My dear father, who amassed his little fortune by hard work and sober living, would turn in his grave to think of its passing into the hands of a drunkard and debauchee.’
Belford again controlled his twitching laughter-muscles, and apologised. ‘The happy hypocrite.’ What a good phrase that was, and how well it expressed him. He ran down the stairs on escaping from the sick-room. Indeed, he seemed to float. His feet scarcely touched the treads. He was so buoyant that he could have skimmed right out of the front door on the wings.
His delicious hilarity lasted all day. He astonished his typists and clerks by his pleasant humour. He had only one disagreeable moment, when he took out his private cheque-book to pay a small personal bill. There was a blank counterfoil. He stared at it. Had he really given that cheque for £500 to Smith & Smith? His memory was not at fault; he remembered clearly everything that had happened, up to his falling asleep in the House of the Poplars. He remembered it—but he had not really believed in it. But the cheque was gone. ‘Order to Remove’—‘on or before 17th December’—‘If you should change your mind, leave a message at Rapallo’s’—‘It would be unwise to change your mind after the Removal has occurred.’ A nauseating feeling of horror rose up from some black deep of his subconsciousness. But it passed, and left him laughing at himself.
Three or four times during the next six weeks he returned to Conduit Street and walked past Rapallo’s. Once he went in and ordered a sandwich and a glass of beer. A different pair of barmen were on duty, and he saw nothing of any Mr Smith. He came out without leaving any message. If he had had any fixed intention of doing so, the ominous sign of ‘Golding & Moss, Financiers’, just visible over the lace curtain, would have deterred him. In any case, it was absurd to suppose that Smith & Smith, or Brown, Jones & Robinson, could possibly influence his wife to take an overdose of medicine. As for the cheque, if he had really drawn it, it could make no difference. Bankruptcy and disgrace are bankruptcy and disgrace; and £500 one way or another was a drop in the bucket.
And, after all, the weeks went by and nothing happened. He began to make necessary arrangements. He drew out what remained of his current account and mentioned to his wife that he had business which called him to Germany. He left on November 20th. He went to the hotel in Berlin where he had stayed before. One must have an address, if one were not to arouse premature suspicion. Later, if nothing happened at the last moment to render it unnecessary, he could disappear quietly.
For he still had dreams. They came to him at night, or walking under the lime trees, past the restaurants where still a few tables stood outside in the crisp autumn air. The leaves being late that year, sometimes a solitary one, blown from the dry twig where it lingered, would flutter with lingering, exquisite grace to his feet, reminding him, so that he seemed to smell the resinous sharp scent of poplars.
He dreamed that one morning they would bring a telegram to his bedside, summoning him home, because his wife had been taken ill suddenly in the night. He would take the steamer. He would drive through the foggy London streets. And when he got to his house, he would find the blinds drawn down.
On the morning of December 2nd, they brought a telegram to his bedside, summoning him home. His wife had been taken ill suddenly in the night.
It has not occurred to Belford that there would have to be an inquest. It all passed off, however, extremely well. The deceased lady had been a sufferer from a painful complaint affecting the kidneys and had been accustomed to take each night a tablet containing 10 grains of veronal, to allay pain and induce sleep. A second medical man agreed that veronal was a powerful hypnotic and usually harmless in the pharmacopeial dose. Dr Lovett affirmed that he had repeatedly warned Mrs Belford against taking more than the prescribed dose, particularly as the disease from which she suffered made her particularly susceptible to veronal poisoning. As a matter of fact, the ordinary minimum fatal dose of the drug was 50 grains, so that, if the patient had accidentally taken two tablets instead of one, the consequences should not have been serious. He had, however, out of precaution, made it clear to her that the single tablet was not on any account to be exceeded within the 24 hours, and she had appeared perfectly to understand this.
The bottle was produced. The maid, Maggie Brown, recollected that this had been brought home by Mr Belford on the morning of October 25th. It was then intact, with its mouth sealed over with wax, just as it came from the chemist. She had seen the original wrapper with the chemist’s label lying on the bedside table. Mrs Belford had not begun to take the tablets till two days later, having still two tablets left from the former supply.
A representative of a firm of chemists in the City identified the bottle and the label. He remembered selling it to Mr Belford in person on October 25th. The mouth of the bottle had been stoppered with wax, as it had come from the wholesalers. The bottle contained 50 tablets, each containing 10 grains of veronal.
The analyst gave evidence. He had examined the body of deceased and found that she had died from taking an overdose of veronal. From the amount of the drug found in the viscera he concluded that she had taken at least 100 grains, or about twice the minimum fatal dose.
He had also analysed the tablets remaining in the bottle, and had found them to contain each exactly 10 grains of veronal. There were five tablets left in the bottle. If Mrs Belford had started taking the tablets on October 28th and had taken one each night regularly, there should have been 15 remaining. If Mrs Belford had taken ten tablets instead of one on the night of December 1st, that would account for the amount of veronal estimated to have been present in the body.
The coroner said that this appeared to be a very clear case. Deceased, who seemed to be in her usual health on December 1st, had been found dead on the morning of December 2nd of acute veronal poisoning. From the circumstance that there were 10 tablets fewer in the bottle than there ought to have been, there seemed to be no room for doubt that the unfortunate lady, failing to obtain her accustomed relief from pain and sleeplessness, had unhappily taken an overdose, the effects of which had been intensified by the kidney complaint from which she suffered. No blame could attach to Dr Lovatt who, unable to wean his patient from the drug that gave her so much relief, had frequently warned her against its misuse. There was no evidence whatever that Mrs Belford had at any time had any intention of doing herself an injury. On the day before her death, she had spoken cheerfully about the return of her husband from Germany. Mr Belford, with whom they must all feel the deepest sympathy, had testified to the uniformly harmonious relations between himself and his wife, and there was no evidence that the deceased had any domestic or financial trouble playing upon her mind.
The jury brought in a verdict of Death by Misadventure.
On December 18th, Mr Belford, having adjusted matters satisfactorily with all his creditors, came down to breakfast with a good appetite. Beside his plate lay a type-written envelope. He opened it and saw, with a curious pang of apprehension, the printed heading:
SMITH & SMITH—REMOVALS.
(There was no address.)
Dear Sir,—with reference to your esteemed order of the 25th October for a Removal from your private address, we trust that this commission has been carried out to your satisfaction. We beg you to acknowledge your obliging favour of five hundred pounds (£500) and return herewith the Order of Removal which you were good enough to hand to us. Assuring you of our best attention at all times,
Faithfully yours,
Smith & Smith
He turned curiously to the enclosure. It bore his signature, but he had no recollection of having seen it before. It ran:
I, Adrian Belford of (here followed his address) hereby confess that I murdered my wife, Catherine Elizabeth Belford, in the following manner. Knowing that she was in the habit of taking each night a tablet containing
