The Man Who Was Not. John Russell Fearn
Forsythe took the report and scanned it:
For the attention of C.I. Hargraves.
Report on Trudy Dawson, Deceased.
It is plain from preliminary post-mortem examination that the deceased died from a heavy dose of hyoscyamus, though the exact time of it being administered is difficult to determine. When one considers the various strengths of hyoscyamus, one has also to allow varying times for its peak effect, which could be anything from twenty-four hours to a few minutes. This depends upon the dilution of the poison, the quantity used, and so forth. The final effects of the poison are intense excitement, dry mouth, thirst, dilated pupils, and then sudden death.
Boyd Lester,
Divisional Surgeon
“Hyoscyamus is in the atropine and belladonna group. I know that much,” Forsythe said, tossing the report down on the desk. “But that’s all I do know—Anyway, when was it administered? At dinner?”
Hargraves shrugged. “No idea. But we’ll find out...the lounge and dining room have been sealed off pending investigation, I understand?”
“Yes, sir. The Divisional-Inspector ordered it until after the post-mortem. If Trudy had died from natural causes that would end the matter...but now I guess the matter passes to you.”
“Right.” Hargraves sat at his desk and made an irritated movement. “If only I’d taken more notice of that girl’s presentiment! She knew—instinctively—that trouble was coming to her!”
“Can’t blame yourself for that, sir,” Brice said, seated at his desk. “We can’t rely on presentiments: only facts.”
“Yes, how true.” Hargraves gave a sigh; then he alerted again. “We’ll start getting busy right away—but first of all, Forsythe, I’d like an amplification of this report of yours. You say that Trudy did not behave rationally in the hour before she died?”
“No, sir. Now I’ve seen the medical report I know why. It was obviously the effect of the poison. She was extremely talkative, very excited, and nearly on the verge of hysterics. Dr. Mason, her fiancé, did all he could to—”
“Dr. Mason?”
“Yes, sir. It’s all there in the report. He’s a hypnotherapist in the same hospital as Sir Robert Dawson.”
“I see.” Hargraves thought for a moment, then glanced through the rest of the report. “All right, Forsythe. Thanks. I’ll be in touch again if anything more puzzles me.”
Forsythe nodded and went on his way. Hargraves continued to glance through the report, then he looked across at Brice who was waiting attentively.
“I don’t like it,” Hargraves said, his mouth setting. “This was cold-blooded murder, and anybody who’d murder a nice girl like Trudy Dawson has a lot to answer for...in fact it’s perhaps two murders,” he finished, musing.
‘Two?” Brice raised his eyebrows.
“Yes. Didn’t Trudy tell us that her brother had died at nine o’clock in a motor smash not long ago? I thought then it was coincidence: now I’m beginning to wonder. Anyway, we’ve got to get busy. Tell the fingerprint boys and photographers to get ready and we’ll start moving.”
So, towards ten o’clock, the full panoply of the law descended on the Dawson residence. Every detail was recorded, true to police routine, then Hargraves set about the task of interrogation. This presented no problem since all the family was present—even Sir Robert, who was far too upset by the death of his daughter to think about his normal work.
One by one, in the privacy of the study, Hargraves instituted a cross-examination of the family, Sergeant Brice taking everything down in shorthand. The last one to be interviewed was Sir Robert himself, unusually quiet and clearly depressed.
“I realize how you must be feeling at this time, Sir Robert,” Hargraves said quietly. “Naturally I will try to make things as easy as possible for you—but you will appreciate that I must have every fact if I am to got at the truth.”
“Naturally,” Dawson agreed. “I’ll help out as far as I can.”
“Good. Then tell me this: You are a doctor of considerable renown. You know now that your daughter was killed by hyoscyamus. Did you not recognize symptoms of poisoning in her general behavior prior to her death?”
Dawson shrugged. “Had I been alert for them I certainly should have done so—but having no reason to suspect anything of the kind I just assumed that she was in a highly emotional state, which considering the circumstances was not to be wondered at.”
“Quite so.... It would seem that Trudy had a bitter enemy. Have you any idea who this might be?”
“Not the remotest, inspector. As far as I know, Trudy was liked by everybody. She never mentioned any enemies. I could better imagine June having enemies than her—people who might resent her sophisticated attitude, if you understand me. No, Trudy was a happy girl—a good-time girl in fact, and as you will have gathered she was all locked up in her forthcoming marriage to Herbert Mason.”
“Quite....” Hargraves reflected for a moment. “Concerning this Dr. Mason: could you give me a few more facts about him? I know he’s at the same hospital as yourself, but there my information ends.”
“He’s been at the hospital for about two years,” Dawson said. “He met Trudy about a year ago and they became engaged just recently. I gave their engagement my blessing since I know Herbert intimately. He’s a clever man at his work, and privately he’s the complete gentleman.”
“He’s a hypnotherapist, I believe?”
“That is so. He’s doing great work in the field.”
“Mmm. There are a few things more I’d like to know about him, but that’s a matter for he himself to attend to. I take it I can reach him at St. Luke’s Hospital?”
Dawson nodded. “Any time. He’s the resident hypnotherapist.”
Hargraves got to his feet and strolled round the big study for a while before he asked another question.
“Have you any enemies that you know of, Sir Robert?”
“Enemies?” The surgeon looked vaguely surprised. “I don’t know about that, but I daresay there are plenty of people who don’t like me. The jealous ones, for instance—which are inseparable from a profession like mine. Or maybe there are some people who are a little piqued because I’ve failed in this or that operation. Not,” Dawson added, “that I can see what that has to do with the murder of Trudy.”
“In confidence, Sir Robert, I begin to suspect that Trudy was not the only one to be murdered. What about your son Gerald?”
“But that was a motor smash.”
“Perhaps.... The point I’m making is this. Perhaps some person has notions about revenge upon you—but instead of taking that revenge upon you personally it is falling on those who are near and dear to you. There is nothing unique about the idea: there have been cases of it before.”
“But I still don’t see how Gerald’s smash and Trudy’s murder can be interlinked.”
“They both happened at nine o’clock. It may be coincidence: on the other hand it may not. I’m going to make it my business to find out, because if they were both deliberately murdered our viewpoint shifts. We begin to see that the murders have not an individual reason, but are part of something larger. Something which may involve the whole family if it isn’t stopped.”
‘You can’t throw any light on the incidents immediately prior to your son’s death, I suppose?” Hargraves continued, as the surgeon remained grimly silent.
“No, I’m afraid not.” Dawson forced himself to attention. “I was away at the hospital all day and evening. In fact I believe June was the