LITMIR.BIZ

      CHAPTER III

       Table of Contents

      LADY CRAIG drew a deep breath as she entered the morning-room. The chief constable, Colonel Godolphin, was a middle-aged man with a rather grim face.

      "How good of you to've come at once!" she said fervently. "But I thought—" She looked around for the colonel's companion.

      "Chief Inspector Pointer of the C.I.D. happened to be down near here last night on another matter, so I got him to come along—just in case he should be wanted. He's seeing about the car at the moment."

      "Does this mean that the affair will be in the hands of Scotland Yard?" Houghton asked. "I hope you won't think it rude of me, colonel, but I should be delighted to hear as much."

      "Yes, indeed!" breathed Lady Craig, casting a stony glance at the speaker. "Not that we haven't entire confidence in your men," she murmured to her guest.

      "So it's true!—what was told me over the telephone. I hoped there might be some mistake. Your butler—at least the voice sounded like his—" Godolphin began briskly.

      "It was my butler speaking." Lady Craig's tone conveyed the impression that Match had been merely her mouthpiece.

      "—rang me up half an hour ago, and said that Craig had just died—" Again he paused. Lady Craig nodded sadly. Godolphin murmured his condolences to the two before he proceeded briskly: "Your butler went on to say that, before dying, Craig had gasped out that he was being poisoned, and would we look into the matter. So, of course, I hurried up at once."

      "Dreadful, isn't it?" she said with a sigh. "And the doctors think it's true. It's very terrible that, if Dr. Lindrum had only been more, well—up in his work, poor Ronald might have been with us still. We had a man down from town for a consultation finally, but—, he only got here this morning. Too late! Dr. Lindrum thinks poor Ronald was taking some medicine of his own, which combined with Dr. Lindrum's medicine to poison him. However, that's as may be! Of course, the only thing for us to do was to insist on an autopsy, and put the whole matter immediately in your hands."

      Godolphin gave her rather a curious smile. He knew the woman. He very much doubted how far she had insisted on any such disagreeable thing, but he said a few civil words of approval, and then asked for Lindrum. "He's still here, isn't he? Mr. Pointer thought he must be."

      The detective-officer in question had assumed as much, since the blinds were up in the room which the colonel had told him was Craig's. He thought that only a medical examination would explain that in the otherwise discreetly darkened house.

      Godolphin was told that both the medical men had gone back for another look at the body.

      "But they seem to have no doubt of what caused his death," Houghton went on. "Both are certain that it was due to arsenical poisoning. Of all the terrible ideas!" He stopped himself.

      "What about weedkiller?" Godolphin asked.

      "We only use a non-poisonous kind. I won't have any other," Lady Craig replied.

      Match opened the door.

      "Detective Chief Inspector Pointer," he announced.

      In came a tall, lean, bronzed young man, with a definitely efficient look about his grave face and quiet movements. His eyes were his best feature. They were large, dark gray, and well- opened, with an expression of seeming frankness which yet baffled all attempts to read them. Lady Craig decided that there were both brains and power in this man.

      "Hope you won't mind my having put a constable outside Mr. Craig's room," he said, as Lady Craig offered her hand. He did not add that another was in the garden, and another in the hall.

      "I'm thankful to know one's there!" she said gratefully. "Though, personally, I am certain that this dreadful affair will be soon cleared up. Dr. Lindrum's theory is—" She repeated it as still more of a certainty than before.

      "Can we have a word with the butler?" Godolphin suggested, when she had done.

      Houghton, without asking leave, rang the bell.

      Match, when he came in, briefly ran over the events of last night. He seemed to consider them the continuation of yesterday afternoon, which, according to him, marked the beginning of, the end. He had gone into Mr. Craig's room, around four, to see whether he should take out to the post a book which Mr. Craig had been wrapping up. He found him sitting up in bed, looking terribly ill, with his face twitching. Countess Jura seemed unconscious of his state, as she stood with her back to him, looking out the window.

      "I thought the tea had disagreed with him. The Countess Jura had ordered up the tray a few minutes before, and two cups were standing on it by the bed, each about half-empty. Mr. Craig couldn't speak, seemingly, or daren't, for fear of groaning aloud or crying out. That's what his face looked like, sir," Match went on, addressing Houghton. "He made me a sort of sign with his eyes, as I entered, to get her away. So I said: 'I think Mr. Craig looks very poorly, my lady, perhaps you'll be good enough to call the nurse.' She didn't take my meaning." Match was speaking very carefully and slowly. "Not at all, apparently, for, without turning round, she said that the nurse and Lady Craig had only just left the room. And I was to leave the tray, as she hadn't finished her cup yet. Well, it was no time for ceremony, so I said, hurrying to the bed: 'Please call the nurse at once, my lady!' Then she did look round, and then—well—she rushed off to Mrs. Kingsmill as fast as she could go, carrying the tray away with her.

      "The nurse came in, but there didn't seem anything she could do. We tried for the doctor on the phone, but he was making his round, and there aren't many telephones here about. The nurse said something about the new medicine not suiting Mr. Craig. After a while he grew quieter, and fell into a sleep. When he woke up he seemed much better—so much better that the doctor, when he hurried in at seven, seemed to think we had been a bit exaggerating things to ourselves. I heard him tell Mr. Craig that he had been possibly taking his Vichy too cold. Mr. Craig had asked for the bottles to be set on ice," Match explained. "Mr. Craig had wanted nothing for his dinner. He, the butler, had sat with him as usual from nine to eleven, during which time the nurse was off duty."

      "Craig had no night nurse, Lady Craig here put in, indeed, he resented having one during the day, but, with her small staff, it was impossible to attend to a sick person properly. In Craig's case, Match had acted as a sort of second attendant. Last

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