Twenty-seven

VISIT OF DR. DONALDSON

Donaldson arrived punctually at two o’clock. He was as calm and precise as ever.

The personality of Donaldson had begun to intrigue¹ me. I had started by regarding him as arather nondescript young man. I had wondered what a vivid, compelling creature like Theresacould see in him. But I now began to realize that Donaldson was anything but negligible. Behindthat pedantic² manner there was force.

After our preliminary greetings were over, Donaldson said:

“The reason for my visit is this. I am at a loss to understand exactly what your position is in thismatter, M. Poirot?”

Poirot replied guardedly:

“You know my profession, I think?”

“Certainly. I may say that I have taken the trouble to make inquiries³ about you.”

“You are a careful man, doctor.”

Donaldson said drily:

“I like to be sure of my facts.”

“You have the scientific mind!”

“I may say that all reports on you are the same. You are obviously a very clever man in yourprofession. You have also the reputation of being a scrupulous⁴ and honest one.”

“You are too flattering,” murmured Poirot.

“That is why I am at a loss to explain your connection with this affair.”

“And yet it is so simple!”

“Hardly that,” said Donaldson. “You first present yourself as a writer of biographies.”

“A pardonable deception⁵, do you not think? One cannot go everywhere announcing the fact thatone is a detective—though that, too, has its uses sometimes.”

“So I should imagine.” Again Donaldson’s tone was dry. “Your next proceeding,” he went on,“was to call on Miss Theresa Arundell and represent to her that her aunt’s will might conceivablybe set aside.”

Poirot merely bowed his head in assent⁷.

“That, of course, was ridiculous.” Donaldson’s voice was sharp. “You knew perfectly⁸ well thatthat will was valid⁹ in law and that nothing could be done about it.”

“You think that is the case?”

“I am not a fool, M. Poirot—”

“No, Dr. Donaldson, you are certainly not a fool.”

“I know something—not very much, but enough—of the law. That will can certainly not beupset. Why did you pretend it could? Clearly for reasons of your own—reasons which MissTheresa Arundell did not for a moment grasp.”

“You seem very certain of her reactions.”

A very faint smile passed across the young man’s face.

He said unexpectedly:

“I know a good deal more about Theresa than she suspects. I have no doubt that she and Charlesthink they have enlisted¹⁰ your aid in some questionable¹¹ business. Charles is almost completelyamoral. Theresa has a bad heredity and her upbringing has been unfortunate.”

“It is thus you speak of your fiancée—as though she was a guinea pig?”

Donaldson peered at him through his pince-nez.

“I see no occasion to blink the truth. I love Theresa Arundell and I love her for what she is andnot for any imagined qualities.”

“Do you realize that Theresa Arundell is devoted¹² to you and that her wish for money is mainlyin order that your ambitions should be gratified?”

“Of course I realize it. I’ve already told you I’m not a fool. But I have no intention of allowingTheresa to embroil¹³ herself in any questionable situation on my account. In many ways Theresa is achild still. I am quite capable of furthering my career by my own efforts. I do not say that asubstantial legacy¹⁴ would not have been acceptable. It would have been most acceptable. But itwould merely have provided a shortcut¹⁵.”

“You have, in fact, full confidence in your own abilities?”

“It probably sounds conceited¹⁶, but I have,” said Donaldson composedly.

“Let us proceed, then. I admit that I gained Miss Theresa’s confidence by a trick. I let her thinkthat I would be—shall we say, reasonably dishonest—for money. She believed that without theleast difficulty.”

“Theresa believes that anyone would do anything for money,” said the young doctor in thematter-of-fact tone one uses when stating a self-evident truth.

“True. That seems to be her attitude—her brother’s also.”

“Charles probably would do anything for money!”

“You have no illusions, I see, about your future brother-in-law.”

“No. I find him quite an interesting study. There is, I think, some deep-seated neurosis—but thatis talking shop. To return to what we are discussing. I have asked myself why you should act in theway you have done, and I have found only one answer. It is clear that you suspect either Theresaor Charles of having a hand in Miss Arundell’s death. No, please don’t bother to contradict me!

Your mention of exhumation¹⁷ was, I think, a mere⁶ device to see what reaction you would get. Haveyou, in actual fact, taken any steps towards getting a Home Office order for exhumation?”

“I will be frank with you. As yet, I have not.”

Donaldson nodded.

“So I thought. I suppose you have considered the possibility that Miss Arundell’s death mayturn out to be from natural causes?”

“I have considered the fact that it may appear to be so—yes.”

“But your own mind is made up?”

“Very definitely. If you have a case of—say—tuberculosis¹⁸ that looks like tuberculosis, behaveslike tuberculosis, and in which the blood gives a positive reaction—eh bien, you consider it istuberculosis, do you not?”

“You look at it that way? Then what exactly are you waiting for?”

“I am waiting for a final piece of evidence.”

The telephone bell rang. At a gesture from Poirot I got up and answered it. I recognized thevoice.

“Captain Hastings? This is Mrs. Tanios speaking. Will you tell M. Poirot that he is perfectlyright. If he will come here tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, I will give him what he wants.”

“At ten o’clock tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Right, I’ll tell him.”

Poirot’s eyes asked a question. I nodded.

He turned to Donaldson. His manner had changed. It was brisk—assured.

“Let me make myself clear,” he said. “I have diagnosed this case of mine as a case of murder. Itlooked like murder, it gave all the characteristic reactions of murder—in fact, it was murder! Ofthat there is not the least doubt.”

“Where then, does the doubt—for I perceive there is a doubt—lie?”

“The doubt lay in the identity of the murderer—but that is a doubt no longer!”

“Really? You know?”

“Let us say that I shall have definite proof in my hands tomorrow.”

Dr. Donaldson’s eyebrows¹⁹ rose in a slightly ironical²⁰ fashion.

“Ah,” he said. “Tomorrow! Sometimes, M. Poirot, tomorrow is a long way off.”

“On the contrary,” said Poirot, “I always find that it succeeds today with monotonousregularity.”

Donaldson smiled. He rose.

“I fear I have wasted your time, M. Poirot.”

“Not at all. It is always as well to understand each other.”

With a slight bow Dr. Donaldson left the room.

 

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