MURDOCH HAD RETRIEVED his wheel from the station and he found that although bicycling was easier than walking, getting on and off the bike was a problem. He had difficulty straightening up when he parked his bicycle near the house on Sherbourne Street. There was the usual crowd of onlookers gathered outside by now, not nearly as well dressed as the one that had gathered outside the church, but the morbid curiosity was the same. A police ambulance waited in front and Burley was keeping guard at the door. He greeted Murdoch with a salute.
“Good morning, sir.”
“The bodies are still here, I presume?”
“Yes, sir, and the physician has just arrived.”
“The air has cleared now?”
“Yes, sir.”
They both glanced back at the house. The front windows on both floors were smashed.
“I hear you acted very promptly, constable. Well done.”
Burley flushed with pleasure. “Thank you, sir. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that the two ladies will live. They was both unconscious but they revived a bit in the air.”
“Have you had time to inspect the fireplaces?”
“No, sir, but Constable Crabtree and Constable Higgins are in there now.”
Murdoch took a deep breath, not because he feared the carbon monoxide might be still lingering in the house but because he didn’t relish what he knew he was going to see.
He went inside. The door to Hicks’s room was open. His body was in his chair close by the hearth. A book was at his feet where it had fallen. His eyes were open and his face was covered with the typical red blotches caused by monoxide poisoning. There was a sour smell of vomit in the room and Murdoch could see Hicks’s dressing gown was stained down the front. Constable Crabtree was at the fireplace, holding a lantern so he could examine the chimney.
“Find anything, George?” Murdoch asked. As best he could he bent down to look. Crabtree glanced at him startled.
“I did it chopping wood. I’ll explain later,” said Murdoch. “Aim your light, will you?”
The constable did so. “Looks like a brick came loose and caused a blockage.” Murdoch reached up and released a small shower of debris. “The whole bloody thing needs repairing. I wish we could prosecute the miserly landlords who prey off poor people like Hicks. They take their money and do nothing. It’s disgusting.”
He eased himself away.
Crabtree poked in the coal scuttle, which was by the hearth. “He was burning the cheapest variety of coke. The fumes must have backed up. He probably didn’t know what was happening. The same with the people upstairs, who were all in bed asleep. As I understand it, there were three of them in the family and we did find the bodies of two females in one bed and that of a young man in a cot by the window.” He paused. “The sad thing was, it looked like he’d tried to get out of bed, probably feeling ill, but he couldn’t do anything. Apparently, he suffered from the palsy.” Crabtree consulted his notebook. “The two women who live in the room next to Mr. Hicks are sisters, Miss Emma and Larissa Leask. There’s a connecting door that’s been plastered over but not very well. The only reason they survived at all is that they always sleep with their window open, but Miss Emma is elderly and she is critically ill at the moment. Next to the Tugwells on the second floor are a man and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Simon McGillivary. They are in the hospital but expected to recover, although Mrs. McGillivary is with child and the doctors are most concerned about the baby’s future welfare. On the third floor there are three tenants. A German man, Mr. Werner Einboden, and his wife, Gudren, on one side of the stairwell and a bachelor by the name of Philip Taylor on the other. He works a night shift at the newspaper office and he wasn’t at home. The Einbodens both have severe headaches, but other than that they are all right.”
“Where are they now?”
“Across the street with one of the neighbours, a Mrs. Cole.”
“Does the blocked chimey look like an accident to you, George?”
“It’s impossible to say, sir. He may have killed himself. Suicides will do this sort of thing to make it look like an accident so the family doesn’t lose out on insurance. You talked to him, sir. Did you think he was unbalanced?”
“He was a lonely man full of sorrow, but I wouldn’t say unbalanced and I’m sure he’d know his act could cause the death of other people.”
“Not everybody realizes how monoxide travels, sir.”
“Mr. Hicks was very well read. He used to be an engineer, he told me.”
“It’s hard to imagine somebody blocked that chimney deliberately. But I suppose we have to keep that under consideration, don’t we, sir?”
“He never went out. He’d hardly sit there while some cove went and stopped up his chimney. Besides, what earthly reason would anybody have for murdering a frail old man like this?”
Crabtree didn’t answer. They’d both seen enough of human depravity to know almost anything was possible.
Murdoch went over to the dead man and, with difficulty, bent to pick up the book that had fallen from Hicks’s lap. It was the Book of Common Prayer.
“I was going to bring you a book to read, but I didn’t get around to it. I only wish you’d had a chance to read some more rollicking tales, Mr. Hicks.”
“Shall I go and round up a jury, sir?”
“Yes, indeed, George. I’ll go upstairs and talk to the physician. Who is it, by the way?”
“Dr. Ogden again.”
“Good.”
Murdoch waited until the constable had left, then he gently closed the staring eyes of the dead man. He made the sign of the cross.
“May God have mercy on your soul.”
Stiffly, he climbed the stairs to the second floor and went into the Tugwells’ room. Dr. Ogden had just finished her examination of the bodies and she turned to greet him.
“Good afternoon, Detective Murdoch. Oh dear, you have lumbago, I see.”
“Yes, ma’am. I was chopping wood.”
“Do you have a female at home?”
“Er, no, ma’am, I’m not married.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean is there somebody at home who could use an iron on you?”
“Er, I’m not quite sure what you are asking me, doctor?”
She smiled slightly. “The best treatment that I know of is to have somebody apply a hot iron to your lower back muscles. It should be done over thick brown paper, but one or two treatments like that will cure you in no time.”
It was on the tip of Murdoch’s tongue to say, “Yes, Sister,” but he caught himself.
She turned her attention back to the bed where Esther Tugwell and her daughter were lying side by side. Except for the pallor of their skin, they could have been asleep. Dr. Ogden had removed the tattered quilt to do her examination, but otherwise the situation was clearly as it had been when they went to bed. There was no sign of disturbance or struggle. Murdoch could see the same red blotches on both of their faces that had been on Hicks, but neither of the women had vomited. The son was a different matter. He had obviously tried to get out of bed and he was entangled with his blanket, half on the floor.
“Rigor mortis is well established but carbonic monoxide poisoning tends to delay the onset so it is more difficult to determine with accuracy when death occurred. But I’d say they all died at approximately the same time, which would be no earlier than ten o’clock last night but could have been as late as one or two in the morning.”
“Is there any doubt that the monoxide was the cause of death?” Murdoch asked.
She snapped the clips shut on her medical bag. “None at all. There are no signs of trauma to the bodies, except for the lad bruising his face when he fell to the floor. I intend to do the postmortem examination this afternoon. You can attend if you wish or I will have the results sent to you immediately.”
The other constable had been standing by the window, looking a little queasy.
“Higgins, did you examine the chimney in this room?” Murdoch asked.
“Yes, sir. It was clear.”
“Poor innocent souls,” said the doctor.
“I understand the fumes originated down below with a blocked chimey.”
“It looks that way, ma’am.”
She tugged her gloves on. “No matter how much you might warn them, people are so careless. He was probably using coke.”
“Yes, he was. A poor quality.”
“That wretched fuel should be outlawed.”
“It’s cheaper, ma’am.”
“I’m aware of that, detective. As far as I am concerned the poor are often their own worst enemies.” With that she headed for the door but paused in front of Higgins. “Constable, you should go outside at once. The gas can linger for a long time. Mr. Murdoch, don’t forget my suggestion concerning your back and above all, keep your bowels open.”
“Yes, ma’am.”