“I don't,” Bendix said with decision. “I think - there's something wrong with them. I shouldn't eat any more if I were you.”
“Well, they're only an experiment, I suppose,” said his wife.
A few minutes later Bendix went out, to keep an appointment in the city. He left his wife still trying to make up her mind whether she liked the chocolates or not, and still eating them to decide. Her last words to him were that they were making her mouth burn again so much that she was afraid she would not be able to manage any more.
“Mr. Bendix remembers that conversation very clearly,” said Moresby, looking round at the intent faces, “because it was the last time he saw his wife alive.”
The conversation in the drawing - room had taken place approximately between a quarter - past and half - past two. Bendix kept his appointment in the City at three, where he stayed for about half - an - hour, and then took a taxi back to his club for tea.
He had been feeling extremely ill during his business - talk, and in the taxi he very nearly collapsed; the driver had to summon the porter to help get him out and into the club. They both describe him as pale to the point of ghastliness, with staring eyes and livid lips, and his skin damp and clammy. His mind seemed unaffected, however, and once they had got him up the steps he was able to walk, with the help of the porter's arm, into the lounge.
The porter, alarmed by his appearance, wanted to send for a doctor at once, but Bendix, who was the last man to make a fuss, absolutely refused to let him, saying that it could only be a bad attack of indigestion and that he would be all right in a few minutes; he must have eaten something that disagreed with him. The porter was doubtful, but left him.
Bendix repeated this diagnosis of his own condition a few minutes later to Sir Eustace Pennefather, who was in the lounge at the time, not having left the club at all. But this time Bendix added: “And I believe it was those infernal chocolates you gave me, now I come to think of it. I thought there was something funny about them at the time. I'd better go and ring up my wife and find out if she's been taken like this too.”
Sir Eustace, a kind - hearted man, who was no less shocked than the porter at Bendix's appearance, was perturbed by the suggestion that he might in any way be responsible for it, and offered to go and ring up Mrs. Bendix himself as the other was in no fit condition to move. Bendix was about to reply when a strange change came over him. His body, which had been leaning limply back in his chair, suddenly heaved rigidly upright; his jaws locked together, the livid lips drawn back in a hideous grin, and his hands clenched on the arms of the chair. At the same time Sir Eustace became aware of an unmistakable smell of bitter almonds.
Thoroughly alarmed now, believing indeed that Bendix was dying under his eyes, he raised a shout for the porter and a doctor. There were two or three other men at the further end of the big room (in which a shout had probably never been heard before in the whole course of its history) and these hurried up at once. Sir Eustace sent one off to tell the porter to get hold of the nearest doctor without a second's delay, and enlisted the others to try to make the convulsed body a little more comfortable. There was no doubt among them that Bendix had taken poison. They spoke to him, asking how he felt and what they could do for him, but he either would or could not answer. As a matter of fact, he was completely unconscious.
Before the doctor had arrived, a telephone message was received from an agitated butler asking if Mr. Bendix was there, and if so would he come home at once as Mrs. Bendix had been taken seriously ill.
At the house in Eaton Square matters had been taking much the same course with Mrs. Bendix as with her husband, though a little more rapidly. She remained for half - an - hour or so in the drawing - room after the latter's departure, during which time she must have eaten about three more of the chocolates. She then went up to her bedroom and rang for her maid, to whom she said that she felt very ill and was going to lie down for a time. Like her husband, she ascribed her condition to a violent attack of indigestion.
The maid mixed her a draught from a bottle of indigestion - powder, which consisted mainly of bicarbonate of soda and bismuth, and brought her a hot - water bottle, leaving her lying on the bed. Her description of her mistress's appearance tallied exactly with the porter's and taxi - man's description of Bendix, but unlike them she did not seem to have been alarmed by it. She admitted later to the opinion that Mrs. Bendix, though anything but a greedy woman, must have overeaten herself at lunch.
At a quarter past three there was a violent ring from the bell in Mrs. Bendix's room.
The girl hurried upstairs and found her mistress apparently in a cataleptic fit, unconscious and rigid. Thoroughly frightened now, she wasted some precious minutes in ineffectual attempts to bring her round, and then hurried downstairs to telephone for the doctor. The practitioner who regularly attended the house was not at home, and it was some time before the butler, who had found the half - hysterical girl at the telephone and taken matters into his own hands, could get into communication with another. By the time the latter did get there, nearly half - an - hour after Mrs. Bendix's bell had rung, she was past help. Coma had set in, and in spite of everything the doctor could do she died in less than ten minutes after his arrival.
She was, in fact, already dead when the butler telephoned to the Rainbow Club.
HAVING reached this stage in his narrative Moresby paused, for effect, breath and refreshment. So far, in spite of the eager interest with which the story had been followed, no fact had been brought out of which his listeners were unaware. It was the police investigations that they wanted to hear, for not only had no details of these been published but not so much as a hint had been given even as to the theory that was officially held.
Perhaps Moresby had gathered something of this sentiment, for after a moment's rest he resumed with a slight smile. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, I shan't keep you much longer with these preliminaries, but it's just as well to run through everything while we're on it, if we want to get a view of the case as a whole.
"As you know, then, Mr. Bendix himself did not die. Luckily for himself he had eaten only two of the chocolates, as against his wife's seven, but still more luckily he had fallen into the hands of a clever doctor. By the time her doctor saw Mrs. Bendix it was too late for him to do anything; but the smaller amount of poison that Mr. Bendix had swallowed meant that its progress was not so rapid, and the doctor had time to save him.
“Not that the doctor knew then what the poison was. He treated him chiefly for prussic acid poisoning, thinking from the symptoms and the smell that Mr. Bendix must have taken oil of bitter almonds, but he wasn't sure and threw in one or two other things as well. Anyhow, it turned out in the end that he couldn't have had a fatal dose, and he was conscious again by about eight o'clock that night. They'd put him into one of the club bedrooms, and by the next day he was convalescent.”
At first, Moresby went on to explain, it was thought at Scotland Yard that Mrs. Bendix's death and her husband's narrow escape were due to a terrible accident. The police had, of course, taken the matter in hand as soon as the woman's death was reported to them and the fact of poison established. In due course a District Detective Inspector arrived at the Rainbow Club, and as soon as the doctor would permit after Bendix's recovery of consciousness held an interview with the still very sick man.
The fact of his wife's death was kept from him in his doubtful condition and he was questioned solely upon his own experience, for it was already clear that the two cases were bound up together and light on one would equally clarify the other. The Inspector told Bendix bluntly that he had been poisoned and pressed him as to how the stuff could have been taken: could he account for it in any way?
It was not long before the chocolates came into Bendix's mind. He mentioned their burning taste, and he mentioned having already spoken to Sir Eustace about them as the possible cause of his illness.
This the inspector already knew. He had spent the time before Bendix came round in interviewing such people as had come into contact with him since his return to the club that afternoon. He had heard the porter's story and he had taken steps to trace the taxi - man; he had spoken with the members who had gathered round Bendix in the lounge, and Sir Eustace had reported to him the remark of Bendix about the chocolates.
The inspector had not attached very much importance to this at the moment, but simply as a matter of routine had questioned Sir Eustace closely as to the whole episode and, again as a matter of routine, had afterwards rummaged through the waste - paper basket and extricated the wrapper and the covering - letter. Still as a matter of routine, and still not particularly impressed, he now proceeded to question Bendix on the same topic, and then at last began to realise its significance as he heard how the two had shared the chocolates after lunch and how, even before Bendix had left home, the wife had eaten more than the husband.
The doctor now intervened, and the inspector had to leave the sick - room. His first action was to telephone to his colleague at the Bendix home and tell him to take possession without delay of the box of chocolates which was probably still in the drawing - room; at the same time he asked for a rough idea of the number of chocolates that were missing. The other told him, nine or ten. The inspector, who on Bendix's information had only accounted for six or seven, rang off and telephoned what he had learnt to Scotland Yard.
Interest was now centred on the chocolates. They were taken to Scotland Yard that evening, and sent off at once to be analysed.
“Well, the doctor hadn't been far wrong,” said Moresby. “The poison in those chocolates wasn't oil of bitter almonds as a matter of fact, it was nitro - benzene; but I understand that isn't so very different. If any of you ladies or gentlemen have a knowledge of chemicals, you'll know more about the stuff than I do, but I believe it's used occasionally in the cheaper sorts of confectionery (less than it used to be, though) to give an almond - flavour as a substitute for oil of bitter almonds, which I needn't tell you is a powerful poison too. But the most usual way of employing nitrobenzene commercially is in the manufacture of aniline dyes.”
When the analyst's preliminary report came through Scotland Yard's initial theory of accidental death was strengthened. Here definitely was a poison used in the manufacture of chocolates and other sweets. A terrible mistake must have been made. The firm had been employing the stuff as a cheap substitute for genuine liqueurs and too much of it had been used. The fact that the only liqueurs named on the silver wrappings were Maraschino, Kummel and Kirsch, all of which carry a greater or lesser flavour of almonds, supported this conception.
But before the firm was approached by the police for an explanation, other facts had come to light. It was found that only the top layer of chocolates contained any poison. Those in the lower layer were completely free from anything harmful. Moreover in the lower layer the fillings inside the chocolate cases corresponded with the description on the wrappings, whereas in the top layer, besides the poison, each sweet contained a blend of the three liqueurs mentioned and not, for instance, plain Maraschino and poison. It was further remarked that no Maraschino, Kirsch or Kummel was to be found in the two lower layers.
The interesting fact also emerged, in the analyst's detailed report, that each chocolate in the top layer contained, in addition to its blend of the three liqueurs, exactly six minims of nitrobenzene, no more and no less. The cases were a fair size and there was plenty of room for quite a considerable quantity of the liqueur - blend besides this fixed quantity of poison. This was significant. Still more so was the further fact that in the bottom of each of the noxious chocolates there were distinct traces of a hole having been drilled in the case and subsequently plugged up with a piece of melted chocolate.
It was now plain to the police that foul play was in question.
A deliberate attempt had been made to murder Sir Eustace Pennefather. The would - be murderer had acquired a box of Mason's chocolate liqueurs; separated those in which a flavour of almonds would not come amiss; drilled a small hole in each and drained it of its contents; injected, probably with a fountain - pen filler, the dose of poison; filled the cavity up from the mixture of former fillings; carefully stopped the hole, and re - wrapped it in its silver - paper covering. A meticulous business, meticulously carried out.
The covering letter and wrapper which had arrived with the box of chocolates now became of paramount importance, and the inspector who had had the foresight to rescue these from destruction had occasion to pat himself on the back. Together with the box itself and the remaining chocolates, they formed the only material dues to this cold - blooded murder.
Taking them with him, the Chief Inspector now in charge of the case called on the managing director of Mason and Sons, and without informing him of the circumstances as to how it had come into his possession, laid the letter before him and invited him to explain certain points in connection with it. How many of these (the managing director was asked) had been sent out, who knew of this one, and who could have had a chance of handling the box that was sent to Sir Eustace?
If the police had hoped to surprise Mr. Mason, the result was nothing compared with the way in which Mr. Mason surprised the police.
“Well, sir?” prompted the Chief Inspector, when it seemed as if Mr. Mason would go on examining the letter all day.
Mr. Mason adjusted his glasses to the angle for examining Chief Inspectors instead of letters. He was a small, rather fierce, elderly man who had begun life in a back street in Huddersfield, and did not intend any one to forget it.
“Where the devil did you get this?” he asked. The papers it must be remembered, had not yet got hold of the sensational aspect of Mrs. Bendix's death.