The Poisoned Chocolates Case

CHAPTER XI

"l HAVE always thought," resumed Mr. Bradley, restored, "I have always thought that murders may be divided into two classes, closed or open. By a closed murder I mean one committed in a certain closed circle of persons, such as a house - party, in which it is known that the murder is limited to membership of that actual group. This is by far the commoner form in fiction. An open murder I call one in which the criminal is not limited to any particular group but might be almost any one in the whole world. This, of course, is almost invariably what happens in real life.

"The case with which we're dealing has this peculiarity, that one can't place it quite definitely in either category. The police say that it's an open murder; both our previous speakers here seem to regard it as a closed one.

"It's a question of the motive. If one agrees with the police that it is the work of some fanatic or criminal lunatic, then it certainly is an open murder; anybody without an alibi in London that night might have posted the parcel. If one's of the opinion that the motive was a personal one, connected with Sir Eustace himself, then the murderer is confined to the closed circle of people who have had relations of one sort or another with Sir Eustace.

"And talking of posting that parcel, I must just make a diversion to tell you something really interesting. For all I know to the contrary, I might have seen the murderer with my own eyes, in the very act of posting it! As it happened, I was passing through Southampton Street that evening at just about a quarter to nine. Little did I guess, as Mr. Edgar Wallace would say, that the first act of this tragic drama was possibly being unfolded at that very minute under my unsuspecting nose. Not even a premonition of disaster caused me to falter in my stride. Providence was evidently being somewhat close with premonitions that night. But if only my sluggish instincts had warned me, how much trouble I might have saved us all. Alas," said Mr. Bradley sadly, "such is life.

"However, that's neither here nor there. We were discussing closed and open murders.

"I was determined to form no definite opinions either way, so to be on the safe side I treated this as an open murder. I then had the position that every one in the whole wide world was under suspicion. To narrow down the field a little, I set to work to build up the one individual who really did it, out of the very meagre indications he or she had given us.

"I had the conclusions drawn already from the choice of nitrobenzene, which I've explained to you. But as a corollary to the good education, I added the very significant postscript: but not public - school or university. Don't you agree, Sir Charles? It simply wouldn't be done."

"Public - school men have been known to commit murders before now," pointed out Sir Charles, somewhat at sea.

"Oh, granted. But not in such an underhand way as this. The public - school code does stand for something, surely, even in murder. So, I am sure, any public - school man would tell me. This isn't a gentlemanly murder at all. A public - school man, if he could ever bring himself to anything so unconventional as murder, would use an axe or a revolver or something which would bring him and his victim face to face. He would never murder a man behind his back, so to speak. I'm quite sure of that.

"Then another obvious conclusion is that he's exceptionally neat with his fingers. To unwrap those chocolates, drain them, re - fill them, plug up the holes with melted chocolate, and wrap them up in their silver paper again to look as if they've never been tampered with - I can tell you, that's no easy job. And all in gloves too, remember.

" I thought at first that the beautiful way it was done pointed strongly to a woman. However, I carried out an experiment and got a dozen or so of my friends to try their hands at it, men and women, and out of the whole lot I was the only one (I say it without any particular pride) who made a really good job of it. So it wasn't necessarily a woman. But manual dexterity's a good point to establish.

"Then there was the matter of the exact six - minim dose in each chocolate. That's very illuminating, I think. It argues a methodical turn of mind amounting to a real passion for symmetry. There are such people. They can't bear that the pictures on a wall don't balance each other exactly. I know, because I'm rather that way myself. Symmetry is synonymous with order, to my mind. I can quite see how the murderer came to fill the chocolates in that way. I should probably have done so myself. Unconsciously.

"Then I think we can credit him or her with a creative mind. A crime like this isn't done on the spur of the moment. It's deliberately created, bit by bit, scene by scene, built up exactly as a play is built up. Don't you agree, Mrs. Fielder - Flemming? "

"It wouldn't have occurred to me, but it may be true."

"Oh, yes; a lot of thought must have gone to the carrying of it through. I don't think we need worry about the plagiarism from other crimes. The greatest creative minds aren't above adapting the ideas of other people to their own uses. I do myself. So do you, I expect, Sheringham; so do you, no doubt, Miss Dammers; so do you at times, I should imagine, Mrs. Fielder - Flemming. Be honest now, all of you."

A subdued murmur of honesty acknowledged occasional lapses in this direction.

"Of course. Look how Sullivan used to adapt old church music, and turn a Gregorian chant into A Pair of Sparkling Eyes, or something equally unchantlike. It's permissible. Well, there's all that to help with the portrait of our unknown and, lastly, there must be present in his or her mental make - up the particular cold, relentless inhumanity of the poisoner. That's all, I think. But it's something, isn't it? One ought to be able to go a fair way towards recognising our criminal if one ever ran across a person with these varied characteristics.

"Oh, and there's one other point I mustn't forget. The parallel crime. I'm surprised nobody's mentioned this. To my mind it's a closer parallel than any we've had yet. It isn't a well - known case, but you've all probably heard of it. The murder of Dr. Wilson, at Philadelphia, just twenty years ago.

"I'll run through it briefly. This man Wilson received one morning what purported to be a sample bottle of ale, sent to him by a well - known brewery. There was a letter with it, written apparently on their official notepaper, and the address - label had the firm's name printed on it. Wilson drank the beer at lunch, and died immediately. The stuff was saturated with cyanide of potassium.

"It was soon established that the beer hadn't come from the brewery at all, which had sent out no samples. It had been delivered through the local express company, but all they could say was that it had been sent to them for delivery by a man. The printed label and the letter - paper had been forged, printed specially for the occasion.

"The mystery was never solved. The printing - press used to print the letter - heading and label couldn't be traced, though the police visited every printing - works in the whole of America. The very motive for the murder was never even satisfactorily ascertained. A typical open murder. The bottle arrived out of the blue, and the murderer remained in it.

"You see the close resemblance to this case, particularly in the supposed sample. As Mrs. Fielder - Flemming has pointed out, it's almost too good to be a coincidence. Our murderer must have had that case in mind, with its (for the murderer) most successful outcome. As a matter of fact there was a possible motive. Wilson was a notorious abortionist, and somebody may have wanted to stop his activities. Conscience, I suppose. There are people who have such a thing. That's another parallel with this affair, you see. Sir Eustace is a notorious evil - liver. And that goes to support the police view, of an anonymous fanatic. There's a good deal to be said for that view, I think.

"But I must get on with my own exposition.

"Well, having reached this stage I tabulated my conclusions and drew up a list of conditions which this criminal of ours must fulfil. Now I should like to point out that these conditions of mine were so many and so varied that if anybody could be found to fit them the chances, Sir Charles, would not be a mere million to one but several million to one that he or she must be the guilty person. This isn't just haphazard statement, it's cold mathematical fact.

"I have twelve conditions, and the mathematical odds against their all being fulfilled in one person are actually (if my arithmetic stands the test) four hundred and seventy nine million, one thousand and six hundred to one. And that, mark you, is if all the chances were even ones. But they're not. That he should have some knowledge of criminology is at least a ten to one chance. That he should be able to get hold of Mason's notepaper must be more than a hundred to one against.

"Well, taking it all in all," opined Mr. Bradley, "I should think the real odds must be somewhere about four billion, seven hundred and ninety thousand million, five hundred and sixteen thousand, four hundred and fifty - eight to one. In other words, it's a snip. Does every one agree?"

Every one was far too stunned to disagree.

"Right; then we're all of one mind," said Mr. Bradley cheerfully. "So I'll read you my list."

He shuffled the pages of a little pocket - book and began to read: -

CONDITIONS TO BE FILLED BY THE CRIMINAL

1. Must have at least an elementary amount of chemical knowledge.

2. Must have at least an elementary knowledge of criminology.

3. Must have had a reasonably good education, but not public school or university.

4. Must have possession of, or access to, Mason's notepaper.

5. Must have possession of, or access to, a Hamilton No. 4 typewriter.

6. Must have been in the neighbourhood of Southampton Street, Strand, during the critical hour, 8.30 - 9.30, on the evening before the murder.

7. Must be in possession of, or had access to, an Onyx fountain - pen, fitted with a medium - broad nib.

8. Must be in possession of, or had access to, Harfield's Fountain - Pen Ink.

9. Must have something of a creative mind, but not above adapting the creations of others.

10. Must be more than ordinarily neat with the fingers.

11. Must be a person of methodical habits, probably with a strong feeling for symmetry.

12. Must have the cold inhumanity of the poisoner.

"By the way," said Mr. Bradley, stowing away his pocket - book again, "you see that I've agreed with you too, Sir Charles, that the murderer would never have entrusted the posting of the parcel to another person. Oh, and one other point. For purposes of reference. If anybody wants to see an Onyx pen, and fitted with a medium - broad nib as well, take a look at mine. And curiously enough it's filled with Harfield's Fountain - Pen Ink too." The pen circulated slowly round the table while Mr. Bradley, leaning back in his chair, surveyed its progress with a fatherly smile.

"And that," said Mr. Bradley, when the pen had been restored to him, "is that."

Roger thought he saw the explanation of the glint that had appeared from time to time in Mr. Bradley's eye. "You mean, the problem's still to solve. The four billion chances were too much for you. You couldn't find any one to fit your own conditions?"

"Well," said Mr. Bradley, apparently most reluctant all of a sudden, "if you must know, I have found some one who does."

"You have? Good man! Who?"

"Hang it all, you know," said the coy Mr. Bradley, "I hardly like to tell you. It's really too ridiculous."

A chorus of expostulation, cajolement, and encouragement was immediately directed at him. Never had Mr. Bradley found himself so popular.

"You'll laugh at me if I do tell you."

It appeared that everybody would rather suffer the tortures of the Inquisition than laugh at Mr. Bradley. Never can five people less disposed to mirth at Mr. Bradley's expense have been gathered together.

Mr. Bradley seemed to take heart. "Well, it's very awkward. Upon my soul I don't know what to do about it. If I can show you that the person I have in mind not only fulfils each of my conditions exactly, but also had a certain interest (remote I admit, but capable of proof) in sending those chocolates to Sir Eustace, have I your assurance, Mr. President, that the meeting will give me its serious advice as to what my duty is in the matter?"

"Good gracious, yes," at once agreed Roger, much excited. Roger had thought that he might be on the verge of solving the problem himself, but he was quite sure that he and Bradley had not hit upon the same solution. And if the fellow really had got some one . . . "Good Lord, yes!" said Roger.

Mr. Bradley looked round the table in a worried way. "Well, can't you see who I mean? Dear me, I thought I'd told you in almost every other sentence."

Nobody had seen whom he meant.

"The only possible person, so far as I can see, who could ever be expected to fulfil all those twelve conditions?" said this harassed version of Mr. Bradley, dishevelling his carefully flattened hair. "Why, dash it, not my sister at all, but - but - but me, of course!"

There was a stupefied silence.

"D - did you say, you?" finally ventured Mr. Chitterwick.

Mr. Bradley turned gloomy eyes on him. "Obviously, I'm afraid. I have more than an elementary knowledge of chemistry. I can make nitrobenzene and often have. I'm a criminologist. I've had a reasonably good education, but not public - school or University. I had access to Mason's notepaper. I possess a Hamilton No. 4 typewriter. I was in Southampton Street itself during the critical hour. I possess an Onyx pen, fitted with a medium - broad nib and filled with Harfield's ink. I have something of a creative mind, but I'm not above adapting the ideas of other people. I'm far more than ordinarily neat with my fingers. I'm a person of methodical habits, with a strong feeling for symmetry. And apparently I have the cold inhumanity of the poisoner.

"Yes," sighed Mr. Bradley, "there's simply no getting away from it. I sent those chocolates to Sir Eustace.

"I must have done. I've proved it conclusively. And the extraordinary thing is that I don't remember a single jot about it. I suppose I did it when I was thinking about something else. I've noticed I'm getting a little absent - minded at times."

Roger was struggling with an inordinate wish to laugh. However he managed to ask gravely enough; "And what do you imagine was your motive, Bradley?"

Mr. Bradley brightened a little. "Yes, that was a difficulty. For quite a time I couldn't establish my motive at all. I couldn't even connect myself with Sir Eustace Pennefather. I'd heard of him of course, as anybody who's ever been to the Rainbow must. And I'd gathered he was somewhat savoury. But I'd no grudge against the man. He could be as savoury as he liked so far as I cared. I don't think I'd ever even seen him. Yes, the motive was a real stumbling - block, because of course there must be one. What should I have tried to kill him for otherwise?"

"And you've found it?"

"I think I've managed to ferret out what must be the real cause," said Mr. Bradley, not without pride. "After puzzling for a long time I remembered that I had heard myself once say to a friend, in a discussion on detective - work, that the ambition of my life was to commit a murder, because I was perfectly certain that I could do so without ever being found out. And the excitement, I pointed out, must be stupendous; no gambling game ever invented can come anywhere near it. A murderer is really making a magnificent bet with the police, I demonstrated, with the lives of himself and his victim as the stakes; if he gets away with it, he wins both; if he's caught, he loses both. For a man like myself, who has the misfortune to be extremely bored by the usual type of popular recreation, murder should be the hobby par excellence."

"Ah!" Roger nodded portentously.

"This conversation, when I recalled it," pursued Mr. Bradley very seriously, "seemed to me significant in the extreme. I at once went to see my friend and asked him if he remembered it and was prepared to swear that it took place at all. He was. In fact he was able to add further details, more damning still. I was so impressed that I took a statement from him.

"Amplifying my notion (according to his statement), I had gone on to consider how it could best be carried out. The obvious thing, I had decided, was to select some figure of whom the world would be well rid, not necessarily a politician (I was at some pains to avoid the obvious, apparently), and simply murder him at a distance. To play the game, one should leave a clue or two, more or less obscure. Apparently I left rather more than I intended.

"My friend concluded by saying that I went away from him that evening expressing the firmest intention of carrying out my first murder at the earliest opportunity. Not only would the practice make such an admirable hobby, I told him, but the experience would be invaluable to a writer of detective - stories such as myself.

"That, I think," said Mr. Bradley with dignity, "establishes my motive only too certainly."

"Murder for experiment," remarked Roger. "A new category. Most interesting."

"Murder for jaded pleasure - seekers," Mr. Bradley corrected him. "There is a precedent, you know. Loeb and Leopold. Well, there you have it. Have I proved my case, Mr. President?"

"Completely, so far as I can see. I can't detect a flaw in your argument."

"I've been at some pains to make it a good deal more water - tight than I ever bother to do in my books. You could argue a very nasty case against me in court on those lines, couldn't you. Sir Charles? "

"Well, I should want to go into it a little more closely, but at first sight, Bradley, I admit that so far as circumstantial evidence is worth (and in my opinion, as you know, it is worth everything), I can't see room for very much doubt that you sent those chocolates to Sir Eustace."

"And if I said here and now that in sober truth I did send them?" persisted Mr. Bradley.

"I couldn't disbelieve you."

"And yet I didn't. But given time, I'm quite prepared to prove to you just as convincingly that the person who really sent them was the Archbishop of Canterbury, or Sybil Thorndike, or Mrs. Robinson - Smythe of The Laurels, Acacia Road, Upper Tooting, or the President of the United States, or anybody else in this world you like to name.

"So much for proof. I built that whole case up against myself out of the one coincidence of my sister having a few sheets of Mason's notepaper. I told you nothing but the truth. But I didn't tell you the whole truth. Artistic proof is, like artistic anything else, simply a matter of selection. If you know what to put in and what to leave out you can prove anything you like, quite conclusively. I do it in every book I write, and no reviewer has ever hauled me over the coals for slipshod argument yet. But then," said Mr. Bradley modestly, "I don't suppose any reviewer has ever read one of my books."

"Well, it was a very ingenious piece of work," Miss Dammers summed up. "And most instructive."

"Thank you," murmured Mr. Bradley, with gratitude.

"And what it all amounts to," Mrs. Fielder - Flemming delivered a somewhat tart verdict, "is that you haven't the faintest idea who is the real criminal."

"Oh, I know that, of course." said Mr. Bradley languidly. "But I can't prove it. So it's not much good telling you."

Everybody sat up.

"You've found some one else, in spite of the odds, to fit those conditions of yours?" demanded Sir Charles.

"I suppose she must," admitted Mr. Bradley, "as she did it. But unfortunately I haven't been able to check them all."

"She!" Mr. Chitterwick caught him up.

"Oh, yes, it was a woman. That was the most obvious thing about the whole case - and incidentally one of the things I was careful to leave out just now. Really, I wonder that's never been mentioned before.

Surely if there's anything evident about this affair at all it is that it's a woman's crime. It would never occur to a man to send poisoned chocolates to another man. He'd send a poisoned sample razor - blade, or whisky, or beer like the unfortunate Dr. Wilson's friend. Quite obviously it's a woman's crime."

"I wonder," Roger said softly.

Mr. Bradley threw him a sharp glance. "You don't agree, Sheringham?"

"I only wondered," said Roger. "But it's a very defendable point."

"Impregnable, I should have said," drawled Mr. Bradley.

"Well," said Miss Dammers, impatient of these minor matters, "aren't you going to tell us who did it, Mr. Bradley?"

Mr. Bradley looked at her quizzically. "But I said that it wasn't any good, as I can't prove it. Besides, there's a small matter of the lady's honour involved."

"Are you resuscitating the law of slander, to get you out of a difficulty?"

"Oh, dear me, no. I wouldn't in the least mind giving her away as a murderess. It's a much more important thing than that. She happens to have been Sir Eustace's mistress at one time, you see, and there's a code governing that sort of thing."

"Ah!" said Mr. Chitterwick.

Mr. Bradley turned to him politely. "You were going to say something?"

"No, no. I was just wondering whether you'd been thinking on the same lines as I have. That's all."

"You mean the discarded mistress theory?"

"Well," said Mr. Chitterwick uncomfortably, "yes."

"Of course. You'd hit on that line of research, too?" Mr. Bradley's tone was that of a benevolent headmaster patting a promising pupil on the head. "It's the right one, obviously. Viewing the crime as a whole, and in the light of Sir Eustace's character, a discarded mistress, radiating jealousy, stands out like a beacon in the middle of it. That's one of the things I conveniently omitted too from my list of conditions - No. 13, the criminal must be a woman. And touching on artistic proof again, both Sir Charles and Mrs. Fielder - Flemming practised it, didn't they? Both of them omitted to establish any connection of nitrobenzene with their respective criminals, though such a connection is vital to both their cases."

"Then you really think jealousy is the motive? " Mr. Chitterwick suggested.

"I'm absolutely convinced of it," Mr. Bradley assured him. "But I'll tell you something else of which I'm not by any means convinced, and that is that the intended victim really was Sir Eustace Pennefather."

"Not the intended victim?" queried Roger, very uneasily. "How do you make that out?"

"Why, I've discovered," said Mr. Bradley, dissembling his pride, "that Sir Eustace had had an engagement for lunch on the day of the murder. He seems to have been very secretive about it, and it was certainly with a woman; and not only with a woman, but with a woman in whom Sir Eustace was more than a little interested. I think probably not Miss Wildman, but somebody of whom he was anxious that Miss Wildman shouldn't know. But in my opinion the woman who sent the chocolates knew. The appointment was cancelled, but the other woman might not have known that.

"My suggestion (it's only a suggestion, and I can't substantiate it in any way at all except that it makes chocolates still more reasonable) is that those chocolates were intended not for Sir Eustace at all but for the sender's rival."

"Ah!" breathed Mrs. Fielder - Flemming. "This is quite a new idea," complained Sir Charles.

Roger had been hastily conning over the names of Sir Eustace's various ladies. He had been unable to fit one before into the crime, and he was unable now; yet he did not think that any had escaped him. "If the woman you're thinking of, Bradley, the sender," he said tentatively, "really was a mistress of Sir Eustace, I don't think you need worry about being too punctilious. Her name is almost certainly on the lips of the whole Rainbow Club in that connection, if not of every club in London. Sir Eustace is not a reticent man."

"I can assure Mr. Bradley," said Miss Dammers with irony, "that Sir Eustace's standard of honour falls a good deal short of his own."

"In this case," Mr. Bradley told them, unmoved, "I think not."

"How is that?"

"Because I'm quite sure that apart from my unconscious informant, and Sir Eustace, and myself, there is nobody who knows of the connection at all. Except the lady, of course," added Mr. Bradley punctiliously. "Naturally it would not have escaped her."

"Then how did you find out?" demanded Miss Dammers.

"That," Mr. Bradley informed her equably, "I regret that I'm not at liberty to say."

Roger stroked his chin. Could there be another one of whom he had never heard? In that case, how would this new theory of his continue to stand up?

"Your so close parallel falls to the ground, then?" Mrs. Fielder - Flemming was stating.

"Not altogether. But if it does, I've got another just as good. Christina Edmunds. Almost the same case, with the insanity left out. Jealousy - mania. Poisoned chocolates. What could be better?"

"Humph! The mainstay of your last case, I gathered," observed Sir Charles, "or at any rate the starting - point, was the choice of nitrobenzene. I suppose that, and the deductions you drew from it, are equally important to this one. Are we to take it that this lady is an amateur chemist, with a copy of Taylor on her shelves?"

Mr. Bradley smiled gently. "That, as you rightly point out, was the mainstay of my last case, Sir Charles. It isn't of this one. I'm afraid my remarks on the choice of poison were rather special pleading. I was leading up to a certain person, you see, and therefore only drew the deductions which suited that particular person. However, there was a good deal of possible truth in them for all that, though I wouldn't rate their probability quite as high as I pretended to do then. I'm quite prepared to believe that nitrobenzene was used simply because it's so easy to get hold of. But it's perfectly true that the stuff's hardly known as a poison at all."

"Then you make no use of it in your present case?"

"Oh, yes, I do. I still think the point that the criminal not so much used it as knew of it to use, is a perfectly sound one. The reason for that knowledge should be capable of being established. I stuck out before for a copy of some such book as Taylor as the reason, and I still do. As it happens this good lady has got a copy of Taylor."

"She is a criminologist, then?" Mrs. Fielder - Flemming pounced.

Mr. Bradley leaned back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling. "That, I should think, is very much open to question. Frankly, I'm puzzled over the matter of criminology. Myself, I don't see that lady as an ' - ist' of any description. Her function in life is perfectly obvious, the one she fulfilled for Sir Eustace, and I shouldn't have thought her capable of any other. Except to powder her nose rather charmingly, and looked extremely decorative, but all that's part and parcel of her real raison d'etre. No, I don't think she could possibly be a criminologist, any more than a canary - bird could. But she certainly has a smattering of criminology, because in her flat there's a whole bookshelf filled with works on the subject."

"She's a personal friend of yours, then?" queried Mrs. Fielder - Flemming, very casually.

"Oh, no. I've only met her once. That was when I called at her flat with a brand - new copy of a recently published book of popular murders under my arm, and represented myself as a traveller for the publisher soliciting orders for the book; might I have the pleasure of putting her name down? The book had only been out four days, but she proudly showed me a copy of it on her shelves already. Was she interested in criminology, then. Oh, yes, she simply adored it; murder was too fascinating, wasn't it? Conclusive, I think."

"She sounds a bit of a fool," commented Sir Charles.

"She looks like a bit of a fool," agreed Mr. Bradley. "She talks like a bit of a fool. Meeting her at a tea - fight, I should have said she is a bit of a fool. And yet she carried through a really cleverly planned murder, so I don't see how she can be a bit of a fool."

"It doesn't occur to you," remarked Miss Dammers, "that perhaps she never did anything of the sort?"

"Well, no," Mr. Bradley had to confess. "I'm afraid it doesn't. I mean, a comparatively recent discarded mistress of Sir Eustace's (well, not more than three years ago, and hope dies hard), who thinks no small champagne of herself and considers murder too fascinating for words. Well, really!

"By the way, if you want any confirmatory evidence that she had been one of Sir Eustace's lady - loves, I might add that I saw a photograph of him in her flat. It was in a frame that had a very wide border. The border showed the word 'Your' and conveniently cut off the rest. Not 'Yours,' notice, but 'Your.' I think it's a reasonable assumption that something quite affectionate lies under that discreet border."

"I have it from his own lips that Sir Eustace changes his mistresses as often as his hats," Miss Dammers said briskly. "Isn't it possible that more than one may have suffered from a jealousy - complex?"

"But not, I think, have possessed a copy of Taylor as well," Mr. Bradley insisted.

"The criminological - knowledge factor seems to have taken the place in this case of the nitrobenzene factor in the last," meditated Mr. Chitterwick. "Am I right in thinking that?"

"Quite," Mr. Bradley assured him kindly. "That, in my opinion, is the really important clue. It's so emphasised, you see. We get it from two entirely different angles, the choice of poison and the reminiscent features of the case. In fact we're coming up against it all the time."

"Well, well," muttered Mr. Chitterwick, reproving himself as one might who had been coming up against a thing all the time and never even noticed it. There was a short silence, which Mr. Chitterwick imputed (quite wrongly) to a general condemnation of his own obtuseness.

"Your list of conditions," Miss Dammers resumed the charge. "You said you hadn't been able to check all of them. Which does this woman definitely fulfil, and which haven't you been able to check?"

Mr. Bradley assumed an air of alertness. "No. 1, I don't know whether she has any chemical knowledge. No. 2, I do know that she has at least an elementary knowledge of criminology. No. 3, she is almost certain to have had a reasonably good education (though whether she ever learnt anything is quite a different matter), and I think we may assume that she was never at a public - school. No. 4, I haven't been able to connect her with Mason's notepaper, except in so far as she has an account at Mason's; and if that is good enough for Sir Charles, it's good enough for me. No. 5, I haven't been able to connect her with a Hamilton typewriter, but that ought to be quite easy; one of her friends is sure to have one.

"No. 6, she could have been in the neighbourhood of Southampton Street. She tried to establish an alibi, but bungled it badly; it's full of holes. She's supposed to have been in a theatre, but she didn't even get there till well past nine. No. 7, I saw an Onyx fountain - pen on her bureau. No. 8, I saw a bottle of Harfield's Fountain - Pen Ink in one of the pigeon - holes of the bureau.

"No. 9, I shouldn't have said she had a creative mind; I shouldn't have said that she had a mind at all; but apparently we must give her the benefit of any doubt there is. No. 10, judging from her face, I should say she was very neat with her fingers. No. 11, if she is a person of methodical habits she must feel it an incriminating point, for she certainly disguises it very well. No. 12, this I think might be amended, to 'must have the poisoner's complete lack of imagination.' That's the lot."

"I see," said Miss Dammers. "There are gaps."

"There are," Mr. Bradley agreed blandly. "To tell the truth, I know this woman must have done it because really, you know, she must. But I can't believe it,"

"Ah!" said Mrs. Fielder - Flemming, putting a neat sentence into one word.

"By the way, Sheringham," remarked Mr. Bradley, "you know the bad lady."

"I do, do I?" said Roger, apparently coming out of a trance. "I thought I might. Look here, if I write a name down on a piece of paper, do you mind telling me if I'm right or wrong?"

"Not in the least," replied the equable Mr. Bradley. "As a matter of fact I was going to suggest something like that myself. I think as President you ought to know who I mean, in case there is anything in it."

Roger folded his piece of paper in two and tossed it down the table. "That's the person, I suppose."

"You're quite right," said Mr. Bradley.

"And you base most of your case on her reasons for interesting herself in criminology?"

"You might put it like that," conceded Mr. Bradley.

In spite of himself Roger blushed faintly. He had the best of reasons for knowing why Mrs. Verreker - le - Mesurer professed such an interest in criminology. Not to put too fine a point on it, the reasons had been almost forced on him.

"Then you're absolutely wrong, Bradley," he said without hesitation. "Absolutely."

"You know definitely?"

Roger suppressed an involuntary shudder. "Quite definitely."

"You know, I never believed she did it," said the philosophical Mr. Bradley.

THE POISONED CHOCOLATES CASE