Free Grave Mistake by Ngaio Marsh Page A

odd,” said Prunella. “Everything was odd. Out of focus, kind of. Anyway I will ring up that doctor. I’ll ring him up tomorrow. Do you think that’s a good idea?”
    Verity said: “Yes, darling. I do. It should put your mind at rest.”
    But it was going to be a long tfme before Prunella’s mind would be in that enviable condition.
     
    vii
    At five minutes past nine that evening, Sister Jackson, the resident nurse at Greengages, paused at Sybil Foster’s door. She could hear the television. She tapped, opened and after a long pause approached the bed. Five minutes later she left the room and walked rather quickly down the passage.
    At ten-thirty Dr. Schramm telephoned Prunella to tell her that her mother was dead.

Chapter 3: Alleyn
    i
    Basil looked distinguished, Verity had to admit: exactly as he ought to look under the circumstances, and he behaved as one would wish him to behave, with dignity and propriety, with deference and with precisely the right shade of controlled emotion.
    “I had no reason whatever to suspect that beyond symptoms of nervous exhaustion, which had markedly improved, there was anything the matter,” he said. “I feel I must add that I am astonished that she should have taken this step. She was in the best of spirits when I last saw her.”
    “When was that, Dr. Schramm?” asked the coroner.
    “On that same morning. About eight o’clock. I was going up to London and looked in on some of my patients before I left. I did not get back to Greengages until a few minutes after ten in the evening.”
    “To find?”
    “To find that she had died.”
    “Can you describe the circumstances?”
    “Yes. She had asked me to get a book for her in London: the autobiography of a Princess — somebody — I forget the name. I went to her room to deliver it. Our bedrooms are large and comfortable and are often used as sitting-rooms. I have been told that she went up to hers later that afternoon. Long before her actual bedtime. She had dinner there, watching television. I knocked and there was no reply but I could hear the television and presumed that because of it she had not heard me. I went in. She was in bed and lying on her back. Her bedside table-lamp was on and I saw at once that a bottle of tablets was overturned and several — five, in fact — were scattered over the surface of the table. Her drinking glass was empty but had been used and was lying on the floor. Subsequently a faint trace of alcohol — Scotch — was found in the glass. A small bottle of Scotch, empty, was on the table. She sometimes used to take a modest nightcap. Her jug of water was almost empty. I examined her and found that she was dead. It was then twenty minutes past ten.”
    “Can you give a time for when death occurred?”
    “Not exactly, no. Not less than an hour before I found her.”
    “What steps did you taker”
    “I made absolutely certain there was no possibility of recovery. I then called up our resident nurse. We employed a stomach pump. The results were subsequently analyzed and a quantity of barbiturates was found.” He hesitated and then said: “I would like, Sir, if this is an appropriate moment to add a word about Greengages and its general character and management.”
    “By all means, Dr. Schramm.”
    “Thank you. Greengages is not a hospital. It is a hotel with a resident medical practitioner. Many, indeed most, of our guests are not ill. Some are tired and in need of a change and rest. Some come to us simply for a quiet holiday. Some for a weight-reducing course. Some are convalescents preparing to return to normal life. A number of them are elderly people who are reassured by the presence of a qualified practitioner and a registered nurse. Mrs. Foster had been in the habit of coming from time to time. She was a nervy subject and a chronic worrier. I must say at once that I had not prescribed the barbiturate tablets she had taken and have no idea how she had obtained them. When she first