The Almost Perfect Murder Part 17

"Inspector, it's scarcely necessary to go into detail concerning a matter that has been so thoroughly written up in the newspapers. Just present your evidence against these persons and I'll hold them."

Rumsey bowed, and called to the stand a clerk from the store of Almon and Emory who testified to the sale of a hypodermic needle to Mrs. Bracker, and identified the order she had presented for it signed by Dr. Cushack. The clerk was followed by a policeman who testified to the finding of a needle on Mrs. Bracker after the death of Ram Lal. Inspector Rumsey then called me to the stand to testify as to the obvious jealousy and hatred that Cushack and Mrs. Bracker had exhibited towards Ram Lal.

"Is that all?" asked the magistrate, running up his eyebrows.

"That is all, your Honour."

Shryock spoke up. "If you please, your Honour, Mrs. Bracker would like to testify in her own behalf concerning that needle."

She was put on the stand and sworn. In her neat, close-fitting grey suit and shaped hat she was as smart as paint. Just the same she was a horrible-looking woman with those ghastly starved cheeks, and mouth like a red gash in her powdered face. She sat down, crossed her legs and spread her gloves on her knee with a great pretence of self-possession.

"Do you admit buying the needle at Almon and Emory's?" asked Shryock smoothly.

"Certainly. But that was not the one they found in my pocket."

"One moment! Just confine yourself to answering my questions, please.... For what purpose did you buy that needle?"

"Well, I told Mrs. Julian I bought it for a friend," she said volubly, "but that was only a stall. I'm not an addict but I take cocaine occasionally for my neuralgia. And Dr. Cushack told me it was nicer to take it in liquid form. So I bought the needle. But I didn't like taking it that way, so I threw it away."

"Oh, you threw it away. Where?"

"One night when I was crossing Brooklyn Bridge in a taxi I threw it out of the window."

"What about the needle that was found in your pocket?"

"I know nothing about that!" she cried stridently. "It wasn't mine! It was planted on me!"

"All right," said Shryock. "That's all." He turned to Rumsey. "Will you question her, Inspector?"

"No," said Rumsey glumly.

Shryock's next move was to put Liptrott on the stand. "When Ram Lal fell down dead in Mrs. Julian's boudoir," the lawyer sad, "I understand that you and these two people were seated behind him and to one side against the wall."

"Yes, sir." The old man was perfectly composed. "I was nearest to the Hindoo, then Mrs. Bracker, then the Doctor."

"Did either of those persons move from their places while the seance was going on?"

"No, sir. They never moved."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. They couldn't have reached the Hindoo without pa.s.sing in front of me."

"All right. Now I've got just one more question to ask you." Shryock glanced around the court as much as to say there was something good coming. "Can you tell me anything about the hypodermic needle that was found in Mrs. Bracker's pocket?"

A foolish grin spread over the old man's face. He scratched his neck with a forefinger. "Sure," he said, "that was my needle. I planted it in her pocket."

His words created a mild sensation in the room. All realised that what little was left of the Inspector's case had gone glimmering.

"Why did you do that?" asked Shryock.

"Well, when I seen Ram Lal was dead I thought maybe they'd try to hang it on me," the old man said with his witless grin. "I had the needle in my pocket, and I thought they'd make out I'd given him a shot of something since I was the nearest to him."

"That's all," said Shryock in high satisfaction.

"I protest, your Honour," said Rumsey indignantly. "This man is out of his wits. He's not a fit witness. I can prove it if you give me time."

"Just a minute, Inspector," said the magistrate. "As I understand it, this man Liptrott is an addict. You found a bottle of cocaine on him, but no needle. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"Did you ever find his needle?"

"No."

"Then the chances are he's speaking the truth."

"I insist he's not a proper witness," said Rumsey, s.n.a.t.c.hing at anything to gain a moment or two.

The magistrate shrugged. "Can you offer any evidence that Ram Lal died of poison?" he asked.

"No, your Honour."

"Then it doesn't matter whether this man's testimony is proper or not. You have no case, Inspector. And I have no alternative but to..."

He was interrupted by the entrance of Mme. Storey.

She entered by the side door smiling and beautifully dressed. She was carrying a small satchel and a man and a woman followed her; new witnesses, I a.s.sumed. They were unknown to me. Inspector Rumsey's glum face cleared as if by magic. A murmur of gratification travelled around the court--then dead silence. All knew her, of course, from her oft-published photographs. As a star attraction Mrs. Julian was nowhere alongside Mme. Storey. The people's silence seemed to say: Now we'll get a run for our money.

And they did.

VIII.

Before I go on with my account of the magistrate's hearing I should explain that amongst the list of rare poisons furnished by Dr. Chisholm, there was one that could be quite simply prepared by distilling and redistilling a substance that is in universal use. This stuff may be purchased in any quant.i.ty from druggists or department stores, yet the poison derived from it is one of the deadliest known; moreover, it kills without leaving any trace of itself in the body.

The process of distilling is now so generally understood, that all the doctors in the case agreed it would be against the public interest to advertise this formula. Consequently this poison was never named in the case, and of course I must not name it here. I will simply call the stuff X and the poison distillate DX.

Magistrate McManigal greeted Mme. Storey gallantly and invited her to a place on the bench. As she seated herself she said: "I have brought a little additional evidence in this case."

Ah! with what a sharp anxiety Cushack and Mrs. Bracker glanced at her then! The little doctor lost his nonchalance. Jim Shryock chewed the ends of his ragged moustache, sneering still.

"Do you wish these persons to be called to the stand?" asked the magistrate.

"First of all I would like Mrs. Bracker to answer a few questions if she is willing," she said politely.

The woman glanced anxiously at Shryock, and he answered for her. "Certainly! She is not obliged to answer the questions unless it suits her."

So Mrs. Bracker took the stand again.

Mme. Storey began in a voice as mild as milk--it is at such moments that she is most to be feared: "I suppose you were well acquainted with Ram Lal through having met him at Mrs. Julian's so often."

"No, indeed!" said Mrs. Bracker with a toss of her head. "I never aspired to be his friend. I had nothing whatever to do with him."

"What is your explanation of his death?" asked Mme. Storey innocently.

"Oh, I suppose he had a stroke of some sort. Not surprising with the life he led."

"What about his life?"

"Don't ask me! One couldn't help hearing stories about what went on at that elegant seraglio of his on Seventy-Ninth Street."

Mme. Storey made no attempt to follow up this lead. "I suppose you have witnessed many of Ram Lal's seances at Mrs. Julian's?" she said.

"Sure," was the indifferent reply.

"Weren't you impressed by them?"

"No!"

"Then you believe they weren't genuine?"

"He was just a common faker!" said Mrs. Bracker scornfully. "That's known now, isn't it? East Indian! Huh!"

"But he seemed to me to be completely possessed," said Mme. Storey blandly; "to be lifted right out of himself as you might say."

Mrs. Bracker merely laughed disagreeably.

"Did they always end the same as yesterday in a sort of fit?"

"Sure! That was part of his game."

"But how could he fake that?" said Mme. Storey. "The frothing at the mouth and all."

"Used to slip a wafer in his mouth," said Mrs. Bracker laughing. "Sort of soapy wafer. That made the froth. It's an old trick."

"Did you see him do that?" asked Mme. Storey feigning to be greatly surprised.

"Sure. I used to watch for it."

"Did you see him do it yesterday?"

"Sure. I saw his hands go up."

"Thanks, that's all," said Mme. Storey unexpectedly.

Mrs. Bracker stared at her hatefully. She felt that she had been tricked somehow. "What's that got to do with me?" she demanded.

"Nothing whatever," said Mme. Storey sweetly.

Mrs. Bracker stepped down in somewhat of a fl.u.s.ter.

"What do you expect to show by this line of questioning?" the magistrate asked Mme. Storey. We all p.r.i.c.ked up our ears for her answer. She said: "The first a.s.sumption was that Ram Lal had been poisoned through being jabbed by a hypodermic needle. That theory won't hold water. I now aim to show that he was poisoned by the wafer which he took into his mouth a few seconds before he died."

"But the poison, Madame?"

"I'm coming to that," she said pleasantly. "... I should now like to put this woman on the stand that I have brought with me. Mrs. Euphemia Larkin. She is really Inspector Rumsey's witness, but he hasn't had an opportunity to talk to her. So if you will permit me I will question her."

"Certainly," said the magistrate. "We are not sticklers for formality here. All we want is to bring out the truth."

Shryock arose with his disagreeable smile. Just the same the man was a little worried. "Excuse me, your Honour, but it is five o'clock. I'm sorry to have to mention it, but I have an important engagement..."

You could hear the whole room take a breath. They were afraid that the curtain was going to be rung down just at the most exciting moment. Well, his Honour was only human and he didn't want to miss the denouement either.

"Will it take long?" he asked Mme. Storey.

"Less than ten minutes, your Honour."

"We will proceed."

Mrs. Larkin was a typical New York Irish char woman, a racy specimen. Still youngish and not at all bad-looking, she proudly displayed her Sunday clothes on the witness stand. A little intimidated by finding all eyes upon her, she was nevertheless enjoying her conspicuousness.

"What is your employment, Mrs. Larkin?" asked Mme. Storey.

"Cleaning woman in the Stilson Building on Forty-Second Street, ma'am."

Mme. Storey opened the satchel she had brought and took from it two square-sided quart bottles such as druggists use, a piece of wrapping paper, a length of string and a pink ticket. "Do you recognise these things?"

"Sure!" said Mrs. Larkin. "Them's the things I give you in my rooms a half-hour ago."

"Where did you get them?"

"Picked 'em out of the waste basket in room 1014 of my building."

"You can swear that it was room 1014?"

"Sure! Them's druggists' bottles, and 1014 is a doctor's office sort of, with a laboratory and all."

"When did you find them there?"

"Night before last at cleaning time."