Ted Bigland said, 'She'd have been happy enough, I dare say, if Nurse had let her alone. Nurse Hopkins, I mean. Putting ideas into her head of earning her living and going off to do massage.'
'She was fond of Mary, though?'
'Oh, yes, she was fond enough of her; but she's the kind who always knows what's best for everyone!'
Poirot said slowly, 'Supposing that Nurse Hopkins knows something -something, let us say, that would throw a discreditable light on Mary – do you think she would keep it to herself?'
Ted Bigland looked at him curiously. 'I don't quite get your meaning, sir.'
'Do you think that if Nurse Hopkins knew something against Mary Gerrard she would hold her tongue about it?'
Ted Bigland said, 'I doubt if that woman could hold her tongue about anything! She's the greatest gossip in the village. But if she'd hold her tongue about anybody, it would probably be about Mary.'
He added, his curiosity getting the better of him, 'I'd like to know why you ask that?'
Hercule Poirot said, 'One has, in talking to people, a certain impression. Nurse Hopkins was, to all seeming, perfectly frank and outspoken, but I formed the impression – and very strongly – that she was keeping something back. It is not necessarily an important thing. It may have no bearing on the crime. But, there is something that she knows which she has not told. I also formed the impression that this something – whatever it is – is something definitely damaging or detrimental to the character of Mary Gerrard.'
Ted shook his head helplessly.
Hercule Poirot sighed. 'Ah, well, I shall learn what it is in time.
Chapter 13
Poirot looked with interest at the long, sensitive face of Roderick Welman.
Roddy's nerves were in a pitiable condition. His hands twitched, his eyes were bloodshot, his voice was husky and irritable.
He said, looking down at the card, 'Of course, I know your name, Monsieur Poirot. But I don't see what Dr. Lord thinks you can do in this matter! And, anyway, what business is it of his? He attended my aunt, but otherwise he's a complete stranger. Elinor and I had not even met him until we went down there this June. Surely it is Seddon's business to attend to all this sort of thing?'
Hercule Poirot said, 'Technically that is correct.'
Roddy went on unhappily, 'Not that Seddon gives me much confidence. He's so confoundedly gloomy.'
'It is a habit, that, of lawyers.'
'Still,' said Roddy, cheering up a little, 'we've briefed Bulmer. He's supposed to be pretty well at the top of the tree, isn't he?'
Hercule Poirot said, 'He has a reputation for leading forlorn hopes.' Roddy winced palpably.
Poirot said, 'It does not displease you, I hope, that I should endeavour to be of assistance to Miss Carlisle?'
'No, no, of course not. But -'
'But what can I do? It is that, that you would ask?'
A quick smile flashed across Roddy's worried face – a smile so suddenly charming that Hercule Poirot understood the subtle attraction of the man.
Roddy said apologetically, 'It sounds a little rude, put like that. But, really, of course, that is the point. I won't beat about the bush. What can you do, Monsieur Poirot?'
Poirot said, 'I can search for the truth.'
'Yes.' Roddy sounded a little doubtful.
Poirot said, 'I might discover facts that would be helpful to the accused.'
Roddy sighed. 'If you only could!'
Hercule Poirot went on: 'It is my earnest desire to be helpful. Will you assist me by telling me just what you think of the whole business?'
Roddy got up and walked restlessly up and down.
'What can I say? The whole thing's so absurd – so fantastic! The mere idea of Elinor – Elinor, whom I've known since she was a child – actually doing such a melodramatic thing as poisoning someone. It's quite laughable, of course! But how on earth explain that to a jury?'
Poirot said stolidly, 'You consider it quite impossible that Miss Carlisle should have done such a thing?'
'Oh, quite! That goes without saying! Elinor's an exquisite creature – beautifully poised and balanced – no violence in her nature. She's intellectual, sensitive, and altogether devoid of animal passions. But get twelve fatheaded fools in a jury box, and God knows what they can be made to believe! After all, let's be reasonable: they're not there to judge character; they're there to sift evidence. Facts – facts – facts! And the facts are unfortunate!'
Hercule Poirot nodded thoughtfully. He said, 'You are a person, Mr. Welman, of sensibility and intelligence. The facts condemn Miss Carlisle. Your knowledge of her acquits her. What, then, really happened? What can have happened?'
Roddy spread out his hands in exasperation. 'That's the devil of it all! I suppose the nurse couldn't have done it?'
'She was never near the sandwiches – oh, I have made the inquiries very minutely – and she could not have poisoned the tea without poisoning herself as well. I have made quite sure of that. Moreover, why should she wish to kill Mary Gerrard?'
Roddy cried out, 'Why should anyone wish to kill Mary Gerrard?'
'That,' said Poirot, 'seems to be the unanswerable question in this case. No one wished to kill Mary Gerrard.' (He added in his own mind, Except Elinor Carlisle.) 'Therefore, the next step logically would seem to be: Mary Gerrard was not killed! But that, alas, is not so. She was killed!'
He added, slightly melodramatically, 'But she is in her grave, and oh. The difference to me!'
'I beg your pardon,' said Roddy.
Hercule Poirot explained, 'Wordsworth. I read him much. Those lines express, perhaps, what you feel?'
'I?'
Roddy looked stiff and unapproachable.
Poirot said, 'I apologize – I apologize deeply! It is so hard – to be a detective and also a pukka sahib. As it is so well expressed in your language, there are things that one does not say. But, alas, a detective is forced to say them! He must ask questions: about people's private affairs, about their feelings!'
Roddy said, 'Surely all this is quite unnecessary?'
Poirot said quickly and humbly, 'If I might just understand the position? Then we will pass from the unpleasant subject and not refer to it again. It is fairly widely known, Mr. Welman, that you – admired Mary Gerrard? That is, I think, true?'
Roddy got up and stood by the window. He played with the shade tassel. He said, 'Yes.'
'You fell in love with her?'
'I suppose so.'
'Ah, and you are now heart-broken by her death-'
'I – I suppose – I mean – well, really, M. Poirot -'
He turned – a nervous, irritable, sensitive creature at bay.
Hercule Poirot said, 'If you could just tell me – just show me clearly – then it would be finished with.'
Roddy Welman sat down in a chair. He did not look at the other man. He spoke in a series of jerks.
'It's very difficult to explain. Must we go into it?'
Poirot said, 'One cannot always turn aside and pass by from the unpleasantnesses of life, Mr. Welman! You say you suppose you cared for this girl. You are not sure, then?'
Roddy said, 'I don't know… She was so lovely. Like a dream. That's what it seems like now. A dream! Not real! All that – my seeing her first – my – well, my infatuation for her! A kind of madness! And now everything is finished – gone – as though – as though it had never happened.'
