“And a cup for herself at the same time, as I was informed, madame,” spoke the little doctor.
“Oh yes, I know that, Monsieur Dupuis. Mrs. Fennel brought her sister’s arrowroot, when it was ready, into this room, asking her husband whether she might venture to put a little brandy into it. He sent her to ask the question of Lavinia, bidding her leave the arrowroot on the table here. She came down for it, saying Lavinia declined the brandy, carried it up to her and saw her take it. Mrs. Fennel wished her good-night and came down for her own portion, which she had left in the kitchen. Before eleven o’clock, when they were going to bed, cries were heard in Lavinia’s room; she was seized with the second attack, and—and died in it.”
“This second attack was so violent, so unmanageable,” said Monsieur Dupuis, as Mary Carimon’s voice faltered into silence, “that I feel convinced I could not have saved her had I been present when it came on. I hear that Captain Fennel says he rang several times at my door before he could arouse me. Such was not the case. I am a very light sleeper, waking, from habit, at the slightest sound. But in this case I had not had time to fall asleep when I fancied I heard the bell sound very faintly. I thought I must be mistaken, as the bell is a loud bell, and rings easily; and people who ring me up at night generally ring pretty sharply. I lay listening, and some time afterwards, not immediately, it did ring. I opened my window, saw Captain Fennel outside, and was dressed and with him in two minutes.”
“That sounds as if he did not want you to go to her too quickly, monsieur,” observed Mr. Featherston, which went, as the French have it, without saying. “And I have heard of another suspicious fact: that he put his wife up to stop the medical examination after death.”
“It amounts to this,” spoke David Preen, “according to our judgment, if anything wrong was administered to her, it was given in the glass of liqueur on the Sunday afternoon, and in the cup of arrowroot on the Monday evening. They were the only things affording an opportunity of being tampered with; and in each case the pain came on about two hours afterwards.”
Grave suspicion, as I am sure they all felt it to be. But not enough, as Featherston remarked, to accuse a man of murder. There was no proof to be brought forward, especially now that months had elapsed.
“What became of the cup which had contained the arrowroot?” inquired David Preen, looking at Flore. “Was it left in the bedroom?”
“That cup, sir, I found in a bowl of water in the kitchen, and also the other one which had been used. The two were together in the wooden bowl. I supposed Madame Fennel had put them there; but she said she had not.”
“Ah!” exclaimed David Preen, drawing a deep breath.
He had come over to look into this suspicious matter; but, as it seemed, nothing could be done. To stir in it, and fail, would be worse than letting it alone.