William Monk 07 - Weighed in the Balance

dilation of the pupils of the eyes.” He looked wretched.
    “And is that a symptom of bleeding to death, Doctor?” Rathbone kept all criticism from his voice. It was easy … he did not feel it. He doubted any man in Gallagher’s place would have thought of it.
    Gallagher breathed out with a sigh. “No. No, it is not.”
    There was a gasp in the gallery.
    The judge’s face tightened, and he watched Rathbone gravely.
    “Dr. Gallagher,” Rathbone said in the prickling silence, “are you still of the opinion that Prince Friedrich died as a result of bleeding to death from the wounds sustained in his fall?”
    The jurors stared at Gisela and then at Zorah.
    Zorah clenched her fists and moved forward an inch.
    “No sir, I am not,” Gallagher answered.
    There was a shriek from the gallery and the gasping of breath. Apparently someone fainted, because several people started to rise to their feet and jostle to make space.
    “Give her air!” a man commanded.
    “Here! Smelling salts,” someone else offered.
    “Burn a feather!” came the call. “Ushers! Water!”
    “Brandy! Has anyone a flask of brandy? Oh, thank you, sir!”
    The judge waited until the woman had been assisted, then gave Rathbone leave to continue.
    “Thank you, my lord,” Rathbone acknowledged.
    “Can you name the cause of death, Dr. Gallagher, in your best judgment? So long after the event, and without any further examination, we appreciate you can only guess.”
    The movement in the gallery ceased abruptly. The fainting woman was ignored.
    “I would guess, sir, that it was the poison of the yew tree,” Gallagher said wretchedly. “I profoundly regret that I did not realize it at the time. I tender my apologies to Princess Gisela and to the court.”
    “I am sure no person of sensibility blames you, Doctor,” Rathbone said frankly. “Which of us would have thought on the death of a prince, in the home of a respected member of the aristocracy, to look for poison? I most certainly would not, and if any man here says he would, I would beg leave to take issue with him.”
    “Thank you,” Gallagher said painfully. “You are very generous, Sir Oliver. But medicine is my duty and my calling. I should have observed the eyes and had the courage and the diligence to pursue the discrepancy.”
    “You have had the courage now, sir, and we are obliged to you for it. That is all I have to ask you.”
    Harvester rose to his feet. He looked pale and less certain than at the beginning of the day. He did not move with the same ease.
    “Dr. Gallagher, you are now of the opinion that the poison of the yew tree was the cause of Prince Friedrich’s death. Can you tell us how it was administered?”
    “It would have been ingested,” Gallagher replied. “In either food or drink.”
    “It is pleasant to the taste?”
    “I have no idea. I should imagine not.”
    “What form would it take? Liquid? Solid? Leaves? Fruit?”
    “A liquid distilled from the leaves or the bark.”
    “Not the fruit?”
    “No sir. Curiously enough, the fruit is the one part of the yew tree which is not poisonous—even the seeds themselves are toxic. But in any case, Prince Friedrich died in the spring, when trees do not fruit.”
    “A distillation?” Harvester persisted.
    “Yes,” Gallagher agreed. “No one would eat yew leaves or bark.”
    “So it would have been necessary for someone to gather the leaves, or the bark, and boil them for a considerable time?”
    “Yes.”
    “And yet you told us that the Princess never went to the kitchens. Did she have apparatus in her rooms in which she could have done such a thing?”
    “I believe not.”
    “Could she have done it over the bedroom fire?”
    “No, of course not. Apart from anything else, it would have been observed.”
    “Was there a hob on the bedroom fire?”
    “No.”
    “Did she go out and gather the bark or the needles of the yew trees?”
    “I don’t know. I believe she did not leave the Prince’s side.”
    “Does it seem to you reasonable to suppose that she had either the means or the opportunity to poison her husband, Dr. Gallagher? Or, for that matter, any motive whatsoever?”
    “No, it does not.”
    “Thank you, Dr. Gallagher.” Harvester turned away from the witness stand to face the courtroom. “Unless the Countess Rostova knows some major fact of which we are unaware, and she has chosen to keep it from the authorities, it would seem she cannot believe so either, and her