Brodie pulled me farther back as Mr. Brimley struck a match and dropped it into the bowl.
The explosion burned brightly and sent a cloud of pungent fumes into the air. Mr. Brimley smiled with satisfaction.
“Just as I suspected— ether.”
“Ether?” I remarked with more than a little surprise.
The chemist nodded. “That might explain the minimal bruising about the neck that you mentioned, Mr. Brodie.”
“Aye, it didna seem that the marks were severe enough to overcome the young woman,” Brodie replied. “Even though the physician stated that her neck was broken, that being the cause of death.”
“Most interesting,” Mr. Brimley replied as he washed his hands. “My guess would be that ether was used to drug the young woman and render her unconscious...”
“And the marks we saw might then have been enough to complete the act,” Brodie added.
Mr. Brimley nodded. “There would undoubtedly have been no resistance from the victim.”
“How much strength would it have taken then?” I asked.
Mr. Brimley shook his head as he dried his hands. “From what you tell me about the young woman, she was fairly small,” he shrugged.
“It would have taken very little force. A strong lad would have no difficulty and could easily see the matter done.”
But to what purpose? Drug her and then strangle her? To say that we now had more questions than answers was an understatement.
“There is another matter,” I replied as I recovered from that bit of information. I retrieved the note paper I had taken from Amelia Mainwaring’s desk.
“I thought there might be,” Mr. Brimley said with a smile that now gave him the appearance of a kindly grandfather, and I was reminded that appearances could be most deceiving.
Not that Mr. Brimley was unkind, quite the opposite. However, no grandfather I knew from my aunt’s circle of friends went about making diagrams of eyeballs in jars or dropping matches onto deadly substances with the delight of a child.
“Is there some way to see what was written on the note that left these impressions?” I asked, handing him the piece of Amelia Mainwaring’s stationery.
He put on his glasses that gave him that bug-like appearance and studied the note paper.
“I believe I may be of assistance.”
He crossed the work area and retrieved a jar from among several on a shelf, then returned. It appeared to contain some sort of black powder.
“Potassium nitrate, coal dust, and sulfur,” he revealed. “Sticks to the hands, and paper. It can be quite useful, but one must take care when using it.”
I looked at Brodie, most curious.
“Gunpowder,” he translated as Mr. Brimley laid the note paper on the counter then opened the jar and sprinkled some of the mixture on it.
“There is just enough residue of oil,” he continued to explain and winked at me, then grinned. “Ah, yes, there it is. You can see the letters quite clearly.”
I stared at the message that emerged.
I cannot do this. You understand. If you are my friend, you must tell no one.
I looked up at Brodie. “Cannot do what?”
“It would seem that the young woman was of a different mind about something,” he replied.
I read the message again.If you are my friend...
“According to Sir John, she was to have met Beatrice Ainsley-Townsend at Harrods for shopping, then a stay-over was planned.”
