by Mark Place
Roddy got up and walked restlessly up and down. "What can I say? The whole thing's so absurd - so fantastic! The mere idea of Elinor - Elinor, whom I've known since she was a child actually doing such a melodramatic thing as poisoning someone. It's quite laughable, of course! But how on earth explain that to a jury?"
Poirot said stolidly, "You consider it quite impossible that Miss Carlisle should have done such a thing?"
"Oh, quite! That goes without saying! Elinor's an exquisite creature - beautifully poised and balanced - no violence in her nature. She's intellectual, sensitive, and altogether devoid of animal passions. But get twelve fatheaded fools in a jury box, and God knows what they can be made to believe! After all, let's be reasonable: they're not there to judge character; they're there to sift evidence. Facts - facts - facts! And the facts are unfortunate!"
Hercule Poirot nodded thoughtfully. He said, "You are a person, Mr. Welman, of sensibility and intelligence. The facts condemn Miss Carlisle. Your knowledge of her acquits her. What, then, really happened? What can have happened?"
Roddy spread out his hands in exasperation. "That's the devil of it all! I suppose the nurse couldn't have done it?"
"She was never near the sandwiches - oh, I have made the inquiries very minutely - and she could not have poisoned the tea without poisoning herself as well. I have made quite sure of that. Moreover, why should she wish to kill Mary Gerrard?" Roddy cried out, "Why should anyone wish to kill Mary Gerrard?"
"That," said Poirot, "seems to be the unanswerable question in this case. No one wished to kill Mary Gerrard." (He added in his own mind, Except Elinor Carlisle.) "Therefore, the next step logically would seem to be: Mary Gerrard was not killed! But that, alas, is not so. She was killed!" He added, slightly melodramatically, "But she is in her grave, and oh, the difference to me!"
"I beg your pardon," said Roddy.
Hercule Poirot explained, "Wordsworth. I read him much. Those lines express, perhaps, what you feel?"
"I?" Roddy looked stiff and unapproachable.
Poirot said, "I apologize - I apologize deeply! It is so hard - to be a detective and also a pukka sahib. As it is so well expressed in your language, there are things that one does not say. But, alas, a detective is forced to say them! He must ask questions: about people's private affairs, about their feelings!"
Roddy said, "Surely all this is quite unnecessary?"
Poirot said quickly and humbly, "If I might just understand the position? Then we will pass from the unpleasant subject and not refer to it again. It is fairly widely known, Mr. Welman, that you - admired Mary Gerrard? That is, I think, true?"
Roddy got up and stood by the window. He played with the shade tassel. He said, "Yes."
"You fell in love with her?"
"I suppose so."
"Ah, and you are now heart-broken by her death-"
"I - I suppose - I mean - well, really, M. Poirot- "
He turned - a nervous, irritable, sensitive creature at bay.
Hercule Poirot said, "If you could just tell me - just show me clearly - then it would be finished with." Roddy Welman sat down in a chair. He did not look at the other man. He spoke in a series of jerks.
"It's very difficult to explain. Must we go into it?"
Poirot said, "One cannot always turn aside and pass by from the unpleasantnesses of life, Mr. Welman! You say you suppose you cared for this girl. You are not sure, then?"
Roddy said, "I don't know ... She was so lovely. Like a dream. That's what it seems like now. A dream! Not real! All that - my seeing her first - my - well, my infatuation for her! A kind of madness! And now everything is finished - gone - as though - as though it had never happened."
Poirot nodded his head. He said, "Yes, I understand."
He added, "You were not in England yourself at the time of her death?"
"No, I went abroad on July 9th and returned on August 1st. Elinor's telegram followed me about from place to place. I hurried home as soon as I got the news."
Poirot said, "It must have been a great shock to you. You had cared for the girl very much."
Roddy said, and there was bitterness and exasperation in his voice, "Why should these things happen to one? It's not as though one wished them to happen! It is contrary to all - to all one's ordered expectation of life!"
Hercule Poirot said, "Ah, but life is like that! It does not permit you to arrange and order it as you will. It will not permit you to escape emotion, to live by the intellect and by reason! You cannot say, ‘I will feel so much and no more.' Life, Mr. Welman, whatever else it is, is not reasonable!"
Roderick Welman murmured, "So it seems."
Poirot said, "A spring morning, a girl's face - and the well-ordered sequence of existence is routed."
Roddy winced and Poirot went on: "Sometimes it is little more than that - a face. What did you really know of Mary Gerrard, Mr. Welman?"
Roddy said heavily, "What did I know? So little; I see that now. She was sweet, I think, and gentle; but really, I know nothing - nothing at all. ... That's why, I suppose, I don't miss her."
His antagonism and resentment were gone now. He spoke naturally and simply. Hercule Poirot, as he had a knack of doing, had penetrated the other's defences. Roddy seemed to feel a certain relief in unburdening himself. He said, "Sweet - gentle - not very clever, sensitive, I think, and kind. She had a refinement that you would not expect to find in a girl of her class."
"Was she the kind of girl who would make enemies unconsciously?"
Roddy shook his head vigorously. "No, no, I can't imagine anyone disliking her - really disliking her, I mean. Spite is different."
Poirot said quickly, "Spite? So there was spite, you think?"
Roddy said absently, "Must have been - to account for that letter." Poirot said sharply, "What letter?"
Roddy flushed and looked annoyed. He said, "Oh, nothing important." Poirot repeated, "What letter?"
"An anonymous letter." He spoke reluctantly.
"When did it come? To whom was it written?"
Rather unwillingly Roddy explained.
Hercule Poirot murmured, "It is interesting, that. Can I see it, this letter?"
"Afraid you can't. As a matter of fact, I burned it."
"Now, why did you do that, Mr. Welman?"
Roddy said rather stiffly, "It seemed the natural thing to do at the time." Poirot said, "And in consequence of this letter, you and Miss Carlisle went hurriedly down to Hunterbury?"
"We went down, yes. I don't know about hurriedly."
"But you were a little uneasy, were you not? Perhaps, even, a little alarmed?" Roddy said even more stiffly, "I won't admit that."
Hercule Poirot cried, "But surely that was only natural! Your inheritance - that which was promised you - was in jeopardy! Surely it is natural that you should be unquiet about the matter! Money, it is very important!"
"Not as important as you make out."
Poirot said, "Such unworldliness is indeed remarkable!"
Roddy flushed. He said, "Oh, of course, the money did matter to us. We weren't completely indifferent to it. But our main object was to - to see my aunt and make sure she was all right."
Poirot said, "You went down there with Miss Carlisle. At that time your aunt had not made a will. Shortly afterward she had another attack other illness. She then wishes to make a will, but, conveniently for Miss Carlisle, perhaps, she dies that night before that will can be made."
"Look here, what are you hinting at?" Roddy's face was wrathful. Poirot answered him like a flash: "You have told me, Mr. Welman, as regards the death of Mary Gerrard, that the motive attributed to Elinor Carlisle is absurd - that she was, emphatically, not that kind of a person. But there is now another interpretation. Elinor Carlisle had reason to fear that she might be disinherited in favor of an outsider. The letter has warned her - her aunt's broken murmurings confirm that fear. In the hall below is an attaché case with various drugs and medical supplies. It is easy to abstract a tube
of morphine. And afterward, so I have learned, she sits in the sickroom alone with her aunt while you and the nurses are at dinner."
Roddy cried, "Good God, Monsieur Poirot, what are you suggesting now? That Elinor killed Aunt Laura?Of all the ridiculous ideas!" Poirot said, "But you know, do you not, that an order to exhume Mrs. Welman's body has been applied for?"
"Yes, I know. But they won't find anything!"
"Suppose they do?"
"They won't!" Roddy spoke positively.
Poirot shook his head. "I am not so sure. And there was only one person, you realize, who would benefit by Mrs. Welman's dying at that moment."
Roddy sat down. His face was white, and he was shaking a little. He stared at Poirot. Then he said, "I thought - you were on her side."
Hercule Poirot said, "Whatever side one is on, one must face facts! I think, Mr.Welman, that you have so far preferred in life to avoid facing an awkward truth whenever it is possible."
Roddy said, "Why harrow oneself by looking on the worst side?"
Hercule Poirot replied gravely, "Because it is sometimes necessary."
He paused a minute and then said, "Let us face the possibility that your aunt's death may be found to be due to the administration of morphine. What then?"
Roddy shook his head helplessly. "I don't know."
"But you must try to think. Who could have given it to her? You must admit that Elinor Carlisle had the best opportunity to do so?"
"What about the nurses?"
"Either of them could have done so, certainly. But Nurse Hopkins was concerned about the disappearance of the tube at the time and mentioned it openly. There was no need for her to do so. The death certificate had been signed. Why call attention to the missing morphine if she was guilty? It will probably bring her censure for carelessness as it is, and if she poisoned Mrs. Welman it was surely idiotic to draw attention to the morphine. Besides, what could she gain by Mrs. Welman's death? nothing. The same applies to Nurse O'Brien. She could have administered morphine, could have taken it from Nurse Hopkins's case; but, again - why should she?"
Roddy shook his head. "All that's true enough."
Poirot said, "Then there is yourself ."
Roddy started like a nervous horse. "Me?"
"Certainly, you could have abstracted the morphine. You could have given it to Mrs. Welman! You were alone with her for a short period that night. But, again, why should you? If she lived to make a will, it is at least probable that you would have been mentioned in it. So again, you see, there is no motive. Only two people had a motive."
Roddy's eyes brightened. "Two people?"
"Yes. One was Elinor Carlisle."
"And the other?"
Poirot said slowly, "The other was the writer of that anonymous letter."
Roddy looked incredulous.
Poirot said, "Somebody wrote that letter - somebody who hated Mary Gerrard or at least disliked her - somebody who was, as they say, ‘on your side.' Somebody, that is, who did not want Mary Gerrard to benefit at Mrs. Welman's death . Now, have you any idea, Mr. Welman, who the writer of that letter could be?"
Roddy shook his head. "I've no idea at all. It was an illiterate letter, misspelled, cheap-looking."
Poirot waved a hand. "There is nothing much to that! It might easily have been written by an educated person who chose to disguise the fact. That is why I wish you had the letter still. People who try to write in an uneducated manner usually give themselves away."
Roddy said doubtfully, "Elinor and I thought it might be one of the servants."
"Had you any idea which of them?"
"No - no idea whatsoever."
"Could it, do you think, have been Mrs. Bishop, the housekeeper?"
Roddy looked shocked. "Oh, no, she's a most respectable, high-and-mighty creature. Writes beautifully involved and ornate letters with long words in them. Besides, I'm sure she would never -"
As he hesitated, Poirot cut in, "She did not like Mary Gerrard!"
"I suppose she didn't. I never noticed anything, though."
"But perhaps, Mr. Welman, you do not notice very much?"
Roddy said slowly, "You don't think, Poirot, that my aunt could have taken that morphine herself?"
Poirot said, "It is an idea, yes."
Roddy said, "She hated her - her helplessness, you know. Often said she wished she could die."
Poirot said, "But, then, she could not have risen from her bed, gone downstairs, and helped herself to the tube of morphine from the nurse's case."
Roddy said slowly, "No, but somebody could have got it for her."
"Who?"
"Well, one of the nurses."
"No, neither of the nurses. They would understand the danger to themselves far too well! The nurses are the last people to suspect."
"Then - somebody else -"
He started, opened his mouth, shut it again.
Poirot said quietly, "You have remembered something, have you not?"
Roddy said doubtfully, "Yes - but"
"You wonder if you ought to tell me?"
"Well, yes."
Poirot said, a curious smile tilting the corners of his mouth, "When did Miss Carlisle say it?"
Roddy drew a deep breath.
"By Jove, you are a wizard! It was in the train coming down. We'd had the telegram, you know, saying Aunt Laura had had another stroke. Elinor said how terribly sorry she was for her, how the poor dear hated being ill, and that now she would be more helpless still and that it would be absolute hell for her.
Elinor said, ‘One does feel that people ought to be set free if they themselves really want it.' "
"And you said - what?"
"I agreed."
Poirot spoke very gravely, "Just now, Mr. Welman, you scouted the possibility of Miss Carlisle having killed your aunt for monetary gain. Do you also scout the possibility that she may have killed Mrs. Welman out of compassion?"
Roddy said, "I - I - no, I can't."
Hercule Poirot bowed his head. He said, "Yes, I thought - I was sure - that you would say that."
Chapter 14
In the offices of Messrs. Seddon, Blatherwick & Seddon, Hercule Poirot was received with extreme caution, not to say distrust. Mr. Seddon, a forefinger stroking his closely shaven chin, was noncommittal and his shrewd grey eyes appraised the detective thoughtfully. "Your name is familiar to me, Monsieur Poirot, of course. But I am at a loss to understand your position in this case."
Hercule Poirot said, "I am acting, Monsieur, in the interests of your client."
"Ah - indeed? And who - er - engaged you in that capacity?"
"I am here at the request of Dr. Lord."
Mr. Seddon's eyebrows rose very high. "Indeed! That seems to me very irregular - very irregular. Dr. Lord, I understand, has been subpoenaed as a witness for the prosecution."
Hercule Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "Does that matter?"
Mr. Seddon said, "The arrangements for Miss Carlisle's defence are entirely in our hands. I really do not think we need any outside assistance in this case."
Poirot asked, "Is that because your client's innocence will be so easily proved?" Mr. Seddon winced. Then he became wrathful in a dry legal fashion. "That," he said, "is a most improper question. Most improper." Hercule Poirot said, "The case against your client is a very strong one."
"I really fail to see, Poirot, how you know anything about it."
Poirot said, "Although I am actually retained by Dr. Lord, I have here a note from Mr. Roderick Welman."
He handed it over with a bow. Mr. Seddon perused the few lines it contained and remarked grudgingly, "That, of course, throws a new complexion on the matter. Mr. Welman has made himself responsible for Miss Carlisle's defence. We are acting at his request." He added with visible distaste, "Our firm does very little in - er - criminal procedure, but I felt it my duty to my - er - late client - to undertake the defence of her niece. I may say we have already briefed Sir Edwin Bulmer, K.C." Poirot said, a
nd his smile was suddenly ironic, "No expense will be spared, very right and proper!" Looking over his glasses, Mr. Seddon said, "Really, Monsieur Poirot" Poirot cut into his protest. "Eloquence and emotional appeal will not save your client. It will need more than that."
Mr. Seddon said dryly, "What do you advise?"
"There is always the truth."
"Quite so."
"But in this case will truth help us?"
Mr. Seddon said sharply, "That, again, is a most improper remark."
Poirot said, "There are certain questions to which I should like answers."
Mr. Seddon said cautiously, "I cannot, of course, guarantee to answer without the consent of my client."
"Naturally I understand that." He paused and then said, "Has Elinor Carlisle any enemies?"
Mr. Seddon showed a faint surprise. "As far as I know, none."
"Did the late Mrs. Welman, at any period of her life, make a will?"
"Never. She always put it off."
"Has Elinor Carlisle made a will?"
"Yes."
"Recently? Since her aunt's death?"
"Yes."
"To whom has she left her property?"
"That, Poirot, is confidential. I cannot tell you without authorization from my client."
Poirot said, "Then I shall have to interview your client!"
Mr. Seddon said with a cold smile, "That, I fear, will not be easy."
Poirot rose and made a gesture. "Everything," he said, "is easy to Hercule Poirot."
Chapter 15
Chief Inspector Marsden was affable. "Well, Monsieur Poirot," he said. "Come to set me right about one of my cases?"
Poirot murmured deprecatingly, "No, no. A little curiosity on my part, that is all."
"Only too happy to satisfy it, which case is it?"
"Elinor Carlisle."
"Oh, yes, girl who poisoned Mary Gerrard. Coming up for trial in two weeks' time. Interesting case. She did in the old woman too, by the way. Final report isn't in yet, but it seems there's no doubt of it.
Morphia. Cold-blooded bit of goods. Never turned a hair at the time of her arrest or after. Giving nothing away. But we've got the goods on her all right. She's for it."