Which of them?' 'I don't exactly say I suspect either of them in particular. But there it is; they're her only near relations, and her death brings them a tidy sum of money, I've no doubt. We all know what human nature is!' 'Sometimes inhuman - yes, that is very true. And there was nothing else the old lady ate or drank?' 'Well, as a matter of fact - ' 'Ah, voild! I felt that you had something, as you say, up your sleeve - the soup, the fish pie, the apple tart - a bgtise! Now we come to the hub of the affair.' 'I don't know about that. But as a matter of fact, the old girl took a cachet before meals. You know, not a pill or a tablet; one of those rice-paper things with a powder inside. Some perfectly harmless thing for the digestion.' 'Admirable. Nothing is easier than to fill a cachet with strychnine and substitute it for one of the others. It slips down the throat with a drink of water and is not tasted.' 'That's all right. The trouble is, the girl gave it to her.' 'The Russian girl?' 'Yes. Katrina Rieger. She was a kind of lady-help, nurse-companion to Miss Barrowby. Fairly ordered about by her, too, I gather. Fetch this, fetch that, fetch the other, rub my back, pour out my medicine, run round to the chemist - all that sort of busi-ness.
You know how it is with these old women - they mean to be kind, but what they need is a sort of black slave?
Poirot smiled.
'And there you are, you see,' continued Inspector Sims. 'It doesn't fit in what you might call nicely. Why should the girl poison her? Miss Barrowby dies and now the girl will be out of a job, and jobs aren't so easy to find - she's not trained or anything.'
'Still,' suggested Poirot, 'if the box of cachets was left about, anyone in the house might have the opportunity.'
'Naturally we're on to that, M. Poirot. I don't mind telling you we're making our inquiries - quiet like, if you understand me.
When the prescription was last made up, where it was usually kept; patience and a lot of spade work - that's what will do the trick in the end. And then there's Miss Barrowby's solicitor. I'm having an interview with him tomorrow. And the bank manager.
There's a lot to be done still.'
Poirot rose. 'A little favour, Inspector Sims; you will send me a little word how the affair marches. I would esteem it a great favour. Here is my telephone number.'
'Why, certainly, M. Poirot. Two heads are better than one; and, besides, you ought to be in on this, having had that letter andall.'
'You are too amiable, Inspector.' Politely, Poirot shook hands and took his leave.
He was called to the telephone on the following afternoon. 'Is that M. Poirot? Inspector Sims here. Things are beginning to sit up and look pretty in that little matter you and I know of.'
'In verity? Tell me, I pray of you.'
'Well, here's item No. x - and a pretty big item. Miss B. left a small legacy to her niece and everything else to K. In consideration of her great kindness and attention - that's the way it was put.
That alters the complexion of things.'
A picture rose swiftly in Poirot's mind. A sullen face and a passionate voice saying, 'The money is mine. She wrote it down and so it shall be.' The legacy would not come as a surprise to Katrina - she knew about it beforehand.
'Item No. 2,' continued the voice of Inspector Sims. 'Nobody but K. handled that cachet.' 'You can be sure of that?' 'The girl herself doesn't deny it. What do you think of that?' 'Extremely interesting.' 'We only want one thing more - evidence of how the strychnine came into her possession. That oughtn't to be difficult.' 'But $o far you haven't been successful?' 'I've barely started. The inquest was only this morning.' 'What happened at it?' 'Adjourned for a week.' 'And the young lady - K.?' 'I'm detaining her on suspicion. Don't want to run any risks.
She might have some funny friends in the country who'd try to get her out of it.' 'No,' said Poirot. 'I do not think she has any friends.' 'Really? What makes you say that, M. Poirot?' 'It is just an idea of mine. There were no other "items", as you call them?' 'Nothing that's strictly relevant. Misa B. seems to have been monkeying about a bit with her shares lately - must have dropped quite a tidy sum. It's rather a funny business, one way and another, but I don't see how it affects the main issue - not at present, that is.' 'No, perhaps you are right. Well, my best thanks to you. It wire most amiable of you to ring me up.' 'Not at all. I'm a man of my word. I could see you were interested.
Who knows, you may be able to give me a helping hand before the end.' 'That would give me great pleasure. It might help you, for inatance, if I could lay my hand on a friend of the girl Katrina.' 'I thought you said she hadn't got any friends?' said Inspector Sires, surprised.
'I was wrong,' said Hercule Poirot. 'She has one.' Before the inspector could ask a further question, Poirot had rung off.
With a serious face he wandered into the room where Mi
Lemon sat at her typewriter. She raised her hands from the keys at her employer's approach and looked at him inquiringly.
'I want you,' said Poirot, 'to figure to yourself a little history.' Miss Lemon dropped her hands into her lap in a resigned manner. She enjoyed typing, paying bills, filing papers and enter-ing up engagements. To be asked to imagine herself in hypo-thetical situations bored her very much, but she accepted it as a disagreeable part of a duty.
'You are a Russian girl,' began Poirot.
'Yes,' said Miss Lemon, looking intensely British.
'You are alone and friendless in this country. You have reasons for not wishing to return to Russia. You are employed as a kind of drudge, nurse-attendant and companion to an old lady. You are meek and uncomplaining.'
'Yes,' said Miss Lemon obediently, but entirely failing to see herself being meek to any old lady under the sun.
'The old lady takes a fancy to you. She decides to leave her money to you. She tells you so.' Poirot paused.
Miss Lemon said 'Yes' again.
'And then the old lady finds out something; perhaps it is a matter of money - she may find that you have not been honest with her. Or it might be more grave still - a medicine that tasted different, some food that disagreed. Anyway, she begins to suspect you of something and she writes to a very famous detective - enfin, to the most famous detective - mel I am to call upon her shortly. And then, as you say, the dripping will be in the fire.
The great thing is to act quickly. And so - before the great detec-tive arrives - the old lady is dead. And the money comes to you.
Tell me, does that seem to you reasonable?'
'Quite reasonable,' said Miss Lemon. 'Quite reasonable for a Russian, that is. Personally, I should never take a post as a com-panion.
I like my duties clearly defined. And of course I should not dream of murdering anyone.'
Poirot sighed. 'How I miss my friend Hastings. He had such an imagination. Such a romantic mindl It is true that he always imagined wrong - but that in itself was a guide.'
Miss Lemon was silent. She had heard about Captain Hastings before, and was not interested. She looked longingly at the typewritten sheet in front of her.
'So it seems to you reasonable,' mused Poirot.
'Doesn't it to you?' 'I am almost afraid it does,' sighed Poirot.
The telephone rang and Miss Lemon went out of the room to answer it. She came back to say 'It's Inspector Sims again.' Poirot hurried to the instrument. ' '/kilo, 'allo. What is that you say?' Sims repeated his statement. 'We've found a packet of strychnine in the girl's bedroom - tucked underneath the mattress. The sergeant's just come in with the news. That about clinches it, I think.' 'Yes,' said Poirot, 'I think that clinches it.' His voice had changed. It rang with sudden confidence.
When he had rung off, he sat down at his writing table and arranged the objects on it in a mechanical manner. He murmured to himself, 'There was something wrong. I felt it - no, not felt.