Read Mrs McGinty's Dead / the Labours of Hercules (Agatha Christie Collected Works) Page 5

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