Newspaper accounts. Various things. There were some doubts about it, you know. The mother was badly affected. She broke down completely and had to go into hospital. They do say she was never the same woman again afterwards.” “But they thought she had done it?” “Well, that’s what the doctor thought. There was no direct evidence, you understand. She said that she had seen this happen from a window, that she’d seen the older child, the girl, hit the boy and push him in. But her account–well, I don’t think they believed it at the time. She talked so wildly.” “There was, I suppose, some psychiatric evidence?” “Yes. She went to a nursing home or hospital of some kind, she was definitely a mental case. She was a good long time in one or two different establishments having treatment, I believe under the care of one of the specialists from St. Andrew’s Hospital in London. In the end she was pronounced cured, and released after about three years, and sent home to lead a normal life with her family.” “And she was then quite normal?” “She was always neurotic, I believe–” “Where was she at the time of the suicide? Was she staying with the Ravenscrofts?” “No–she had died nearly three weeks before that. She was staying with them at Overcliffe when it happened. It seemed again to be an illustration of the identical twin destiny. She walked in her sleep–had suffered from that over a period of years, it seems. She had had one or two minor accidents that way. She sometimes took too many tranquilizers and that resulted in her walking round the house and sometimes out of it during the night. She was following a path along the cliff edge, lost her footing and fell over the cliff. Killed immediately.
They didn’t find her until the next day. Her sister, Lady Ravenscroft, was terribly upset. They were very devoted to each other and she had to be taken to hospital suffering from shock.” “Could this tragic accident have led to the Ravenscrofts’ suicide some months later?” “There was never a suggestion of such a thing.” “Odd things happen with twins, as you say. Lady Ravenscroft might have killed herself because of the link between her and her twin sister. Then the husband may have shot himself because possibly he felt guilty in some way–” Superintendent Garroway said: “You have too many ideas, Poirot. Alistair Ravenscroft couldn’t have had an affair with his sister-in-law without everyone knowing about it. There was nothing of that kind–if that’s what you’ve been imagining.” The telephone rang. Poirot rose and answered it. It was Mrs. Oliver.
“Monsieur Poirot, can you come to tea or sherry tomorrow?
I have got Celia coming–and later on the bossy woman.
That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Poirot said it was just what he wanted.
“I’ve got to dash now,” said Mrs. Oliver, “going to meet. an old war horse–provided by my elephant Number One, Julia Carstairs. I think she’s got his name wrong–she always does– but I hope she’s got his address right.”
CHAPTER XII Celia Meets Hercule Poirot
“Well, madame,” said Poirot, “and how did you fare with Sir Hugo Foster?” “To begin with, his name wasn’t Foster—it was Fothergill.
Trust Julia to get a name wrong. She’s always doing it.” “So elephants are not always reliable in the names they remember?” “Don’t talk of elephants—I’ve finished with elephants.” “And your war horse?” “Quite an old pet—but useless as a source of information.
Obsessed by some people called Marchant who did have a child killed in an accident in India. But nothing to do with the Ravenscrofts. I tell you, I’ve finished with elephants—” “Madame, you have been most persevering, most noble.” “Celia is coming along in about half an hour’s time. You wanted to meet her, didn’t you? I’ve told her that you are— well, helping me in this matter. Or would you rather she came to see you?” “No,” said Poirot, “I think I should like her to come in the way you have arranged.” “I don’t suppose she’ll stay very long. If we get rid other in about an hour, that would ‘be all right, just to think over things a bit, and then Mrs. Burton-Cox is coming.” “Ah, yes. That will be interesting. Yes, that will be very interesting.” Mrs. Oliver sighed. “Oh, dear, it’s a pity, though, isn’t it?” She said again, “We do have too much material, don’t we?” “Yes,” said Poirot. “We do not know what we are looking for. All we know of still is, in all probability, the double suicide of a married couple who lived quiet and happy lives together. And what have we got to show for cause, for reason?