beer was all right, so far as I could find out.’
‘Did she ever seem apprehensive in any way?’
‘Only that if anybody else in the pub was ill — the landlord’s wife had a pretty bad cold while I was there — she might have to lose her evening out and have to disappoint her boy-friend.’
‘Did you ever meet him?’
‘Oh, yes. They used to exchange sweet nothings over the counter and one evening she introduced me. He was a very harmless bloke. The local postman, as a matter of fact.’
‘Did you ever see him give her anything?’
‘You mean a nice packet of poison? No, I can’t say I ever did. Oh, wait a minute, though. He used to bring her sweets. She had a very great liking for sweets, although she said it was death to her figure to eat them.’
‘That may well have been true.’
‘Oh, terribly sorry, and all that! I shouldn’t have put it in those words. I didn’t think. I was only quoting the poor girl herself, you know.’
‘Let me see that newspaper,’ said Bernard van Zestien, stretching out a hand towards his grandnephew. Florian handed it to him. He perused the column and passed the paper to Binnie, who read the marked passage and gave the paper back to Dame Beatrice. Then he demanded of Florian, ‘You say this woman liked sweets?’
‘Very much indeed. Always kept a bag of them under the counter. Peppermint flavour mostly. Ugh! Fancy peppermints mixed up with beer!’
‘Did you ever offer this woman sweets?’
‘Me? Good heavens, no! Why should I? The most I did on her behalf was to buy her a half-pint when I was ordering my second one.’
‘That’s well,’ said the old man. ‘You’ve been a foolish boy, but you’re all I have, now that my little Binnie is to be married.’ He chuckled. ‘I wonder whether Rebekah is yet reconciled to the match?’
‘If she is, it’s more than I am,’ muttered Florian. The big Don Juan!’
‘He isn’t,’ said Binnie. ‘Don’t be silly, Florian. I should have to get married some day to someone, so it might just as well be to Bernie as to anybody else. What do
‘That any man who is kind, and any woman who is reasonable, can get on very well together, I think.’
‘So there it is,’ said Dame Beatrice to Laura, upon her return. ‘We are a little further forward, although not very much.’
‘I don’t see any progress, I’m afraid. In fact, I don’t mind telling you that I’m in an absolute fog.’
‘That will not help us to elucidate the matter. I am thinking of old Mr van Zestien’s question to Florian.’
A report in next morning’s paper did not help them, either. A second death in the same part of Derbyshire, and of another barmaid at another public house, had given the London reporters an interest in the first one.
‘Blimey!’ exclaimed Laura, perusing the details. ‘I say, Mrs Croc. do you know what? Another girl has died from prussic acid poisoning in practically the same spot on the map. What are we to make of that, I wonder?’
‘I think we will wait for another communication from Robert before we make anything of it, although it is obvious what must have happened,’ said Dame Beatrice.
‘They shared some poisoned sweets? That’s what you meant about old Bernard’s question to Florian? Could be, of course, but who’d want to poison two simple village maidens? Rural England is getting beyond a joke!’
‘Rural England has always been beyond a joke where violent death is concerned, child. Do you not remember Sherlock Holmes’ famous dictum? That more dark deeds were committed in the lonely countryside than ever took place in the London slums was his opinion, and I do not think he was altogether wrong.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Gavin Reports
‘This digression, I trust, will not be censured, as it relates to a matter exceedingly curious…’
« ^ »
During the weeks that followed, Gavin wrote letters to Laura as often as his work permitted. Laura invariably passed these epistles over to Dame Beatrice, realising that the information contained in them was intended as much for her employer as for herself. Summarised, and then expanded into a connected narrative of events, they provided a dullish but credible story.
In spite of the open verdict at the inquest on the first barmaid, the local police had decided to treat the case as one of murder. The death of the second girl justified them, they felt, in coming to this decision, since there seemed no reason to suspect that a suicide pact had been made between the two young women.
‘Of course there hadn’t,’ commented Gavin, on this. ‘Girls of this kind don’t make suicide pacts with one another. They leave that to crazy mixed-up boy and girl adolescents who think they’re in love.’
Gavin had been well received by the Superintendent with whom he was to work, and all the available data were placed at his disposal. There was not a great deal to be learned. The girls were friendly towards one another, exchanged confidences about their boy-friends but were in no sense in rivalry with regard to these. The first barmaid had her postman and the other girl had an understanding with a builder’s labourer in Glossop. There was no mention made of Florian’s virtuous Gertie.
The vehicle by which the poison had been administered was another matter for speculation. Enquiries at
