Read Online Bear Island by Alistair MacLean - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alistair MacLean
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was being unfair to him. He went on: I understand you've so far been unable to establish the cause of death." Diplomacy, inevitably, was second nature to Goin: he could so easily and truthfully have said that I just hadn't a clue.
So I said it for him. I haven't a clue."
"You'll never get to Harley Street talking that way."
"Poison, that's certain. But that's all that's certain. I carry the usual seagoing medical library around with me, but that isn't much help. To identify a poison you must be able either to carry out a chemical analysis or observe the poison at work on the victim-most of the major poisons have symptoms peculiar to themselves and follow their own highly idiosyncratic courses. But Antonio was dead before I got to him and I lack the facilities to do any pathological work, assuming I could do it in the first place."
"You're destroying all my faith in the medical profession. Cyanide?"
“Impossible. Antonio took time to die. A couple of drops of hydrocyanic -prussic acid-or even a tiny quantity of pharmacopocial acid, and that's only two percent of anhydrous prussic acid-and you're dead before your glass hits the floor. And cyanide makes it murder, it always makes it murder. There's no way I know of it can be administered by accident. Antonio's death, I'm certain, was an accident."
Goin helped himself to some more Scotch. "What makes you so certain it was an accident?”
“What makes me so certain?" That was a difficult one to answer off the cuff owing to the fact that I was convinced it was no accident at all. "First, there was no opportunity for the administering of poison. We know that Antonio was alone in his cabin all afternoon right until dinnertime." I looked at the Count. "Did Antonio have any private food supplies with him in his cabin?”
“How did you guess?" The Count looked surprised.
"I'm not guessing. I'm eliminating. He had?”
“Two hampers. Full of glass jars-I think I mentioned that Antonio would never eat anything out of a tin-with all sorts of weird vegetable products inside, including dozens of baby food jars with all sorts of purees in them. A very finicky eater, was poor Antonio.”
“So I'm beginning to gather. I think our answer will lie there. I'll have Captain Imrie impound his supplies and have them analysed on our return. To get back to the opportunity factor. Antonio came up to the dining saloon here, had the same as the rest of us~?'
"No fruit juices, no soup, no lamb chops, no potatoes," the Count said.
"None of those. But what he did have we all had. Then straight back to his cabin. In the second place, who would want to kill a harmless person like that-especially as Antonio was a total stranger to all of us and only joined us at Wick for the first time? And who but a madman would administer a deadly poison in a closed community like this knowing that he couldn't escape and that Scotland Yard would be leaning over the quay walls in Wick, just waiting for our return?”
“Maybe that's the way a madman would figure a sane person would Figure," Goin said.
"What English king was it who died of a surfeit of lampreys?" the Count said. If you ask me, our unfortunate Antonio may well have perished from a surfeit of horse-radish.”
“Like enough." I pushed back my chair and made to rise. But I didn't get up immediately. Way back in the dim and lost recesses of my mind the Count had triggered off a tiny bell, an infinitesimal tinkle so distant and remote that if I hadn't been listening with all my ears I'd have missed it completely: but I had been listening, the way people always listen when they know, without knowing why, that the old man with the scythe is standing there in the wings, winding up for the back stroke. I knew both men were watching me. I sighed. "Decisions, decisions. Antonio has to be attended to--”
“With canvas?" Goin
So I said it for him. I haven't a clue."
"You'll never get to Harley Street talking that way."
"Poison, that's certain. But that's all that's certain. I carry the usual seagoing medical library around with me, but that isn't much help. To identify a poison you must be able either to carry out a chemical analysis or observe the poison at work on the victim-most of the major poisons have symptoms peculiar to themselves and follow their own highly idiosyncratic courses. But Antonio was dead before I got to him and I lack the facilities to do any pathological work, assuming I could do it in the first place."
"You're destroying all my faith in the medical profession. Cyanide?"
“Impossible. Antonio took time to die. A couple of drops of hydrocyanic -prussic acid-or even a tiny quantity of pharmacopocial acid, and that's only two percent of anhydrous prussic acid-and you're dead before your glass hits the floor. And cyanide makes it murder, it always makes it murder. There's no way I know of it can be administered by accident. Antonio's death, I'm certain, was an accident."
Goin helped himself to some more Scotch. "What makes you so certain it was an accident?”
“What makes me so certain?" That was a difficult one to answer off the cuff owing to the fact that I was convinced it was no accident at all. "First, there was no opportunity for the administering of poison. We know that Antonio was alone in his cabin all afternoon right until dinnertime." I looked at the Count. "Did Antonio have any private food supplies with him in his cabin?”
“How did you guess?" The Count looked surprised.
"I'm not guessing. I'm eliminating. He had?”
“Two hampers. Full of glass jars-I think I mentioned that Antonio would never eat anything out of a tin-with all sorts of weird vegetable products inside, including dozens of baby food jars with all sorts of purees in them. A very finicky eater, was poor Antonio.”
“So I'm beginning to gather. I think our answer will lie there. I'll have Captain Imrie impound his supplies and have them analysed on our return. To get back to the opportunity factor. Antonio came up to the dining saloon here, had the same as the rest of us~?'
"No fruit juices, no soup, no lamb chops, no potatoes," the Count said.
"None of those. But what he did have we all had. Then straight back to his cabin. In the second place, who would want to kill a harmless person like that-especially as Antonio was a total stranger to all of us and only joined us at Wick for the first time? And who but a madman would administer a deadly poison in a closed community like this knowing that he couldn't escape and that Scotland Yard would be leaning over the quay walls in Wick, just waiting for our return?”
“Maybe that's the way a madman would figure a sane person would Figure," Goin said.
"What English king was it who died of a surfeit of lampreys?" the Count said. If you ask me, our unfortunate Antonio may well have perished from a surfeit of horse-radish.”
“Like enough." I pushed back my chair and made to rise. But I didn't get up immediately. Way back in the dim and lost recesses of my mind the Count had triggered off a tiny bell, an infinitesimal tinkle so distant and remote that if I hadn't been listening with all my ears I'd have missed it completely: but I had been listening, the way people always listen when they know, without knowing why, that the old man with the scythe is standing there in the wings, winding up for the back stroke. I knew both men were watching me. I sighed. "Decisions, decisions. Antonio has to be attended to--”
“With canvas?" Goin
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