Twenty-five

I LIE BACK AND REFLECT

No, I thought, as I hurried after Poirot, there was no doubt about it now. Miss Arundell had beenmurdered and Theresa knew it. But was she herself the criminal or was there another explanation?

She was afraid—yes. But was she afraid for herself or for someone else? Could that someone bethe quiet, precise young doctor with the calm, aloof¹ manner?

Had the old lady died of genuine disease artificially induced?

Up to a point it all fitted in—Donaldson’s ambitions, his belief that Theresa would inheritmoney at her aunt’s death. Even the fact that he had been at dinner there on the evening of theaccident. How easy to leave a convenient window open and return in the dead of night to tie themurderous thread across the staircase. But then, what about the placing of the nail in position?

No, Theresa must have done that. Theresa, his fiancée and accomplice². With the two of themworking in together, the whole thing seemed clear enough. In that case it was probably Theresawho had actually placed the thread in position. The first crime, the crime that failed, had been herwork. The second crime, the crime that had succeeded, was Donaldson’s more scientificmasterpiece.

Yes—it all fitted in.

Yet even now there were loose strands³. Why had Theresa blurted⁴ out those facts about inducingliver disease in human beings? It was almost as though she did not realize the truth… But in thatcase—and I felt my mind growing bewildered, and I interrupted my speculations⁵ to ask:

“Where are we going, Poirot?”

“Back to my flat. It is possible that we may find Mrs. Tanios there.”

My thoughts switched off on a different track.

Mrs. Tanios! That was another mystery! If Donaldson and Theresa were guilty, where did Mrs.

Tanios and her smiling husband come in? What did the woman want to tell Poirot and what wasTanios’ anxiety to prevent her doing so?

“Poirot,” I said humbly⁶. “I’m getting rather muddled⁷. They’re not all in it, are they?”

“Murder by a syndicate? A family sydicate? No, not this time. There is the mark of one brainand one brain only in this. The psychology⁸ is very clear.”

“You mean that either Theresa or Donaldson did it—but not both of them? Did he get her tohammer that nail in on some entirely⁹ innocent pretext¹⁰, then?”

“My dear friend, from the moment I heard Miss Lawson’s story I realized that there were threepossibilities. (1) That Miss Lawson was telling the exact truth. (2) That Miss Lawson had inventedthe story for reasons of her own. (3) That Miss Lawson actually believed her own story, but thather identification rested upon the brooch—and as I have already pointed¹¹ out to you—a brooch iseasily detachable from its owner.”

“Yes, but Theresa insists that the brooch did not leave her possession.”

“And she is perfectly¹² right. I had overlooked a small but intensely significant fact.”

“Very unlike you, Poirot,” I said solemnly.

“N’est ce pas? But one has one’s lapses¹³.”

“Age will tell!”

“Age has nothing to do with it,” said Poirot coldly.

“Well, what is the significant fact?” I asked as we turned in at the entrance of the Mansions¹⁴.

“I will show you.”

We had just reached the flat.

George opened the door to us. In reply to Poirot’s anxious question he shook his head.

“No, sir. Mrs. Tanios has not called. Neither has she telephoned.” Poirot went into the sittingroom. He paced up and down for a few minutes. Then he picked up the telephone. He got firstonto the Durham Hotel.

“Yes—yes, please. Ah, Dr. Tanios, this is Hercule Poirot speaking. Your wife has returned? Oh,not returned. Dear me… Taken her luggage, you say… And the children… You have no ideawhere she has gone… Yes, quite… Oh, perfectly… If my professional services are of any use toyou? I have certain experience in these matters… Such things can be done quite discreetly… No,of course not… Yes, of course that is true… Certainly—certainly. I shall respect your wishes inthe matter.”

He hung up the receiver thoughtfully.

“He does not know where she is,” he said thoughtfully. “I think that is quite genuine. Theanxiety in his voice is unmistakable. He does not want to go to the police, that is understandable.

Yes, I understand that. He does not want my assistance either. That is, perhaps, not quite sounderstandable… He wants her found—but he does not want me to find her… No, definitely hedoes not want me to find her… He seems confident that he can manage the matter himself. Hedoes not think she can remain long hidden, for she has very little money with her. Also she has thechildren. Yes, I fancy he will be able to hunt her down before long. But, I think, Hastings, that weshall be a little quicker than he is. It is important, I think, that we should be.”

“Do you think it’s true that she is slightly batty?” I asked.

“I think that she is in a highly nervous, overwrought condition.”

“But not to such a point that she ought to be in a mental home?”

“That, very definitely, no.”

“You know, Poirot, I don’t quite understand all this.”

“If you will pardon my saying so, Hastings, you do not understand at all!”

“There seem so many—well—side issues.”

“Naturally there are side issues. To separate the main issue from the side issues is the first taskof the orderly mind.”

“Tell me, Poirot, have you realized all along that there were eight possible suspects and notseven?”

Poirot replied drily:

“I have taken that fact into consideration from the moment that Theresa Arundell mentionedthat the last time she saw Dr. Donaldson was when he dined at Littlegreen House on April 14th.”

“I can’t quite see—” I broke off.

“What is it you cannot quite see?”

“Well, if Donaldson had planned to do away with Miss Arundell by scientific means—byinoculation, that is to say—I can’t see why he resorted to such a clumsy device as a string acrossthe stairs.”

“En vérité, Hastings, there are moments when I lose patience with you! One method is a highlyscientific one needing fully¹⁵ specialized¹⁶ knowledge. That is so, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“And the other is a homely¹⁷ simple method —‘the kind that mother makes’— as theadvertisements say. Is that not right?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Then think, Hastings—think. Lie back in your chair, close the eyes, employ the little greycells.”

I obeyed. That is to say, I leant back in the chair and closed my eyes and endeavoured to carryout the third part of Poirot’s instructions. The result, however, did not seem to clarify mattersmuch.

I opened my eyes to find Poirot regarding me with the kindly¹⁸ attention a nurse might displaytowards a childish charge.

“Eh bien?”

I made a desperate attempt to emulate¹⁹ Poirot’s manner.

“Well,” I said, “it seems to me that the kind of person who laid the original booby trap is not thekind of person to plan out a scientific murder.”

“Exactly.”

“And I doubt if a mind trained to scientific complexities²⁰ would think of anything so childish asthe accident plan—it would be altogether too haphazard²¹.”

“Very clearly reasoned.”

Emboldened²², I went on:

“Therefore, the only logical solution seems to be this—the two attempts were planned by twodifferent people. We have here to deal with murder attempted by two entirely different people.”

“You do not think that is too much of a coincidence?”

“You said yourself once that one coincidence is nearly always found in a murder case.”

“Yes, that is true. I have to admit it.”

“Well, then.”

“And who do you suggest for your villains²³?”

“Donaldson and Theresa Arundell. A doctor is clearly indicated for the final successful murder.

On the other hand we know that Theresa Arundell is concerned in the first attempt. I think it’spossible that they acted quite independently of each other.”

“You are so fond of saying, ‘we know,’ Hastings. I can assure you that no matter what youknow, I do not know that Theresa was implicated²⁴.”

“But Miss Lawson’s story.”

“Miss Lawson’s story is Miss Lawson’s story. Just that.”

“But she says—”

“She says—she says… Always you are so ready to take what people say for a proved andaccepted fact. Now listen, mon cher, I told you at the time, did I not, that something struck me aswrong about Miss Lawson’s story?”

“Yes, I remember your saying so. But you couldn’t get hold of what it was.”

“Well, I have done so now. A little moment and I will show you what I, imbecile that I am,ought to have seen at once.” He went over to the desk and opening a drawer took out a sheet ofcardboard. He cut into this with a pair of scissors, motioning to me not to overlook what he wasdoing.

“Patience, Hastings, in a little moment we will proceed to our experiment.”

I averted²⁶ my eyes obligingly.

In a minute or two Poirot uttered an exclamation²⁷ of satisfaction. He put away the scissors,dropped the fragments of cardboard into the wastepaper basket and came across the room to me.

“Now, do not look. Continue to avert²⁵ the eyes while I pin something to the lapel of your coat.”

I humoured him. Poirot completed the proceeding²⁸ to his satisfaction, then, propelling me gentlyto my feet he drew me across the room, and into the adjoining bedroom.

“Now, Hastings, regard yourself in the glass. You are wearing, are you not, a fashionablebrooch with your initials on it—only, bien entendu, the brooch is made not of chromium norstainless steel, nor gold, nor platinum—but of humble²⁹ cardboard!”

I looked at myself and smiled. Poirot is uncommonly³⁰ neat with his fingers. I was wearing a veryfair representation of Theresa Arundell’s brooch—a circle cut out of cardboard and enclosing myinitials. A.H.

“Eh bien,” said Poirot. “You are satisfied? You have there, have you not, a very smart broochwith your initials?”

“A most handsome affair,” I agreed.

“It is true that it does not gleam and reflect the light, but all the same you are prepared to admitthat that brooch could be seen plainly from some distance away?”

“I’ve never doubted it.”

“Quite so. Doubt is not your strong point. Simple faith is more characteristic of you. And now,Hastings, be so good as to remove your coat.”

Wondering a little, I did so. Poirot divested³¹ himself of his own coat and slipped on mine,turning away a little as he did so.

“And now,” he said. “Regard how the brooch—the brooch with your initials—becomes me?”

He whisked round. I stared at him—for the moment uncomprehendingly. Then I saw the point.

“What a blithering fool I am! Of course. It’s H.A. in the brooch, not A.H. at all.”

Poirot beamed on me, as he reassumed his own clothes and handed me mine.

“Exactly—and now you see what struck me as wrong with Miss Lawson’s story. She stated thatshe had seen Theresa’s initials clearly on the brooch she was wearing. But she saw Theresa in theglass. So, if she saw the initials at all, she must have seen them reversed.”

“Well,” I argued, “perhaps she did, and realized that they were reversed.”

“Mon cher, did that occur to you just now? Did you exclaim, ‘Ha! Poirot, you’ve got it wrong.

That’s H.A. really—not A.H.’ No, you did not. And yet you are a good deal more intelligent, Ishould say, than Miss Lawson. Do not tell me that a muddleheaded woman like that woke upsuddenly, and still half asleep, realized that A.T. was really T.A. No, that is not at all consistentwith the mentality³² of Miss Lawson.”

“She was determined³³ it should be Theresa,” I said slowly.

“You are getting nearer, my friend. You remember, I hint to her that she could not really see theface of anyone on the stairs, and immediately—what does she do?”

“Remembers Theresa’s brooch and lugs³⁴ that in—forgetting that the mere³⁵ fact of having seen itin the glass gave her own story the lie.”

The telephone bell rang sharply. Poirot crossed to it.

He only spoke³⁶ a few noncommittal words.

“Yes? Yes… certainly. Yes, quite convenient. The afternoon, I think. Yes, two o’clock will doadmirably.” He replaced the receiver and turned to me with a smile.

“Dr. Donaldson is anxious to have a talk with me. He is coming here tomorrow afternoon at twoo’clock. We progress, mon ami, we progress.”

 

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