The Labours of Hercules

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 realized, 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 visualized 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 realized 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 over-reach 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.’

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 eager-faced 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

Hercule Poirot stamped his feet, seeking to warm them. He blew upon his fingers. Flakes of snow melted and dripped from the corners of his moustache.

There was a knock at the door and a chambermaid appeared. She was a slow-breathing thickset country girl and she stared with a good deal of curiosity at Hercule Poirot. It was possible that she had not seen anything quite like him before.