Twenty-one

THE CHEMIST; THE NURSE; THE DOCTOR

The tin of weed killer¹ had started a new train of thought in my mind. It was the first definitesuspicious circumstance that I had encountered. Charles’ interest in it, the old gardener’s obvioussurprise at finding the tin almost empty—it all seemed to point in the right direction.

Poirot was, as usual when I am excited, very noncommittal.

“Even if some of the weed killer has been taken, there is as yet no evidence that Charles was theperson to take it, Hastings.”

“But he talked so much to the gardener about it!”

“Not a very wise procedure if he was going to help himself to some.”

Then he went on:

“What is the first and simplest poison to come into your mind if you were asked to name onequickly?”

“Arsenic², I suppose.”

“Yes. You understand then, that very marked pause before the word strychnine when Charleswas talking to us today.”

“You mean—?”

“That he was about to say ‘arsenic in the soup,’ and stopped himself.”

“Ah!” I said, “and why did he stop himself?”

“Exactly. Why? I may say, Hastings, that it was to find the answer to that particular ‘why?’

which made me go out into the garden in search of any likely source of weed killer.”

“And you found it!”

“And I found it.”

I shook my head.

“It begins to look rather bad for young Charles. You had a good talk with Ellen over the oldlady’s illness. Did her symptoms resemble those of arsenic poisoning?”

Poirot rubbed his nose.

“It is difficult to say. There was abdominal³ pain—sickness.”

“Of course—that’s it!”

“H’m, I am not so sure.”

“What poison did it resemble?”

“Eh bien, my friend, it resembled not so much poison as disease of the liver and death from thatcause!”

“Oh, Poirot,” I cried. “It can’t be natural death! It’s got to be murder!”

“Oh, là, là, we seem to have changed places, you and I.”

He turned abruptly⁴ into a chemist’s shop. After a long discussion of Poirot’s particular internaltroubles, he purchased a small box of indigestion lozenges. Then, when his purchase was wrappedup and he was about to leave the shop, his attention was taken by an attractively-wrapped packageof Dr. Loughbarrow’s Liver Capsules.

“Yes, sir, a very good preparation.” The chemist was a middleaged man of a chatty disposition⁶.

“You’ll find them very efficacious.”

“Miss Arundell used to take them, I remember. Miss Emily Arundell.”

“Indeed she did, sir. Miss Arundell of Littlegreen House. A fine old lady, one of the old school.

I used to serve her.”

“Did she take many patent medicines?”

“Not really, sir. Not so many as some elderly ladies I could name. Miss Lawson, now, hercompanion, the one that’s come into all the money—”

Poirot nodded.

“She was a one for this, that, and the other. Pills, lozenges, dyspepsia tablets, digestivemixtures, blood mixtures. Really enjoyed herself among the bottles.” He smiled ruefully. “I wishthere were more like her. People nowadays don’t take to medicines as they used. Still, we sell a lotof toilet preparations to make up for it.”

“Did Miss Arundell take these Liver Capsules regularly?”

“Yes, she’d been taking them for three months, I think, before she died.”

“A relative of hers, a Dr. Tanios, came in to have a mixture made up one day, didn’t he?”

“Yes, of course, the Greek gentleman that married Miss Arundell’s niece. Yes, a veryinteresting mixture it was. One I’ve not previously⁸ become acquainted with.”

The man spoke⁹ as of a rare botanical trophy¹⁰.

“It makes a change sir, when you get something new. Very interesting combination of drugs, Iremember. Of course, the gentleman is a doctor. Very nice he was—a pleasant way with him.”

“Did his wife do any shopping here?”

“Did she now? I don’t recall. Oh, yes, came in for a sleeping draught¹¹ — chloral it was, Iremember. A double quantity the prescription¹² was for. It’s always a little difficult for us withhypnotic drugs. You see, most doctors don’t prescribe much at a time.”

“Whose prescription was it?”

“Her husband’s I think. Oh, of course, it was quite all right—but, you know, we have to becareful nowadays. Perhaps you don’t know the fact, but if a doctor makes a mistake in aprescription and we make it up in all good faith and anything goes wrong it’s we who have to havethe blame—not the doctor.”

“That seems very unfair!”

“It’s worrying, I’ll admit. Ah, well, I can’t complain. No trouble has come my way—touchingwood.”

He rapped the counter sharply with his knuckles¹³.

Poirot decided¹⁴ to buy a package of Dr. Loughbarrow’s Liver Capsules.

“Thank you, sir. Which size? 25, 50, 100?”

“I suppose the larger ones are better value—but still—”

“Have the 50, sir. That’s the size Miss Arundell had. Eight and six.”

Poirot agreed, paid over eight and six and received the parcel.

Then we left the shop.

“So Mrs. Tanios bought a sleeping draught,” I exclaimed as we got out into the street. “Anoverdose of that would kill anyone, wouldn’t it?”

“With the greatest of ease.”

“Do you think old Miss Arundell—”

I was remembering Miss Lawson’s words, “I daresay she’d murder someone if he told her to!”

Poirot shook his head.

“Chloral is a narcotic¹⁵, and a hypnotic. Used to alleviate¹⁶ pain and as a sleeping draught. It canalso become a habit.”

“Do you think Mrs. Tanios had acquired the habit?”

Poirot shook his head perplexedly.

“No, I hardly think so. But it is curious. I can think of one explanation. But that would mean—”

He broke off and looked at his watch.

“Come, let us see if we can find this nurse Carruthers who was with Miss Arundell in her lastillness.”

Nurse Carruthers proved to be a sensible-looking, middle-aged⁵ woman.

Poirot now appeared in yet another r?le and with one more fictitious¹⁸ relative. This time he hadan aged mother for whom he was anxious to find a sympathetic hospital nurse.

“You comprehend—I am going to speak to you quite frankly¹⁹. My mother, she is difficult. Wehave had some excellent nurses, young women, fully⁷ competent, but the very fact that they areyoung has been against them. My mother dislikes young women, she insults them, she is rude andfractious, she fights against open windows and modern hygiene²⁰. It is very difficult.”

He sighed mournfully.

“I know,” said Nurse Carruthers sympathetically. “It’s very trying sometimes. One has to use alot of tact²¹. It’s no use upsetting a patient. Better to give in to them as far as you can. And once theyfeel you’re not trying to force things on them, they very often relax and give in like lambs.”

“Ah, I see that you would be ideal in the part. You understand old ladies.”

“I’ve had to do with a few in my time,” said Nurse Carruthers with a laugh. “You can do a lotwith patience and good humour.”

“That is so wise. You nursed Miss Arundell, I believe. Now, she could not have been an easyold lady.”

“Oh, I don’t know. She was strong willed, but I didn’t find her difficult at all. Of course, Iwasn’t there any length of time. She died on the fourth day.”

“I was talking to her niece, Miss Theresa Arundell, only yesterday.”

“Really. Fancy that now! What I always say is—the world’s a small place!”

“You know her, I expect?”

“Well, of course, she came down after her aunt’s death and she was here for the funeral. And, ofcourse, I’ve seen her about before when she’s been staying down here. A very handsome girl.”

“Yes, indeed—but too thin—definitely too thin.”

Nurse Carruthers, conscious of her own comfortable plumpness, preened²² herself slightly.

“Of course,” she said, “one shouldn’t be too thin.”

“Poor girl,” continued Poirot. “I am sorry for her. Entre nous,” he leaned forward confidentially,“her aunt’s will was a great blow.”

“I suppose it must have been,” said Nurse Carruthers. “I know it caused a good deal of talk.”

“I cannot imagine what induced Miss Arundell to disinherit all her family. It seems anextraordinary procedure.”

“Most extraordinary. I agree with you. And, of course, people say there must have beensomething behind it all.”

“Did you ever get any idea of the reason? Did old Miss Arundell say anything?”

“No. Not to me, that is.”

“But to somebody else?”

“Well, I rather fancy she mentioned something to Miss Lawson because I heard Miss Lawsonsay, ‘Yes, dear, but you see it’s at the lawyer’s.’ And Miss Arundell said, ‘I’m sure it’s in thedrawer downstairs.’ And Miss Lawson said, ‘No, you sent it to Mr. Purvis. Don’t you remember?’

And then my patient had an attack of nausea²³ again and Miss Lawson went away while I saw toher, but I’ve often wondered if it was the will they were talking about.”

“It certainly seems probable.”

Nurse Carruthers went on:

“If so, I expect Miss Arundell was worried and perhaps wanted to alter it—but there, she was soill, poor dear, after that—that she was past thinking of anything.”

“Did Miss Lawson take part in the nursing at all?” asked Poirot.

“Oh, dear no, she was no manner of good! Too fussy²⁴, you know. She only irritated my patient.”

“Did you, then, do all the nursing yourself? C’est formidable ?a.”

“The maid—what was her name—Ellen, helped me. Ellen was very good. She was used toillness and used to looking after the old lady. We managed pretty well between us. As a matter offact, Dr. Grainger was sending in a night nurse on the Friday, but Miss Arundell died before thenight nurse arrived.”

“Perhaps Miss Lawson helped to prepare some of the invalid’s food?”

“No, she didn’t do anything at all. There wasn’t really anything to prepare. I had the Valentineand the brandy—and the Brand’s and glucose²⁵ and all that. All Miss Lawson did was to go aboutthe house crying and getting in everyone’s way.”

The nurse’s tone held distinct acrimony.

“I can see,” said Poirot smiling, “that you have not a very high opinion of Miss Lawson’susefulness.”

“Companions are usually a poor lot, in my opinion. They’re not trained, you see, in any way.

Just amateurs. And usually they’re women who wouldn’t be any good at anything else.”

“Do you think Miss Lawson was very attached to Miss Arundell?”

“She seemed to be. Very upset and took on terribly when the old lady died. More than therelatives did, in my opinion,” Nurse Carruthers finished with a sniff²⁶.

“Perhaps, then,” said Poirot nodding his head sagely²⁷, “Miss Arundell knew what she was doingwhen she left her money as she did.”

“She was a very shrewd old lady,” said the nurse. “There wasn’t much she didn’t take in andknow about, I must say!”

“Did she mention the dog, Bob, at all?”

“It’s funny you should say that! She talked about him a lot—when she was delirious²⁸. Somethingabout his ball and a fall she’d had. A nice dog, Bob was—I’m very fond of dogs. Poor fellow, hewas very miserable²⁹ when she died. Wonderful, aren’t they? Quite human.”

And on the note of the humanity of dogs, we parted.

“There is one who had clearly no suspicions,” remarked Poirot after we had left.

He sounded slightly discouraged.

We had a bad dinner at the George—Poirot groaning³⁰ a good deal, especially over the soup.

“And it is so easy, Hastings, to make good soup. Le pot au feu—”

I avoided a disquisition on cookery with some difficulty.

After dinner we had a surprise.

We were sitting in the “lounge” which we had to ourselves. There had been one other man atdinner—a commercial traveller by his appearance—but he had gone out. I was just idly turningover the pages of an antiquated³¹ Stock Breeder’s Gazette or some such periodical when I suddenlyheard Poirot’s name being mentioned.

The voice in question was somewhere outside.

“Where is he? In here? Right—I can find him.”

The door was flung violently open, and Dr. Grainger, his face rather red, his eyebrows³² workingirritably, strode into the room. He paused to close the door and then advanced upon us in nouncertain fashion.

“Oh, here you are! Now then, M. Hercule Poirot, what the devil do you mean by coming roundto see me and telling me a pack of lies?”

“One of the juggler’s balls?” I murmured maliciously³³.

Poirot said in his oiliest voice:

“My dear doctor, you must allow me to explain—”

“Allow you? Allow you? Damn it, I’ll force you to explain! You’re a detective, that’s what youare! A nosing, prying³⁴ detective! Coming round to me and feeding me up with a pack of lies aboutwriting old General Arundell’s biography! More fool me to be taken in by such a damn’ foolstory.”

“Who told you of my identity?” asked Poirot.

“Who told me? Miss Peabody told me. She saw through you all right!”

“Miss Peabody—yes.” Poirot sounded reflective. “I rather thought—”

Dr. Grainger cut in angrily.

“Now then, sir, I’m waiting for your explanation!”

“Certainly. My explanation is very simple. Attempted murder.”

“What? What’s that?”

Poirot said quietly:

“Miss Arundell had a fall, did she not? A fall down the stairs shortly before her death?”

“Yes, what of it? She slipped on that damned dog’s ball.”

Poirot shook his head.

“No, Doctor, she did not. A thread was fastened across the top of the stairs so as to trip her up.”

Dr. Grainger stared.

“Then why didn’t she tell me so?” he demanded. “Never said a word to me about it.”

“That is perhaps understandable—if it were a member of her own family who placed that threadthere!”

“H’m—I see.” Grainger cast a sharp glance at Poirot, then threw himself into a chair. “Well?”

he said. “How did you come to be mixed up in this affair?”

“Miss Arundell wrote to me, stressing the utmost secrecy³⁵. Unfortunately the letter wasdelayed.”

Poirot proceeded to give certain carefully edited details and explained the finding of the naildriven into the skirting board.

The doctor listened with a grave face. His anger had abated³⁶. “You can comprehend my positionwas a difficult one,” Poirot finished. “I was employed, you see, by a dead woman. But I countedthe obligation none the less strong for that.”

Dr. Grainger’s brows were drawn³⁷ together in thought.

“And you’ve no idea who it was stretched that thread across the head of the stairs?” he asked.

“I have no evidence as to who it was. I will not say I have no idea.”

“It’s a nasty story,” said Grainger, his face grim.

“Yes. You can understand, can you not, that to begin with I was uncertain whether there had orhad not been a sequel?”

“Eh? What’s that?”

“To all intents and purposes Miss Arundell died a natural death, but could one be sure of that?

There had been one attempt on her life. How could I be sure that there had not been a second? Andthis time a successful one!”

Grainger nodded thoughtfully.

“I suppose you are sure, Dr. Grainger—please do not get angry—that Miss Arundell’s deathwas a natural one? I have come across certain evidence today—”

He detailed³⁸ the conversation he had had with old Angus, Charles Arundell’s interest in the weedkiller, and finally the old man’s surprise at the emptiness of the tin.

Grainger listened with keen attention. When Poirot had finished he said, quietly:

“I see your point. Many a case of arsenical poisoning has been diagnosed as acute gastroenteritis and a certificate given — especially when there are no suspicious contributingcircumstances. In any case, arsenical poisoning presents certain difficulties — it has so manydifferent forms. It may be acute, subacute, nervous or chronic³⁹. There may be vomiting⁴⁰ andabdominal pain—these symptoms may be entirely⁴¹ absent—the person may fall suddenly to theground and expire shortly afterwards—there may be narcotism⁴² and paralysis⁴³. The symptoms varywidely.”

Poirot said:

“Eh bien, taking the facts into account, what is your opinion?”

Dr. Grainger was silent for a minute or two. Then he said slowly:

“Taking everything into account, and without any bias⁴⁴ whatever, I am of the opinion that noform of arsenical poisoning could account for the symptoms in Miss Arundell’s case. She died, Iam quite convinced, of yellow atrophy⁴⁵ of the liver. I have, as you know, attended her for manyyears, and she has suffered previously from attacks similar to that which caused her death. That ismy considered opinion, M. Poirot.” And there, perforce, the matter had to rest.

It seemed rather an anticlimax⁴⁶ when, somewhat apologetically, Poirot produced the package ofLiver Capsules he had bought at the chemists.

“Miss Arundell took these, I believe?” he said. “I suppose they could not be injurious in anyway?”

“That stuff? No harm at all. Aloes—podophyllin—all quite mild and harmless,” said Grainger.

“She liked trying the stuff. I didn’t mind.”

He got up.

“You dispensed⁴⁷ certain medicines for her yourself?” asked Poirot.

“Yes—a mild liver pill to be taken after food.” His eyes twinkled. “She could have taken aboxful without hurting herself. I’m not given to poisoning my patients, M. Poirot.”

Then, with a smile, he shook hands with us both and departed.

Poirot undid⁴⁸ the package he had purchased at the chemists. The medicament consisted oftransparent capsules, three-quarters full of dark brown powder.

“They look like a seasick⁴⁹ remedy I once took,” I remarked.

Poirot opened a capsule, examined its contents and tasted it gingerly with his tongue. He made agrimace.

“Well,” I said, throwing myself back in my chair and yawning, “everything seems harmlessenough. Dr. Loughbarrow’s specialities, and Dr. Grainger’s pills! And Dr. Grainger seemsdefinitely to negative the arsenic theory. Are you convinced at last, my stubborn Poirot?”

“It is true that I am pigheaded—that is your expression, I think?—Yes, definitely I have thehead of the pig,” said my friend, meditatively⁵⁰.

“Then, in spite of having the chemist, the nurse and the doctor, against you, you still think thatMiss Arundell was murdered?”

Poirot said, quietly:

“That is what I believe. No—more than believe. I am sure of it, Hastings.”

“There’s one way of proving it, I suppose,” I said slowly. “Exhumation.”

Poirot nodded.

“Is that the next step?”

“My friend, I have to go carefully.”

“Why?”

“Because,” his voice dropped, “I am afraid of a second tragedy.”

“You mean—?”

“I am afraid, Hastings, I am afraid. Let us leave it at that.”

 

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