“I knew it was the kind of thing you learnt in the fourth form. Well, go on. Your circulation would stop- it would be an embolism in its effect, wouldn’t it?”
“Only if it was in a main artery, of course. In a small vein the blood would find a way round. That is why” (this seemed to be the doctor’s favourite opening) “that is why it is so important that embolisms- blood-clots- should be dispersed as soon as possible and not left to wander about the system.”
“Yes- yes- but the air-bubble, doctor-in a main artery- say the femoral or the big vein in the bend of the elbow- that would stop the circulation, wouldn’t it? How soon?”
“Why, at once. The heart would stop beating.”
“And then?”
“You would die.”
“With what symptoms?”
“None to speak of. Just a gasp or two. The lungs would make a desperate effort to keep things going. Then you’d just stop. Like heart failure. It would be heart failure.”
“How well I know it… That sneeze in the carburettor- a gasping, as you say. And what would be the post-mortem symptoms?”
“None. Just the appearances of heart failure. And, of course, the little mark of the needle, if you happened to be looking for it.”
“You’re sure of all this, doctor?” said Parker.
“Well, it’s simple, isn’t it? A plain problem in mechanics. Of course that would happen. It must happen.”
“Could it be proved?” insisted Parker
“That’s more difficult.”
“We must try,” said Parker. “It’s ingenious, and it explains a lot of things. Doctor, will you go down to the mortuary again and see if you can find any puncture mark on the body. I really think you’ve got the explanation of the whole thing, Peter. Oh, dear! Who’s on the ’phone now?… what?- what? -oh, hell!- Well, that’s torn it. She’ll never come back now. Warn all the ports- send out an all stations call- watch the railways and go through Bloomsbury with a toothcomb-that’s the part she knows best. I’m coming straight up to Town now- yes, imediately. Right you are.” He hung up the receiver with a few brief, choice sessions.
“That adjectival imbecile, Pillington, has let out all he knows. The whole story is in the early editions of the Banner. We’re doing no good here. Mary Whittaker will know the game’s up, and she’ll be out of the country in two twos, if she isn’t already. Coming back to Town, Wimsey?”
“Naturally. Take you up in the car. Lose no time. Ring the bell for Bunter, would you? Oh, Bunter, we’re going up to Town. How soon can we start?”
“At once, my lord. I have been holding your lordship’s and Mr. Parker’s things ready packed from hour to hour, in case a hurried adjournment should be necessary.”
“Good man.”
“And there is a letter for you, Mr, Parker, sir.”
“Oh, thanks. Ah, yes. The fingerprints off the cheque. H’m. Two sets only- besides those of the cashier, of course- Cousin Hallelujah’s and a female set, presumably those of Mary Whittaker. Yes, obviously- here are the four fingers of the left hand, just as one would place them to hold the cheque flat while signing.”
“Pardon me, sir- but might I look at that photograph?”
“Certainly. Take a copy for yourself. I know it interests you as a photographer. Well, cheerio, doctor. See you in Town some time. Come on, Peter.”
Lord Peter came on. And that, as Dr. Faulkner would say, was why Miss Climpson’s second letter was brought up from the police-station too late to catch him.
They reached Town at twelve- owing to Wimsey’s brisk work at the wheel- and went straight to Scotland Yard, dropping Bunter, at his own request, as he was anxious to return to the flat. They found the Chief Commissioner in rather a brusque mood- angry with the Banner and annoyed with Parker for having failed to muzzle Pillington.
“God knows where she will be found next. She’s probably got a disguise and a get-away all ready.”
“Probably gone already,” said Wimsey. “She could easily have left England on the Monday or Tuesday and nobody a penny the wiser. If the coast had seemed clear, she’d have come back and taken possession of her goods again. Now she’ll stay abroad. That’s all.”
“I’m very much afraid you’re right,” agreed Parker, gloomily.
“Meanwhile, what is Mrs. Forrest doing?”
“Behaving quite normally. She’s been carefully shadowed, of course, but not interfered with in any way. We’ve got three men out there now- one as a coster- one as a dear friend of the hall-porter’s who drops in every so often with racing tips, and an odd-job man doing a spot of work in the back-yard. They report that she has been in and out, shopping and so on, but mostly having her meals at home. No one has called. The men deputed to shadow her away from the flat have watched carefully to see if she speaks to anyone or slips money to anyone. We’re pretty sure the two haven’t met yet.”
“Excuse me, sir.” An officer put his head in at the door. “Here’s Lord Peter Wimsey’s man, sir, with an urgent message.”
Bunter entered, trimly correct in bearing, but with a glitter in his eye. He laid down two photographs on the table.
“Excuse me, my lord and gentlemen, but would you be so good as to cast your eyes on these two photographs?”
“Finger-prints?” said the Chief interrogatively.
“One of them is our own official photograph of the prints on the £10,000 cheque,” said Parker. “The other- where did you get this, Bunter? It looks like the same set of prints, but it’s not one of ours.”
“They appeared similar, sir, to my uninstructed eye. I thought it better to place the matter before you.”
“Send Dewsby here,” said the Chief Commissioner.
Dewsby was the head of the finger-print department, and he had no hesitation at all.
“They are undoubtedly the same prints,” he said.
A light was slowly breaking in on Wimsey.
“Bunter- did these come off that wine glass?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“But they are Mrs. Forrest’s!”
“So I understood you to say, my lord, and I have filed them under that name.”
“Then, if the signature on the cheque is genuine- ”
“We haven’t far to look for our bird,” said Parker, brutally. “A double identity; damn the woman, she’s made us waste a lot of time. Well, I think we shall get her now, on the Findlater murder at least, and possibly on the Gotobed business.”
“But I understood there was an alibi for that,” said the Chief.
“There was,” said Parker, grimly, “but the witness was the girl that’s just been murdered. Looks as though she had made up her mind to split and was got rid of.”
“Looks as though several people had had a near squeak of it,” said Wimsey.
“Including you. That yellow hair was a wig,then.”
“Probably. It never looked natural, you know. When I was there that night she had on one of those close turban affairs- she might have been bald for all one could see.”
“Did you notice the scar on the fingers of the right hand?”
“I did not- for the very good reason that her fingers were stiff with rings to the knuckles. There was pretty good sense behind her ugly bad taste. I suppose I was to be drugged- or, failing that, caressed into slumber and then- shall we say, put out of circulation! Highly distressin’ incident. Amorous clubman dies in a flat. Relations very anxious to hush matter up. I was selected, I suppose, because I was seen with Evelyn Cropper at Liverpool. Bertha Gotobed got the same sort of dose, too, I take it. Met by old employer, accidentally, on leaving work- £5 note and nice little dinner- lashings of champagne- poor kid as drunk as a blind fiddler- bundled into the car- finished off there and trundled out to Epping in company with a ham sandwich and a bottle of Bass. Easy, ain’t it- when you know how?”
“That being so,” said the Chief Commissioner, “the sooner we get hold of her the better. You’d better go at once, Inspector; take a warrant for Whittaker or Forrest- and any help you may require.”