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

the thing, or else it’s your tea. That’s a good, stout-looking pot. Has it got any more in it?”
    “Yes, indeed,” said Miss Climpson, eagerly. “My dear father used to say I was a great hand at getting the utmost out of a tea-pot. The secret is to fill up as you go and never empty the pot completely.”
    “Inheritance,” pursued Lord Peter. “Had he anything to leave? Not much, I shouldn’t think. I’d better hop round and see his publisher. Or had he lately come into anything? His father or cousin would know. The father is a parson – ‘slashing trade, that,’ as the naughty bully says to the new boy in one of Dean Farrar’s books. He has a thread-bare look. I shouldn’t think there was much money in the family. Still, you never know. Somebody might have left Boyes a fortune for his beaux yeux or out of admiration for his books. If so, to whom did Boyes leave it? Query: did he make a will? But surely the defence must have thought of these things. I am getting depressed again.”
    “Have a sandwich,” said Miss Climpson.
    “Thank you,” said Wimsey, “or some hay. There is nothing like it when you are feeling faint, as the White King truly remarked. Well, that more or less disposes of the money motive. There remains Blackmail.”
    Miss Climpson, whose professional connection with the Cattery had taught her something about blackmail, assented with a sigh.
    “Who was this fellow Boyes?” enquired Wimsey rhetorically. “I know nothing about him. He may have been a blackguard of the deepest dye. He may have known unmentionable things about all his friends. Why not? Or he may have been writing a book to show somebody up, so that he had to be suppressed at all costs. Dash it all, his cousin’s a solicitor. Suppose he has been embezzling Trust deeds or something, and Boyes was threatening to split on him? He’d been living in Urquhart’s house, and had every opportunity for finding out. Urquhart drops some arsenic into his soup, and – Ah! there’s the snag. He puts arsenic into the soup and eats it himself. That’s awkward. I’m afraid Hannah Westlock’s evidence rather knocks that on the head. We shall have to fall back on the mysterious stranger in the pub.”
    He considered a little, and then said:
    “And there’s suicide, of course, which is what I’m really rather inclined to believe in. Aarsenic is tomfool stuff to commit suicide with, but it has been done. There was the Duc de Praslin, for instance – if his was suicide. Only, where’s the bottle?”
    “The bottle?”
    “Well, he must have carried it in something. It might be in a paper, if he took the powdered form, though that would be awkward. Did anybody look for a bottle or paper?”
    “Where would they look for it?” asked Miss Climpson.
    “That’s the rub. If it wasn’t on him, it would be anywhere round about Doughty Street, and it’s going to be a job looking for a bottle or paper that was chucked away six months ago. I do loathe suicides – they’re so difficult to prove. Oh, well, faint heart never won so much as a scrap of paper. Now look here, Miss Climpson. We’ve got about a month to work this out in. The Michaelmas Term ends on the 21st; this is the 15th. They can’t very well bring it up before then, and the Hilary term starts on January 12th. They’ll probably take it early, unless we can show reason for delay. Four weeks to get fresh evidence. Will you reserve the best efforts of yourself and the staff? I don’t know yet what I shall want, but I shall probably want something done.”
    “Of course I will, Lord Peter. You know that it is only too great a pleasure to do anything for you – even if the whole office were not your own property, which it is. Only let me know, at any minute of the night or day, and I will do my very best to help you.”
    Wimsey thanked her, made a few enquiries about the work of the bureau and departed. He hailed a taxi and was immediately driven to Scotland