Hercule Poirot arranged his letters in a neat pile in front of him.
He picked up the topmost letter, studied the address for a moment, then neatly1 slit2 the back of theenvelope with a little paperknife that he kept on the breakfast table for that express purpose andextracted the contents. Inside was yet another envelope, carefully sealed with purple wax andmarked 'Private and Confidential4'.
Hercule Poirot's eyebrows5 rose a little on his egg-shaped head.
He murmured, 'Patience! Nous allons arriver!' and once more brought the little paper-knife intoplay. This time the envelope yielded a letter - written in a rather shaky and spiky6 handwriting.
Several words were heavily underlined.
Hercule Poirot unfolded it and read. The letter was headed once again 'Private and Confidential'.
On the right-hand side was the address - Rosebank, Charman's Green, Bucks7 - and the date-Marchtwenty-first.
Dear M. Poirot, I have been recommended to you by an old and valued friend of mine who knowsthe worry and distress8 I have been in lately. Not that this friend knows the actual circumstancesthose I have kept entirely9 to myself- the matter being strictly10 private. My friend assures me thatyou are discretion11 itself and that there will be no fear of my being involved in a police matterwhich, if my suspicions should prove correct, I should very much dislike. But it is of coursepossible that I am entirely mistaken. I do not feel myself clear-headed enough nowadays sufferingas I do from insomnia12 and the result of a severe illness last winter - to investigate things formyself. I have neither the means nor the ability. On the other hand, I must reiterate13 once more thatthis is a very delicate family matter and that for many reasons I may want the whole thing hushedup. If I am once assured of the facts, I can deal with the matter myself and should prefer to do so. Ihope that I have made myself clear on this point. If you will undertake this investigation14, perhapsyou will let me know to the above address?
Yours very truly,
AMELIA BARROWBY
Poirot read the letter through twice. Again his eyebrows rose slightly. Then he placed it on oneside and proceeded to the next envelope in the pile.
At ten o'clock precisely15 he entered the room where Miss Lemon, his confidential secretary, satawaiting her instructions for the day.
Miss Lemon was forty-eight and of unprepossessing appearance.
Her general effect was that of a lot of bones flung together at random16. She had a passion for orderalmost equalling that of Poirot himself; and though capable of thinking, she never thought unlesstold to do so.
Poirot handed her the morning correspondence. 'Have the goodness, mademoiselle, to writerefusals couched in correct terms to all of these.'
Miss Lemon ran an eye over the various letters, scribbling17 in turn a hieroglyphic18 on each of them.
These marks were legible to her alone and were in a code of her own: 'Soft soap'; 'slap in the face';'purr purr'; 'curt'; and so on. Having done this, she nodded and looked up for further instructions.
Poirot handed her Amelia Barrowby's letter. She extracted it from its double envelope, read itthrough and looked up inquiringly.
'Yes, M. Poirot?' Her pencil hovered19 - ready - over her short-hand pad.
'What is your opinion of that letter, Miss Lemon?'
With a slight frown Miss Lemon put down the pencil and read through the letter again.
The contents of a letter meant nothing to Miss Lemon except from the point of view of composingan adequate reply. Very occasionally her employer appealed to her human, as opposed to herofficial, capacities. It slightly annoyed Miss Lemon when he did so - she was very nearly theperfect machine, completely and gloriously uninterested in all human affairs. Her real passion inlife was the perfection of a filing system beside which all other filing systems should sink intooblivion. She dreamed of such a system at night. Nevertheless, Miss Lemon was perfectly20 capableof intelligence on purely21 human matters, as Hercule Poirot well knew.
'Well?' he demanded.
'Old lady,' said Miss Lemon. 'Got the wind up pretty badly.' 'Ah! The wind rises in her, you think?'
Miss Lemon, who considered that Poirot had been long enough in Great Britain to understand itsslang terms, did not reply. She took a brief look at the double envelope.
'Very hush-hush,' she said. 'And tells you nothing at all.' 'Yes,' said Hercule Poirot. 'I observedthat.' Miss Lemon's hand hung once more hopefully over the shorthand pad. This time HerculePoirot responded.
'Tell her I will do myself the honour to call upon her at any time she suggests, unless she prefers toconsult me here. Do not type the letter - write it by hand.' 'Yes, M. Poirot.' Poirot produced morecorrespondence. 'These are bills.' Miss Lemon's efficient hands sorted them quickly. 'I'll pay all butthese two.' 'Why those two? There is no error in them.' 'They are firms you've only just begun todeal with. It looks bad to pay too promptly22 when you've just opened an account looks as thoughyou were working up to get some credit later on.' 'Ahl' murmured Poirot. 'I bow to your superiorknowledge of the British tradesman.' 'There' nothing much I don't know about them,' said Mis:
Lemon grimly.
The letter to Miss Amelia Barrowby was duly written and sen but no reply was forthcoming.
Perhaps, thought Hercule Poin the old lady had unravelled23 her mystery herself. Yet he felt a sha ofsurprise that in that case she should not have written a courteouo word to say that his services wereno longer required.
It was five days later when Miss Lemon, after receiving her morning's instructions, said, 'ThatMiss Barrowby we wrote to no wonder there's been no answer. She's dead.' Hercule Poirot saidvery softly, 'Ah - dead.' It sounded not so much like a question as an answer.
Opening her handbag, Miss Lemon produced a newspaper cutting. 'I saw it in the tube and tore itout.' Just registering in his mind approval of the fact that, though Miss Lemon used the word 'tore',she had neatly cut the entry out with scissors, Poirot read the announcement taken from the Births,Deaths and Marriages in the Morning Post: 'On March 26th suddenly- at Rosebank, Charman'sGreen, Amelia Jane Barrowby, in her seventy-third year. No flowers, by request.' Poirot read itover. He murmured under his breath, 'Suddenly'.
Then he said briskly, 'If you will be so obliging as to take a letter, Miss Lemon?' The pencilhovered. Miss Lemon, her mind dwelling24 on the intricacies of the filing system, took down inrapid and correct shorthand:
Dear Miss Barrowby, I have received no reply from you, but as I shall be in the neighbourhood ofCharman's Green on Friday, I will call upon you on that day and discuss more fully3 the mattermentioned to me in your letter.
Yours, etc.
'Type this letter, please; and if it is posted at once, it should get to Charman's Green tonight.' Onthe following morning a letter in a black-edged envelope arrived by the second post:
Dear Sir, In reply to your letter my aunt, Miss Barrowby, passed away on the twenty-sixth, so thematter you speak of is no longer of importance.
Yours truly, MARY DELAFONTAINR
Poirot smiled to himself. 'No longer of importance... Ah that is what we shall see. En avant - toCharman's Green.' Rosebank was a house that seemed likely to live up to its name, which is morethan can be said for most houses of its class and character.
Hercule Poirot paused as he walked up the path to the front door and looked approvingly at theneatly planned beds on either side of him. Rose trees that promised a good harvest later in theyear, and at present daffodils, early tulips, blue hyacinths - the last bed was partly edged withshells.
Poirot murmured to himself, 'How does it go, the English rhyme the children sing?
Mistress Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow?
With cockle-shells, and silver bells, And pretty maids all in a row.
'Not a row, perhaps,' he considered, 'but here is at least one pretty maid to make the little rhymecome right.' The front door had opened and a neat little maid in cap and apron25 was lookingsomewhat dubiously26 at the spectacle of a heavily moustached foreign gentleman talking aloud tohimself in the front garden. She was, as Poirot had noted27, a very pretty little maid, with round blueeyes and rosy28 cheeks.
Poirot raised his hat with courtesy and addressed her: 'Pardon, but does a Miss Amelia Barrowbylive here?' The little maid gasped29 and her eyes grew rounder. 'Oh, sir, didn't you know? She'sdead. Ever so sudden it was. Tuesday night.' She hesitated, divided between two strong instincts:
the first, distrust of a foreigner; the second, the pleasurable enjoyment30 of her class in dwelling onthe subject of illness and death.
'You amaze me,' said Hercule Poirot, not very truthfully. 'I had an appointment with the lady fortoday. However, I can perhaps see the other lady who lives here.' The little maid seemed slightlydoubtful. 'The mistress? Well, you could see her, perhaps, but I don't know whether she'll b eeinganyone or not.'
'She will see me,' said Poirot, and handed her a card.
The authority of his tone had its effect. The rosy-cheeked maid fell back and ushered31 Poirot into asitting-room on the right of the hall. Then, card in hand, she departed to summon her mistress.
Hercule Poirot looked round him. The room was a perfectly conventional, drawing- room -oatmeal- coloured paper with a frieze32 round the top, indeterminate cretonnes, rose- colouredcushions and curtains, a good many china knick-knacks and ornaments33. There was nothing in theroom that stood out, that announced a definite personality.
Suddenly Poirot, who was very sensitive, felt eyes watching him. He wheeled round. A girl wasstanding in the entrance of the french window - a small, sallow girl, with very black hair andsuspicious eyes.
She came in, and as Poirot made a little bow she burst out abruptly34, 'Why have you come?'
Poirot did not reply. He merely raised his eyebrows.
'You are not a lawyer - no?' Her English was good, but not for a minute would anyone have takenher to be English.
'Why should I be a lawyer, mademoiselle?'
The girl stared at him sul.nly. 'I thought you might be. I thought you had come perha? ;o say thatshe did not know what she was doing. I have heard of such things - the not due influence; that iswhat they call it, no? But that is not right. She wanted me to have the money, and I shall have it. Ifit is needful I shall have a lawyer of my own. The money is mine. She wrote it down so, and so itshall be.' She looked ugly, her chin thrust out, her eyes gleaming.
The door opened and a tail woman entered and said, 'Katrina'.
The girl shrank, flushed, muttered something and went out through the window.
Poirot turned to face the newcomer who had so effectually dealt with the situation by uttering asingle word. There had been authority in her voice, and contempt and a shade of well-bred irony35.
He realized at once that this was the owner of the house, Mary Delafontaine.
'M. Poirot? I wrote to you. You cannot have received my letter.'
'Alas36, I have been away from London.' 'Oh, I see; that explains it. I must introduce myself. Myname is Delafontaine. This is my husband. Miss Barrowby was my aunt.' Mr Delafontaine hadentered so quietly that his arrival had passed unnoticed. He was a tall man with grizzled hair andan indeterminate manner. He had a nervous way of fingering his chin. He looked often towards hiswife, and it was plain that he expected her to take the lead in any conversation.
'I much regret that I intrude37 in the midst of your bereavement,' said Hercule Poirot.
'I quite realize that it is not your fault,' said Mrs Delafontaine.
'My aunt died or Tuesday evening. It was quite unexpected.' 'Most unexpected,' said MrDelafontaine. 'Great blow.' His eyes watched the window where the foreign girl had disappeared.
'I apologize,' said Hercule Poirot. 'And I withdraw.' He moved a step towards the door.
'Half a sec,' said Mr Delafontaine. 'You - er - had an appointment with Aunt Amelia, you say?'
'Parfa(tement.' 'Perhaps you will tell us about it,' said his wife. 'If there i. anything we can do - ' 'Itwas of a private nature,' said Poirot. 'I am a detective,' he added simply.
Mr Delafontaine knocked over a little china figure he was handling. His wife looked puzzled.
'A detective? And you had an appointment with Auntie? But how extraordinary? She stared athim. 'Can't you tell us a little more, M. Poirot? It - it seems quite fantastic.' Poirot was silent for amoment. He chose his words with care.
'It is difficult for..me, madame, to know what to do.' 'Look here,' said Mr Delafontaine. '8he didn'tmention Russians, did she?' 'Russians?' 'Yes, you know - Bolshies, Reds, all that sort of thing.'
'Don't be absurd, Henry,' said his wife.
Mr Delafontaine collapsed38. 'Sorry - sorry - I just wondered.' Mary Delafontaine looked frankly39 atPoirot. Her eyes were very blue - the colour of forget-me-nots. 'If you can tell us anything, M.
Poirot, I should be glad if you would do so. I can assure you that I have a - a reason for asking.'
Mr Delafontaine looked alarmed. 'Be careful, old girl - you know there may be nothing in it.'
Again his wife quelled40 him with a glance. 'Well, M. Poirot?' Slowly, gravely, Hercule Poirotshook his head. He shook it with visible regret, but he shook it. 'At present, madame,' he said, 'Ifear I must say nothing.'
He bowed, picked up his hat and moved to the door. Mary Delafontaine came with him into thehall. On the doorstep he paused and looked at her.
'You are fond of your garden, I think, madame?' 'I? Yes, I spend a lot of time gardening.' 'Je ousfait roes41 compliments.'
He bowed once more and strode down to the gate. As he passed out of it and turned to the right heglanced back and registered two impressions - a sallow face watching him from a first- floorwindow, and a man of erect42 and soldierly carriage pacing up and down on the opposite side of thestreet.
Hercule Poirot nodded to himself. 'Definitivement,' he said.
'There is a mouse in this hole! What move must the cat make now?'
His decision took him to the nearest post office. Here he put through a couple of telephone calls.
The result seemed to be satisfactory. He bent43 his steps to Charman's Green police station, wherehe inquired for Inspector44 Sims.
Inspector Sims was a big, burly man with a hearty45 manner.
'M. Poirot?' he inquired. 'I thought so. I've just this minute had a telephone call through from thechief constable46 about you. tie aid you'd be dropping in. Come into my office.'
The door shut, the inspector waved Poirot to one chair, settled himself in another, and turned agaze of acute inquiry47 upon his visitor.
'You're very quick on to the mark, M. Poirot. Come to see us about this Rosebank case almostbefore we know it is a case. What put you on to it?'
Poirot drew out the letter he had received and handed it to the inspector. The latter read it withsome interest.
'Interesting,' he said. 'The trouble is, it might mean so many things. Pity she couldn't have been alittle more explicit48. It would have helped us now.' 'Or there might have been no need for help.'
'You mean?' 'She might have been alive.' 'You go as far as that, do you? H'm - I'm not sure you'rewrong.' 'I pray of you, Inspector, recount to me the facts. I know nothing at all.' 'That's easily done.
Old lady was taken bad after dinner on Tuesday night. Very alarming. Convulsions - spasms49 -whatnot.
They sent for the doctor. By the time he arrived she was dead.
Idea was she'd died of a fit. Well, he didn't much like the look of things. He hemmed50 and hawedand put it with a bit of Soft awder, but he made it clear that he couldn't give a death certificate.
And as far as the family go, that's where the matter stands. They're awaiting the result of the post-mortem. We've got a bit further. The doctor gave us the tip right away - he and the police surgeondid the autopsy51 together - and the result is in no doubt whatever. The old lady died of a large doseof strychnine.' 'Aha?
'That's right. Very nasty bit of work. Point is, who gave it to her? It must have been administeredvery shortly before death.
First idea was it was given to her in her food at dinner - but, frankly, that seems to be a washout.
They had artichoke soup, served from a tureen, fish pie and apple tart52.' 'Miss Barrowby, MrDelafontaine and Mrs Delafontaine. Miss Barrowby had a kind of nurse-attendant - a half-Russiangirl but she didn't eat with the family. She had the remains53 as they came out from the dining-room.
There's a maid, but it was her night out. She left the soup on the stove and the fish pie in the oven,and the apple tart was cold. All three of them ate the same thing- and, apart from that, I don't thinkyou could get strychnine down anyone's throat that way. Stuff's as bitter as gall54. The doctortold me you could taste it in a solution of one in a thousand, or something like that.' 'Coffee?'
'Coffee's more like it, but the old lady never took coffee.' 'I see your point. Yes, it seems aninsuperable difficulty. What did she drink at the meal?' 'Water.' 'Worse and worse.' 'Bit of a teaser,isn't it?' 'She had money, the old lady?' 'Very well to do, I imagine. Of course, we haven't got exactdetails yet. The Delafontaines are pretty badly off, from what I can make out. The old lady helpedwith the upkeep of the house.' Poirot smiled a little. He said, 'So you suspect the Delafontaines.
Which of them?' 'I don't exactly say I suspect either of them in particular. But there it is; they'reher only near relations, and her death brings them a tidy sum of money, I've no doubt. We allknow what human nature is!' 'Sometimes inhuman55 - yes, that is very true. And there was nothingelse the old lady ate or drank?' 'Well, as a matter of fact - ' 'Ah, voild! I felt that you hadsomething, as you say, up your sleeve - the soup, the fish pie, the apple tart - a bgtise! Now wecome to the hub of the affair.' 'I don't know about that. But as a matter of fact, the old girl took acachet before meals. You know, not a pill or a tablet; one of those rice-paper things with a powderinside. Some perfectly harmless thing for the digestion56.' 'Admirable. Nothing is easier than to fill acachet with strychnine and substitute it for one of the others. It slips down the throat with a drinkof water and is not tasted.' 'That's all right. The trouble is, the girl gave it to her.' 'The Russiangirl?' 'Yes. Katrina Rieger. She was a kind of lady-help, nurse-companion to Miss Barrowby.
Fairly ordered about by her, too, I gather. Fetch this, fetch that, fetch the other, rub my back, pourout my medicine, run round to the chemist - all that sort of busi-ness.
You know how it is with these old women - they mean to be kind, but what they need is a sort ofblack slave?
Poirot smiled.
'And there you are, you see,' continued Inspector Sims. 'It doesn't fit in what you might call nicely.
Why should the girl poison her? Miss Barrowby dies and now the girl will be out of a job, andjobs aren't so easy to find - she's not trained or anything.'
'Still,' suggested Poirot, 'if the box of cachets was left about, anyone in the house might have theopportunity.'
'Naturally we're on to that, M. Poirot. I don't mind telling you we're making our inquiries57 - quietlike, if you understand me.
When the prescription58 was last made up, where it was usually kept; patience and a lot of spadework - that's what will do the trick in the end. And then there's Miss Barrowby's solicitor59. I'mhaving an interview with him tomorrow. And the bank manager.
There's a lot to be done still.'
Poirot rose. 'A little favour, Inspector Sims; you will send me a little word how the affair marches.
I would esteem60 it a great favour. Here is my telephone number.'
'Why, certainly, M. Poirot. Two heads are better than one; and, besides, you ought to be in on this,having had that letter andall.'
'You are too amiable61, Inspector.' Politely, Poirot shook hands and took his leave.
He was called to the telephone on the following afternoon. 'Is that M. Poirot? Inspector Sims here.
Things are beginning to sit up and look pretty in that little matter you and I know of.'
'In verity62? Tell me, I pray of you.'
'Well, here's item No. x - and a pretty big item. Miss B. left a small legacy63 to her niece andeverything else to K. In consideration of her great kindness and attention - that's the way it wasput.
That alters the complexion64 of things.'
A picture rose swiftly in Poirot's mind. A sullen65 face and a passionate66 voice saying, 'The money ismine. She wrote it down and so it shall be.' The legacy would not come as a surprise to Katrina -she knew about it beforehand.
'Item No. 2,' continued the voice of Inspector Sims. 'Nobody but K. handled that cachet.' 'You canbe sure of that?' 'The girl herself doesn't deny it. What do you think of that?' 'Extremelyinteresting.' 'We only want one thing more - evidence of how the strychnine came into herpossession. That oughtn't to be difficult.' 'But $o far you haven't been successful?' 'I've barelystarted. The inquest was only this morning.' 'What happened at it?' 'Adjourned67 for a week.' 'Andthe young lady - K.?' 'I'm detaining her on suspicion. Don't want to run any risks.
She might have some funny friends in the country who'd try to get her out of it.' 'No,' said Poirot. 'Ido not think she has any friends.' 'Really? What makes you say that, M. Poirot?' 'It is just an ideaof mine. There were no other "items", as you call them?' 'Nothing that's strictly relevant. Misa B.
seems to have been monkeying about a bit with her shares lately - must have dropped quite a tidysum. It's rather a funny business, one way and another, but I don't see how it affects the main issue- not at present, that is.' 'No, perhaps you are right. Well, my best thanks to you. It wire mostamiable of you to ring me up.' 'Not at all. I'm a man of my word. I could see you were interested.
Who knows, you may be able to give me a helping68 hand before the end.' 'That would give megreat pleasure. It might help you, for inatance, if I could lay my hand on a friend of the girlKatrina.' 'I thought you said she hadn't got any friends?' said Inspector Sires, surprised.
'I was wrong,' said Hercule Poirot. 'She has one.' Before the inspector could ask a further question,Poirot had rung off.
With a serious face he wandered into the room where MiLemon sat at her typewriter. She raised her hands from the keys at her employer's approach andlooked at him inquiringly.
'I want you,' said Poirot, 'to figure to yourself a little history.' Miss Lemon dropped her hands intoher lap in a resigned manner. She enjoyed typing, paying bills, filing papers and enter-ing upengagements. To be asked to imagine herself in hypo-thetical situations bored her very much, butshe accepted it as a disagreeable part of a duty.
'You are a Russian girl,' began Poirot.
'Yes,' said Miss Lemon, looking intensely British.
'You are alone and friendless in this country. You have reasons for not wishing to return to Russia.
You are employed as a kind of drudge69, nurse-attendant and companion to an old lady. You aremeek and uncomplaining.'
'Yes,' said Miss Lemon obediently, but entirely failing to see herself being meek70 to any old ladyunder the sun.
'The old lady takes a fancy to you. She decides to leave her money to you. She tells you so.' Poirotpaused.
Miss Lemon said 'Yes' again.
'And then the old lady finds out something; perhaps it is a matter of money - she may find that youhave not been honest with her. Or it might be more grave still - a medicine that tasted different,some food that disagreed. Anyway, she begins to suspect you of something and she writes to avery famous detective - enfin, to the most famous detective - mel I am to call upon her shortly.
And then, as you say, the dripping will be in the fire.
The great thing is to act quickly. And so - before the great detec-tive arrives - the old lady is dead.
And the money comes to you.
Tell me, does that seem to you reasonable?'
'Quite reasonable,' said Miss Lemon. 'Quite reasonable for a Russian, that is. Personally, I shouldnever take a post as a com-panion.
I like my duties clearly defined. And of course I should not dream of murdering anyone.'
Poirot sighed. 'How I miss my friend Hastings. He had such an imagination. Such a romanticmindl It is true that he always imagined wrong - but that in itself was a guide.'
Miss Lemon was silent. She had heard about Captain Hastings before, and was not interested. Shelooked longingly71 at the typewritten sheet in front of her.
'So it seems to you reasonable,' mused72 Poirot.
'Doesn't it to you?' 'I am almost afraid it does,' sighed Poirot.
The telephone rang and Miss Lemon went out of the room to answer it. She came back to say 'It'sInspector Sims again.' Poirot hurried to the instrument. ' '/kilo, 'allo. What is that you say?' Simsrepeated his statement. 'We've found a packet of strychnine in the girl's bedroom - tuckedunderneath the mattress73. The sergeant's just come in with the news. That about clinches74 it, I think.'
'Yes,' said Poirot, 'I think that clinches it.' His voice had changed. It rang with sudden confidence.
When he had rung off, he sat down at his writing table and arranged the objects on it in amechanical manner. He murmured to himself, 'There was something wrong. I felt it - no, not felt.
It must have been something I saw. En avant, the little grey cells.
Ponder - reflect. Was everything logical and in order? The girl her anxiety about the money: MmeDelafontaine; her husband his suggestion of Russians - imbecile, but he is an imbecile; the room;the garden - ahl Yes, the garden.' He sat up very stiff. The green light shone in his eyes. He sprangup and went into the adjoining room.
'Miss Lemon, will you have the kindness to leave what you are doing and make an investigationfor me?' 'An investigation, M. Poirot? I'm afraid I'm not very good - ' Poirot interrupted her. 'Yousaid one day that you knew all about tradesmen.' 'Certainly I do,' said Miss Lemon withconfidence.
'Then the matter is simple. You are to go to Charman's Green and you are to discover afishmonger.' 'A fishmonger?' asked Miss Lemon, surprised.
'Precisely. The fishmonger who supplied Rosebank with fish.
When you have found him you will ask him a certain question.' He handed her a slip of paper.
Miss Lemon took it, noted its contents without interest, then nodded and slipped the lid on hertypewriter.
'We will go to Charman's Green together,' said Poirot. 'You go to the fishmonger and I to thepolice station. It will take us but half an hour from Baker75 Street.'
On arrival at his destination, he was greeted by the surprised Inspector Sims. 'Well, this is quickwork, M. Poirot. I was talking to you on the phone only an hour ago.'
'I have a request to make to you; that you allow me to see this girl Katrina - what is her name?'
'Katrina Rieger. Well, I don't suppose there's any objection to that.'
The girl Katrina looked even more sallow and sullen than ever.
Poirot spoke76 to her very gently. 'Mademoiselle, I want you to believe that I am not your enemy. Iwant you to tell me the truth.'
Her eyes snapped defiantly77. 'I have told the truth. To everyone I have told the truth! If the old ladywas poisoned, it was not I who poisoned her. It is all a mistake. You wish to prevent me havingthe money.' Her voice was rasping. She looked, he thought, like a miserable78 little cornered rat.
'Tell me about this cachet, mademoiselle,' M. Poirot went on.
'Did no one handle it but you?'
'I have said so, have I not? They were made up at the chemist's that afternoon. I brought them backwith me in my bag - that was just before supper. I opened the box and gave Miss Barrowby onewith a glass of water.'
'No one touched them but you?'
"No.' A cornered rat - with couragel
'And Miss Barrowby had for supper only what we have been told. The soup, the fish pie, the tart?'
'Yes.' A hopeless 'yes' - dark, smouldering eyes that saw no light anywhere.
Poirot patted her shoulder. 'Be of good courage, mademoiselle.
There may yet be freedom - yes, and money - a life of ease.' She looked at him suspiciously.
As he went out Sims said to him, 'I didn't quite get what you aid through the telephone - somethingabout the girl having a friend.' 'She has one. Me!' said Hercule Poirot, and had left the policestation before the inspector could pull his wits together.
At the Green Cat tearooms, Miss Lemon did not keep her employer waiting. She went straight tothe point.
'The man's name is Rudge, in the High Street, and you were quite right. A dozen and a halfexactly. I've made a note of what he said.' She handed it to him.
'Arrr.' It was a deep, rich sound like the purr of a cat.
Hercule ?oirot betook himself to Rosebank. As he stood in the front garden, the sun setting behindhim, Mary Delafontaine came out to him.
'M. Poirot?' Her voice sounded surprised. 'You have come back?' 'Yes, I have first came here, myhead: come back.' He paused and then said, 'When I madame, the children's nursery rhyme cameinto
Mistress Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow?
With cockle-shells, and silver bells, And pretty maids all in a row.
Only they are not cockle shells, are they, madame? They are oyster79 shells.' His hand pointed80.
He heard her catch her breath and then stay very still. Her eyes asked a question.
He nodded. 'Mais, oui, I know! The maid left the dinner ready - she will swear and Katrina willswear that that is all you had.
Only you and your husband know that you brought back a dozen and a half oysters81 - a little treatpour la bonne tante. So easy to put the strychnine in an oyster. It is swallowed - cornme fa! Butthere remain the shells - they must not go in the bucket. The maid would see them. And so youthought of making an edging of them to a bed. But there were not enough - the edging is notcomplete. The effect is bad - it spoils the symmetry of the other244wise charming garden. Those few oyster shells struck an alien note - they displeased82 my eye onmy first visit.' Mary Delafontaine said, 'I suppose you guessed from the letter. I knew she hadwritten - but I didn't know how much she'd said.' Poirot answered evasively, 'I knew at least that itwas a family matter. If it had been a question of Katrina there would have been no point inhushing things up. I understand that you or your husband handled Miss Barrowby's securities toyour own profit, and that she found out - ' Mary Delafontaine nodded. 'We've done it for years - alittle here and there. I never realized she was sharp enough to find out.
And then I learned she had sent for a detective; and I found out, too, that she was leaving hermoney to Katrina - that miserable little creature!' 'And so the strychnine was put in Katrina'sbedroom? I comprehend.
You save yourself and your husband from what I may discover, and you saddle an innocent childwith murder. Had you no pity, madame?' Mary Delafontaine shrugged83 her shoulders - her blueforget-me°not eyes looked into Poirot's. He remembered the perfection of her acting84 the first dayhe had come and the bungling85 attempts of her husband. A woman above the average - butinhuman.
She said, 'Pity? For that miserable intriguing86 little rat?' Her contempt rang out.
Hercule Poirot said slowly, 'I think, madame, that you have cared in your life for two things only.
One is your husband.' He saw her lips tremble.
'And the other - is your garden.' He looked round him. His glance seemed to apologize to theflowers for that which he had done and was about to do.
POSTERN OF FATE university and she's gone off now to Africa to do research on how peoplelive - that' sort of thing. A lot of young people are very keen on that. She's a darling - and veryhappy.'
Mr Robinson cleared his throat and rose to his feet. 'I want to propose a toast. To Mr and MrsThomas Beresford in acknowledgement of the service they have rendered to their country.' It wasdrunk enthusiastically. 'And if I may, I will propose a further toast,' said Mr Robinson. 'ToHannibal.'
'There, Hannibal,' said Tuppence, stroking his head. 'You've had your health drunk. Almost asgood as being knighted or having a medal. I was reading Stanley Weyman's Count Hannibal onlythe other day.'
'Read it as a boy, I remember,' said Mr Robinson. ' "Who touches my brother touches Tavanne," ifI've got it right. Pikeaway, don't you think? Hannibal, may I be permitted to tap you on theshoulder?'
Hannibal took a step towards him, received a tap on the shoulder and gently wagged his tail.
'I hereby create you a Count of this Realm.'
'Count Hannibal. Isn't that lovely?' said Tuppence. 'What a proud dog you ought to be!'
The End
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1
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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spiky
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| adj.长而尖的，大钉似的 | |
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bucks
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| n.雄鹿( buck的名词复数 )；钱；（英国十九世纪初的）花花公子；（用于某些表达方式）责任v.（马等）猛然弓背跃起( buck的第三人称单数 )；抵制；猛然震荡；马等尥起后蹄跳跃 | |
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8
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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9
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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10
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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11
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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12
insomnia
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| n.失眠，失眠症 | |
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13
reiterate
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| v.重申，反复地说 | |
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investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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15
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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16
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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17
scribbling
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| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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18
hieroglyphic
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| n.象形文字 | |
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19
hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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20
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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21
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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22
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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23
unravelled
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| 解开，拆散，散开( unravel的过去式和过去分词 )； 阐明； 澄清； 弄清楚 | |
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24
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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26
dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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27
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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28
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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29
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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30
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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31
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
frieze
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| n.(墙上的)横饰带，雕带 | |
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33
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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34
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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35
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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36
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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37
intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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38
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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39
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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40
quelled
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| v.（用武力）制止，结束，镇压( quell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
roes
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| n.獐( roe的名词复数 )；獐鹿；鱼卵；鱼精液 | |
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42
erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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43
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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44
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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45
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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46
constable
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| n.(英国)警察，警官 | |
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47
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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48
explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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49
spasms
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| n.痉挛( spasm的名词复数 )；抽搐；（能量、行为等的）突发；发作 | |
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50
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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51
autopsy
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| n.尸体解剖；尸检 | |
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52
tart
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| adj.酸的；尖酸的，刻薄的；n.果馅饼；淫妇 | |
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53
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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54
gall
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| v.使烦恼，使焦躁，难堪；n.磨难 | |
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55
inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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56
digestion
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| n.消化，吸收 | |
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57
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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58
prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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59
solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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60
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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61
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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62
verity
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| n.真实性 | |
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63
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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64
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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65
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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66
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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67
adjourned
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| （使）休会， （使）休庭( adjourn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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68
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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69
drudge
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| n.劳碌的人；v.做苦工，操劳 | |
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70
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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71
longingly
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| adv. 渴望地 热望地 | |
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72
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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73
mattress
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| n.床垫，床褥 | |
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74
clinches
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| n.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的名词复数 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议）v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的第三人称单数 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
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75
baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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76
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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77
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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78
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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79
oyster
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| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
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80
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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81
oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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82
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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83
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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84
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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85
bungling
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| adj.笨拙的，粗劣的v.搞糟，完不成( bungle的现在分词 )；笨手笨脚地做；失败；完不成 | |
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86
intriguing
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| adj.有趣的；迷人的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的现在分词)；激起…的好奇心 | |
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