I was alone. The house was very still and quiet. It was yet daylight, but the light was fading rapidly and I switched on one of the electric lamps. The high red wall sheltered us completely from the road—there was no need to draw the blinds. The windows stood wide open, but so stifling and quiet was the air that they might have looked out on to some huge overheated greenhouse instead of an English garden.
Tired out, I yet had no desire for sleep. For the first time during the long trying day I was absolutely alone, unobserved, and with time and solitude for thought. I paced up and down the room for a full half-hour, pipe in mouth, busily rehearsing first this incident, then that, in a vain attempt to achieve some reasoned explanation, some possible solution, of the mystery that surrounded Stella’s sudden death.
Alone and away from the influence of his calm assurance, my instinctive, unreasoning belief in the doctor began to weaken and give way under the combined bludgeonings of evidence and argument.
Seeing a writing pad lying on one of the window-seats, I drew up a chair to a small occasional table, and taking a pencil out of my pocket I proceeded to make out a list of all who were in the house on the previous night, setting down every piece of evidence, every possible relevant fact, in an attempt to clear my mind and analyze the situation. At the outset I came to the conclusion that on the important question of motive I should not only have to consider the obvious and the possible, but also the unlikely and the grotesque. The murder must have been premeditated, cold-blooded—an abnormality. It would not be surprising therefore, should the motive—the root from which the evil deed had sprung—be found, if ever unearthed, as something twisted and rotten.
I kept the rough notes that I made, and on referring to them I see that I was methodical enough to add my own name to the list. They are detailed and tedious and I will only quote in full the remarks I wrote down about the doctor on that hot sultry night in the Dalehouse drawing-room. Here they are:
Dr. Wallace
The poison.—The Chinese poison, on which he and Dr. Hanson had been working would leap to his mind at once did he wish to kill by poisoning. Its action is difficult to diagnose. But would he then have called Allport’s attention to its peculiar taste? Would he have stated that he found the glass at Stella’s bedside with a drop at the bottom of it, and that he suspected the Chinese poison at once by reason of its smell? Yes, he might. He would know that he would be suspected at once, and he might reasonably argue that by calling attention to the Chinese poison himself he would be creating a favorable impression. An impression that would be strengthened when it was found that the medicine glass had been thrown away. (But the key in his own pocket?) Could he not have poisoned her equally easily at any other time? Yes, but what better time could he have had? He was making up medicine for her. He had just been threatened with some sort of exposure. Then he played the practical joke on the beds and took care to have it clearly established that we all of us had the chance to be up-stairs and alone on the evening of the murder.
The cupboard key.—Had his own all the time.
The medicine.—Yes, both knowledge and opportunity.
The bedroom key.—He could have thrown the glass away after Ethel came down-stairs, have locked the door, and have put the key in the pocket of his thin coat which he was wearing at the time. But why should he then come and tell me that he had left the door unlocked? Obviously to make it look as though some one else had locked it. But in that case he would surely have placed the key in a position incriminating some one else and not himself? A possible explanation is that he intended to do this, but either had no easy opportunity or forgot. Then just as he was going out he remembered and came back to make the omission good, only to find me turning away from the telephone, having completed my conversation, and his coat with the key in it hanging up straight in front of me. He certainly must have come up behind me very quietly. What would he do in those circumstances? Would he tell me that the door was unlocked and then go calmly away to his patient leaving the key in his own pocket? Would he take that enormous risk? A man of his undoubted ability could surely have found some excuse to get me out of the way—have made some opportunity of getting at the key? Or might he not decide on a double bluff as it were? He told Allport that the glass was at the side of the bed, the dregs smelling of the poison. He told me that he had left the door unlocked. The door is found to be locked, and when it is broken open the glass is gone. Some one else, the murderer, has been up and thrown the glass away and locked the door. Where would such a one put the key if he wanted to throw suspicion on another? Why, in the doctor’s pocket, of course, the man who made up the medicine. And so he would decide to leave it where it was. If Margaret and I really heard any one creeping on the stairs could it have been the doctor? The time that elapsed between what she heard and what I did is not known accurately enough to be certain, but probably it might have been he.
Motive.—Obvious, and for a potential murderer, sufficient.
Notes.—(a) Would Allport have left any man with such evidence against him at liberty for even an hour, unless there are points in his favor that I have either overlooked or have had no opportunity to learn about?
(b) Why did he call Margaret and me into the dispensary when he made up Ethel’s medicine this evening?
(c) Why did he tell Ethel to lock her door and warn me about mine?
(d) What did cook’s “I know what I knows,” portend?
(e) What is the truth about his quarrel with Stella’s father?
(f) The practical jokes with the beds were quite out of keeping with his character. It not only struck me forcibly at the time, but he anticipated my surprise and gave an explanation of his actions before I had said a word to him about it.
(g) Had he killed Stella, could he have spoken to us as he did when we were collected together at the breakfast table? Could he have brazened it out? Most emphatically—Yes.
Conclusion.—Every real established fact that has come to light incriminates the doctor. Opportunity, motive, knowledge of the poison, and ability to face the rest of us with undisturbed indifference—all indicate the doctor.
In the same way and under the same headings I went through each member of the household, including Miss Summerson, Annie and cook. Definite knowledge as to the exact whereabouts and action of the poison could only be ascribed to Ethel, Miss Summerson and myself, in addition to The Tundish. But Annie, or Kenneth, or indeed any of us might either have been told about it or have overheard some conversation.
As to the key of the poison cupboard, Miss Summerson had her own. She might have taken the poison out of the cupboard before she lost it, and any of the rest of us might have found it when she had. Probably, Ethel alone of the party, however, would know it for what it was.
I had real difficulty in my efforts to find reasonably plausible motives for the crime—that is, apart from the doctor. He was easy enough. I see that I made Ralph kill her because she had refused to marry him—hot work for even those hot days, to fall in love, propose marriage, be rejected, grow mad with jealousy and slay, all in the space of some fifty hours. But that was the best I could do for the quiet Ralph. I made Ethel kill her because she was jealous of The Tundish; Margaret, because she was jealous of Ralph; Kenneth, because he wanted to fasten the blame on the placid, aggravating doctor whom he hated so much; but for one reason or another, each more fantastic than the last, they each in turn, according to my notes, slew Stella.
Thoroughly absorbed in my writing, the moths which blundered with blind persistence against the solitary shaded lamp above my head, and the cathedral chimes with their insistent repetitions, had alike been insufficient to disturb or distract. My list at last completed, I heaved a sigh of relief, and straightened out my back.