And having looked her over… Another drone, drawn, willy-nilly—the more so for having been for long months starved of the company of women, for having been deprived of the wife whom he still loved—into the mass flight after the virgin queen. ‘It was you, I believe, who brought the poison into the house?’
‘Yes, I did. The old man was furious with Elizabeth because she hadn’t ordered it. How could she, poor girl, when she wasn’t here half the time? So I went down and fetched it, just to save her more trouble, and put it on the hall table so he’d think she’d got it.’
‘But she was in London: how could she?’
‘Oh, heck, he couldn’t care: if it wasn’t there, she was responsible.’
‘And after all this alleged fuss and urgency, it never got used?’
‘Didn’t I tell you?—it was only to make more trouble for Elizabeth. He was a man that just loved to find fault.’
‘I see. Well, we agree it was you who introduced the cyanide. Was it not also you who handed a plate of cold meat to your step-father?’
‘Was it I who—? For heaven’s sakes, Inspector! Those old ladies were running around like a lot of decapitated hens, snatching plates out of our hands, dumping them down in front of just anyone who’d accept them.’
‘You might, however, have said specifically to one of them, “This plate is especially for Mr. Caxton.” ’
‘I might at that,’ said Bill, cheerfully. ‘Why don’t you ask around and find her: she’ll tell you.’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway, what does it matter? The poison wasn’t on the meat, was it? It had been put on the peach.’
‘If it had,’ said Cockie, ‘it had been put there by someone very clever.’ He dwelt on it. ‘How could it have been placed there so that the whole dose—to all intents and purposes—was on the one mouthful that he happened to take? The first mouthful?’
And he sent Step-son Bill away and summoned Dr. Ross. ‘Well, doctor—so we have it. Only one mates; and he dies in the process.’
‘You’re referring to the thing about the hornets?’ said Dr. Ross rather stiffly.
‘That’s right: to the thing about the hornets. But nobody could call you a drone, doctor. So busy with that little bag of yours that you had it with you out in the hall, all ready to hand.’
‘At intervals of about one week,’ said Dr. Ross, ‘policemen like yourself exhort us not to leave our medical bags in unattended cars.’ He fixed Inspector Cockrill with a dark and very angry eye. ‘Are you suggesting that it was I who murdered my own patient?’
‘Will you declare yourself outside the mass flight, Dr. Ross? You must have seen a good deal of our little queen in the sick-room of the late Mrs. Caxton.’
‘I happen to have a little queen of my own, Inspector. Not to mention several little drones, not yet ready for flighting.’
‘I know,’ said Cockie. ‘It must have been hell for you.’ He said it very kindly. He added: ‘I accuse you of nothing.’
Disarmed, he capitulated, immediately, wretchedly. ‘I’ve never so much as touched her hand, Inspector. But it’s true—there’s something about her… And to think of that filthy old brute….’
‘Well, he’s gone,’ said Cockie. ‘Murdered under your nose—and mine. And talking of noses—’
‘I smelt it on his breath. Oh, gosh, the faintest whiff—but there was something. I thought it must be just the Kirsch—the Kirsch on the peaches.’
‘Such a curious meal!’ said Inspector Cockrill, brooding over it. ‘He was the bridegroom: you’d think somebody would be falling over themselves to please him. But no: he didn’t like oysters, but he has to have oysters, he hated cold meat but all there is, is cold meat, he was violently teetotal but he’s given peaches with liqueur on ’em.’ He sat with his chin on his hand, his bright eyes gazing away into nothingness. ‘There has been a plan here, doctor: no simple matter of a lick of poison scraped out of a fortuitous tin, smeared on to a fortuitous peach-in-liqueur; but a very elaborate, deep laid, long-thought-out, absolutely sure-fire plan. But who planned it, who carried it out and with what ultimate motive…’ He broke off. He said at last, slowly: ‘Of course whatever’s in the will, as the law goes now she will still be a rich widow; more agreeable to her, presumably, than being a rich wife.’
‘You don’t honestly think that Elizabeth—?’
‘Elizabeth had nothing to do with the preparation of the food; she hasn’t been in the house for the past three days, except for that brief interlude when she and Theo came in on their way to the church. Each of them was alone for a period of a minute or two—Elizabeth probably for less. Not nearly enough time to have chanced prising open the tin, scooping out the stuff, doctoring the peaches (which anyway were still in sealed bottles) or the cold meat or oysters. On the other hand—Elizabeth is a trained nurse…’ He mused over it. ‘He had a bad cold. Could she have persuaded him to take some drug or other? On the way back from the church, for example.’