“He backed up Celia, I think, because he hasn’t got any proper feeling about property.
He probably thinks everyone should help themselves to everything they want.” “Still, at any rate,” said Inspector Sharpe, “Miss Austin did own up.” “After she was found out. Yes,” said Jean, sharply.
“Who found her out?” “That Mr.-what-was-his-name Poirot, who came.” “But why do you think he found her out, Miss Tomlinson? He didn’t say so. He just advised calling in the police.” “He must have shown her that he knew. She obviously knew the game was up and rushed off to confess.” “What about the ink on Elizabeth Johnston’s papers?
Did she confess to that?” “I really don’t know. I suppose so.” “You suppose wrong,” said Sharpe. “She denied most vehemently that she had anythin, to do with that.” “Well, perhaps that may be so. I must say it doesn’t seem very likely.” “You think it is more likely that it was Nigel Chapman?” “No, I don’t think Nigel would do that either.
I think it’s much more likely to be Mr.
Akibombo.” “Really? Why should he do it?” “Jealousy. All these coloured people are very jealous of each other and very hysterical.” “That’s interesting, Miss Tomlinson. When was the last time you saw Celia Austin?” “After dinner on Friday night.”” “Who went up to bed first? Did she or did you?” “I did’s “You did not go to her room or see her after you’d left the Common Room?” “No.” “And you’ve no idea who could have introduced morphia into her coffee?-if it was given that way?” “No idea at all.” “You never saw this morphia lying about the house or in anyone’s room?” “No. No, I don’t think so.” “You don’t think so? What do you mean by that, Miss Tomlinson?” “Well, I just wondered. There was that silly bet, you know.” “What bet?” “One-oh, two or three of the boys were arguing-was “What were they arguing about?” “Murder, and ways of doing it. Poisoning in particular.” “Who was concerned in the discussion?” “Well, I think Colin and Nigel started it, and then Len Bateson chipped in and Patricia was there too-was “Can you remember, as closely as possible, what was said on that occasion-how the argument went?” Jean Tomlinson reflected a few moments.
“Well, it started, I think, with a discussion on murdering by poison, sayin, that the difficulty was to get bold of the poison, that the murderer was usually traced by either the sale of the poison or having an opportunity to get it, and Niel said that wasn’t at all necessary. He said that he could think of three distinct ways by which anyone could get hold of poison, and nobody would ever know they bad it. Len Bateson said then that he was talking through his hat.
Niel said no he wasn’t, and he was quite prepared to prove it. Pat said that of course Nigel was quite ri lit. She said that either Len or Colin could probably help themselves to poison any time they liked from a hospital, and so could Celia, he said.
And Niel said that wasn’t what he meant at all.
He said it would be noticed if Celia took anything from the Dispensary. Sooner or later they’d look for it and find it gone. And Pat said no, not if she took the bottle and emptied some stuff out and filled it up with somethin, else. Colin laughed then and said there’d be very serious complaints from the patients one of these days, in that case. But Nigel said of course he didn’t mean special opportunities. He said that he himself, who hadn’t got any particular access, either as a doctor or dispenser, could jolly well get three different kinds of poison by three different methods. Len Bateson said, ‘All right, then, but what are your methods?” and Nigel said, ‘I shall’t tell you, now, but I’m prepared to bet you that within three weeks I can produce. samples of three deadly poisons here,” and Len Bateson said he’d bet him a fiver he couldn’t do it.” “Well?” said Inspector Sharpe, when Jean stopped. “Well, nothing more came of it, I think, for some time and then, one evening, in the Common Room, Nigel said, “Now then, chaps, look here-I’m as good as my word,” and he threw down three things on the table. He had a tube of hyoscine tablets, and a bottle of tincture digitalin and a tiny bottle of morphine tartrate.” The Inspector said sharply, “Morphine tartrate. Any label on it?” “Yes, it had St. Catherine’s Hospital on it. I do remember that because, naturally, it caught my eye.” “And the others?” “I didn’t notice. They were nott hospital stores, I should say.” “What happened next?” “Well, of course, there was a lot of talk and jawing, and Len Bateson said, ‘Come now, if you’d done a murder this would be traced to you soon enough,” and Nigel said, “Not a bit of it. I’m a layman, I’ve no connection with any clinic or hospital and nobody will connect me for one moment with these. I didn’t buy them over the counter,” and Colin Mcationabb took his pipe out of his teeth and said, “No, you’d certainly not be able to do that. There’s no chemist would sell you those three things without a doctor’s prescription.” Anyway, they argued a bit but in the end Len said heea’d pay up. He said, ‘I can’t do it now, because I’m a bit short of cash, but there’s no doubt about it; Nigel’s proved his point,” and then he said, “Vast are we going to do with the guilty spoils?” Nigel grinned and said we’d better get rid of them before any accidents occurred, so they emptied out the tube and threw the tablets on the fire and emptied out the powder from the morphine tartrate and threw that on the fire too. The tincture of digitalis they poured down the lavatory.” “And the bottles?” “I don’t know what happened to the bottles should think they probably were just thrown into the waste paper basket.” “But the poison itself was destroyed?” “Yes, I’m sure of that. I saw it.” “And that was-whenough?” “About, oh just over a fortnight ago I think.” “I see. Thank you, Miss Tomlinson.” Jean lingered, clearly wanting to be told more.