Strong Poison: Chapter 20 - A Secret Panel and Bunter's Marsh Test

SPEAKER_1 (0:00)

Chapter 20

Titch! Titch! said Mr. Pond, clicking his tongue against his denture.

Miss Murchison looked up from her typewriter. Is anything the matter, Mr. Pond? No, nothing, said the head clerk testily. A foolish letter from a foolish member of your sex, Miss Murchison. That's nothing new! Mr. Pond frowned, conceiving the tone of his subordinate's voice to be impertinent. He picked up the letter and its enclosure and took them into the inner office. Miss Murchison nipped swiftly across to his desk and glanced at the registered envelope which lay upon it open. The postmark was Windle.

That's luck, said Miss Murchison to herself. Mr. Pond is a better witness than I should be. I'm glad he opened it. She regained her place. In a few minutes, Mr. Pond emerged, smiling slightly. Five minutes later, Miss Murchison, who had been frowning over her shorthand notebook, rose up and came over to him. Can you read shorthand, Mr. Pond? No, said the head clerk. In my day, it was not considered necessary. I can't make out this outline, said Miss Murchison. It looks like give consent to, but it may be only give consideration to. There's a difference, isn't there?

There certainly is, said Mr. Pond dryly. Perhaps I'd better not risk it, said Miss Murchison. It's got to go off this morning. I'd better ask him. Mr. Pond snorted, not for the first time, over the carelessness of the female typist. Miss Murchison walked briskly across the room and opened the inner door without knocking, an informality which left Mr. Pond groaning again.

Mr. Urquhart was standing up with his back to the door doing something or other at the mantelpiece. He turned round sharply with an exclamation of annoyance. I have told you before, Miss Murchison, that I like you to knock before entering.

I am very sorry I forgot.

Charles Parker (1:48)

Don't let it happen again.

SPEAKER_1 (1:50)

What is it? He did not return to his desk but stood leaning against the mantelshelf. His sleek head, outlined against the drab painted panelling, was a little thrown back, as though, Miss Murchison thought, he were protecting or defying somebody. I could not quite make out my shorthand note of your letter to Tucan Peabody, said Miss Murchison, and I thought it better to come and ask you.

I wish, said Mr Urquhart, fixing a stern eye upon her, that you would take your notes clearly at the time.

Peter Wimsey (2:20)

If I am going too fast for you, you should tell me so.

SPEAKER_1 (2:23)

It would save trouble in the end, wouldn't it? Miss Murchison was reminded of a little set of rules which Lord Peter Wimsey, half in jest and half in earnest, had once prepared for the guidance of the Cattery, of Rule 7 in particular, which ran, Always distrust the man who looks you straight in the eyes. He wants to prevent you from seeing something. Look for it. She shifted her eyes under her employer's gaze. I'm very sorry, Mr Urquhart. I won't let it occur again, she muttered.

There was a curious dark line at the edge of the panelling just behind the solicitor's head. As though the panel did not quite fit its frame, she had never noticed it before. Well, now, what is the trouble? Miss Murchison asked her question, got her answer and retired. As she went, she cast a glance over the desk. The will was not there. She went back and finished her letters. When she took them in to be signed, she seized the opportunity to look at the panelling again. There was no dark line to be seen. Miss Murchison left the office promptly at half past four. She had a feeling that it would be unwise to linger about the premises. She walked briskly away through Handcourt, turned to the right along Holburn, dived to the right again through Featherston Buildings, made a detour through Red Lion Street and debouched into Red Lion Square.

Within five minutes she was at her old walk round the square and up Princeton Street. Presently from a safe distance she saw Mr Pond come out. Thin, stiff and stooping, and walked down Bedford Road towards Chancery Lane Station.

Before very long Mr Urquhart followed. He stood a moment on the threshold, glancing to left and right, then came straight across the street towards her. For a moment she thought he'd seen her and she dived hurriedly behind a van that was standing at the curb. Under its shelter she withdrew to the corner of the street where there is a butcher's shop and scanned a window full of New Zealand lamb and chilled beef.

Mr. Urquhart came nearer. His steps grew louder, then paused. Miss Murchison glued her eyes on a round of meat marked four and a half pounds three quarters of a penny. Her voice said, Good evening, Miss Murchison, choosing your supper chop? Oh, good evening, Mr. Urquhart. Yes, I was just wishing that Providence had seen fit to provide more joints suitable for single people.