'Oh, it's not for me,' Barbara assured him. 'It's for Lucia. She's got such an awful headache this morning.'
'La pauvre dame,' murmured Poirot, his voice dripping with sympathy. 'She sent you for these pills, then?'
'Yes,' replied Barbara. 'I gave her a couple of aspirin, but she wanted some real dope. I said I'd bring up the whole outfit – that is, if no one were here.'
Poirot, leaning his hands on the box, spoke thoughtfully.
'If no one were here. Why would that matter, mademoiselle?'
'Well, you know what it is in a place like this,' Barbara explained. 'Fuss, fuss, fuss! I mean, Aunt Caroline, for instance, is like a ducky old hen! And Richard's a damned nuisance and completely useless into the bargain, as men always are when you're ill.'
Poirot nodded in comprehension. 'I understand, I understand,' he told Barbara, bowing his head as a sign that he accepted her explanation. He rubbed his fingers along the lid of the case containing the drugs, and then looked quickly at his hands. Pausing for a moment, he cleared his throat with a slightly affected sound, and then went on, 'Do you know, mademoiselle, that you are very fortunate in your domestic servants?'
'What do you mean?' asked Barbara.
Poirot showed her the tin case.
'See -' he pointed out, 'on this box there is no speck of dust. To mount on a chair and bother to dust so high up there – not all domestics would be so conscientious.'
'Yes,' Barbara agreed. 'I thought it odd last night that it wasn't dusty.'
'You had this case of drugs down last night?' Poirot asked her.
'Yes, after dinner. It's full of old hospital stuff, you know.'
'Let us have a look at these hospital drugs,' suggested Poirot as he opened the box. Taking out some phials and holding them up, he raised his eyebrows exaggeratedly.
'Strychnine – atropine – a very pretty little collection! Ah! Here is a tube of hyoscine, nearly empty!'
'What?' exclaimed Barbara. 'Why, they were all full last night. I'm sure they were.'
'Voila!' Poirot held out a tube to her, and then replaced it in the box. 'This is very curious. You say that all these little – what do you call them – phials – were full? Where exactly was this case of drugs last night, mademoiselle?'
'Well, when we took it down, we placed it on this table,' Barbara informed him. 'And Dr Carelli was looking through the drugs, commenting on them and -'
She broke off as Lucia entered the room. Richard Amory's wife looked surprised to see the two men. Her pale, proud face seemed careworn in the daylight, and there was something wistful in the curve of her mouth.
Barbara hastened to her. 'Oh, darling, you shouldn't have got up,' she told Lucia. 'I was just coming up to you.'
'My headache is much better, Barbara dear,' Lucia replied, her eyes fixed on Poirot. 'I came down because I want to speak to Monsieur Poirot.'
'But, my pet, don't you think you should -'
'Please, Barbara.'
'Oh, very well, you know best,' said Barbara as she moved to the door, which Hastings rushed to open for her. When she had gone, Lucia moved to a chair and sat down.
'Monsieur Poirot -' she began.
'I am at your service, madame,' Poirot responded politely.
Lucia spoke hesitantly, and her voice trembled a little.
'Monsieur Poirot,' she began again, 'last night I made a request to you. I asked you to stay on here. I – I begged you to do so. This morning I see that I made a mistake.'
'Are you sure, madame?' Poirot asked her quietly.
'Quite sure. I was nervous last night, and overwrought. I am most grateful to you for doing what I asked, but now it is better that you should go.'
'Ah, c'est comme ca,' Poirot murmured beneath his breath. Aloud, his response was merely a noncommittal 'I see, madame.'
Rising, Lucia glanced at him nervously as she asked, 'That is settled, then?'
'Not quite, madame,' replied Poirot, taking a step towards her. 'If you remember, you expressed a doubt that your father-in-law had died a natural death.'
'I was hysterical last night,' Lucia insisted. 'I did not know what I was saying.'
'Then you are now convinced,' Poirot persisted, 'that his death was, after all, natural?'
'Absolutely,' Lucia declared.
Poirot's eyebrows rose a trifle. He looked at her in silence.
'Why do you look at me like that?' Lucia asked with alarm in her voice.
'Because, madame, it is sometimes difficult to set a dog on the scent. But once he has found it, nothing on earth will make him leave it. Not if he is a good dog. And I, madame, I, Hercule Poirot, am a very good dog!'
In great agitation, Lucia declared, 'Oh! But you must, you really must go. I beg you, I implore you. You don't know what harm you may do by remaining!'
'Harm?' asked Poirot. 'To you, madame?'
'To all of us, Monsieur Poirot. I can't explain further, but I beg you to accept my word that it is so. From the first moment I saw you, I trusted you. Please -'
She broke off as the door opened, and Richard, looking shocked, entered with Dr Graham. 'Lucia!' her husband exclaimed as he caught sight of her.
'Richard, what is it?' asked Lucia anxiously as she rushed to his side. 'What has happened? Something new has happened, I can see it in your face. What is it?'
'Nothing, my dear,' replied Richard with an attempt at reassurance in his tone. 'Do you mind leaving us for a moment?'
Lucia's eyes searched his face. 'Can't I -' she began, but hesitated as Richard moved to the door and opened it.
'Please,' he repeated.
With a final backward glance in which there was a distinct element of fear, Lucia left the room.
Chapter 11
Putting his Gladstone bag on the coffee-table, Dr Graham crossed to the settee and sat. 'I'm afraid this is a bad business, Monsieur Poirot,' he announced to the detective.
'A bad business, you say? Yes? You have discovered what caused the death of Sir Claud?' asked Poirot.
'His death was due to poisoning by a powerful vegetable alkaloid,' Graham declared.
'Such as hyoscine, perhaps?' Poirot suggested, picking up the tin case of drugs from the table.
'Why, yes, exactly.' Dr Graham sounded surprised at the detective's accurate surmise. Poirot took the case to the other side of the room, placing it on the gramophone table, and Hastings followed him there. Meanwhile, Richard Amory joined the doctor on the settee.
'What does this mean, actually?' Richard asked Dr Graham.
'For one thing, it means the involvement of the police,' was Graham's prompt reply.
'My God!' exclaimed Richard. 'This is terrible. Can't you possibly hush it up?'
Dr Graham looked at Richard Amory steadily before he spoke, slowly and deliberately. 'My dear Richard,' he said. 'Believe me, nobody could be more pained and grieved at this horrible calamity than I am. Especially since, under the circumstances, it does not seem likely that the poison could have been self-administered.'
Richard paused for several seconds before he spoke. 'Are you saying it was murder?' he asked in an unsteady voice.
Dr Graham did not speak, but nodded solemnly.
'Murder!' exclaimed Richard. 'What on earth are we going to do?'
