‘Let me see.’
Cribb tipped some of the substance into the Irishman’s palm. He examined it, turning it over with his finger- tips.
‘By Jesus! I know what this is!’ blurted O’Flaherty, sud-denly on his feet.
‘Sit down, man!’ ordered Cribb, pushing him in the chest, so that he sank back on to the bed. ‘You’ll still have some embedded in your soles.’
‘Crushed walnut shells!’ exclaimed the disgusted pedes-trian. ‘The oldest bloody trick going, and I fell for it. Who would have done this?’
‘Anyone who didn’t want you to win,’ Cribb answered drily.
Mostyn-Smith was suddenly too interested to continue his display of pique.
‘May I see this? You say that it is manufactured by crush-ing walnut shells?’
As Mostyn-Smith peered at the tiny fragments which had been handed over, O’Flaherty jerked at Thackeray’s sleeve. ‘Do me a favour, bobby. Ask one of those reporters to bring me a bucket of water. I’ve got to get back.’
Cribb nodded his approval of this arrangement.
‘If the doctor doesn’t mind?’
‘No, no,’ concurred Mostyn-Smith. ‘Please carry on. This abrasive is unquestionably responsible for your col- lapse, O’Flaherty.’
The Irishman treated the diagnosis with contempt. He was preoccupied in extracting minute chips of shell from his inflamed soles. But at Cribb’s voice he looked up.
‘When did you put these boots on?’
‘One o’clock. I had a bite, and changed my footgear. I keep a spare pair, you see.’
‘You don’t share a hut now, do you?’
‘No. I’ve one to myself.’
‘Anyone else been in there?’
‘If I found anyone there, I’d-’ His eyes lighted on Mostyn-Smith. ‘You were there! You came into my hut, waking me up this morning. This is the bloody man, Sergeant! Take him away and lock him up! Saints in Heaven, I’ve been sleeping with a murderer!’
‘One moment,’ began Mostyn-Smith. ‘I can assure-’
‘Take a look at that portmanteau in his hut!’ O’Flaherty continued. ‘It’s stuffed full of bottles and boxes. Strychnine you’re looking for? It’s there, I’ll stake my soul on it! Take him away, Sergeant. No man’s safe while he’s at liberty.’
Thackeray’s eyes were gaping at this tirade. If the Irishman’s accusations were true, then his own suspicions about Mostyn-Smith were justified. But his theory had not included an attempt to cripple O’Flaherty.
Cribb addressed Mostyn-Smith.
‘Is this right? Did you go to this man’s hut this morning?’ Mostyn-Smith’s indignation was such that he found diffi-culty in expressing himself.
‘I did-that is to say-Sergeant-you cannot believe-’ ‘What did you want with Mr O’Flaherty, sir?’
He took a deep breath, visibly taking control of his emo-tions. ‘I felt that it was my duty to warn him of possible dan-gers. He is not a percipient individual, Sergeant-’
‘You-’ O’Flaherty made a grab for Mostyn-Smith which Cribb sharply repulsed with a downward thrust of his arm. ‘Keep out of this!’
Distraction was provided at that moment. Thackeray took in the bucket of water from outside. It was placed in front of O’Flaherty and he sulkily planted a foot inside it, and began massaging the toes under the water.
Mostyn-Smith resumed his explanation.
‘I felt obliged to warn him of the dangers to which he was exposed, as the only possible rival to Captain Chadwick. I reasoned that whoever had killed poor Darrell would not balk at murdering anyone else who threatened to overtake the Captain. I therefore approached this-man to acquaint him with my fears. I roused him before four o’clock and we conversed about the matter.’
Cribb turned to O’Flaherty.
‘Is this true?’
O’Flaherty nodded morosely. Cribb turned back to Mostyn-Smith.
‘You didn’t touch the boots?’
‘I do not even remember seeing them.’
‘And you didn’t go into the hut again, after Mr O’Flaherty had left for the track?’
There was the slightest hesitation before he answered firmly, ‘I did not.’
Cribb did not let it pass.
‘You planned to go there?’
‘Yes-to check that nobody had tampered with his food and drink, but I changed my mind.’
‘Why was that?’
Another pause.
‘It might have seemed like trespassing.’
Cribb turned to another point.
‘This portmanteau-’
‘I thought you would want to know about that. I freely admit that it contains a number of bottles, phials and boxes of pills. These are my personal needs, Sergeant. You may certainly have them analysed if you wish, but I must warn you that if you choose to take them away from me at this stage I shall require substantial compensation.’
Cribb was puzzled.
‘I don’t follow you.’
The little man took on a superior air.
‘That is understandable, Sergeant. My appearance in this endurance contest has been much commented on in the popular journals. People are curious to know why an edu-cated person should engage in a pedestrian contest against the dubious fraternity who make a living out of such affairs. I make no claims to athletic prowess. Before last August I had not walked more than five miles at one stretch in my life. You see, Sergeant, I am interested in physiological research. You might say that my participation is in the nature of an experiment.’
‘What are you proving?’ asked Cribb sceptically.
‘Ah! That is the explanation of my portmanteau. Inside it are more than fifty healthful foods and drinks of my own concoction. They, with an occasional fruit, are all that I con-sume on my journey. They banish the effect of fatigue entirely, by nourishing the system, recharging the natural-’ ‘And you plan to sell them under an advertisement of yourself in running-costume,’ Cribb broke in, cutting short the explanation. ‘Neat idea, if you do any good in the race.’ ‘I shall, if I am permitted to continue,’ said Mostyn-Smith.
‘And you shall!’ announced Cribb, to O’Flaherty’s undis-guised fury. ‘I’ll take a look at these bottles, if you don’t object, but we’ll leave them in your hut. A piece of advice, though. Say nothing about the walnut shell. Keep away from this man, and if you have any suspicions tell ’em to us.’ ‘I shall indeed,’ Mostyn-Smith readily pledged. He delved into his shorts and from somewhere produced a gold watch. ‘I have lost some twenty-five minutes. May I now return to the track?’
Cribb gave his assent, and the doctor-detective pocketed the watch and scuttled like the March Hare through the flap that Thackeray held open.
‘That’s a murderer!’ O’Flaherty blurted out. ‘He tried to poison me-’
‘You didn’t say that,’ snapped Cribb. ‘Did he give you any food or drink?’
‘Well, no.’
‘Did he warn you of possible danger?’
‘Yes, but-’
‘Hold your tongue, then!’ snapped Cribb. ‘You’ll need all the strength you’ve got left to catch Chadwick. Thackeray, fetch his spare boots and socks. They’re lying somewhere in the hut, are they? We’ll check them before he puts ’em on. And for God’s sake, O’Flaherty, take care what you eat and drink.’
As Thackeray left there was a general move from the bystanders to gain admittance. Cribb stood squarely at the entrance and addressed them.
