II
She had taken the oath. She was answering Sir Edwin’s questions in a low voice. The judge leaned forward. He told her to speak louder….
Sir Edwin was talking gently and encouragingly—all the questions to which she had rehearsed the answers.
“You were fond of Roderick Welman?”
“Very fond. He was like a brother to me—or a cousin. I always thought of him as a cousin.”
The engagement…drifted into it…very pleasant to marry someone you had known all your life….
“Not, perhaps, what might be called a passionate affair?”
(Passionate? Oh, Roddy…)
“Well, no…you see we knew each other so well….”
“After the death of Mrs. Welman was there a slightly strained feeling between you?”
“Yes, there was.”
“How did you account for this?”
“I think it was partly the money.”
“The money?”
“Yes. Roderick felt uncomfortable. He thought people might think he was marrying me for that….”
“The engagement was not broken off on account of Mary Gerrard?”
“I did think Roderick was rather taken with her, but I didn’t believe it was anything serious.”
“Would you have been upset if it had been?”
“Oh, no. I should have thought it rather unsuitable, that is all.”
“Now, Miss Carlisle. Did you or did you not take a tube of morphine from Nurse Hopkins’ attaché case on June 28th?”
“I did not.”
“Have you at any time had morphine in your possession?”
“Never.”
“Were you aware that your aunt had not made a will?”
“No. It came as a great surprise to me.”
“Did you think she was trying to convey to you a message on the night of June 28th when she died?”
“I understood that she had made no provision for Mary Gerrard, and was anxious to do so.”
“And in order to carry out her wishes, you yourself were prepared to settle a sum of money on the girl?”
“Yes. I wanted to carry out Aunt Laura’s wishes. And I was grateful for the kindness Mary had shown to my aunt.”
“On July 26th did you come down from London to Maidensford and stay at the King’s Arms?”
“Yes.”
“What was your purpose in coming down?”
“I had an offer for the house, and the man who had bought it wanted possession as quickly as possible. I had to look through my aunt’s personal things and settle things up generally.”
“Did you buy various provisions on your way to the Hall on July 27th?”
“Yes. I thought it would be easier to have a picnic lunch there than to come back to the village.”
“Did you then go on to the house, and did you sort through your aunt’s personal effects?”
“I did.”
“And after that?”
“I came down to the pantry and cut some sandwiches. I then went down to the Lodge and invited the District Nurse and Mary Gerrard to come up to the house.”
“Why did you do this?”
“I wished to save them a hot walk back to the village and back again to the Lodge.”
“It was, in fact, a natural and kindly action on your part. Did they accept the invitation?”
“Yes. They walked up to the house with me.”
“Where were the sandwiches you had cut?”
“I left them in the pantry on a plate.”
“Was the window open?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone could have got into the pantry while you were absent?”
“Certainly.”
“If anybody had observed you from outside while you were cutting the sandwiches, what would they have thought?”
“I suppose that I was preparing to have a picnic lunch.”
“They could not know, could they, that anyone was to share the lunch?”
“No. The idea of inviting the other two only came to me when I saw what a quantity of food I had.”
“So that if anyone had entered the house during your absence and placed morphine in one of those sandwiches, it would be you they were attempting to poison?”
“Well, yes, it would.”
“What happened when you had all arrived back at the house?”
“We went into the morning room. I fetched the sandwiches and handed them to the other two.”
“Did you drink anything with them?”
“I drank water. There was beer on a table; but Nurse Hopkins and Mary preferred tea. Nurse Hopkins went into the pantry and made it. She brought it in on a tray and Mary poured it out.”
“Did you have any?”
“No.”
“But Mary Gerrard and Nurse Hopkins both drank tea?”
“Yes.”
“What happened next?”
“Nurse Hopkins went and turned the gas ring off.”
“Leaving you alone with Mary Gerrard?”
“Yes.”
“What happened next?”
“After a few minutes I picked up the tray and the sandwich plate and carried them into the pantry. Nurse Hopkins was there, and we washed them together.”
“Did Nurse Hopkins have her cuffs off at the time?”
“Yes. She was washing the things, while I dried them.”
“Did you make a certain remark to her about a scratch on her wrist?”
“I asked her if she had pricked herself.”
“What did she reply?”
“She said, ‘It was a thorn from the rose tree outside the Lodge. I’ll get it out presently.’”
“What was her manner at the time?”
“I think she was feeling the heat. She was perspiring and her face was a queer colour.”
“What happened after that?”
“We went upstairs, and she helped me with my aunt’s things.”
“What time was it when you went downstairs again?”
“It must have been an hour later.”
“Where was Mary Gerrard?”
“She was sitting in the morning room. She was breathing very queerly and was in a coma. I rang up the doctor on Nurse Hopkins’ instructions. He arrived just before she died.”
Sir Edwin squared his shoulders dramatically.
“Miss Carlisle, did you kill Mary Gerrard?”
(That’s your cue! Head up, eyes straight.)
“No!”
III
Sir Samuel Attenbury. A sick beating at one’s heart. Now—now she was at the mercy of an enemy! No more gentleness, no more questions to which she knew the answers!
But he began quite mildly.
“You were engaged to be married, you have told us, to Mr. Roderick Welman?”
“Yes.”
“You were fond of him?”
“Very fond.”
“I put it to you that you were deeply in love with Roderick Welman and that you were wildly jealous of his love for Mary Gerrard?”
“No.” (Did it sound properly indignant, that “no?”)
Sir Samuel said menacingly:
“I put it to you that you deliberately planned to put this girl out of the way, in the hope that Roderick Welman would return to you.”
“Certainly not.” (Disdainful—a little weary. That was better.)
The questions went on. It was just like a dream…a bad dream … a nightmare ….
Question after question … horrible, hurting questions… Some of them she was prepared for, some took her unawares….
Always trying to remember her part. Never once to let go, to say:
“Yes, I did hate her… Yes, I did want her dead… Yes, all the time I was cutting the sandwiches I was thinking of her dying….”
To remain calm and cool and answer as briefly and passionlessly as possible….
Fighting….
Fighting every inch of the way….
Over now… The horri
ble man with the Jewish nose was sitting down. And the kindly, unctuous voice of Sir Edwin Bulmer was asking a few more questions. Easy, pleasant questions, designed to remove any bad impression she might have made under cross-examination….
She was back again in the dock. Looking at the jury, wondering….
IV
Roddy. Roddy standing there, blinking a little, hating it all. Roddy—looking somehow—not quite real.
But nothing’s real any more. Everything is whirling round in a devilish way. Black’s white, and top is bottom and east is west… And I’m not Elinor Carlisle; I’m “the accused.” And, whether they hang me or whether they let me go, nothing will ever be the same again. If there were just something—just one sane thing to hold on to….
(Peter Lord’s face, perhaps, with its freckles and its extraordinary air of being just the same as usual…)
Where had Sir Edwin got to now?
“Will you tell us what were the state of Miss Carlisle’s feelings towards you?”
Roddy answered in his precise voice:
“I should say she was deeply attached to me, but certainly not passionately in love with me.”
“You considered your engagement satisfactory?”
“Oh, quite. We had a good deal in common.”
“Will you tell the jury, Mr. Welman, exactly why that engagement was broken off?”
“Well, after Mrs. Welman died it pulled us up, I think, with a bit of a shock. I didn’t like the idea of marrying a rich woman when I myself was penniless. Actually the engagement was dissolved by mutual consent. We were both rather relieved.”
“Now, will you tell us just what your relations were with Mary Gerrard?”
(Oh, Roddy, poor Roddy, how you must hate all this!)
“I thought her very lovely.”
“Were you in love with her?”
“Just a little.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Let me see. It must have been the 5th or 6th of July.”
Sir Edwin said, a touch of steel in his voice:
“You saw her after that, I think.”
“No, I went abroad—to Venice and Dalmatia.”
“You returned to England—when?”
“When I received a telegram—let me see—on the 1st of August, it must have been.”
“But you were actually in England on July 27th, I think.”
“No.”
“Come, now, Mr. Welman. You are on oath, remember. Is it not a fact that your passport shows that you returned to England on July 25th and left it again on the night of the 27th?”
Sir Edwin’s voice held a subtly menacing note. Elinor frowned, suddenly jerked back to reality. Why was Counsel bullying his own witness?
Roderick had turned rather pale. He was silent for a minute or two, then he said with an effort:
“Well—yes, that is so.”
“Did you go and see this girl Mary Gerrard in London on the 25th at her lodgings?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Did you ask her to marry you?”
“Er—er—yes.”
“What was her answer?”
“She refused.”
“You are not a rich man, Mr. Welman?”
“No.”
“And you are rather heavily in debt?”
“What business is that of yours?”
“Were you not aware of the fact that Miss Carlisle had left all her money to you in the event of her death?”
“This is the first I have heard of it.”
“Were you in Maidensford on the morning of July 27th?”
“I was not.”
Sir Edwin sat down.
Counsel for the Prosecution said:
“You say that in your opinion the accused was not deeply in love with you.”
“That is what I said.”
“Are you a chivalrous man, Mr. Welman?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“If a lady were deeply in love with you and you were not in love with her, would you feel it incumbent upon you to conceal the fact?”
“Certainly not.”
“Where did you go to school, Mr. Welman?”
“Eton.”
Sir Samuel said with a quiet smile:
“That is all.”
V
Alfred James Wargrave.
“You are a rose grower and live at Emsworth, Berks?”
“Yes.”
“Did you on October 20th go to Maidensford and examine a rose tree growing at the Lodge at Hunterbury Hall?”
“I did.”
“Will you describe this tree?”
“It was a climbing rose—Zephyrine Drouhin. It bears a sweetly scented pink flower. It has no thorns.”
“It would be impossible to prick oneself on a rose tree of this description?”
“It would be quite impossible. It is a thornless tree.”
No cross-examination.
VI
“You are James Arthur Littledale. You are a qualified chemist and employed by the wholesale chemists, Jenkins & Hale?”
“I am.”
“Will you tell me what this scrap of paper is?”
The exhibit was handed to him.
“It is a fragment of one of our labels.”
“What kind of label?”
“The label we attach to tubes of hypodermic tablets.”
“Is there enough here for you to say definitely what drug was in the tube to which this label was attached?”
“Yes. I should say quite definitely that the tube in question contained hypodermic tablets of apomorphine hydrochloride 1/20 grain.”
“Not morphine hydrochloride?”
“No, it could not be that.”
“Why not?”
“On such a tube the word Morphine is spelt with a capital M. The end of the line of the m here, seen under my magnifying glass, shows plainly that it is part of a small m, not a capital M.”
“Please let the jury examine it with the glass. Have you labels here to show what you mean?”
The labels were handed to the jury.
Sir Edwin resumed:
“You say this is from a tube of apomorphine hydrochloride? What exactly is apomorphine hydrochloride?”
“The formula is C17H17NO2. It is a derivative of morphine prepared by saponifying morphine by heating it with dilute hydrochloric acid in sealed tubes. The morphine loses one molecule of water.”
“What are the special properties of apomorphine?”
Mr. Littledale said quietly:
“Apomorphine is the quickest and most powerful emetic known. It acts within a few minutes.”
“So if anybody had swallowed a lethal dose of morphine and were to inject a dose of apomorphine hypodermically within a few minutes, what would result?”
“Vomiting would take place almost immediately and the morphine would be expelled from the system.”
“Therefore, if two people were to share the same sandwich or drink from the same pot of tea, and one of them were then to inject a dose of apomorphine hypodermically, what would be the result, supposing the shared food or drink to have contained morphine?”
“The food or drink together with the morphine would be vomited by the person who injected the apomorphine.”
“And that person would suffer no ill results?”
“No.”
There was suddenly a stir of excitement in court and order for silence from the judge.
VII
“You are Amelia Mary Sedley and you reside ordinarily at 17 Charles Street, Boonamba, Auckland?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know a Mrs. Draper?”
“Yes. I have known her for over twenty years.”
“Do you know her maiden name?”
“Yes. I was at her marriage. Her name was Mary Riley.”
“Is she a native of New Zealand?”
“No, she came out from England.”
“You have been in cou
rt since the beginning of these proceedings?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Have you seen this Mary Riley—or Draper—in court?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you see her?”
“Giving evidence in this box.”
“Under what name?”
“Jessie Hopkins.”
“And you are quite sure that this Jessie Hopkins is the woman you know as Mary Riley or Draper?”
“Not a doubt of it.”
A slight commotion at the back of the court.
“When did you last see Mary Draper—until today?”
“Five years ago. She went to England.”
Sir Edwin said with a bow:
“Your witness.”
Sir Samuel, rising with a slightly perplexed face, began:
“I suggest to you, Mrs.—Sedley, that you may be mistaken.”
“I’m not mistaken.”
“You may have been misled by a chance resemblance.”
“I know Mary Draper well enough.”
“Nurse Hopkins is a certificated District Nurse.”
“Mary Draper was a hospital nurse before her marriage.”
“You understand, do you not, that you are accusing a Crown witness of perjury?”
“I understand what I’m saying.”
VIII
“Edward John Marshall, you lived for some years in Auckland, New Zealand, and now reside at 14 Wren Street, Deptford?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you know Mary Draper?”
“I’ve known her for years in New Zealand.”
“Have you seen her today in court?”
“I have. She called herself Hopkins; but it was Mrs. Draper all right.”
The judge lifted his head. He spoke in a small, clear, penetrating voice:
“It is desirable, I think, that the witness Jessie Hopkins should be recalled.”
A pause, a murmur.
“Your lordship, Jessie Hopkins left the court a few minutes ago.”
IX
“Hercule Poirot.”
Hercule Poirot entered the box, took the oath, twirled his moustache and waited, with his head a little on one side. He gave his name and address and calling.
“M. Poirot, do you recognize this document?”
“Certainly.”
“How did it originally come into your possession?”
“It was given me by the District Nurse, Nurse Hopkins.”
Sir Edwin said:
“With your permission, my lord, I will read this aloud, and it can then go to the jury.”
Four