Crime & Christie: Seven Degrees of Separation

Fun Fact: Did you know Agatha Christie used arsenic as a murder weapon, misled investigators with, or referenced the chemical element in nearly 25% of her mysteries? True story! However, ages before Agatha Christie earned the moniker ‘Queen of Poisons’ for her application of arsenic (and other equally baneful substances) within her books, people the world over were already well aquatinted with the element.

Although the discovery of this dangerous substance is generally ascribed to the Patron Saint of Natural Sciences, Philosophers, Medical Technicians, and Scientists — Saint Albertus Magnus, awareness of arsenic’s deleterious effects reaches back further still to the Ancient Greek physician Hippocrates (b.460 B.C. – d.370 B.C.), who described the symptoms of arsenic poisoning he’d observed in some miners who’d dug into a mineral vein laced with the heavy metal. 

Yet, even before the Father of Medicine noted the abdominal problems suffered by those miners, anecdotal evidence of chronic arsenic poisoning can be found in stories dating back to the Bronze Age — specifically, those tales containing the ‘lame blacksmith’ trope. 

It seems above and beyond the standard risks of molten metal, fire, and the perils of a mis-swung hammer — metalworkers faced an invisible hazard. When smelting copper ore (many varieties of which naturally contain some arsenic) or creating bronze by combining copper with arsenic (rather than or in addition to tin), a poisonous fume formed in the forge as the arsenic vaporized. Because arsenic is odorless, tasteless, and sufficiently soluble in hot liquids if mixed well enough (though this last quality probably didn’t come into play in this particular situation) — these metalsmiths had no idea they were habitually inhaling arsenic-polluted air….Until they started experiencing weakness and/or numbing in their legs and feet, difficulty breathing, and headaches — amongst other symptoms (before other diseases like cancer set in).

Thanks to the thousands of years between then and now, it’s unclear (or at least I’ve not found) when and who connected arsenic to the maladies commonly suffered by blacksmiths. Moreover, due to the ease in which both princes and paupers alike could obtain said element — the name of the first bright bulb who decided to rid themselves of an unwanted spouse/lover/relative/friend/enemy by mixing arsenic into their mulled wine or sprinkling it over their dinner plate has been lost to time. 

That being said, we do know by the time Pedanius Dioscorides, the ‘Father of Pharmacognosy’ (or the study of medicinal drugs obtained from plants, animals, fungi, and other natural sources), published the fifth and final volume in his De Materia Medica around 70 A.D. — he described arsenic as a poison. 

Knowledge Dioscorides could’ve obtained through first-hand experience as a physician in Roman Emperor Nero’s court. 

It seems a few months after Nero was crowned in 55 A.D., the newly minted emperor used arsenic (or ordered someone else) to poison his thirteen-year-old stepbrother Tiberius Claudius Caesar Britannicus. As the biological son of the former Emperor Claudius and one-time heir apparent, Tiberius seriously threatened Nero’s own claim — hence, he had to go. (There is some debate whether arsenic or belladonna was used to do the deed. I lean towards arsenic, only because belladonna isn’t always fatal, and I don’t see Nero taking a chance that Tiberius might escape the assassination attempt.)

After Nero’s act of fratricide, arsenic’s reign as the King of Poisons remained unchallenged until 1775. When Swedish chemist Carl Wilhelm Scheele (of Scheele’s Green fame) devised a methodology to reveal arsenic’s presence in a person’s remains, although the corpse needed to be stuffed full of arsenic to produce a positive result, Scheele’s initial strides at bringing arsenic and its adherents to heel were significant. 

Piling onto Scheele’s foray into toxicology was Johann Metzger. Who, in 1787, worked out a way to test if arsenic was present in a solution — but only if it hadn’t been consumed (picture the remnants of a half-finished bottle of pop, cup of coffee, or broth). Nineteen years later, Valentin Ross (or Rose; I’ve seen his name both ways) took Metzger’s technique one step further. In 1806, while pursuing a poisoner, Rose (or Ross) developed a way to process human organs (in this case, a stomach) that allowed Metzger’s test to be successfully run.

Next came the work of Mathieu Joseph Bonaventure Orfila, otherwise known as the ‘Father of Toxicology’. Amongst other advances in the field, Orfila refined Rose’s (or Ross’s) process, helping improve its accuracy. He also proved that after ingestion, arsenic gets distributed throughout the body. Orfila also aided in disseminating the work of Dr. Klanck, who, through extensive experimentation, determined the effect arsenic had on putrefaction and proved arsenic could be found in the remains of those long buried. 

The cumulation of these various discoveries came in 1836 when a British chemist, James Marsh, became so vexed at the acquittal of a poisoner that he devised a more sensitive, reliable, and accurate arsenic test — which remained in use (with refinements) until the 1970s.

Unsurprisingly, with the gold standard in arsenic detection being developed, the abuse of arsenic was curbed — but not curtailed. And within this liminal space, Chicago’s Cell Block Tango, Agatha Christie, and Cook County’s very real Murderess Row intersect.

A Lingering Question, Plumbing Problems, & Prussian Blue

My 52 Weeks With Christie: A 2022 Revisit to The Pale Horse Part 1

The Pale Horse by Agatha Christie

Word of Warning: If you haven’t read Christie’s The Pale Horse, proceed at your own risk, as this write-up contains spoilers. I’ll try and mitigate them if I can….but in covering what I want to cover in this piece, there isn’t a good way of avoiding plot points. So if you’ve already cracked this book’s cover or don’t mind having critical elements of the mystery revealed before you pick up the story — read on!

The 2022 Follow-Up: Ever since I first read The Pale Horse, all the way back in 2014, I’ve wondered how on earth someone came up with the idea of administering Prussian Blue to people suffering from Thallium poisoning. It seems improbable that a scientist would stare at Gainsborough’s The Blue Boy and think — ‘Hey! I bet that deep blue pigment would make a great antidote for heavy metal poisoning.’ However, other than the occasional idle thought, I never did much of anything to answer my own question.

(BTW — This photo of a photo does not do the painting justice.)

Until our house insisted we needed to replace all its pipes, water heater, and sewer line.

Turns out writing fiction, for me, doesn’t work so well when you’ve got a pair of plumbers wandering all over and under your house banging, clanging, and sawing holes in your walls.

Who knew?

And, for whatever reason, this long-neglected Prussian Blue colored question popped into my head again — and needing a distraction from the crew digging up my flower beds (for the second time in as many weeks), I began my search in earnest.

In fairness, I didn’t actually nail down how scientists landed on Prussian Blue as an antidote. So it’s possible that the inspiration stick struck them whilst watching the blue ink flow from their fountain pens. (Assuming they owned such writing implements, favored blue ink above black, purple, or green, and knew Prussian Blue is a component of the ink’s recipe.) However, it’s not probable.

And yet….

The very first bucket of Prussian Blue was an accidental creation. Thallium was discovered by two scientists, independently of one another, at nearly the same time. So there is precedent for unlikely coincidences occurring.

Unfortunately, the same serendipity did not strike when I Googled ‘Who discovered Prussian Blue was an antidote for Thallium poisoning’. (That would’ve been entirely too easy.) 

So down the rabbit hole I leapt, looking for answers — beginning my quest with Prussian Blue.

As told by Georg Ernst Stahl, Prussian Blue’s origin story places the pigment’s synthesis at the door of color maker Johann Jacob Diesbach. Working in a shared Berlin lab in 1704, Diesbach initially set out to create a red hue. The only problem was he’d run out of a key ingredient, potash. Borrowing some of his lab-mate, Johann Konrad Dippel, Diesbach continued mixing the formula — unaware that Dippel’s potash was contaminated with animal material. When Diesbach finished his mixture, rather than creating the anticipated red, he’d accidentally concocted Prussian Blue for the first time.

Here’s where things get a bit murky. 

Apparently, Stahl wrote his account twenty-five years after Diesbach’s discovery. Since then, a series of letters from Johann Leonhard Frisch and Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz have come to light (two eminent scientists of the day). Whilst these primary source materials seem to confirm Diesbach as Prussian Blue’s inventor — Frisch later declares Prussian Blue as his own invention. An assertion undoubtedly rooted in Frisch’s claims to have improved upon the original color and lowered its manufacturing costs. There’s also a good chance Frisch was trying to save face with this boast — as Diesbach’s father-in-law informed Leibniz of Prussian Blue’s actual creator.

(Fun Fact: Even back in the day Leibniz was a BFD. Amongst his other achievements: he’s considered one of the most important people in the history of both math and philosophy — and — whilst overseeing a German library created a method for cataloging books that influenced other libraries all over Europe. Hence why someone might tell a lie in order to impress this very impressive man.)

Either way, Diesbach and Frisch only managed to keep Prussian Blue’s formula a secret (allowing both men to cash in) until 1724, when John Woodward published a Prussian Blue how-to recipe. Thereby allowing manufacturers to flood the market with variants of this iconic color.  

Crucially to my Pale Horse inspired inquiry, Woodward’s verified formula enabled other scientists to research Prussian Blue’s chemical properties. In the hopes of nailing down its composition, stoichiometry, and structure. 

Unfortunately, this is where the trail went cold, and the plumbers discovered our sewer pipe needed lining because it was older than Methuselah. (*sigh*)

Other than uncovering Carl Wilhelm Scheele’s talent for concocting toxic substances. None of the distinguished chemists or alchemists of the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries figured out Prussian Blue’s exact structure or that it was an antidote for thallium. 

Unwilling to give up, especially since the plumbers added another week of plumbing fun to the agenda, I started tugging a different line of inquiry.

A.Miner©2022