III
“Don’t see why you want to come to me,” said Dr. Morris,
irritably1.
“You’ve known the Crackenthorpe family a long time,” said
Inspector2
Craddock.
“Yes, yes, I knew all the Crackenthorpes. I remember old Josiah Cracken-
thorpe. He was a hard nut—shrewd man, though. Made a lot of money,”
he shifted his
aged3 form in his chair and peered under bushy
eyebrows4 at
Inspector Craddock. “So you’ve been listening to that young fool, Quim-
per,” he said. “These
zealous5 young doctors! Always getting ideas in their
heads. Got it into his head that somebody was trying to poison Luther
treated him for them. Didn’t happen very often—nothing
peculiar8 about
them.”
“Dr. Quimper,” said Craddock, “seemed to think there was.”
“Doesn’t do for a doctor to go thinking. After all, I should hope I could
recognize arsenical poisoning when I saw it.”
“Quite a lot of well-known doctors haven’t noticed it,” Craddock
pointed10
out. “There was”—he drew upon his memory—“the Greenbarrow case,
Mrs. Teney, Charles Leeds, three people in the Westbury family, all buried
nicely and tidily without the doctors who attended them having the least
suspicion. Those doctors were all good, reputable men.”
“All right, all right,” said Doctor Morris, “you’re saying that I could have
made a mistake. Well, I don’t think I did.” He paused a minute and then
said, “Who did Quimper think was doing it—if it was being done?”
“He didn’t know,” said Craddock. “He was worried. After all, you know,”
he added, “there’s a great deal of money there.”
“Yes, yes, I know, which they’ll get when Luther Crackenthorpe dies.
And they want it pretty badly. That is true enough, but it doesn’t follow
that they’d kill the old man to get it.”
“Not necessarily,” agreed Inspector Craddock.
“Anyway,” said Dr. Morris, “my principle is not to go about suspecting
things without due cause. Due cause,” he repeated. “I’ll admit that what
you’ve just told me has shaken me up a bit.
Arsenic9 on a big scale, appar-
ently—but I still don’t see why you come to me. All I can tell you is that I
didn’t suspect it. Maybe I should have. Maybe I should have taken those
gastric attacks of Luther Crackenthorpe’s much more seriously. But you’ve
got a long way beyond that now.”
Craddock agreed. “What I really need,” he said, “is to know a little more
about the Crackenthorpe family. Is there any queer mental strain in them
—a kink of any kind?”
The eyes under the bushy eyebrows looked at him sharply. “Yes, I can
see your thoughts might run that way. Well, old Josiah was
sane11 enough.
Hard as nails, very much all there. His wife was
neurotic12, had a tendency
to melancholia. Came of an inbred family. She died soon after her second
son was born. I’d say, you know, that Luther inherited a certain—well, in-
stability, from her. He was commonplace enough as a young man, but he
was always at loggerheads with his father. His father was disappointed in
him and I think he resented that and brooded on it, and in the end got a
kind of
obsession13 about it. He carried that on into his married life. You’ll
notice, if you talk to him at all, that he’s got a
hearty14 dislike for all his own
sons. His daughters he was fond of. Both Emma and Edie—the one who
died.”
“Why does he dislike the sons so much?” asked Craddock.
that out. I’d just say that Luther has never felt very adequate as a man
himself, and that he bitterly resents his financial position. He has posses-
sion of an income but no power of appointment of capital. If he had the
power to disinherit his sons he probably wouldn’t dislike them as much.
Being powerless in that respect gives him a feeling of
humiliation16.”
“That’s why he’s so pleased at the idea of outliving them all?” said In-
spector Craddock.
“Possibly. It is the root, too, of his
parsimony17, I think. I should say that
he’s managed to save a considerable sum out of his large income—mostly,
of course, before
taxation18 rose to its present giddy heights.”
A new idea struck Inspector Craddock. “I suppose he’s left his
savings19 by
will to someone? That he can do.”
“Oh, yes, though God knows who he has left it to. Maybe to Emma, but I
should rather doubt it. She’ll get her share of the old man’s property.
Maybe to Alexander, the grandson.”
“He’s fond of him, is he?” said Craddock.
“Used to be. Of course he was his daughter’s child, not a son’s child. That
may have made a difference. And he had quite an affection for Bryan
Eastley, Edie’s husband. Of course I don’t know Bryan well, it’s some years
since I’ve seen any of the family. But it struck me that he was going to be
very much at a loose end after the war. He’s got those qualities that you
need in wartime; courage, dash, and a tendency to let the future take care
of itself. But I don’t think he’s got any stability. He’ll probably turn into a
drifter.”
“As far as you know there’s no peculiar kink in any of the younger gen-
eration?”
“Cedric’s an eccentric type, one of those natural rebels. I wouldn’t say he
was
perfectly20 normal, but you might say, who is? Harold’s fairly orthodox,
not what I call a very pleasant character, coldhearted, eye to the main
chance. Alfred’s got a touch of the
delinquent21 about him. He’s a wrong ’un,
always was. Saw him taking money out of a
missionary22 box once that they
used to keep in the hall. That type of thing. Ah, well, the poor fellow’s
dead, I suppose I shouldn’t be talking against him.”
“What about…” Craddock hesitated. “Emma Crackenthorpe?”
“Nice girl, quiet, one doesn’t always know what she’s thinking. Has her
own plans and her own ideas, but she keeps them to herself. She’s more
character than you might think from her general appearance.”
“You knew Edmund, I suppose, the son who was killed in France?”
“Yes. He was the best of the bunch I’d say. Goodhearted, gay, a nice
boy.”
“Did you ever hear that he was going to marry, or had married, a French
girl just before he was killed?”
Dr. Morris frowned. “It seems as though I remember something about
it,” he said, “but it’s a long time ago.”
“Quite early on in the war, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Ah, well, I dare say he’d have lived to regret it if he had married a
foreign wife.”
“There’s some reason to believe that he did do just that,” said Craddock.
In a few brief sentences he gave an account of recent happenings.
“I remember seeing something in the papers about a woman found in a
sarcophagus. So it was at Rutherford Hall.”
“And there’s reason to believe that the woman was Edmund Cracken-
thorpe’s widow.”
“Well, well, that seems extraordinary. More like a novel than real life.
But who’d want to kill the poor thing—I mean, how does it tie up with ar-
senical poisoning in the Crackenthorpe family?”
“In one of two ways,” said Craddock; “but they are both very farfetched.
Somebody perhaps is greedy and wants the whole of Josiah Cracken-
thorpe’s fortune.”
“Damn fool if he does,” said Dr. Morris. “He’ll only have to pay the most
stupendous taxes on the income from it.”
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