Read Online The African Poison Murders by Elspeth Huxley - Free Book Online
Authors: Elspeth Huxley
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have brought on an attack. But he hadn’t, so far as I know.”
“How about time of death?” Vachell asked.
“Of course, this alters things. It makes it impossible to give a close estimate. All I can say is, he’s not been dead much longer than four hours, even if he lay some time in this heat, and not less than two.”
“That puts it between seven and nine o’clock.
Gives us about an hour; we know he was dead by eight. Another thing, doctor. How about the fumes 63
from these charcoal braziers — could they gas a man to death?”
The doctor looked at the braziers doubtfully through the open door. “If you’ll tell me the composition of charcoal gas I’ll give you a definite answer.
I’m afraid you’ve found a hiatus in my knowledge.
If there’s enough CO in the fumes — there’s certainly some — they could kill a man pretty quickly. And of course he’d be asphyxiated eventually in any case, by the removal of oxygen for combustion of the charcoal and its replacement by C02. But the shed would have to be made pretty well airtight first, and a man couldn’t be overcome so suddenly as to be unable to reach the door.”
“In other words, you’d have to close up the louvres and lock the door.”
“Probably,” the doctor agreed. “But I’m not an authority on gases. You’d better get a book on A.R.P. Well, if that’s all, I’ll be getting along. I’ll have some results from the autopsy this afternoon.”
“Call up the station,” Vachell instructed. “Prettyman will be there.”
The doctor nodded and walked back past the cow-byres towards the house. Vachell relocked the door of the shed and slipped the key into his pocket.
“The next thing,” he remarked, “is to try to check him into that shed. You didn’t see him at all today?”
Corcoran shook his head.
“Where were you?”
“We were sowing some late oats. I went out to 64
set the task, to see the boys started, and then on to the pyrethrum.”
“How did you go? By automobile?”
“No, Uncle Karl wouldn’t have cars used for farm work. I took a pony out. I’d just got back when Jerogi, the head pyrethrum boy, came rushing up and said Uncle Karl was ill — and then I found him in the shed.”
Munson, Vachell learnt, had been found face downwards in the centre of the room, limp and sprawling, but not actually touching any of the braziers. It looked as though he had just crumpled up and pitched forward where he stood. Corcoran and Jerogi had carried him out, thinking he had merely fainted; Corcoran said the body was still warm, but then the heat of the drying-shed, about blood-heat, would have kept it so. Only after he had thrown cold water in his uncle’s face did he think of feeling for the heart, and then realize that first aid had come too late. The native had run away in a panic and Corcoran had fetched a reluctant Christian headman to help him carry the body into the house. He had broken the news to Mrs Munson, and gone straight off to Karuna to notify the police.
Vachell listened with a wrinkled forehead, rubbing the lobe of one ear between finger and thumb, searching in the curiously uninformative information for something to catch hold of. No one seemed to have seen Munson go into the shed. It would be a tedious business, questioning all the farm boys. When they reached the lawn in front of 65
the homestead buildings he remarked: “You had a visitor last night. Naturally you’ll understand we have to check on all your uncle’s movements in the last few days. What did this guy Wendtland want?”
Corcoran stiffened at once, and his face went blank. Vachell saw the warning signals out.
“Wendtland?” Corcoran said it too casually. “Oh, yes, he was here for dinner. I don’t suppose he wanted anything, in particular.”
“Just a social call?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Did Wendtland often drop in for a meal?”
Corcoran hesitated. “It depends what you mean by often. He did come
“How about time of death?” Vachell asked.
“Of course, this alters things. It makes it impossible to give a close estimate. All I can say is, he’s not been dead much longer than four hours, even if he lay some time in this heat, and not less than two.”
“That puts it between seven and nine o’clock.
Gives us about an hour; we know he was dead by eight. Another thing, doctor. How about the fumes 63
from these charcoal braziers — could they gas a man to death?”
The doctor looked at the braziers doubtfully through the open door. “If you’ll tell me the composition of charcoal gas I’ll give you a definite answer.
I’m afraid you’ve found a hiatus in my knowledge.
If there’s enough CO in the fumes — there’s certainly some — they could kill a man pretty quickly. And of course he’d be asphyxiated eventually in any case, by the removal of oxygen for combustion of the charcoal and its replacement by C02. But the shed would have to be made pretty well airtight first, and a man couldn’t be overcome so suddenly as to be unable to reach the door.”
“In other words, you’d have to close up the louvres and lock the door.”
“Probably,” the doctor agreed. “But I’m not an authority on gases. You’d better get a book on A.R.P. Well, if that’s all, I’ll be getting along. I’ll have some results from the autopsy this afternoon.”
“Call up the station,” Vachell instructed. “Prettyman will be there.”
The doctor nodded and walked back past the cow-byres towards the house. Vachell relocked the door of the shed and slipped the key into his pocket.
“The next thing,” he remarked, “is to try to check him into that shed. You didn’t see him at all today?”
Corcoran shook his head.
“Where were you?”
“We were sowing some late oats. I went out to 64
set the task, to see the boys started, and then on to the pyrethrum.”
“How did you go? By automobile?”
“No, Uncle Karl wouldn’t have cars used for farm work. I took a pony out. I’d just got back when Jerogi, the head pyrethrum boy, came rushing up and said Uncle Karl was ill — and then I found him in the shed.”
Munson, Vachell learnt, had been found face downwards in the centre of the room, limp and sprawling, but not actually touching any of the braziers. It looked as though he had just crumpled up and pitched forward where he stood. Corcoran and Jerogi had carried him out, thinking he had merely fainted; Corcoran said the body was still warm, but then the heat of the drying-shed, about blood-heat, would have kept it so. Only after he had thrown cold water in his uncle’s face did he think of feeling for the heart, and then realize that first aid had come too late. The native had run away in a panic and Corcoran had fetched a reluctant Christian headman to help him carry the body into the house. He had broken the news to Mrs Munson, and gone straight off to Karuna to notify the police.
Vachell listened with a wrinkled forehead, rubbing the lobe of one ear between finger and thumb, searching in the curiously uninformative information for something to catch hold of. No one seemed to have seen Munson go into the shed. It would be a tedious business, questioning all the farm boys. When they reached the lawn in front of 65
the homestead buildings he remarked: “You had a visitor last night. Naturally you’ll understand we have to check on all your uncle’s movements in the last few days. What did this guy Wendtland want?”
Corcoran stiffened at once, and his face went blank. Vachell saw the warning signals out.
“Wendtland?” Corcoran said it too casually. “Oh, yes, he was here for dinner. I don’t suppose he wanted anything, in particular.”
“Just a social call?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Did Wendtland often drop in for a meal?”
Corcoran hesitated. “It depends what you mean by often. He did come
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