"That's the point, there isn't really. I just felt there was something wrong about the whole setup. And then I talked to another woman, a Mrs Davis -"
"You talked to a Mrs Davis - yes?"
Lejeune's voice remained quite unchanged.
"She wasn't happy about things, either."
"And why wasn't she happy?"
"She'd overheard something."
"What had she overheard?"
"I told you I couldn't be definite. She didn't tell me in so many words. Only that from what she had overheard, the whole setup was a racket of some kind. 'It's not what it seems to be.' That is what she said. Then she said: 'Oh well, it doesn't affect us. The money's very good and we're not asked to do anything that's against the law - so I don't see that we need bother our heads about it.'"
"That was all?"
"There was one other thing she said. I don't know what she meant by it. She said: 'Sometimes I feel like Typhoid Mary.' At the time I didn't know what she meant."
Lejeune took a paper from his pocket and handed it to her.
"Do any of the names on that list mean anything to you? Did you call upon any of them that you can remember?"
"I wouldn't remember." She took the paper. "I saw so many..." She paused as her eye went down the list. She said:
"Ormerod."
"You remember an Ormerod?"
"No. But Mrs Davis mentioned him once. He died very suddenly, didn't he? Cerebral hemorrhage. It upset her. She said, 'He was on my list a fortnight ago. Looked like a man in the pink of condition.' It was after that that she made the remark about Typhoid Mary. She said, 'Some of the people I call on seem to curl up their toes and pass out just from having one look at me.' She laughed about it and said it was a coincidence. But I don't think she liked it much. However, she said she wasn't going to worry."
"And that was all?"
"Well -"
"Tell me."
"It was some time later. I hadn't seen her for a while. But we met one day in a restaurant in Soho. I told her that I'd left the C.R.C. and got another job. She asked me why, and I told her I'd felt uneasy, not knowing what was going on. She said: 'Perhaps you've been wise. But it's good money and short hours. And after all, we've all got to take our chance in this life! I've not had much luck in my life and why should I care what happens to other people?' I said: 'I don't understand what you're talking about. What exactly is wrong with that show?' She said: 'I can't be sure, but I'll tell you I recognized someone the other day. Coming out of a house where he'd no business to be and carrying a bag of tools. What was he doing with those I'd like to know?' She asked me, too, if I'd ever come across a woman who ran a pub called the Pale Horse somewhere. I asked her what the Pale Horse had to do with it."
"And what did she say?"
"She laughed and said: 'Read your Bible.'"
Mrs Brandon added: "I don't know what she meant. That was the last time I saw her. I don't know where she is now, whether she's still with C.R.C. or whether she's left."
"Mrs Davis is dead," said Lejeune.
Eileen Brandon looked startled.
"Dead! But how?"
"Pneumonia, two months ago."
"Oh, I see. I'm sorry."
"Is there anything else you can tell us, Mrs Brandon?"
"I'm afraid not. I have heard other people mention that phrase - the Pale Horse, but if you ask them about it, they shut up at once. They look afraid, too."
She looked uneasy.
"I - I don't want to be mixed up in anything dangerous, Inspector Lejeune. I've got two small children... honestly, I don't know anything more than I've told you."
He looked at her keenly, then he nodded his head and let her go.
"That takes us a little further," said Lejeune when Eileen Brandon had gone. "Mrs Davis got to know too much. She tried to shut her eyes to the meaning of what was going on, but she must have had a very shrewd suspicion of what it was. Then she was suddenly taken ill, and when she was dying, she sent for a priest and told him what she knew and suspected. The question is, how much did she know? That list of people, I should say, is a list of people she had called on in the course of her job, and who had subsequently died. Hence the remark about Typhoid Mary. The real question is, who was it she 'recognized' coming out of a house where he had no business to be, and pretending to be a workman of some kind? That must have been the knowledge that made her dangerous. If she recognized him, he may have recognized her - and he may have realized that she had recognized him. If she'd passed on that particular item to Father Gorman, then it was vital that Father Gorman should be silenced at once before he could pass it on."
He looked at me.
"You agree, don't you? That must have been the way of it."
"Oh yes," I said. "I agree."
"And you've an idea, perhaps, who the man is?"
"I've an idea, but -"
"I know. We haven't got a particle of evidence."
He was silent a moment. Then he got up.
"But we'll get him," he said. "Make no mistake. Once we know definitely who it is, there are always ways. We'll try every damned one of them!"
Chapter 23
It was some three weeks later that a car drove up to the front door of Priors Court.
Four men got out. I was one of them. There was also Detective-Inspector Lejeune and Detective-Sergeant Lee. The fourth man was Mr Osborne, who could hardly contain his delight and excitement at being allowed to be one of the party.
"You must hold your tongue, you know," Lejeune admonished him.
"Yes, indeed, Inspector. You can count on me absolutely. I won't utter a word."
"Mind you don't."
"I feel it's a privilege. A great privilege, though I don't quite understand -"
But nobody was entering into explanations at this moment.
Lejeune rang the bell and asked for Mr Venables.
Looking rather like a deputation, the four of us were ushered in.
If Venables was surprised at our visit, he did not show it. His manner was courteous in the extreme. I thought again, as he wheeled his chair a little back so as to widen the circle round him, what a very distinctive appearance the man had. The Adam's apple moving up and down between the wings of his old-fashioned collar, the haggard profile with its curved nose like a bird of prey.
"Nice to see you again, Easterbrook. You seem to spend a lot of time down in this part of the world nowadays."
There was a faint malice in his tone, I thought. He resumed:
"And - Detective-Inspector Lejeune, is it? That rouses my curiosity, I must admit. So peaceful in these parts, so free from crime. And yet, a detective-inspector calls! What can I do for you, Detective-Inspector?"
Lejeune was very quiet, very suave.
"There is a matter on which we think you might be able to assist us, Mr Venables."
"That has a rather familiar ring, does it not? In what way do you think I can assist you?"
"On October seventh - a parish priest of the name of Father Gorman was murdered in West Street, Paddington. I have been given to understand that you were in the neighbourhood at that time - between seven-forty-five and eight-fifteen in the evening, and you may have seen something that may have a bearing on the matter?"
"Was I really in the neighbourhood at that time? Do you know, I doubt it, I very much doubt it. As far as I can recall I have never been in that particular district of London. Speaking from memory, I do not even think I was in London at all just then. I go to London occasionally for an interesting day in the sale rooms, and now and then for a medical checkup."
"With Sir William Dugdale of Harley Street, I believe."
Mr Venables stared at him coldly.
"You are very well informed, Inspector."
"Not quite so well as I should like to be. However, I'm disappointed that you can't assist me in the way that I hoped. I think I owe it to you to explain the facts connected with the death of Father Gorman."
"Certainly, if you like. It is a name I have never heard until now."
"Father Gorman had been called out on that particular foggy evening to the deathbed of a woman nearby. She had become entangled with a criminal organization, at first almost unwittingly, but later certain things made her suspect the seriousness of the matter. It was an organization which specialized in the removal of unwanted persons - for a substantial fee, naturally."
"Hardly a new idea," murmured Venables. "In America -"
"Ah, but there were some novel features about this particular organization. To begin with, the removals were ostensibly brought about by what might perhaps be called psychological means. What is referred to as a 'death wish,' said to be present in everyone, is stimulated -"
"So that the person in question obligingly commits suicide? It sounds, if I may say so, Inspector, too good to be true."
"Not suicide, Mr Venables. The person in question dies a perfectly natural death."
"Come now. Come now. Do you really believe that? How very unlike our hard-headed police force!"
"The headquarters of this organization are said to be a place called the 'Pale Horse.'"
"Ah, now I begin to understand. So that is what brings you to our pleasant rural neighbourhood; my friend Thyrza Grey, and her nonsense! Whether she believes it herself or not, I've never been able to make out. But nonsense it is! She has a silly mediumistic friend, and the local witch cooks her dinners (quite brave to eat them - hemlock in the soup any moment!). And the three old dears have worked up quite a local reputation. Very naughty, of course, but don't tell me Scotland Yard, or wherever you come from, take it all seriously?"
"We take it very seriously indeed, Mr Venables."
"You really believe that Thyrza spouts some high-falutin' nonsense, Sybil throws a trance, and Bella does black magic, and as a result somebody dies?"
"Oh no, Mr Venables - the cause of death is simpler than that -" He paused a moment.
"The cause is thallium poisoning."
There was a momentary pause -
"What did you say?"
"Poisoning - by thallium salts. Quite plain and straightforward. Only it had to be covered up - and what better method of covering up than a pseudo-scientific, psychological setup - full of modern jargon and reinforced by old superstitions. Calculated to distract attention from the plain fact of administration of poison."
"Thallium." Mr Venables frowned. "I don't think I've ever heard of it."
"No? Used extensively as rat poison, occasionally as a depilatory for children with ringworm. Can be obtained quite easily. Incidentally there's a packet of it tucked away in a corner of your potting shed."
"In my potting shed? It sounds most unlikely."
"It's there all right. We've examined some of it for testing purposes -"
Venables became slightly excited.
"Someone must have put it there. I know nothing about it! Nothing at all."
"Is that so? You're a man of some wealth, aren't you, Mr Venables?"
"What has that got to do with what we are talking about?"
"The Inland Revenue have been asking some awkward questions lately, I believe? As to source of income, that is."
"The curse of living in England is undoubtedly our system of taxation. I have thought very seriously of late of going to live in Bermuda."
"I don't think you'll be going to Bermuda just yet a while, Mr Venables."
"Is that a threat, Inspector? Because if so -"
"No, no, Mr Venables. Just an expression of opinion. Would you like to hear just how this little racket was worked?"
"You are certainly determined to tell me."
"It's very well organized. Financial details are arranged by a debarred solicitor called Mr Bradley. Mr Bradley has an office in Birmingham. Prospective clients visit him there, and do business. That is to say, there is a bet on whether someone will die within a stated period. Mr Bradley, who is fond of a wager, is usually pessimistic in his prognostications. The client is usually more hopeful. When Mr Bradley wins his bet, the money has to be paid over promptly - or else something unpleasant is liable to happen. That is all Mr Bradley has to do - make a bet. Simple, isn't it?
"The client next visits the Pale Horse. A show is put on by Miss Thyrza Grey and her friends, which usually impresses him in the way it is meant to do.
"Now for the simple facts behind the scenes.
"Certain women, bona fide employees of one of the many consumer research concerns, are detailed to canvass a particular neighbourhood with a questionnaire. 'What bread do you prefer? What toilet articles and cosmetics? What laxative, tonics, sedatives, or indigestion mixtures?' People nowadays are conditioned to answering quizzes. They seldom object.
"And so to - the last step. Simple, bold, successful! The only action performed by the originator of the scheme in person. He may be wearing a mansion-flat-porter's uniform, he may be the man calling to read the gas or the electric meter. He may be a plumber, or an electrician, or a workman of some kind. Whatever he is, he will have what appear to be the proper credentials with him if anyone asks to see them. Most people don't. Whatever role he is playing, his real object is simple - the substitution of a preparation he brings with him for a similar article which be knows (by reason of the C.R.C. questionnaire) that his victim uses. He may tap pipes, or examine meters, or test water pressure - but that is his real object. Having accomplished it, he leaves, and is not seen in that neighbourhood again.
"And for a few days perhaps nothing happens. But sooner or later, the victim displays symptoms of illness. A doctor is called in, but has no reason to suspect anything out of the ordinary. He may question what food or drink, etc., the patient has taken, but he is unlikely to suspect the ordinary proprietary article that the patient has taken for years.
