Dr. Trace To The Coroner

I cannot tell you, Coroner, the cause         Of death of Elenor Murray, not until         My chemical analysis is finished.         Here is the woman's heart sealed in this jar,         I weighed it, weight nine ounces, if she had         A hemolysis, cannot tell you now         What caused the hemolysis. Since you say         She took no castor oil, that you can learn         From Irma Leese, or any witness, still         A chemical analysis may show         The presence of ricin, - and that she took         A dose of oil not pure. Her throat betrayed         Slight inflammation; but in brief, I wait         My chemical analysis.          Let's exclude         The things we know and narrow down the facts.         She lay there by the river, death had come         Some twenty hours before. No stick or stone,         No weapon near her, bottle, poison box,         No bruise upon her, in her mouth no dust,         No foreign bodies in her nostrils, neck         Without a mark, no punctures, cuts or scars         Upon her anywhere, no water in lungs,         No mud, sand, straws or weeds in hands, the nails         Clean, as if freshly manicured.             Again         No evidence of rape. I first examined         The genitals in situ, found them sound.         The girl had lived, was not a virgin, still         Had temperately indulged, and not at all         In recent months, no evidence at all         Of conjugation willingly or not,         The day of death. But still I lifted out         The ovaries, fallopian tubes and uterus,         The vagina and vulvae. Opened up         The mammals, found no milk. No pregnancy         Existed, sealed these organs up to test         For poison later, as we doctors know         Sometimes a poison's introduced per vaginam.         I sealed the brain up too, shall make a test         Of blood and serum for urea; death         Comes suddenly from that, you find no lesion,         Must take a piece of brain and cut it up,         Pour boiling water on it, break the brain         To finer pieces, pour the water off,         Digest the piece of brain in other water,         Repeat four times, the solutions mix together,         Dry in an oven, treat with ether, at last         The residue put on a slide of glass         With nitric acid, let it stand awhile,         Then take your microscope - if there's urea         You'll see the crystals - very beautiful!         A cobra's beautiful, but scarce can kill         As quick as these.             Likewise I have sealed up         The stomach, liver, kidneys, spleen, intestines,         So many poisons have no microscopic         Appearance that convinces, opium,         Hyoscyamus, belladonna fool us;         But as the stomach had no inflammation,         It was not chloral, ether took her off,         Which we can smell, to boot. But I can find         Strychnia, if it killed her; though you know         That case in England sixty years ago,         Where the analysis did not disclose         Strychnia, though they hung a man for giving         That poison to a fellow.             To recur         I'm down to this: Perhaps a hemolysis -         But what produced it? If I find no ricin         I turn to streptococcus, deadly snake,         Or shall I call him tiger? For I think         The microscopic world of living things         Is just a little jungle, filled with tigers,         Snakes, lions, what you will, with teeth and claws,         The perfect miniatures of these monstrous foes.         Sweet words come from the lips and tender hands         Like Elenor Murray's, minister, nor know         The jungle has been roused in throat or lungs;         And shapes venene begin to crawl and eat         The ruddy apples of the blood, eject         Their triple venomous excreta in         The channels of the body.             There's the heart,         Which may be weakened by a streptococcus.         But if she had a syncope and fell         She must have bruised her body or her head.         And if she had a syncope, was held up,         Who held her up? That might have cost her life:         To be held up in syncope. You know         You lay a person down in syncope,         And oftentimes the heart resumes its beat.         Perhaps she was held up until she died,         Then laid there by the river, so no bruise.         So many theories come to me. But again,         I say to you, look for a man. Run down         All clues of Gregory Wenner. He is dead -         Loss of a building drives to suicide -         The papers say, but still it may be true         He was with Elenor Murray when she died,         Pushed her, we'll say, or struck her in a way         To leave no mark, a tap upon the heart         That shocked the muscles more or less obscure         That bind the auricles and ventricles,         And killed her. Then he flies away in fear,         Aghast at what he does, and kills himself.         Look for a man, I say. It must be true,         She went so secretly to walk that morning         To meet a man - why would she walk alone?         So while you hunt the man, I'll look for ricin,         And with my chemicals end up the search.         I never saw a heart more beautiful,         Just look at it. We doctors all agreed         This Elenor Murray might have lived to ninety         Except for jungles, poison, sudden shock.         I take my bottle with the heart of Elenor         And go about my way. It beat in France,         It beat for France and for America,         But what is truer, somewhere was a man         For whom it beat!         *        *        *        *        *         When Irma Leese, the Aunt of Elenor Murray,         Appeared before the coroner she told         Of Elenor Murray's visit, of the morning         She left to walk, was never seen again.         And brought the coroner some letters sent         By Elenor from France. What follows now         Is what the coroner, or the jury heard         From Irma Leese, from letters drawn - beside         The riffle that the death of Elenor Murray         Sent round the life of Irma Leese, which spread         To Tokio and touched a man, the son         Of Irma Leese's sister, dead Corinne,         The mother of this man in Tokio.