an attack of pain. Some vitamin capsules. An indigestion mixture.”
Mr Entwhistle interrupted.
“Vitamin capsules? I think I was once prescribed a course of those. Small round capsules of gelatine.”
“Yes. Containing adexoline.”
“Could anything else have been introduced into - say - one of those capsules?”
“Something lethal, you mean?” The doctor was looking more and more surprised. “But surely no man would ever - look here, Entwhistle, what are you getting at? My God, man, are you suggesting murder?”
“I don't quite know what I'm suggesting... I just want to know what would be possible.”
“But what evidence have you for even suggesting such a thing?”
“I haven't any evidence,” said Mr Entwhistle in a tired voice. “Mr Abernethie is dead - and the person to whom he spoke is also dead. The whole thing is rumour - vague, unsatisfactory rumour, and I want to scotch it if I can. If you tell me that no one could possibly have poisoned Abernethie in any way whatsoever, I'll be delighted! It would be a big weight off my mind, I can assure you.”
Dr Larraby got up and walked up and down.
“I can't tell you what you want me to tell you,” he said at last. “I wish I could. Of course it could have been done. Anybody could have extracted the oil from a capsule and replaced it with - say - pure nicotine or half a dozen other things. Or something could have been put in his food or drink? Isn't that more likely?”
“Possibly. But you see, there were only the servants in the house when he died - and I don't think it was any of them - in fact I'm quite sure it wasn't. So I'm looking for some delayed action possibility. There's no drug, I suppose, that you can administer and then the person dies weeks later?”
“A convenient idea - but untenable, I'm afraid,” said the doctor dryly. “I know you're a responsible person, Entwhistle, but who is making this suggestion? It seems to me wildly far fetched.”
“Abernethie never said anything to you? Never hinted that one of his relations might be wanting him out of the way?”
The doctor looked at him curiously.
“No, he never said anything to me. Are you sure, Entwhistle, that somebody hasn't been - well, playing up the sensational? Some hysterical subjects can give an appearance of being quite reasonable and normal, you know.”
“I hope it was like that. It might well be.”
“Let me understand. Someone claims that Abernethie told her - it was a woman, I suppose?”
“Oh yes, it was a woman.”
“- told her that someone was trying to kill him?”
Cornered, Mr Entwhistle reluctantly told the tale of Cora's remark at the funeral. Dr Larraby's face lightened.
“My dear fellow. I shouldn't pay any attention! The explanation is quite simple. The woman's at a certain time of life - craving for sensation, unbalanced, unreliable - might say anything. They do, you know.”
Mr Entwhistle resented the doctor's easy assumption. He himself had had to deal with plenty of sensation-hunting and hysterical women.
“You may be quite right,” he said, rising. “Unfortunately we can't tackle her on the subject, as she's been murdered herself.”
“What's that - murdered?” Dr Larraby looked as though he had grave suspicions of Mr Entwhistle's own stability of mind.
“You've probably read about it in the paper. Mrs Lanquenet at Lytchett St Mary in Berkshire.”
“Of course - I'd no idea she was a relation of Richard Abernethie's!” Dr Larraby was looking quite shaken.
Feeling that he had revenged himself for the doctor's professional superiority, and unhappily conscious that his own suspicions had not been assuaged as a result of the visit, Mr Entwhistle took his leave.
After the Funeral
II
Back at Enderby, Mr Entwhistle decided to talk to Lanscombe.
He started by asking the old butler what his plans were.
“Mrs Leo has asked me to stay on here until the house is sold, sir, and I'm sure I shall be very pleased to oblige her. We are
Mr Entwhistle interrupted.
“Vitamin capsules? I think I was once prescribed a course of those. Small round capsules of gelatine.”
“Yes. Containing adexoline.”
“Could anything else have been introduced into - say - one of those capsules?”
“Something lethal, you mean?” The doctor was looking more and more surprised. “But surely no man would ever - look here, Entwhistle, what are you getting at? My God, man, are you suggesting murder?”
“I don't quite know what I'm suggesting... I just want to know what would be possible.”
“But what evidence have you for even suggesting such a thing?”
“I haven't any evidence,” said Mr Entwhistle in a tired voice. “Mr Abernethie is dead - and the person to whom he spoke is also dead. The whole thing is rumour - vague, unsatisfactory rumour, and I want to scotch it if I can. If you tell me that no one could possibly have poisoned Abernethie in any way whatsoever, I'll be delighted! It would be a big weight off my mind, I can assure you.”
Dr Larraby got up and walked up and down.
“I can't tell you what you want me to tell you,” he said at last. “I wish I could. Of course it could have been done. Anybody could have extracted the oil from a capsule and replaced it with - say - pure nicotine or half a dozen other things. Or something could have been put in his food or drink? Isn't that more likely?”
“Possibly. But you see, there were only the servants in the house when he died - and I don't think it was any of them - in fact I'm quite sure it wasn't. So I'm looking for some delayed action possibility. There's no drug, I suppose, that you can administer and then the person dies weeks later?”
“A convenient idea - but untenable, I'm afraid,” said the doctor dryly. “I know you're a responsible person, Entwhistle, but who is making this suggestion? It seems to me wildly far fetched.”
“Abernethie never said anything to you? Never hinted that one of his relations might be wanting him out of the way?”
The doctor looked at him curiously.
“No, he never said anything to me. Are you sure, Entwhistle, that somebody hasn't been - well, playing up the sensational? Some hysterical subjects can give an appearance of being quite reasonable and normal, you know.”
“I hope it was like that. It might well be.”
“Let me understand. Someone claims that Abernethie told her - it was a woman, I suppose?”
“Oh yes, it was a woman.”
“- told her that someone was trying to kill him?”
Cornered, Mr Entwhistle reluctantly told the tale of Cora's remark at the funeral. Dr Larraby's face lightened.
“My dear fellow. I shouldn't pay any attention! The explanation is quite simple. The woman's at a certain time of life - craving for sensation, unbalanced, unreliable - might say anything. They do, you know.”
Mr Entwhistle resented the doctor's easy assumption. He himself had had to deal with plenty of sensation-hunting and hysterical women.
“You may be quite right,” he said, rising. “Unfortunately we can't tackle her on the subject, as she's been murdered herself.”
“What's that - murdered?” Dr Larraby looked as though he had grave suspicions of Mr Entwhistle's own stability of mind.
“You've probably read about it in the paper. Mrs Lanquenet at Lytchett St Mary in Berkshire.”
“Of course - I'd no idea she was a relation of Richard Abernethie's!” Dr Larraby was looking quite shaken.
Feeling that he had revenged himself for the doctor's professional superiority, and unhappily conscious that his own suspicions had not been assuaged as a result of the visit, Mr Entwhistle took his leave.
After the Funeral
II
Back at Enderby, Mr Entwhistle decided to talk to Lanscombe.
He started by asking the old butler what his plans were.
“Mrs Leo has asked me to stay on here until the house is sold, sir, and I'm sure I shall be very pleased to oblige her. We are
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