The Nursing Home Murder

The Nursing Home Murder
Ngaio Marsh

Ngaio Marsh’s bestselling and ingenious third novel remains one of the most popular pieces of crime fiction of all time.Sir John Phillips, the Harley Street surgeon, and his beautiful nurse Jane Harden are almost too nervous to operate. The emergency case on the table before them is the Home Secretary – and they both have very good, personal reasons to wish him dead.Within hours he does die, although the operation itself was a complete success, and Chief Detective Inspector Alleyn must find out why…

Ngaio Marsh

The Nursing Home Murder

Table of Contents

Cover Page (#ua4e0dec8-9175-5ffa-ba1c-121ee941dfdc)

Title Page (#ub5cc895e-9058-5162-8fc4-0c037b624f7a)

Chapter 1 10 Downing Street (#ua1041b35-4d47-5ad0-b226-193728f11a0c)

Chapter 2 Introduces a Patent Medicine (#ueef1ab50-5425-56b7-9003-9a14fa136914)

Chapter 3 Sequel to a Scene in the House (#u751c5c9e-b6cc-5a7c-84fc-d0e199e57215)

Chapter 4 Post-operative (#u98bdde0b-ee84-575c-90fb-f14fe8920d1f)

Chapter 5 Lady O’Callaghan Insists (#u9e6343a4-2a8d-551b-a13e-248b23b3aad8)

Chapter 6 Chief Detective-Inspector Alleyn (#u00174952-b0f1-5b77-84c4-0e600d59d035)

Chapter 7 Post-Mortem (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 Hyoscine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 Three Nurses (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 Thoms in the Theatre (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 The Anaesthetist (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 The Lenin Hall Lot (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 Surprising Antics of a Chemist (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 ‘Fulvitavolts’ (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 The ‘Clean Breast’ of Sir John Phillips (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 Reconstruction Begun (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 Reconstruction Concluded (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 Retrospective (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER 1 10 Downing Street (#ulink_e2de4ea4-f207-5586-8d3d-4537c2a66754)

Friday, the fifth. Afternoon.

The Home Secretary, with an air of finality, laid down the papers from which he had been reading and glanced round the table. He was struck, not for the first time, by the owlish solemnity of the other members of the Cabinet. ‘Really,’ he thought, ‘we look for all the world like a Cabinet Meeting in a cinema. We are too good to be true.’ As if to confirm this impression, the Prime Minister flung himself back in his chair, laid the palms of his hands on the table, and cleared his throat.

‘Well, gentlemen,’ he said portentously, ‘there we have it.’

‘Strong!’ said the Foreign Secretary. He folded his arms and stared at the ceiling.

‘Drastic!’ added the Lord Chancellor. ‘I venture to think—drastic.’

‘But in my opinion,’ the Postmaster-General said, ‘neither too strong nor too drastic.’ He fidgeted with his tie and became almost human. ‘Damn it all,’ he said irritably, ‘we’ve got to do something.’

There was a pause. The Home Secretary drew in his breath sharply.

‘Well,’ repeated the Prime Minister, ‘we have talked a great deal, gentlemen, and now we’ve heard the proposed Bill. We have all the facts. To put it briefly, we are perfectly well aware of the activities of these anarchistic personages. We know what they are about and we know they mean to take definite action. We are agreed that the importance of the matter can hardly be overstated. The reports from the FO, the Secret Service and the CID are sufficiently conclusive. We have to deal with a definite menace and a growing menace. It’s a bad business. This Bill’—he made a gesture towards the Home Secretary—‘may be drastic. Does anyone think it too drastic? Should it be modified?’

‘No,’ said the Postmaster-General. ‘No.’

‘I agree,’ said the Attorney-General.

‘Has it occurred to you,’ asked the Lord Chancellor, looking across the table to the Home Secretary, ‘that you yourself, Sir Derek, have most cause to hesitate?’

The others looked at him. The Home Secretary smiled faintly.

‘As sponsor for this Bill,’ continued the Lord Chancellor, ‘you will get a lot of limelight. We know what these people are capable of doing. Assassination is a word that occurs rather frequently in the reports.’ The Home Secretary’s smile broadened a little. ‘I think I do not exaggerate if I say their attention will be focused on yourself. Have you considered this possibility, my dear fellow?’

‘I quite appreciate your point,’ answered the Home Secretary. ‘The Bill is my child—I’ll not disclaim parentship and I’ll look after myself.’

‘I think the Home Secretary should be given proper protection,’ said the Chancellor of the Exchequer.

‘Certainly,’ agreed the Prime Minister warmly. ‘We owe it to the country. Her valuable assets must be guarded. The Home Secretary is an extremely valuable asset.’

Sir Derek made a curious grimace.

‘I can assure you,’ he said, ‘that I’m in no hurry to play the hero’s part in a theatrical assassination. On the other hand, I really don’t feel there is any necessity for me to walk down to the House surrounded by policemen dressed up as private secretaries and journalists.’

‘I met Roderick Alleyn of the CID yesterday,’ said the Prime Minister ponderously, ‘and discussed this business quite unofficially with him. He’s had these gentry under his eye for some time. He’s the last man on earth to exaggerate a position of this sort. He considers that the Minister who introduces a Bill to deal with them will be in real danger from the organisation. I strongly urge you to let the Yard take any measures it thinks necessary for your protection.’

‘Very well,’ said Sir Derek. He moved uneasily in his chair and passed his hand over his face. ‘I take it,’ he added wearily, ‘that the Cabinet approves the introduction of the Bill?’

They fell to discussing again the suggested measures. Their behaviour was weirdly solemn. They used parliamentary phrases and politicians’ gestures. It was as though they had so saturated themselves with professional behaviourism that they had lost the knack of being natural. The Home Secretary sat with his eyes fixed on the papers before him, as though sunk in a profound and unwilling meditation.