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  The Coroner then put on an ultra-severe expression and announced that he believed Mrs Sewell was in possession of certain important information which she had not divulged to the court yesterday.

  Frances, recalled, agreed that Mr Waterhouse had visited her on that morning, apologised for having forgotten the incident which she saw now ought to have been volunteered to the police, and recounted again what had happened. She spoke calmly and clearly, with all proper respect to the court, and gradually the Coroner’s severity diminished. I thought he had finished with her when I saw a new arrival among the notabilities clustered round his table lean forward and begin to whisper to him. Automatically I looked enquiringly at Harold, two or three places away.

  Harold instantly obliged. ‘Represents the insurance company,’ he whispered. ‘They’ll be wanting a verdict of suicide, naturally. Then they wouldn’t be liable. I expect this chap wants the Coroner to bring out the possibility a bit more.’

  Alec nudged me. ‘Who’s the know-all?’

  I smiled at the comment on Harold’s slightly self-important air, and mentioned his name.

  Alec nodded. ‘Oh yes. I’ve heard of him.’ He turned his head and looked at Harold carefully.

  The whispering at the Coroner’s table ceased.

  ‘Mrs Sewell,’ said the Coroner impressively, ‘for all we know you may have been the last, or very nearly the last, person to have seen Mr Waterhouse before he swallowed the fatal dose of arsenic, by some agency which we are here to determine. It is necessary for us to consider the possibility, among others, that Mr Waterhouse died by his own hand; and therefore any evidence which you can give concerning his state of mind when he was with you is of great importance. Kindly tell us exactly how he seemed to you in this respect.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ Frances considered. ‘He seemed perfectly ordinary.’

  ‘Not dejected at all? From what you have just told us, did he not seem to you rather worried about his health?’

  ‘Not worried, no. Perhaps he wasn’t quite so cheerful as usual, but I certainly wouldn’t have called him dejected.’

  ‘Would the word “depressed” describe him?’

  ‘Yes, I think it would.’

  ‘He said nothing to you about his matrimonial – h’m – embarrassments?’

  ‘Not a word. I was taken completely by surprise yesterday.’

  ‘You had heard no hint of them from any other source?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Would it be putting it too high to say that you were Mrs Waterhouse’s closest confidante in Anneypenny?’

  ‘I suppose I may have been, in Anneypenny. But certainly not outside it. Mrs Waterhouse had her circle of closest friends elsewhere.’

  ‘Yes, yes. Quite so. Well, Mrs Sewell, it is my duty to ask you this question: does anything in Mr Waterhouse’s manner that morning suggest itself to you now, in the light of later events, as indicating that he might have been intending to take his own life?’

  ‘Nothing at all,’ affirmed Frances with emphasis.

  The Coroner looked enquiringly at the insurance company’s representative, who promptly jumped up.

  ‘But he was depressed?’

  ‘Oh yes, a little. Like we all get sometimes.’

  ‘We have already heard evidence that he was much depressed over the revelation made to him by his wife; had he seemed to you, during the last few weeks of his life, to be altogether less cheerful than formerly?’

  Frances considered this. ‘Yes, I think on the whole he had been.’

  She was allowed to go.

  The police evidence followed, in its usual stereotyped form. That is to say, the Superintendent described how he had been called in to the case, gave a very sketchy outline of the investigations he had made, enumerated the various scent bottles, medicine bottles, jars and tins which Cyril Waterhouse had handed over to him from Angela’s bedroom and bathroom, and admitted that in spite of careful enquiries at all chemists’ in our own and surrounding counties, no purchase of arsenic by either Mr or Mrs Waterhouse had been traced. Apart from this, neither police official added anything to our knowledge.

  When that had been disposed of, I saw the Coroner looking at his watch.

  ‘He’s wondering when the analyst is going to turn up,’ Harold told us.

  There was a short consultation with the Superintendent and the Home Office representative, and then the Coroner proceeded to read out a statement which had been taken on oath from Angela.

  It was in the usual stilted phraseology, and I could not detect a single sentence which Angela might have spoken spontaneously. From its guarded tone I gathered that her solicitor had been present: an impression which Rona confirmed for me.

  Briefly, Angela denied all knowledge of her husband’s death, denied that she had ever purchased or obtained arsenic by any other means, and denied any knowledge of the intended alteration in the will. She knew her husband had been suffering from indigestion recently, but had not considered it serious; she knew nothing of the package which had arrived for him by post on the fatal morning. She had not urged that his body should be cremated, merely suggested it as she had understood that it was his own wish. She had informed him recently that she wished to be released from their marriage, and had told him frankly that he had cause for divorce. He had taken the information quite calmly, and she had received the impression that he would be just as pleased to end the marriage as herself: there was no longer any question of love, but both expected to remain good friends. He had made enquiries about her future financial provision, and on learning that it would not be particularly sound had offered a most generous allowance. She had gathered the idea that he too would probably marry again, though he had not definitely said this. In any case all had been most amicably arranged, and she was quite certain that it had been a relief rather than a cause for distress to her husband.

  It was a good statement, from Angela’s point of view, for it showed that she had no cause at all to wish her husband out of the way; though this, of course, depended entirely on the truth of her assertion that she knew nothing of his failing finances, nor of the altered will. There was nothing to disprove her contention of ignorance; though there was equally nothing to prove it.

  The Coroner read it dryly, and without comment.

  The next witness was the young man, Philip Strangman.

  A buzz of excitement went round the court as he took the stand. Here, we felt, was recompense for our own tribulations. The moment was undeniably dramatic.

  Strangman was a black-avised young man, with what appeared to be a fixed scowl. He glowered at us and he glowered at the Coroner. One could see, in the impression he conveyed of sulky strength, how much he would have appealed to a neurotic like Angela.

  The Coroner, full of the moral righteousness of his kind, glowered back.

  ‘I will come to the point at once, Mr Strangman. Is it correct that you and Mrs Waterhouse were contemplating marriage, in the event of her being able to free herself from her marriage to Mr Waterhouse?’

  ‘It is,’ replied Strangman loudly.

  ‘The fact that she was already married did not deter you?’

  ‘It did not.’

  ‘You have perhaps little respect for the marriage tie?’

  ‘When it is an unhappy one, I have none.’

  ‘H’m!’ The Coroner stroked his chin. ‘You had the impression that Mrs Waterhouse’s marriage was an unhappy one?’

  ‘I know it was.’

  ‘She told you so, perhaps?’

  ‘She had no need to tell me anything. Anyone could see her marriage was a failure.’

  ‘Nevertheless she did tell you so too? Come, sir, I am asking you.’

  ‘She told me nothing definite,’ muttered the witness angrily.

  ‘But you discussed her married life between you?’
/>
  ‘We may have done.’

  ‘And you showed sympathy with her unhappiness?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘You blamed Mr Waterhouse?’

  ‘I never met the man,’ returned the witness contemptuously.

  ‘Young ass, young ass,’ murmured Alec at my side.

  ‘I am not asking whether you ever met him,’ said the Coroner sternly. ‘I am asking if you considered Mr Waterhouse responsible for his wife’s unhappiness. Kindly answer the question.’

  ‘Of course he was responsible, insofar as he should never have married her. Otherwise I believe he tried to do his best.’

  ‘Did you feel any grudge against him for having made his wife unhappy by marrying her?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean by “grudge”.’

  ‘I think you do, Mr Strangman; and I see you are not willing to answer the question with a plain yes or no.’

  ‘Then you’re wrong,’ said the witness rudely. ‘I’m quite willing to answer it, with a plain no!’

  ‘I see. You heard Mrs Waterhouse’s statement read out just now. Do you agree with what she says concerning your joint plans?’

  ‘Entirely’

  ‘You and she had already stayed together in a hotel, as man and wife?’

  ‘You know we had.’

  ‘The fact that she was another man’s wife did not perturb you?’

  ‘I refuse to answer that,’ retorted the witness loudly. ‘I’ll answer only questions of fact. This isn’t a court of morals.’

  ‘Kindly allow me to conduct the proceedings in my own court as I see fit,’ returned the Coroner, flushing with anger. ‘I take note of your refusal, and any conclusions which the jury may draw from it will be justified. Have you any objection, then, to telling us whether the fact of the disparity between your and Mrs Waterhouse’s ages did not weigh with you at all in the matter of this contemplated marriage?’

  ‘There wasn’t so much disparity as you seem to think,’ replied Strangman sulkily.

  ‘Are you not a medical student?’

  ‘One could become a medical student at your age, if one liked. That means nothing.’

  The Coroner was controlling himself with difficulty.

  ‘How old are you?’ he snapped.

  ‘Twenty-eight.’

  ‘Then you had a career before you decided to practise medicine?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You are telling us that you have been a medical student all this time and have not yet succeeded in qualifying?’

  ‘I am telling you nothing of the sort. You asked me if I had had a career before deciding to practise. I had not. The word ‘career’ denotes some sort of success. I had a succession of unsuccessful jobs. Then I inherited a small legacy and decided to lay it out in qualifying as a medical man. That is my history.’ Strangman spoke with a small, scornful smile. In proportion as he had succeeded in rousing the Coroner to wrath, the more had his own calmness grown. He struck me as a most irritating young man.

  ‘I see. I see. Now as a medical student you no doubt have – What is it? What is it?’ broke off the Coroner testily.

  A uniformed policeman, trying to engage his attention, was offering him what looked like a letter.

  The Coroner snatched it and threw it on the table in front of him. ‘That sort of thing can wait.’

  ‘It’s marked “Very Urgent,” sir,’ I heard the policeman say in a low voice.

  The Coroner made the noise usually spelt as ‘Tchah!’, and turned back to his witness.

  But another interruption came. Just before the policeman made his unwelcomed advance, I had seen Sir Francis Harbottle edge into court. Superintendent Timms had at once jumped up and hurried over to meet him, and the two now made their way to the Coroner’s table. There was a short confabulation, and the Coroner waved Strangman off the stand. His place was at once taken there by the analyst.

  ‘I am sure you are a very busy man,’ observed the Coroner to him in honeyed tones, no doubt for our benefit, ‘and we will therefore take your evidence at once, Sir Francis. Now I understand…yes, yes…you have made tests on certain samples supplied to you by the police here, which I believe were taken from some of the drains and traps at Oswald’s Gable. Yes, here they are. Quite.’ He nodded toward an orderly row of jars which the Superintendent was engaged in laying out from a case which Sir Francis had brought with him. ‘Is that so?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘And have your tests shown any result?’

  ‘In the samples labelled A, B, C, D, E, G, H, I, J and K,’ replied the analyst in a gentle voice, ‘I obtained nothing which might not have been expected to be present. In the sample labelled F I established the presence of minute traces of arsenic.’

  ‘Ah!’ The Coroner did not disguise his interest, shared indeed by all of us. ‘The sample labelled F. Yes, let me see… That came from…yes, the bathroom basin…the bathroom, that is, shared by Mr and Mrs Waterhouse. Is that so, Superintendent? Yes… Now, when you say “minute” traces, Sir Francis, you mean, I take it, that there was not a measurable quantity of arsenic?’

  ‘That is so. There was just enough to cloud the mirror in Marsh’s test, but no more. That meant a very small quantity indeed.’

  ‘Quite so. But there can be no doubt at all that arsenic was present? The test is infallible?’

  ‘Oh, quite.’

  ‘Yes. Now let me see. The jury must understand this exactly. No arsenic was found in…yes, in the trap from the basin in Mrs Waterhouse’s bedroom, the bath, the bidet in the bathroom, the WC next to the bathroom, the pantry sink, the scullery sink, the bath and basin on the second floor, the…yes, yes, well, I needn’t go into all that. The point is that traces of arsenic were found only in the trap of the basin in the bathroom used, I think we may presume, exclusively by Mr and Mrs Waterhouse… Now would you expect to find such traces in the ordinary way, Sir Francis, in the trap of any bathroom basin?’

  ‘I should not.’

  ‘Their presence would surprise you?’

  ‘Decidedly.’

  ‘H’m! The bathroom basin, yes. There seem to be a number of basins. Have you the plan there, Superintendent? Oh yes, I see it. There are basins in both bedrooms as well as the bathroom. No doubt the one in the bathroom would not be used so much, especially in the case of illness… Supposing a concoction containing arsenic to have been poured into a basin in normal use, Sir Francis, how long would you expect traces of arsenic to remain in the trap?’

  ‘Not very long. It would depend to some extent whether there was any turgid matter already in the trap. If that were the case, and the basin was not used for some hours after the arsenical compound had been poured away in it, one might expect the arsenic to impregnate the turgid matter and therefore remain considerably longer. If the trap were clean, a few more sluicings would wash all traces of the arsenic away.’

  ‘I quite understand. You have examined the matter from the trap. Would you describe it as turgid?’

  ‘Yes, distinctly.’

  ‘Did its condition suggest to you that the basin had not been used very often?’

  ‘I formed that opinion, yes.’

  ‘Did any other conclusions present themselves to you? Did you, for instance, form any conclusion from the mere presence of arsenic in the trap?’

  ‘I don’t quite understand.’

  ‘Well, did it suggest to you that the arsenic was probably swallowed by the deceased inside or outside the house?’

  ‘That is perhaps a little outside my sphere, but the conclusion would be that it was swallowed inside the house, certainly.’

  ‘Perhaps I should have prefaced the question with another, to bring it more into your sphere. Were you able to form any opinion as to whether the arsenic in the trap was a part of the patient’s eliminations, or whether it ca
me from some other source such as the vehicle of administration?’

  ‘I cannot pronounce definitely on that. I found no evidence of elimination, but that is by no means conclusive.’

  ‘Did you find traces of any other drugs in the residue?’

  ‘No, none.’

  ‘But is that equally not conclusive that they could not have been there originally?’

  ‘Exactly. Arsenic is a heavy substance. It would tend to sink further, and therefore remain longer, than other more soluble drugs.’

  ‘But taking it on a broad basis, your opinion is that the presence of arsenic in the trap, although with the qualifications you have mentioned, would appear to indicate that the fatal dose was swallowed inside and not outside the house?’

  ‘For what it is worth, that is my opinion.’

  ‘And that would mean that this arsenic would be the surplus poured away after the administration?’

  ‘In that event, yes.’

  ‘Quite so,’ agreed the Coroner, and directed a significant glance toward the jury. If, as Harold had affirmed, the authorities really wished to obtain a verdict against Angela, the analyst’s evidence had certainly helped them.

  ‘And now,’ said the Coroner, ‘we come to the medicine bottle.’

  A little flutter went round the court. I felt my heart give a funny little jump, and then there was a horrible void. As one does at such moments of intense dread, I concentrated my energies on looking outwardly impassive.

  ‘You have now been able to make a test of the contents of the bottle, Sir Francis?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘What did you find?’

  ‘I established the presence of sodium bicarbonate, bismuth oxicarbonate, magnesium carbonate pond., and a faint trace of morphia.’

  Sir Francis ended his sentence and looked blandly at the Coroner. There was dead silence in the little courtroom.