Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine #097v018 (1951-12)

The oversight by Freeman Wills Crofts

For a long time things had been growing more and more difficult for Joe Gresley. Recently his embarrassment had become so acute that he simply didn’t know where to turn.

His trouble was money. He was extravagant. He liked his little luxuries; particularly he liked running around with girls. Unhappily his income would not stretch to it. When his own cash was gone he had borrowed. Now repayment was demanded and he could not meet it.

Gresley was assistant, clerk, and office boy to his uncle, Gabriel Hynds. Hynds was a commission agent, and Gresley’s tiny salary was supposed to be augmented by commissions. He certainly was paid small sums in this way, but Hynds kept the plums. The plums had made Hynds well-to-do.

Gresley was not, however, so unfairly dealt with as he pretended. He had two assets in lieu of salary. First, he had free board and lodging in his uncle’s house; second, the old man had made him his heir. These two facts — as well as that Hynds took sleeping tablets — were indeed what had suggested the dreadful idea which for some time had been lurking in his mind. His uncle’s heir! Hynds was an old man, ailing and depressed. If only the illness were to prove fatal, all his own problems would he solved.

At first Gresley had fought the idea, and he was genuinely shocked when he realized that what he was contemplating was nothing less than murder. All the same, when a plan occurred to him by which Hynds’s death could be brought about with absolute safety to himself, his struggles against it grew weaker and weaker. Presently they ceased altogether.

Hynds’s establishment was a bachelor one, Hynds’s wife and only son having died many years earlier. The old man in his loneliness had invited Gresley to share his house; his elderly and rather deaf housekeeper, Mrs. Toy, looked after them both. At first, things had been amicable enough, but the two men saw too much of each other, and relations had gradually grown strained.

Gresley’s plan to make himself master of the house and business was, he felt, simple, safe, and certain, but it had one snag. Its execution depended on circumstances over which he had no control. He could not, therefore, carry it out when he wished, but had to await a suitable opportunity. He had, in fact, waited for over a month, till he had almost begun to fear that the chance would never come. Therefore, when on his return home on this late October evening he learned that at last circumstances were favorable, it rather took his breath away.

“The doctor called and he’s re-newing the medicine,” Mrs. Toy had said. “The master wondered if you’d call round for it?”

“Of course I will,” Gresley agreed a trifle shakily. Then, remembering his plan, he went on: “But I rather thought of spending the evening at the Club. Do you know if the medicine’s wanted urgently?”

“No, when you come in will be time enough, if you’re not too late. It’s taken last thing at night.”

Gresley nodded. ‘Then I’ll give him his dose and see to him when I come in. You needn’t bother. Go to bed when you feel like it.”

Frequently Gresley undertook this task and always Mrs. Toy jumped at it: he knew she would not enter Hynds’s room during the evening. He went up to see his uncle, and, while reporting the day’s doings, managed to abstract the old man’s bottle of sleeping tablets. Hynds always took these himself, and as die bottle therefore bore his prints, Gresley held it by its cap. There were eight tablets left, and he took them to the bathroom, ground them up, and mixed them with a small quantity of milk. The empty bottle and solution he hid in a cupboard, then went down and had his supper. He finished early: it was not much after seven when he took out Hynds’s small car.

He drove leisurely to Dr. Warren’s and picked up the medicine from the shelf inside the porch. Like the previous bottles, it contained a white sediment which, when disturbed, clouded the clear liquid above like the milk he had used earlier. This was an important factor in Gresley’s plan. Putting the bottle in his breast pocket, he drove to the Golf Club House, parking noisily and where he could be seen from the door.

The Club House formed a sort of locale for the elect; Besides the bar, there was a reading room, a card room, and two lounges. Gresley reckoned that once his presence in the place had been established, it would be possible for him to leave unnoticed for a short period, since, if he were seen again reasonably soon, each party would assume that he had been with some other.

He carried out this plan. After drinking for an hour in the bar, he muttered something about wanting a game and drifted into the corridor leading to the other rooms. From there he slipped out by a side door unobserved and made his way through the darkness to the Club bicycle rack. Borrowing the first machine he came to and keeping away from the lights at the front door, he wheeled it silently out onto the road.

From the Club to his uncle’s house was about a mile and he covered the distance in five minutes. Entering softly so as to be unheard by Mrs. Toy, he went up to Hynds’s room.

“I’ve got your medicine, Uncle,” he said, handing the bottle over for the old man to examine. Hynds was fussy about his medicines and liked to read the directions himself. “Same as before,” he muttered, returning the bottle.

“As a matter of fact, it’s different,” Gresley lied, as he carefully wiped off Hynds’s prints and pressed on his own. “I saw Dr. Warren when I called. He said to tell you he is trying a new drug. It is also a soporific, so you won’t need a sleeping tablet.”

“Hope it’s better than this old one.”

“He seemed to think so. Well, I’m off to the Club. Would you like your dose before I go? It’s getting on to nine.”

“Yes, you might pour it out for me.”

This was going admirably to plan. Gresley picked up a medicine glass from the table. Then he stood listening.

“That’s not someone at the door, is it?” he remarked. “Excuse me a moment till I look.”

He left the room and walked to the stairs, but softly turned aside into the bathroom. There he poured his milky solution of sleeping tablets into the glass. Wiping his prints off it, he held it by the rim. With it and the empty sleeping-tablet bottle — which again he carried by the cap — he returned to the bedroom.

“False alarm,” he declared. “I don’t know what I could have heard.”

He now made a show of shaking and pouring from the new bottle, though actually without loosening the cork. He carried the glass to his uncle. Hynds took it and drained it without question.

“That’s strong stiff, different from the old,” he remarked, handing back the glass.

“So Warren said. The other wasn’t doing much good.”

The old man lay back and closed his eyes. Gresley quietly wiped the rim of the glass and the cap of the sleeping-tablet bottle. After a quick look around to satisfy himself that all was in order, he left the room and silently let himself out. He was positive that deaf old Mrs. Toy, probably reading in the kitchen, had not heard him. He rode quickly back to the Club, replaced the bicycle, entered by the side door and went into one of the lounges.

“Been looking around to see if anyone had a mind for some bridge,” he remarked casually: then as some men volunteered, they moved to the card room.

They had been playing for nearly two hours when a ghastly idea shot into Gresley’s mind and in sudden panic he nearly dropped his cards. He had left the new bottle of medicine on the table at Hynds’s bedside! If anyone were to enter the room and see it, he was as good as hanged! Then he fought his fear. No one would enter it. Mrs. Toy would be only too glad not to have to do so, and there never were evening visitors. All the same at the first opportunity he stood up.

“Terribly sorry and all that,” he said, “but I must go. I’ve some medicine for my uncle in the car and he ought to have a dose before he goes to sleep.”

He drove back, put the car in the garage, and went up to his uncle’s room. A glance showed that all was well. There stood the bottle where he had left it. He turned to the bed and in spite of himself his heart leaped. At last! What he had so long hoped and schemed for had come about. That the old man was dead was obvious.

Controlling his excitement with a strong effort, Gresley now acted exactly as he would have done had he not paid a previous visit to the house. He went to Mrs. Toy’s room, woke her up, and told her what had happened and that he was ringing up the doctor. He put through an urgent message to Dr. Warren.

Waiting for the visit, Gresley went over again what he had done, to satisfy himself once more that he had made no mistake. Beside the bed was the medicine glass containing dregs of a strong overdose of sleeping tablets, and bearing the old man’s prints and his alone. The sleeping-tablet bottle also bore his prints and his alone. There was a jug of milk beside the bed which he could have used. The new medicine bottle was there unopened. bearing Gresley’s prints only. There was absolutely no sign of Gresley’s earlier visit. No, he had made no mistake. The circumstances proved conclusively that the old man had committed suicide, and the depression caused by his illness supplied the motive. Though he, Gresley, would benefit by the death, no possible suspicion could fall on him...

Of all his many eases, Superintendent French of New Scotland Yard often said afterwards that he remembered none in which he had reached a conclusion so rapidly as in that of the murder of Gabriel Hynds by Joe Gresley. After hearing Gresley’s story, his first glance round the room told him not only that murder had been committed, but also the identity of the murderer. Gresley had given himself away by an extraordinarily glaring error. Admittedly, a test was necessary to make the evidence technically suitable for court, but that first glance left no doubt whatever in Superintendent French’s mind.

In a way, the case was not his at all, and he only became mixed up in it through a coincidence. He was down in the neighborhood investigating another suspicious death, and had gone late in the evening to ask Dr. Warren a final question. Warren had taken a fancy to his visitor, and when business was done had brought out whiskey and glasses, and the two men had sat chatting over the fire. When Gresley’s call came, Warren suggested that French should accompany him, and after the visit he would run him on to his hotel. But when French had waited in the car for a few minutes Warren came down.

“A case here, Superintendent, the very spit of that one at Hastings we’ve just been discussing. Unfortunately, the man’s dead and I can’t yet tell the cause. Because of the coincidence would you care to come up and have a look round?”

French was not interested, but Warren had been very pleasant and he did not want to snub him. “No business of mine, Doctor,” he said, “but I’d be glad to look round unofficially.”

All this was unknown to Gresley and he therefore had no clue to what followed. After the doctor had cursorily examined the body he disappeared with a muttered excuse and arrived back with a companion, a stoutish man with a kindly expression and very keen blue eyes. “My friend, Mr. French,” he introduced him. “I didn’t like to leave him alone so long in the car.”

In spite of Gresley’s confidence that he was safe, his nerves were badly on edge. Some agitation of manner was admissible — indeed, only to be expected. But he was finding it hard to keep still and his hands tended to twitch. He thought it would help him if he re-told his story. “I saw he was dead the moment I came in, Mr. French,” he explained. “Something in his appearance, you couldn’t be mistaken. I rather blame myself, for if I had returned earlier with his medicine, I might have seen he was ill and got you, Doctor, in time.”

“I doubt if it would have made any difference,” Warren answered. “By his medicine I suppose you mean the refill I made up for him today?”

“Yes, I called at your place after supper; then instead of coming back at once, I spent the evening at the Club. Just got home a couple of minutes before I rang you. But I knew he took the medicine last thing at night, so I thought it would be time enough.”

“Oh, yes,” the doctor agreed. “I don’t think you can blame yourself. But I’m afraid, Gresley, it’s a case for the police. I couldn’t give a certificate without a P.M.”

Gresley had foreseen this. It was all right. The police could only find that it was suicide. “I was afraid of that, Doctor. Of course — whatever you say.”

“Forgive my butting in. Doctor,” French said suddenly, “but as no doubt you won’t wish to leave the body, may I suggest that Mr. Gresley ring up for you?”

Gresley stared. Who was this man, so officious, teaching the doctor his job and taking responsibility on his own shoulders? He expected an explosion from Warren, but the doctor merely said, “Good idea — I quite agree. Perhaps, Gresley, you wouldn’t mind?”

The reply was a curt statement that an officer would be sent at once. Gresley returned to the others. Instantly he was conscious of a change in the manner of both men, particularly in that of the doctor. They hardly glanced at him and only grunted when he repeated the message.

Then ensued a rather embarrassing period. Neither of the visitors seemed to have anything to say and Gresley had more than enough to occupy his mind. He made sporadic remarks, but they failed to provoke a discussion. At last, sounds of a car were heard and two men entered the room. Gresley recognized Inspector Cornwall and Sergeant Lee of the local force.

The interview went as he expected it would. Statement from the doctor that Hynds had died a very short time before — probably within minutes — and that he could not tell the cause without a post mortem. Statement from Gresley as to his movements. Statement from Mrs. Toy as to hers. All seemed innocuous. Then the man French beckoned Inspector Cornwall from the room. On their return a few moments later Cornwall’s face had taken on the same grave expression that Warren’s had borne when Gresley had re-entered after telephoning. With a sudden rush of uneasiness Gresley wondered what it could mean.

He was soon to learn. When they were seated, Cornwall turned to him.

“Just another question or two, if you please, Mr. Gresley. I want to make sure I’ve got your statement correctly. You say you picked up a bottle of medicine at Dr. Warren’s some time shortly after seven this evening?”

“Yes, that’s correct”

“Then you went to the Club, spent the evening there, and arrived here about ten minutes to eleven?”

“Correct.”

“You didn’t call here earlier?”

Gresley’s uneasiness suddenly threatened to overwhelm him. Why should such a question be asked? But he had himself well under control and answered, he hoped, without appreciable delay. “No, I went from the doctor’s to the Club and stayed there till I came here, as I said.”

Cornwall nodded. “Well, that’s clear enough. And you brought the medicine with you from the Club?”

“Yes, I said so.”

“Quite. And that’s the bottle?”

“That’s it.”

The Inspector seemed to accept all this and Gresley grew slightly more reassured. All the same it was disquieting, tor he could not see where the questions were tending. They were only repeats of what he had already answered...

Then suddenly the end came. Cornwall turned to Warren. “Tell me, Doctor, when that medicine is shaken up, how long might it take to settle again?”

Gresley’s eyes turned to the bottle, then almost started from their sockets. There it stood, solid white at the bottom, clear liquid above. It did not take the doctor’s “About two hours” to show him his ghastly oversight...