Sir Henry glanced at him curiously. “Are you fond of him or not?”
“I’m very fond of him, and at the same time I resent him — I’ll try and explain. Conway Jefferson is a man who likes to control his surroundings. He’s a benevolent despot, kind, generous and affectionate, but his is the tune and the others dance to his piping.”
Mark Gaskell paused. “I loved my wife. I shall never feel the same for anyone else. Rosamund was sunshine and laughter and flowers, and when she was killed I felt just like a man in the ring who’s had a knockout blow. But the referee’s been counting a good long time now. I’m a man, after all. I like women. I don’t want to marry again, not in the least. Well, that’s all right. I’ve had to be discreet, but I’ve had my good times all right. Poor Addie hasn’t. Addie’s a really nice woman. She’s the kind of woman men want to marry. Give her half a chance and she would marry again, and be very happy and make the chap happy too.”
“But old Jeff saw her always as Frank’s wife and hypnotized her into seeing herself like that. He doesn’t know it, but we’ve been in prison. I broke out, on the quiet, a long time ago. Addie broke out this summer, and it gave him a shock. It broke up his world. Result, Ruby Keene.” Irrepressibly he sang: “But she is in her grave, and oh! The difference to met [missing text]
“Come and have a drink, Clithering.”
It was hardly surprising, Sir Henry reflected, that Mark Gaskell should be an object of suspicion to the police.
“You say Mr. Jefferson has resolutely refused to listen?”
“Yes. I don’t know that I blame him. It’s not what I say to my patients, superintendent, but a man may as well wear out as rust out. A lot of my colleagues do that, and take it from me, it’s not a bad way. In a place like Danemouth one sees most of the other thing. Invalids clinging to life, terrified of overexerting themselves, terrified of a breath of drafty air, of a stray germ, of an injudicious meal.”
“I expect that’s true enough,” said Superintendent Harper. “What it amounts to, then, is this: Conway Jefferson is strong enough, physically speaking or I suppose I mean muscularly speaking. Just what can he do in the active line, by the way?”
“He has immense strength in his arms and shoulders. He was a very powerful man before his accident. He is extremely dexterous in his handling of his wheeled chair, and with the aid of crutches he can move himself about a room from his bed to the chair, for instance.”
“Isn’t it possible for a man injured as Mr. Jefferson was to have artificial legs?”
“Not in his case. There was a spine injury.”
“I see. Let me sum up again. Jefferson is strong and fit in the muscular sense. He feels well and all that?”
Metcalf nodded.
“But his heart is in a bad condition; any overstrain or exertion, or a shock or a sudden fright, and he might pop off. Is that it?”
“More or less. Overexertion is killing him slowly because he won’t give in when he feels tired. That aggravates the cardiac condition. It is unlikely that exertion would kill him suddenly. But a sudden shock or fright might easily do so. That is why I expressly warned his family.”
Superintendent Harper said slowly, “But in actual fact a shock didn’t kill him. I mean, doctor, that there couldn’t have been a much worse shock than this business, and he’s still alive.”
Doctor Metcalf shrugged his shoulders. “I know. But if you’d had my experience, superintendent, you’d know that case history shows the impossibility of prognosticating accurately. People who ought to die of shock and exposure don’t die of shock and exposure, et cetera, et cetera. The human frame is tougher than one can imagine possible. Moreover, in my experience, a physical shock is more often fatal than a mental shock. In plain language, a door banging suddenly would be more likely to kill Mr. Jefferson than the discovery that a girl he was fond of had died in a particularly horrible manner.”