Following the surprising announcement of the Master’s there was a moment of general consternation. It was broken by the arrival of Inspector Horrocks. His florid countenance and large, tangible presence seemed to bring us back from the fantastic realms of Jabberwocky. It was as though an errant ray of sunlight had filtered through the fog which darkened the day. His very feet inspired fresh confidence. Here, at last, was something solid and real.
The detective listened with intelligent interest while Dr. Warren outlined the salient points of the affair. His expression, however, was serious and perplexed as the tutor concluded:
“Of course, I cannot be positive that this cup actually contains prussic acid. It is remotely possible that the whole thing is some kind of unfortunate lark. That the tea had been tampered with is obvious. Pending an analysis, I think we may assume that it is potassium cyanide.”
‘‘I’m prepared to take your word for it, Colonel,” agreed the Inspector, as he held the cup to his nose. “Smells familiar to me, too.”
He turned to the Master. “And now, sir, if you’ve no objection, I think I shall take down the names of the people who were here today.”
Dr. Warren and I supplied the necessary information which was promptly transferred to the inspector’s notebook. “Funny how we always seem to get back to ‘A’ staircase,” he murmured, as he scanned the list. “Thank you. Now perhaps Dr. Hyssop would be kind enough to give me some idea of what happened when he poured the tea.”
The Master passed a hand reflectively over his beard. “As I recall it,” he said slowly, “I had poured out one cup only when the young lady was announced. I was rather up—no, upset is too strong a word. Shall we say that I was pleasantly surprised? I put down the cup and walked across the room to shake hands with my unexpected guest. That took me, at a rough estimate, about two minutes.”
“And the others? What were they doing?” asked Horrocks with deference.
The Master looked at me helplessly. “Did you notice what they were doing, Hilary?”
“Yes, Master. While you were welcoming Miss Lathrop the rest of us were wandering about the room, looking at your pictures and souvenirs. Everyone must have gone past that side table where the cup was.”
The inspector turned toward me with interest. “You mean, Mr. Fenton, that anyone could have taken this opportunity to doctor up the tea?”
I nodded.
“If that is so,” interposed Dr. Warren, “then we have no proof that it was Miss Lathrop for whom the poisoned tea was intended. No one could possibly know that this particular cup would get to her.”
Something in the tutor’s tone annoyed me to an unreasoning pitch of acerbity. “In America,” I commented drily, “it is the custom to serve ladies first. Miss Lathrop was the only lady present. Anyone who was accustomed to polite society could have figured that she would be the natural person to receive the first cup that was poured.”
The inspector looked at me with an expression of amused approbation. “And was it the maid who gave her the cup?” he inquired.
Dr. Warren screwed his monocle into place and looked his exsergeant squarely in the eyes.
“No, I regret to say that I myself handed it to Miss Lathrop. The maid passed the back of the sofa with two cups in her hand. I took the nearest and naturally passed it on.”
“H’mm. Then we have no actual proof that it was the first cup to be poured that the young lady received. In view, however, of her extraordinary invitation, I think we may take it that she was the intended victim.” The inspector paused and cleared his throat. “Did you leave the side table again while you were pouring out, Dr. Hyssop?”
“No,” replied the Master. “After I had left Miss Lathrop next to Dr. Warren on the sofa, I poured out the rest of the cups and went back to join them.”
“And what happened next?”
“The next thing I remember is that Dr. Warren left the sofa and offered me his seat,” I said as casually as I could.
“Did you take it?”
“No. Somerville went over and sat by Miss Lathrop. She was between him and the Master when she made her remark about the China tea.”
“Yes, yes,” agreed the Master, “and such a fortunate—such a very fortunate remark it was. As soon as she mentioned almonds, I knew that something was amiss.”
Horrocks puffed out his enormous moustache. “And did anyone else come up to Miss Lathrop at this time—that is, near enough to slip anything into her cup?”
“Several people came over to pass her the toast, the cakes or something of that sort,” replied Dr. Warren, “but I did not see anyone standing near her for any length of time.”
“I see. Then as a matter of actual fact, we cannot be at all certain as to when or how the poison was administered,” commented the inspector. “One thing seems to be certain, however, and that is that no one acted in a manner to create suspicion. Am I right?”
There was no reply. Horrocks then turned to Camilla, who had been sitting still throughout the whole conversation with her chin resting on one hand. Once again she reminded me of a marble figure, magnificently impervious to all that was unpleasant or unlovely in the world around her.
“Perhaps, Miss, you would be so kind as to tell me something more about this strange invitation you received.”
“I really have very little to tell,” she said reluctantly. “I am as completely mystified as the rest of you. I was in my room at about twelve o’clock this morning when a girl called Dorothy Dupuis brought me Dr. Hyssop’s card. She said she had found it in the hall.
“I asked the porter but he did not know anything about it. It had obviously been delivered by hand—and quite recently. Of course, I thought it a little odd and that the invitation should be for the same day, but I didn’t attach much importance to that. I was so pleased and flattered to be invited by Dr. Hyssop. I’ve often heard of him, naturally, and I wanted to meet him.
“So I came, and you know the rest. With the exception of Mr. Fenton, whom I know slightly, there was no one here whom I had ever seen before. I know Mr. Somerville by reputation, as a cricketer. I saw him play the other day.
“And—and Dr. Warren—” She broke off and looked earnestly at the serious faces in front of her. “But it is quite inconceivable that anyone should have wanted to poison me. Nor can I imagine why anyone should have tried to get me here with a forged invitation.”
“Do you happen to have that card with you, Miss?” asked the Inspector.
Camilla produced from her bag the small square of cardboard; engraved with the All Saints crest, which informed her that the Master requested the pleasure of her company to tea at four-thirty o’clock that afternoon. The name, Miss Camilla Lathrop, had been filled in by typewriter, also the time and the date of the party.
“It is one of my regular cards,” commented the Master. “I have a number of them in my office. But, as a rule, my secretary fills them in by hand.”
Horrocks nodded. “May I see your typewriter, please, sir?” he asked.
We followed the Master into his secretary’s office. He pointed to the machine on the desk. “It’s an old model Underhill,” he explained, “but that won’t be much help as almost every typewriter in the college is the same make and the same—er—vintage.
“I don’t know anything about those that are privately owned, of course. But the college bought about a dozen of these some three years ago when the company either changed their model or went out of business. I remember that we got them very cheap. Isn’t that so, Warren?”
The senior tutor nodded.
By this time the inspector had slipped a piece of paper into the machine and tapped out “Miss Camilla Lathrop. Tea. 4:30pm” several times.
“It’s the same type,” he remarked, after he had compared it with the invitation card. “But it might have been done on this or any of the Underhills that had a black ribbon. None of these letters is broken or defaced in any way so as to distinguish them. I will examine some of the others later. I suppose,” he added with some diffidence, “there is no chance of your secretary’s having made a mistake?”
“My secretary,” replied the Master, “is a very efficient young woman. She does not make mistakes, and she would not dream of sending out a personal invitation that had been filled in with the typewriter. I gave her a list of names yesterday morning. I invited all the people who live on ‘A’ staircase for reasons of my own.
“Indirectly they have all been involved in the two terrible tragedies that have occurred lately. I wanted to see them for myself. But under no circumstances would I have invited a single young lady to a party composed solely of men. In some respects I am old fashioned.
“Or, perhaps, by now the circle has gone round and I am in fashion again. It has made so many revolutions since my young days.” He looked around him with a bland smile. “However, I will call my secretary, if you like—just to make sure.”
He lifted the receiver and gave a number. A clear, efficient voice replied:
“Indeed, no, Master, I always fill them in by pen. Yes, you gave me the list at ten-thirty yesterday morning. There was no lady’s name. Most of the young gentlemen were on ‘A’ staircase. Yes, I am quite sure. Good-bye.”
“Well, that leaves us, like you might say, just about where we were before,” commented the inspector, as we returned to the Master’s study.
Dr. Martineau Hyssop seated himself in his favourite chair and held his shrivelled hands out toward the fire. The benevolent countenance was clouded and weary. He looked cold and pinched.
“I simply can’t believe it,” he whispered. “In all my long life—at my own tea-party—poison—a charming young girl—” the old voice drifted away dispiritedly.
The military tones of Horrocks cut through his dying monologue. “There’s one thing we ought to look into, Colonel, and that is what you might call the source of supply. I wonder, now, where anyone could get hold of prussic acid here in the college.”
The tutor seemed to reflect for a moment. “There is—or was—some in my science laboratory,” he said at length.
“Where’s that?”
“It’s just off my rooms on ‘A’ staircase. I give my lectures there sometimes and use it for practical demonstrations with my students. Hankin used to look after it and keep it clean. It was one of his regular jobs. As a rule, he kept the place locked, but it’s just possible that since his death—” A sudden thought seemed to strike him. “I think I’ll go over and see. I won’t be a moment.”
Dr. Warren left the room and returned in a few minutes carrying in his hand a half-empty bottle labelled “Potassium Cyanide (KCN) poison.” The lines round his mouth looked deeper than usual.
“There doesn’t seem to be much doubt as to what you call the source of supply, Horrocks,” he said grimly. “At the beginning of last week this bottle was full. I have used none since that time. It looks as if someone had been helping himself pretty freely. And he’s taken enough to kill several people.”
The inspector took the bottle and removed the stopper. As I moved toward him, I noticed an odour suggesting oil of bitter almonds. “I wouldn’t smell that too closely,” warned the tutor, drily. “It gives off hydrocyanic acid gas, which won’t do you any good.”
“There’s not much need to do that,” answered Horrocks, as he restoppered the bottle. “It’s easy enough to tell now what was in that cup!” He addressed the Master in grave tones.
“Dr. Hyssop,” he said quietly, “I’ve seen enough to be convinced that someone in this room today deliberately attempted to commit a murder.” A look of understanding passed between him and Dr. Warren. He resumed. “Both Dr. Warren and I have very good reason to believe that Miss Lathrop was the intended victim. I think that she herself—”
“I know what you mean,” interposed the Master gently. “But isn’t even that rather fantastic?”
“The plain facts are before you, sir,” said the inspector, pointing to the cup and bottle. “Now there remains the important question of motive.”
Camilla had jumped up from her chair and was looking anxiously around her. When she spoke, her voice was low and tense.
“Don’t!” she cried, “please don’t go into that. Not here—not in front of me—or Hilary. He doesn’t know about it. And I’ve had all that I can stand. I want to go—please.”
Everyone was looking at her compassionately. I would never have believed that Dr. Warren’s face could be so gentle. He came over and laid his hand on her shoulder.
“Yes, yes, Miss Lathrop,” he said. “We all understand. You are quite right. It would be better for you to go. Mr. Fenton, I am sure, will be glad to go with you. And, perhaps, if you feel like it, you would come to my room in about an hour’s time. There are one or two things—yes?”
Camilla turned blindly towards the door. Then, as if she had suddenly remembered her manners, she went over to the Master and held out her hand.
“Good-bye, Dr. Hyssop,” she said simply, “and thank you. I’m sorry to have been such a nuisance to you.”
The Master took her hand between both of his and looked up into her glistening eyes.
“My dear,” he said softly, “I would not have had this happen for anything in the world. Now that I know more about you, I shall make it my duty to protect you from any unpleasantness that may come to you through no fault of your own. I want you always to look upon me as your friend.
“You have acted splendidly throughout the whole miserable business. If what has happened today, if the two tragic events of the past week have undermined my belief in human nature, you have helped to restore my confidence in the essential goodness and courage of my fellow beings.
“Will you come and see me tomorrow so that I can tell you how much I have admired you—not only for your conduct today but for other things, too? At about four o’clock? You can bring my young friend, Hilary, with you, if you wish. And now, good-bye, my dear. Good-bye and God bless you.”
He accompanied us to the front door and we passed out into the misty atmosphere of the court. I took Camilla’s arm and my eyes sought hers.
“Let’s go up to my room,” I whispered. “You are tired and overwrought. I won’t worry you to talk. You shall just listen to me.”
“All right, Hilary Fenton,” she agreed wearily.
When we reached “A” staircase both of us instinctively looked back toward the Master’s lodge. By some strange trick of vision we could see that Dr. Hyssop was still standing by the front door. Only his white beard was visible, but that seemed to pierce the fog like a beacon light—a patch of pure whiteness against the gray obscurity of the day. The sight comforted me strangely.
“He’s like a guardian angel,” I murmured.
“He’s my idea of God,” said Camilla with decision.