“Of course. I’m sorry. Please give him my best,” the chief said gruffly. He turned to address the maids. “Would one of you girls go to summon the rest of the servants?” The girls looked uncertainly at Irene.
“It’s all right, Alice. Do as he asks,” Irene said. The maid scurried across the lawn toward the front door.
“And your gardeners. I don’t see any of them around today.”
“It’s Sunday,” Archie Van Horn said brusquely. “They don’t work on Sundays.”
“I’ll need to speak to them as well,” Chief Prescott said. “If you could give me their home addresses, I’ll have one of my men go and round them up.”
“You make them sound like escaped cattle,” Terrence said dryly.
“You’ll have to ask the housekeeper for their names and addresses,” Joseph said in a clipped voice. “She handles everything to do with the servants around here.”
“Then go and fetch the housekeeper, please,” Prescott said to the other maid. “Tell her we need to speak to her right away.”
The girl took off like a frightened rabbit. We continued to stare at the police chief.
“Now, for God’s sake tell us what you’ve found,” Joseph bellowed the words. “Don’t keep us in the dark any longer.”
“Very well.” Chief Prescott looked around the assembled group with a certain amount of satisfaction. “Mr. Brian Hannan did indeed have alcohol in his blood, but not enough to have made him drunk.”
“Then what killed him? Was it an accident?” Joseph demanded.
“No accident, sir. What the physicians doing the autopsy did find was the presence of potassium cyanide.”
Twenty-one
Nobody moved. We stared at him, trying to comprehend what he had just said. Then Archie stood up. “Alex, Thomas, go to your room immediately and stay there until I tell you that you may come out.”
“Oh, but Papa,” Alex complained. “We’re old enough to hear this. And just when it’s getting exciting.”
“Now, young man.” Archie pointed dramatically at the door. “Where is that nursemaid of yours? Why does she never seem to be around when she’s needed? Go on. Go.”
The two boys shuffled off reluctantly with a few backward glances.
As they retreated there was silence. Nobody moved. The tableau had resumed, with each person staring down, wrapped up in their own thoughts.
“You mean Brian was deliberately poisoned?” Mary Flannery asked at last.
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“And the poison was in the whiskey?” Archie asked.
“No, there was no trace of poison in either the glass or the decanter,” Prescott said.
“But cyanide is a fast-acting poison,” I pointed out, making them look at me suspiciously.
“Precisely. The amount of cyanide he had ingested would have killed him immediately.”
“Then how and when was it administered?” Joseph asked.
Chief Prescott turned to me. “Thanks to Mrs. Sullivan we found shards of a shattered glass at the bottom of the cliff, matching the one on the tray. One has to surmise that Brian Hannan was planning a quiet drink with someone. A tray with two glasses on it. The other person came prepared.”
“But if Mr. Hannan had drunk from the glass containing cyanide, he’d have keeled over and died right there in the gazebo,” I pointed out, “and there are no signs of a body having been dragged to the cliff.”
Prescott nodded. “Which must mean one of two things. Either the two people were actually drinking together somewhere near the cliff and the tray was carried to the gazebo later to make it look as if Brian Hannan had been drinking there alone, or Hannan was lured by some pretext close to the cliff edge once he had consumed a drink or two. His attention was drawn to something on the shore, or out to sea, maybe, and the moment he looked away, the cyanide was dropped into his glass. A bold and daring move. A person prepared to take great risks. That’s who we’re looking for.”
“Do you have any idea who that could be?” Archie Van Horn asked. “What about the fellow Mrs. Sullivan spotted, standing at the gate and asking if Mr. Hannan had arrived yet. Has he been tracked down?”
“No, sir. We’ve had no luck with him. Any number of men matching his description were seen boarding trains back to New York. He doesn’t appear to be staying anywhere in town, that’s all I can say. Naturally I’ll speak with the New York police and ask them to take this matter further, but I’m not prepared to speculate until we hear what the servants have to say on this matter.”
“Fingerprints,” I said, waving my own finger at him. “Did anybody test the tray and glass for fingerprints?”
“They did, and you know what? They discovered something interesting. Brian Hannan’s prints on the tray and decanter, but nobody else’s. And those prints were smudged as if someone had attempted to wipe the items clean.”
“My betting is on one of the gangs,” Joseph said.