DEATH IN THE CUP_A Golden Age Mystery by Moray Dalton

Author:Moray Dalton [Dalton, Moray]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Crime
ISBN: 9781912574933
Google: jEFkwAEACAAJ
Amazon: 1912574934
Publisher: Dean Street Press
Published: 2019-03-03T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER XVII

THE MISSING WITNESS

The pillory, thought Mark, with words instead of stones raining down on one’s defenceless head. Heavy, sharp-edged words that cut and bruised. Arsenic. Arsenic. A painful death. Yes, very painful. Over two grains. “I mustn’t stop my ears. I’d like to hurl that inkstand at the Coroner. Why does he wear that beastly straggling moustache? A moustache like that is an outrage. Oh God! I’ve got to be careful.”

He stood up as his name was called, and walked over to stand by the Coroner’s table, facing the jury. He heard excited whispering among the people packed in the narrow space at the back of the court. Someone hissed. The Coroner glanced up quickly.

“Silence!”

The crowd was suddenly quiet. Mark took a dingy black-bound Bible in his slim brown hands.

“I swear before Almighty God—”

“Will you tell us in your own words what happened on the night of the twenty-third? “

“Well, my sister, Bertha, was taken ill, but I didn’t know it. My sister Claire woke me between six and seven and told me and I got up then.”

“You are a good sleeper?”

“Not particularly, but I happened to have a headache and I had taken a couple of aspirin.”

“You keep aspirin by you?”

“Yes, generally, I think.”

“You opened a new bottle that night, didn’t you?”

“Did I? Very likely. I don’t remember.”

“Come, your memory can’t be as bad as that. You bought a small bottle of aspirin, the four-penny size, at Marshall’s in the High Street on the twenty-second.”

“I may have done. But what has this to do with my sister’s death?”

“I am here to ask questions, Mr. Armour, not to answer them. You had a bottle before that one and finished it. What became of it?”

“I haven’t the least idea.”

“Is this it?”

“I don’t know. It may be. I usually buy that size. What of it?”

“I would advise you not to take that tone with me, Mr. Armour. This bottle was found in the rubbish pit at the bottom of your garden, among the household refuse thrown there during the previous week, on the twenty-sixth of last month. It was subjected to chemical tests and proved to have held liquid arsenic.”

Mark’s face was white. Beads of sweat stood out on his upper lip. But he answered steadily. “I know nothing about that.”

“Did you see your sister before she died?”

“No.”

“How was that?”

“She didn’t ask for me. I don’t think anyone realised that she was dying.”

“Were you on good terms with her?”

“Not very.”

“How was that?”

“She was rather exacting and inclined to find fault. She often said very bitter things. She flicked one on the raw.”

“You were financially dependent on her?”

“I was lately.”

“You came in very late that night, after the rest of the household had retired?”

“Yes.”

“Where had you been?”

“Oh—just walking about.”

Brisling who was standing behind the Coroner’s chair, bent over and said something in an undertone. The Coroner nodded.

“Well, I won’t press that. What were you about when the cook saw you cross the landing to your own room?”

“I thought I heard somebody moving about below.

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