Japp was shown into Doctor Bryant's consulting room – a room at the back of the house with a big window. The doctor was sitting at his desk. He rose and shook hands with the detective.
His fine-lined face showed fatigue, but he seemed in no way disturbed by the inspector's visit.
'What can I do for you, inspector?' he said as he resumed his seat and motioned Japp to a chair opposite.
'I must apologize first for calling in your consulting hours, but I shan't keep you long, sir.'
'That is all right. I suppose it is about the aeroplane death?'
'Quite right, sir. We're still working on it.'
'With any result?'
'We're not so far on as we'd like to be. I really came to ask you some questions about the method employed. It's this snake-venom business that I can't get the hang of.'
'I'm not a toxicologist, you know,' said Doctor Bryant, smiling. 'Such things aren't in my line. Winterspoon's your man.'
'Ah, but you see, it's like this, doctor: Winterspoon's an expert – and you know what experts are. They talk so that the ordinary man can't understand them. But as far as I can make out, there's a medical side to this business. Is it true that snake venom is sometimes injected for epilepsy?'
'I'm not a specialist in epilepsy either,' said Doctor Bryant. 'But I believe that injections of cobra venom have been used in the treatment of epilepsy with excellent results. But, as I say, that's not really my line of country.'
'I know – I know. What it really amounts to is this: I felt that you'd take an interest, having been on the aeroplane yourself. I thought it possible that you'd have some ideas on the subject yourself that might be useful to me. It's not much good my going to an expert if I don't know what to ask him?'
Doctor Bryant smiled.
'There is something in what you say, inspector. There is probably no man living who can remain entirely unaffected by having come in close contact with murder. I am interested, I admit. I have speculated a good deal about the case in my quiet way.'
'And what do you think, sir?'
Bryant shook his head slowly.
'It amazes me. The whole thing seems almost unreal, if I might put it that way. An astounding way of committing a crime. It seems a chance in a hundred that the murderer was not seen. He must be a person with a reckless disregard of risks.'
'Very true, sir.'
'The choice of poison is equally amazing. How could a would-be murderer possibly get hold of such a thing?'
'I know. It seems incredible. Why, I don't suppose one man in a thousand has ever heard of such a thing as a boomslang, much less actually handled the venom. You yourself, sir – now, you're a doctor, but I don't suppose you've ever handled the stuff.'
'There are certainly not many opportunities of doing so. I have a friend who works at tropical research. In his laboratory there are various specimens of dried snake venoms – that of the cobra, for instance – but I cannot remember any specimen of the boomslang.'
'Perhaps you can help me.' Japp took out a piece of paper and handed it to the doctor. 'Winterspoon wrote down these three names; said I might get information there. Do you know any of these men?'
'I know Professor Kennedy slightly, Heidler I knew well; mention my name and I'm sure he'll do all he can for you. Carmichael's an Edinburgh man; I don't know him personally, but I believe they've done some good work up there.'
'Thank you, sir; I'm much obliged. Well, I won't keep you any longer.'
When Japp emerged into Harley Street, he was smiling to himself in a pleased fashion.
'Nothing like tact,' he said to himself. 'Tact does it. I'll be bound he never saw what I was after. Well, that's that.'
Chapter 21
When Japp got back to Scotland Yard, he was told that M. Hercule Poirot was waiting to see him.
Japp greeted his friend heartily.
'Well, M. Poirot, and what brings you along? Any news?'
'I came to ask you for news, my good Japp.'
'If that isn't just like you. Well, there isn't much and that's the truth. The dealer fellow in Paris has identified the blowpipe all right. Fournier's been worrying the life out of me from Paris about his moment psychologique. I've questioned those stewards till I'm blue in the face and they stick to it that there wasn't a moment psychologique. Nothing startling or out of the way happened on the voyage.'
'It might have occurred when they were both in the front car.'
'I've questioned the passengers too. Everyone can't be lying.'
'In one case I investigated everyone was!'
'You and your cases! To tell the truth, M. Poirot, I'm not very happy. The more I look into things the less I get. The chief's inclined to look on me rather coldly. But what can I do? Luckily, it's one of those semi-foreign cases. We can put it on the Frenchmen over here, and in Paris they say it was done by an Englishman and that it's our business.'
'Do you really believe the Frenchman did it?'
'Well, frankly, I don't. As I look at it, an archaeologist is a poor kind of fish. Always burrowing in the ground and talking through his hat about what happened thousands of years ago, and how do they know, I should like to know? Who's to contradict them? They say some rotten string of beads is five thousand three hundred and twenty- two years old, and who's to say it isn't? Well, there they are, liars perhaps – though they seem to believe it themselves – but harmless. I had an old chap in here the other day who'd had a scarab pinched. Terrible state he was in – nice old boy, but helpless as a baby in arms. No, between you and me, I don't think for a minute that pair of French archaeologists did it.'
'Who do you think did it?'
'Well, there's Clancy, of course. He's in a queer way. Goes about muttering to himself. He's got something on his mind.'
'The plot of a new book, perhaps.'
'It may be that – and it may be something else. But try as I may, I can't get a line on motive. I still think CL 52 in the black book is Lady Horbury, but I can't get anything out of her. She's pretty hardboiled, I can tell you.'
Poirot smiled to himself. Japp went on:
'The stewards – well, I can't find a thing to connect them with Giselle.'
'Doctor Bryant?'
'I think I'm on to something there. Rumors about him and a patient. Pretty woman – nasty husband – takes drugs or something. If he's not careful he'll be struck off by the medical council. That fits in with RT 362 well enough, and I don't mind telling you that I've got a pretty shrewd idea where he could have got the snake venom from. I went to see him and he gave himself away rather badly over that. Still, so far it is all surmise, no facts. Facts aren't any too easy to get at in this case. Ryder seems all square and aboveboard; says he went to raise a loan in Paris and couldn't get it, gave names and addresses, all checked up. I've found out that the firm was nearly in Queer Street about a week or two ago, but they seem to be just pulling through. There you are again, unsatisfactory. The whole thing is a muddle.'
'There is no such thing as muddle – obscurity, yes, but muddle can exist only in a disorderly brain.'
'Use any word you choose. The result's the same. Fournier's stumped too. I suppose you've got it all taped out, but you'd rather not tell!'
'You mock yourself at me. I have not got it all taped out. I proceed, a step at a time, with order and method, but there is still far to go.'
