II

There was suddenly a poignant¹ sense of loss, of something exquisite² destroyed….

In his mind phrase after phrase succeeded each other. Peter Lord’s “She was a nice kid.” NurseHopkins’ “She could have gone on the films any time.” Mrs. Bishop³’s venomous “No patiencewith her airs and graces.” And now last, putting to shame, laying aside those other views, thequiet wondering: “She was like a flower.”

Hercule Poirot said:

“But, then…?”

He spread out his hands in a wide, appealing foreign gesture.

Ted⁴ Bigland nodded his head. His eyes had still the dumb, glazed⁵ look of an animal in pain.

He said:

“I know, sir. I know what you say’s true. She didn’t die natural. But I’ve been wondering….”

He paused.

Poirot said:

“Yes?”

Ted Bigland said slowly:

“I’ve been wondering if in some way it couldn’t have been an accident?”

“An accident? But what kind of an accident?”

“I know, sir. I know. It doesn’t sound like sense. But I keep thinking and thinking, and it seemsto me it must have been that way. Something that wasn’t meant to happen or something that wasall a mistake. Just—well, just an accident!”

He looked pleadingly at Poirot, embarrassed by his own lack of eloquence⁶.

Poirot was silent a moment or two. He seemed to be considering. He said at last:

“It is interesting that you feel that.”

Ted Bigland said deprecatingly:

“I dare say it doesn’t make sense to you, sir. I can’t figure out any how and why about it. It’s justa feeling I’ve got.”

Hercule Poirot said:

“Feeling is sometimes an important guide… You will pardon me, I hope, if I seem to tread onpainful ground, but you cared very much for Mary Gerrard, did you not?”

A little dark colour came up in the tanned face.

Ted said simply:

“Everyone knows that around here, I reckon.”

“You wanted to marry her?”

“Yes.”

“But she—was not willing?”

Ted’s face darkened a little. He said, with a hint of surpressed anger:

“Mean well, people do, but they shouldn’t muck up people’s lives by interfering⁷. All thisschooling and going abroad! It changed Mary. I don’t mean spoilt her, or that she was stuck-up—she wasn’t. But it…oh, it bewildered her! She didn’t know where she was any more. She was—well, put it crudely — she was too good for me; but she still wasn’t good enough for a realgentleman like Mr. Welman.”

Hercule Poirot said, watching him:

“You don’t like Mr. Welman?”

Ted Bigland said with simple violence:

“Why the hell should I? Mr. Welman’s all right. I’ve nothing against him. He’s not what I callmuch of a man! I could pick him up and break him in two. He’s got brains, I suppose… But that’snot much help to you if your car breaks down, for instance. You may know the principle thatmakes a car run; but it doesn’t stop you from being as helpless as a baby when all that’s needed isto take the mag out and give it a wipe.”

Poirot said:

“Of course, you work in a garage?”

Ted Bigland nodded.

“Henderson’s, down the road.”

“You were there on the morning when—this thing happened?”

Ted Bigland said:

“Yes, testing out a car for a gentleman. A choke somewhere, and I couldn’t locate it. Ran itround for a bit. Seems odd to think of now. It was a lovely day, some honeysuckle still in thehedges… Mary used to like honeysuckle. We used to go picking it together before she went awayabroad….”

Again there was that puzzled child-like wonder on his face.

Hercule Poirot was silent.

With a start Ted Bigland came out of his trance.

He said:

“Sorry, sir, forget what I said about Mr. Welman. I was sore—because of his hanging roundafter Mary. He ought to have left her alone. She wasn’t his sort—not really.”

Poirot said:

“Do you think she cared for him?”

Again Ted Bigland frowned.

“I don’t—not really. But she might have done. I couldn’t say.”

Poirot asked:

“Was there any other man in Mary’s life? Anyone, for instance, she had met abroad?”

“I couldn’t say, sir. She never mentioned anybody.”

“Any enemies—here in Maidensford?”

“You mean anyone who had it in for her?” He shook his head. “Nobody knew her very well.

But they all liked her.”

Poirot said:

“Did Mrs. Bishop, the housekeeper⁸ at Hunterbury, like her?”

Ted gave a sudden grin. He said:

“Oh, that was just spite! The old dame⁹ didn’t like Mrs. Welman taking such a fancy to Mary.”

Poirot asked:

“Was Mary Gerrard happy when she was down here? Was she fond of old Mrs. Welman?”

“She’d have been happy enough, I dare say, if Nurse had let her alone. Nurse Hopkins, I mean.

Putting ideas into her head of earning a living and going off to do massage¹⁰.”

“She was fond of Mary, though?”

“Oh, yes, she was fond enough of her; but she’s the kind who always knows what’s best foreveryone!”

Poirot said slowly:

“Supposing that Nurse Hopkins knows something—something, let us say, that would throw adiscreditable light on Mary—do you think she would keep it to herself?”

Ted Bigland looked at him curiously¹¹.

“I don’t quite get your meaning, sir?”

“Do you think that if Nurse Hopkins knew something against Mary Gerrard she would hold hertongue about it?”

Ted Bigland said:

“I doubt if that woman could hold her tongue about anything! She’s the greatest gossip in thevillage. But if she’d hold her tongue about anybody, it would probably be about Mary.” He added,his curiosity getting the better of him, “I’d like to know why you ask that?”

Hercule Poirot said:

“One has, in talking to people, a certain impression. Nurse Hopkins was, to all seeming,perfectly frank and outspoken¹², but I formed the impression—very strongly—that she was keepingsomething back. It is not necessarily an important thing. It may have no bearing on the crime. Butthere is something that she knows which she has not told. I also formed the impression that thissomething—whatever it is—is something definitely damaging or detrimental¹³ to the character ofMary Gerrard….”

Ted shook his head helplessly.

Hercule Poirot sighed:

“Ah, well. I shall learn what it is in time.”

 

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