Spotted Hemlock

‘She was scarcely old enough to have a past life. Of course, she was a pretty fast worker, I know, but she couldn’t have collected any vast number of purple patches. She wouldn’t have had the time, especially once she’d gone to college, would she?’

‘You did know she had an older sister?’

‘An older sister? Yes, I did, but I never met her. I don’t think the two of them got on. Anyway, the sister didn’t live at home much. I gathered—yes, I remember now—that she was some sort of a bad hat.’

‘Yes, she was a thief.’

‘Oh, Lord! Norah never mentioned anything definite, I’m certain. Just gave the impression that she was generally unsatisfactory.’

‘I see. Now, please think back, Mr Coles, and tell me of anything or anybody in Mrs Coles’ life that could account in any way for what has happened.’

Coles shook his head.

‘Complete blank,’ he said, ‘unless this chap Basil got fed up and made away with her. Such things do happen. I mean, it’s more than likely he didn’t know she was married. If he found out—supposing he was fond of her—don’t you think he might have seen red?’

‘Ah, of course, you know she deceived you with this Basil. Even so, the means by which her death was accomplished seem to rule him out. He isn’t that sort of man—or so I am told.’

‘I should have thought, being at an agricultural college, he’d have known all about vegetable poisons.’

‘Yes, there’s that, I suppose, although I don’t know that there is any real connection between spotted hemlock and pigs. Besides, when would he have had an opportunity to administer the poison? It couldn’t have been during the holiday they spent together, because she arrived back home safe and well. Never mind. Let us change the subject. If anything useful to the enquiry occurs to you, perhaps you will let me know.’

‘It wasn’t like Norah to let herself be bumped off. She was a downy bird, you know, with a very strong instinct for self-preservation,’ said Coles. He hesitated, looked very thoughtful, and added, ‘Besides, she hated celery, she wouldn’t eat parsnips, and she always said anything with parsley in it or on it made her sick. So that would leave the spotted hemlock merchant rather at a loss, I should have thought.’

‘How do you know so much about the various flavours which are attributed to the stem and root of spotted hemlock, Mr Coles? Are you a botanist in disguise?’

‘Oh, no. It’s what I heard said at the inquest, that’s all. I’ve a pretty good verbal memory. I don’t suppose I’d ever heard of spotted hemlock before that.’

‘Well, at any rate, what you have just said is certainly very valuable.’

‘Only in a negative sense, I’m afraid.’

‘By no means. It strengthens very considerably my belief that I know the identity of the murderer.’

‘Really? I say, that’s good going. Well, thank you again for coming. When I visited you I so much enjoyed your hospitality and the use of your car. We, the impoverished, do appreciate a touch of luxury now and again. Must you go? Good-bye, then, for now.’

The car drove off, and Laura, who had waited impatiently at the Stone House to obtain a report of the conversation, said, as she returned to the warmth and comfort of the library and its fire, taking Dame Beatrice with her:

‘A bit imaginative, that young man, wouldn’t you say?’

‘No, I should not say so, child. If he had more imagination, he wouldn’t be nearly so talkative.’

‘Oh, I see what you mean. What are you going to do next?’

‘I am going to ask to be allowed to overhear the next police interrogation of Mr Basil. There is a point I wish to establish, and Mr Basil, if he will, can prove it for me.’

‘And if he won’t?’

‘I have a scheme for persuading him.’

‘Oh? May I ask what it is?’

‘As I might need your co-operation, you may, but I shall try him with a straightforward appeal first. So let us relax until tomorrow, when we return to Garchester. Before we relax, though, perhaps you would be good enough to ring up the police station there and obtain the required permission.’

Laura did this, and returned with the news that the police were not satisfied with Basil, and that Dame Beatrice would be welcome to listen to his evidence.

‘If any,’ Laura added. ‘The inspector thinks he may turn very obstinate. If he does, I suppose he could be charged with being an accessory to the crime.’

‘He is an accessory to the crime,’ said Dame Beatrice. ‘I am perfectly certain of that. The only thing is, I am not sure that he knows the identity of the criminal.’

Laura gazed at her in a silence pregnant with suspicion.

‘Is this a leg-pull?’ she enquired at last. Dame Beatrice cackled.

‘Your legs are long enough already,’ she replied, inspecting those handsome appendages, which were encased in tapering trousers of the Menzies hunting tartan. ‘I should not dream of pulling either of them. How near to the Arthurian ideal of knighthood do you suppose Mr Basil to be?’

‘Miles and miles and miles away from it. He’s the bounder complete, I should say.’

‘I am not so sure.’ She did not enlarge upon this, but sent to order the car for nine o’clock on the following