The Man Who Was Not. John Russell Fearn

be by telephone. The maid might know something.”

      Hargraves moved over to the bell-push and depressed it. Then he stood thoughtfully waiting until the maid arrived. She was entirely respectful, but obviously nervous.

      “Yes, sir?”

      “I want you tell me something, if you can—er—”

      “My name’s Baines, sir.”

      “Thank you. You know, of course, why I am here—conducting an inquiry into the mysterious death of Miss Trudy. I have reason to believe there may be an offshoot to the matter in connection with Mr. Gerald.”

      “I understand, sir.”

      “I want you to think back, Baines—very carefully. Before Mr. Gerald went out on the evening of his death, can you recall if he received a phone call?”

      Baines nodded promptly. “Yes, sir—about twenty to eight.”

      “You seem very sure of this, Baines,” Hargraves murmured.

      “Only because it is part of my job to answer the phone, sir. Somebody asked for Mr. Gerald, so naturally I put the call through to his room.”

      “And he answered?”

      “Almost immediately, sir.”

      “You don’t happen to know what the call was about, I suppose?” The maid looked faintly indignant. “Certainly not, sir. When Mr. Gerald answered I put the phone back on its cradle.”

      “I see.” Hargraves smiled a little. “Have no fear, Baines: I am perfectly sure you behaved properly—but on this occasion it might have helped us had you not done so. Incidentally, you mentioned this at the inquest on Mr. Gerald, I suppose?”

      “Why, no!” The girl looked worried. “Should I have done so? Nobody asked me. I never thought—”

      “Never mind; it’s passed now,” Hargraves interrupted. “Let us go back for a moment. What kind of a voice had this caller? What did he say? Incidentally, I suppose it was a man?”

      “Oh yes, sir, it was a man all right. He had a—a very soft, gentle voice. Sort of soothing, it was.”

      “Mmm. Can you recall what he said?”

      “He simply asked for Mr. Gerald Dawson—nothing more.”

      Hargraves nodded. “All right, Baines: that’s all I need to know. You can go.”

      The girl departed and for a moment Hargraves stood in silence; then he glanced across at Sir Robert.

      “I think we may safely assume, Sir Robert, that your son received a telephone warning, just the same as Trudy did. The only difference was that there was not as much time lag between warning and event—and of course the fact that your son apparently did not take any precautions, like calling for police protection, for instance.”

      “Why on earth do you suppose he suddenly decided to head for the south coast?” the surgeon asked, puzzled. “And how was it that, despite the decision he had made, he ran into death at nine o’clock just the same? Suppose he’d gone north? Do you think he’d have died just the same?”

      “That is one of the imponderables, Sir Robert: I just don’t know the answer—yet.” Hargraves moved with sudden action. “Well, I think I’ve got all I want here for the moment, Sir Robert. My inquiries will have to branch out a bit since apparently I’m covering two murders instead of one. I think I’ll have a word with Dr. Mason next. If anything unusual happens just ring me at the Yard. In the meantime carry on as usual.”

      The surgeon rose slowly, his face haggard. “Thanks for all you’re doing, inspector.... About the funeral, what is the procedure?”

      “Normal,” Hargraves said. “We have all we need now the post-mortem has been made.... Oh, I would remind you that there is need for care in regard to yourself, your wife, and your daughter June.”

      “Care?”

      “As I said before, this seems to be a matter aimed at the entire family, and not one person in particular. The rest of you are therefore in danger. Anything, no matter how slight, that gives rise to suspicion should be reported immediately.”

      “I’ll remember that, inspector.”

      Hargraves nodded, shook hands, and then departed with Brice. They were in the police car on their way to St. Luke’s hospital, before Brice ventured a comment.

      “From the look of things, sir, this business goes a lot deeper than we’d thought at first sight.”

      “No doubt of that.”

      “Think you’ll get anything out of Dr. Mason?”

      “No idea. Chiefly I want to find out what his relationship was with Trudy. I know he was engaged to her, but there may have been deeper issues.”

      Clearly, Hargraves was not in a particularly communicative mood so Brice let the matter drop. He drove as swiftly as possible through the crowded London streets until he finally reached the sweeping drive-in outside St. Luke’s hospital.

      “Okay,” Hargraves murmured, opening the car door. “Let’s be going.”

      Once they had identified themselves to the reception sister there was no difficulty in obtaining an interview with the young hypnotherapist. The two men were conducted to a private ante-room, and presently the white-coated Mason put in an appear­ance. He had an air of business about him, but he certainly did not seem perturbed at finding two men of Scotland Yard waiting to see him.

      “We’re police officers, doctor—” Hargraves began, display­ing his warrant-card; but Mason cut him short.

      “Yes, I’m aware of that. The sister told me. I suppose it has something to do with Trudy?”

      “Exactly so,” Hargraves assented. “Routine inquiry, you understand.... I think you might be able to help us. You have not been told yet what caused the girl’s death, have you?”

      “No idea.” Mason’s lips tightened for a moment. “There seemed to be no sense in it. Last I remember was that the Divisional Inspector had ordered a post-mortem.”

      “Exactly. That post-mortem revealed that Miss Dawson died from poisoning—hyoscyamus. I have the task of trying to determine how it was administered, and by whom.”

      “Hyoscyamus,” Mason mused. “That’s one of the narcotic irritants.”

      “Yes, it is.... Tell me, did you observe any opportunity for that drug to be administered last night during dinner?”

      Mason shook his head. “No; I certainly didn’t, inspector. But now you have mentioned the cause of death I recollect that all Trudy’s symptoms were in conformity with having taken such a drug....” he stopped, thoughtful. “Come to think of it, I believe the poison might have been administered before the evening.”

      Hargraves alerted. “What makes you think that?”

      “She told me during conversation that she had been intolerably tired all day, and once or twice caught herself out falling asleep. We just passed it off as reaction after the party we attended the night before. I might remark that I was rather surprised because as a rule Trudy was the kind of girl who could take parties in her stride. She had tremendous energy.”

      “I infer from this that hyoscyamus poisoning produces drowsiness?”

      “Certainly. I’m not much up in poisons since that isn’t my field—but I do know that much.”

      “Thank you,” Hargraves said, musing. “Very interesting. Though you are not an expert in poisons, perhaps you can give me some idea how long it would take a dose of hyoscyamus to do its work?”

      Mason shrugged. “I’ve no real idea. It would depend on the strength of the dose and the resistance of the victim to it. Resistance would