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Seven
The inquest, when it was held, was short and disappointing. Evidence of
identification was given by the husband, and the only other evidence was
medical. Heather Badcock had died as a result of four grains of hy-ethyl-
dexyl-barbo-quinde-lorytate, or, let us be frank, some such name. There
was no evidence to show how the drug was administered.
Badcock.
“Could I have a word with you, Mr. Badcock?”
“Of course, of course.”
Arthur Badcock looked more like a chewed-out bit of string than ever. “I
can’t understand it,” he muttered. “I simply can’t understand it.”
“I’ve got a car here,” said Cornish. “We’ll drive back to your house, shall
we? Nicer and more private there.”
“Thank you, sir. Yes, yes, I’m sure that would be much better.”
They drew up at the neat little blue- painted gate of No. 3 Arlington
Close. Arthur Badcock led the way and the inspector followed him. He
drew out his latchkey but before he had inserted it into the door, it was
opened from inside. The woman who opened it stood back looking slightly
embarrassed. Arthur Badcock looked startled.
“Mary,” he said.
“I was just getting you ready some tea, Arthur. I thought you’d need it
when you came back from the inquest.”
“That’s very kind of you, I’m sure,” said Arthur Badcock gratefully. “Er
—” he hesitated. “This is Inspector Cornish, Mrs. Bain. She’s a neighbour
of mine.”
“I see,” said Inspector Cornish.
“I’ll get another cup,” said Mrs. Bain.
She disappeared and rather doubtfully Arthur Badcock showed the in-
spector into the bright cretonne-covered sitting room to the right of the
hall.
“She’s very kind,” said Arthur Badcock. “Very kind always.”
“You’ve known her a long time?”
“Oh, no. Only since we came here.”
“You’ve been here two years, I believe, or is it three?”
“Just about three now,” said Arthur. “Mrs. Bain only got here six months
ago,” he explained. “Her son works near here and so, after her husband’s
death, she came down to live here and he boards with her.”
Mrs. Bain appeared at this point bringing the tray from the kitchen. She
was a dark, rather intense-looking woman of about forty years of age. She
had gipsy colouring that went with her dark hair and eyes. There was
down the tray on the table and Inspector Cornish said something pleasant
and noncommittal. Something in him, some professional instinct, was on
the alert. The watchful look in the woman’s eyes, the slight start she had
given when Arthur introduced him had not passed unnoticed. He was fa-
miliar with that slight uneasiness in the presence of the kind of natural
alarm and distrust as of those who might have offended unwittingly
second kind that he felt sure was present here. Mrs. Bain, he thought, had
had at some time some connection with the police, something that had left
about Mary Bain. Having set down the tea tray, and refused to partake
herself saying she had to get home, she departed.
“Seems a nice woman,” said Inspector Cornish.
“Yes, indeed. She’s very kind, a very good neighbour, a very sympathetic
woman,” said Arthur Badcock.
“Was she a great friend of your wife?”
“No. No, I wouldn’t say that. They were neighbourly and on pleasant
terms. Nothing special about it though.”
“I see. Now, Mr. Badcock, we want as much information as we can from
you. The findings of the inquest have been a shock to you, I expect?”
“Oh, they have, Inspector. Of course I realized that you must think some-
thing was wrong and I almost thought so myself because Heather has al-
ways been such a healthy woman. Practically never a day’s illness. I said
to myself, ‘There must be something wrong.’ But it seems so incredible, if
you understand what I mean, Inspector. Really quite incredible. What is
this stuff—this Bi-ethyl-hex—” He came to a stop.
“There is an easier name for it,” said the inspector. “It’s sold under a
trade name, the trade name of Calmo. Ever come across it?”
“It’s more used in America than here,” said the inspector. “They pre-
scribe it very freely over there, I understand.”
“What’s it for?”
Cornish. “It’s prescribed for those under strain; suffering anxiety, depres-
erly prescribed dose is not dangerous, but overdoses are not to be advised.
It would seem that your wife took something like six times the ordinary
dose.”
Badcock stared. “Heather never took anything like that in her life,” he
said. “I’m sure of it. She wasn’t one for taking medicines anyway. She was
could possibly imagine.”
The inspector nodded. “I see. And no doctor had prescribed anything of
this kind for her?”
“No. Certainly not. I’m sure of that.”
“Who was her doctor?”
“She was on Dr. Sim’s panel, but I don’t think she’s been to him once
since we’ve been here.”
Inspector Cornish said thoughtfully, “So she doesn’t seem the kind of
woman to have been likely to need such a thing, or to have taken it?”
“She didn’t, Inspector, I’m sure she didn’t. She must have taken it by a
mistake of some kind.”
“It’s a very difficult mistake to imagine,” said Inspector Cornish. “What
did she have to eat and drink that afternoon?”
“Well, let me see. For lunch—”
“You needn’t go back as far as lunch,” said Cornish. “Given in such
quantity the drug would act quickly and suddenly. Tea. Go back to tea.”
“Well, we went into the marquee in the grounds. It was a terrible scrum
in there, but we managed in the end to get a bun each and a cup of tea. We
finished it as quickly as possible because it was very hot in the marquee
and we came out again.”
“And that’s all she had, a bun and a cup of tea there?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“And after that you went into the house. Is that right?”
“Yes. The young lady came and said that Miss Marina Gregg would be
very pleased to see my wife if she would like to come into the house. Of
course my wife was delighted. She had been talking about Marina Gregg
for days. Everybody was excited. Oh well, you know that, Inspector, as
well as anyone does.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Cornish. “My wife was excited, too. Why, from all
around people were paying their shilling to go in and see Gossington Hall
and what had been done there, and hoped to catch a glimpse of Marina
Gregg herself.”
“The young lady took us into the house,” said Arthur Badcock, “and up
the stairs. That’s where the party was. On the landing up there. But it
looked quite different from what it used to look like, so I understand. It
was more like a room, a sort of big hollowed out place with chairs and
tables with drinks on them. There were about ten or twelve people there, I
suppose.”
Inspector Cornish nodded. “And you were received there—by whom?”
“By Miss Marina Gregg herself. Her husband was with her. I’ve forgot-
ten his name now.”
“Jason Rudd,” said Inspector Cornish.
“Oh, yes, not that I noticed him at first. Well, anyway, Miss Gregg
greeted Heather very nicely and seemed very pleased to see her, and
Heather was talking and telling a story of how she’d once met Miss Gregg
years ago in the West Indies and everything seemed as right as rain.”
“Everything seemed as right as rain,” echoed the inspector. “And then?”
“And then Miss Gregg said what would we have? And Miss Gregg’s hus-
that.”
“A daiquiri.”
“That’s right, sir. He brought two. One for her and one for Miss Gregg.”
“And you, what did you have?”
“I had a sherry.”
“I see. And you three stood there drinking together?”
“Well, not quite like that. You see there were more people coming up the
stairs. There was the mayor, for one, and some other people—an Amer-
ican gentleman and lady, I think—so we moved off a bit.”
“And your wife drank her daiquiri then?”
“Well, no, not then, she didn’t.”
“Well, if she didn’t drink it then, when did she drink it?”
Arthur Badcock stood frowning in remembrance. “I think—she set it
down on one of the tables. She saw some friends there. I think it was
someone to do with the St. John Ambulance who’d driven over there from
Much Benham or somewhere like that. Anyway they got to talking to-
gether.”
“And when did she drink her drink?”
Arthur Badcock again frowned. “It was a little after that,” he said. “It
was getting rather more crowded by then. Somebody jogged Heather’s el-
bow and her glass got spilt.”
“What’s that?” Inspector Cornish looked up sharply. “Her glass was
spilt?”
“Yes, that’s how I remember it… She’d picked it up and I think she took a
but all the same she wasn’t going to be downed by that. Anyway, as she
stood there, somebody jogged her elbow and the glass spilled over. It went
down her dress and I think it went on Miss Gregg’s dress too. Miss Gregg
couldn’t have been nicer. She said it didn’t matter at all and it would make
no stain and she gave Heather her handkerchief to wipe up Heather’s
dress, and then she passed over the drink she was holding and said, ‘Have
this, I haven’t touched it yet.’”
“She handed over her own drink, did she?” said the inspector. “You’re
quite sure of that?”
Arthur Badcock paused a moment while he thought. “Yes, I’m quite sure
of that,” he said.
“And your wife took the drink?”
“Well, she didn’t want to at first, sir. She said ‘Oh no, I couldn’t do that’
and Miss Gregg laughed and said, ‘I’ve had far too much to drink
already.’”
“And so your wife took that glass and did what with it?”
“She turned away a little and drank it, rather quickly, I think. And then
we walked a little way along the corridor looking at some of the pictures
and the curtains. Lovely curtain stuff it was, like nothing we’d seen be-
the time of day with him when I looked round and saw Heather was sit-
ting on a chair looking rather odd, so I came to her and said, ‘What’s the
matter?’ She said she felt a little queer.”
“What kind of queerness?”
“I don’t know, sir. I didn’t have time. Her voice sounded very queer and
thick and her head was rolling a little. All of a sudden she made a great
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