Read Online Strong Poison by Dorothy L. Sayers - Free Book Online Page A

time ago, dear Lord Peter, while you were still in the nursery, but young men were wild, even then, whatever they say now about the ’eighties – and he said one day to my poor, dear Mother, ‘Mrs. Climpson, if I don’t make a good bag today, I shall shoot myself’ (for he was very fond of sport), and he went out with his gun and as he was getting over a stile, he caught the trigger in the hedge and the gun went off and blew his head to pieces. I was quite a girl, and it upset me dreadfully, because he was a very handsome young man, with whiskers which we all admired very much, though today they would be smiled at, and they were burnt right off him with the explosion, and a shocking hole in the side of his head, so they said, for of course I was not allowed to see him.”
    “Poor chap,” said his lordship. “Well, let’s dismiss homicidal mania from our minds for the moment. What else do people kill people for?”
    “There is – passion,” said Miss Climpson, with a slight initial hesitation at the word, “for I should not like to call it love, when it is so unregulated.”
    “That is the explanation put forward by the prosecution,” said Wimsey. “I don’t accept it.”
    “Certainly not. But – it might be possible, might it not, that there was some other unfortunate young woman who was attached to this Mr. Boyes, and felt vindictively towards him?”
    “Yes, or a man who was jealous. But the time is the difficulty. You’ve got to have some plausible pretext for giving a bloke arsenic. You can’t just catch him standing on a doorstep, and say, ‘Here, have a drink of this,’ can you?”
    “But there were ten minutes unaccounted for,” said Miss Climpson, shrewdly. “Might he not have entered some public-house for refreshment, and there met an enemy?”
    “By jove, that’s a possibility.” Wimsey made a note, and shook his head dubiously. “But it’s rather a coincidence. Unless there was a previous appointment to meet there. Still, it’s worth looking into. At any rate, it’s obvious that Mr. Urquhart’s house and Miss Vane’s flat were not the only conceivable places where Boyes might have eaten or drunk between seven and 10.10 that evening. Very well: under the head ‘Passion’ we find (1) Miss Vane (ruled out ex hypothesi), (2) jealous lover, (3) ditto rival. Place, Public-house (query). Now we go on to the next motive, and that’s Money. A very good motive for murdering anybody who has any, but a poor one in Boyes’ case. Still, let us say, Money. I can think of three subheadings for that: (1) Robbery from the person (very improbable); (2) insurance; (3) inheritance.”
    “What a clear mind you have,” said Miss Climpson.
    “When I die you will find ‘Efficiency’ written on my heart. I don’t know what money Boyes had on him, but I shouldn’t think it was much. Urquhart and Vaughan might know; still, it’s not very important, because arsenic isn’t a sensible drug to use on anyone you want to rob. It takes a long time, comparatively, to begin business, and it doesn’t make the victim helpless enough. Unless we suppose the taxi-driver drugged and robbed him, there was no one who could possibly profit by such a silly crime.”
    Miss Climpson agreed, and buttered a second teacake.
    “Then, insurance. Now we come to the region of the possible. Was Boyes insured? It doesn’t seem to have occurred to anybody to find out. Probably he wasn’t. Literary blokes have very little forethought, and are careless about trifles like premiums. But one ought to know. Who might have an insurable interest? His father, his cousin (possibly), other relations (if any), his children (if any) and – I suppose – Miss Vane, if he took out the policy while he was living with her. Also, anybody who may have lent him money on the strength of such insurance. Plenty of possibilities there. I’m feeling better already, Miss Climpson, fitter and brighter in every way. Either I’m getting a line on