‘Yes,’ said Gavin. ‘May I come in?’
‘Well,’ said the woman doubtfully, ‘I suppose so, if you really want to. My husband doesn’t like me to admit strangers. The last one was the electricity. Only, he wasn’t, you see. The gas men you can be pretty sure of, because of the uniform, but the electricity only seem to carry those awfully thick notebooks. Still, if Marmaduke likes you, it will be all right, I suppose. On guard,’ she added, addressing the dog. The dog careered up the stairs and came down again in a slither on his stomach. Mrs Hitchcock led the way into the drawing-room. Several half-finished paintings lay about, propped against bookcases and armchairs, and a half-dressed doll was lounging on the settee. Mrs Hitchcock cleared a space. Gavin produced his credentials, as a matter of form. Mrs Hitchcock waved them aside.
‘Have you had tea?’ she asked. ‘Oh, you have? That’s a good thing, because we never have it, but, of course, I would have got you some if you’d wanted it.’
‘Thank you,’ said Gavin, offering her a cigarette, ‘I came to ask whether anybody had ever threatened, or attempted to poison, your dog.’
‘What, Marmaduke?’ repeated the lady. The dog ambled up to Gavin and lay down on his feet. Gavin extricated his members. ‘Poison him?’ pursued Mrs Hitchcock. ‘But he’s the dearest love in the world! Who on earth would want to harm him?’
The dog raised a paw and whacked it down on her lap.
‘The postman seems afraid of him,’ said Gavin. The dog snorted, stretched himself on the carpet and filled the air with the sound of canine, contented sleep. Gavin gave up his mission, took his leave and went back to the Superintendent.
‘Nobody tried to poison him,’ he said. ‘The dog’s mentally afflicted. A little child could feed him prussic acid and the dog would swallow it with kisses. Norfolk it is, for me, I’m afraid. You might wish me luck. I’ll be back as soon as there’s news — if any.’
‘Half a minute, Mr Gavin,’ said the Superintendent. ‘You’ve rung a bell in my mind. May be nothing in it at all, but you mentioned poison and a dog, and that brings something back to me. That second girl, Mabel, kept a dog, and when I called to see the poor mother, dashed if I could make out whether she was crying more for her daughter or for the tyke.’
‘Good Lord!’ exclaimed Gavin. ‘That might account for something that’s been nagging at me ever since I came down here.’
‘Yes, Mr Gavin?’
‘If the poison was conveyed in some form of sweet-stuff — in fact, however it was conveyed — we ought to be able to trace the vehicle, you know. Most of the sweets that adults buy for themselves are wrapped. In fact, lots of things are packaged nowadays which used not to be. Of course, we don’t know yet what the vehicle was which contained the poison, but, if you don’t mind — I mean, you’re certain to have covered the ground and all that — but I wouldn’t mind having a go at Mabel’s mother myself.’
‘I’ll get Constable Mead to drive you there at once.’
The house was an unpretentious, semi-detached affair on the Glossop-Sheffield road, some distance away from the village. Gavin introduced himself as a police officer and was invited in. The room was tidy but needed dusting. The woman was grey-haired and untidy and her apron could have been cleaner. She appeared conscious of these minor defects, swept the hem of her apron over the wooden arms of a grandfather Windsor chair and said:
‘The place is rare and mucky, but I’ve lost my prop and stay, as you might put it.’
‘I’m very sorry indeed. And you’ve lost your dog, too, so I hear,’ said Gavin. The soiled hem of the apron was applied to the woman’s eyes.
‘He laid down and died next to Mabel,’ she said. ‘Died of grief, poor old Toby did. That’s what he done — died of grief.’
‘Yes. Where did you bury him?’
‘Out the back. My neighbour came and done it after he’d gone for the doctor to see after Mabel.’
‘Whereabouts was the dog buried? You see, Mrs Sims, I don’t think the dog died of grief. I think he ate something your daughter ate, and died of poisoning, just as she did. Can you think of anything they might have shared? That particular poison acts very quickly. Were you at home at the time?’
‘Which I was not. I got a little job to go to — oh, not enough to upset my pension nor nothing like that, but you know how it is with widows with an only daughter. There don’t be much coming in, and what with the rent and one thing and another, well, you see how it would be, and I would never be one to break the law or take a chance, or nothing like that…’
‘No, no, I’m sure not. Look, Mrs Sims, we must have your dog dug up again. It may be very important. I want you to stay indoors and not to worry, and as soon as we’ve finished with Toby we’ll bury him again in the same spot, and you’ll never know he’s been disturbed.’
‘If you say so, sir,’ agreed Mrs Sims, on whom Gavin’s charm and good looks had made an extremely favourable impression.
‘And you have no idea what your daughter and Toby may both have eaten which proved fatal to them?’
‘I haven’t no idea in this world. Of course Toby — I’m not saying he was a greedy dog, mind you; he was too well fed for that — but he tended to gollop.’
‘Gollop?’
‘Yes, you know — gollop. Swallered things wholesale. He golloped a lump of steak once as I’d got special of a Saturday to go with fried onions. I must say I did pay ’im for that. Well, I mean, you must learn ’em right from wrong, mustn’t you? Paper and all he golloped that steak, and when I went to look for it to fry it, there was me lord on his belly underneath the kitchen table. “Oh, so that’s where it is!” I says, and he couldn’t deny it. Yes, a golloper, poor old Toby was — a real golloper.’
The unpleasant business of disinterring Toby was accomplished on the following day and his pathetic but by no means antiseptic remains were committed to the care of the district pathologist, the result of whose labours was interesting and instructive. Toby yielded an appreciable dosage of hydrocyanic acid, some undigested chocolate cream and enough silver foil for the forensic laboratory to decipher the letters RDAM on it.
‘Clear enough,’ said the Superintendent, apprised at (to his relief) fairly long range of these findings. ‘Came from Holland, Mr Gavin, and I somehow fancy — you having sketched in Mr Colwyn-Welch’s background for us — that you surmised it. Amsterdam, Rotterdam — what other Dutch dams are there?’
‘Well,’ said Gavin, who had taken more interest in his wife’s visit to the Netherlands than she would have thought probable, ‘there are Schiedam, Volendam, Monnikendam, Edam (where the cheese comes from), Zaandam and the miniature city — a show piece-of Madurodam, but these, you will note, lack the necessary R in the oyster months. No, Amsterdam or Rotterdam it is, so I’m off to Norfolk, as I said.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A Delft Blue at Bay
‘Whatever he relates, whether true or not, is at least probable; and he who tells nothing exceeding the bounds of probability, has a right to demand that they should believe him who cannot contradict him.’
Dr Johnson
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Gavin was indeed thorough. Before he went to Norfolk to interview a household which, by reason of family connections, might reasonably be supposed to obtain and consume Dutch confectionery, he investigated sweet-shops in the village and in Glossop and even in Sheffield and Buxton. Police were alerted in other towns and villages and were asked to make similar enquiries. There was evidence of the stockage and sale of Dutch plain chocolate and chocolate liqueurs, but Dutch chocolate-cream had not found its way into the neighbourhood.