likely suspect. But he didn’t know of Emile’s existence until after his death when Madeleine was arrested which must have been a considerable shock to him.’
Faro was silent for a moment. ‘There is one other possibility. What if Emile was killed by a stranger who knew nothing of his relationship with Madeleine Smith? How about that?’
McFie smiled. ‘You’re in the land of fantasy with this one, lad. For Emile to have come across a murderous stranger or acquaintance on that fatal night and for that person, of all possible murder weapons such as knife, pistol or strangulation, to choose the specific poison that Emile’s lover had been purchasing. Well, that theory relies on too many stark coincidences, does it not?’
Faro agreed. ‘So we are left with only one conclusion. That Madeleine did in fact kill Emile. But although her purchases of arsenic made a strong case, her lack of an immediate attempt to retrieve those damning letters was on her side. Unless he had been telling her lies about keeping them, which would put an end to any possibility of her marrying Minnoch, then she must have been fully aware of the terrible danger she was in, that they would be found among his possessions.’
‘Did she perhaps still have a forlorn hope that her pleas had been successful and that he had destroyed them?’
‘Then she had killed him for nothing, you mean. A terrible thought. I can’t believe that she was so naive, knowing that her maid could testify about Emile’s visits and those cups of cocoa.’
‘There is still one mystery unsolved,’ Faro said. ‘Those five missing hours on March 22 from when he was last seen heading in the direction of Blythswood Square and his death in his lodgings in the early hours of the following morning. He was unable to tell anyone about that “dark liquid” he had recently consumed but colleagues and his old friend Mary Perry remembered that in the weeks before his death he had mentioned the possibility of his being poisoned.
‘Whatever the reason for his silence as he lay dying in agony, he must have suspected the cocoa he had recently consumed was responsible. But he died without naming the obvious person, his lover Madeleine, and that remains the greatest puzzle.’
Pausing for a moment, he added: ‘Or did he still love her right to the end and, remembering the once close relationship, did he refuse to believe that she was capable of doing him harm? So without any accusation, it was circumstantial evidence only that saved her from the gallows and got that “Not Proven” verdict.’
The older man had smiled wryly. ‘Aye, lad, had that jury been women, then the outcome might have been different.’ And laying aside Faro’s comprehensive notes, he said, ‘We’ll make a detective of you yet, Faro.’
C HAPTER S EVEN
Now, three years later, in the impersonal surroundings of Red House, Faro groaned anew. How would his old friend have dealt with this new crisis, this diabolical situation in which he found himself? He heard his name called; something hit his window. There were shouts of laughter as he looked towards the orchards. Erland had emerged with Lena from the summerhouse, a romantic setting secluded from the rest of the garden.
Erland, ready to throw another apple, grinned up at him. ‘Don’t be shy, Jeremy, come and join us. Lena is dying to talk to you.’
Faro went slowly down the stairs. He couldn’t avoid Lena for ever. Meeting her in Red House was inevitable. As for that approaching wedding – he had to think of something but his wits had temporarily deserted him.
Stepping out into the sunshine, he braced himself for this second encounter. In normal circumstances he would have been overcome with joy. For this was indeed a new Erland he beheld, transformed by the presence of the girl he knew and loved as Lena. No longer weak and indecisive, the pale crippled schoolboy who had suffered from fainting fits had become a strong handsome and virile young
Faro was silent for a moment. ‘There is one other possibility. What if Emile was killed by a stranger who knew nothing of his relationship with Madeleine Smith? How about that?’
McFie smiled. ‘You’re in the land of fantasy with this one, lad. For Emile to have come across a murderous stranger or acquaintance on that fatal night and for that person, of all possible murder weapons such as knife, pistol or strangulation, to choose the specific poison that Emile’s lover had been purchasing. Well, that theory relies on too many stark coincidences, does it not?’
Faro agreed. ‘So we are left with only one conclusion. That Madeleine did in fact kill Emile. But although her purchases of arsenic made a strong case, her lack of an immediate attempt to retrieve those damning letters was on her side. Unless he had been telling her lies about keeping them, which would put an end to any possibility of her marrying Minnoch, then she must have been fully aware of the terrible danger she was in, that they would be found among his possessions.’
‘Did she perhaps still have a forlorn hope that her pleas had been successful and that he had destroyed them?’
‘Then she had killed him for nothing, you mean. A terrible thought. I can’t believe that she was so naive, knowing that her maid could testify about Emile’s visits and those cups of cocoa.’
‘There is still one mystery unsolved,’ Faro said. ‘Those five missing hours on March 22 from when he was last seen heading in the direction of Blythswood Square and his death in his lodgings in the early hours of the following morning. He was unable to tell anyone about that “dark liquid” he had recently consumed but colleagues and his old friend Mary Perry remembered that in the weeks before his death he had mentioned the possibility of his being poisoned.
‘Whatever the reason for his silence as he lay dying in agony, he must have suspected the cocoa he had recently consumed was responsible. But he died without naming the obvious person, his lover Madeleine, and that remains the greatest puzzle.’
Pausing for a moment, he added: ‘Or did he still love her right to the end and, remembering the once close relationship, did he refuse to believe that she was capable of doing him harm? So without any accusation, it was circumstantial evidence only that saved her from the gallows and got that “Not Proven” verdict.’
The older man had smiled wryly. ‘Aye, lad, had that jury been women, then the outcome might have been different.’ And laying aside Faro’s comprehensive notes, he said, ‘We’ll make a detective of you yet, Faro.’
C HAPTER S EVEN
Now, three years later, in the impersonal surroundings of Red House, Faro groaned anew. How would his old friend have dealt with this new crisis, this diabolical situation in which he found himself? He heard his name called; something hit his window. There were shouts of laughter as he looked towards the orchards. Erland had emerged with Lena from the summerhouse, a romantic setting secluded from the rest of the garden.
Erland, ready to throw another apple, grinned up at him. ‘Don’t be shy, Jeremy, come and join us. Lena is dying to talk to you.’
Faro went slowly down the stairs. He couldn’t avoid Lena for ever. Meeting her in Red House was inevitable. As for that approaching wedding – he had to think of something but his wits had temporarily deserted him.
Stepping out into the sunshine, he braced himself for this second encounter. In normal circumstances he would have been overcome with joy. For this was indeed a new Erland he beheld, transformed by the presence of the girl he knew and loved as Lena. No longer weak and indecisive, the pale crippled schoolboy who had suffered from fainting fits had become a strong handsome and virile young
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