had taken up the attitude of her protector, took upon himself the duty of lecturing Frank on his behaviour in the village where he was rapidly acquiring the reputation of a roysterer and spendthrift. Jo was fond of Frank and had probably instigated Redgrave to this action for Frank's benefit. Now Frank could stand a lecture from his father or from me, but he resented Redgrave's interference in his affairs very strongly. He told Redgrave curtly to mind his own damned business. Some weeks later when the doctor had dined at the house, Frank, in one of his freakish, vindictive moods, introduced the subject of cerebro-spinal fever and remarked that he was sure that his father had died of that affliction and not of pneumonia. In a mood of assumed banter he also said that he was certain George Tapp, the valet, was a germ-carrier. Redgrave apparently took this all in good part, but he was never friendly with Frank Cornell again. Moreover, a curious change came over the doctor. He lost his usual urbanity and charming manner, became silent and morose, and it was clear to many of his friends that something was preying on his mind. Personally, I feel sure he guessed that Frank Cornell was harbouring a suspicion that he had carried out a devilishly subtle scheme for getting rid of John Cornell so that he could marry Jo. Perhaps he was also afraid that Frank would tell Jo the nature of his suspicions and poison her mind. Outwardly, however, he kept on terms of polite friendliness with Frank. Then, to conclude my story, Frank was murdered, and on Inspector Heather and you devolves the task of discovering who shot him.”

“And still you have no secret theory as to who murdered your friend?” asked Vereker pointedly.

“To tell you the honest truth, Vereker, I haven't the vaguest idea. From your question I guess you think I suspect Redgrave of the crime or at least of being an instigator to the crime. The nature of my story and my knowledge of this secret affair might bias my mind in that direction. That's only natural. I might at the same time suspect Jo. If she became aware of Frank's suspicion it might work her up to the point of committing such an act to save the reputation of the man with whom she is passionately in love. The broadcasting of such a suspicion would naturally be a terrible thing for both of them, and even if they took legal action which is intricate and difficult, the suspicion would still persist. A cat may have nine lives but suspicion has ninety-nine.”

“This is a most amazing business,” declared Vereker seriously, “and I'm very grateful to you for confiding your story in me, Carstairs. My job's to unearth the slayer of your friend and a full knowledge of all the circumstances is essential to success. I'm afraid it's going to be a most delicate and difficult task—much more so than I anticipated.”

“Perhaps I oughtn't to have told you,” said Carstairs. “It may give your mind an unfair bias, but I've thought the matter out very fully and dispassionately. I was going to tell Inspector Heather, but couldn't just screw up my courage to the point. Now I've got rid of a big load off my chest I feel happier. In whatever way you look at it, I felt I owed a duty to my old friend Frank to tell you this and I've done that duty.”

Vereker thanked him again and rose from his chair.

“I'd like to have a general look round the house before I go,” he said.

“I'll show you round the whole shoot,” replied Carstairs and together they visited every room on the first floor corridor, finishing up with Mrs. Cornell's bedroom. This was a spacious room, delightfully furnished, its whole tone of colour being a soft pink. On the dressing-table besides the usual brushes, combs, cosmetics and knickknacks, stood a portrait in a silver frame. Carstairs picked it up and handed it to Vereker.

“Doctor Redgrave,” he said.

Vereker looked carefully at the portrait. It was that of a man of about thirty-five years of age. The eyes were particularly fine, the eyebrows well-marked, the mouth and chin firm but not aggressive. A certain lightness and softness in the formation of the lips declared a gentle, perhaps artistic side to his nature. The hair was thick and naturally waved across a broad, intellectual skull.

“Looks more like a film hero than a leech,” commented Carstairs as he stood watching Vereker's intent gaze.

“He's a very handsome man,” replied Vereker. “I can understand any young and romantic woman falling for him, as the Americans characteristically put it.”

“And you won't be disappointed when you meet him in the flesh,” continued Carstairs.

Leaving Mrs. Cornell's room they rapidly made a round of the servants' wing, climbed to two attics which were only used as storerooms, and thence returned to the ground floor. Vereker took leave of Carstairs and having returned the keys of the music room to Crawley, the butler, he left the house by a side entrance and wandered into the gardens lying in its rear. Here the borders were a blaze of autumn flowers and he wandered along the trimly-kept gravel paths, now gazing at some particularly fine mass of colouring, now lost in his own thoughts, his head bent and his eyes fixed on the ground he was traversing. At the farthermost limit of this walled garden he came to a lily pool with its soft, white waxen blooms floating with fairy-like grace on its placid surface. Here and there between the gaps of the large flat leaves could be seen the sudden flash of a goldfish as its glittering scales caught the light. Beside this pool, on a pavement of irregular flagstones, stood an oak garden seat. Tired after his morning's work, he sank lazily on to it and drew from his pocket a notebook and pencil. In this book he carefully jotted down every observation of significance he had made during his survey and roughly sketched a plan of the ground floor and first floor of the house. Returning his notebook to his pocket, he thrust his hands into his trousers pockets, stretched his legs, and was lost in thought over the incidents of the morning and the story which Roland Carstairs had told him. He felt that he must weigh this strange tale very carefully in the balance and not allow it to colour his thoughts or affect his judgment. It had, if it were true, a tendency to throw grave suspicion on the character of Doctor Redgrave and on the disinterestedness of his motives. It incorporated in this web of suspicion the woman with whom he was ostensibly in love and who was as obviously in love with him. Before crediting it he must satisfy himself as to the character of the man who had told it. On the surface Carstairs was a sincere and truthful man, possibly actuated by his devotion to his dead friend, but he must probe beneath this apparently satisfactory first impression. Carstairs had been eager to tell the story in spite of his hesitancy to begin. In some particulars it was a fantastic tale and displayed glaring weaknesses. Might it not be intended to throw him off the true scent? If so, what was Carstairs' motive? The phrase used by Frank Cornell ran in his mind with baleful significance—“murder by natural death.” He recalled a recent case which had occurred in New York where a doctor was accused of murder by the injection of pneumonia germs. Science was daily increasing the powers of those devoted to the detection of crime: it was also putting in the hands of the criminal fiendish and deadly weapons to carry out his sinister machinations. In the present instance, if the germ-carrier had been introduced into the Cornell household with the secret intention of communicating a most deadly disease, the further complication had been added that the crime had been committed by indirect means and by a method which was almost impossible to bring home to the perpetrator. It was sufficient that Tapp should be in daily attendance on the victim, handle his clothes or articles he himself touched in the thousand and one actions of his daily life. Those susceptible to affection were either the very young or the aged, a fact which in this case practically narrowed the field of incidence to the desired victim. For the present he must keep an open mind and a very alert eye on Mr. Roland Carstairs. The latter's attitude of absolute fairness in the matter might in itself be the ruse of a subtle trickster to deceive. He must investigate every ramification of the strange affair with utmost impartiality and look at it from every angle of view.

Vereker was thus deep in speculation when a green wooden door in the north wall of the enclosed garden opened and Miss Stella Cornell entered. At once Vereker realized that this entrance to the Manor grounds was the nearest to the bungalow and afterwards he discovered that it led by a field path through a belt of woodland and across a meadow to David Cornell's residence. At first unseen himself, he watched the approaching young woman with idle interest. As she came nearer, he could see that her pale face was set and her brow furrowed. It was evident that the mysterious death of her cousin had left its mark on her. She stopped for a moment beside an orchid dahlia, tossed her head in a petulant gesture as if dismissing an unpleasant train of thought, and cupped one of the blooms in her hand. After a few moments' admiration she turned, glanced across the formal garden to the lily pool, and at once noticed that the seat beside it was occupied. For a second she hesitated as if uncertain who the lounger might be and then with an air of recognition hastened her step towards him. Vereker, whose eyes had never left her for a moment and who had admired the graceful poise of her slim body as she had bent over the dahlia flower, rose at once from his seat and raised his hat.