Eight

Chief Inspector¹ Marsden was affable.

“Well, M. 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. Interestingcase. She did in the old woman too, by the way. Final report isn’t in yet, but it seems there’s nodoubt of it. Morphia. Cold-blooded bit of goods. Never turned a hair at the time of her arrest orafter. Giving nothing away. But we’ve got the goods on her all right. She’s for it.”

“You think she did it?”

Marsden, an experienced, kindly² looking man, nodded his head affirmatively.

“Not a doubt of it. Put the stuff in the top sandwich. She’s a cool customer.”

“You have no doubts? No doubts at all?”

“Oh, no! I’m quite sure. It’s a pleasant feeling when you are sure! We don’t like makingmistakes any more than anyone else would. We’re not just out to get a conviction, as some peoplethink. This time I can go ahead with a clear conscience.”

Poirot said slowly:

“I see.”

The Scotland Yard man looked at him curiously³.

“Is there anything on the other side?”

Slowly Poirot shook his head.

“As yet, no. So far everything I have found out about the case points to Elinor Carlisle’s beingguilty.”

Inspector Marsden said with cheerful certainty:

“She’s guilty, all right.”

Poirot said:

“I should like to see her.”

Inspector Marsden smiled indulgently. He said:

“Got the present Home Secretary in your pocket, haven’t you? That will be easy enough.”

 

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