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Colonel Brammington darted a raffish glance at Alleyn and accepted a fresh cigarette.
“To Parish,” he repeated. “And here we must not ignore a point that I feel is extremely important. Parish purchased the cyanide solution. It was he who suggested, to the certifiable Noggins, that it should be gingered up, as he put it. It was he who carried it back to the i
Colonel Brammington thumped the arm of his chair and pointed a hairy finger at Alleyn.
“Above all,” he shouted, “Parish has done nothing but murmur against Legge. Suspicions, Bacon remarked, that are artificially nourished by the tales and whisperings of others, have stings. This, Parish foresaw. This he hoped would prove true. My case against Parish is that he took cyanide from the rat-hole as soon as he could after Abel Pomeroy put it there. Or, I offer it as an alternative, that he took cyanide from the original bottle, replaced the small amount with water, and contrived to re-wrap and seal the bottle, and, as a blind, upset the vessel in the rat-hole without disturbing Pomeroy’s prints, and filled it with water. This suggests a subtlety of reasoning which may or may not appeal to you. But to the burden of my tale. Parish had, that very evening, heard of Watchman’s idiosyncrasy for cyanide, he had been reminded of Watchman’s habit of turning faint at the sight of his own blood, he had heard Watchman baiting Legge and Legge’s offer to perform his trick with Watchman’s hand, he had heard Watchman half-promise to let him try. The following night, when the brandy was produced and drunk, he saw his chance. He encouraged the drinking and the projected experiment. When Legge wounded Watchman and Watchman turned faint, Parish stood near the glass. He had the cyanide about him. Brandy was suggested. Parish put his poison in the glass. The lights went out. Parish groped on the floor, bumped his head against Cubitt’s legs, found the dart and infected it. He then ground whatever phial he had about him into powder, together with the broken tumbler on the floor, and finding a more solid piece under his heel, threw it into the fire. And from then onwards, gentlemen, I maintain that everything the fellow did or said, is consistent with the theory that he murdered his cousin. I plump for Parish.”
Colonel Brammington stared about him with an unconvincing air of modesty tinged with a hint of anxiety.
“Well,” he said, “there you are. An essay in Watsoniana. Am I to be set down? Shall I perceive my mentor wafting his eyes to the contrary and falling a lip of much contempt?”
“No, indeed,” said Alleyn. “I congratulate you, sir, A splindid marshalling of facts and a magnificent sequence of deductions.”
If so large and red a man could be said to simper, Colonel Brammington simpered.
“Really” he said. “I have committed no atrocious blunder? My deductions march with yours?”
“Almost all the way. We shall venture to disagree on one or two points.”
“I make no claim to infallibility,” said the Chief Constable. “What are the points? Let us have them?”
“Well,” said Alleyn apologetically, and with an uncomfortable glance at Harper and at Fox, “there’s only one point of any importance. I–In our view of the case — you’ve — you’ve hit on the wrong man.”
Chapter XX
Conjecture into Fact
i
For a second or two Alleyn wondered if there would be an explosion or, worse, a retreat into heavy silence. Fearing that the expression of gloating delight upon Harper’s face might turn the scales, Alleyn had placed himself between the Chief Constable and his Superintendent. But Colonel Brammington behaved admirably. He goggled for a moment, he became rather more purple in the face, and he made a convulsive movement that caused his shirt-front to crackle sharply, but finally he spoke with composure.
“Your ma
“No, no, sir. Your case against Parish is supported by facts, but not by all the facts. Parish might so nearly have murdered Watchman, by either of the two methods you’ve described…”
“Then… Well!”
“The circumstance that excludes Parish, excludes his only means of murder. If he did it, it was by poisoning the brandy, and he couldn’t tell which glass would be used. Not possibly. But we’ll come to that in a minute. Our case, and I’m afraid it’s a dubious one at the moment, is that there are one or two scraps of evidence that fit into the pattern only if they are allowed to point in one direction, and that is not towards Parish.”
“What are they?… More beer, I implore you.”
“To begin with,” said Alleyn, filling Colonel Brammington’s glass, “the two iodine bottles…”
“What!”
“Shall we take them, sir, as they turn up?”
“Let us, for God’s sake.”
“You, sir, ended with Sebastian Parish. I shall begin with him. If Parish was a murderer, how lucky he was! How all occasions did inform against Watchman and favour Parish! It was on the evening after his decision that the brandy was produced, so that was pure luck. He didn’t know Legge would wound Watchman, he only hoped that under the influence of brandy, he might miss his mark. When it so fell out, he had to make up his mind very rapidly and plan a series of delicate and dangerous manœuvres. And how oddly he behaved! He risked his own immunity by handling the darts, and this, when his whole object was that Legge should seem to be the poisoner. After the accident, instead of putting cyanide in the brandy glass and moving away from it, he stood beside it, in a position that was likely to be remembered. And again, how could he tell that Miss Moore would use that glass? There were seven other glasses about the room. She might have taken a clean glass. Parish made no attempt to force that glass upon her. She chose it. More stupendous luck. Now, with the exception of Miss Moore, this objection applies to the supposition that any of them put cyanide in the brandy-glass. They couldn’t be sure it would be used. Only Miss Moore could be sure of that, for she chose it.”