THE SMITH AFFAIR

19th August, 1883

I am not in the habit of keeping a journal. Indeed, I have often wondered what impulse drives a man to set down, for his own eye alone, the incidents of his life. A recent experience has suggested an answer. I am inclined to think that one writes when a matter persists too strongly to be left to thought, yet is of such a kind as cannot easily be spoken of to others.

On that day, I had been immersed in a novel which had caught my eye. I had purchased it from a bookseller on my way to the shop. The story was fine, though I was occasionally interrupted by customers asking my advice or presenting me with a prescription. The clock upon the wall marked the afternoon with intolerable fidelity, and the day differed from a hundred others only in the title of the novel before me. There I was, as I was every day, from morning to late afternoon and, as I had good reason to remember, I had one hour remaining before closing the shop and making my way home.

A man entered through the front and caught my eye on his way in. He did not seem to have any special distinction, save that he was middle-aged, quite on the heavy side, breathing heavily, and red-faced. There was something in his carriage that suggested former military habits; and, though he wore no uniform, I thought from his bearing, and from the revolver at his side, that he was connected in some official way with the police. The man appeared comfortable, though not wealthy. He held a walking stick of good quality, yet worn at the handle. I took him to be accustomed to walking considerable distances, judging by the wear upon it. His clothing was civilian, but his movements were not.

He immediately hurried towards me as soon as he noticed my presence near the till.

“Mr. Henry Fairburn, I presume?”

“Yes, sir. How may I help you?” I replied.

“I have been sent upon a delicate matter, sir, and one in which your assistance may be required.”

The man certainly surprised me. I had many associates throughout the town, yet none of them were policemen. Was I in trouble? Was he not a policeman after all? Had something occurred with the family?

“Pray, catch your breath, sir, and tell me what has happened,” I said, as I poured him a glass of brandy from the cabinet and motioned him into a chair.

He sat for a minute, and his colour and breathing gradually returned with the brandy.

“A terrible business, sir,” he began. “I am Sergeant Thomas Bell of the Mereford Police Station. We were called about an hour ago to the other side of town by a Mrs. Catherine Smith. Upon our arrival at the Smith residence, we were informed that she had found her husband lying face down upon his desk in the study.”

I had known Mrs. Smith for some time; she was a regular customer at my shop. Her husband was a solicitor and a well-respected gentleman in the town. The news was therefore unexpected. I waited for the sergeant to finish his drink before he continued.

“Well, sir, as you might expect, we examined the room and the body. The doctor believed the gentleman had been dead for several hours by the time we arrived. No one in the household had observed anything unusual, and there was no disorder in the room. There was no wound, nor any other apparent injury.”

“And what does the doctor believe caused the death?” I asked.

“He believes that the heart may have failed, though he cannot say why. Mr. Smith was not known to have suffered from any serious complaint of the heart. The doctor thought it possible that something he had taken may have affected it.”

“I see. I am assuming that Mrs. Smith then told you that she obtains her medicines from my shop, and so you have come to consult me on the matter?”

“Yes, sir. She told us that they bought their medicines from your shop, but she was not certain what her husband had been taking.”

“Very well. Let me review what the Smiths have purchased within the last month.”

I took out my records of the shop’s transactions and looked under their name. It showed that they had purchased little beyond some headache powders and a bottle of cough syrup.

“I apologize, sir, but the only medicines they purchased here were for headaches and coughs. Nothing that I can think of would account for such a failure of the heart.”

“I understand. I shall inform the Inspector. Thank you.”

He rose and shook my hand before turning to leave, when a possibility occurred to me which involved something more horrifying than I care to admit, and I detained him by the hand.

“I cannot be certain, but I believe I may form a better opinion if I were permitted to see the deceased. Would such a thing be possible?”

He paused for a moment and turned to me again.

“I am not entirely sure, but I suppose a request to the Inspector in charge could do no harm. I cannot imagine why he would refuse, considering the difficulty we have had. What time would suit you?”

“I have only half an hour before closing the shop. It certainly would not matter if I closed a little early and went there now, would you wait?”

“Certainly. I shall be just outside with a cab.”

I hurriedly counted my earnings for the day, put on my coat and hat, and took my walking stick. I closed the shop and turned around to see my new companion standing only a few yards away alongside a cab.

We climbed into the carriage, and soon found ourselves on our way towards the Smith residence. Sergeant Bell chatted throughout the short journey, and I replied when appropriate, though my attention was elsewhere. The sudden change to my otherwise uneventful afternoon had left me considering how readily the ordinary course of a day might be disturbed. Before I had given the matter much thought, the cabman brought us to the address.

Upon our arrival, Sergeant Bell was greeted at the door by a uniformed policeman. He introduced me and explained the reason for my being there, after which we were shown inside. The house was a two-storey building, with a staircase to the left of the entrance and a hallway extending towards the rear. The sergeant led me down the hallway, turned to the right, and brought me to the study. The room contained a large bookcase filled with volumes of law and various papers, a substantial desk with a chair behind it, and several small sofas arranged near the centre of the room.

The body remained where the sergeant had described it, and it appeared that little had been disturbed beyond what was necessary for the police examination. I noticed several things during the few moments I was allowed to observe the room before the sergeant drew me towards the people seated upon the sofas. He introduced me to the Inspector in charge, Mr. Alfred Pritchard, who received the introduction with an expression of visible irritation. I gathered that my presence had not been expected.

“Inspector, this is Mr. Henry Fairburn, proprietor of the chemist’s shop where the Smiths obtain their medicines.”

He leaned forward and shook my hand reluctantly.

“Good afternoon, Inspector Pritchard. I previously informed Sergeant Bell that the medicines purchased by the Smiths were not, to my knowledge, capable of producing the effect that he had described.”

“I see. Thank you. There was, I think, no occasion for you to attend in person, Mr. Fairburn.”

“The gentleman thought that, by examining the body himself, he might be able to determine what substance had caused the death,” Sergeant Bell explained.

“I see. However, what Sergeant Bell perhaps failed to mention is that Dr. Whitmore is a medical practitioner and has already examined the body.” He pointed to the man sitting opposite Mrs. Smith.

The man then got up to greet me.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Fairburn. I have examined Mr. Smith, but I cannot identify the exact cause of his death. His heart appears to have failed, yet he had no known history of heart trouble. I have wondered whether something he had taken may have produced such an effect, but I cannot say what.”

“I see,” I replied, extending my hand. “Then perhaps I may be of some assistance.”

The doctor had spoken of sudden failure of the heart, without wound, and with some suspicion that something had been taken. One possibility had already begun to form itself in my mind.

“Have you considered foxglove?” I said.

“Digitalis?” he asked after a short pause.

“Indeed,” I replied.

“I had considered the possibility of a medicinal poisoning,” he said slowly. “But I had no reason to suspect foxglove in particular.”

“That is why I wished to see him,” I said as we walked towards the body. “Digitalis purpurea may produce a profound disturbance of the heart. Nausea, weakness, and irregularity of the pulse are among its effects, and in sufficient quantities it may prove fatal.”

“You believe it might have been a suicide?”

“Yes, that is a possible explanation.”

I leaned forward towards the body, and Dr. Whitmore examined Mr. Smith alongside me. I first looked at his face. His eyes were partially open. His lips were pale, as was the rest of his face. I placed two fingers against his wrist, though there was, of course, no pulse. Dr. Whitmore examined his eyes and then gently lifted one of his hands.

“There is nothing remarkable,” he said.

I examined the man’s mouth and noticed no unusual discolouration or obvious injury. His clothing was undisturbed, and there were no marks upon his hands to suggest that he had struggled with anyone.

“You said that he had no history of heart trouble?”

“None that I am aware of.”

The man had apparently died at his desk while writing some article. This was evident from the pen on the floor and the dragging marks upon the paper. I examined the desk more closely. There was little upon it beyond what one might expect to find upon the desk of a man engaged in his work: several documents, an ink bottle, a few loose sheets of paper, a letter opener, and a small tin of chewing tobacco. Beside these lay a folded paper, set somewhat apart, as though it had last engaged the dead man’s attention.

I reached towards it, but before I could examine it further, Inspector Pritchard spoke behind me.

“Mr. Fairburn, I think that will be sufficient.”

I turned towards him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Dr. Whitmore thought your opinion might prove useful, and for that reason I was willing to allow you to examine the body. But, if I understand correctly, your suggestion of foxglove is only a possibility. At present, we have no evidence that Mr. Smith took it, nor any reason to believe that his death was anything other than a natural or accidental one.”

He spoke without hostility, but his meaning was quite clear.

“I understand, Inspector.”

“I appreciate your assistance, Mr. Fairburn. If anything further should arise which requires your particular knowledge, we shall certainly call upon you. For the present, however, I think the matter is best left to the doctor and the police.”

I was then bid farewell and shown outside.

It was about five o’clock in the evening when I found myself at my front door. Yet, throughout the journey home, I could not put the events of the afternoon from my mind.

It was close to ten o’clock when I had finished my supper and settled down with a case of cigarettes and the remainder of the novel I had begun that morning. I had scarcely begun to read when I heard a knock at the front door. I rose from my chair and made my way to the entrance. Upon opening it, I was surprised to find Sergeant Bell standing upon the step.

“Good evening, Mr. Fairburn. I apologize for disturbing you at such an hour.”

“Sergeant Bell. I confess I was not expecting you. Has something happened?”

“Nothing that should concern you, sir. I have come at the request of Dr. Whitmore. He wished me to ask whether you might return to the Smith residence.”

“Has something further been discovered?”

“The post-mortem examination has been completed, and the doctor believes that your suspicion was correct. He believes Mr. Smith died from foxglove poisoning.”

“I see.”

“There is one matter, however, which has caused some difficulty. No bottle, packet, or other container containing the substance was found in the study.”

“That is curious.”

“So the doctor thought. He asked me to bring you back because you had begun examining the desk when you were interrupted by the Inspector. He wondered whether you might have noticed something which he had not.”

“I see. Then I had better speak with him.”

I reached for my coat and hat.

Bell waited by the door while I prepared myself, and within a few minutes we were once again on our way, this time towards the hospital.

The hospital was only a short distance from the town centre, and we arrived within a few minutes. Bell led me through the entrance and along a quiet corridor before stopping outside a small examination room.

Dr. Whitmore was waiting inside.

“Good evening, Mr. Fairburn. Thank you for coming.”

“Good evening, Doctor. Sergeant Bell tells me that you have established the cause of death.”

“I believe I have established it with reasonable certainty. The post-mortem examination revealed nothing which would account for the sudden failure of the heart by natural means. More importantly, an examination of the stomach contents produced results consistent with digitalis poisoning.”

“You were able to detect it?”

“Yes, the results were sufficiently suggestive, when considered alongside the symptoms and the condition of the heart, that I am prepared to call it digitalis poisoning.”

“I see.”

Whitmore folded his hands before him.

“There was one other matter. The quantity appears to have been considerable. Had Mr. Smith deliberately taken it, I should expect to find some indication of where he obtained it. Yet when the house was searched, nothing was found.”

“You mean there was no bottle or packet?”

“Nothing. Not in the study, nor anywhere else that we have found.”

I considered this for a moment.

“That is certainly peculiar.”

“It is precisely why I asked Sergeant Bell to find you. When you were at the house, you began examining the desk before Inspector Pritchard interrupted you.”

“I remember.”

“You appeared to have noticed something there.”

“I noticed several things.”

“Then perhaps you would tell me exactly what you saw. Do not concern yourself with whether you thought them important at the time. I should like to hear everything you remember.”

I considered the doctor’s request and tried to recall the study as clearly as possible.

“The desk contained little that seemed unusual,” I began. “There were several documents, an ink bottle, loose sheets of paper, a letter opener, and a pen which had fallen upon the floor. There was also a small tin of chewing tobacco.”

“Chewing tobacco?” Dr. Whitmore asked.

“Yes.”

He raised his eyebrows slightly.

“Was that unusual?”

“Not in itself. But I did find it somewhat curious in Mr. Smith’s case. It is not especially uncommon, of course, but smoking is far more customary among gentlemen in this country. Chewing tobacco has always struck me as more distinctly American.”

“Had Mr. Smith lived in America?”

“I am not particularly sure, but perhaps for a time, yes. I believe he may have acquired the habit there.”

“I see.”

“I remember little else about it. It was simply sitting upon the desk among his other belongings.”

“And did you notice anything else?”

“Beside it was a folded piece of paper. I assumed it to be a memorandum or perhaps some note relating to his work, but Inspector Pritchard stopped me before I could examine it.”

Whitmore nodded thoughtfully.

“And you noticed nothing else that seemed out of place?”

“Nothing that struck me as significant at the time.”

“The Inspector has remained at the residence since this afternoon. Now that we have confirmed the presence of the poison, he is making another search for the missing bottle.”

“I suppose he would.”

“He has searched the study several times already, but without success. I thought that, since you had examined the room earlier, you might be able to look at it again with what we now know.”

I considered this for a moment.

“That seems reasonable.”

“Then perhaps we should return before the Inspector has finished.”

“Very well.”

Sergeant Bell had remained silent throughout our conversation. He now rose and reached for his hat.

“I shall fetch the carriage.”

A few minutes later, we left the hospital and made our way once more towards the Smith residence. The journey back to the Smith residence was a quiet one. When we arrived, the house appeared much as it had earlier that afternoon. We found ourselves back at the study and Inspector Pritchard was standing beside the desk, examining its drawers.

“Mr. Fairburn,” he said, with a slight nod. “I understand Dr. Whitmore has asked you to look over the room again.”

“Yes, Inspector.”

“I hope you have better fortune than I have.”

I said nothing and approached the desk.

It appeared much as I remembered it. The papers remained where they had been, along with the ink bottle, letter opener, and other ordinary articles one might expect to find upon a solicitor’s desk. The small tin of chewing tobacco was still there. I picked it up briefly and examined it, finding nothing remarkable about it. I placed it back where I had found it.

My attention then returned to the papers. The sheet upon which Mr. Smith had been writing was still before the chair. The writing began neatly enough, but towards the bottom of the page the lines became increasingly irregular, as though the hand which had produced them had gradually lost its steadiness. The pen had fallen a short distance from the desk.

Beside the papers was the folded memorandum I had noticed earlier. I picked it up and turned it over in my hand. It was sealed neither with wax nor with an envelope, and there was nothing upon the outside to indicate its purpose. I unfolded it carefully and it contained only a few lines of writing.

“What is it?” Bell asked.

“Nothing of importance, I think.”

The writing upon it was considerably less orderly than that upon the documents surrounding it. The first few words were reasonably clear, but the letters had become increasingly uneven towards the end, with several of them scarcely more than strokes upon the paper.

“Doctor,” I said, “would a man whose hand was suddenly losing its strength have noticed it himself?”

“Certainly. Particularly a man accustomed to writing as much as Mr. Smith.”

“Then perhaps this was not part of his work at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“He may have noticed that he was having difficulty with the pen. Rather than spoil the document upon which he was working, he took another sheet and tried to write upon it.”

Whitmore examined the paper.

“That would account for the writing.”

“And if he had been experiencing weakness immediately before his death,” I said, “it would also explain why the final lines are so poorly formed.”

A constable entered the study. He approached Inspector Pritchard, who had been watching Dr. Whitmore and me from across the room.

“Inspector, sir.”

“Yes?”

“We have found what appears to be the bottle the doctor was looking for.”

Pritchard turned towards him.

“Where?”

“In the yard of the house next door, sir. It was broken when I found it.”

“Next door?”

“Yes, sir.”

The Inspector frowned.

“How did it come to be there?”

“I cannot say, sir. I found it near the wall.”

“Did you speak with the occupants?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Very well. Let us have a look at it.”

We followed the constable outside and into the neighbouring yard. The broken bottle lay upon the ground near the wall, with several fragments of glass scattered around it. Pritchard crouched beside it.

“Does it appear to have contained anything?”

“There is some brown residue inside, sir.”

The Inspector examined the pieces without touching them.

“Has anything been done to it?”

“No, sir.”

“Very well. Have it collected carefully. We shall want to know what was inside.”

The constable nodded. Pritchard looked towards the neighbouring house.

“We should also speak with the occupants. I would like to know whether they saw anyone enter the yard this afternoon.”

I remained where I was for a moment, looking at the broken bottle. There were several more immediate questions to be answered, and the bottle itself seemed to have raised more questions than it answered.

I returned to the Smith residence while the Inspector went to speak with the occupants of the neighbouring house. I continued my examination of the study, while Sergeant Bell remained with me.

“I should like to know a little more about the people with whom Mr. Smith was associated,” I said. “Did the Inspector interview the household?”

“Yes, sir. He spoke with all of them.”

Bell explained that Mrs. Smith had spoken with her husband shortly before half past eight that morning. She had then left the house with one of the maids to attend to some errands in town. The other maid remained behind with the butler, who saw Mr. Smith enter the study at approximately nine o’clock. Before doing so, Mr. Smith had instructed him not to allow anyone to disturb him.

The butler had therefore gone about his usual duties, assisting the remaining maid in the kitchen and servants’ quarters. These were situated beneath and beside the large staircase, directly across the hall from the study. Neither of them had any reason to enter the study, and neither reported hearing anything unusual from it.

Mrs. Smith returned with the other maid at about eleven o’clock. She called for her husband but received no answer. As he was accustomed to spending long periods working in his study, she assumed that he was occupied and did not disturb him. It was not until after two, when she went to call him for lunch, that she entered the study and discovered his body.

“And neither servant entered the study during that time?” I asked.

“No, sir.”

“Nor did either hear anything?”

“Nothing unusual.”

I considered this briefly. The servants’ quarters were close enough to the study that an unusual disturbance ought to have been noticed.

“There was also someone else who frequently came to the house, though he did not live here,” Bell continued. “Mr. Smith had an articled clerk who had worked with him for several years. He usually spent much of his working day in the study.”

“Was he here this morning?”

“No, sir. No one saw him.”

“He did not come at all?”

“Not until Mrs. Smith sent for him after the body was discovered. He came when he learned what had happened.”

“If he normally worked with Mr. Smith, why did he not come this morning?”

“The butler assumed that he would not, given Mr. Smith’s instruction that he was not to be disturbed.”

“I should like to speak with him.”

“Of course, sir. I shall have someone send for him.”

While arrangements were made, I continued speaking with the servants. I asked whether either of them had heard a call for assistance, a fall, or any other sound from the study. Both denied hearing anything. I also asked whether they had taken tea or anything else to Mr. Smith during the morning. They had not. Mr. Smith’s instruction not to be disturbed had been taken literally.

“What is on the upper floor?” I asked, looking towards the stairs.

“The bedrooms, sir,” the butler replied.

“Would it be possible to look through them?”

“Certainly, sir.”

He led me to the upper floor which contained several bedrooms, all furnished in the comfortable but unremarkable manner I would have expected. There was nothing immediately suspicious about them, and I found no reason to remain there. I thanked the butler and returned downstairs.

The Inspector had returned from the neighbouring house by the time I reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Did you find anything, Inspector?”

“Nothing of interest. They had no idea what the bottle was, and they had never seen it before today.”

“Have they been in the yard today?”

“No. They said they had not. The gardener was there yesterday, however, and he said he had never seen the bottle either.”

“I see. So the bottle was not there yesterday, and no one next door saw it today.”

“That appears to be the case.”

“Were the occupants at home when you spoke with their servants?”

“No. The householder and his wife have been in London.”

“Since when?”

“They left yesterday morning to attend to some business there. They only returned a few hours ago, shortly before we found the bottle.”

“So they could not have placed it there themselves.”

“No. Their servants were the only people in the house while they were away. The gardener was there yesterday, but he says he saw nothing of the sort.”

“And today?”

“He had not been in the yard today.”

“I see. Then the bottle could not have been placed there by the occupants.”

“Not unless they managed it from London.” Pritchard replied dryly.

As we spoke, the front door opened and the clerk was shown into the house. His arrival appeared to surprise the Inspector.

“Mr. Hale,” he said, looking towards the young man. “I thought we had already taken your statement and established the relevant facts. I was not expecting to see you again today.”

“A message was sent to me, Inspector. I was told that Sergeant Bell required some further information and that I was to come as soon as possible.”

The Inspector turned his eyes towards me. I needed no explanation for the look that followed. He had not been informed that I had asked to speak with the clerk, and my request was evidently not one he had welcomed.

“Very well,” he said at last. “Since you are here, Mr. Hale, you may as well answer Mr. Fairburn’s questions.”

He stepped aside, leaving the young man standing before me. I regarded him for a moment before speaking. He appeared to be somewhere in his early twenties, perhaps twenty-three or twenty-four. His clothes were respectable, though plainly of a lower quality than those of his employer, and the cuffs of his shirt showed the wear one associates with desk-work. There were faint traces of ink upon his fingers, and a slight thickening where the pen rested. He stood stiffly beneath the Inspector’s attention, like a young man long accustomed to authority, though not yet to exercising any of his own.

“Mr. Hale, I understand that you have worked with Mr. Smith for several years.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you ordinarily spend much of your working day here?”

“Yes, sir. In the study, mostly.”

“Did you come to the study this morning?”

“No, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Mr. Smith instructed me not to come today. He told me that he had a considerable amount of work to finish himself and would not require my assistance.”

“I see. Were you here yesterday?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What time did you arrive?”

“About nine o’clock in the morning.”

“And when did you leave?”

“Some time after five, sir. I cannot recall the exact time.”

“And you spent most of that day in the study?”

“Yes, sir. All of it.”

“Tell me, what did Mr. Smith usually do while working? Did he smoke, drink tea, or take anything else? Did he stop to read the newspaper, dictate letters, or take breaks from his desk?”

“He drank tea occasionally, sir, though usually only when it was brought to him. He smoked from time to time, but he also had chewing tobacco.”

“Chewing tobacco?”

“Yes, sir. He kept a small tin of it upon his desk.”

“I noticed it.”

“He had been using it for some time. He would sometimes take a little while working, particularly when he was reading or considering something.”

“And did he have any other habits?”

“Nothing unusual, sir. He would occasionally leave the study for a few minutes, but yesterday he remained at his desk for most of the day.”

“Did he eat while working?”

“Not usually, sir. He preferred to take his meals properly.”

“I see.”

As I spoke with him, a thought occurred to me. It was an unlikely one, perhaps, but under the circumstances it seemed worth pursuing. I left the young man where he stood and crossed the hall towards Dr. Whitmore, who was standing outside the front door, smoking a cigarette.

“Doctor, I may have an idea, but I should like you to confirm something.”

He looked towards me.

“Yes, Mr. Fairburn. What is it?”

“During your examination, did you find any chewing tobacco in Mr. Smith’s mouth?”

“No. Nothing that I noticed.”

“And in his stomach?”

Whitmore paused.

“There was some brown material among the stomach contents which I could not identify with certainty. I thought little of it at the time.”

“Brown material?”

“Yes.”

“Could it have been tobacco?”

“I should like to examine it again properly. The stomach contents are still at the hospital.”

“Of course.”

Before leaving, I returned to the desk and opened the small tin of chewing tobacco. I removed a small portion and wrapped it carefully in a piece of paper.

“I should like you to compare this with the material you found.”

Whitmore nodded.

“That is sensible. I shall take it with me.”

He left the house, taking the sample with him.

Sergeant Bell and I remained in the study with Inspector Pritchard, Mrs. Smith, the clerk, and the servants. For several minutes, little was said. The Inspector continued examining the desk while Mrs. Smith sat quietly nearby. The clerk remained standing near the doorway, watching the proceedings. I found myself looking again at the small tin from which I had taken the sample. There was nothing remarkable about it. It was an ordinary object, sitting in an ordinary place, belonging to a man who had used it as part of his daily routine.

“Mrs. Smith, has your husband ever been to America?”

“Yes, sir. He lived there for some time. He had business with several mining companies and was there for more than four years.”

“I see.”

A little while later, the sound of footsteps approached from the hall. Dr. Whitmore entered the study carrying the small paper in which I had given him the sample. He looked first towards me.

“Mr. Fairburn.”

“Yes, Doctor?”

“I have examined the material you gave me and compared it with the substance recovered from Mr. Smith’s stomach.”

“And?”

“It is tobacco. More specifically, it corresponds closely with the chewing tobacco from the tin.”

“Then he had been chewing it before his death.”

“Yes. There is little doubt of that.”

“And you are certain that the material found in his stomach was tobacco?”

“Yes.”

“Then there is something I should like to know. Would the tobacco found in his stomach ordinarily have reached there simply by swallowing some while chewing?”

Whitmore nodded.

“Certainly. A small quantity might be swallowed without the person being particularly aware of it.”

“Then perhaps we ought to examine the contents of the tin more carefully.”

Inspector Pritchard looked up from the desk.

“You believe the tobacco is connected with the poisoning?”

“I do not yet know,” I replied. “But we now know that Mr. Smith was chewing it shortly before his death, and that some of it was found in his stomach.”

I turned towards Mrs. Smith.

“Madam, did your husband ordinarily chew tobacco only while he was working?”

“Yes, Mr. Fairburn.”

“He did not chew it elsewhere in the house?”

“No. I always found the habit rather disagreeable. He acquired it while he was in America, and, out of consideration for my wishes, confined it to his study.”

“I see. And did he possess any other supply of it, besides that which he kept in this tin?”

“No. That was the only tin he used.”

“Where did he obtain his tobacco?”

“My husband had a friend whom he met while in America. Every few months, this gentleman would send him a quantity of tobacco in bulk.”

“Then I presume the tin itself was merely a receptacle. He refilled it whenever it became empty?”

“Precisely.”

“And do you know when he last refilled it?”

“I cannot say. I should have no reason to take notice of such a thing.”

“I believe it was yesterday, sir,” the butler said.

I turned towards him.

“Yesterday?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Smith called for me from the study and asked me to fetch his tobacco tin from the cellar.”

“At what time?”

“It was about half past four in the afternoon, sir.”

I glanced towards the clerk, who had been standing near the doorway. He appeared considerably less at ease than he had been a few moments earlier.

“Half past four,” I repeated. “That was shortly before Mr. Hale left, was it not?”

“Yes, sir,” said the butler. “Not long before.”

I looked towards the clerk.

“You were in the study at the time?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you saw Mr. Smith receive the tobacco?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then there is one more matter which we ought to settle.”

Inspector Pritchard glanced towards me.

“What is that?”

“The study. You said that nothing appeared to have been disturbed. I should like to know whether anyone in this household could enter it without Mr. Smith’s permission.”

Pritchard considered the question.

“I have already asked about access to the room. Mrs. Smith and the servants all tell the same story. Mr. Smith kept the study locked when he was not working, and no one had a key besides himself.”

“Not even Mrs. Smith?”

“Not even his wife.”

I turned towards the butler.

“And you were never permitted to enter when the door was locked?”

“No, sir. Mr. Smith was particular about that. He kept important papers in the study and did not like anyone disturbing them.”

“Did he ordinarily take the key with him?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And where was it found?”

“In the desk, sir.”

I looked at Inspector Pritchard.

“So the door could not have been opened by any of the servants after Mr. Smith had left the study yesterday?”

“Not without breaking it down.”

“And there is no sign that anyone did so.”

“None.”

I turned towards Mrs. Smith.

“Madam, did your husband return to the study after Mr. Hale left yesterday?”

“No, Mr. Fairburn. Not to my knowledge.”

“And you are certain?”

“I am. He came to dinner shortly afterwards and remained downstairs for the rest of the evening.”

I looked towards Bell.

“And the servants?”

“The same. No one saw Mr. Smith return to the study.”

I turned to Mr. Hale.

“You were the last person, were you not, to see the tobacco in that room before Mr. Smith died?”

He hesitated.

“Yes, sir.”

“And you were with him when the tin was refilled yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“At half past four.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you remained with Mr. Smith until shortly before five?”

“Yes.”

“There do not seem to be many possibilities left.”

Inspector Pritchard watched me carefully.

“You believe Mr. Hale poisoned the tobacco?”

“I believe he had the opportunity to do so. Whether he did it is another question.”

Hale’s face had become very pale.

“I did not—”

“Mr. Hale,” I interrupted, “I have not accused you of anything.”

He fell silent and I continued.

“The matter seems narrow enough,” I said. “Mr. Smith was alive when you left him yesterday. The tobacco was then in the study. He was accustomed to chew it while working, and no other tobacco was kept in the house. After you left, the study was not entered again. This morning Mr. Smith died after apparently suffering the effects of digitalis. The poison was found in his stomach, yet no container could be discovered within the house. And now we find that the tobacco he had been chewing before his death may be connected with the poison.”

Pritchard folded his arms.

“That is circumstantial evidence.”

“Certainly. But there is more.”

I pointed towards the sheet of paper.

“A dying man who suddenly found his hand failing would scarcely continue working until his death without noticing the change. Yet Mr. Smith appears to have done precisely that. He abandoned his work, took another sheet of paper, and attempted to write again. His hand became progressively weaker.”

Whitmore nodded.

“That would be consistent with the effects we discussed.”

“Indeed. Which makes the timing important. Whatever the precise hour of his death, the poison had apparently begun to affect him while he was at work. ”

I turned to Hale.

“And you knew precisely how and when he was likely to consume the tobacco.”

He said nothing.

“Furthermore,” I continued, “the bottle found in the neighbouring yard is not evidence against the occupants of that house. They were in London yesterday and returned only shortly before we discovered it. Their servants had no knowledge of the bottle, and the gardener saw nothing of the sort.”

Pritchard’s expression hardened.

“Mr. Hale.”

The young man looked towards him.

“Where did you obtain the poison?”

Hale’s lips parted, but no answer came. Sergeant Bell moved quietly towards the door. Hale looked from one man to another. Then whatever resistance remained in him seemed to disappear.

“I did it,” he said.

Mrs. Smith gave a small cry.

Pritchard stepped forward.

“Mr. Smith had threatened me for months. He knew I wanted to leave his office. I told him I intended to find another position.”

“And?”

“He told me that if I left him, he would see that I found no respectable employment elsewhere. He knew people in the profession. He said that no solicitor in Mereford would take me if he gave me a bad reference.”

His voice shook.

“I had worked for him for years. I had learned everything under him. And he knew that. He knew I had nowhere else to go.”

“So you decided to kill him?”

Hale nodded.

“I began thinking about it some time ago.”

“Where did you obtain the digitalis?”

“From an apothecary in another town.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That it was required for a sick relative. I knew enough about medicines to make the request sound reasonable. I did not buy it in Mereford. I knew too many people here.”

“And you carried it with you?”

“For several days while waiting for an opportunity.”

I looked at him.

“And yesterday provided one.”

He nodded.

“Mr. Smith told me not to come today. He said he had work to finish and would not require my assistance. We had therefore finished our business together.”

“And while you were still in the study?”

“He went to the bookcase. He was looking for a document. The tobacco tin was on the desk. I had the poison with me. I put it into the tobacco while his back was turned.”

“And you knew he would consume it?”

“He always did. Especially when he was working.”

“And yesterday?”

“He had been chewing it while we worked. I knew he would use it again that evening or the next morning. He told me not to come today. I thought that meant he would remain in the study for most of the morning. I knew he would lock the room when he finished, and I knew the tobacco would remain there with him.”

“And after you left?”

“I went home.”

“Mr. Hale, one thing I do not understand, why throw the bottle in the neighbouring yard after you left the house?”

“The Smiths had quarrelled with the people next door. I knew there had been bad blood between them. If the bottle were found in their yard, I thought the police would suspect them.”

“And you believed that would be sufficient to turn suspicion away from yourself.”

“Yes.”

“And you had no knowledge that they were away?”

“No, sir. I knew nothing of it. I had no idea they had gone to London.”

I looked at him for a moment.

“So, by an extraordinary piece of misfortune, the one circumstance upon which you had relied did not exist.”

“No, sir.”

“You were very nearly fortunate.”

He gave a faint, humourless smile.

“I suppose I was.”

Inspector Pritchard stepped forward.

“That will be enough, Mr. Fairburn.”

I looked once more at the broken bottle in my mind: the wall, the neighbouring yard, and the circumstances which had placed it there. There had been nothing mysterious about its presence after all. The mystery had merely been in deciding who had reason to put it there. Inspector Pritchard turned towards Bell.

“Take him.”

Sergeant Bell stepped forward and placed a hand upon Hale’s shoulder.

The young man did not resist.

As they led him from the study, Mrs. Smith remained seated in silence. Dr. Whitmore stood beside the desk, staring at the small tin which had, until that evening, been nothing more remarkable than an ordinary part of Mr. Smith’s daily habits. I remained beside the desk for a few moments longer.

“Well,” said the Inspector at last, “I confess I owe you an apology.”

“An apology?”

“For doubting your usefulness.”

“I should not make a habit of it, Inspector. It might become inconvenient.”

Pritchard gave a brief laugh.

“I shall endeavour to remember that.”

Dr. Whitmore smiled.

“You were right about the tobacco, at any rate.”

“Only because you were willing to examine it.”

“And because you thought to ask.”

I looked once more towards the desk.

“It was an ordinary object.”

“Yes,” Whitmore said. “And that was precisely the difficulty.”

Inspector Pritchard picked up his coat.

“You had better go home, Mr. Fairburn. It has been a long day.”

I glanced towards the clock.

“Indeed it has.”

Bell returned a few minutes later, and after a final word with the Inspector and the doctor, I left the house.

The remainder of that night passed without incident. Yet, as I walked home, I found my thoughts returning less to Mr. Smith, or even to Mr. Hale, than to the course of the day itself. The affair was over. The explanation had been found, the guilty man had been identified, and there was, properly speaking, nothing left to be done.

For a few hours, the world had seemed to possess an uncommon distinctness. Objects which in ordinary life scarcely impress themselves upon the mind had, on that day, appeared to stand in a sharper relation to one another, as though each must necessarily signify something. The smallest circumstance had weight. A scrap of paper, a stain, a habitual gesture, an ordinary tin upon a writing-desk; each had seemed capable of altering the whole meaning of the scene.

By the following morning, the town had resumed its usual aspect. Customers entered and departed; prescriptions were filled; mixtures were compounded; the clock went on with its accustomed regularity. Nothing, so far as appearances were concerned, had changed. I alone found that the day no longer seemed quite so easily endured.

It is for that reason, and not from any taste for self-examination, that I have set this account down. The case is finished, Mr. Hale will answer for what he has done, and the town has already begun to forget the business. I do not think I shall forget it so readily.