scene which they had just witnessed.
Jarvis got out his notebook, turned to a blank page and licked the lead of his pencil.
‘Right, let’s have it.’
Rosemary Travis frowned politely.
‘I beg your pardon, Inspector?’
‘What makes you think Mrs Davenport was murdered?’ Jarvis demanded.
‘I don’t think so,’ Rosemary replied.
Jarvis narrowed his eyes.
‘You don’t?’
‘Certainly not. I know she was murdered. And so you jolly well should too. The evidence is clear enough, for heaven’s sake.’
Anderson gave Jarvis a look which said ‘Now do you see what I mean?’ Perhaps he has a point at that, thought Jarvis with a sudden flash of irritation. He’d been willing to give the old biddy the benefit of the doubt, but enough was enough.
‘What evidence?’ he snapped.
‘Why, the morphine syrup and the cocoa, of course! I managed-with some difficulty, I might say-to persuade one of your officers to take them away with him. Frank, I believe his name was. The near-sighted one from the Isle of Wight. I assumed they would have been analysed by now, and the results communicated to whoever’s in charge.’
She peered at Jarvis as though struck by a sudden doubt.
‘You are in charge, aren’t you?’
Jarvis knew that the way he was gaping suggested he wasn’t in charge of his wits, never mind the investigation. Although Frank-‘call me Franklin’-Tomkins had indeed been born and raised in Newport, he wouldn’t have admitted under torture that it was the one on the Isle of Wight rather than the Kentucky bank of the Ohio River, still less that the ‘shades’ he affected were in fact prescription sunglasses.
The items in question mentioned were duly passed to our forensic department for routine examination,’ said Jarvis, pulling himself together with an effort.
‘With what result?’
Jarvis took refuge in his notebook for a moment.
The cocoa in the mug contained nitrazepam, commonly known by the trade name Mogadon. The medicine bottle contained a mixture of morphine syrup, as specified on the label, and a proprietary liqueur known as Bols Blue Curasao.’
Anderson grunted.
‘Personally I prefer this cask-strength Ardbeg ‘73. The distillery may have closed, but its spirit lives on. Sure you won’t indulge, Inspector?’
Rosemary smoothed the skirt over her lower limbs.
‘Well, there’s your evidence,’ she remarked tartly. The question now is who did it, and I warn you that the solution will be a supreme test of your detective abilities. All the residents visited Dorothy’s room that evening to wish her farewell, and in the melee which followed Miss Davis’s appearance it would have been a simple matter for any of them to have added the lethal combination of sleeping tablets to the cocoa and alcohol to the morphine syrup.’
Jarvis clacked his teeth together a few times. Preston North End 1, Accrington Stanley 1. Billy Duff’s goal saved the day for the Reds, but Preston went on to win the replay. They’d wept, him and his dad.
‘Who’s Miss Davis?’ he murmured.
‘My sister,’ replied Anderson. ‘Letty affects our mother’s maiden name in order, and I quote, to “make a statement”.’
Rosemary gave a discreet cough, as though to call the proceedings to order.
‘George Channing is the only suspect who can be excluded at this stage,’ she continued, ‘having been confined to his bed following the unfortunate incident involving Mr Anderson’s dog. We are thus left with a total of seven suspects. A very satisfactory number, don’t you agree, Inspector? Large enough to allow a sufficient variety of possibilities without being, as dear Dorothy once put it, unnecessarily vast.’
Jarvis squirmed about on his stool, which seemed to be growing harder by the moment.
‘Look, Miss Travis, there’s nothing to suggest that those pills were taken from your room by anyone other than…’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t pursue that avenue of inquiry, if I were you,’ Rosemary interrupted. ‘None of our rooms can be locked, and I only use the sleeping tablets very infrequently. Any of the suspects could therefore have taken them, possibly some time ago, without my being aware of the fact. Bearing that in mind, I suggest we concentrate our attention on the question of the blue Curasao.’
‘My dear Miss Travis…’ boomed Jarvis.
‘Now at one time, it is true, we used to be offered a glass of sherry at Christmas and suchlike festivities, but that custom has long since lapsed. Mr Anderson will bear me out when I say that at present the residents have no access to alcoholic beverages at all. That being so, the first problem we must resolve is how the murderer obtained a supply of the exotic liqueur which he-or she-used to intensify the narcotic action of the morphine syrup to a fatal degree.’
Feeling an urgent need to assert his authority, to say nothing of giving his backside a rest, Jarvis rose to his feet. He towered over the elderly woman, swaying back and forth in the manner cultivated by the constabulary for the purposes of impressing the populace.
‘I fully recognise how painful it must be for you to accept that Mrs Davenport took her own life,’ he stated. ‘Nevertheless, the fact remains that there is not a single shred of evidence to suggest otherwise. As far as the curacao is concerned, we naturally made inquiries as soon as the forensic report revealed its presence in the sample of morphine syrup. It transpired that this liqueur is among those kept on the premises for the use of the owners.’
Anderson walked over to the escritoire. He lifted a wide-bottomed bottle and swirled the viscid blue contents around.
‘My sister’s poison,’ he said. ‘I’d as soon drink meths myself.’
‘I believe this room isn’t locked?’ Jarvis prompted.
Rosemary held up her hand like a pupil in class.
‘Surely the important point, Inspector…’
‘No, no,’ Anderson replied. ‘Although my little sanctum is theoretically off-bounds to residents, it would have been quite simple for Mrs Davenport to sneak in here and filch some booze with a view to ceasing upon the midnight with no pain. The only mystery is why, with such an array of rare-and in some cases unobtainable-malts at her disposal, she should have chosen this appalling blue muck.’
‘Precisely!’ cried Rosemary.
Struggling to her feet, she grasped Jarvis’s arm.
That is the key to the whole mystery! Don’t you see, Inspector? Even supposing that Dorothy had been capable of breaking in here and stealing spirits-and anyone who knew her will tell you how absurd that hypothesis is-we have to explain the remarkable coincidence that of all the drinks available she happened to select the only one which will not reveal its presence when added to morphine syrup because they are the same colour.’
She stared intensely at Jarvis.
‘If Dorothy had deliberately chosen to put an end to her life, she would have had no need to dissolve the sleeping pills in her cocoa or carefully disguise the fact that her medicine had been adulterated with alcohol. There is only one possible reason why anyone should go to such extraordinary lengths, and that is to conceal the fact that Dorothy’s death was not suicide but cold-blooded premeditated murder!’
‘Or to draw attention to it,’ said Jarvis.
They stared at each other.
‘I’m afraid I don’t understand,’ Rosemary replied in a haughty tone.
Jarvis turned to Anderson.
‘If you don’t mind, sir, I’d like a word with Miss Travis in private.’
Anderson drew Jarvis to one side.
