AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Before he comes,” Monk said quickly, “I saw him in the hall just before I came into court.” Briefly he described the quarrel between Amity and Herne, and then the total change he had seen in her manner toward Bawtry.
“Interesting,” Rathbone said thoughtfully. “Very interesting. Perhaps I shall have to amend some of my ideas. Thank you.”
Before Monk could reply there was a knock on the door and the court usher told Rathbone that Mr. Sinden Bawtry was here to see him.
Rathbone glanced at Monk, then at the usher. “Ask Mr. Bawtry to come in, please. Then see that we are not interrupted.”
Bawtry came in looking only slightly concerned. He shook hands with both of them, then accepted the seat Rathbone offered.
“What can I do for you, Sir Oliver?” he asked.
Rathbone had been awake half the night thinking of exactly this moment. He had everything to win, or to lose, resting on what he said in the next few minutes.
“Your advice, Mr. Bawtry,” he said as calmly as he could. “I’m sure you would like this case ended as soon as possible, as we all would-but with justice completely served.”
“Of course,” Bawtry agreed. “What can I advise you regarding? I knew Lambourn, of course, but not his wife.” He made a slight grimace. “I’m sorry, perhaps that is technically incorrect. I mean Dinah Lambourn, whom I took to be his wife. Zenia Gadney I had never even heard of until her tragic death. What is it you wish to know from me?”
“So much I had surmised,” Rathbone replied with the ghost of a smile. He must judge this perfectly. Bawtry was a brilliant man, a star very much in the ascendant, even considered a possible future prime minister by some. He had the background, as well as what appeared to be a blemishless record, and he was fast gaining a formidable political reputation. No doubt within the next few years he would make a fortunate marriage. He had no need to seek money, so he could afford to marry a woman who would be a grace to his social ambitions, and of personal pleasure to him, with wit and charm, perhaps beauty. Rathbone would be a fool to underestimate him. Facing the clever, unflinching eyes he was acutely aware of that.
“Then how can I help you?” Bawtry prompted him.
“Did you see this report of Lambourn’s personally, sir?” Rathbone asked, keeping his voice light, stopping the trembling of it with an effort. “Or did you perhaps take Herne’s word that it was unacceptable?”
Bawtry looked slightly taken aback, as if this were something he had not even considered. “Actually I saw very little of it,” he replied. “He showed me a few pages, and they did seem a bit … haphazard, conclusions drawn without sufficient evidence. He told me the rest was even worse. Since the man was his brother-in-law, he quite naturally wished to protect him from being publicly made a fool of. He wanted to destroy the report without having any more of its weaknesses being known. I could understand that, and frankly I admired it in him. Whether it was for his wife’s sake, or for Lambourn’s was irrelevant to me.”
“But you never saw the rest of it?” Rathbone pressed.
“No. No, I didn’t.” Bawtry stared at him. “What are you suggesting? You wouldn’t be asking me this now unless you believed that it had some relevance to this trial.” The ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Herne didn’t kill Lambourn, if that’s what you’re thinking. He was unquestionably at the dinner in the Atheneum. Aside from personally seeing him there, I could name at least twenty members who were there also and will swear to it.”
Rathbone smiled sadly. “I know that, Mr. Bawtry. Mr. Monk already made absolutely certain of it.”
Bawtry glanced at Monk, then back at Rathbone. “Then I don’t understand what it is you are asking me. I did not read more than a few pages of Lambourn’s report. Incidentally, I believe he was factually right. The use of opium has to be labeled, and its sale in patent medicines restricted to people who have some medical or pharmaceutical knowledge at the least. It was never his conclusions that were in doubt, only the quality of his research, and the way he presented it. He allowed his own anger and pity to destroy his objectivity. To use it in argument for a bill could only have allowed the opponents of it-and they are many and powerful-to have fuel against us.”
“We don’t think the labeling of patent medicines was the issue for which Dr. Lambourn was murdered.” Rathbone cleared his throat. He realized with surprise that his hands-which he was keeping carefully at his sides, out of sight-were clenched so hard that they ached.
Bawtry frowned. “Then what was? And if not that report, then why are you so interested in Herne?”
“If we can be certain that it was not the report on patent medicines for which Lambourn died,” Rathbone replied, and was forced to clear his throat again before he could go on, “that proves that the explanation about the report being a failure and destroying Lambourn was an excuse, a reason to misdirect the investigation. We believe that during the course of his research Lambourn learned something else, something he could not let go of, concerning the sale of pure opium for use in syringes and needles that inject it directly into the blood. The addiction to opium given this way is agonizing and lethal. It was for attempting to have that particular practice made illegal that he was murdered, and Zenia Gadney also.”
Bawtry was pale-faced, his eyes wide. “That’s dreadful! Appalling!” He moved a little in his chair, a slight leaning forward as if he could no longer relax. “Are you suggesting that Herne had something to do with it? How? And for God’s sake …” He trailed off, his eyes filled with dawning horror.
“What is it?” Rathbone demanded urgently.
Bawtry licked his lips, hesitating. He looked profoundly unhappy.
“What is it?” Rathbone repeated, his voice sharpening.
Bawtry looked up and met his eyes. “I’ve noticed rather erratic behavior in Herne,” he said quietly. “One day he’s full of energy and ideas, the next time I see him he looks nervous, can’t concentrate, skin clammy. Is it … is it possible …?” He did not finish the question, but it was not necessary. The idea was already fully understood between them.
Rathbone met his gaze and held it. “You think he may be addicted to opium himself, and either he is th
e one who is selling it, or else he is the tool of the man who is?”
Bawtry looked wretched. “I hate even to think it of a man I know, but I suppose anyone can fall victim to such a drug, commonly used as it is. Is it possible?” His face already showed that he knew it was.
“That he paid someone to kill Lambourn?” Rathbone asked. “Someone who could do it quietly, easily, making it look like suicide, and who would never be suspected? Yes, of course it is.”
Bawtry was now as tense as Rathbone. Rathbone was suddenly overwhelmingly grateful that Monk was in the room. He had wanted him here as a witness to the conversation, but now he also needed him here for his physical safety.
