murders,’ Alice was saying with some relish. ‘That’s what my
Harmsworth Magazine
says.’ Auguste had long ago tired of the
Harmsworth Magazine
, but Alice was not to be stopped. ‘There was that Mrs Francis butchered in her rooms at Peckham. And that murder in Great
Coram Street—’
‘They found the murderer. He was a German,’ Algernon remarked incautiously.
‘
Nein
, he was found innocent,’ glared Heinrich, always touchy on the subject of German honour.
‘And the Euston Square murders,’ Algernon continued doggedly.
‘London isn’t safe, and that’s a fact,’ James put in. ‘But most murderers
are
found out, aren’t they, Mr Didier?’
‘How can we know? Most murderers of
known
murders perhaps. But of those murders not known to be murders, the push over the clifftop, or under the train, the poisondealt stealthily that kills little by little. How can we know how many there are?’
‘Mrs Maybrick was found out.’
‘But was she guilty?’ demanded Emily, taking an unusually large part in the conversation today. ‘I think it was a shame. He
was an arsenic eater, you know. And she only bought the arsenic for her complexion. My grandmama used it with treacle.’
‘
Pardon?
’ said Auguste, startled.
‘Oh, not on her
bread
, Mr Auguste,’ said Emily, her face unaccountably flushing bright red. ‘To kill flies.’
‘Ah,’ said Auguste, relieved.
‘Sheep,’ put in James. ‘You use it for sheep. Dangerous stuff.’ He relapsed into silence again, perhaps at the sight of Alice’s
hand stealing once more into Alfred’s for comfort. He frowned. Something had to be done. ‘Messy business, poison,’ he said
quietly, glancing at his huge capable hands.
‘How would you kill, Monsieur Didier, if you had to commit a murder?’ asked Algernon bluntly.
‘This is a parlour game perhaps, Mr Peckham?’ enquired Auguste politely. ‘Death is not a game.’
But Algernon was undeterred. ‘Lord Wittisham then.’
Alfred Wittisham was contemplating happily his recent evening with Beatrice Throgmorton, thinking that Alice’s hand had nothing
like her delicate slender trusting sensitiveness. Oh, for the touch of it. He’d do anything for her. His misery swept over
him once more. But there was nothing he could do. Or was there?
‘Could you commit a murder?’ Algernon continued.
‘Oh yes,’ declared Alfred enthusiastically. ‘I’d – I’d’ – inspiration deserted him. ‘Shoot him down like a dog,’ he added.
This was lame in Algernon’s view.
‘Mr Pegg?’
‘Chloroform,’ he said offhandedly.
‘Rather unsporting, James,’ commented Alfred reprovingly and James flushed.
‘Miss Dawson?’
‘I think this is a very silly game,’ she gasped. ‘I couldn’t kill a fly.’ And she shut her mouth obstinately.
‘Herr Freimüller?’
‘I strangle,’ he said shortly. There was a short silence, while everyone tried not to look at his hands.
‘Sid?’
‘Set me granny’s dogs on ’im.’
Alice giggled. ‘I’d hypnotise my victim and tell him to jump off Battersea Bridge when I wasn’t there.’ Some discussion followed
as to whether this was practical or not.
‘And you, Mr Peckham,’ asked James rather belligerently. ‘You haven’t said how you’d do it.’
‘Oh. I couldn’t murder anyone,’ said Algernon smugly.
There was a concerted murmur of outrage at this betrayal. Auguste noted Algernon’s successful manipulation of the group. An
interesting if unlikeable young man. He also considered how strange it was that despite their previous enthusiastic discussion
no one had mentioned internal poison.
‘There’s the sea,’ shouted Emily suddenly, putting an end to this morbid discussion.
‘Where?’ cried Alice, craning round Alfred, then jumping up together with Auguste, Emily and Algernon crowded to the left
side of the carriage, by which time the brief glimpse had long since passed.
The sight of Reculver Towers drew a deep
Harmsworth Magazine
says.’ Auguste had long ago tired of the
Harmsworth Magazine
, but Alice was not to be stopped. ‘There was that Mrs Francis butchered in her rooms at Peckham. And that murder in Great
Coram Street—’
‘They found the murderer. He was a German,’ Algernon remarked incautiously.
‘
Nein
, he was found innocent,’ glared Heinrich, always touchy on the subject of German honour.
‘And the Euston Square murders,’ Algernon continued doggedly.
‘London isn’t safe, and that’s a fact,’ James put in. ‘But most murderers
are
found out, aren’t they, Mr Didier?’
‘How can we know? Most murderers of
known
murders perhaps. But of those murders not known to be murders, the push over the clifftop, or under the train, the poisondealt stealthily that kills little by little. How can we know how many there are?’
‘Mrs Maybrick was found out.’
‘But was she guilty?’ demanded Emily, taking an unusually large part in the conversation today. ‘I think it was a shame. He
was an arsenic eater, you know. And she only bought the arsenic for her complexion. My grandmama used it with treacle.’
‘
Pardon?
’ said Auguste, startled.
‘Oh, not on her
bread
, Mr Auguste,’ said Emily, her face unaccountably flushing bright red. ‘To kill flies.’
‘Ah,’ said Auguste, relieved.
‘Sheep,’ put in James. ‘You use it for sheep. Dangerous stuff.’ He relapsed into silence again, perhaps at the sight of Alice’s
hand stealing once more into Alfred’s for comfort. He frowned. Something had to be done. ‘Messy business, poison,’ he said
quietly, glancing at his huge capable hands.
‘How would you kill, Monsieur Didier, if you had to commit a murder?’ asked Algernon bluntly.
‘This is a parlour game perhaps, Mr Peckham?’ enquired Auguste politely. ‘Death is not a game.’
But Algernon was undeterred. ‘Lord Wittisham then.’
Alfred Wittisham was contemplating happily his recent evening with Beatrice Throgmorton, thinking that Alice’s hand had nothing
like her delicate slender trusting sensitiveness. Oh, for the touch of it. He’d do anything for her. His misery swept over
him once more. But there was nothing he could do. Or was there?
‘Could you commit a murder?’ Algernon continued.
‘Oh yes,’ declared Alfred enthusiastically. ‘I’d – I’d’ – inspiration deserted him. ‘Shoot him down like a dog,’ he added.
This was lame in Algernon’s view.
‘Mr Pegg?’
‘Chloroform,’ he said offhandedly.
‘Rather unsporting, James,’ commented Alfred reprovingly and James flushed.
‘Miss Dawson?’
‘I think this is a very silly game,’ she gasped. ‘I couldn’t kill a fly.’ And she shut her mouth obstinately.
‘Herr Freimüller?’
‘I strangle,’ he said shortly. There was a short silence, while everyone tried not to look at his hands.
‘Sid?’
‘Set me granny’s dogs on ’im.’
Alice giggled. ‘I’d hypnotise my victim and tell him to jump off Battersea Bridge when I wasn’t there.’ Some discussion followed
as to whether this was practical or not.
‘And you, Mr Peckham,’ asked James rather belligerently. ‘You haven’t said how you’d do it.’
‘Oh. I couldn’t murder anyone,’ said Algernon smugly.
There was a concerted murmur of outrage at this betrayal. Auguste noted Algernon’s successful manipulation of the group. An
interesting if unlikeable young man. He also considered how strange it was that despite their previous enthusiastic discussion
no one had mentioned internal poison.
‘There’s the sea,’ shouted Emily suddenly, putting an end to this morbid discussion.
‘Where?’ cried Alice, craning round Alfred, then jumping up together with Auguste, Emily and Algernon crowded to the left
side of the carriage, by which time the brief glimpse had long since passed.
The sight of Reculver Towers drew a deep
Similar Books
