Origins of Evil
The Chinese cook was interested, but showed no emotion when he received an order to meet the inspector in his bedroom. He entered blandly, glanced at Thomas, and waited. Kendall did not keep him waiting long.
“I understand you keep some poison in that cupboard over your bed,” said Kendall, driving straight to the point.
“You tell him that?” asked the cook, glancing again at Thomas.
“Yes, he told me,” replied Kendall. “I made him. Is it true?”
The Chinaman gave a little shrug, then nodded.
“You know it is wrong?”
“To you, not to me,” answered the Chinaman.
“Are you ill?”
“Once I had velly bad pain.”
“I’m sorry. But I’m afraid I must see that poison.”
“You take it away?” inquired the Chinaman.
“I’m asking to see it.”
For a few moments the Chinaman did not move. Perhaps he was summoning philosophy to combat a grief his placid features did not reveal. Then, with another little shrug, he moved quietly to the head of the bed and took a key from his pocket.
“Don’t touch the front of the cupboard!” exclaimed Kendall suddenly.
The Chinaman obeyed, carefully inserted the key, turned it, and opened the small door.
After that, something did happen to his face. Kendall was watching it in preference to the cupboard. Amazement shot momentarily into the usually inscrutable eyes. But the moment passed. The smooth features became quiet again.
“Do you sleep heavily?” inquired Kendall.
There was an alarm clock by the bed.
The Chinaman did not reply; he turned towards Thomas, whose mouth was gaping.
“Well?” said Kendall.
“I never took it—I swear I didn’t!” muttered the butler, his forehead wet.
“Some one did,” answered Kendall. He addressed the Chinaman again. “Have you any idea who?”
The Chinaman remained silent, his eyes still on Thomas.
“Was he the only one you told?” Kendall demanded sharply.
“Nobody else,” replied the Chinaman.
“Do you read in bed?”
“Velly bad habit.”
“What time did you go to bed last night?”
“Eleven.”
“And went to sleep at once?”
“Yes.”
“Were you disturbed in the night?”
“No.”
“Did you wake up at all?”
“Not till the clock sound.”
“And that was?”
“Six.”
“This poison. What was it?”
“I bring it from China. You do not know it. Velly quick. No pain. Velly sensible to stop pain.”
“What was it in? Box? Bottle?”
“Little glass tube.”
“Fluid?”
“Yes.”
“Easily poured into something?”
“Velly easy.”
“Such as a flask.”
“Yes.”
“Or you could drink it straight from the tube?”
“Velly easy.”
“Thank you. That will do. Leave the cupboard open and the key where it is. You may have to find a bed somewhere else to-night. I want this room, and it will be locked. Out of it, the pair of you—and no talking!”
He followed them out and locked the door. The Chinaman faded away into the shadows, but in response to a word Thomas followed the inspector along the passage.
“I didn’t take it,” repeated Thomas dully.
“I haven’t said you did,” answered Kendall. “Have you anything more to tell me?”
“I don’t think so, sir.”
“Think again. About Miss Wilding?”
“No, sir.”
“About Chater?”
“No, sir. At least—”
“Go on!”
“It’s not important, but I don’t want to keep anything back. This morning there was another little scene. He had me in his room and told me I’d got to be ready to do anything he wanted. It was shortly before they all went to the Meet. Then Bessie happened to come along the passage with a tray, and after he’d sent me out he called her in. She didn’t want to go, and she was only there for a few moments. I took it that he did it to spite me, knowing how I felt.”
“Very likely. Of course, it didn’t make you love him any more?”
“No, sir.”
“But that was after the poison had been stolen, so it wouldn’t affect what happened last night.”
“Of course—that’s right, sir!” exclaimed Thomas, brightening. “I’d forgotten that.”
His relief was almost pathetic.
“Then here’s something to remember, Thomas,” replied Kendall, as he beckoned to the approaching sergeant. “Many people who never dreamed they could commit murder have done so through jealousy. Watch yours. It’s no good. Not to anybody.”
He moved away from the butler and went to meet the sergeant.
“More fingerprint work for you, Price,” he said. “Cook’s room this time. See if you can find anything on the cupboard over the bed. Also on the key to it. But I’m afraid I’m going to be disappointed—people are too wise nowadays to leave obvious clues about, and I was too late with the key anyway. Bad slip, that. Anyway, have a shot. Here’s the key to the bedroom door, and see nobody else gets hold of it.”
“What was in the cupboard?” asked the sergeant.
“A child could guess,” answered Kendall. “Poison. Details later. I’ve got to see Miss Wilding.”
But as he reached the top of the stairs to the first floor he heard footsteps behind him. He turned and found Bultin’s face looming at him languidly.
“Would a small glass tube, empty, be of any interest to you?” inquired Bultin in a bored voice.
“Where the devil did you find that?” exclaimed Kendall.
“It’s in the studio,” answered Bultin, “inside the leather turn-up of Chater’s hat. Oh, and you needn’t trouble to interview Miss Wilding. I’ve had a little heart-to-heart with her, and Body No. One was her husband.”
“Oh, was he?” retorted Kendall. “Well, you can go and have another little heart-to-heart with her, and tell her that he wasn’t! He had one wife already!”