“Meaning any question the medium can’t answer,” Mr. Clemens muttered, loud enough for me to hear it from the neighboring chair.
Mrs. Boulton gave him a questioning glance, but she must not have heard him clearly. He nodded, and she continued as if nothing had happened. “We were all holding hands, you will recall. And right after her question, the spirits began their rapping and rattling of chains, which of course meant that they were agitated. Right about then, I suddenly felt the doctor squeeze my hand very hard, and then he let go of it entirely. That broke the circle, of course—I was worried that it would break our link to the spirit world, and so I turned my head to look, although really it was too dark to see much of anything, and just at that point Mrs. Parkhurst let out a cry. What happened after that, I think you remember as well as I do.”
“I guess so,” said Mr. Clemens, rubbing his chin. “I may still have a couple of questions about it before we’re done. But first—did you hear anything unusual or unexpected before he let go of your hand? Anything at all?”
Mrs. Boulton’s eyebrows arched. “Really, Mr. Clemens,” she said, “I am astonished that you need to ask such a question. If you stop a moment to reflect upon that remarkable evening, I think you will agree with me that everything we heard was unusual—to the highest degree.”
My employer scowled, but then he nodded. “I’ll have to grant you that much, even though I doubt much of it had anything to do with spoo—uh, spirits. I’m looking for something more down-to-earth, I guess. Did you see or hear anything that sounded like someone moving around the room, opening a door or window, cocking a gun—anything at all that might let us nail down when and how the murder was committed? Think hard; anything you can remember is likely to be a help—because, frankly, if evidence was gunpowder, I don’t have enough right now to blow up a flea’s outhouse.”
Mrs. Boulton stared at him for a long moment before she burst out laughing. She composed herself and sat up straight, then said with a trace of a smile, “I really should take exception to your figure of speech, Mr. Clemens, but I suppose I have laughed entirely too much to convince you of the sincerity of my protest. So I shall pretend to ignore it.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Mr. Clemens, gravely. “You have my permission to ignore the metaphor, as long as you don’t take it as a warrant to ignore the question it was attached to.”
“Oh, by no means,” said Mrs. Boulton. She set down her empty teacup on the table next to her. “In fact, I have thought about that very question ever since the . . . incident. I fear the answer will disappoint you. Until the moment when I realized the doctor was hurt, I noticed nothing in any way suspicious—and I can say that without qualification. Anyone who studies spiritualism knows that false mediums sometimes impose upon gullible sitters. I had no particular reason to suspect Mrs. McPhee, of course, but I was alert for any deception. If any of the things you suggest had taken place, I am certain I would have noticed it. In fact, I am more certain than ever of Mrs. McPhee’s gift.”
“Hmm—that’s what I was afraid of,” said Mr. Clemens, clearly disappointed. “I went there with plenty of suspicions, myself, but I didn’t spot anything fishy before Lestrade uncovered Slippery Ed’s bellpulls and peephole. Well, I’m going to talk to the others at the séance if I can, and maybe one of them spotted something that’ll give me a clue. One more question, before Cabot and I go on our way. Is there anyone you know of—it doesn’t matter whether they were at the séance—who might have wanted to see the doctor dead?”
“I know nothing of his personal affairs,” said Mrs. Boulton, with a disapproving look. “We moved in different circles. I knew his wife from the Spiritualist Society, but we had never spoken more than a few words to one another. As far as any enemies he may have made in the course of his practice, I cannot really say. Dr. Parkhurst had a very fine reputation, which is why my husband went to him for help—of course Richard and I knew nothing of medicine, so we could only judge by what we had heard. And, as I said before, the doctor’s best was not enough. I am sorry to be so vague on these things, Mr. Clemens.”
“Not at all,” said my employer, waving his hand. “It’s better to admit you don’t know something than to pretend you do. At least I won’t go chasing any wild geese on account of something you’ve told me. Well, then, I reckon you’ve told us everything you can—unless Cabot can think of anything I’ve forgotten to ask.”
“Only one thing, really,” I said, putting down my notebook. “It’s probably not important, but I’m curious to know how you happened to sit next to the doctor, if you weren’t acquainted.”
There was the briefest hesitation before she said, “Oh, it was entirely accidental. We were all about to sit down, when Cedric motioned to me to sit next to him, and so I did. And by chance, the doctor had chosen the seat on the other side of me. So you see, there was nothing sinister about it. Nothing at all, really.”
“I see,” I said. “Thank you, Mrs. Boulton, that’s what I had guessed, but of course I wouldn’t know if it were true unless I asked.” I closed my notebook and returned it and the pencil
