4:50 From Paddington (Miss Marple 8)

“In individual glasses.”

“Now, then, how much of all this is cleared up?”

“If you mean washing up, everything was washed up and put away.”

Dr. Quimper groaned.

“There’s such a thing as being overzealous,” he said.

“Yes, I can see that, as things have turned out, but there it is, I’m afraid.”

“What do you have still?”

“There’s some of the curry left—in a bowl in the larder. I was planning to use it as a basis for mulligatawny soup this evening. There’s some mushroom soup left, too. No syllabub and none of the savoury.”

“I’ll take the curry and the soup. What about chutney? Did they have chutney with it?”

“Yes. In one of those stone jars.”

“I’ll have some of that, too.”

He rose. “I’ll go up and have a look at them again. After that, can you hold the fort until morning? Keep an eye on them all? I can have a nurse round, with full instructions, by eight o’clock.”

“I wish you’d tell me straight out. Do you think it’s food poisoning—or—or—well, poisoning.”

“I’ve told you already. Doctors can’t think—they have to be sure. If there’s a positive result from these food specimens I can go ahead. Otherwise—”

“Otherwise?” Lucy repeated.

Dr. Quimper laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Look after two people in particular,” he said. “Look after Emma. I’m not going to have anything happen to Emma….”

There was emotion in his voice that could not be disguised. “She’s not even begun to live yet,” he said. “And you know, people like Emma Crackenthorpe are the salt of the earth… Emma—well, Emma means a lot to me. I’ve never told her so, but I shall. Look after Emma.”

“You bet I will,” said Lucy.

“And look after the old man. I can’t say that he’s ever been my favourite patient, but he is my patient, and I’m damned if I’m going to let him be hustled out of the world because one or other of his unpleasant sons—or all three of them, maybe—want him out of the way so that they can handle his money.”

He threw her a sudden quizzical glance.

“There,” he said. “I’ve opened my mouth too wide. But keep your eyes skinned, there’s a good girl, and incidentally keep your mouth shut.”

V

Inspector Bacon was looking upset.

“Arsenic?” he said. “Arsenic?”

“Yes. It was in the curry. Here’s the rest of the curry—for your fellow to have a go at. I’ve only done a very rough test on a little of it, but the result was quite definite.”

“So there’s a poisoner at work?”

“It would seem so,” said Dr. Quimper dryly.

“And they’re all affected, you say—except that Miss Eyelesbarrow.”

“Except Miss Eyelesbarrow.”

“Looks a bit fishy for her….”

“What motive could she possibly have?”

“Might be barmy,” suggested Bacon. “Seem all right, they do, sometimes, and yet all the time they’re right off their rocker, so to speak.”

“Miss Eyelesbarrow isn’t off her rocker. Speaking as a medical man, Miss Eyelesbarrow is as sane as you or I are. If Miss Eyelesbarrow is feeding the family arsenic in their curry, she’s doing it for a reason. Moreover, being a highly intelligent young woman, she’d be careful not to be the only one unaffected. What she’d do, what any intelligent poisoner would do, would be to eat a very little of the poisoned curry, and then exaggerate the symptoms.”

“And then you wouldn’t be able to tell?”

“That she’d had less than the others? Probably not. People don’t all react alike to poisons anyway—the same amount will upset some people more than others. Of course,” added Dr. Quimper cheerfully, “once the patient’s dead, you can estimate fairly closely how much was taken.”

“Then it might be…” Inspector Bacon paused to consolidate his idea. “It might be that there’s one of the family now who’s making more fuss than he need—someone who you might say is mucking in with the rest so as to avoid causing suspicion? How’s that?”

“The idea has already occurred to me. That’s why I’m reporting to you. It’s in your hands now. I’ve got a nurse on the job that I can trust, but she can’t be everywhere at once. In my opinion, nobody’s had enough to cause death.”

“Made a mistake, the poisoner did?”

“No. It seems to me more likely that the idea was to put enough in the curry to cause signs of food poisoning—for which probably the mushrooms would be blamed. People are always obsessed with the idea of mushroom poisoning. Then one person would probably take a turn for the worse and die.”

“Because he’d been given a second dose?”

The doctor nodded.

“That’s why I’m reporting to you at once, and why I’ve put a special nurse on the job.”

“She knows about the arsenic?”

“Of course. She knows and so does Miss Eyelesbarrow. You know your own job best, of course, but if I were you, I’d get out there and make it quite clear to them all that they’re suffering from arsenic poisoning. That will probably put the fear of the Lord into our murderer and he won’t dare to carry out his plan. He’s probably been banking on the food-poisoning theory.”

The telephone rang on the inspector’s desk. He picked it up and said:

“OK. Put her through.” He said to Quimper, “It’s your nurse on the phone. Yes, hallo—speaking… What’s that? Serious relapse… Yes… Dr. Quimper’s with me now… If you’d like a word with him….”

He handed the receiver to the doctor.

“Quimper speaking… I see… Yes… Quite right… Yes, carry on with that. We’ll be along.”

He put the receiver down and turned to Bacon.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Alfred,” said Dr. Quimper. “And he’s dead.”

Twenty

I

Over the telephone, Craddock’s voice came in sharp disbelief.

“Alfred?” he said. “Alfred?”

Inspector Bacon, shifting the telephone receiver a little, said: “You didn’t expect that?”

“No, indeed. As a matter of fact, I’d just got him taped for the murderer!”

“I heard about him being spotted by the ticket collector. Looked bad for him all right. Yes, looked as though we’d got our man.”

“Well,” said Craddock flatly, “we were wrong.”

There was a moment’s silence. Then Craddock asked:

“There was a nurse in charge. How did she come to slip up?”

“Can’t blame her. Miss Eyelesbarrow was all in and went to get a bit of sleep. The nurse had five patients on her hands, the old man, Emma, Cedric, Harold and Alfred. She couldn’t be everywhere at once. It seems old Mr

. Crackenthorpe started creating in a big way. Said he was dying. She went in, got him soothed down, came back again and took Alfred in some tea with glucose. He drank it and that was that.”

“Arsenic again?”

“Seems so. Of course it could have been a relapse, but Quimper doesn’t think so and Johnstone agrees.”

“I suppose,” said Craddock, doubtfully, “that Alfred was meant to be the victim?”

Bacon sounded interested. “You mean that whereas Alfred’s death wouldn’t do anyone a penn’orth of good, the old man’s death would benefit the lot of them? I suppose it might have been a mistake—somebody might have thought the tea was intended for the old man.”

“Are they sure that that’s the way the stuff was administered?”

“No, of course they aren’t sure. The nurse, like a good nurse, washed up the whole contraption. Cups, spoons, teapot—everything. But it seems the only feasible method.”

“Meaning,” said Craddock thoughtfully, “that one of the patients wasn’t as ill as the others? Saw his chance and doped the cup?”

“Well, there won’t be anymore funny business,” said Inspector Bacon grimly. “We’ve got two nurses on the job now, to say nothing of Miss Eyelesbarrow, and I’ve got a couple of men there too. You coming down?”

“As fast as I can make it!”

II

Lucy Eyelesbarrow came across the hall to meet Inspector Craddock. She looked pale and drawn.

“You’ve been having a bad time of it,” said Craddock.

“It’s been like one long ghastly nightmare,” said Lucy. “I really thought last night that they were all dying.”

“About this curry—”

“It was the curry?”

“Yes, very nicely laced with arsenic—quite the Borgia touch.”

“If that’s true,” said Lucy. “It must—it’s got to be—one of the family.”

“No other possibility?”

“No, you see I only started making that damned curry quite late—after six o’clock—because Mr. Crackenthorpe specially asked for curry. And I had to open a new tin of curry powder—so that couldn’t have been tampered with. I suppose curry would disguise the taste?”

“Arsenic hasn’t any taste,” said Craddock absently. “Now, opportunity. Which of them had the chance to tamper with the curry while it was cooking?”