A Case of Doubtful Death Read online

  ‘Was there much in the way of personal property?’ asked Frances.

  ‘Very little. When the report has been completed it will almost certainly show a value of less than £100. Considerably less, I would say.’

  ‘But he was in receipt of a salary?’

  ‘Yes, a modest one.’

  ‘In addition to which he saw patients and wrote pamphlets and lectured, lived very frugally, was unmarried, followed no recreation and had no vices.’

  Bonner twiddled his fingers. ‘I see what you mean, but I saw all his papers and can assure you that he had very little to dispose of. I can only assume that he gave sums to charity of which I was unaware. That would be so like the man.’

  ‘He had no family?’

  ‘An elderly mother in Scotland, to whom he wrote occasionally. I suppose he might have sent her some money. And there was a brother, but I do not think they have been in communication since before he went to Germany. That was a great many years ago.’

  ‘Germany?’ asked Frances.

  ‘Yes. Dr Mackenzie was born and educated in Edinburgh, but more than twenty years ago he went to study with some very eminent medical men in Germany. That was where he first became acquainted with the principle of “waiting mortuaries”, as they are generally called. The idea impressed itself very greatly on his mind and he made it his special study. Realising that there was no such establishment in Great Britain, he determined to found one and returned to London for that purpose.’

  ‘I was not aware that there were establishments in Germany similar to the Life House.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Bonner, appearing more comfortable now that he was in his own area of knowledge, ‘the very first of them was in Germany – a physician called Hufeland opened one in 1792, naming it the Asylum for Vitae Dubiae, or doubtful life, although it was more commonly termed a Leichenhaus.’

  ‘I speak no German – does that mean Life House?’

  ‘I am not familiar with the language, however, I have been told that it simply means “mortuary”. When Mackenzie first promoted his scheme here the press took up the word and mistranslated it as Life House. He at once saw that this was a name that inspired hope and so adopted it for his use.’

  ‘Has his family been notified of his death?’

  ‘I do not have his brother’s address and did not find it in Dr Mackenzie’s papers, but I did discover a notebook with his mother’s address and sent her a telegram, then followed it with a letter giving all the circumstances. I have not received a reply.’

  ‘You dealt with his personal effects?’

  ‘I did, such as they were. Many of the books you see behind me are from his library. Their monetary value is minimal, I assure you.’ Frances glanced at the bookshelves, and while she was no great judge of antiquarian books, was content to believe that the collection of well-thumbed medical volumes was unlikely to be a significant item in Dr Mackenzie’s estate.

  ‘And what in your opinion was the cause of his death?’

  ‘Principally, I believe a seizure of the heart was no doubt the immediate cause, but he also suffered an affliction of the intestines which contributed to his debilitated condition. People thought he was a man with a great worry on his mind, and perhaps it might have seemed so, but in fact what they observed was the unhappiness of a man who was in constant discomfort with his bowels. I think the poor man must have suffered more than anyone – even those closest to him – realised. The advance of sepsis in the area was very rapid.’

  Frances paused to write her notes and Bonner looked more cheerful, anticipating that this signaled the end of the interview.

  ‘And now,’ she said, facing him once more, ‘I would like to examine in detail the events which occurred at the Life House on the evening of Dr Mackenzie’s death.’

  ‘Ah – yes – but of course.’ He settled back in his chair, making every effort to appear unconcerned.

  ‘You were already there when he arrived?’

  ‘Yes, I had come to do my regular rounds and check with Palmer that all was well, and advise him of any new patients or forthcoming interments.’

  ‘Were you expecting Dr Mackenzie to call?’

  ‘Not at that precise time, but it was his habit to call in often, so I was not surprised when he did.’

  ‘Was there anything at all of an unusual nature that you can recall about that evening – an event, a comment made either by Dr Mackenzie or Mr Palmer, or something in the manner of either that struck you as noteworthy? Even the smallest observation would be of assistance.’

  Dr Bonner looked sad, as if he was about to tell an anxious wife that her husband might not rally. ‘I am sorry, I have given this a great deal of thought as you can imagine, but it really was an evening like any other.’

  ‘What were you doing when Dr Mackenzie arrived?’

  ‘I was in the ward, discussing one of the patients with Palmer. The gentleman had showed signs which we believed suggested he might be revived and I examined him, but concluded they were due to other processes.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘It was about ten o’clock.’

  ‘Please describe for me in as much detail as you can what happened next.’

  Bonner passed a hand across his brow. ‘Mackenzie arrived and we greeted each other, and he said he was just looking in for a few minutes. We discussed the patients and Palmer continued on his rounds. Palmer was examining a patient and Mackenzie went to look on, and then —’ Bonner gave a little gasp that was almost a sob, ‘it was really very sudden and without any warning at all, he suddenly clutched at his stomach and then his chest, and went very white. Palmer said something like “are you all right sir?”, but the poor man was in too much pain to speak. I went to assist, but before I could reach him he had fallen against Palmer, who supported him and prevented him from falling to the ground. Moments later he collapsed entirely. Palmer and I got him onto a bed, then Palmer fetched my instruments and I examined him. We then carried out every restorative method at our disposal. You can imagine, Miss Doughty, that in an establishment such as the Life House the medicines and equipment are second to none and right to hand. If any man is about to suffer a critical seizure this would be the best place for him to do so, with the most favourable chance of recovery. I worked for the best part of an hour with Palmer assisting me, but to no avail. There was no respiration, no pulse, and none of our efforts could restore them. Of course the final, unequivocal signs of death had not appeared, but I was aware that my dear friend had become a patient in his own establishment. Both Palmer and I were very upset, of course, but Palmer remained calm and practical, and asked me what he might best do to help. I thought of sending a telegram to Dr Warrinder, but as it was late at night and I know he retires early, I could see nothing to be gained by rousing him from his bed. I decided to send for him early the next day.

  ‘After some thought I decided to lay Dr Mackenzie in the chapel; that is the side room where we place patients in a plain coffin for relatives to view them if they require it, also we coffin bodies there prior to burial. In view of the respect in which Dr Mackenzie is held, I thought it would be appropriate to invite selected medical friends to view him the next day. I told Palmer to call at Dr Mackenzie’s lodgings on his way home and let them know what had occurred, since I know his landlady Mrs Georgeson worries about him and would have been most anxious at his failure to return. There was only an hour left of Palmer’s period of duty, so I told him that once he had delivered the message he might proceed home, and that I would attend to anything else required. In any case the other orderly, Mr Hemsley, would be arriving very soon. Palmer said he would do as I asked and he left. I am sorry to say I have not seen him since that moment.’

  There was a brief pause and Frances realised that Bonner felt that he had said all he could.

  ‘Who was the next person to arrive?’

  ‘That would have been Dr Darscot,’ said Bonner, readily. ‘He had called to see Dr Mackenzie at hi
s home and had been told the news by Mrs Georgeson. He came knocking at the chapel door in a very agitated state. He viewed the body and calmed down a little, and then he left.’

  ‘Do you have his address?’

  ‘I am afraid not.’

  ‘It may be in Dr Mackenzie’s papers. If you could look through them and let me know, I would be very grateful.’

  ‘Of course – anything I can do to assist. But how can Darscot help find Palmer? If he knows anything surely he would have come forward by now?’

  ‘Dr Darscot’s visit to Mrs Georgeson was made only minutes after Mr Palmer left. He may have seen something but not realised its importance.’

  ‘Ah, I see. Yes, of course.’

  There was also the possibility, thought Frances, of Darscot knowing of some concern that Mackenzie had confided in Palmer and not in Bonner, but she decided that there was little to be gained by mentioning it. Dr Bonner, like so many medical men, thought he knew everything of importance apart from those things that no one knew.

  ‘Could you describe Dr Darscot to me?’

  ‘Oh – er – quite young, I suppose, about thirty. Respectably dressed. Nothing very remarkable about his appearance.’

  Frances glanced at her notebook. ‘As Dr Mackenzie’s executor you must have examined his correspondence,’ she said. ‘I don’t know if he kept copies of the letters he sent, I know many professional gentlemen do. And of course there will be the letters he received from medical friends, from his mother and his friends in Germany. You may prefer not to show these to me, of course, and I would understand that, but it is possible there might be some clue in the letters, an observation about Mr Palmer, perhaps.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Dr Bonner, startled.

  ‘You did find letters amongst his effects?’

  ‘No, I – I can’t say that I did.’

  ‘Would you not have expected to find them? Mrs Georgeson told me he regularly received letters.’

  ‘You are quite right, of course,’ said Bonner, dismayed. ‘I confess that when examining his effects I only concerned myself with what I actually found, and I never stopped to consider what I ought to have found that was not there.’

  ‘Did you carry out the work alone or with another?’

  ‘Mrs Georgeson’s maid assisted me. Perhaps she might know something.’

  Frances, with the feeling that she would spend the investigation doing nothing but travel up and down the length of Ladbroke Grove Road, could only agree.

  ‘What happened to Dr Mackenzie’s keys?’

  ‘You mean the keys to the Life House? They were in his pocket. I have them here.’ Bonner opened a small drawer in his desk and took out a bunch of four keys on a brass ring. ‘The keys to his residence were on here, too, but I returned them to Mrs Georgeson.’ The largest key, he explained, was for the main entrance of the Life House. A smaller one was the chapel door key and there were two internal keys, one for the door that separated the chapel from the ward and one for the door that separated a front office room from the ward. Frances thought that only the main key was of a memorable design, and whether this was deliberate or had been supplied by a humorist she did not know, but the loop of the key, instead of being rounded, was oblong and reminded her of the outline of a coffin viewed from the side. It was engraved along its shank with the name of the locksmith.

  ‘So there are only five sets of keys,’ she said, ‘one for each doctor and one for each orderly.’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘And prior to Mr Palmer’s disappearance none have ever been missing?’

  ‘We are very careful with them. Of course, I assume that Palmer, wherever he is, still has his. When he had been missing for three days we decided to take the precaution of changing the locks.’

  ‘Are the new keys identical to these?’

  ‘Very similar.’

  ‘May I see them?’

  He seemed surprised at this request, but pulled a bunch of keys from his pocket. Frances examined them, and saw that the loop of the new main door key was a little more rounded at the corners and less coffin-like than its predecessor. She handed them back.

  ‘Might someone be interested in stealing a set of keys, a press-man perhaps? Might he even be prepared to try and rob Mr Palmer to obtain them?’

  Bonner raised his eyebrows. ‘That is possible, I suppose. Press-men have tried to get into the Life House – never with any success, and one can never know to what levels of criminality they will stoop.’

  ‘And before you changed the locks, no one attempted to gain entry?’

  ‘No, we were alert to the possible danger and were most vigilant that no unauthorised person should be able to enter the premises.’

  ‘On that subject, Dr Bonner, I would like to arrange a visit to the Life House.’

  He stared at her blankly. ‘I am sorry, I do not understand you, Miss Doughty.’

  ‘I am trying to trace Henry Palmer’s movements on the night he disappeared. Clearly they started from the Life House. I wish to tour the premises.’

  Bonner was sufficiently taken aback that it was a moment or two before he could form a reply. ‘But clearly he was seen after he left. In any case, the Life House is private property and it is an inflexible rule that apart from the chapel room, only medical men may enter.’

  ‘And medical women?’ asked Frances pointedly. ‘They do exist.’

  He laughed. ‘I have never been approached by any such. No, Miss Doughty, if you wish to enter the Life House you must first obtain a medical degree, and then, and only then will I consider your application.’

  Frances returned to Mrs Georgeson’s house to find that the landlady was busy showing a gentleman the vacant apartments, while Mary Ann was making an ineffectual attempt at scrubbing the kitchen floor. It was not hard for Frances to persuade the housemaid to leave her work and sit down in the parlour to talk.

  ‘I understand that you assisted Dr Bonner when he dealt with Dr Mackenzie’s effects?’ asked Frances.

  The girl nodded. ‘Yes, not that there was a lot of effects.’

  ‘Do you recall seeing any letters about?’

  ‘Letters?’ Mary Ann thought for a moment, her gaze wandering about the room as if the letters might be found on the wall or the ceiling, but seeing none, she added, ‘No.’

  ‘But Dr Mackenzie did receive letters?’

  ‘Oh yes. Not a great many, but some. All letters that come here get put on the table in the hall and the tenants help themselves.’

  ‘Did you clean the doctor’s room?’

  ‘I clean all the rooms, when asked. He didn’t ask very often.’

  ‘And did you ever see letters lying about?’

  She frowned and chewed her lower lip. ‘There’s that little desk in there. There used to be letters lying on it sometimes, and he said he didn’t want it tidying or he’d never find anything, so I left it alone.’

  ‘And there’s a wastebasket. I suppose you emptied that when you cleaned.’

  ‘Yes, all what was in there got burned up.’

  ‘Were there letters in there?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘So – letters on his desk and letters in the basket. On the last day, the day he died, when Dr Mackenzie went out did he leave the room locked?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. All the gentlemen have keys and lock their doors. Mrs Georgeson is very insistent on that.’

  ‘Does anyone apart from Dr Mackenzie have a key?’

  ‘Mrs Georgeson.’

  ‘And did Dr Mackenzie’s room stay locked until Dr Bonner came to deal with all his things?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you helped him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I want you to think carefully about what happened on that occasion. Try and imagine what was in the room. Were there any letters on the desk or letters in the wastebasket?’

  Mary Ann thought so hard it made her eyes bulge, then she shook her head. ‘No, none at all.’ Frances was jus
t digesting this information when the maid added, ‘There was something else – or at least not something else. Oh I don’t know how to say it – something that wasn’t there. I was looking about and I just thought to myself, there’s something that’s gone that ought to be here only I can’t quite think what it is. And do you know, I still can’t think what it was.’

  ‘Well if you remember, you must be sure to inform me. It could be very important.’

  Mary Ann nodded eagerly. ‘Will I be in one of the stories, Miss?’

  Frances smiled encouragement. ‘I can’t promise that, but you never know.’

  As Frances was on her way out she encountered Mrs Georgeson in the hallway bidding the prospective new tenant farewell. He was an odd, creeping little man with a forlorn looking hat. Frances felt sure that he would suit the house perfectly.

  ‘You’re back soon, Miss Doughty,’ said Mrs Georgeson. ‘Has Mr Palmer been found?’

  ‘I regret not, but I am continuing to make enquiries. I am wondering if Dr Mackenzie had some concerns, maybe of a personal nature, that meant he asked Mr Palmer to go on an errand for him, and Mr Palmer needed to honour that request even after the doctor’s death. I don’t suppose you know of anything that might have been troubling Dr Mackenzie?’

  Mrs Georgeson shook her head. ‘I’m afraid I don’t. He never confided anything in me, and I never ask my gentlemen personal questions.’

  ‘Do you know what happened to Dr Mackenzie’s letters? Only there were none found in his room. Did you go into his room after he died?’

  ‘No, I left that to Dr Bonner. If there were no letters then Dr Mackenzie must have disposed of them himself. Speaking of letters, I don’t know what to do with this one.’ She took a letter from her pocket. ‘It came this morning, from abroad. Funny stamp and strange writing. He’s had them like this before.’

  Frances looked at the envelope. ‘It may be from one of Dr Mackenzie’s medical friends in Germany. Why don’t I take it to Dr Bonner? He’ll know what to do with it.’