Death in the Clouds. Агата Кристи

acute paralysis of the heart, and must have been practically instantaneous.’

      ‘Can you tell us what that toxin was?’

      ‘It was a toxin I had never come across before.’

      The reporters, listening attentively, wrote down ‘Unknown poison.’

      ‘Thank you… Mr Henry Winterspoon.’

      Mr Winterspoon was a large, dreamy-looking man with a benignant expression. He looked kindly but stupid. It came as something of a shock to learn that he was chief Government analyst and an authority on rare poisons.

      The coroner held up the fatal thorn and asked Mr Winterspoon if he recognized it.

      ‘I do. It was sent to me for analysis.’

      ‘Will you tell us the result of that analysis?’

      ‘Certainly. I should say that originally the dart had been dipped in a preparation of native curare—an arrow poison used by certain tribes.’

      The reporters wrote with gusto.

      ‘You consider, then, that death may have been due to curare.’

      ‘Oh, no,’ said Mr Winterspoon. ‘There was only the faintest trace of the original preparation. According to my analysis, the dart had recently been dipped in the venom of Dispholidus typus, better known as the boomslang or tree snake.’

      ‘A boomslang? What is a boomslang?’

      ‘It is a South African snake—one of the most deadly and poisonous in existence. Its effect on a human being is not known, but some idea of the intense virulence of the venom can be realized when I tell you that on injecting the venom into a hyena, the hyena died before the needle could be withdrawn. A jackal died as though shot by a gun. The poison causes acute haemorrhage under the skin and also acts on the heart, paralysing its action.’

      The reporters wrote: ‘Extraordinary Story. Snake Poison in Air Drama. Deadlier than the Cobra.’

      ‘Have you ever known the venom to be used in a case of deliberate poisoning?’

      ‘Never. It is most interesting.’

      Thank you, Mr Winterspoon.’

      Detective-Sergeant Wilson deposed to the finding of the blowpipe behind the cushion of one of the seats. There were no fingerprints on it. Experiments had been made with the dart and the blowpipe. What you might call the range of it was fairly accurate up to about ten yards.

      ‘M. Hercule Poirot.’

      There was a little stir of interest, but M. Poirot’s evidence was very restrained. He had noticed nothing out of the way. Yes, it was he who had found the tiny dart on the floor of the car. It was in such a position as it would naturally have occupied if it had fallen from the neck of the dead woman.

      ‘The Countess of Horbury.’

      The reporters wrote: ‘Peer’s wife gives evidence in Air Death Mystery.’ Some of them put ‘…in Snake Poison Mystery.’

      Those who wrote for women’s papers put, ‘Lady Horbury wore one of the new collegian hats and fox furs,’ or ‘Lady Horbury, who is one of the smartest women in town, wore black with one of the new collegian hats,’ or ‘Lady Horbury, who before her marriage was Miss Cicely Bland, was smartly dressed in black with one of the new hats…’

      Everyone enjoyed looking at the smart and lovely young woman, though her evidence was of the briefest. She had noticed nothing; she had never seen the deceased before.

      Venetia Kerr succeeded her, but was definitely less of a thrill.

      The indefatigable purveyors of news for women wrote, ‘Lord Cottesmore’s daughter wore a well-cut coat and skirt with one of the new stocks,’ and noted down the phrase, ‘Society Women at Inquest.’

      ‘James Ryder.’

      ‘You are James Bell Ryder, and your address is 17 Blainberry Avenue, NW?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘What is your business or profession?’

      ‘I am managing director of the Ellis Vale Cement Co.’

      ‘Will you kindly examine this blowpipe.’ (A pause.) ‘Have you ever seen this before?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘You did not see any such thing in anybody’s hand on board the Prometheus?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘You were sitting in seat No. 4, immediately in front of the deceased?’

      ‘What if I was?’

      ‘Please do not take that tone with me. You were sitting in seat No. 4. From that seat you had a view of practically everyone in the compartment.’

      ‘No, I hadn’t. I couldn’t see any of the people on my side of the thing. The seats have got high backs.’

      ‘But if one of those people had stepped out into the gangway—into such a position as to be able to aim the blowpipe at the deceased—you would have seen them then?’

      ‘Certainly.’

      ‘And you saw no such thing?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Did any of the people in front of you move from their seats?’

      ‘Well, the man two seats ahead of me got up and went to the toilet compartment.’

      ‘That was in a direction away from you and from the deceased?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Did he come down the car towards you at all?’

      ‘No, he went straight back to his seat.’

      ‘Was he carrying anything in his hand?’

      ‘Nothing at all.’

      ‘You’re sure of that?’

      ‘Quite.’

      ‘Did anyone else move from his seat?’

      ‘The chap in front of me. He came the other way, past me to the back of the car.’

      ‘I protest,’ squeaked Mr Clancy, springing up from his seat in court. ‘That was earlier—much earlier—about one o’clock.’

      ‘Kindly sit down,’ said the coroner. ‘You will be heard presently. Proceed, Mr Ryder. Did you notice if this gentleman had anything in his hands?’

      ‘I think he had a fountain-pen. When he came back he had an orange book in his hand.’

      ‘Is he the only person who came down the car in your direction? Did you yourself leave your seat?’

      ‘Yes, I went to the toilet compartment—and I didn’t have any blowpipe in my hand either.’

      ‘You are adopting a highly improper tone. Stand down.’

      Mr Norman Gale, dentist, gave evidence of a negative character. Then the indignant Mr Clancy took the stand.

      Mr Clancy was news of a minor kind, several degrees inferior to a Peeress.

       ‘Mystery Story Writer gives Evidence. Well-known author admits purchase of deadly weapon. Sensation in court.’

      But the sensation was perhaps a little premature.

      ‘Yes, sir,’ said Mr Clancy shrilly. ‘I did purchase a blowpipe, and what is more, I have brought it with me today. I protest strongly against the inference that the blowpipe with which the crime was committed was my blowpipe. Here is my blowpipe.’

      And he produced the blowpipe with a triumphant flourish.

      The reporters wrote, ‘Second