This was a much more detailed and dramatic account of the events. Inspector Treadles found himself leaning forward in his seat, even though he knew the eventual outcome.
“We tucked in several hot water bottles around Mr. Sackville. Then Mrs. Cornish took his pulse and said, ‘I can’t feel anything.’ That was when Dr. Birch and Dunn came pounding up the stairs with strychnine. ‘I can’t feel any pulse,” Mrs. Cornish said to Dr. Birch.
“Dr. Birch rushed to Mr. Sackville. He felt and listened and held out his card case in front of Mr. Sackville’s nose. Then he let out this tremendous groan. ‘I might have been able to save him if only I’d known what was ailing him.’
“He wrote down the time of death. Mrs. Cornish offered him tea and asked the rest of us to return to our duties. I suppose that’s what we’ve been doing since, carrying on.”
“What did you think when you heard about the possible connection to the deaths of Lady Amelia Drummond and Lady Shrewsbury?”
“I’m sure I’ve never been more amazed. But it couldn’t have been more than a coincidence, could it?”
“That’s what we’re here to find out,” said Treadles, a faint note of apology to his voice. He sympathized with those whose lives were disrupted by the appearance of policemen—especially in a case like this, when it could very well turn out to be much ado about nothing. “Have you ever heard of either of the ladies?”
“Never. I barely saw Mr. Sackville himself and I didn’t have anything to do with the post coming or going. Mrs. Cornish and Mr. Hodges will know more.”
“Can you think of anyone who might have carried a grudge against Mr. Sackville—or wished him harm?”
Mrs. Meek shivered. “No, not at all. But I’m the wrong person to ask—I’ve been here only a month and hardly stepped out of the kitchen.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Meek, you’ve been most helpful. If you could ask Mr. Dunn to spare a minute for us, it would be very much appreciated.”
“Of course, Inspector.” Mrs. Meek rose to leave. But she turned around at the door. “Do you really think, Inspector, that there was foul play here?”
Anxiety tinged her voice—but even more than anxiety, dismay. The dismay of someone fearing the shattering of innocence, fearing to find herself embroiled in the cold-blooded killing of one person by another.
“We’re here because certain irregularities have been pointed out. Our goal is only to determine whether there is sufficient cause to warrant further investigation.”
“I hope you’ll determine that it’s all just happenstance. And that Mr. Holmes who wrote the letter a mischief-maker with nothing better to do than rousing groundless suspicions and inconveniencing innocent people.”
She spoke with surprising vehemence. After she left, Inspector Treadles and Sergeant MacDonald exchanged a look.
“Do you think she might have a point, sir?” asked Sergeant MacDonald, gently blowing over his notebook page to help the ink dry faster. “This Mr. Holmes, from everything you’ve said, Inspector, sounds rather extraordinary. But you know how it is with extraordinary men. They aren’t always right in the head all the time.”
There was most certainly something rather not right with Holmes at the present. Treadles liked to think that true genius couldn’t be easily obliterated. But with Lord Ingram so tight-lipped about Holmes’s actual condition, Treadles had little to go on except his faith that his friend wouldn’t waste his time by personally requesting a fruitless pursuit.
“Let’s have a little more patience,” he said. “We haven’t even spoken to all the witnesses yet.”
Whereas Mrs. Meek had been loquacious, Tommy Dunn was taciturn almost to the point of muteness.
He had been working at the house for three and half years. Never had any trouble with Mr. Sackville or any of the other servants. For his half day he went for a walk and sat on a rock in a nearby cove and watched the sea until it was time for supper in the servants’ hall.
“You have no family nearby to visit, Mr. Dunn?” asked Treadles.
“I’m an orphan, Inspector.”
“I see. Go on.”
“I went to bed after supper. Was sweeping out the stables in the morning when Mrs. Cornish came running. I rode to Dr. Harris’s but he wasn’t home. Rode to Dr. Birch’s and fetched him. He needed strychnine so we rode back to Dr. Harris’s. When we came back it was too late. Mr. Sackville, he was dead.”
With further prodding from Treadles, Dunn added that he knew nothing of Lady Amelia Drummond or Lady Shrewsbury, and could think of no one who might have wanted to harm Mr. Sackville. He had, however, noticed Mr. Sackville’s low spirits in the weeks leading up to his death.