“I don't know,” said the Sergeant ruminatingly. “Some of the nastiest murders we've handled were committed because of some reason no one in their senses would think big enough. But what I'd like to know, Chief, is where our precious Hyde fits in now?”
Hannasyde shook his head. “It's beyond me. Perhaps he doesn't; perhaps we've been wasting our time looking for him.” He glanced round the room. “Hemingway, I want every conceivable thing poison could have been put into. Collect them, will you? Pills, and medicines, and face-creams, and lotions.”
“Right!” said the Sergeant briskly. “But we don't know that it was poison yet, do we?”
“You heard what Fielding had to say. He's seen one case of nicotine poisoning, and he thinks this is another.”
“Well, if he's right there's someone pretty ruthless at work,” remarked the Sergeant. “And what's more it hasn't made the case any easier. Of course, if it was Mrs Matthews the thing straightens out at once, but it knocks out Hyde, and it knocks out young Randall. And somehow, Chief, that doesn't satisfy me. Hyde's a blinking mystery, and I'm naturally suspicious of mysteries; and young Randall's hiding something.” He had walked over to the washstand, and was inspecting a bottle of mouthwash. “But why did either of them want to do in a harmless old body like Miss Matthews? It doesn't make sense. What about this gargle? Do you want it?”
“Yes, and that tube of ointment.”
“It isn't ointment,” said the Sergeant. “It's toothpaste. There's another one here too, but that's empty.”
“Take it, anyway. I'm not leaving anything to chance this time.”
Just as you say, Super,” said the Sergeant. “But if you ask me the likeliest place for poison was in the tea, or in that medicine you say Mrs Matthews gave the old girl.”
“Yes,” agreed Hannasyde, “but we've got to try everything. The tea-things were washed up hours ago, and so was the medicine-glass.” He stopped, and then said suddenly: “Aren't tea-leaves kept sometimes to lay the dust when the floors are swept?”
“That's right,” said the Sergeant, and put down the tin of cough-lozenges he had picked up. “I'll see if I can get hold of today's little lot.”
But he came back presently, and shook his head. “They don't hold with it,” he said shortly. “Mostly use an Electrolux. You know, you can begin to understand why people talk about the curse of the machine-age, can't you? Tea-leaves burned with all the other rubbish.” He began to pack into his attaché-case all the pots and the bottles which Hannasyde had collected. “Lot of talk going on in the servants' quarters,” he said. “They don't like Mrs Matthews. Seems to have been a fair amount of what you might call friction going on ever since the old man died. They say Miss Stella's clearing out because she wouldn't live with her aunt. The cook can't stand Mrs M., but at the same time she says that Harriet M. has been carrying on like a lunatic this last week. Gone potty on economy. I think there's a case against Mrs M. all right.”
On their way downstairs again they met Edward Rumbold, who was awaiting them in the hall. He said: “You're leaving now, Superintendent? Mrs Matthews would rather like to know when you expect to hear the result of the post-mortem.”
“I'm afraid I can't tell you that,” replied Hannasyde. “Not very long, I think.” He looked Rumbold over, and asked: “Are you a close friend of the family, Mr Rumbold?”
“I live next door,” Rumbold answered. “I think I may say that I am a fairly close friend.”
“Did you know the late Mr Matthews well?”
Rumbold smiled faintly. “I doubt whether anyone did, Superintendent. I certainly knew him.”
“Perhaps you can help me over a small matter,” Hannasyde said. “Did Mr Matthews ever make any mention to you of any business in which he was interested?”
Rumbold frowned. “I don't think I quite understand. Do you mean some speculative venture? He did once or twice ask my opinion of investments he thought of making.”
“No, that wasn't what I meant. You don't know whether he was engaged in any business which his family didn't know about?”
,He never mentioned it to me if he was,” answered Rumbold. “What sort of a business?”
“That I can't tell you. I thought it possible Mr Matthews might have confided in you.”
Rumbold shook his head. “No, he never spoke of anything like that.”
Hannasyde sighed, and said: “He seems to have been very reticent. Tell me, did you happen to see him on the day he died?”
“No, I was away. I only got back last week.”
“Oh, I see!” Hannasyde said. “Never mind, then: it doesn't much matter.”
Edward Rumbold, rejoining the family in the library, made no mention of his conversation with the Superintendent, but merely said that Hannasyde had not told him when he expected to receive the analyst's report.
“What does it matter?” Stella said impatiently. “What's the use of blinking facts? We know she was poisoned!”
“My dear child, we do not know anything of the sort,” said Mrs Matthews. “Please try to control yourself !”
“Why did you pretend you couldn't remember who had washed that medicine-glass?” Stella demanded. “Mother, why?”
Mrs Matthews arranged her pleats again. “Really, Stella!” she protested. “I should have thought you must have known that my memory is not my strongest point. I have had far more important things to think about today than who washed up a glass.”
“You always do it yourself ! You told me so!”
“Very well, dear, no doubt I did wash it, then. It is not a very vital matter, after all.”
Stella was silenced, and turned away. Guy said, as though he had been rehearsing it: “I suppose you know that Aunt Harriet's money comes to me?”
“Money!” said Mrs Matthews sharply. “She had none to speak of. Don't be so foolish, Guy! And I don't think it's quite nice of you, dear boy, to think about what poor Harriet may or may not have left you when she's only been dead —”
“There's about four thousand,” Guy interrupted. “God knows I could do with it, too!”
Stella made a choking sound, and went hastily out of the room. The telephone on the hall-table caught her eye. She stood still, looking at it, and then, as though of impulse, picked up the receiver, and gave a number.
In a little while a precise voice answered her. Stella asked if she could speak to Mr Matthews.
“Mr Matthews is not at home, madam,” answered the precise voice.
“Oh!” said Stella. “When do you expect him back?”
“I couldn't say, madam. Can I take a message?”
“No, it doesn't—Yes! Ask him to ring Miss Stella Matthews up as soon as he comes in, will you, please?”
She put the receiver down again, and turned to find that Guy had followed her out of the library, and was standing staring at her.
“What on earth do you want with Randall?” Guy demanded.
Stella flushed. “He's the head of the family, and he said he was going to see this through. Besides, he knows something.”
“He'd like us to think he does,” said Guy scornfully. “And if you can tell me what the devil could make him want to dispose of Aunt Harriet you're darned clever. I thought he might have had a hand in uncle's death, though I still can't see how, but setting aside the fact that he wasn't here when aunt died, why should he do it?”
“I don't know. I mean, I don't think he did do it. But everything's like a nightmare, and at least he's sane.” She gripped her hands together nervously. “Why did you come out with all that rubbish about Aunt Harriet's money?”
Guy laughed. “Well, it's perfectly true, and it's bound to come out, so why should I try and conceal it?”
“Guy, you won't do anything silly, will you?” she asked anxiously.
“I'm not likely to. You keep your hair on,” he said, and walked away towards the morning-room.
It was not until after dinner that Randall rang up. As soon as she heard his soft voice Stella said: “Oh, it's you at last! Where have you been? I—”