They Hanged My Saintly Billy (27 page)
Well,
I
had
no
means
of
proving
my
conjectures,
and
because Dr
Palmer,
having
long
ceased
to
practise
as
a
surgeon,
could
be called
upon
to
account
for
this
unusual
purchase
of
prussic
acid, I
naturally
reported
the
circumstance
to
The
Prince
of
Wales managers.
It
also
came
into
my
mind
that
perhaps
Cook's
demand,
during
Smith's
absence
from
the
dinner
table,
that
George Bate
should
sign
the
proposal
paper,
had
decided
the
Doctor
to
be revenged
on
him
later.
For
when
Dr
Palmer
heard
from
Bate
of my
questioning
him,
he
said:
'George,
you
should
never
have talked
to
the
Inspector.
It
was
cutting
your
own
throat.
Now
we can't
proceed
with
your
insurance,
and
you'll
never
be
rich.
If
he comes
again,
pray
tell
him
that
you've
given
up
the
idea,
and
are letting
it
drop.'
But
Bate,
I
now
diink,
had
concluded,
with
the prompting
of
his
neighbours,
that
the
Doctor's
intention
was
to
poison
him;
and
presentl
y
revenged
himself
by
setting
hounds
on the
broodmares
in
his
charge,
so
that
two
of
them
slipped
their colts.
I
believe,
too,
that
Dr
Palmer,
whom
th
e
loss
of
these
foals sent
into
a
rage,
suspected
Cook
of
having
blabbed
to
Bate;
and that
this
suspicion
rankled,
because
the
scheme
of
insuring
Bate's life
had
not
been
th
e
Doctor's
own,
but
was
foisted
on
him
by Smith.
He
could
not
afford
to
quarrel
with
Smith,
who
knew
too much,
and
guessed
more;
yet
he
could
still
play
a
trick
or
two
on Cook,
as
I
believe
he
did.
This
account,
Sir,
has
a
nice
dramatic
close.
Inspector
Simpson and
I
went
to
visit
Dr
Palmer,
where
he
sat
at
dinner,
and
told
him that,
as
agents
of
The
Midland,
we
had
made
inquiries
into
the
proposal
for
Bate's
life,
and
found
it
based
on
falsehood.
He laughed
and
said:
'I'm
sorry,
Inspector
Field,
that
you
have
had this
trouble.
The
proposal
to
insure
my
overseer's
life
was
a
practical
joke
played
on
the
poor
innocent
by
some
of
my
friends.
I can
only
think
that
Mr
Smith’
s
clerk
must
have
forwarded
the proposal
to
The
Midland
in
error,
not
realizing
its
farcical
nature. Mr
Smith
will
doubtless
be
glad
to
reimburse
the
company
for whatever
expenses
they
have
incurred.'
I
replied
solemnly:
'That
may
be
as
it
may
be,
Dr
Palmer.
But I
regret
to
inform
you
that
my
colleague
and
I
are
empowered
by The
Prince
of
Wales
to
investigate
th
e
circumstances
of
your brother
Walter's
death.
Our
report
has
already
gone
to
the
London
Office:
that
he
seems
to
have
been
unfairly
dealt
with.
We intend,
moreover,
to
push
our
inquiries
further.'
I
never
witnessed
such
impassivity
in
all
my
life!
Both
Inspector Simpson
and
I
expected
that
Dr
Palmer,
who
is
a
powerful
man, would
leap
from
his
chair
and
attempt
to
knock
us
down.
He
did not
even
stir,
but
continued
to
cat
his
steak
and
kidney
pie— which
he
politely
invited
us
to
share—with
complete
unconcern. At
last
he
observed:
'Quite
right.
I
have
my
own
suspicions
of that
fellow
Walkende
n;
I
fear
he
didn't
carry
out
either
Dr
Day's advice
or
my
own.'
Chapter XIII
'TWO
NARROW
SHAVES'
J
OHN
PARSONS
COOK
was
an
aristocratic-looking young
man
in
his
late
twenties:
tall,
slim,
thin-faced,
sallow-complexioned,
with
long
hair,
a
slight
whisker,
and
a
slight moustache.
At
the
races,
he
sported
a
well-cut,
rust-coloured
coat, blue
waistcoat,
dove-grey
trowsers,
a
beaver
hat
and
a
loose,
long-sleeved
overcoat.
A
gold
cable-guard
dangled
from
his
watch,
and two
or
three
valuable
rings
sparkled
on
his
fingers.
He
resided at
Lutterworth
in
Leicestershire
and,
when
he
came
of
age,
had inherited
some
fifteen
thousand
pounds;
thereupon
abandoning his
profession
as
solicitor
and
addicting
himself
to
the
Turf.
Cook was
much
liked
for
his
generosity,
scrupulousness
in
money
matters,
and
gentl
e
ways;
but
he
had
got
into
bad
company
and,
after five
or
six
years
of
keeping
racehorses,
found
himself
financially embarrassed.
His
chest
being
weak,
he
formed
the
habit
of
consulting
a London
physician
who
happened
to
be
an
old
family
friend.
Early in
June,
1855,
he
visited
this
Dr
Savage,
complaining
of
a
sore throat
and
eruptions
or
sores
in
his
mouth.
Cook
did
not
disclose that
he
had
suffered
from
venereal
disease,
but
admitted
to
taking mercury
for
the
sores,
as
advised
by
Dr
Palmer—who
regarded them
as
marking
a
secondary
stage
of
this
dreadful
scourge.
Dr Savage
examined
Cook's
throat,
found
nothing
amiss
except
that certain
of
its
organs
were
somewhat
thickened,
prescribed
tonics and
sounded
his
chest.
At
the
close
of
the
examination
during which,
however,
he
did
not
invite
Cook
to
remove
his
nether garments,
Dr
Savage
pronounced:
'With
care
and
common
sense you
will
yet
live
to
be
a
hundred,
my
dear
boy.
But,
pray
take
my advice
and
break
with
that
company
of
turfmen,
legs
and
idlers with
whom
I
saw
you
at
Epsom
Races
last
week—the
very
worst of
whom
is
that
dissolute
Dr
Palmer.
I
warrant
he'll
rob
you
again and
again.
Sell
your
string
of
horses—that's
your
best
course— abandon
the
Turf,
go
to
Switzerland
for
a
couple
of
years,
taking
your
law-books
with
you.
There
study
them
attentively,
and return
with
a
strong
chest
and
a
clear
eye
to
adorn
the
profession which
you
have
so
long
neglected.'