'One night about a year later, distracted husband phones doctor ten miles away. Wife taken with a seizure; afraid she's dying; explains carefully she has been troubled with gastric ulcers. Mrs. Darworth was tough, apparently, and was still alive when the doctor got there. By a stroke of luck, this chap was as shrewd as they make 'em, and also knew his business better than the distracted husband had hoped. He pulled her through, then had a talk with Darworth. Darworth said: 'Horrible. Gastric ulcers.' The doctor said, 'Tut, tut.' He looked Darworth in the eye and said, 'Arsenic poisoning.''
McDonnell lifted a sardonic eyebrow.
'Not as smooth,' grunted Masters, 'as he became afterwards, eh? Go on.'
'There was trouble. A nasty scandal was only averted by the maid - Elsie Darworth's maid-swearing the old woman had swallowed arsenic herself.'
'Ah! The maid. Good-looking girl?'
'I don't know, sir, but I rather doubt it. Darworth was too clever to play about when there was no cash in it.'
'What did the wife say?'
'Nothing. She stood by Darworth; or forgave him, anyhow. That's the last we hear of them until the end of the war. They returned to England and settled down. One day Darworth, distracted again, walks in to our people and informs them that his wife has disappeared. They had a country place out Croydon way; the wife, according to Darworth, had simply taken a train to town to do some shopping, and never come back. He had a doctor's report to prove she had .been suffering from fits of melancholia, depression, and possible amnesia - he was learning. At first the Yard let it go at that, and instituted the customary missing-person inquiries. But somebody had a suspicious mind; dug into the past, found the arsenic-episode; and then there was trouble... I'll send you up the full report, sir; it's too long to go into now. The only result was that they never proved anything.... Masters hammered his fist slowly on the desk. He peered round at me.
'Yes. That's the part I do remember, though I'd have to refresh my memory. Old Burton was working on that business in '19. He told me about it. Ah, Darworth was the very living picture of outraged innocence, he was! Threatened to sue. Yes, I remember. H'm. Well, we'll look it up. What'd he do, Bert, apply for a court-order to presume her dead?'
'I believe so, but he didn't get it. He had to wait his seven years before it became automatic. Didn't much matter; he had the money.'
'Yes,' said Masters. He rubbed his chin. 'I was only thinking you said 'first wife.' Has he got another?'
'Yes, but they don't seem to get on. She lives on the Riviera somewhere ... he keeps her out of the way, anyhow.'
'Money?'
'I should suppose so-' McDonnell broke off. There was a shuffling of footsteps at the door, evidently to attract our attention, and somebody coughed.
Halliday and Marion Latimer were standing in the doorway. I became conscious, with that instinct we all have, that they had overheard a good deal of what McDonnell had been saying. The girl's face looked hard and contemptuous. Halliday seemed embarrassed; he glanced quickly at his companion, and then sauntered into the room.
Halliday said: 'This, Inspector, is what you really call making a night of it. It's nearly five o'clock. I tried to bribe your constable into hopping out after some coffee and sandwiches from an all-night stall, but he wouldn't do it.... Look here,' he frowned, 'I hope you'll let us off quickly. We're at your service any time, and this place isn't exactly conducive.'
Whether deliberately or unintentionally, Masters then did something which destroyed the police-court atmosphere and gave to everybody a sense of intimacy and ease. With his hand over his mouth, he brought up. one of the most prodigious yawns I have ever seen; smiled at them, and blinked his eyes.
'Ah-aha-h!' said Masters, waving the girl towards the chair. 'No, by George! I shan't detain you. I thought I'd see you both at once; saves time. Besides, it's like this.' He grew heavily confidential. 'I'm bound to tell you that I've got to ask some questions you'll probably consider pretty impertinent. Funny, though; I thought if you both heard 'em, you'd both prefer it - eh?'
Marion had a severe brown hat pulled down on her yellow hair now; the collar of the coat was turned up, and she sat down with her shoulders hunched. The dark-blue eyes regarded Masters coolly. Halliday stood behind her, and lit a cigarette.
'Yes?' she said in a clear voice, with barely perceptible nervousness. 'Ask anything you like, of course.' Halliday grinned.
Masters briefly reviewed the evidence about everyone's acquaintance with Darworth. 'So you knew him fairly well, Miss Latimer?'
'Yes.'
'Did he tell you anything about himself?'
Her gaze did not waver. 'Only that he had been married, a long time ago, to a woman he'd been very unhappy with. And that she was now - I don't know; dead, I gathered.' Some faint mockery tinged the voice. 'He grew quite sad-eyed and Byronic about it, really.'
Now, Masters has his failings, but he is quick to turn every possible situation, even a bad one, to his advantage.
'Did you know he had a wife living, Miss Latimer?'
'No. Not that it was of great interest to me. I certainly never inquired.'
'Just so.' He switched, instantly. 'Was it Mr. Darworth who suggested to you, miss, that - we'll say, that Mr. Dean Halliday's mind and future were - well, tied up at Plague Court?'
'Yes!'
'He talked about it a lot?'
'Always,' she replied, jerking the word out. 'Always! I-I've tried to explain to Mr. Blake how I felt about Mr. Darworth.'
'I see. Did you ever suffer from headaches, miss, or nervous disturbances?'
Her eyes opened slightly. 'I don't quite see.... Yes, that's true.'
'Which he suggested he could cure through the proper medical use of hypnotic suggestion?' She nodded. Halliday twitched his head round, and seemed about to speak, but Masters caught his eye. 'Thank you, Miss Latimer. Did he ever tell you, now, why he didn't exploit his psychic talents, say? You all believed he had great powers, for instance. But nobody ever inquired whether he was a member of the Psychical Research Society, or connected with any genuine scientific body of that nature; even whether he had any genuine associations.... I mean, miss, didn't he ever say why he hid his light under a bushel, or whatnot?'
'He said he was interested in savings souls and giving peace....'
She hesitated, and Masters lifted his hand inquiringly.
'He said that sometime his powers might be demonstrated to the world, but that he wasn't interested in that. ... He said he was more interested, if you want the truth, in setting my mind at rest about Plague Court.' She spoke vacantly, but in a rapid tone. 'Ugh! I say, when I remember-! He told me it would be horribly dangerous. But that he wanted my gratitude. You see I'm frank, Inspector. I-I couldn't have said all this a week ago.'
She raised her eyes. Halliday's face was ugly and satirical; with an effort, he kept himself from speaking, and mouthed his cigarette as though he would jab it against his teeth like a pipe-stem.
Masters got up heavily. The room was very quiet while he drew out the end of his watch-chain, to which was attached a small, brightly polished object. He said, smiling: 'It's only a new latch-key, Miss Latimer. One of those flat ones. I happened to remember it. If you don't mind, I'd like to try a sort of experiment. ...'
He went round the work-bench and picked up McDonnell's lantern. The girl flinched as he came towards her; she gripped the sides of the chair, and her eyes strained up at him. Close to her, he held the lantern high and steady over her head - a weird scene, with the shadow-barred glow streaming down over her upturned face, and Masters' bulk silhouetted against it. The key glittered a dazzling silver as he held it about three inches above the line of her eyes.
'I want you, Miss Latimer,' he growled softly, 'to look steadily at this key. . .
She started to get up, scraping back her chair. 'No! I won't! I won't do it, I tell you, and you can't make me! Every time I look at that—“
