She stopped crying at once, raised her head triumphantly. ‘It couldn’t have been. Cyrus looked at it to see that it was polished clean; he always did after the servants left, he said that I…’ The lower lip began to wobble again. ‘I know he’s dead; but he wasn’t very kind,’ she said.
Not Theo then: who could not have known that the poisoned peach would reach his father. Not Bill, who could not have poisoned the peach at all. ‘And so,’ said Dr. Ross, ‘you come to me?’
It was very quiet out there on the terrace; the sun had gone down now and soon the stars would be out, almost invisible in the pale evening sky. They stood, still and quiet also, and for a little while all were silent. Elizabeth said slowly: ‘Inspector—Dr. Ross has a wife of his own; and children.’
‘He still might not care for the vision of you in the arms of “that filthy old brute” as he has called him.’
‘That went for us all,’ said the doctor.
‘But it was you that went for Mr. Caxton, doctor—wasn’t it? Or to him, if you prefer. Went to him and put down his throat a finger protected by a rubber finger-stall.’
A finger-stall—thrust down the throat of a man having an everyday choking fit. A finger-stall dabbled in advance in a tin of poison.
‘You don’t believe this?’ said Dr. Ross, staring aghast. ‘You can’t believe it? Murder my own patient!’ Elizabeth caught his arm, crying out, ‘Of course he doesn’t mean it!’ but he ignored her. ‘And murder him in such a way! And anyway, how could I have known he would have a choking fit?’
‘He was always having choking fits,’ said Cockie.
‘But Dr. Ross couldn’t have got the poison,’ said Elizabeth. ‘It wasn’t he who fetched the bag from the hall.’ She broke off. ‘Oh, Theo, I didn’t intend—’
‘I got the bag,’ said Theo. ‘But that doesn’t mean anything.’
‘It could mean it was you who dabbled the finger-stall in the poison.’
Theo’s round face lost colour. ‘Me, Inspector? How could I have? How could I know anything about it? I don’t know what they use finger-stalls for and what they don’t.’
‘Anyway, he wouldn’t have had time,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Not to think it all out, undo the poison tin, find the finger-stall in the bag. Fingerstalls are kept in a side pocket, not floating about at the top of a medical bag.’
But in fact that was just where it had been: floating about at the top of the medical bag. Bill, crouching beside the doctor over the heaving body, had located it immediately and handed it to him. ‘I had used it on a patient just before I came to the church,’ said Dr. Ross patiently. ‘You can check if you like. I threw it into boiling water, dried it and chucked it back into the bag. I was in a hurry to come to the wedding.’
In a hurry—to come to Elizabeth’s wedding. ‘So the finger-stall was in the fore-front of your mind then, doctor?—when you brought in your medical bag and put it down on the chair and your eye fell on that tin of poison. Everyone is milling about, just back from the ceremony, not thinking of anyone except the bride and bridegroom. You take a little scoop of the poison, using the finger-stall—just in case occasion arises. And occasion does arise. What a bit of luck!’
‘Inspector Cockrill,’ said Elizabeth steadily, ‘this is all nonsense. Dr. Ross smelt the stuff on Cyrus’s breath, long before he put the finger-stall down his throat. You saw him yourself, like I said, sort of—snuffing…’
‘Sort of snuffing at nothing,’ said Cockie. ‘There was nothing to snuff at, was there, doctor?—not yet. But it placed the poison, you see, in advance of the true poisoning with the finger-stall. The man chokes, the doctor leans over him, pretends to be suspicious. Then the finger-stall down the throat; and this time there is something to snuff at. And when the finger-stall is later examined, the fact of its having been down the man’s throat will account for traces of cyanide on it. Now all that remains is to pin-point the earlier source of the poison. Well, that’s easy: he wipes off the finger-stall on the napkin; and then, so innocently!—places the napkin over the peach.’ His bright eyes, bird-like, looked triumphantly round upon them.
They all stood rigid, staring at the doctor: horrified, questioning. Elizabeth cried out: ‘Oh, it isn’t true!’ but on a note of doubt.
‘I don’t think so, no,’ said Cockie. ‘This isn’t a crime where anything was left to chance. And this is based on the chance that the old man might have a choking fit.’