“It does sound extraordinary, of course,” the Colonel admitted. “Dr. Warcop—yes, I know what you feel about him, but, after all, he was Walter's medical attendant, and he must have known a good deal about him!—Dr. Warcop, as I say, considered that the balance of his mind was disturbed at the time. How much Gavin may have had to do with that, no one can tell. He certainly thought that Walter exaggerated his ailments, and the letter Walter wrote indicates clearly that he didn't scruple to say so. He himself said at the inquest that Walter had complained of migraine on that last day. He described him as "more than ordinarily on edge". I remember that he was asked if there had been any quarrel between them, and he replied quite frankly that he had become so impatient with his brother for indulging in what he called "querulous self-pity", that he had spoken his mind on the subject. Dr. Warcop's opinion, which he expressed privately to me, was that this might well have been enough, in the mood Walter was then in, to have pushed him right over the edge. You can say, morally speaking, that Gavin was at least partly responsible for his brother's death. There's no doubt he behaved quite heartlessly to him. Whether he hoped to goad him into committing suicide is a question which, thank God, lay beyond our province! In fairness to him, I should tell you, perhaps, that his subsequent conduct was meticulously correct.”
“I expect he made a good witness,” said Hemingway thoughtfully.
“A very good witness, under extremely trying circumstances,” said the Colonel. “One could scarcely have blamed him had he destroyed that letter, but he did no such thing. He put it immediately into Inspector Thropton's hands. Of course, it's true that it was the housekeeper who first saw the letter, and gave it to him, but she gave me the impression of being fonder of Gavin than of Walter, and it's my private opinion that she might have been coaxed or bribed to say nothing about it. It's to Gavin's credit that he made no attempt to conceal it from us.”
An odd little smile flickered in Hemingway's eyes. “Very proper, sir, I'm sure.”
“Now what's in your mind?” demanded the Colonel suspiciously.
“Well, sir, it was the letter which made you all take it for granted the unfortunate gentleman had committed suicide, wasn't it?” suggested Hemingway.
A buzzer sounded in the room; the Colonel picked up one of the two telephones on his desk, listened, and said shortly: “Send him in!” He then laid the instrument down and said: “Harbottle, wanting you.”
“Good!” said Hemingway. “I sent him round to Warrenby's office to pick up the file of that inquest. He must have found Coupland still there.”
“I think you'd better read the transcript of the proceedings before I say anything more,” said the Colonel.
“I will, sir.” Hemingway picked up Walter Plenmeller's letter, and looked meditatively at it. “When you first read this, it strikes you like any other suicide-letter doesn't it? It's only when you come to think about it that you get the idea that there's something not quite right about it.”