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Dr Palmer clapped Dr Bamford on the shoulder and exclaimed in a stage whisper: 'Well, they won't hang us yet.'

'Hey, speak up, my boy,' piped Dr Bamford, who is very deaf.

'I said that they won't hang us yet,' Palmer reiterated in loud tones, grinning about him. While Dr Harland was jotting down his notes and Devonshire collecting his instruments, Dr Palmer carried the jar towards the doorway, where he set it on the floor.

Dr Harland looked up and called: 'Where's the jar?'

Dr Palmer replied: 'It's here. I thought it would be more convenient by the door, to take away.'

'Pray, bring it back!' said Dr Harland, vexed at such officious-ness. He rose to meet Dr Palmer, who was already returning the jar, and then noticed that both bladders had been pierced with a clean cut an inch long.

Looking around the room, Dr Harland inquired: 'Who made this cut?'

'I didn't,' said Dr Palmer. 'I haven't even a knife on me.' 'Nor I,' said Devonshire. 'And you, Mr Newton?' Dr Harland asked. Newton mutely shook his head.

The mystery was never solved, but no harm had been done. Dr Harland untied the bladders, replaced them so that the cut came below the neck of the jar, tied them up again, and secured the knot with sealing-wax. Then he wrapped the jar in stiff brown paper, which he also sealed.

Where is it going?' Dr Palmer wished to know.

'To Freer's,' Dr Harland answered.

'I would rather you took it to Stafford and kept it under your eye,' Dr Palmer complained.

'No, Mr Stevens wants it left at Freer's,' said Dr Harland. 'It's to be analysed by the celebrated Professor Taylor of Guy's Hospital.' He then carried the jar to Dr Freer's surgery, whence it was taken to London by one Boycott, Messrs Gardiner & Landor's chief clerk.

Newton sought out Boycott at Rugeley railway station. 'Let me come up with you, Boycott,' he pleaded, 'I must speak to Mr Gardiner.'

'I'll give him a message, if you like,' said Boycott. 'No,' cried Newton in agitation, 'I'd rather address him personally.'

When pressed, he explained: 'I'm in a pretty dangerous position, Boycott. You see, on the night of Monday, I did what I shouldn't have done. Dr Palmer stopped at Salt's surgery where I'm employed, and wished me to sell him three grains of strychnine. I told him I couldn't sell it, for that's not Dr Salt's way; besides, he and Salt are on bad terms. Yet I gave it him, wrapped in a paper. You see, Ben Thirlby's working for Palmer and, as you perhaps know, I'm his natural son; that's why I obliged him. But if these spasms of Cook's were due to strychnine poisoning, I'm afraid of being hanged as an accomplice or, at the best, transported.'

Boycott asked him: 'Why don't you tell the Coroner?'

'I daren't,' said Newton. 'I made no entry in the Poison Book, as I should have done. However, I'll tell Mr Gardiner on oath, just to clear myself, if there's trouble.'

Meanwhile Jim, the ostler at The Talbot Arms, had been told to drive Mr Stevens in the hotel fly to Stafford, after having taken tea at home. Dr Palmer presendy met Jim coming back from his tea, and said: ' Good evening, Jim. Boots has the fly waiting for you, I see. Are you going over to Stafford?'

'Those arc my orders,' Jim answered.

'It's a humbugging concern!’ cried the Doctor. 'This meddle-some fool arranges a post-mortem,and sends Cook's stomach up to London in a jar for analysis! Gardiner's clerk is taking it by train. Hark'ee, Jim, if you'll upset old Stevens into a ditch of stinking mud, it'll be worth ten pounds to you.'

Dr Palmer was laughing as he spoke, but Jim replied with mock gravity: 'I don t think as I could do it for ten pound, Doctor; why, I might end in jail, or the Infirmary, which would be worse!'

Dr Palmer then offered Jim a drink, which he declined, being already two minutes late. At nightfall, Dr Palmer caused a stir in Rugeley by reeling through the streets, drunk and muttering to himself. He had never been seen in such a condition before.

Professor Taylor, the toxicological expert at Guy's Hospital, and his assistant Dr Rces, received the jar. Professor Taylor made some harsh remarks about it, saying that the contents had been so jolted and shaken on the train journey that the feculent matter from the intestines and the liquid contents of the stomach were all mixed together. He judged these remains inadequate for the close investigation demanded by Mr Stevens, and telegraphed at once for further organs. This time Dr Monckton and Dr Freer, who took charge of the examination, sent him up, in another sealed jar, the kidneys, part of the liver, the spleen, what remained of the dissected heart and brain, and three teaspoonfuls of blood from the

lungs.

The Stafford Coroner summoned a jury for Thursday, November 29th, at The Talbot Arms Hotel; but all they did that day was to view the body, the inquest being then adjourned until December 5th.

Here, while observing that Dr Palmer showed no fear of strychnine being found, we may express the opinion that it was Newton who pushed Devonshire; Newton who punctured the jar with a lancet; Newton who, when he emptied the stomach, unasked, into the jar, deliberately spilled some of the contents; and Newton who vigorously shook this jar, while Boycott left the carriage at Rugby for refreshment. His motive throughout is clear: to make the strychnia, which he believed Dr Palmer to have administered, less easily discoverable.

Cook was buried on November 30th, not in the family vault near London, but in Rugeley churchyard. Dr Palmer attended the funeral service with Jeremiah Smith. Among the other mourners were Mr Stevens, his son-in-law Mr Bradford, and George Herring, the commission-agent, who grew very angry indeed when he learned from Mr Stevens that Cook had never received the money entrusted to Dr Palmer, and that the betting-book was missing. Yet because the Doctor walked weeping miserably behind the bier, Herring did not have the heart to speak his mind until the funeral was well over—but then found that he had slipped away. Afterwards, Dr Palmer frequented The Talbot Arms bar and stood treat to all the assembled riff-raff, who voted him a jolly good fellow. Of his former friends only Myatt, the saddler, Jeremiah Smith, the solicitor, Ben Thirlby, the chemist, and Samuel Cheshire, the Postmaster, remained loyal. When Dr Palmer complained of being almost universally called a poisoner, Cheshire asked what he could do to clear him of so cruel a suspicion.

'God bless you!' said the Doctor. 'Just keep your eyes and ears open, like a dear fellow!'

On the Sunday evening, December 2nd, Dr Palmer visited Cheshire's house in a pitiable state of anxiety and inquired, in his wife's presence, whether he had heard or seen anything fresh. Cheshire led him into another room and said: 'Billy, if you are tempting me to show you the contents of a sealed letter, that I dare not do.'

' Oh, no,' the Doctor cried, 'you mustn't injure yourself on my account! But I can't sleep of nights for worrying what Professor Taylor will report to Mr Gardiner about that damnable analysis. Though it's true that I've done nothing wrong, what if Mr Stevens should have manufactured evidence against me? He's quite capable of bribing Gardiner's clerk to put poison in Cook's remains and so getting me hanged. No, Sammy! All I ask, all I beg of you on my knees, is that you'll steam open Professor Taylor's letter, and if he says he's found poison, tip me the wink, and I'll give them the slip. I'll ride off to Liverpool and board a vessel for America. You know I could never kill a man, don't you, Sammy ?'