consider that we may dismiss the tonic as not being in any way instrumental in
causing her death?”
“Certainly. The supposition is ridiculous.”
The same juryman who had interrupted before here suggested that the chemist who made up
the medicine might have committed an error.
“That, of course, is always possible,” replied the doctor.
But Dorcas, who was the next witness called, dispelled even that possibility. The medicine
had not been newly made up. On the contrary, Mrs. Inglethorp had taken the last dose on
the day of her death.
So the question of the tonic was finally abandoned, and the Coroner proceeded with his
task. Having elicited from Dorcas how she had been awakened by the violent ringing of her
mistress's bell, and had subsequently roused the household, he passed to the subject of
the quarrel on the preceding afternoon.
Dorcas's evidence on this point was substantially what Poirot and I had already heard, so
I will not repeat it here.
The next witness was Mary Cavendish. She stood very upright, and spoke in a low, clear,
and perfectly composed voice. In answer to the Coroner's question, she told how, her alarm
clock having aroused her at 4.30 as usual, she was dressing, when she was startled by the
sound of something heavy falling.
“That would have been the table by the bed?” commented the Coroner.
“I opened my door,” continued Mary, “and listened. In a few minutes a bell rang violently.
Dorcas came running down and woke my husband, and we all went to my mother-in-law's room,
but it was locked - - ”
The Coroner interrupted her. “I really do not think we need trouble you further on that
point. We know all that can be known of the subsequent happenings. But I should be obliged
if you would tell us all you overheard of the quarrel the day before.”
“I?”
There was a faint insolence in her voice. She raised her hand and adjusted the ruffle of
lace at her neck, turning her head a little as she did so. And quite spontaneously the
thought flashed across my mind: “She is gaining time!”
“Yes. I understand,” continued the Coroner deliberately, “that you were sitting reading on
the bench just outside the long window of the boudoir. That is so, is it not?”
This was news to me and glancing sideways at Poirot, I fancied that it was news to him as
well.
There was the faintest pause, the mere hesitation of a moment, before she answered: “Yes,
that is so.”
“And the boudoir window was open, was it not?”
Surely her face grew a little paler as she answered: “Yes.”
“Then you cannot have failed to hear the voices inside, especially as they were raised in
anger. In fact, they would be more audible where you were than in the hall.”
“Possibly.”
“Will you repeat to us what you overheard of the quarrel?”
“I really do not remember hearing anything.”
“Do you mean to say you did not hear voices?”
“Oh, yes, I heard the voices, but I did not hear what they said.” A faint spot of colour
came into her cheek. “I am not in the habit of listening to private conversations.”
The Coroner persisted. “And you remember nothing at all?
Nothing
, Mrs. Cavendish? Not one stray word or phrase to make you realize that it
was
a private conversation?”
She paused, and seemed to reflect, still outwardly as calm as ever. “Yes; I remember. Mrs.
Inglethorp said something - I do not remember exactly what - about causing scandal between
husband and wife.”
“Ah!” the Coroner leant back satisfied. “That corresponds with what Dorcas heard. But
excuse me, Mrs. Cavendish, although you realized it was a private conversation, you did
not move away? You remained where you were?”
I caught the momentary gleam of her tawny eyes as she raised them. I felt certain that at
that moment she would willingly have torn the little lawyer, with his insinuations,
causing her death?”
“Certainly. The supposition is ridiculous.”
The same juryman who had interrupted before here suggested that the chemist who made up
the medicine might have committed an error.
“That, of course, is always possible,” replied the doctor.
But Dorcas, who was the next witness called, dispelled even that possibility. The medicine
had not been newly made up. On the contrary, Mrs. Inglethorp had taken the last dose on
the day of her death.
So the question of the tonic was finally abandoned, and the Coroner proceeded with his
task. Having elicited from Dorcas how she had been awakened by the violent ringing of her
mistress's bell, and had subsequently roused the household, he passed to the subject of
the quarrel on the preceding afternoon.
Dorcas's evidence on this point was substantially what Poirot and I had already heard, so
I will not repeat it here.
The next witness was Mary Cavendish. She stood very upright, and spoke in a low, clear,
and perfectly composed voice. In answer to the Coroner's question, she told how, her alarm
clock having aroused her at 4.30 as usual, she was dressing, when she was startled by the
sound of something heavy falling.
“That would have been the table by the bed?” commented the Coroner.
“I opened my door,” continued Mary, “and listened. In a few minutes a bell rang violently.
Dorcas came running down and woke my husband, and we all went to my mother-in-law's room,
but it was locked - - ”
The Coroner interrupted her. “I really do not think we need trouble you further on that
point. We know all that can be known of the subsequent happenings. But I should be obliged
if you would tell us all you overheard of the quarrel the day before.”
“I?”
There was a faint insolence in her voice. She raised her hand and adjusted the ruffle of
lace at her neck, turning her head a little as she did so. And quite spontaneously the
thought flashed across my mind: “She is gaining time!”
“Yes. I understand,” continued the Coroner deliberately, “that you were sitting reading on
the bench just outside the long window of the boudoir. That is so, is it not?”
This was news to me and glancing sideways at Poirot, I fancied that it was news to him as
well.
There was the faintest pause, the mere hesitation of a moment, before she answered: “Yes,
that is so.”
“And the boudoir window was open, was it not?”
Surely her face grew a little paler as she answered: “Yes.”
“Then you cannot have failed to hear the voices inside, especially as they were raised in
anger. In fact, they would be more audible where you were than in the hall.”
“Possibly.”
“Will you repeat to us what you overheard of the quarrel?”
“I really do not remember hearing anything.”
“Do you mean to say you did not hear voices?”
“Oh, yes, I heard the voices, but I did not hear what they said.” A faint spot of colour
came into her cheek. “I am not in the habit of listening to private conversations.”
The Coroner persisted. “And you remember nothing at all?
Nothing
, Mrs. Cavendish? Not one stray word or phrase to make you realize that it
was
a private conversation?”
She paused, and seemed to reflect, still outwardly as calm as ever. “Yes; I remember. Mrs.
Inglethorp said something - I do not remember exactly what - about causing scandal between
husband and wife.”
“Ah!” the Coroner leant back satisfied. “That corresponds with what Dorcas heard. But
excuse me, Mrs. Cavendish, although you realized it was a private conversation, you did
not move away? You remained where you were?”
I caught the momentary gleam of her tawny eyes as she raised them. I felt certain that at
that moment she would willingly have torn the little lawyer, with his insinuations,
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