Poirot said: "You will excuse me?"
He went out and telephoned to Detective Sergeant Grey of the Berkshire Police.
Hercule Poirot came back and he and Nurse Harrison sat in silence.
Poirot was seeing the face of a girl with red hair and hearing a clear hard voice say: "I don't agree." Jean Moncrieffe had not wanted an autopsy. She had given a plausible enough excuse, but the fact remained. A competent girl - efficient - resolute. In love with a man who was tied to a complaining invalid wife, who might easily live for years since, according to Nurse Harrison, she had very little the matter with her.
Hercule Poirot sighed.
Nurse Harrison said: "What are you thinking of?"
Poirot answered: "The pity of things..."
Nurse Harrison said: "I don't believe for a minute he knew anything about it."
Poirot said: "No. I am sure he did not."
The door opened and Detective Sergeant Grey came in. He had something in his hand, wrapped in a silk handkerchief. He unwrapped it and set it carefully down. It was a bright rose pink enamel compact.
Nurse Harrison said: "That's the one I saw."
Grey said: "Found it pushed right to the back of Miss Moncrieffe's bureau drawer. Inside a handkerchief sachet. As far as I can see there are no fingerprints on it, but I'll be careful."
With the handkerchief over his hand he pressed the spring. The case flew open.
Grey said: "This stuff isn't face powder."
He dipped a finger and tasted it gingerly on the tip of his tongue.
"No particular taste."
Poirot said: "White arsenic does not taste."
Grey said: "It will be analysed at once." He looked at Nurse Harrison.
"You can swear to this being the same case?"
"Yes. I'm positive. That's the case I saw Miss Moncrieffe with in the dispensary about a week before Mrs Oldfield's death."
Sergeant Grey sighed. He looked at Poirot and nodded.
The latter rang the bell.
"Send my servant here, please."
George, the perfect valet, discreet, unobtrusive, entered and looked inquiringly at his master.
Hercule Poirot said: "You have identified this powder compact, Miss Harrison, as one you saw in the possession of Miss Moncrieffe over a year ago. Would you be surprised to learn that this particular case was sold by Messrs. Woolworth only a few weeks ago and that, moreover, it is of a pattern and colour that has only been manufactured for the last three months?"
Nurse Harrison gasped. She stared at Poirot, her eyes round and dark.
Poirot said: "Have you seen this compact before, Georges?"
George stepped forward.
"Yes, sir. I observed this person, Nurse Harrison, purchase it at Woolworth's on Friday the 18th. Pursuant to your instructions I followed this lady whenever she went out. She took a bus over to Darnington on the day I have mentioned and purchased this compact.
She took it home with her. Later, the same day, she came to the house in which Miss Moncrieffe lodges. Acting as by your instructions, I was already in the house. I observed her go into Miss Moncrieffe's bedroom and hide this in the back of the bureau drawer. I had a good view through the crack of the door. She then left the house believing herself unobserved. I may say that no one locks their front doors down here and it was dusk."
Poirot said to Nurse Harrison, and his voice was hard and venomous:
"Can you explain these facts, Nurse Harrison? I think not. There was no arsenic in that box when it left Messrs. Woolworth, but there was when it left Miss Bristow's house." He added softly, "It was unwise of you to keep a supply of arsenic in your possession."
Nurse Harrison buried her face in her hands.
She said in a low dull voice: "It's true - it's all true... I killed her. And all for nothing - nothing... I was mad..."
VII
Jean Moncrieffe said: "I must ask you to forgive me, M. Poirot. I have been so angry with you - so terribly angry with you. It seemed to me that you were making everything so much worse."
Poirot said with a smile: "So I was to begin with. It is like in the old legend of the Lernean Hydra. Every time a head was cut off, two heads grew in its place. So, to begin with, the rumours grew and multiplied.
But you see my task, like that of my namesake Hercules, was to reach the first - the original head. Who had started this rumour? It did not take me long to discover that the originator of the story was Nurse Harrison. I went to see her. She appeared to be a very nice woman intelligent and sympathetic. But almost at once she made a bad mistake - she repeated to me a conversation which she had overheard taking place between you and the doctor, and that conversation, you see, was all wrong. It was psychologically most unlikely. If you and the doctor had planned together to kill Mrs Oldfield, you are both of you far too intelligent and level-headed to hold such a conversation in a room with an open door, easily overheard by someone on the stairs or someone in the kitchen. Moreover, the words attributed to you did not fit in at all with your mental make-up. They were the words of a much older woman and of one of a quite different type. They were words such as would be imagined by Nurse Harrison as being used by herself in like circumstances.
"I had, up to then, regarded the whole matter as fairly simple. Nurse Harrison, I realised, was a fairly young and still handsome woman - she had been thrown closely with Doctor Oldfield for nearly three years the doctor had been very fond of her and grateful to her for her tact and sympathy. She had formed the impression that if Mrs Oldfield died, the doctor would probably ask her to marry him. Instead of that, after Mrs Oldfield's death, she learns that Doctor Oldfield is in love with you.
Straightaway, driven by anger and jealousy, she starts spreading the rumour that Doctor Oldfield has poisoned his wife.
"That, as I say, was how I had visualised the position at first. It was a case of a jealous woman and a lying rumour. But the old trite phrase 'no smoke without fire' recurred to me significantly. I wondered if Nurse Harrison had done more than spread a rumour. Certain things she said rang strangely. She told me that Mrs Oldfield's illness was largely imaginary - that she did not really suffer much pain. But the doctor himself had been in no doubt about the reality of his wife's suffering. He had not been surprised by her death. He had called in another doctor shortly before her death and the other doctor had realised the gravity of her condition. Tentatively I brought forward the suggestion of exhumation... Nurse Harrison was at first frightened out of her wits by the idea. Then, almost at once, her jealousy and hatred took command of her. Let them find arsenic - no suspicion would attach to her. It would be the doctor and Jean Moncrieffe who would suffer.
"There was only one hope. To make Nurse Harrison overreach herself.
If there were a chance that Jean Moncrieffe would escape, I fancied that Nurse Harrison would strain every nerve to involve her in the crime. I gave instructions to my faithful Georges - the most unobtrusive of men whom she did not know by sight. He was to follow her closely.
And so - all ended well."
Jean Moncrieffe said: "You've been wonderful."
Dr Oldfield chimed in. He said: "Yes, indeed. I can never thank you enough. What a blind fool I was!"
Poirot asked curiously: "Were you as blind, Mademoiselle?"
Jean Moncrieffe said slowly: "I have been terribly worried. You see, the arsenic in the poison cupboard didn't tally..."
Oldfield cried: "Jean - you didn't think -?"
"No, no - not you. What I did think was that Mrs Oldfield had somehow or other got hold of it - and that she was taking it so as to make herself ill and get sympathy and that she had inadvertently taken too much.
But I was afraid that if there was an autopsy and arsenic was found, they would never consider that theory and would leap to the conclusion that you'd done it. That's why I never said anything about the missing arsenic. I even cooked the poison book! But the last person I would ever have suspected was Nurse Harrison."
&n
bsp; Oldfield said: "I too. She was such a gentle womanly creature. Like a Madonna."
Poirot said sadly: "Yes, she would have made, probably, a good wife and mother... Her emotions were just a little too strong for her." He sighed and murmured once more under his breath: "The pity of it."
Then he smiled at the happy-looking middle-aged man and the eagerfaced girl opposite him. He said to himself:
"These two have come out of its shadow into the sun... and I - I have performed the second Labour of Hercules."
Chapter 3
THE ARCADIAN DEER
II
Hercule Poirot looked thoughtfully at the sheet of paper on which Ted
Williamson had laboriously inscribed a name and address.
Miss Valetta, 17 Upper Renfrew Lane, N.15.
He wondered if he would learn anything at that address. Somehow he fancied not. But it was the only help Ted could give him.
No. 17 Upper Renfrew Lane was a dingy but respectable street. A stout woman with bleary eyes opened the door to Poirot's knock.
"Miss Valetta?"
"Gone away a long time ago, she has."
Poirot advanced a step into the doorway just as the door was about to close.
"You can give me, perhaps, her address?"
"Couldn't say, I'm sure. She didn't leave one."
"When did she go away?"
"Last summer it was."
"Can you tell me exactly when?"
A gentle clinking noise came from Poirot's right hand where two halfcrowns jostled each other in friendly fashion.
The bleary-eyed woman softened in an almost magical manner. She became graciousness itself.
"Well, I'm sure I'd like to help you, sir. Let me see now. August, no, before that - July - yes, July it must have been. About the first week in July. Went off in a hurry, she did. Back to Italy, I believe."
"She was an Italian, then?"
"That's right, sir."
"And she was at one time lady's-maid to a Russian dancer, was she not?"
"That's right. Madame Semoulina or some such name. Danced at the Thespian in this Bally everyone's so wild about. One of the stars, she was."
Poirot said: "Do you know why Miss Valetta left her post?"
The woman hesitated a moment before saying: "I couldn't say, I'm sure."
"She was dismissed, was she not?"
"Well - I believe there was a bit of a dust up! But mind you, Miss Valetta didn't let on much about it. She wasn't one to give things away. But she looked wild about it. Wicked temper she had - real Eyetalian - her black eyes all snapping and looking as if she'd like to put a knife into you. I wouldn't have crossed her when she was in one of her moods!"
"And you are quite sure you do not know Miss Valetta's present address?"
The half-crowns clinked again encouragingly.
The answer rang true enough. "I wish I did, sir. I'd be only too glad to tell you. But there - she went off in a hurry and there it is!"
Poirot said to himself thoughtfully: "Yes, there it is..."
III
Ambrose Vandel, diverted from his enthusiastic account of the décor he was designing for a forthcoming ballet, supplied information easily enough.
"Sanderfield? George Sanderfield? Nasty fellow. Rolling in money but they say he's a crook. Dark horse! Affair with a dancer? But of course, my dear - he had an affair with Katrina. Katrina Samoushenka. You must have seen her? Oh, my dear - too delicious. Lovely technique.
The Swan of Tuolela - you must have seen that? My decor! And that other thing of Debussy or is it Mannine 'La Biche au Bois'? She danced it with Michael Novgin. He's so marvellous, isn't he?"
"And she was a friend of Sir George Sanderfield?"
"Yes, she used to weekend with him at his house on the river.
Marvellous parties I believe he gives."
"Would it be possible, mon cher, for you to introduce me to Mademoiselle Samoushenka?"
"But, my dear, she isn't here any longer. She went to Paris or somewhere quite suddenly. You know, they do say that she was a Bolshevik spy or something - not that I believed it myself - you know people love saying things like that. Katrina always pretended that she was a White Russian - her father was a Prince or a Grand Duke - the usual thing! It goes down so much better." Vandel paused and returned to the absorbing subject of himself. "Now as I was saying, if you want to get the spirit of Bathsheba you've got to steep yourself in the Semitic tradition. I express it by -"
He continued happily.
IV
The interview that Hercule Poirot managed to arrange with Sir George
Sanderfield did not start too auspiciously.
The "dark horse," as Ambrose Vandel had called him, was slightly ill at ease. Sir George was a short square man with dark coarse hair and a roll of fat in his neck.
He said: "Well, M. Poirot, what can I do for you? Er - we haven't met before, I think?"
"No, we have not met."
"Well, what is it? I confess, I'm quite curious."
"Oh, it is very simple - a mere matter of information."
The other gave an uneasy laugh.
"Want me to give you some inside dope, eh? Didn't know you were interested in finance."
"It is not a matter of les affaires. It is a question of a certain lady."
"Oh, a woman." Sir George Sanderfield leant back in his armchair. He seemed to relax. His voice held an easier note.
Poirot said: "You were acquainted, I think, with Mademoiselle Katrina Samoushenka?"
Sanderfield laughed. "Yes. An enchanting creature. Pity she's left London."
"Why did she leave London?"
"My dear fellow, I don't know. Row with the management, I believe.
She was temperamental, you know - very Russian in her moods. I'm sorry that I can't help you but I haven't the least idea where she is now.
I haven't kept up with her at all."
There was a note of dismissal in his voice as he rose to his feet.
Poirot said: "But it is not Mademoiselle Samoushenka that I am anxious to trace."
"It isn't?"
"No, it is a question of her maid."
"Her maid?" Sanderfield stared at him.
Poirot said: "Do you - perhaps - remember her maid?"
All Sanderfield's uneasiness had returned.
He said awkwardly: "Good Lord, no, how should I? I remember she had one, of course... Bit of a bad lot, too, I should say. Sneaking, prying sort of girl. If I were you I shouldn't put any faith in a word that girl says. She's the kind of girl who's a born liar."
Poirot murmured: "So actually, you remember quite a lot about her?"
Sanderfield said hastily: "Just an impression, that's all... Don't even remember her name. Let me see, Marie something or other - no, I'm afraid I can't help you to get hold of her. Sorry."
Poirot said gently: "I have already got the name of Marie Hellin from the Thespian Theatre - and her address. But I am speaking. Sir George, of the maid who was with Mademoiselle Samoushenka before Marie Hellin. I am speaking of Nita Valetta."
Sanderfield stared.
He said: "Don't remember her at all. Marie's the only one I remember.
Little dark girl with a nasty look in her eye."
Poirot said: "The girl I mean was at your house Grasslawn last June."
Sanderfield said sulkily: "Well, all I can say is I don't remember her.
Don't believe she had a maid with her. I think you're making a mistake."
Hercule Poirot shook his head. He did not think he was making a mistake.
V
Marie Hellin looked swiftly at Poirot out of small intelligent eyes and as swiftly looked away again. She said in smooth, even tones:
"But I remember perfectly. Monsieur. I was engaged by Madame Samoushenka the last week in June. Her former maid had departed in a hurry."
"Did you ever hear why that maid left?"
"She went - suddenly - that is all I know! It may have been illness some
thing of that kind. Madame did not say."
Poirot said: "Did you find your mistress easy to get on with?"
The girl shrugged her shoulders.
"She had great moods. She wept and laughed in turns. Sometimes she was so despondent she would not speak or eat. Sometimes she was wildly gay. They are like that, these dancers. It is temperament."
"And Sir George?"
The girl looked up alertly. An unpleasant gleam came into her eyes.
"Ah, Sir George Sanderfield? You would like to know about him?
Perhaps it is that you really want to know? The other was only an excuse, eh? Ah, Sir George, I could tell you some curious things about him, I could tell you -"
Poirot interrupted: "It is not necessary."
She stared at him, her mouth open. Angry disappointment showed in her eyes.
VI
"I always say you know everything, Alexis Pavlovitch."
Hercule Poirot murmured the words with his most flattering intonation.
He was reflecting to himself that this third Labour of Hercules had necessitated more travelling and more interviews than could have been imagined possible. This little matter of a missing lady's-maid was proving one of the longest and most difficult problems he had ever tackled. Every clue, when examined, led exactly nowhere.
It had brought him this evening to the Samovar Restaurant in Paris whose proprietor, Count Alexis Pavlovitch, prided himself on knowing everything that went on in the artistic world.
He nodded now complacently:
"Yes, yes, my friend, I know - I always know. You ask me where she is gone - the little Samoushenka, the exquisite dancer? Ah! she was the real thing, that little one." He kissed his fingertips. "What fire - what abandon! She would have gone far - she would have been the Premiere Ballerina of her day - and then suddenly it all ends - she creeps away to the end of the world - and soon, ah! so soon, they forget her."
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