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Updated: June 29, 2025
The substitute was the same size and shape, and I was not suspicious." "And what form does your suspicion take now?" The great man became rather portentously solemn he himself would have said "becomingly grave." "My conviction is that Mr. Fellowes took my needle." Stafford fixed the other with his gaze. "And killed himself with it?" Mr. Mappin frowned. "Of that I cannot be sure, of course."
There were at least four people who might have killed Fellowes without much remorse. There was Rudyard, there was Jasmine, there was Lou the erstwhile flower-girl and himself. It was necessary that Mappin, however, should be silenced, and sent about his business.
"Quite artificial, quite artificial, I should say." Ian took a cigarette, and lighted it slowly. "According to your theory, he must have committed suicide. But how? Not by an effort of the will, as they do in the East, I suppose?" Mr. Mappin sat up stiffly in his chair. "Do you remember my showing you all at Glencader a needle which had on its point enough poison to kill a man?"
"How does it happen you carry this murdering asp about with you, Mr. Mappin?" asked Stafford. The surgeon smiled. "For an experiment to-morrow. Don't start. I have a favorite collie which must die. I am testing the poison with the minimum. If it kills the dog it will kill two men." He was about to put the needle back into the case when Adrian Fellowes held out a hand for it.
Had the Sister and her nurses not been occupied elsewhere, I doubt whether I should have been free to drink that cup of tea at all a circumstance of which perhaps Mrs. Mappin was more aware than I. At any rate the call of "Orderly!" from a patient summoned me from the kitchen and into the ward long before I had finished drying Mrs. Mappin's dishes.
Lack of initiative is the thing that really cripples one, and that is where you and I and Uncle James are so hopelessly shut in. We are just so many animals stuck down on a Mappin terrace, with this difference in our disfavour, that the animals are there to be looked at, while nobody wants to look at us. As a matter of fact there would be nothing to look at.
Mappin, whose hands were kept busy and whose skill saved more than a handful of lives that night, looked at her in wonder. Jasmine already had a reputation in the great social world for being of a vain lightness, having nothing of that devotion to good works which Mr. Mappin had seen so often on those high levels where the rich and the aristocratic lived.
He nodded, and a moment afterward they were passing along the corridors. Suddenly, as they passed a window, Ian stopped. "I thought Mr. Mappin went with the others to the Glen?" he said. "He did," was the reply. "Who is that leaving his room?" he continued, as she followed his glance across the quadrangle. "Surely, it's Fellowes," he added. "Yes, it looked like Mr.
"We should never do such a thing," said the aunt. The niece gave a reluctant sigh. "I can't imagine it," she admitted. "Of course," she continued, "there are heaps of ways of leading a real existence without committing sensational deeds of violence. It's the dreadful little everyday acts of pretended importance that give the Mappin stamp to our life.
Meanwhile, there was humanity's work to be done. About four o'clock in the morning, when she came out from a cottage where she had assisted Mr. Mappin in a painful and dangerous operation, she stood for a moment in reverie, looking up at the hills, whose peace had been shrilly broken a few hours before by that distracted waif of the world, fleeing from the pain of life.
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