“There you are. If a tablet’s used, the usual procedure is to squirt the syringe half full into the glass, dissolve the tablet, and then draw it up again.”
“The whole business only takes a few seconds?”
“Well — the tablet has to dissolve. In the case of the serum and the camphor the stuff was there ready.”
“Yes, I’ve got that. May I see the bottle the serum is kept in?”
“It’s not kept in a bottle, but in ampoules which hold the exact amount and are then thrown away. There aren’t any kicking about in the theatre. I’ll beat some up for you to see if you like.”
“Very good of you, Mr. Thoms. I’m being a crashing bore, I’m afraid.”
Thoms protested his freedom from boredom and fussed away. Alleyn prowled meditatively round the theatre until the fat man returned.
“Here we are,” said Thoms cheerfully. “Here are ampoules of oil and camphor. Here’s the antigas serum and here’s the hyoscine solution. All labelled, as you see. Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll set out the table as it would have been for the op. How will that do you?”
“Splendid!”
“Let’s see now — ampoules here, serum there. Here’s the bottle of hyoscine solution; thought you’d want to see that too. Old-fashioned idea — it should be in ampoules, but matron’s a bit of a dug-out.”
“The bottle’s nearly full, I see.”
“Yes. I believe one injection had been given.”
Alleyn noted mentally that this tallied with Nurse Harden’s and the scally’s impression that the bottle had been full before the operation and had since been used once.
“Can anyone have access to this bottle?” asked Alleyn suddenly.
“What? Oh, yes — any of the theatre staff.”
“May I have a small amount — I may have to get it tested?”
He produced a tiny bottle from his pocket and Thoms, looking rather intrigued, filled it with the solution.
“There you are. Now — where were we? Oh! Along here, small syringe for the camphor, another small syringe for the hyoscine — they hold twenty-five minims each. That would be the one Sir John would use for his tablet. Now the whopper for the serum. It holds ten c.c.’s.”
“Ten cc’s?”
“That’s about a hundred and sixty minims,” explained Thoms.
“What’s that in gallons?”
Thoms looked at the inspector as if he had uttered something in Chinese and then burst out laughing.
“Not quite as solid at that,” he said. “One hundred and sixty minims is equal to two and two-thirds drachms. That any better?”
“Not much,” grumbled Alleyn. “The dawn may break later on. I’m talking like Nurse Banks. What’s the strength of this hyoscine?”
“Quarter per cent”
“But — what does that mean? They’ll have to get someone cleverer than me for this game.”
“Cheer up. It’s one grain in one point one ounces of water.”
“That sounds as though it means something. I must look up those horrid little things at the end of an arithmetic-book. Wait a moment, now. Don’t say a word, Mr. Thoms, if you please,” begged Alleyn. “I’m doing sums.”
He screwed up his face and did complicated things with his fingers. “Twenty-fives into ones, you can’t. No, anyway you don’t want to. Drat. Wait a bit.” He opened his eyes suddenly and began to speak rapidly. “The twenty-five-minim syringe could hold a twentieth of a grain of hyoscine, and the vet’s pump could hold eleven thirty-seconds of a grain. There!” he added proudly.
“Quite correct — good for you!” shouted Thoms, clapping the inspector on the back.
“There’s more to come. I can do better than that. Eleven thirty-seconds is three thirty-seconds more than a quarter, which is only eight thirty-seconds. How’s that?”
“Brilliant, but I don’t see the application?”
“Don’t you?” asked Alleyn anxiously. “And yet I know I thought it rather important a moment ago. Ah, well — it’s gone now. I’ll just write the others down.”
Mr. Thoms moved to his elbow and looked curiously at his tiny hieroglyphics.
“I can’t see,” complained Alleyn and walked over to the light.
Mr. Thoms did not follow and so did not see the last of his minute entries, which read:
“The large syringe could hold a little over the amount found at the P.M.”
He shut his little book tenderly and put it in his pocket.
“Thank you a thousand times, Mr. Thoms,” he said. “You’ve made it very easy for me. Now there’s only one more person I’ve got to see to-day and that’s Dr. Roberts. Can you tell me where I’ll find him?”
“Well, he’s not the usual anæsthetist here, you know. He does a lot of Dr. Grey’s work for him. Hasn’t been in since this affair. I should think at this time you’d find him at his private address. I’ll ring up his house if you like.”
“That’s very good of you. Where does he live?”
“Not sure. His name’s Theodore. I know that because I heard Grey calling him Dora. Dora!” Mr. Thoms laughed extensively and led the way to a black hole with a telephone inside it.
He switched on a light and consulted the directory.
“Here we are. Roberts, Roberts, Roberts. Dr. Theodore. Wigmore Street. That’s your man.”
He dialled the number. Alleyn leant patiently against the door.
“Hullo. Dr. Robert’s house? Is he in? Ask him if he can see Inspector— ” He paused and put his hand over the receiver. “Alleyn, isn’t it? Yes — ask him if he can see Inspector Alleyn if he comes along now.”
Thoms turned towards Alleyn. “He’s in — that’ll be all right, I expect. Hullo, is that you, Roberts? It’s Thoms here. Inspector Alleyn has just been over the O’Callaghan business with me. They’ve found hyoscine — quarter of a grain. That makes you sit up. What? I don’t know. Yes, of course it is. Well, don’t get all agitated. They’re not going to arrest you. Ha ha ha! What! All right — in about twenty minutes, I should think. Look out, my boy — don’t give yourself away— what!”
He hung up, and taking Alleyn by the elbow, walked with him to the front door.
“Poor old Roberts is in an awful hum about it, spluttering away down the telephone like I don’t know what. Well, let me know if there’s anything more I can do.”
“I will indeed. Thank you so much. Good night.”
“Good night. Got a pair of handcuffs for Roberts? Ha ha ha!”
“Ha ha ha!” said Alleyn. “Good night.”
CHAPTER XI
The Anæsthetist
Tuesday, the sixteenth. Afternoon and evening.
Dr. Roberts lived in a nice little house in Wigmore Street. It was a narrow house with two windows on the first floor, and on the street level was a large vermilion front door that occupied a fair proportion of the wall.
A man-servant, small and cheerful to suit the house, showed Alleyn into a pleasant drawing-room-study with apple-green walls and bookshelves, glazed chintz curtains, and comfortable chairs. Above the fireplace hung an excellent painting of lots of little people skating on a lake surrounded by Christmas trees. A wood fire crackled on the hearth. On a table near the bookcase was a sheaf of manuscript weighted down by the old wooden stethoscope that Mr. Thoms had found so funny.
After an appreciative glance at the picture, Alleyn walked over to the bookcase, where he found a beguiling collection of modern novels, a Variorum Shakespeare that aroused his envy, and a number of works on heredity, eugenics and psycho-analysis. Among these was a respectable-looking volume entitled Debased Currency, by Theodore Roberts. Alleyn took it out and looked at the contents. They proved to be a series of papers on hereditary taints. Roberts evidently had read them at meetings of the International Congress on Eugenics and Sex Reform.