The Nursing Home Murder (10 page)

“I’ll tell you this much,” she said. “Neither Phillips nor Harden did it. Phillips is a conscientious surgeon and Harden is a conscientious nurse. They are hidebound by their professional code, both of them.”

With which emphatic assertion she left him. Alleyn screwed his face sideways and opened his notebook.

Here, in an incredibly fine and upright hand he wrote: “Thoms — conversation about hyoscine,” and after a moment’s hesitation: “P. and H. — hidebound by their professional code, says the B.”

He wrote busily, shut his little book, glanced up, and gave a start of surprise. Jane Harden had come in so quietly that he had not heard her, There she stood, her fingers twisted together, staring at the inspector. He had thought at the inquest that she was very good-looking. Now, with the white veil behind it, the extreme pallor of her face was less emphatic. She was beautiful, with that peculiar beauty that covers delicate bone. The contour of the forehead and cheek-bones, the little hollows of the temples, and the fine-drawn arches of the eyes had the quality of a Holbein drawing. The eyes themselves were a very dark grey, the nose absolutely straight and the mouth, rather too small, with dropping corners, was at once sensuous and obstinate.

“I beg your pardon,” said Alleyn; “I did not hear you come in. Please sit down.”

He pulled forward the nearest of the preposterous chairs, turning it towards the window. The afternoon had darkened and a chilly sort of gloom masked the ceiling and corners of the room. Jane Harden sat down and clasped the knobs of the chair-arms with long fingers that even the exigencies of nursing had not reddened.

“I expect you know why I’m here?” said Alleyn.

“What was the — is the post-mortem finished?” She spoke quite evenly, but with a kind of breathlessness.

“Yes. He was murdered. Hyoscine.”

She seemed to stiffen and became uncannily still.

“So the hunt is up,” added Alleyn calmly.

“Hyoscine,” she whispered. “Hyoscine. How much?”

“At least a quarter of a grain. Sir John injected a hundredth, he tells me. Therefore someone else gave the patient a little more than a fifth of a grain — six twenty-fifths, to be exact. It may have been more, of course. I don’t know if the post-mortem can be relied upon to account for every particle.”

“I don’t know either,” said Jane.

“There are one or two questions I must ask you.”

“Yes?”

“I’m afraid this is all very distressing for you. You knew Sir Derek personally, I believe?”

“Yes.”

“I’m terribly sorry to have to bother you. Let’s get it over as soon as possible. As regards the anti-gas injection. At the close of the operation Sir John or Mr. Thoms asked for it. Sister Marigold told you to get it. You went to a side table, where you found the syringe. Was it ready — prepared for use?”

“Yes.”

“At the inquest it appeared that you delayed a little while. Why was this?”

“There were two syringes. I felt faint and could not think, for a moment, which was the right one. Then Banks said: ‘The large syringe,’ and I brought it.”

“You did not hesitate because you thought there might be something wrong with the large syringe?”

This suggestion seemed to startle her very much. She moved her hands nervously and gave a soft exclamation.

“Oh! No. No—. Why should I think that?”

“Nurse Banks prepared this syringe, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” said Jane.

Alleyn was silent for a minute. He got up and walked across to the window. From where she sat his profile looked black, like a silhouette with blurred edges. He stared out at the darkening roofs. Something about a movement of his shoulders suggested a kind of distaste. He shoved his hands down into his trouser pockets and swung round, facing the room. He looked shadowy, but larger than life against the yellowish window-pane.

“How well did you know Sir Derek?” he asked suddenly. His voice sounded oddly flat in the thickly furnished room.

“Quite well,” she said after another pause.

“Intimately?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well — did you meet often — as friends, shall I say?”

She stared at his darkened face. Her own, lit by the sallow light from the window, looked thin and secret.

“Sometimes.”

“Recently?”

“No. I can’t see what my acquaintanceship with him has to do with the matter.”

“Why did you faint?”

“I was — I wasn’t well; I’m run down.”

“It had nothing to do with the identity of the patient? It wasn’t because Sir Derek was so ill?”

“Naturally that distressed me.”

“Have you ever written to him?”

She seemed to shrink back into the chair as though he had actually hurt her.

“You need not answer any of these questions if you think it better not to,” he announced. “Still, I shall, of course, go to other people for the information.”

“
I
have done nothing to hurt
him
,” she said loudly.

“No. But have you ever written to him? That was my question, you know.”

She took a long time to answer this. At last she murmured: “Oh, yes.”

“How often?”

“I don’t know— ”

“Recently?”

“Fairly recently.”

“Threatening letters?”

She moved her head from side to side as though the increasing dusk held a menace.

“No,” said Jane.

He saw now that she looked at him with terror in her eyes. It was a glance to which he had become accustomed, but, since in his way he was a sensitive man, never quite reconciled.

“I think it would be better,” he pronounced slowly, “if you told me the whole story. There is no need, is there, for me to tell you that you are one of the people whom I must take into consideration? Your presence in the operating theatre brings you into the picture. Naturally I want an explanation.”

“I should have thought my — distress — would have given you that,” she whispered, and in that half-light he saw her pallor change to a painful red. “You see, I loved him,” added Jane.

“I think I understand that part of it,” he said abruptly. “I am extremely sorry that these beastly circumstances oblige me to pry into such very painful matters. Try to think of me as a sort of automaton, unpleasant but quite impersonal. Can you do that, do you think?”

“I suppose I must try.”

“Thank you. First of all — was there anything beyond ordinary friendship between you and O’Callaghan?”

She made a slight movement.

“Not— ” She paused and then said: “Not really.”

“Were you going to say ‘Not now’? I think there had been. You say you wrote to him. Perhaps your letters terminated a phase of your friendship?”

She seemed to consider this and then answered uneasily: “The second did.”

He thought: “Two letters. I wonder what happened to the other?”

Aloud, he said: “Now, as I understand it, you had known Sir Derek for some time — an old family friendship. Recently this friendship changed to a more intimate association. When was this?”

“Last June — three months ago.”

“And it went on — for how long?”

Her hands moved to her face. As if ashamed of this pitiful gesture she snatched them away, and raising her voice, said clearly: “Three days.”

“I see,” said Alleyn gently. “Was that the last time you saw him?”

“Yes — until the operation.”

“Had there been any quarrel?”

“No.”

“None?”

“No.” She tilted her head back and began to speak rapidly.

“It was a mutual agreement. People make such a fuss about sex. It’s only a normal physical experience, like hunger or thirst. The sensible thing is to satisfy it in a perfectly reasonable and natural way. That’s what we did. There was no need to meet again. We had our experience.”

“My poor child!” Alleyn ejaculated.

“What do you mean!”

“You reel it all off as if you’d learnt it out of a textbook. ‘First Steps in Sex.’ ‘O Brave New World,’ as Miranda and Mr. Huxley would say! And it didn’t work out according to the receipt?”

“Yes, it did.”

“
Then why did you write those letters
?”

Her mouth opened. She looked pitifully ludicrous and for a moment, not at all pretty.

“You’ve seen them — you’ve— ”

“I’m afraid so,” said Alleyn.

She gave a curious dry sob and put her hands up to the neck of her uniform as though it choked her.

“You see,” Alleyn continued, “it would be better to tell me the truth, really it would.”

She began to weep very bitterly.

“I can’t help it. I’m sorry. It’s been so awful — I can’t help it.”

Alleyn swung round to the light again.

“It’s all right,” he said to the window-pane. “Don’t mind about me — only an automaton, remember.”

She seemed to pull herself together quickly. He heard a stifled sob or two and a rustle as if she had made a violent movement of some sort.

“Better,” she murmured presently. When he turned back to the room she was sitting there, staring at him, as though there had been no break in their conversation.

“There’s not much more,” he began — very businesslike and pleasant. “Nobody accuses you of anything. I simply want to check up on the operation. You did not see Sir Derek from June until he was brought into the theatre. Very well. Beyond these two letters you did not communicate with him in any way whatever? All right. Now the only place where you step into the picture is where you fetched the syringe containing the anti-gas concoction. You delayed. You were faint. You are positive you brought the right syringe?”

“Oh, yes. It was much bigger than the others.”

“Good enough. I’ll look at it presently if I may. Now I understand that the jar, bottle, or pot containing the serum— ”

“It was an ampoule,” said Jane.

“So it was — and the pipkin, cruse, or pottle containing hyoscine were on the table. Could you, feeling all faint and bothered, have possibly sucked up hyoscine by mistake?”

“But, don’t you understand, it was ready!” she said impatiently.

“So I am told, but I’ve got to make sure, you know. You are positive, for instance, that you didn’t squirt out the contents and refill the syringe?”

“Of course — positive.” She spoke with more assurance and less agitation than he had expected.

“You remember getting the syringe? You were not so groggy that you did it more or less blindly?”

That seemed to get home. She looked frightened again.

“I–I was very faint, but I
know—
oh, I
know
I made no mistake.”

“Right. Anyone watch you?”

He watched her himself, closely. The light was now very dim, but her face was still lit from the window behind him.

“They — may — have. I didn’t notice.”

“I understand Mr. Thoms complained of the delay. Perhaps he turned to see what you were doing?”

“He’s always watching— I beg your pardon; that’s got nothing to do with it.”

“What were you going to say?”

“Only that Mr. Thoms has rather an offensive trick of staring.”

“Did you happen to notice, before the operation, how much of the hyoscine solution there was in the bottle?”

She thought for some time.

“I think it was full,” she said.

“Has it been used since?”

“Once, I believe.”

“Good.”

He moved away from the window briskly, found the light switch and snapped it down. Jane rose to her feet. Her hands shook and her face was a little marked with tears.

“That’s all,” said Alleyn brightly. “Cheer up, Nurse Harden.”

“I’ll try.”

She hesitated a moment after he had opened the door, looked as if she wanted to say something further, but finally, without another word, left the room.

After she had gone Alleyn stood stock-still and stared at the opposite wall.

At last, catching sight of himself in an ornate mirror, he made a wry face at his own reflection.

“Oh, damn the doings,” said Alleyn.

Tuesday, the sixteenth. Afternoon.

It
was
Mr. Thoms who took Alleyn into the theatre.

After Jane left him the inspector had wandered into the hall and run into the plump little surgeon. Alleyn had explained who he was, and Thoms instantly assumed an expression of intense seriousness that made him look rather like a clown pulling a mock-tragic face.

“I say!” he exclaimed. “You’re not here about Sir Derek O’Callaghan’s business, are you?”

“That’s it, Mr. Thoms,” Alleyn rejoined wearily. “The man was murdered.”

Thoms began to babble excitedly. Alleyn held up a long hand.

“Hyoscine. At least a quarter of a grain. Wilful murder,” he said briefly.

“Lor’!” ejaculated Thoms.

“Lor’ it is. I’ve been badgering nurses and now I want to see the theatre of operations. It never struck me till just then what a localised implication that phrase has.”

“See the theatre?” said Thoms. “Yes. Of course. Look here. It’s not in use now. Sir John’s gone out. I’ll show you round if you like.”

“Thank you so much,” said Alleyn.

Thoms talked excitedly as he led the way. “It’s the most amazing thing I ever heard. Damn’ nasty business, too. I hope to God you don’t think I pumped hyoscine into the man. Thought you police chaps must have something up your sleeves when you pushed the inquest. Yes. Well, here we are. This is an anteroom to the theatre, where we wash and dress ourselves up for the business. Along there’s the anæsthetising-room. Here’s the theatre.”

He butted open the swing-doors.

“Wait a bit,” said Alleyn. “Let’s get a sort of picture of the proceedings, may we? Before the operation you and the other medical men forgathered in here.”

“That’s it. Sir John and I came in here together. Dr. Roberts came in for a moment and then went off to the anæsthetising-room, where the patient was brought to him.”

“Anyone else in here during that time?”

“With Phillips and me, you mean? Oh, yes — the matron, Sister Marigold, you know. She does theatre sister. It’s only a small hospital, and she rather fancies herself at the job, does old Marigold. Then, let me see, the other two nurses were dodging about. Thingummy, the Bolshie one, and that pretty girl that did a faint — Harden.”

“What did you all talk about?”

“
Talk
about?” echoed Thoms. He had a curious trick of gaping at the simplest question as though much taken aback. His eyes popped and his mouth fell open. He then gave a short and, to Alleyn, tiresome guffaw.

“What did we
talk
about?” he repeated. “Well, let’s see. Oh, I asked Sir John if he had seen the show at the Palladium this week and— ” He stopped short and again his eyes bolted.

“Well — what about it?” asked Alleyn patiently.

“He said he hadn’t,” said Thoms. He looked ridiculously uncomfortable, as though he had nearly said something frightfully improper.

“I missed the Palladium this week,” Alleyn remarked. “It’s particularly good, I hear.”

“Oh,” Thoms mumbled, “not bad. Rather rot really.”

He seemed extraordinarily embarrassed.

“And had Sir John seen the show?” asked Alleyn lightly.

“Er — no, no, he hadn’t.”

“Did you discuss any particular part of it?”

“No. Only mentioned the show — nothing particular.”

There was a long pause during which Thoms whistled under his breath.

“During this time,” said Alleyn as last, “was any one member of the theatre party alone?”

“In here?”

“In here.”

“Let me think,” begged Thoms. Alleyn let him think. “No — no. As far as I remember, we were all here. Then one of the nurses showed Roberts to the anæsthetising-room. That left Sir John and the other two nurses and myself. I went with Marigold into the theatre to look round. That left Sir John and the other nurse — the pretty one — in this room. They were here when I got back. Then Roberts and I washed up while Sir John went into the theatre to fix his hyoscine injection. He always does that and gives it himself. Rum idea. We usually leave all that game to the anæsthetist. Of course, in this instance everything had been very hurried. The patient had not been given the usual morphia and atropine injection. Well, let’s see. The females were dodging about, I suppose. I remember the — what’s-her-hame— the Banks woman asked me why Sir John didn’t use the stock solution.”

“Why didn’t he?”

“Oh — well, because he wanted to be sure of the dosage, I suppose.”

“And then?”

“I went into the theatre.”

“Where you joined Phillips?”

“Yes. He’d just put the hyoscine tablet into the water, I think.”

“Did you notice the little bottle — how many tablets were left? I simply want to check up, you understand.”

“Of course. Well, it’s a tube; you can’t see the number of tablets unless you peer into it, and then you can only guess, but, of course, there would be nineteen, because it was a new lot.”

“How do you know that, Mr. Thoms?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I saw he had two tubes and said something about it, and he said one of them was empty, so he’d opened another.”

“What happened to the empty one?”

“Eh? Search me. Chucked it away, I suppose. I say — er — look here, what
is
your name?”

“Alleyn.”

“Oh. Well, look here, Alleyn, you’re not attaching any importance to the second tube, are you? Because you jolly well needn’t. It’s all perfectly simple. Phillips uses a hypodermic case which holds two of these little phials. He’d obviously used the last tablet on a previous case without realising it was the last. Very easy thing to do.”

“I see that. All this business is merely by way of checking up.”

“Yes, but—”

“For my own sake I’ve got to account for every movement of the game, Mr. Thoms. It’s all frightfully muddling and I’ve got to try to learn it like a lesson. Do you remember anything that was said just then?”

“Well, I — well, I chaffed him about the two tubes— said he was doing Sir Derek proud, and then I–I remarked that he used a lot of water.”

“Did this seem to upset him at all?”

“Oh, Lord — no. I mean, Sir John always stands a bit on his dignity. I mean, he rather shut me up. He hasn’t got what I call a sense of humour.”

“Really? Did you go out together?”

“Yes. I went into the anteroom and Sir John into the anæsthetic-room to give the injection. I went first.”

“Sure, Mr. Thoms?”

“Oh, yes,” said Thoms, opening his eyes very wide. “Why?”

“I only want to get the order of events. Now let’s look at the theatre, shall we?”

Once again Thoms butted the swing-doors with his compact little stern, and this time Inspector Alleyn followed him through.

The theatre was scrupulously, monstrously immaculate — a place of tiles and chromium and white enamel. Thoms turned on a switch and for a moment an enormous high-powered cluster of lights poured down its truncated conical glare on the blank surface of the table. The theatre instantly became alive and expectant. He snapped it off and in its stead an insignificant wall bracket came to life over a side table on rubber castors.

“Is this how it was for the operation?” asked Alleyn. “Everything in its right place?”

“Er — yes, I think so. Yes.”

“Which way did the patient lie?”

“Head here. Eastward position, eh? Ha ha!”

“I see. There would be a trolley alongside the table, perhaps?”

“It would be wheeled away as soon as the patient was taken off it.”

“That’s the side table, over by the windows, where the syringes were set out?”

“That’s it.”

“Can you show me just where you all stood at the time each of the injections was given? Wait a bit — I’ll make a sort of plan. My memory’s hopeless. Damn, where’s my pencil?”

Alleyn opened his notebook and produced a small rule from his pocket. He measured the floor space, made a tiny plan and marked the positions of the two tables, and, as Thoms instructed him, those of the surgeons and nurses.

“Sir John would be here, about half-way along the table, isn’t it? I stood opposite there. Marigold hovered round here, and the other two moved about a bit.”

“Yes. Well, where, as near as you can give it, would they all be for the operation?”

“The surgeons and anæsthetist where I have shown you. Marigold on Sir John’s right and the other two somewhere in the background.”

“And for the camphor injection?”

“As before, except for the Bolshie, who gave it. She would be here, by the patient’s arm, you see.”

“Did you watch Nurse Banks give this injection?”

“Don’t think so. I wouldn’t notice. Probably wouldn’t see her hands — they’d be hidden by the little screen across the patient’s chest.”

“Oh. I’ll take a look at that afterwards if I may. Now the anti-gas injection.”

“That was after Sir John had sewed him up. I dressed the wound and asked for the serum. I damned that girl to heaps for keeping me waiting — felt rather a brute when she hit the floor two minutes later — what? I stood here, on the inside of the table; Sir John was opposite; Marigold had moved round to my side. Roberts and Banks, if that’s her name, were fussing round over the patient, and Roberts kept bleating about the pulse and so on. They were both at the patient’s head.”

“Wait a bit. I’ll fix those positions. Perhaps I’ll get you to help me to reconstruct the operation later on. You have no doubts; I suppose, about it being the correct syringe — the one you used, I mean?”

“None. It seemed to be perfectly in order.”

“Was there any marked change in the patient’s condition after this injection?”

“Roberts is the man to ask about that. My own idea is that he was worried about the patient for some time before I gave the injection. He asked for camphor, remember. Naturally, you’ll think, I want to stress that point. Well, inspector, so I do. I suppose the serum injection is the dangerous corner as far as I’m concerned. Still, I did
not
prepare the syringe and I could hardly palm it and produce another from behind my left ear. Could I? What? Ha ha ha!”

“Let’s have a look at it,” said Alleyn imperturbably, “and we’ll see.”

Thoms went to one of the shelves and returned with a syringe at the sight of which the inspector gave a little shout of horror.

“Good God, Mr. Thoms, are you a horse-coper? You don’t mean to tell me you jabbed that horror into the poor man? It’s the size of a fire extinguisher!”

Thoms stared at him and then roared with laughter. “He didn’t feel it. Oh, yes, we plugged it into him. Well, now, I could hardly produce a thing like that by sleight of hand, could I?”

“Heavens, no! Put it away, do; it makes me feel quite sick. A disgusting, an indecent, a revolting implement.”

Thoms made a playful pass at the inspector, who seized the syringe and bore it away. He examined it, uttering little noises of disgust.

“This is the type used for the other two injections,” explained Thoms, who had been peering into the array of instruments. He showed Alleyn a hypodermic syringe of the sort familiar to the layman.

“Sufficiently alarming, but not so preposterous. This would be the kind of thing Dr. Roberts handled?”

“Yes — or rather, no. Roberts didn’t give the camphor injection. The nurse gave it.”

“Oh, yes. Is that usual?”

“It’s quite in order. Generally speaking, that injection is given by the anæsthetist, but there’s nothing in his asking the nurse to give it.”

“This needle’s a delicate-looking thing. I suppose you never carry a syringe about ready for use?”

“Lord, no! In the theatre, of course, they are laid out all complete.”

“Would you mind filling this one for me?”

He gave Thoms a small syringe. The surgeon poured some water into a measuring-glass, inserted the needle and pulled back the piston.

“There you are. If a tablet’s used, the usual procedure is to squirt the syringe half full into the glass, dissolve the tablet, and then draw it up again.”

“The whole business only takes a few seconds?”

“Well — the tablet has to dissolve. In the case of the serum and the camphor the stuff was there ready.”

“Yes, I’ve got that. May I see the bottle the serum is kept in?”

“It’s not kept in a bottle, but in ampoules which hold the exact amount and are then thrown away. There aren’t any kicking about in the theatre. I’ll beat some up for you to see if you like.”

“Very good of you, Mr. Thoms. I’m being a crashing bore, I’m afraid.”

Thoms protested his freedom from boredom and fussed away. Alleyn prowled meditatively round the theatre until the fat man returned.

“Here we are,” said Thoms cheerfully. “Here are ampoules of oil and camphor. Here’s the antigas serum and here’s the hyoscine solution. All labelled, as you see. Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll set out the table as it would have been for the op. How will that do you?”

“Splendid!”

“Let’s see now — ampoules here, serum there. Here’s the bottle of hyoscine solution; thought you’d want to see that too. Old-fashioned idea — it should be in ampoules, but matron’s a bit of a dug-out.”

“The bottle’s nearly full, I see.”

“Yes. I believe one injection had been given.”

Alleyn noted mentally that this tallied with Nurse Harden’s and the scally’s impression that the bottle had been full before the operation and had since been used once.

“Can anyone have access to this bottle?” asked Alleyn suddenly.

“What? Oh, yes — any of the theatre staff.”

“May I have a small amount — I may have to get it tested?”

He produced a tiny bottle from his pocket and Thoms, looking rather intrigued, filled it with the solution.

“There you are. Now — where were we? Oh! Along here, small syringe for the camphor, another small syringe for the hyoscine — they hold twenty-five minims each. That would be the one Sir John would use for his tablet. Now the whopper for the serum. It holds ten c.c.’s.”

“Ten cc’s?”

“That’s about a hundred and sixty minims,” explained Thoms.

“What’s that in gallons?”

Thoms looked at the inspector as if he had uttered something in Chinese and then burst out laughing.