Poirot was silent for a minute or two. Then he said, "Are you going to
marry Dr. Oldfield, Miss Moncrieffe?"
She displayed no surprise at the question.
She said shortly, "He hasn't asked me to marry him."
"Why not?"
Her blue eyes met his and flickered for a second. Then she said,
"Because I've choked him off."
"Ah, what a blessing to find someone who can be frankl"
"I will be as frank as you please. When I realized that people were
saying that Charles had got rid of his wife in order to marry me, it
seemed to me that if we did marry it would just put the lid on things. I
hoped that if there appeared to be no question of marriage between us,
the silly scandal might die down."
"But it hasn't?"
"No, it hasn't."
"Surely," said Hercule Poirot, "that is a little odd?"
jean said bitterly, "They haven't got much to amuse them down here."
Poirot asked, "Do you want to marry Charles Oldfield?"
The girl answered coolly enough.
"Yes, I do. I wanted to almost as soon as I met him."
"Then his wife's death was very convenient for you?"
jean Moncrieffe said, "Mrs. Oldfield was a singularly unpleasant woman.
Frankly, I was delighted when she died."
"Yes," said Poirot. "You are certainly frankl"
She gave the same scornful smile.
Poirot said, "I have a suggestion to make."
"Yes?"
"Drastic means are required here. I suggest that somebody-possibly
yourself-might write to the Home Office."
"What on earth do you mean?"
"I mean that the best way of disposing of this story once and for all is
to get the body exhumed and an autopsy performed."
She took a step back from him. Her lips opened, thdn shut again. Poirot
watched her.
"Well, Mademoiselle?" he said at last.
jean Moncrieffe said-q " uietly, "I don't agree with you."
."But why not? Surely a verdict of death from natural
causes would silence all tongues."
"If you got that verdict, yes."
"Do you know what you are suggesting, Mademoiselle?"
jean Moncrieffe said impatiently, "I know what I'm talking about. You're
thin)Cing of arsenic poisoning-you could prove that she was not poisoned
by arsenic. But there are other poisons-the vegetable alkaloids. After
a year, I doubt if you'd find any traces of them even if they had been
used. And I know what these official analyst people are like. They
might return a noncommittal verdict saying that there was nothing to
show what caused death-and then the tongues would wag faster than everl"
Hercule Poirot was silent for a minute or two, then he said, "Who in
your opinion is the most inveterate talker in the village?"
The girl considered.
She said at last " I really think old Miss Leatheran is the worst cat of
the lht."
"Ahl Would it be possible for you to introduce me to Miss Leatheran-in a
casual manner, if possible?"
"Nothing would be easier. All the old tabbies are prowling about doinl,
their shopping at this time of the morning. We've only got to walk down
the main street."
As ' jean had said, there was no difficulty about the procedure.
Outside the post office, jean stopped and spoke to a tall, thin,
middle-aged woman with a long nose and sharp, inquisitive eyes.
"Good morning, Miss Leatheran."
"Good morning, jean. Such a lovely day, is it not?"
The sharp eyes ranged inquisitively over jean Moncrieffe's con?panion.
jean said, "Let me introduce M. Poirot, who is staying down here for a
few days."
Nibbling delicately at a scone and balane,'ng a cup of tea on his knee,
Hercule Poirot allowed himself to become confidential with his hostess.
Miss Leatheran had been kind enough to ask him to tea anct had thereupon
made it her business to find out exactly what this exotic little
foreigner was doing in their midst.
For some time he parried her thrusts with dexteritythereby wh . etting
her appetite. Then, when he judged the
moment ripe; he leaned forward.
"Ah, Miss Leatheran," he said. "I can see that you are too clever for
mel You have guessed my secret. I am down here at the request of the
Home Office. But, please," he lowered his voice, "keep this information
to yourself."
"Of course-of course-" Miss Leatheran was fluttered -thrilled to the
core. "The Home Office-you don't mean -not poor Mrs. Oldfield?"
Poirot nodded his head slowly several times.
"We-ell l" Miss Leatheran breathed into that one word a whole gamut of
pleasurable emotion.
Poirot said, "It is a delicate matter, you understand. I have been
ordered to report whether there is or is not a sufficient case for
exhumation."
Miss Leatheran exclaimed, "You are going to dig the poor thing up. How
terriblel"
If she had said "how splendid" instead of "how terrible" the words would
have suited her tone of voice better.
"What is your opinion, Miss Leatheran?"
"Well, of course, M. Poirot, there has been a lot of talk.
But I never listen to talk. There is always so much unreliable gossip
going about. There is no doubt that Dr. Oldfield has been very odd in
his manner ever since it happened, but as I have said repeatedly, we
surely need not put that down to a guilty conscience. It might be just
grief.
Not, of course, that he and his wife were on really affectionate terms.
That I do know -on first-hand authority.
Nurse Harrison, who was with Mrs. Oldfield for three or four years up
to the time of her death, has admitted that much. And I have always
felt, you know, that Nurse Harrison had her suspicions-not that she ever
said anything, but one can tell, can't one, from a person's manner?"
Poirot said sadly, "One has so little to go upon."
"Yes, I know. But of course, M. Poirot, if the body is exhumed, then
you will know."
"Yes," said Poirot, "then we will know."
"There have been cases like it before, of course," said Miss Leatheran,
her nose twitching with pleasurable excitement. "Armstrong, for
instance, and that other man-I
can't remember his name-and then Crippen, of course.
I've always wondered if Ethel Le Neve was in it with him or not. Of
course, lean Moncrieffe is a very nice girl, I'm sure. I wouldn't like
to say she led him on exactly-but men do get rather silly about girls,
don't they? And, of course, they were thrown very much togetherl"
Poirot did not speak. He looked at her with an innocent expression of
inquiry calculated to produce a further spate of conversation. Inwardly
he amused himself by counting the number of times the words "of course"
occurred.
"And, of course, with a post-mortem and all that, so much would be bound
to come out, wouldn't it? Servants and all that. Servants always know
so much, don't they?
And, of course, it's quite impossible to keep them from gossiping, isn t
it? The Oldfields' Beatrice was dismissed almost immediately after the
funeral-and I
've always thought that was odd-especially with the
difficulty of getting maids nowadays. It looks as though Dr. Oldfield
was afraid she might know something."
"It certaidly seems as though there were grounds for an inquiry," said
Poirot solemnly.
Miss Leatheran gave a little shiver of reluctance.
"One does so shrink from the idea," she said. "Our dear, quiet little
village-dragged into the newspapers-all the publicityl" :'It appalls
you?" asked Poirot.
'It does a little. I'm old-fashioned, you know."
::And, as you say, it is probably nothing but gossipl"
Well-I wouldn't like conscientiously to say that. You know, I do think
it's so true-the saying that there's no smoke without fire."
"I myself was thinking exactly the same thing," said Poirot.
He rose.
"I can trust your discretion, Mademoiselle?"
"Oh, of courser I shall not say a word to anybody."
Poirot smiled and took his leave.
On the doorstep he said to the little maid who handed him his hat and
coat:
"I am down here to inquire into the circumstances of Mrs. Oldfield's
death, but I shall be obliged if you will keep that strictly to
yourself."
Miss Leatheran's Gladys nearly fell backward into the umbrella stand.
She said excitedly, "Oh, sir, then the doctor did do her in?"
"You've thought so for some time, haven't you?"
"Well, sir, it wasn't me. It was Beatrice. She was up there when Mrs.
Oldfield died."
"And she thought there had been"- Poirot selected the melodramatic words
deliberately-" 'foul play'?"
Gladys nodded excitedly.
"Yes, she did. And she said so did Nurse that was up there, Nurse
Harrison. Ever so fond of Mrs. Oldfield Nurse was, and ever so
distressed when she died, and Gladys always said as how Nurse Harrison
knew something about it because she turned right round against the
doctor afterward and she wouldn't of done that unless there was
something wrong, would she?"
'Where is Nurse Harrison now?"
'She looks after old Miss Bristow-down at the end of the village. You
can't miss it. It's got pillars and a porch."
It was a very short time afterward that Hercule Poirot found himself
sitting opposite the woman who certainly must know more about the
circumstances that had given rise to the rumors than anyone else.
Nurse Harrison was a still handsome woman nearing forty. She had the
calm serene features of a Madonna, with big sympathetic dark eyes. She
listened to him patiently and attentively. Then she said slowly:
"Yes, I know that there are these unpleasant stories going about. I
have done what I could to stop them, but it's hopeless. People like the
excitement, you know."
Poirot sai(f, "But there must have been something to give rise to these
rumors?"
He noted that her expression of distress deepened. But she merely shook
her head perl-)Iexedly.
"Perhaps," Poirot suggested, "Dr. Oldfield and his wife did not get on
well together and it was that that started the rumor?"
Nurse Harrison shook her head decidedly.
"Oh, no, Dr. Oldfield was always extremely kind and patient with his
wife."
"He was really very fond of her?"
She hesitated.
"No-I would not quite say that. Mrs. Oldfield was a very difficult
woman, not easy to please and making constant demands for sympathy and
attention which were not always justified."
"You mean," said Poirot, "that she exaggerated her condition?"
The nurse nodded.
"Yes-her bad health was largely a matter of her own imagination."
"And yet," said Poirot gravely, "she died."
"Oh, I know -I know."
He watched her for a minute or two; her troubled perplexity-her palpable
uncertainty.
He said, "I think-I am sure-that you do know what first gave rise to all
these stories."
Nurse Harrison flushed.
She said, "Well-I could, perhaps, make a guess. I believe it was the
maid, Beatrice, who started all these rumors and I think I know what put
it into her hdad."
"Yes?"
Nurse Harrison said rather incoherently, "You see, it was something I
happened to overhear-a scrap of conversation between Dr. Oldfield and
Miss Moncrieffe-and I'm pretty certain Beatrice overheard it, too, only
I don't sup" pose she'd ever admit it."
"What was this conversation?"
Nurse Harrison paused for a minute as though to test the accuracy of her
own memory, then she said:
"It was about three weeks before the last attack that killed AIrs.
Oldfield. -They were in the dining-room. I was coming (fow the stairs
when I heard jean Moncrieffe say:
"'How much longer will it be? I can't bear to wait much
longer."
"And the doctor answered her: 'Not much longer now, darling, I swear
it." And she said again: " 'I can't bear this waiting. You do think it
will be all
ri ght' (I 't yo.? ' And he said: 'Of course. Nothing can go wrong.
his t -e net year we'll be married." Sli, p:.,edi
"That was the very first inkling I'd had, M. Poirot, that there was
anything between the doctor and Miss Moncrieffe. Of course I knew he
admired her and that they were very good friends, but nothing more. I
went back up the stairs again-it had given me quite a shock-but I did
notice that the kitchen door was open and I've thought since that
Beatrice must have been listening. And you can see, can't you, that the
way they were talking could be taken two ways? It might just mean that
the doctor knew his wife was very ill and couldn't live much longer-and
I've no doubt that that was the way he meant it-but to anyone like
Beatrice it might sound differently-it might look as though the doctor
and jean Moncrieffe werewell-were definitely planning to do away with
Mrs. Oldfield."
"But you don't think so, yourself?"
"No-no, of course not."
Poirot looked at her searchingly.
He said, "Nurse Harrison, is Chkre something more that' you know?
Something that you haven't told me?"
She flushed and said violently, "No. No. Certainly not.
What could there be?"
"I do not know. But I thought that there might besomething?"
She shook her head. The old troubled look had come back.
Hercule Poirot said, "It is possible that the Home Office may order a
exhumation of Mrs. Oldfield's bodyl"
"Oh, nol" Nurse Harrison was horrified. "What a horrible thingl"
"You think it would be a pity?"
"I think it would be dreadfull Think of the talk it would createl It
would be terrible-quite terrible for poor Dr. Oldfield."
"You don't think that it might really be a good thing for him?"
"How do you mean?"
Poirot said, "If he is innocent-his innocence will be proved."
He broke off. He watched the thought take root in Nurse Harrison's
mind, saw her frown perplexedly, and then saw her brow clear.
She took a deep breath and looked at him.
"I hadn't thox;li
ght of that," she said simply. "Of course, it is the
only thirrg to be done."
There were a series of thumps on the floor overhead.
Nurse Harrison jumped up.
"It's my old lady, Miss Bristow. She's woken up from her rest. I must
go and get her comfortable before her tea is brought to her and I go out
for my walk. Yes, M. Poirot, I think you are quite rht. An autopsy
will settle the business once for all." It will scotch the whole thing
and all these dreadful rumors against poor Dr. Oldfield will die down."
She shook hands and hurried out of the room.
Hercule Poirot walked along to the post office and put through a call to
London.
The voice at the other end was petulant.
"Must you go nosing out these things, my dear Poirot?
Are you sure it's a case for us? You know what these country town
rumors usually amount to-just nothin at all."
"This," said Hercule Poirot, "is a special case."
"Oh, well-if you say so. You have such a tiresome habit of being right.
But if it's all a mare's nest we shan't be pleased with you, you know."
Hercule Poirot smiled to himself.
He inurtired, "No, I shall be the one who is pleased."
"What's that You say? Can't hear."
"Nothing. Nothing at all."
He rang off.
Emerging into the post office he leaned across the counter. He said in
his most engaging tones:
"Can you by any chance tell me, Madame, where the maid who was formerly
with Dr. Oldfield-Beatrice her Christian name was-now resides?"
"Beatrice King? She's had two places since then. She's with Mrs.
Marley over the Bank now."
Poirot thanked her, bought two postcards, a book af stamps, and a piece
of local pottery. During the purchase, he contrived to bring the dealth
of the late Mrs. Oldfield into the conversation. He was quick to note
the peculiar furtive expression that stole across the postmistress's
face. She said:
"Very sudden, wasn't it? It's made a lot of talk, as you may have
heard."
A gleam of interest came into her eyes as she asked, "Maybe that's what
you'd be wanting to see Beatrice King for? We all thought it odd the
way she was got out of there all of a sudden. Somebody thought she knew
somethingand maybe she did. She's dropped some pretty broad hints."
Beatrice King was a short, rather sly-looking girl with adenoids. She
presented an appearance of stolid stupidity but her eyes were more
intelligent than her manner would have led one to expect. It seemed,
however, that there was nothing to be got out of Beatrice King. She
repeated:
"I don't know nothing about anything.... It's not for me to say what
went on up there.... I don't know what you mean by overhearing a
conversation between the doctor and Miss Moncrieffe. I'm not one to go
listening to doors, and you've no right to say I did. I don't know
nothing."
Poirot said, "Have you ever heard of poisoning by arsenic?"
A flicker of quick, furtive interest came into the girl's sullen face.
She said, "So that's what it was in the medicine bottle?"
"What niedicine I)ottle?"
Beatrice said, "One of the bottles of medicine what that Miss Moncrieffe
made up for the Missus. Nurse was all upset-I could see that. Tasted
it, she did, and smelled it, and then poured it away down the sink and
filled up the bottle with plain water from the tap. It was white
medicine like water, anyway. And once, when Miss Moncrieffe took up a
Mrs McGinty's Dead / the Labours of Hercules (Agatha Christie Collected Works) Page 5
