nudge was imminent, but Cribb gave no consenting nod.
‘We’ll leave her out of it for now. May need the name later, mind.’
He allowed Monk to relax, coaxing him out of his defen-sive stand.
‘It’s coming up to four, then, and you go back to the Hall. Straight to Darrell?’
He tried to remember.
‘I think… yes, I drank a coffee first, and talked to Chadwick’s trainer.’
‘Small-talk?’
‘Well, yes, trainers’ talk. I tried to get him to come to terms on an easy second day, but he wouldn’t. It would have helped Charlie’s feet, you see. Chadwick was a sight groggy on his pins after running, and I thought he’d see the sense of it.’
‘You didn’t wrangle over it?’
‘Oh no. I got back to Charlie to wake him sharp at four.’ ‘With a drink?’ The query was slipped in, almost disin-terestedly.
‘I gave him a drop of something, yes.’
‘That would be this.’ Cribb reached to the cupboard and took out the bottle. ‘What’s in it?’
Monk shot a suspicious glance at the sergeant.
‘It’s a kind of tonic. I make it myself, from sugar, brandy and liquorice. Helps them to stir themselves, you see. Every ped takes a bracer now and then.’
Cribb took a sniff at the liquid. Sediment at the base clouded the contents as the bottle was moved.
‘What else is there in this?’
‘That’s all,’ Monk said.
Without any warning, Cribb snatched at Monk’s throat, grasped his muffler and pulled him forward.
‘What else?’
The lamp above them, jerked by the movement, sent their shadows leaping about the tent.
‘I don’t-’
Constable Thackeray leaned over Monk, his face so close that his beard rasped the trainer’s ear.
‘Speak up!’
‘Stimulants,’ Cribb breathed at him. ‘Stimulants. We’re not green, Monk.’
The grip tightened.
‘All right, yes. I give him a crystal.’
‘Of what?’
‘Some chemical. It never did no harm to him. I swear that.’
‘What chemical?’
‘The usual-strychnine. It livens up a man wonderful.’
There was something in the naivety of Monk’s answer that made Cribb relax his hold.
‘You’ve used strychnine before?’
‘Used it for years. I took it myself in my time. Small doses, mind.’
Cribb sat back in his chair, beating a tattoo with his boot as he weighed the effect of what had been said. Here was a complication-a development that irritated and intrigued him. He ought to have remembered that sportsmen, the real professionals who engaged in endurance contests, whether in pedestrianism, pugilism or the new craze of bicycling, were known to take stimulants. Vegetable alkaloids like atropine and strychnine, if taken in minute amounts, would revitalise flagging muscles.
He picked up the bottle.
‘How much strychnine in here?’
‘Enough to make a tired man nimble. I crushed a crystal and used half the powder.’
‘And how much of this did Darrell drink?’
Monk reflected.
‘He had a second mug. Well, you can see. The bottle was full up to there.’
‘And this was the only lot he took?’
‘That’s so.’
The sergeant paused again, studying Monk’s reactions, judging whether his cairn was due to sluggishness, the alco-hol in his veins, or whether he had rehearsed himself for questions like this.
‘I’ll speak plainly, Monk. You’re in trouble. This could be manslaughter, and if it is, I’ll have you.’
For the first time, genuine alarm showed in the trainer’s eyes.
‘You can’t get me for that! It’s not true. You can’t nail a man for a bloody illness! Tetanus ain’t my doing, no more than yours.’
Cribb opened the cupboard and replaced the bottle there. ‘Ever heard of artificial tetanus?’
‘What?’
‘Artificial tetanus, Monk. That’s what killed Darrell. Strychnine poisoning.’
The trainer’s face twitched with shock, repeatedly.
Cribb continued: ‘The body of the man you livened up with strychnine was opened earlier today. Specimens were taken-fluids from the body. You understand? Some was fed to a rat. It was convulsed in minutes, and died very soon after. That man’s body contained strychnine, Monk. Not small amounts. Not half a powdered crystal. A massive dose. You tipped it in like sugar, did you?’
Monk was shaking his head, incapable of words.
Cribb persisted. ‘Where d’you buy it?’
‘Bethnal Green. Hayward-small chemist there.’
‘How much?’
‘Five crystals. No more, I swear it. I paid heavy for that.’ ‘I don’t doubt it. You signed for it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where’s the rest, then?’
‘In my room. I lodge at Hackney Wick. It’s in a phial there. That’s where I made up the bracer. Believe me, mister.’
‘We don’t need to. We can check. Address?’
‘Rupert Street. 118.’
‘Got that, Thackeray? Now, Monk. I want this straight. You’re telling us what’s in that bottle is not enough to kill a man. You gave him two mugfuls-’
‘He asked for the second.’
‘You gave him two. He drank nothing else?’
‘Nor ate a thing. God’s truth.’
‘You’re sure of this? We’ll get this down for you to sign. You made no mistake in mixing the liquid?’
‘None. I done it careful.’
‘I hope so for your sake. We’ll get it analysed in the morning. One other thing. When did you bring the bottle into the Hall?’
‘Sunday night. Same day as I made the stuff. We was allowed in at ten to inspect the tents and dump our bag-gage.’
‘Where did you put the bottle?’
‘In the cupboard with the other stuff.’
‘So it was there till the next night, when you took it out to revive Darrell?’
‘Yes.’
There was no longer any hint of incoherence about Monk. The realisation of his position had honed his reac- tions to razor sharpness.
Sergeant Cribb got to his feet. For the first time he spoke slowly, enunciating each word.
‘We’ll check what you’ve said. I hope it’s gospel truth. Frankly, Monk, I know enough to hold you on suspicion of manslaughter. What I’ll do instead is ask you to stay in this building until I tell you otherwise. You’ve been given a hut to sleep in, have you?’
‘Some of the boys gave up in the first twenty-four hours. Mr Herriott put me in a spare hut. I could ask to stay there.’ ‘Good. Get back to bed then. Keep off the liquor. There’s ways of sobering a man that act quicker than cold water. Don’t forget that. And don’t try leaving the Hall. I’ve men on the doors.’ There were always police on duty at
