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Six
Poirot looked with interest at the long, sensitive face of Roderick Welman.
Roddy’s nerves were in a pitiable condition. His hands twitched1, his eyes were bloodshot, hisvoice was husky and irritable2.
He said, looking down at the card:
“Of course, I know your name, M. Poirot. But I don’t see what Dr. Lord thinks you can do inthis matter! And, anyway, what business is it of his? He attended my aunt, but otherwise he’s acomplete stranger. Elinor and I had not even met him until we went down there this June. Surely itis Seddon’s business to attend to all this sort of thing?”
Hercule Poirot said:
“Technically that is correct.”
Roddy went on unhappily:
“Not that Seddon gives me much confidence. He’s so confoundedly gloomy.”
“It is a habit, that, of lawyers.”
“Still,” said Roddy, cheering up a little, “we’ve briefed Bulmer. He’s supposed to be pretty wellat the top of the tree, isn’t he?”
Hercule Poirot said:
“He has a reputation for leading forlorn hopes.”
Poirot said:
“It does not displease4 you, I hope, that I should endeavour to be of assistance to Miss ElinorCarlisle?”
“No, no, of course not. But—”
“But what can I do? It is that, that you would ask?”
A quick smile flashed across Roddy’s worried face—a smile so suddenly charming that HerculePoirot understood the subtle attraction of the man.
Roddy said apologetically:
“It sounds a little rude, put like that. But, really, of course, that is the point. I won’t beat aboutthe bush. What can you do, M. Poirot?”
Poirot said:
“I can search for the truth.”
“Yes.” Roddy sounded a little doubtful.
Poirot said:
“I might discover facts that would be helpful to the accused.”
Roddy sighed.
“If you only could!”
Hercule Poirot went on:
“It is my earnest desire to be helpful. Will you assist me by telling me just exactly what youthink of the whole business?”
Roddy got up and walked restlessly up and down.
“What can I say? The whole thing’s so absurd—so fantastic! The mere5 idea of Elinor—Elinor,whom I’ve known since she was a child—actually doing such a melodramatic thing as poisoningsomeone. It’s quite laughable, of course! But how on earth explain that to a jury?”
“You consider it quite impossible that Miss Carlisle should have done such a thing?”
“Oh quite! That goes without saying! Elinor’s an exquisite7 creature—beautifully poised8 andbalanced—no violence in her nature. She’s intellectual, sensitive and altogether devoid9 of animalpassions. But get twelve fatheaded fools in a jury box, and God knows what they can be made tobelieve! After all, let’s be reasonable: they’re not there to judge character; they’re there to siftevidence. 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 condemn10 MissCarlisle. Your knowledge of her acquits11 her. What, then, really happened? What can havehappened?”
Roddy spread out his hands in exasperation12.
“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 inquiries13 very minutely—and shecould 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 killMary Gerrard.” (He added in his own mind: “Except Elinor Carlisle.”) “Therefore, the next steplogically would seem to be: Mary Gerrard was not killed! But that, alas14, 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 itis so well expressed in your language, there are things that one does not say. But, alas, a detectiveis forced to say them! He must ask questions: about people’s private affairs, about their feelings!”
Roddy said:
“Surely all this is quite unnecessary?”
“If I might just understand the position? Then we will pass from the unpleasant subject and notrefer to it again. It is fairly widely known, Mr. Welman, that you—admired Mary Gerrard? Thatis, I think, true?”
“Yes.”
“You fell in love with her?”
“I suppose so.”
“Ah, and you are now heartbroken 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.”
“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! Yousay 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 meabout 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 iscontrary 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 notpermit you to escape emotion, to live by the intellect and by reason! You cannot say, ‘I will feel somuch 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, Iknow nothing—nothing at all… That’s why, I suppose, I don’t miss her….”
His antagonism18 and resentment19 were gone now. He spoke naturally and simply. Hercule Poirot,as he had a knack20 of doing, had penetrated21 the other’s defences. Roddy seemed to feel a certainrelief in unburdening himself.
He said:
“Sweet—gentle—not very clever. Sensitive, I think, and kind. She had a refinement22 that youwould 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?”
He spoke reluctantly.
“When did it come? To whom was it written?”
Rather unwillingly24 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 burnt 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 injeopardy! Surely it is natural that you should be unquiet about the matter! Money, it is veryimportant!”
“Not as important as you make out.”
Poirot said:
“Such unworldliness is indeed remarkable25!”
Roddy flushed. He said:
“Oh, of course, the money did matter to us. We weren’t completely indifferent to it. But ourmain 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. Shortlyafterwards she had another attack of her illness. She then wished to make a will, but, convenientlyfor 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 motiveattributed to Elinor Carlisle is absurd—that she was, emphatically, not that kind of a person. Butthere is now another interpretation27. Elinor Carlisle had reason to fear that she might be disinheritedin favour of an outsider. The letter has warned her—her aunt’s broken murmurings confirm thatfear. In the hall below is an attaché case with various drugs and medical supplies. It is easy toabstract a tube of morphine. And afterwards, so I have learned, she sits in the sick room alone withher aunt while you and the nurses are at dinner….”
Roddy cried:
“Good God, M. Poirot, what are you suggesting now? That Elinor killed Aunt Laura? Of all theridiculous ideas!”
Poirot said:
“Yes, I know. But they won’t find anything!”
“Suppose they do?”
“They won’t!” Roddy spoke positively29.
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 hesaid:
“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 farpreferred 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 something 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 administrationof 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 Carlislehad the best opportunity to do so?”
“What about the nurses?”
“Either of them could have done so, certainly. But Nurse Hopkins was concerned about thedisappearance 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 wereguilty? It will probably bring her censure30 for carelessness as it is, and if she poisoned Mrs.
Welman it was surely idiotic31 to draw attention to the morphine. Besides, what could she gain byMrs. Welman’s death? Nothing. The same applies to Nurse O’Brien. She could have administeredmorphine, could have taken it from Nurse Hopkins’ 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 tomake a will, it is at least probable that you would have been mentioned in it. So again, you see,there is no motive26. 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 MaryGerrard to benefit at Mrs. Welman’s death. Now, have you any idea, Mr. Welman, who the writerof that letter could be?”
Roddy shook his head.
“I’ve no idea at all. It was an illiterate32 letter, misspelt, cheap-looking.”
Poirot waved a hand.
“There is nothing much to that! It might easily have been written by an educated person whochose to disguise the fact. That is why I wish you had the letter still. People who try to write in anuneducated manner usually give themselves away.”
Roddy said thoughtfully:
“Elinor and I thought it might be one of the servants.”
“Had you any idea which of them?”
“No—no idea whatsoever33.”
Roddy looked shocked.
“Oh, no, she’s a most respectable, high-and-mighty creature. Writes beautifully involved andornate 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, M. Poirot, that my aunt could have taken that morphine herself?”
Poirot said slowly:
“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 thetube 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! Thenurses 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….”
“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 thepoor dear hated being ill, and that now she would be more helpless still and that it would beabsolute hell for her. Elinor said, ‘One does feel that people ought to be set free if they themselvesreally want it.’”
“And you said—what?”
“I agreed.”
Poirot spoke very gravely:
“Just now, Mr. Welman, you scouted38 the possibility of Miss Carlisle having killed your aunt formonetary gain. Do you also scout37 the possibility that she may have killed Mrs. Welman out ofcompassion?”
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….”
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