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III
The small quiet voice of Mr Justice Wargrave said:
‘One more of us acquitted—too late!’
Armstrong was bent over the dead woman. He sniffed the lips, shook his
head, peered into the eyelids.
Lombard said impatiently:
‘How did she die, doctor? She was all right when we left her here!’
Armstrong’s attention was riveted on a mark on the right side of the
neck.
He said:
‘That’s the mark of a hypodermic syringe.’
There was a buzzing sound from the window. Vera cried:
‘Look—a bee—a bumble bee. Remember what I said this morning!’
Armstrong said grimly:
‘It wasn’t that bee that stung her! A human hand held the syringe.’
The judge asked:
‘What poison was injected?’
Armstrong answered:
‘At a guess, one of the cyanides. Probably potassium cyanide, same as
Anthony Marston. She must have died almost immediately by asphyxi-
ation.’
Vera cried:
‘But that bee? It can’t be coincidence?’
Lombard said grimly:
‘Oh no, it isn’t coincidence! It’s our murderer’s touch of local colour!
He’s a playful beast. Likes to stick to his damnable nursery jingle as closely
as possible!’
For the first time his voice was uneven, almost shrill. It was as though
even his nerves, seasoned by a long career of hazards and dangerous un-
dertakings, had given out at last.
He said violently:
‘It’s mad!—absolutely mad—we’re all mad!’
The judge said calmly:
‘We have still, I hope, our reasoning powers. Did any one bring a hypo-
dermic syringe to this house?’
Dr Armstrong, straightening himself, said in a voice that was not too
well assured:
‘Yes, I did.’
Four pairs of eyes fastened on him. He braced himself against the deep
hostile suspicion of those eyes. He said:
‘Always travel with one. Most doctors do.’
Mr Justice Wargrave said calmly:
‘Quite so. Will you tell us, doctor, where that syringe is now?’
‘In the suitcase in my room.’
Wargrave said:
‘We might, perhaps, verify that fact.’
The five of them went upstairs, a silent procession.
The contents of the suitcase were turned out on the floor.
The hypodermic syringe was not there.
IV
Armstrong said violently:
‘Somebody must have taken it!’
There was silence in the room.
Armstrong stood with his back to the window. Four pairs of eyes were
on him, black with suspicion and accusation. He looked from Wargrave to
Vera and repeated helplessly—weakly:
‘I tell you someone must have taken it.’
Blore was looking at Lombard who returned his gaze.
The judge said:
‘There are five of us here in this room. One of us is a murderer. The posi-
tion is fraught with grave danger. Everything must be done in order to
safeguard the four of us who are innocent. I will now ask you, Dr Arm-
strong, what drugs you have in your possession.’
Armstrong replied:
‘I have a small medicine case here. You can examine it. You will find
some sleeping stuff—trional and sulphonal tablets—a packet of bromide,
bicarbonate of soda, aspirin. Nothing else. I have no cyanide in my posses-
sion.’
The judge said:
‘I have, myself, some sleeping tablets—sulphonal, I think they are. I pre-
sume they would be lethal if a sufficiently large dose were given. You, Mr
Lombard, have in your possession a revolver.’
Philip Lombard said sharply:
‘What if I have?’
‘Only this. I propose that the doctor’s supply of drugs, my own sulphonal
tablets, your revolver and anything else of the nature of drugs or firearms
should be collected together and placed in a safe place. That after this is
done, we should each of us submit to a search—both of our persons and of
our effects.’
Lombard said:
‘I’m damned if I’ll give up my revolver!’
Wargrave said sharply:
‘Mr Lombard, you are a very strongly built and powerful young man,
but ex-Inspector Blore is also a man of powerful physique. I do not know
what the outcome of a struggle between you would be but I can tell you
this. On Blore’s side, assisting him to the best of our ability will be myself,
Dr Armstrong and Miss Claythorne. You will appreciate therefore, that the
odds against you if you choose to resist will be somewhat heavy.’
Lombard threw his head back. His teeth showed in what was almost a
snarl.
‘Oh, very well, then. Since you’ve got it all taped out.’
Mr Justice Wargrave nodded his head.
‘You are a sensible young man. Where is this revolver of yours?’
‘In the drawer of the table by my bed.’
‘Good.’
‘I’ll fetch it.’
‘I think it would be desirable if we went with you.’
Philip said with a smile that was still nearer a snarl:
‘Suspicious devil, aren’t you?’
They went along the corridor to Lombard’s room.
Philip strode across to the bed-table and jerked open the drawer.
Then he recoiled with an oath.
The drawer of the bed-table was empty.
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