The Twisted Root

sought to prove guilty of murdering Treadwell. She looked at his earnest face and saw pity in it, but no doubt, no tearing of loyalties ... not yet.
    Was Cleo guilty? If Treadwell was a blackmailer, was it possible she had believed him the lesser victim, rather than the patients she treated?
    It was hard to believe, but it was not impossible.
    "The quinine seems a bit short," Phillips remarked as if it were of no great moment. "Could be bad measuring, I suppose. Or someone took a few doses in a crisis an’ forgot to make a note of it."
    "How far short?" Thorpe demanded, his face dark. "Damn it, man, you can be more exact than that! What do you mean, ’a bit’? You’re an apothecary. You don’t dose a patient with ’a bit.’ "
    "About five hundred grains, sir," Phillips answered very quietly.
    Thorpe flushed deep pink. "Good God! That’s enough to dose a dozen men. This is very serious indeed. You’d better see what else is missing. Look at the morphine."
    Phillips obeyed. That measurement was even farther short. Hester was not surprised. It was the obvious treatment for pain, as quinine was for fever. Cleo must have administered it, under supervision, often enough over the years to have an excellent idea of how much to give and in what circumstances. Certainly, Hester herself did.
    Thorpe turned to Robb. "I regret, Sergeant, but it seems you are perfectly correct. We are missing a substantial amount of medicine, and it is impossible any random thief could have taken it. It has to be one of our nurses."
    Hester drew breath to point out that it had only to be someone within the hospital staff over the last few years, but she knew that would be pointless. Thorpe would not entertain the idea of any of the doctors doing such a thing, and she had no desire to try to shift the blame onto Phillips.
    Perhaps it had been Cleo Anderson ... in fact, if Hester was honest, she had no doubt. It was the reason for it they had misunderstood, and she did not wish to draw their attention to that because it would make no difference whatever to the charge.
    With Cleo in prison, who would now care for the old and ill she had visited with medicines to give them respite from distress ? Specifically, what of John Robb?
    Callandra handed Sergeant Robb the note she had made of the missing medicines and the amounts. He took it and put it in his pocket, thanking her. He looked at Phillips again.
    "Over what period has this been missed, Mr. Phillips?"
    "Can’t say, sir," Phillips replied instantly. "Haven’t had occasion to check in that detail for some time. Could have been careless measuring. Perhaps even someone spilled something." His black eyes were bland, his voice reasonable. "More likely careless noting down of what was given out proper, but in the heat of a bad night or something of a crisis. Got to make an allowance. Medicine is an art, Mr. Thorpe, not an exact science."
    "God damn it, man!" Thorpe exploded. "Don’t tell me how to conduct the practice of medicine in my own hospital."
    Phillips did not reply, nor did he seem particularly disturbed by Thorpe’s anger, which had the effect of both heightening it and confusing Thorpe into momentary silence. He had not expected an apothecary to be indifferent to him.
    Phillips turned to Robb. "If there is anything else I can do for you, Sergeant, I’m sure Mr. Thorpe would want me to. Just tell me. And before you ask, I’ve got no suspicions of any o’ the nurses ... not in that way. Some o’ them drink a spot too much porter on an empty stomach. But then I daresay half o’ London does that from time to time. ’ Specially as porter is included in the wages, like. You’ll find me ’round an’ about most any day except Sunday." And without asking anything further he handed the keys to Thorpe and went out.
    "Impertinent oaf," Thorpe swore under his breath.
    "But honest?" Robb asked.
    Hester saw the abhorrence in Thorpe’s face. He would dearly like to have paid Phillips back for his arrogance, and here was an ideal opportunity given him. On the other hand, to admit he had employed an apothecary of whom he had doubts would be a confession of his own gross incompetence.
    But just in case temptation should prove too powerful, Hester answered for him.
    "Of course, Sergeant," she said with a smile. "Do you imagine Mr. Thorpe would have permitted him to remain in such a responsible position if he were not trustworthy in every way? If a nurse is a little tipsy it is one thing.