up to The George and have one. And then he'd potter round here, asking me questions about one thing and another.'
'About flowers?'
'Yes – flowers – and weeds too.' The old man chuckled.
'Weeds?'
Poirot's voice held a sudden, tentative note. He turned his head and looked searchingly along the shelves. His eye stopped at a tin.
'Perhaps he wanted to know how you got rid of them?'
'He did that!'
'I suppose this is the stuff you use.'
Poirot turned the tin gently round and read the label.
'That's it,' said Angus. 'Very handy stuff it is.'
'Dangerous stuff?'
'Not if you use it right. It's arsenic, of course. Had a bit of a joke about that, Mr Charles and I did. Said as how when he had a wife and didn't like her, he'd come to me and get a little of that stuff to put her away with! Maybe, I sez, she'll be the one that wants to do away with you! Ah, that made him laugh proper, that did! It was a good one, that!'
We laughed as in duty bound. Poirot prised up the lid of the tin.
'Nearly empty,' he murmured.
The old man had a look.
'Ay, there's more gone than I thought. No idea I'd used that much. I'll be having to order some more.'
'Yes,' said Poirot, smiling. 'I'm afraid there's hardly enough for you to spare me some for my wife!'
We all had another good laugh over this witticism.
'You're not married, I take it, mister?'
'No.'
'Ah! it's always them as isn't that can afford to joke about it. Those that isn't married don't know what trouble is!'
'I gather that your wife -?' Poirot paused delicately.
'She's alive all right – very much so.' Angus seemed a little depressed about it.
Complimenting him on his garden, we bade him farewell.
Chapter 21
THE CHEMIST – THE NURSE – THE DOCTOR
The tin of weed-killer had started a new train of thought in my mind. It was the first definite suspicious circumstance that I had encountered. Charles's interest in it, the old gardener's obvious surprise 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 the person 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 one quickly?'
'Arsenic, I suppose.'
'Yes. You understand then, that very marked pause before the word strychnine when Charles was 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 old lady's illness. Did her symptoms resemble those of arsenic poisoning?'
Poirot rubbed his nose.
'It is difficult to say. There was abdominal 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 that cause!'
'Oh, Poirot,' I cried. 'It can't be natural death! It's got to be murder!'
'Oh, la la, we seem to have changed places, you and I.'
He turned abruptly into a druggist's shop. After a long discussion of Poirot's particular internal troubles, he purchased a small box of indigestion lozenges. Then, when his purchase was wrapped up and he was about to leave the shop, his attention was taken by an attractively wrapped package of Dr Loughbarrow's Liver Capsules.
'Yes, sir, a very good preparation.' The druggist was a middle-aged man of a chatty disposition. '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, her companion, 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, digestive mixtures, blood mixtures. Really enjoyed herself among the bottles.' He smiled ruefully. 'I wish there were more like her. People nowadays don't take to medicines as they used. Still, we sell a lot of 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 very interesting mixture it was. One I've not previously become acquainted with.'
The man spoke as of a rare botanical trophy.
'It makes a change, sir, when you get something new. Very interesting combination of drugs, I remember. 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-draught – chloral it was, I remember. A double quantity the prescription was for. It's always a little difficult for us with hypnotic 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 be careful nowadays. Perhaps you don't know the fact, but if a doctor makes a mistake in a prescription and we make it up in all good faith and anything goes wrong it's we who have to take the blame – not the doctor.'
'That seems very unfair!'
