not in the least guess what he
was driving at.
It occurred to me that he might have been making inquiries at Raikes's farm; so, finding
him out when I called at Leastways Cottage on Wednesday evening, I walked over there by
the fields, hoping to meet him. But there was no sign of him, and I hesitated to go right
up to the farm itself. As I walked away, I met an aged rustic, who leered at me cunningly.
“You're from the Hall, ain't you?” he asked.
“Yes. I'm looking for a friend of mine whom I thought might have walked this way.”
“A little chap? As waves his hands when he talks? One of them Belgies from the village?”
“Yes,” I said eagerly. “He has been here, then?”
“Oh, ay, he's been here, right enough. More'n once too. Friend of yours, is he? Ah, you
gentlemen from the Hall - you'n a pretty lot!” And he leered more jocosely than ever.
“Why, do the gentlemen from the Hall come here often?” I asked, as carelessly as I could.
He winked at me knowingly. “
One
does, mister. Naming no names, mind. And a very liberal gentleman too! Oh, thank you,
sir, I'm sure.”
I walked on sharply. Evelyn Howard had been right then, and I experienced a sharp twinge
of disgust, as I thought of Alfred Inglethorp's liberality with another woman's money. Had
that piquant gipsy face been at the bottom of the crime, or was it the baser mainspring of
money? Probably a judicious mixture of both.
On one point, Poirot seemed to have a curious obsession. He once or twice observed to me
that he thought Dorcas must have made an error in fixing the time of the quarrel. He
suggested to her repeatedly that it was 4.30, and not 4 o'clock when she had heard the
voices.
But Dorcas was unshaken. Quite an hour, or even more, had elapsed between the time when
she had heard the voices and 5 o'clock, when she had taken tea to her mistress.
The inquest was held on Friday at the Styles Arms in the village. Poirot and I sat
together, not being required to give evidence.
The preliminaries were gone through. The jury viewed the body, and John Cavendish gave
evidence of identification.
Further questioned, he described his awakening in the early hours of the morning, and the
circumstances of his mother's death.
The medical evidence was next taken. There was a breathless hush, and every eye was fixed
on the famous London specialist, who was known to be one of the greatest authorities of
the day on the subject of toxicology.
In a few brief words, he summed up the result of the post-mortem. Shorn of its medical
phraseology and technicalities, it amounted to the fact that Mrs. Inglethorp had met her
death as the result of strychnine poisoning. Judging from the quantity recovered, she must
have taken not less than three-quarters of a grain of strychnine, but probably one grain
or slightly over.
“Is it possible that she could have swallowed the poison by accident?” asked the Coroner.
“I should consider it very unlikely. Strychnine is not used for domestic purposes, as some
poisons are, and there are restrictions placed on its sale.”
“Does anything in your examination lead you to determine how the poison was administered?”
“No.”
“You arrived at Styles before Dr. Wilkins, I believe?”
“That is so. The motor met me just outside the lodge gates, and I hurried there as fast as
I could.”
“Will you relate to us exactly what happened next?”
“I entered Mrs. Inglethorp's room. She was at that moment in a typical tetanic convulsion.
She turned towards me, and gasped out: 'Alfred - Alfred - - '”
“Could the strychnine have been administered in Mrs. Inglethorp's after-dinner coffee
which was taken to her by her husband?”
“Possibly, but strychnine is a fairly rapid drug in its action. The symptoms appear from
one to two hours after it has been swallowed. It is retarded under certain conditions,
none of which,
was driving at.
It occurred to me that he might have been making inquiries at Raikes's farm; so, finding
him out when I called at Leastways Cottage on Wednesday evening, I walked over there by
the fields, hoping to meet him. But there was no sign of him, and I hesitated to go right
up to the farm itself. As I walked away, I met an aged rustic, who leered at me cunningly.
“You're from the Hall, ain't you?” he asked.
“Yes. I'm looking for a friend of mine whom I thought might have walked this way.”
“A little chap? As waves his hands when he talks? One of them Belgies from the village?”
“Yes,” I said eagerly. “He has been here, then?”
“Oh, ay, he's been here, right enough. More'n once too. Friend of yours, is he? Ah, you
gentlemen from the Hall - you'n a pretty lot!” And he leered more jocosely than ever.
“Why, do the gentlemen from the Hall come here often?” I asked, as carelessly as I could.
He winked at me knowingly. “
One
does, mister. Naming no names, mind. And a very liberal gentleman too! Oh, thank you,
sir, I'm sure.”
I walked on sharply. Evelyn Howard had been right then, and I experienced a sharp twinge
of disgust, as I thought of Alfred Inglethorp's liberality with another woman's money. Had
that piquant gipsy face been at the bottom of the crime, or was it the baser mainspring of
money? Probably a judicious mixture of both.
On one point, Poirot seemed to have a curious obsession. He once or twice observed to me
that he thought Dorcas must have made an error in fixing the time of the quarrel. He
suggested to her repeatedly that it was 4.30, and not 4 o'clock when she had heard the
voices.
But Dorcas was unshaken. Quite an hour, or even more, had elapsed between the time when
she had heard the voices and 5 o'clock, when she had taken tea to her mistress.
The inquest was held on Friday at the Styles Arms in the village. Poirot and I sat
together, not being required to give evidence.
The preliminaries were gone through. The jury viewed the body, and John Cavendish gave
evidence of identification.
Further questioned, he described his awakening in the early hours of the morning, and the
circumstances of his mother's death.
The medical evidence was next taken. There was a breathless hush, and every eye was fixed
on the famous London specialist, who was known to be one of the greatest authorities of
the day on the subject of toxicology.
In a few brief words, he summed up the result of the post-mortem. Shorn of its medical
phraseology and technicalities, it amounted to the fact that Mrs. Inglethorp had met her
death as the result of strychnine poisoning. Judging from the quantity recovered, she must
have taken not less than three-quarters of a grain of strychnine, but probably one grain
or slightly over.
“Is it possible that she could have swallowed the poison by accident?” asked the Coroner.
“I should consider it very unlikely. Strychnine is not used for domestic purposes, as some
poisons are, and there are restrictions placed on its sale.”
“Does anything in your examination lead you to determine how the poison was administered?”
“No.”
“You arrived at Styles before Dr. Wilkins, I believe?”
“That is so. The motor met me just outside the lodge gates, and I hurried there as fast as
I could.”
“Will you relate to us exactly what happened next?”
“I entered Mrs. Inglethorp's room. She was at that moment in a typical tetanic convulsion.
She turned towards me, and gasped out: 'Alfred - Alfred - - '”
“Could the strychnine have been administered in Mrs. Inglethorp's after-dinner coffee
which was taken to her by her husband?”
“Possibly, but strychnine is a fairly rapid drug in its action. The symptoms appear from
one to two hours after it has been swallowed. It is retarded under certain conditions,
none of which,
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