Nine

Peter Lord said:

“Well?”

Hercule Poirot said:

“No, it is not very well.”

Peter Lord said heavily:

“You haven’t got hold of anything?”

Poirot said slowly:

“Elinor Carlisle killed Mary Gerrard out of jealousy… Elinor Carlisle killed her aunt so as toinherit her money… Elinor Carlisle killed her aunt out of compassion… My friend, you may makeyour choice!”

Peter Lord said:

“You’re talking nonsense!”

Hercule Poirot said:

“Am I?”

Lord’s freckled² face looked angry. He said:

“What is all this?”

Hercule Poirot said:

“Do you think it is possible, that?”

“Do I think what is possible?”

“That Elinor Carlisle was unable to bear the sight of her aunt’s misery³ and helped her out ofexistence.”

“Nonsense!”

“Is it nonsense? You have told me yourself that the old lady asked you to help her.”

“She didn’t mean it seriously. She knew I wouldn’t do anything of the sort.”

“Still, the idea was in her mind. Elinor Carlisle might have helped her.”

Peter Lord strolled up and down. He said at last:

“One can’t deny that that sort of thing is possible. But Elinor Carlisle is a levelheaded, clear-thinking kind of young woman. I don’t think she’d be so carried away by pity as to lose sight ofthe risk. And she’d realize exactly what the risk was. She’d be liable to stand accused of murder.”

“So you don’t think she would do it?”

Peter Lord said slowly:

“I think a woman might do such a thing for her husband; or for her child; or for her mother,perhaps. I don’t think she’d do it for an aunt, though she might be fond of that aunt. And I think inany case she’d only do it if the person in question was actually suffering unbearable⁴ pain.”

Poirot said thoughtfully:

“Perhaps you are right.”

Then he added:

“Do you think Roderick Welman’s feelings could have been sufficiently⁵ worked upon to inducehim to do such a thing?”

Peter Lord replied scornfully:

“He wouldn’t have the guts⁶!”

Poirot murmured:

“I wonder. In some ways, mon cher, you underestimate that young man.”

“Oh, he’s clever and intellectual and all that, I dare say.”

“Exactly,” said Poirot. “And he has charm, too… Yes, I felt that.”

“Did you? I never have!”

Then Peter Lord said earnestly:

“Look here, Poirot, isn’t there anything?”

Poirot said:

“They are not fortunate so far, my investigations⁷! They lead always back to the same place. Noone stood to gain by Mary Gerrard’s death. No one hated Mary Gerrard—except Elinor Carlisle.

There is only one question that we might perhaps ask ourselves. We might say, perhaps: Didanyone hate Elinor Carlisle?”

Slowly Dr. Lord shook his head.

“Not that I know of… You mean—that someone might have framed her for the crime?”

Poirot nodded. He said:

“It is a very far-fetched speculation⁹, that, and there is nothing to support it…except, perhaps, thevery completeness of the case against her.”

He told the other of the anonymous¹⁰ letter.

“You see,” he said, “that makes it possible to outline a very strong case against her. She waswarned that she might be completely cut out of her aunt’s will—that this girl, a stranger, might getall the money. So, when her aunt in her halting speech was asking for a lawyer, Elinor took nochances, and saw to it that the old lady should die that night!”

Peter Lord cried:

“What about Roderick Welman? He stood to lose, too!”

Poirot shook his head.

“No, it was to his advantage that the old lady should make a will. If she died intestate, he gotnothing, remember. Elinor was the next of kin¹.”

Lord said:

“But he was going to marry Elinor!”

Poirot said, “True. But remember that immediately afterwards the engagement was broken off—that he showed her clearly that he wished to be released from it.”

Peter Lord groaned¹¹ and held his head. He said:

“It comes back to her, then. Every time!”

“Yes. Unless….”

He was silent for a minute. Then he said:

“There is something….”

“Yes?”

“Something—some little piece of the puzzle that is missing. It is something—of that I amcertain—that concerns Mary Gerrard. My friend, you hear a certain amount of gossip, of scandal,down here. Have you ever heard anything against her?”

“Against Mary Gerrard? Her character, you mean?”

“Anything. Some bygone story about her. Some indiscretion on her part. A hint of scandal. Adoubt of her honesty. A malicious¹² rumour¹³ concerning her. Anything — anything at all — butsomething that definitely is damaging to her….”

Peter Lord said slowly:

“I hope you’re not going to suggest that line… Trying to rake up things about a harmless youngwoman who’s dead and can’t defend herself… And, anyway, I don’t believe you can do it!”

“She was like the female Sir Galahad—a blameless life?”

“As far as I know, she was. I never heard anything else.”

Poirot said gently:

“You must not think, my friend, that I would stir the mud where no mud is… No, no, it is notlike that at all. But the good Nurse Hopkins is not an adept¹⁴ at hiding her feelings. She was fond ofMary, and there is something about Mary she does not want known; that is to say, there issomething against Mary that she is afraid I will find out. She does not think that it has any bearingon the crime. But, then, she is convinced that the crime was committed by Elinor Carlisle, andclearly this fact, whatever it is, has nothing to do with Elinor. But, you see, my friend, it isimperative that I should know everything. For it may be that there is a wrong done by Mary tosome third person, and in that case, that third person might have a motive¹⁵ for desiring her death.”

Peter Lord said:

“But surely, in that case, Nurse Hopkins would realize that, too.”

Poirot said:

“Nurse Hopkins is quite an intelligent woman within her limitations, but her intellect is hardlythe equal of mine. She might not see, but Hercule Poirot would!”

Peter Lord said, shaking his head:

“I’m sorry. I don’t know anything.”

Poirot said thoughtfully:

“No more does Ted⁸ Bigland—and he has lived here all his life and Mary’s. No more does Mrs.

Bishop¹⁶; for if she knew anything unpleasant about the girl, she would not have been able to keep itto herself! Eh bien, there is one more hope.”

“Yes?”

“I am seeing the other nurse, Nurse O’Brien, today.”

Peter Lord said, shaking his head:

“She doesn’t know much about this part of the world. She was only here for a month or two.”

Poirot said:

“I am aware of that. But, my friend, Nurse Hopkins, we have been told, has the long tongue.

She has not gossiped in the village, where such talk might have done Mary Gerrard harm. But Idoubt if she could refrain from giving at least a hint about something that was occupying her mindto a stranger and a colleague! Nurse O’Brien may know something.”

 

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