This was becoming too much. It was almost comical.
“I could continue the list of my misfortunes indefinitely.”
“Excuse me,” interposed the Little Doctor, “but it seems to me that up to now those misfortunes seem to have fallen more on others than on yourself.”
“Ah! Don’t you think that it is just that which is the greatest misfortune? Eight years ago my aunt Duplantet, recently widowed, came to live with us, and six months later she was dead of a heart attack.”
“They say that she had been slowly poisoned by arsenic. Hadn’t she taken out a life insurance policy in your favor, and didn’t you come into a considerable sum of money through her?”
“A hundred thousand francs — scarcely enough to restore the south tower which was crumbling away. Three years later my wife...”
“Died in her turn, and again of a heart attack. She also had taken out a policy which brought you...?”
“Which brought me the accusations you know of, and a sum of two hundred thousand francs.”
“Finally,” said the Little Doctor, “a fortnight ago, your niece Solange Duplantet, an orphan, died here, at the age of twenty-eight, of a heart attack, leaving you the Duplantet fortune, which is nearly half a million francs.”
“But in property and land — not cash,” corrected the strange man.
“This time tongues were really loosened, anonymous letters poured into the Prefecture, and an official investigation was set on foot.”
“The police have already been three times and found nothing. On two other occasions I was called to Orleans for questioning. I think I would be lynched if I dared appear in the village.”
“Because traces of arsenic were found in the three corpses.”
“It seems they always find some...”
“You have a son?” asked the Little Doctor rather abruptly.
“Hector, yes. You must have heard of him. As the result of an illness in childhood, the growth of his brain was arrested. He lives here in the castle. At twenty two he has the body of a man and the intelligence of a child of nine. But still, he’s harmless.”
“The person who showed me in, Ernestine, has she been here a long time?”
“Always. She was the daughter of my father’s gardener. Her parents died and she stayed on.”
“She never married?”
“Never.”
“And the young woman?”
“Rose,” said Monsieur Mordaut with a slight smile, “is Ernestine’s niece. For nearly ten years now she has worked here as a maid. When she first came she was a schoolgirl of sixteen.”
“Have you any other servants?”
“None. I am not rich enough to live in great style. I live among my books and my works of art. Incidentally, Ernestine hasn’t got cancer,” said Monsieur Mordaut, “but she talks of nothing else. Since her sister, Rose’s mother, died of cancer, she has an unshakable belief that she has also got it. At one moment it’s in her back, another in her chest, another in her stomach. She spends half her time consulting doctors, and she’s furious that they can’t find anything. If she consults you, I advise you...”
But a furious Ernestine now appeared before them.
“Well, are you going to have any lunch or not?”
Monsieur Mordaut turned to the Little Doctor and said sadly:
“Please fear nothing. I will eat from each dish and drink out of each bottle before you touch them. It no longer means anything to me. You should know, Doctor, that I am also suffering with my heart. For the last three months I have felt the same symptoms that my aunt, my wife and my niece all complained of at the beginning of their illnesses.”
It really required a very good appetite to eat that meal. The Doctor wondered if he wouldn’t have done better to eat and sleep at the inn. Hector ate gluttonously, like a badly brought-up child. It was alarming to watch this large youth with the face of a cunning urchin.
“What do you want to do this afternoon, Doctor?” asked Monsieur Mordaut. “Can I be of any help?”
“I would really like to be free to come and go as I please. I’ll look round the grounds. Perhaps I’ll ask the servants one or two questions.”
And that is where he started. He moved off towards the kitchen where Ernestine was washing the dishes.
“What’s he been telling you?” she asked immediately, with the habitual distrust of the peasant. “Did he tell you about my cancer?”
“Yes.”
“Ah. He told you it wasn’t true, didn’t he? But he swears his heart is bad. Well, I’m certain that it’s nothing of the sort. He’s never had a bad heart. There’s nothing wrong with him.”
She talked on without stopping her work, and one was conscious of her health and strength. She must once have been a lovely girl, buxom as her niece.
“I wanted to ask you, Doctor. Can cancer be given to people by arsenic or other poisons?”
He didn’t want to say yes or no, because it seemed more profitable to play on the old servant’s fears.
“What do you feel?” he replied.
“Pains. As if something was being driven into me. Mostly in the bottom of my back, but sometimes also in my stomach.”
He mustn’t smile. It would make him an enemy.
“I’ll examine you, if you like.”
“As soon as I’ve finished the washing up,” she replied with alacrity.
The examination had lasted a good quarter of an hour, and each time the Little Doctor showed signs of abandoning it, Ernestine called him firmly to order.
“You haven’t taken my blood-pressure.”
“What was it last time?”
“Minimum 9, maximum 14 on the Pachot apparatus.”
“Well, well!” laughed the Little Doctor. “I see you know your medical terms.”
“Indeed I do,” she retorted. “You can’t buy health, and I want to live to be a hundred and two like my grandmother.”
“Have you read any medical books?”
“Gracious, yes. I had some sent from Paris only a month ago.”
“I suppose your books mention poisons?”
“Of course, and I won’t conceal the fact that I’ve read every word about them. When there have been three cases under your nose, you learn to look out. Especially when you’re in a similar position.
“What did they find when Madame Duplantet died?” she went on. “That she had taken out a life insurance in favor of monsieur. And when his wife died? Another insurance. Well, I’m insured too.”
“And the money goes to your niece, I suppose?”
“No. To Monsieur Mordaut. And it’s no small matter. A hundred thousand francs!”
“Your master insured your life for a hundred thousand francs! When was this?”
“At least fifteen years ago. A long time before Madame Duplantet’s death, so I thought nothing of it at the time.”
It was before Madame Duplantet’s death. This fact was immediately catalogued in a corner of the Little Doctor’s mind.
“Has your master always lived in such a secluded way? Hasn’t he ever had any love affairs?”
“Never.”
“Er... your niece Rose is young and pretty. Do you think...”
She looked him straight in the eye before replying. “Rose would never allow it.”
She had been dressed for some time, and had again become the stern old cook. She seemed comforted. Her whole expression proclaimed: “Now you know as much as I do. It was my duty to tell you.”
It was a strange home. Built to house a least twenty people, with an endless succession of rooms, corridors and unexpected staircases and corners, it now sheltered only four inhabitants. And these four people, instead of living close together as would have been expected — if only to give themselves the illusion of company — seemed to have used an extraordinary amount of ingenuity in isolating themselves as much as possible. Ernestine’s room was on the second floor at the farthest corner of the left wing.