“She left these in the ladies’ waiting-room,” he explained. “Mr. Branston has a separate room for ladies in which to wait if they so desire—it opens out of the front room, which is used more as a general waiting-room.”
Bannister nodded and looked at the hat. It was a pull-on waterproof felt with a pleated crown and turned-down brim. He glanced inside at the maker’s name. “Moore—Knightsbridge! A lady in very comfortable circumstances, I should say,” he declared. Godfrey nodded in agreement. “I think so too!” “Well, Doctor Renfrew,” continued the Inspector, “what have you got to tell me?”
Doctor Renfrew wasted no time in telling him. “When I examined the deceased, it was apparent to me at once that death had been caused by narcotic poisoning—hydrocyanic acid to be precise. It was impossible to mistake the odour round the lips and mouth. She had had a big dose administered.”
Bannister pursed his lips. “How was it administered—any idea? For instance—can’t it be suicide?”
The doctor’s reply came quickly and readily. “In my opinion—judging from the position of the body—the poison was given from a small hand-syringe. After locking Branston in, the murderer entered the room through the door here—she heard him—turned in his direction and he used the syringe immediately. Her face would be right in front of him. Quite an easy matter—he had doubtless worked out all the details beforehand.”
“Cold-blooded business,” muttered Godfrey. “The kind of man I should take a delight in hanging.”
“Any purse or anything with her?” demanded Bannister.
“Nothing,” answered the Sergeant. “Everything seems to have gone except the hat and this pair of gloves.”
A knock sounded on the door and Doctor Renfrew crossed the room to open it. Ronald Branston stood outside. “May I come in?” he queried.
Bannister beckoned to him. “I was just about to send down to you, Mr. Branston,” he commenced, “you must have read my thoughts to arrive so opportunely.”