Chapter 24 Chapter Twelve

Three large men sat at a small round marble table. Colonel Race and Inspector Kemp both drank strong black tea, Anthony had coffee.It was not Anthony's idea to come here, but two other people asked him to attend as a reference.After inspecting Anthony's credentials, Inspector Kemp had to treat him as a colleague. "If you asked me," said the Inspector, stirring a few lumps of sugar into a teacup, "I'd say this case will never come to court. We'll never find evidence." "You think so?" Reese said. Kemp nodded and took a sip of his tea. "The only hope is to find evidence that any of those five men bought or kept potassium cyanide. I'm hitting walls everywhere. It's going to be a case of knowing who did it but not being able to prove it."

"So you know who did it?" Anthony asked him. "Well, I'm quite sure. Mrs. Alexander Farreddy." "So you thought it was her," Race said, "and why?" "I'll just say it. I think she's the kind of woman who is very jealous, and also very domineering. Like the queen in history—Eleanor or something, she found Rosamund and asked her to drink it with a dagger. Choose a way to die between poisons." "Just at this table," Anthony said, "she didn't give Rosemary any choice." Inspector Kemp continued: "Mr. Button was tipped off. He became suspicious—and I should say he was quite right to be suspicious. He wouldn't have bought that house in the country unless he wanted to spy on the Farretts. He must have behaved toward her." Quite clear - insisted on inviting them to this party over and over again. She's not a 'wait and see' kind of woman. Bossy again and she'll finish him off! It's all just theory based on character, you will say. But I think the only person who might have had any chance of messing with Patton's glass was the lady sitting to his right."

"And no one noticed her doing that?" Anthony said. "True. They might have noticed—but they didn't. Because she's used to it." "It's really capable." Reese coughed lightly.He took out his pipe and began to fill it with tobacco. "Just one small problem. Suppose Madame Alexander is a domineering, jealous, husband-loving woman. Suppose she kills without batting an eyelid. You think she's the type to sneak evidence of implicating people into a girl's purse." The type? A totally innocent girl who never did her any harm? Is this a Kidderminster tradition?"

Inspector Kemp squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, keeping his eyes on his teacup. "Women don't care about fairness," he said, "if that's what you mean, I should say so." "Actually, a lot of women care," Rhys said with a laugh. "I'm glad you're uncomfortable." Kemp turned to Anthony to escape the dilemma. "By the way, Mr. Browne (I'll still call you that, if you don't mind), I want to tell you how grateful you were to bring Miss Marr to me quickly and tell me her story." "I have to hurry," said Anthony, "if I wait any longer I may not be able to take her with me."

"She didn't want to come, of course," said Colonel Race. "She was frightened to death, poor child," said Anthony. "Naturally. I suppose." "Very naturally," said the Inspector, adding another cup of tea.Anthony took a long sip of his coffee. "Oh," Kemp said, "I think we unburdened her—she came home fairly happy." "After the funeral," said Anthony, "I hope she'll go to the country for a while. Twenty-four hours of peace, away from Aunt Lucilla's chatter, will do her good, I think." "Aunt Lucilla's long tongue is good for her," Rhys said.

"Go and listen to her, then," said Kemp. "It's a good thing I didn't think it necessary to take notes when I asked her, or the poor stenographer wouldn't have a cramp in his hand." "Oh," said Anthony, "I think you're right, Inspector, that you say the case will never go to trial, but it's a very unsatisfactory outcome. Besides, there's one thing we don't know—who wrote those Letter to George Patton, telling him his wife was murdered? We have no idea." Race said, "You still maintain your suspicions, don't you, Brown?"

"Ruth Lessing? Yes, I still think it was her. You told me she confessed to you that she was in love with George. Rosemary had always been rather mean to her. She had suddenly seen a great opportunity to get rid of Rosemary, and Pretty sure if Rosemary gets rid of her she can easily marry George." "I agree with everything you say," said Reese. "I admit that Ruth Lessing was competent enough to plan and carry out murder, and perhaps lacked mercy. True. I agree that she did the first murder." , but, I just can't figure out that she was the one who did it the second time. I just can't figure out that she would poison someone she loves and wants to marry because of panic! One more thing—why did she see Ai Didn't Reese say it when she dropped the paper bag of potassium cyanide under the table?"

"Perhaps she didn't see it," said Anthony, a little suspiciously. "I believe she saw it," Reese said. "When I asked her, I felt that she kept something from me. And Iris Marr herself thought that Ruth Lessing saw her throw it away." "Well, Colonel," said Kemp, "let's hear from you. You've got a case, too, I suppose?" Reese nodded. "Speak up to be fair. You've heard us—and countered." Reese's eyes wandered thoughtfully over Kemp's and Anthony's faces, and finally settled on Anthony's. Anthony's eyebrows went up.

"Don't say you still think I did it!" Reese shook his head slowly. "I can't think of any reason why you would kill George Patton. I think I know who killed him—and Rosemary Button." "Who?" Reese said thoughtfully: "It's strange that we all think that the suspect is a woman. I also suspect a woman." He paused and then said calmly, "I think the murderer was Iris Marr." Anthony pushed back his chair and stood up.His face was dark, and after a while of inner struggle, he controlled himself.When he spoke, his voice trembled a little, but it was as lilting and sarcastic as ever.

"Let's discuss the possibilities thoroughly," he said. "Why Iris Marr? If it was her, why would she automatically tell us that she threw the paper bag under the table?" "Because," Race said, "she knew Ruth Lessing saw it." Anthony considered this answer, his head tilted to one side.Finally, he nodded. "Okay, pass," he said, "go on. Why are you most suspicious of her?" "The motive," said Reese, "is that Rosemary inherited a large fortune and she didn't have a share. From what we know, she probably struggled with it for years about feeling unfair. She knew that if Rosemary died there would be no and all the property would go to her. And Rosemary, after the flu, became demoralized, depressed, and unhappy, and was in a state where a suicide testimony would be admissible."

"That's right, calling that girl a monster!" said Anthony. "It's not a monster," Reese said. "I suspect she has another reason—perhaps a far-fetched one for you—for Victor Drake." "Victor Derek?" Anthony was dumbfounded. "Prodigal son. You know, I didn't listen to Lucilla Drake in vain. I know the whole Mal family thing. Vito Drake—a true devil. His mother, mentally retarded and Inability to concentrate. Hector Marr, weak, wicked, alcoholic. Rosemary, emotionally unstable. A family history of weakness, wickedness, and instability. Genetic predisposition factors." Anthony lit a cigarette.His hands trembled. "Don't you believe that it is possible for a normal flower to grow on a weak or even bad twig?" "Of course it's possible. But I can't guarantee that Iris Marr is a normal flower." "And my words don't count," said Anthony slowly, "because I'm in love with her. George showed her the letters, and she panicked and killed him? That's how it happened, isn't it?" "Yes. In her situation there would be a great panic." "So how did she get that stuff in George's champagne glass?" "That, I confess, I don't know." "Grateful that you still don't know." Anthony rocked his chair back and forth.There was a fierce gleam in his eyes. "You have the guts to say that to me." Rhys said quietly: "I know. But the result of my consideration is that I must say." Camp watched the two of them amusedly, but said nothing.He absently kept stirring the tea. "Very well," said Anthony, standing up again. "The situation has changed. It's no longer the time to sit here, drink a nasty drink, and talk about theories. This case must be settled. We must clear all difficulties, It's not going to work out. It's got to be my job, and I've got a way. I've got to dig into a few things we don't know, because once we know, the whole thing becomes clear. "Let me restate the problem again. Who knew Rosemary was murdered? Who wrote to George? Why did he? "Then there's the murder itself. The first time, let it go, it's been too long, and we don't quite know how it happened. But the second time it happened right before my eyes. I saw it with my own eyes. So I should Know how it happened. The best moment to poison George's cup was during the sideshow - but it couldn't have been poisoned then because he drank immediately after the show. I saw him Drink it. No one added anything to his glass after he drank it. No one touched his glass, yet the next time he drank it, it was full of potassium cyanide. He couldn't be poisoned, but Poisoned! He has potassium cyanide in his cup, but no one could possibly put it in! Are we making progress?" "No," said Inspector Kemp. "Yes," Anthony said, "now things move into the realm of spiritualism. Or spirit manifestations. Let me briefly outline my theory of psychics. While we were all dancing, Rosemary's ghost, Wei Piao, approached George's mug, filled with some materialized potassium cyanide—any ghost can make potassium cyanide with psychic radioactivity. George came back, toasted her, and—oh, my God!" Reese and Kemp watched him curiously.His hands clasped his head.He was visibly rocking back and forth in agony. He said: "That's it,...that's it,...the purse...the waiter..." "Waiter?" Camp became alarmed. "No, no, I didn't mean that. I thought what we needed was a 'waiter' who wasn't a real waiter but a psychic—a waiter who had been assigned the day before. But all of us Instead it was a waiter who was always a waiter, and a little waiter, an innocent waiter, a waiter who wasn't involved. But he played his part! Oh god, yes , he played a major role." He watched them. "Don't you understand? The 'one' waiter poisoned the champagne, but the 'that' waiter didn't. 'A', indefinite article. 'That' definite article. George's glass! George! Both Quite apart. And money—lots and lots of money! And who knows—maybe love? Don't think of me as a madman. Here, let me explain to you." He got up from his chair and grabbed Kemp's arm. "follow me." Camp reluctantly drank his half-full glass. "Have to pay first?" he murmured. "No, no, we'll be back in a minute. Come on, I've got to explain it outside. Come on, Reese." Pushing back the chair, he led them into the hallway. "See that phone booth over there?" "I see, how is it?" Anthony Yang took out his pocket. "Infuriating, I don't have a penny. Forget it. I thought about it. Don't do that. Go back." They went back to the coffee room, Kemp walking ahead, Reese followed by Anthony's arm. Kemp sat down, frowning, and picked up his pipe.He blew carefully, and took out a hairpin from his waist pocket to pick up the shredded tobacco. Reese frowned at Anthony in confusion.He leaned back in his chair, picked up his glass, and drank it all in one gulp. "Damn it," he said roughly, "it has sugar in it!" He looked up, just in time to see Anthony's face gradually grinning. "Hey," Kemp broke out, taking a sip from his glass, "what the hell is this?" "Coffee," said Anthony, "I don't think you'd like it. I don't."