Sad Cypress hp-21

by Agatha Christie

  Mr. Seddon showed a faint surprise. "As far as I know, none."

  "Did the late Mrs. Welman, at any period of her life, make a will?"

  "Never. She always put it off."

  "Has Elinor Carlisle made a will?"

  "Yes."

  "Recently? Since her aunt's death?"

  "Yes."

  "To whom has she left her property?"

  "That, Poirot, is confidential. I cannot tell you without authorization from my client."

  Poirot said, "Then I shall have to interview your client!"

  Mr. Seddon said with a cold smile, "That, I fear, will not be easy."

  Poirot rose and made a gesture. "Everything," he said, "is easy to Hercule Poirot."

  Chapter 15

  Chief Inspector Marsden was affable. "Well, Monsieur Poirot," he said. "Come to set me right about one of my cases?"

  Poirot murmured deprecatingly, "No, no. A little curiosity on my part, that is all."

  "Only too happy to satisfy it. Which case is it?"

  "Elinor Carlisle."

  "Oh, yes, girl who poisoned Mary Gerrard. Coming up for trial in two weeks' time. Interesting case. She did in the old woman too, by the way. Final report isn't in yet, but it seems there's no doubt of it. Morphia. Cold-blooded bit of goods. Never turned a hair at the time of her arrest or after. Giving nothing away. But we've got the goods on her all right. She's for it."

  "You think she did it?"

  Marsden, an experienced, kindly looking man, nodded his head affirmatively. "Not a doubt of it. Put the stuff in the top sandwich. She's a cool customer."

  "You have no doubts? No doubts at all?"

  "Oh, no. I'm quite sure. It's a pleasant feeling when you are sure! We don't like making mistakes any more than anyone else would. We're not just out to get a conviction, as some people think. This time I can go ahead with a clear conscience."

  Poirot said slowly, "I see."

  The Scotland Yard man looked at him curiously. "Is there anything on the other side?"

  Slowly Poirot shook his head. "As yet, no. So far everything I have found out about the case points to Elinor Carlisle's being guilty."

  Inspector Marsden said with cheerful certainty, "She's guilty, all right."

  Poirot said, "I should like to see her."

  Inspector Marsden smiled indulgently. He said, "Got the present Home Secretary in your pocket, haven't you? That will be easy enough."

  Chapter 16

  Peter Lord said, "Well?"

  Hercule Poirot said, "No, it is not very well."

  Peter Lord said heavily, "You haven't got hold of anything?"

  Poirot said slowly, "Elinor Carlisle killed Mary Gerrard out of jealousy – Elinor Carlisle killed her aunt so as to inherit her money – Elinor Carlisle killed her aunt out of compassion. My friend, you may make your choice!"

  Peter Lord said, "You're talking nonsense!"

  Hercule Poirot said, "Am I?"

  Lord's freckled face looked angry. He said, "What is all this?"

  Hercule Poirot said, "Do you think it is possible, that?"

  "Do I think what is possible?"

  "That Elinor Carlisle was unable to bear the sight of her aunt's misery and helped her out of existence?"

  "Nonsense!"

  "Is it nonsense? You have told me yourself that the old lady asked you to help her."

  "She didn't mean it seriously. She knew I wouldn't do anything of the sort."

  "Still, the idea was in her mind. Elinor Carlisle might have helped her."

  Peter Lord strolled up and down. He said at last, "One can't deny that that sort of thing is possible. But Elinor Carlisle is a level-headed, clear-thinking kind of young woman. I don't think she'd be so carried away by pity as to lose sight of the risk. And she'd realize exactly what the risk was. She'd be liable to stand accused of murder."

  "So you don't think she would do it?"

  Peter Lord said slowly, "I think a woman might do such a thing for her husband, or for her child, or for her mother, perhaps. I don't think she'd do it for an aunt, though she might be fond of that aunt. And I think in any case she'd only do it if the person in question was actually suffering unbearable pain."

  Poirot said thoughtfully, "Perhaps you are right."

  Then he added, "Do you think Roderick Welman's feelings could have been sufficiently worked upon to induce him to do such a thing?"

  Peter Lord replied scornfully, "He wouldn't have the guts!"

  Poirot murmured, "I wonder. In some ways, mon cher, you underestimate that young man."

  "Oh, he's clever and intellectual and all that, I dare say."

  "Exactly," said Poirot. "And he has charm, too. Yes, I felt that."

  "Did you? I never have!"

  Then Peter Lord said earnestly, "Look here, Poirot, isn't there anything?"

  Poirot said, "They are not fortunate so far, my investigations! They lead always back to the same place. No one stood to gain by Mary Gerrard's death. No one hated Mary Gerrard – except Elinor Carlisle. There is only one question that we might perhaps ask ourselves. We might say, perhaps, Did anyone hate Elinor Carlisle? "

  Slowly Dr. Lord shook his head. "Not that I know of… You mean – that someone might have framed her for the crime?"

  Poirot nodded. He said, "It is a very far-fetched speculation, that, and there is nothing to support it – except, perhaps, the very completeness of the case against her."

  He told the other of the anonymous letter.

  "You see," he said, "that makes it possible to outline a very strong case against her. She was warned that she might be completely cut out of her aunt's will – that this girl, a stranger, might get all the money. So, when her aunt in her halting speech was asking for a lawyer, Elinor took no chances, and saw to it that the old lady should die that night!"

  Peter Lord cried, "What about Roderick Welman? He stood to lose, too!"

  Poirot shook his head. "No, it was to his advantage that the old lady should make a will. If she died intestate, he got nothing, remember. Elinor was the next of kin."

  Lord said, "But he was going to marry Elinor!"

  Poirot said, "True. But remember that immediately afterward the engagement was broken off – that he showed her clearly that he wished to be released from it."

  Peter Lord groaned and held his head. He said, "It comes back to her, then. Every time!"

  "Yes. Unless -" He was silent for a minute. Then he said, "There is something -"

  "Yes?"

  "Something – some little piece of the puzzle that is missing. It is something – of that I am certain – that concerns Mary Gerrard. My friend, you hear a certain amount of gossip, of scandal, down here. Have you ever heard anything against her?"

  "Against Mary Gerrard? Her character, you mean?"

  "Anything. Some bygone story about her. Some indiscretion on her part. A hint of scandal. A doubt of her honesty. A malicious rumour concerning her. Anything – anything at all – but something that definitely is damaging to her."

  Peter Lord said slowly, "I hope you're not going to suggest that line. Trying to rake up things about a harmless young woman who's dead and can't defend herself. And, anyway, I don't believe you can do it!"

  "She was like the female Sir Galahad – a blameless life?"

  "As far as I know, she was. I never heard anything else."

  Poirot said gently, "You must not think, my friend, that I would stir the mud where no mud is. No, no, it is not like that at all. But the good Nurse Hopkins is not adept at hiding her feelings. She was fond of Mary, and there is something about Mary she does not want known; that is to say, there is something against Mary that she is afraid I will find out. She does not think that it has any bearing on the crime. But, then, she is convinced that the crime was committed by Elinor Carlisle, and clearly this fact, whatever it is, has nothing to do with Elinor. But, you see, my friend, it is imperative that I should know everything. For it may be that there is a wrong done by Mary to some
third person, and in that case, that third person might have a motive for desiring her death."

  Peter Lord said, "But surely, in that case, Nurse Hopkins would realize that, too."

  Poirot said, "Nurse Hopkins is quite an intelligent woman within her limitations, but her intellect is hardly the equal of mine. She might not see, but Hercule Poirot would!"

  Peter Lord said, shaking his head, "I'm sorry. I don't know anything."

  Poirot said thoughtfully, "No more does Ted Bigland – and he has lived here all his life and Mary's. No more does Mrs. Bishop, for if she knew anything unpleasant about the girl, she would not have been able to keep it to herself! Eh bien, there is one more hope."

  "Yes?"

  "I am seeing the other nurse, Nurse O'Brien, today."

  Peter Lord said, shaking his head, "She doesn't know much about this part of the world. She was only here for a month or two."

  Poirot said, "I am aware of that. But, my friend, Nurse Hopkins, we have been told, has the long tongue. She has not gossiped in the village, where such talk might have done Mary Gerrard harm. But I doubt if she could refrain from giving at least a hint about something that was occupying her mind to a stranger and a colleague! Nurse O'Brien may know something."

  Chapter 17

  Nurse O'Brien tossed her red head and smiled widely across the tea-table at the little man opposite her. She thought to herself, It's the funny little fellow he is – and his eyes green like any cat's, and with all that Dr. Lord saying he's the clever one!

  Hercule Poirot said, "It is a pleasure to meet someone so full of health and vitality. Your patients, I am sure, must all recover."

  Nurse O'Brien said, "I'm not one for pulling a long face, and not many of my patients die on me, I'm thankful to say."

  Poirot said, "Of course, in Mrs. Welman's case, it was a merciful release."

  "Ah! it was that, the poor dear." Her eyes were shrewd as she looked at Poirot and asked, "Is it about that you want to talk to me? I was after hearing that they're digging her up."

  Poirot said, "You yourself had no suspicion at the time?"

  "Not the least in the world, though indeed I might have had, with the face Dr. Lord had on him that morning, and him sending me here, there, and everywhere for things he didn't need! But he signed the certificate, for all that."

  Poirot began, "He had his reasons -" but she took the words out of his mouth.

  "Indeed and he was right. It does a doctor no good to think things and offend the family, and then if he's wrong it's the end of him, and no one would be wishing to call him in any more. A doctor's got to be sure! "

  Poirot said, "There is a suggestion that Mrs. Welman might have committed suicide."

  "She? And her lying there helpless? Just lift one hand, that was all she could do!"

  "Someone might have helped her?"

  "Ah! I see now what you're meaning. Miss Carlisle, or Mr. Welman, or maybe Mary Gerrard?"

  "It would be possible, would it not?"

  Nurse O'Brien shook her head. She said, "They'd not dare – any of them!"

  Poirot said slowly, "Perhaps not."

  Then he said, "When was it Nurse Hopkins missed the tube of morphine?"

  "It was that very morning. 'I'm sure I had it here,' she said. Very sure she was at first, but you know how it is; after a while your mind gets confused, and in the end she made sure she'd left it at home."

  Poirot murmured, "And even then you had no suspicion?"

  "Not the least in the world! Sure, it never entered my head for a moment that things weren't as they should be. And even now 'tis only a suspicion they have."

  "The thought of that missing tube never caused either you or Nurse Hopkins an uneasy moment?"

  "Well, I wouldn't say that. I do remember that it came into my head – and into Nurse Hopkins's head, too, I believe – in the Blue Tit Cafe we were at the time. And I saw the thought pass into her mind from mine. 'It couldn't be any other way than that I left it on the mantelpiece and it fell into the dustbin, could it?' she says. And 'No, indeed, that was the way of it,' I said to her, and neither of us saying what was in our minds and the fear that was on us."

  Hercule Poirot asked, "And what do you think now?"

  Nurse O'Brien said, "If they find morphine in her there'll be little doubt who took the tube, nor what it was used for – though I'll not be believing she sent the old lady the same road till it's proved there's morphine in her."

  Poirot said, "You have no doubt at all that Elinor Carlisle killed Mary Gerrard?"

  "There's no question of it at all, in my opinion! Who else had the reason or the wish to do it?"

  "That is the question," said Poirot.

  Nurse O'Brien went on dramatically: "Wasn't I there that night when the old lady was trying to speak, and Miss Elinor promising her that everything should be done decently and according to her wishes? And didn't I see her face looking after Mary as she went down the stairs one day, and the black hate that was on it? 'Twas murder she had in her heart that minute."

  Poirot said, "If Elinor Carlisle killed Mrs. Welman, why did she do it?"

  "Why? For the money, of course. Two hundred thousand pounds, no less. That's what she got by it, and that's why she did it – if she did it. She's a bold, clever young lady, with no fear in her, and plenty of brains."

  Hercule Poirot said, "If Mrs. Welman had lived to make a will, how do you think she'd have left her money?"

  "Ah, it's not for me to be saying that," said Nurse O'Brien, betraying, however, every symptom of being about to do so. "But it's my opinion that every penny the old lady had would have gone to Mary Gerrard."

  "Why?" said Hercule Poirot.

  The simple monosyllable seemed to upset Nurse O'Brien.

  "Why? Is it why you're asking? Well – I'd say that that would be the way of it."

  Poirot murmured, "Some people might say that Mary Gerrard had played her cards very cleverly, that she had managed so to ingratiate herself with the old woman as to make her forget the ties of blood and affection."

  "They might that," said Nurse O'Brien slowly.

  Poirot asked, "Was Mary Gerrard a clever, scheming girl?"

  Nurse O'Brien said, still rather slowly, "I'll not think that of her. All she did was natural enough, with no thought of scheming. She wasn't that kind. And there's reasons often for these things that never get made public."

  Hercule Poirot said softly, "You are, I think, a very discreet woman, Nurse O'Brien."

  "I'm not one to be talking of what doesn't concern me."

  Watching her very closely, Poirot went on: "You and Nurse Hopkins, you have agreed together, have you not, that there are some things which are best not brought out into the light of day?"

  Nurse O'Brien said, "What would you be meaning by that?"

  Poirot said quickly, "Nothing to do with the crime – or crimes. I mean – the other matter."

  Nurse O'Brien said, nodding her head, "What would be the use of raking up mud and an old story, and she a decent elderly woman with never a breath of scandal about her, and dying respected and looked up to by everybody."

  Hercule Poirot nodded in assent. He said cautiously, "As you say, Mrs. Welman was much respected in Maidensford."

  The conversation had taken an unexpected turn, but his face expressed no surprise or puzzlement.

  Nurse O'Brien went on; "It's so long ago, too. All dead and forgotten. I've a soft heart for a romance myself, and I do say and I always have said that it's hard for a man who's got a wife in an asylum to be tied all his life with nothing but death that can free him."

  Poirot murmured, still in bewilderment, "Yes, it is hard."

  Nurse O'Brien said, "Did Nurse Hopkins tell you how her letter crossed mine?"

  Poirot said truthfully, "She did not tell me that."

  "'Twas an odd coincidence. But there, that's always the way of it! Once you hear a name, maybe, and a day or two later you'll come across it again, and so on and so on. That I should be
seeing the self-same photograph on the piano and at the same minute Nurse Hopkins was hearing all about it from the doctor's housekeeper."

  "That," said Poirot, "is very interesting."

  He murmured tentatively, "Did Mary Gerrard know – about this?"

  "Who'd be telling her?" said Nurse O'Brien. "Not I – and not Hopkins. After all, what good would it be to her?"

  She flung up her red head and gazed at him steadily. Poirot said with a sigh, "What, indeed?"

  Chapter 18

  Elinor Carlisle. Across the width of the table that separated them Poirot looked at her searchingly.

  They were alone together. Through a glass wall a warder watched them.

  Poirot noted the sensitive, intelligent face with the square, white forehead, and the delicate modelling of the ears and nose. Fine lines; a proud, sensitive creature, showing breeding, self-restraint and – something else – a capacity for passion.

  He said, "I am Hercule Poirot. I have been sent to you by Dr. Peter Lord. He thinks that I can help you."

  Elinor Carlisle said, "Peter Lord…"

  Her tone was reminiscent. For a moment she smiled a little wistfully. She went on formally: "It was kind of him, but I do not think there is anything you can do."

  Hercule Poirot said, "Will you answer my questions?"

  She sighed. She said, "Believe me – really – it would be better not to ask them. I am in good hands. Mr. Seddon has been most kind. I am to have a very famous counsel."

  Poirot said, "He is not so famous as I am!"

  Elinor Carlisle said with a touch of weariness, "He has a great reputation."

  "Yes, for defending criminals. I have a great reputation – for demonstrating innocence."

  She lifted her eyes at last – eyes of a vivid, beautiful blue. They looked straight into Poirot's. She said, "Do you believe I am innocent?"

  Hercule Poirot said, "Are you?"

  Elinor smiled, an ironic little smile. She said, "Is that a sample of your questions? It is very easy, isn't it, to answer Yes?"

  He said unexpectedly, "You are very tired, are you not?"