Unnatural Death · Part I · Chapter 7 (2/2)

Selecting a back window which he judged to belong to Mrs. Forrest’s flat, Wimsey promptly grasped a drainpipe and began to swarm up it with the agility of a cat-burglar. About fifteen feet from the ground he paused, reached up, appeared to detach something with a quick jerk, and then slid very gingerly to the ground again, holding his right hand at a cautious distance from his body, as though it were breakable.

And indeed, to his amazement, Parker observed that Wimsey now held a long-stemmed glass in his fingers, similar to those from which they had drunk in Mrs. Forrest’s sitting-room.

“What on earth⁠—?” said Parker.

“Hush! I’m Hawkshaw the detective⁠—gathering fingerprints. Here we come a-wassailing and gathering prints in May. That’s why I took the glass back. I brought a different one in the second time. Sorry I had to do this athletic stunt, but the only cotton-reel I could find hadn’t much on it. When I changed the glass, I tiptoed into the bathroom and hung it out of the window. Hope she hasn’t been in there since. Just brush my bags down, will you, old man? Gently⁠—don’t touch the glass.”

“What the devil do you want fingerprints for?”

“You’re a grateful sort of person. Why, for all you know, Mrs. Forrest is someone the Yard has been looking for for years. And anyway, you could compare the prints with those on the Bass bottle, if any. Besides, you never know when fingerprints mayn’t come in handy. They’re excellent things to have about the house. Coast clear? Right. Hail a taxi, will you? I can’t wave my hand with this glass in it. Look so silly, don’t you know. I say!”

“Well?”

“I saw something else. The first time I went out for the drinks, I had a peep into her bedroom.”

“Yes?”

“What do you think I found in the washstand drawer?”

“What?”

“A hypodermic syringe!”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes, and an innocent little box of ampullae, with a doctor’s prescription headed ‘The injection, Mrs. Forrest. One to be injected when the pain is very severe.’ What do you think of that?”

“Tell you when we’ve got the results of that postmortem,” said Parker, really impressed. “You didn’t bring the prescription, I suppose?”

“No, and I didn’t inform the lady who we were or what we were after or ask her permission to carry away the family crystal. But I made a note of the chemist’s address.”

“Did you?” ejaculated Parker. “Occasionally, my lad, you have some glimmerings of sound detective sense.”