Strong Poison

“That’s a regular feature of these arsenical cases, or so his lordship tells me,” replied Bunter. “A very distressing symptom. Had he ever had anything of the sort before?”

“Not what you could call cramps,” said Ha

“From what the gentleman for the prosecution said, talking it out with Sir James Lubbock,” said Mr. Bunter, “I gathered that those pins-and-needles, and bad eyes and so on, were a sign he’d been given arsenic regularly, if I may so phrase it.”

“A dreadful wicked woman she must ’a been,” said Mrs. Pettican, “- ’ev another crumpet, do, Mr. Bunter – a torturin’ of the poor soul that longwinded way. Bashin’ on the ’ed or the ’asty use of a carvin’ knife when roused I can understand, but the ’orrors of slow poisonin’ is the work of a fiend in ’uman form, in my opinion.”

“Fiend is the only word, Mrs. Pettican,” agreed the visitor.

“And the wickedness of it,” said Ha

“Yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Pettican. “Why, when master told us about them diggin’ poor Mr. Boyes up and findin’ him full of that there nasty arsenic, it give me sech a turn I felt as if the room was a-goin’ round like the gallopin’ ’orses at the roundabouts. ‘Oh, sir!’ I ses, ‘what, in our ’ouse!’ That’s what I ses, and he ses, ‘Mrs. Pettican,’ he ses, ‘I sincerely hope not.’ ”

Mrs. Pettican, having imparted this Macbeth-like flavour to the story, was pleased with it, and added:

“Yes, that’s what I said to ’im. ‘In our ’ouse,’ I said, and I’m sure I never slep’; a wink for three nights afterwards, what with the police and the fright and one thing and another.”

“But of course you had no difficulty in proving that it hadn’t happened in this house?” suggested Bunter. “Miss Westlock gave her evidence so beautifully at trial, I’m sure she made it clear as clear could be to judge and jury. The judge congratulated you, Miss Westlock, I’m sure he didn’t say nearly enough -so plainly and well as you spoke up before the whole court.”

“Well, I never was one to be shy,” confessed Ha

“I wonder you could speak so exactly to every little detail, all that time ago,” said Bunter, with admiration.

“Well, you see, Mr. Bunter, the very morning after Mr. Boyes was took ill, master comes down to us and he says, sitting in that chair ever so friendly, just as you might be yourself, ‘I’m afraid Mr. Boyes is very ill,’ he says. ‘He thinks he might have ate something as disagreed with him,’ he says, ‘and perhaps as it might be the chicken. So I want you and Cook,’ he says, ‘to run through with me everything we had for di

“And I said the same,” said the Cook, “Sech a plain simple di

“Yes, he made the omelette himself that very night, didn’t he?”

“He did,” said Ha

“Yes, Ha

“If done with a good beef stock,” pronounced Mr. Bunter, judicially, “the vegetables well packed in layers, on a foundation of bacon, not too fat, and the whole well seasoned with salt, pepper and paprika, there are few dishes to beat a casseroled chicken. For my own part, I would recommend a soupçon of garlic, but I am aware that such is not agreeable to all tastes.”

“I can’t a-bear the smell or sight of the stuff,” said Mrs. Pettican, frankly, “but as for the rest I’m with you, always allowing that the giblets is added to the stock, and I would personally favour mushrooms when in season, but not them ti

“Well,” said Bunter, “it’s certain if there had been anything unwholesome about the casserole, you and Miss Westlock could scarcely have escaped it.

“No, indeed,” said Ha

“I couldn’t abear myself if I had to begin the day with dirty dishes,” said Mrs. Pettican. “There was a drop of the soup left – not much, jest a wee drain, and Mr. Urquhart took that up to show to the doctor, and he tasted it and said it was very good, so Nurse Williams told us, though she didn’t have none of it herself.”

“And as for the burgundy,” said Ha

“It was very far-seeing of Mr. Urquhart to take such precautions,” said Bunter, “when there wasn’t any thought at the time but that the poor man died naturally.”

“That’s what Nurse Williams said,” replied Ha