Latter End

CHAPTER 25

In the study Chief Inspector Lamb sat in Jimmy Latter’s writing-chair with a hand on either knee, looking sometimes across the table at Frank Abbott, and sometimes to his right where Miss Silver, a little detached from the proceedings, was knitting. She was halfway through one of the useful grey stockings destined for her niece Ethel’s second boy, Derek. The needles clicked busily. A portrait in oils of the late Mr. Francis Latter looked down from over the mantelpiece and gloomed upon the scene. Considered by all who knew him to be a depressingly accurate likeness, it raised the question as to how near-relations could have so little in common. No one could have supposed him to be Jimmy Latter’s father. Francis Latter stood there, tall, dark, and haggard. There was a hint of his nephew Antony, but Antony had not the tragic look which was, however, very appropriate to the present occasion.

Lamb was speaking.

“It looks pretty black for him-you’ll admit that?”

Miss Silver coughed.

“I am not prepared to contradict you, but I would ask you to bear in mind some of Lord Tennyson’s wisest words. He observes that-

Lamb’s eyes bulged visibly.

“Well, I don’t know about meads and buds and blooms, but when I see a man that’s got every reason to think his wife isn’t any better than she ought to be, and when that man has to admit she’d made a will leaving him a fortune, I don’t have to ask Lord Tennyson’s leave to suspect Mr. Jimmy Latter of having two very good motives for poisoning Mrs. Latter.”

Miss Silver’s needles clicked.

“Two motives may be one too many, Chief Inspector.”

Frank Abbott’s look sharpened to interest.

“Meaning that if he was knocked off his balance by jealousy he wouldn’t be thinking about the money, and if he was all out for the money he wouldn’t have been knocked endways by that scene in Antony Latter’s room?”

Lamb thumped his knee.

“That’s just where you’re wrong then! That’s where you young chaps can make a big mistake. People aren’t all that simple-they’re all mixed up. You’d be surprised if you knew how many different things a man can have in his mind at the same time, first one thing coming up on top and then another. Say a man’s jealous about his wife, but not jealous enough to kill her-he has a quarrel with her about something else. He begins to see that she means to take her way about everything and leave him to take his. He remembers that she holds the purse strings, and that gets his goat. There are sharper and sharper differences about family affairs-he wants to keep the family together, and she wants to split them up. He’s pretty hard up-it’s doubtful if he can run the place without her money-it’s an old place that’s been in the family a long time. That pulls at him. The way she’s carrying on pulls at him-she wants to break up the family, and she’s setting her cap at his cousin. They’re heading for a breach, and if there’s a breach, perhaps he won’t be able to carry on. Then overnight the breach becomes inevitable-he finds her in his cousin’s room. Don’t you see how it all works in together? If it weren’t for the money, he could let her go. If she hadn’t gone too far for him to overlook it, the money by itself mightn’t have got him to the point of murdering her. I say there are two motives here, both of them strong in themselves, and the way they come to bear on this case each of them strengthens the other.”

Miss Silver gave her slight cough.

“You illustrate my quotation perfectly, Chief Inspector. You have found a meaning suited to your mind.”

His florid colour deepened.

“I use my mind to get a meaning-is that what you’re after? And if there’s any other way of getting a meaning, I’d like to know about it. To my mind that will of Mrs. Latter’s is very damaging-you can’t get away from it. And on the top of that comes this report from Smerdon. Miss Mercer’s medicine-chest has been examined by the police surgeon. Besides the ordinary household remedies which you’d expect, there’s a quarter-full glass bottle of morphia tablets. He says they’re of German manufacture and much stronger than what you could get in this country. Now all the things in the medicine-cupboard have got Miss Mercer’s fingerprints on them- some old, some fresh, which is just what you’d expect. This bottle of tablets has a very good set of her prints. But it’s got Mr. Jimmy Latter’s prints on it too. They’re a bit smudged, as if she’d taken hold of it after he had, but they’re his all right. He’d been to that chest, picking things over. There’s a very clear set of his prints on another very similar bottle with quinine pills in it. I’d say he was looking for the morphia and picked the other one up by mistake. There’s a bottle of ipecac there too, but no fingerprints on it. If you’re right, Miss Silver, about those preliminary attacks-well, I’d say he was being careful to start with. Wiped the bottle, or wore gloves-something like that. I don’t know why he should have risked the attacks at all, but I daresay we shall find out before we’re through. Well, I didn’t put any of this to Mr. Latter when we had him in here just now, because I thought I’d like to see what Miss Mercer had to say about it first. She handled that morphia bottle after he did, and I want to see what she’s got to say about it. She may have moved it to get at something else, in which case I’d like to know if it was out of its place. Or-” he looked hard at Miss Silver-“it may be that she was in on the job. She may have been-there’s no saying.”

There was a knock upon the door. Lamb said, “Come in!” and there entered Mrs. Maniple, very majestic in the almost visible panoply of more than fifty years’ service, her head high, her colour steady, her manner dignified and purposeful. She came round to the far end of the writing-table and stood there, the Chief Inspector on her right, Sergeant Abbott on her left, and Miss Silver in her direct line of sight. There was something about her entry which proclaimed an occasion of the first magnitude. No one spoke until she did. She put her hands down flat on the table edge and said,

“There’s something I’ve got to say.”

Lamb swung round to face her, moving his whole big body. He said,

“You’re the cook, aren’t you-Mrs. Maniple?”

She said, “Yes.”

Frank Abbott got up and brought her a chair.

“Won’t you sit down?”

She looked at him, sizing him up, and said,

“No, thank you, sir.”

For once in his life Sergeant Abbott was abashed. He went back to his seat with some colour in his face, and busied himself with writing-pad and pencil.

The Chief Inspector looked grimly at the old woman who had kept her “sir” for his subordinate. He knew what it meant quite as well as she did. Something in him respected her. Something else made a mental note that Master Frank mustn’t be allowed to get wind in his head. He said,

“I see you have something to say, Mrs. Maniple. Will you tell me what it is?”

She stood there very upright.

“That’s what I’ve come for. Before Mrs. Latter died she was taken sick two or three times. I’ve come to tell you, those turns she had-they were along of what I put in her coffee.”

There was a short electric silence. Miss Silver stopped knitting for a moment and gave her a long, steady look.

Lamb said, “If this is a confession, it is my duty to warn you that anything you say may be taken down and used in evidence against you.”

There was no change in Mrs. Maniple’s expression, nor in her voice when she spoke.

“I’ve no objection to anything being taken down-I wouldn’t be here if I had. And I’m not confessing nothing about what Mrs. Latter died of, only about those sick turns she had, which was along of ipecac-in her coffee mostly, but there was once I put it in the fruit salad.”

Lamb leaned back in his chair, his face as expressionless as her own.

“What made you do a thing like that?”

The answer came grim and short.

“To punish her.”

“Why did you want to punish her?”

“For what she was doing to everyone she come in contact with.”

“As what?”

“It ’ud take a long time to tell the half of it.”

“Never mind about that. You tell us why you thought she ought to be punished.”

She drew her black brows together briefly.

“Very well, then-I’ll put it as short as I can. There was what she did to Mrs. Marsh.”

“Do you mean the young woman, Gladys Marsh, who was acting as Mrs. Latter’s maid?”

“No, I don’t. I mean her husband’s mother, Lizzie Marsh, that’s a cousin of my own and that that there Gladys got sent away to the workhouse. Institute they may call it now, but workhouse is what it is. And Mrs. Latter backed her up. She wouldn’t have darsn’t do it, nor Joe Marsh wouldn’t have let her, if it hadn’t been for Mrs. Latter backing her up and telling Mr. Jimmy all manner of lies.”

“And you put ipecacuanha in her coffee because of that?”

“Not for that by itself. It was for that and other things. There was Miss Ellie-Mrs. Street-that she worked to death like I wouldn’t have stood for any housemaid being worked, and when she’d taken all the strength out of her she was turning her out-wouldn’t let her have her husband, Mr. Ronnie, here to look after. And the same with Miss Minnie that’s been here ever since the old doctor died. Worked her pretty well to death, and then out she could go, and it wasn’t Mrs. Latter that ’ud care whether she lived or died. And more lies to Mr. Jimmy, making him think Miss Minnie wanted to go. That’s why I done it. Maybe I didn’t ought to, but that’s why I done it. And it wasn’t done for no more than to punish her-a drop of ipecac like you’d give a child that had swallowed something. And no harm done. That’s what I come to say.” She took her hands off the table and turned to go.

Lamb stopped her.

“We can’t leave it quite like that, you know. I think you’d better sit down.”

She came back to her former position.

“I can stand well enough.”

“Well, that’s just as you like. I want to ask you some questions. You needn’t answer if you don’t want to.”

“I’ll tell you when I hear them.”

“Well, we’ll start with an easy one. How long have you been here?”

There was pride in her voice as she said,

“It’ll be fifty-three years at Christmas.”

“You didn’t leave to be married?”

She stood up very straight.

“I’m single. The ‘Mrs.’ is what is only right and proper when you’ve turned fifty in a position like what mine is.”

“I see. Very fond of the family, aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t anyone be after fifty years?”

“Very fond of Mr. Jimmy, as you call him?”

She said, “I saw him christened.” And then, “Anyone ’ud be fond of Mr. Jimmy-he’s one that’s got kindness for all. There isn’t anyone for miles round that don’t love Mr. Jimmy.”

Lamb shifted his position, leaning forward with an arm along the table.

“Well now, suppose you tell us about the times you put this ipecac into Mrs. Latter’s coffee. When did you start?”

He noticed that she did not have to stop and think. Her answer came pat.

“It was the evening Miss Julia come down, and Mr. Antony. They hadn’t neither of them been here for two years, and I thought, ‘Well, they shall have their evening the same as it was before Mrs. Latter come.’ She’d been up to her tricks with Miss Ellie that evening, wanting her to do the flowers all over again when anyone could see she was ready to drop- and she’d done them lovely. And I thought to myself, ‘No, you don’t, my lady!’ for I knew how it ’ud be, Miss Ellie and Miss Julia, they wouldn’t get a moment’s peace, neither with Mr. Jimmy nor Mr. Antony. I tell you she couldn’t abear to see anyone noticed if it wasn’t herself, so I took and put some ipecac in her coffee, she being the only one that took that nasty Turkish stuff-and it made her sick and kept her quiet like I thought it would.”

Frank Abbott turned a page and went on writing. Lamb said,

“Well, that was the first time. When did you do it again?”

“Next day at lunch. There was fruit salad in separate glasses, with cream on the top. Mrs. Latter never took cream, so there was one glass without. I put the ipecac in that.”

“And after that?”

“There was once when Mr. Jimmy was away seeing after Miss Eliza Raven’s affairs down in Devonshire, and there was once more after he come back-I think it was Tuesday last week. And then on the Saturday Mr. Jimmy come down from London, and he says to send in two cups of Turkish coffee because every time Mrs. Latter has it he’s going to have it too. So then I stopped.”

“You didn’t put any more ipecac into the coffee?”

Her eyes met his.

“Do you think I’d have risked making Mr. Jimmy sick?”

“Well, I don’t suppose you would. So you didn’t use any more ipecac. How did you get hold of the morphia?”

Her gaze never wavered. It was perfectly steady and perfectly blank.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“The stuff that was in Mrs. Latter’s coffee on Wednesday night-the stuff that killed her-it was morphia. How did you get hold of that?”

“I don’t know nothing about it.”

“Mrs. Maniple-did you put anything into the coffee on Wednesday night? You needn’t answer if you don’t want to.”

There was a touch of scorn as she said,

“Why shouldn’t I want to? I didn’t put nothing in, and Miss Julia can tell you so. She stood there watching me all the time-she can say what I did. And if I’d wanted to murder Mrs. Latter a hundred times over, do you think I’d have put poison in one of those cups and let Miss Julia go through with the tray and put it down for them to help themselves- Mrs. Latter, and Mr. Jimmy that I couldn’t love more if he was my own child-and not know which of them ’ud take the poison? Do you think I’d have done that? If I’d got the length of making up my mind to poison her, do you think I’d have risked Mr. Jimmy’s life, with no saying who would take which cup? It’s not sense, and you know it!”

He said, “Maybe.” And then, “I’d like to take you through Wednesday, Mrs. Maniple. Mrs. Latter kept to her room in the morning, didn’t she? That means her breakfast went up to her. Who took it up, and what did she have?”

Mrs. Maniple leaned a little forward on her hands.

“Gladys Marsh come down for the tray and took it up. She had what she always had for breakfast, a pot of tea, a slice of dry toast, and fruit-it was an apple on Wednesday.”

“Not much of a breakfast. Well then, what happened after that? Did she come down for lunch?”

“Yes, she come down. I didn’t know what she was going to do, so I sent Polly up to ask, and she said Mrs. Latter would come down.”

“So she had the same for lunch that everyone else did. What did they have?”

“Mince and two vegetables, with a trifle to follow.”

“What about tea?”

“Mrs. Latter took her car out after lunch. She didn’t come in till getting on for seven o’clock-she wasn’t here for tea.”

“And dinner-what did you give them for dinner?”

“There was fish-baked haddock-and a sweet omelette. And hardly a bit of anything ate.”

“They were all too much upset?”

“Seems like it.”

“And then you made the coffee and Miss Vane took it in?”

“Miss Julia watched me make it.”

“Well now-one thing more. Where did you get the ipecac you put in Mrs. Latter’s coffee? Did you get it out of the medicine-cupboard in Miss Mercer’s room?”

“Not then, I didn’t.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It was a bottle she give me when I had a cough in the spring. I’d put a drop or two with some honey and vinegar and sup it. And she said to keep the bottle-it wasn’t above half full.”

“You knew she had a medicine-cupboard in her room?”

“Everyone in the house knows that.”

“It wasn’t kept locked, was it? Anyone could help themselves?”

Mrs. Maniple drew herself up.

“There wasn’t no one in the house wouldn’t do that- without it was Gladys Marsh. There’s never been no need to lock things up in this house, thank God. But it’s proper a medicine-cupboard should be locked.”

“You didn’t take anything out of that medicine-cupboard yourself?”

“I’d no call to, nor wouldn’t if I had. If I’d wanted anything I’d have asked Miss Minnie.”

“Did you ask her for anything from that cupboard?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Lamb pushed back his chair.

“All right, Mrs. Maniple. Now Sergeant Abbott will run those notes of his off on the typewriter and read them over to you, and you can sign them.”