They lifted the old lady gently out of her chair and laid her on the sofa. She was pitifully light. Gerald picked up her rug from where it had fallen and draped it over her. Deep, rasping breaths came from her, and her mouth gaped.
“I’ll ring the doctor,” Gerald said.
“Call the police too,” said Patrick. He feared that Helen’s picture might be splashed on the front page of all the evening papers, under banner headlines. He had picked up Mrs Ludlow’s silver-headed stick and was examining it curiously. The handle was chased, and bore some initials on it in a monogram.
“I suppose I must,” said Gerald. He looked at Patrick with a desolate expression; all his anger had vanished. “This lets Helen out. But where is she? It may be too late.”
Patrick put Mrs Ludlow’s stick carefully down on her wheelchair. He laid a hand on Gerald’s arm.
“She’s safe,” he said. “Brace up, man. She’s with my sister. I’m sorry I couldn’t let you know earlier, but you’d never have played up if you’d known she was all right.”
Gerald was astounded. His immediate reaction was of immense relief, but soon it was replaced by incredulity.
“You mean you planned all this?” he asked, making a gesture that embraced the whole room, including the helpless figure of his mother.
“Not in quite this fashion, and certainly without such an ending,” Patrick said. He glanced at the inert form. Perhaps it was for the best. “I knew your mother had killed Mrs Mackenzie. I came up to see if I could find some proof.”
In fact he had slipped into Pantons by the back door while Mrs Ludlow, Phyllis and Cathy were at lunch. He had travelled up in the lift and poked about in Mrs Ludlow’s room, but without finding what he sought. “I heard your mother insist on coming down here, and I thought she might trap herself.”
“I can’t take it in,” Gerald said, shaking his head. “How did you know?”
“She tried to prevent Cathy from waking Mrs Mackenzie. That wasn’t a natural reaction. She wanted to save her from shock, because her affection for you included your daughter. Cathy told me in detail what happened on Sunday morning; she said her aunt told her to go to Mrs Mackenzie’s room, and Mrs Ludlow said: ‘Don’t send the child, you go, Phyllis.’ Cathy was quite definite about it, because it made her indignant on her aunt’s behalf.”
“Will the police believe it?”
“I think so,” Patrick said. “Unless I’m much mistaken, we shall find our proof. Will you ring them, or shall I?”
“I will,” said Gerald. He straightened himself, cast one more look at his mother, and then went to the telephone.
When he had made the two calls he lit a cigarette, and Patrick took out his pipe. They sat together, smoking silently.
“I suppose there’s nothing we can do for Mother?” Gerald said at last. “The doctor won’t be long.”
“She’s past our help, I’m afraid,” said Patrick. “The shock must have been too much for her.”
“She never gave a sign, these past days. Her appetite, even! It never faltered.”
“Iron self-control,” said Patrick. “Our generation hasn’t got it to the same extent. She was sure that she could win.”
“But how did Helen get to your sister’s? Did she go straight to you this morning? I’ve been nearly frantic,” Gerald said. “I was afraid she might do something desperate,” he confessed. “Silly, I suppose.”
“Not at all. She was in a bad way this morning, and I’m not surprised,” said Patrick. “She’s been under a dreadful strain, and so have you. I happened to see her riding by on her bicycle. Or rather, Cathy’s bicycle. I hope it didn’t get pinched, by the way. I left it by the bus stop as a decoy.”
“It’s all right I rescued it,” said Gerald.
“Good. Well, as I say, I happened to see your wife pedalling along when I was cleaning my car.” He paused. “She’s not a very skilful cyclist, I’m afraid. She did a nasty swerve and skidded off.” No wonder, at his ambush. He had almost given her up, when she appeared. “She didn’t hurt herself,” he said. He thought of Helen, sobbing in Jane’s kitchen, hysterical at last. But she had calmed down in the end, and listened to him. Then she consented to be hidden for the day, and to trust him.
“I seem to be rather heavily in your debt,” said Gerald gruffly. “And your sister’s, too.”
Patrick waved a deprecating hand.
“We’re not quite out of the wood yet,” he said. “There’s a car now. Doctor, or police?”
It was Inspector Foster. He came striding in, with Sergeant Smithers in his wake, and halted at the sight of Mrs Ludlow lying on the sofa, still breathing stertorously.
“We need an ambulance,” he said. “Sergeant!”
“Dr Wilkins is on his way,” said Gerald. “Please don’t take my mother from her home.”
“Well, now, what is all this?” demanded the Inspector. “I’m sorry Mrs Ludlow’s ill, of course. But you said on the telephone that fresh evidence had come to light.”
Patrick stepped forward, and the Inspector looked at him in a weary way as if to say: “What, you again?”
“Before she was taken ill, Mrs Ludlow admitted putting barbiturate powder in the helping of lemon meringue pie on her tray,” he said. “She dropped her stick when she fell. I picked it up, but otherwise I have not touched it. If you unscrew the silver top you may find something interesting inside.”
The Inspector looked at him, then at the stick, lying so innocently across the arms of the empty wheelchair. He lifted it, holding it gingerly with a handkerchief around his own fingers, and gave the top a twist. It unscrewed and he tipped it up. Into the palm of his hand fell several empty blue gelatine containers, and five whole sodium amytal capsules.