“Let us proceed, then. I admit that I gained Miss Theresa’s confidence by a trick.
I let her think that I would be–shall we say, reasonably dishonest–for money. She believed that without the least difficulty.” “Theresa believes that any one would do anything for money,” said the young doctor in the matter-of-fact tone one uses when stating a self-evident truth.
“True. Thai seems to be her attitude– her brother’s also.” “Charles probably would do anything for money!” “You have no illusions, I see, about your future brother-in-law.” “No. I find him quite an interesting study.
There is, I think, some deep-seated neurosis–but that is talking shop. To return to what we are discussing. I have asked myself why you should act in the way you have done, and I have found only one answer. It is clear that you suspect either Theresa or Charles of having a hand in Miss ArundelFs death. No, please don’t bother to contradict me! Your mention of exhumation was, I think, a mere device to see what reaction you would get. Have you, in actual fact, taken any steps towards getting a Home Office order for exhumation?” “I will be quite frank with you. As yet, I have not.” Donaldson nodded.
“So I thought. I suppose you have considered the possibility that Miss ArundelFs death may turn out to be from natural causes?” “I have considered the fact that it may [appear to be so–yes.” “But your own mind is made up?” “Very definitely. If you have a case of– say–tuberculosis that looks like tuberculosis, behaves like tuberculosis, and in which the blood gives a positive reaction–eh bien, you consider it is tuberculosis, do you not?” “You look at it that way? I see. Then what exactly are you waiting for?” “I am waiting for a final piece of evidence.”
The telephone bell rang. At a gesture from Poirot I got up and answered it. I recognized the voice.
“Captain Hastings? This is Mrs. Tanios speaking. Will you tell M. Poirot that he is perfectly right. If he will come here to-morrow morning at ten o’clock, I will give him what he wants.” “At ten o’clock tomorrow?” “Yes.” “Right, I’ll tell him.” Poirot’s eyes asked a question. I nodded.
He turned to Donaldson. His manner had changed. It was brisk–assured.
“Let me make myself clear,” he said. “I have diagnosed this case of mine as a case of murder. It looked like murder, it gave all the characteristic reactions of murder–in fact, it was murder! Of that, there is not the least doubt.” “Where then does the doubt–for I perceive there is a doubt–lie?” “The doubt lay in the identity of the murderer–but that is a doubt no longer!” “Really? You know?” “Let us say that I shall have definite proof in my hands tomorrow.” Dr. Donaldson5 s eyebrows rose in a slightly ironical fashion.
“Ah,” he said. “To-morrow! Sometimes, M. Poirot, to-morrow is a long way off.” “On the contrary,” said Poirot, “I always find that it succeeds to-day with monotonous regularity.” Donaldson smiled. He rose.
[ “I fear I have wasted your time, M.
Poirot.” “Not at all. It is always as well to understand each other.” With a slight bow. Dr. Donaldson left the room.
XXVIII Another Victim
“that is a clever man,” said Poirot thoughtfully.
“It’s rather difficult to know what he is driving at.” “Yes. He is a little inhuman. But extremely perceptive.” “That telephone call was from Mrs. Tanios.” “So I gathered.” I repeated the message. Poirot nodded approval.
“Good. All marches well. Twenty-four hours, Hastings, and I think we shall know exactly where we stand.” “I’m still a little fogged. Who exactly do we suspect?” “I really could not say who you suspect, Hastings! Everybody in turn, I should imagine!”
“Sometimes I think you like to get me into that state!” “No, no, I would not amuse myself in such a way.” “I wouldn’t put it past you.” Poirot shook his head, but somewhat absently.
I studied him.
“Is anything the matter?” I asked.
“My friend, I am always nervous towards the end of a case. If anything should go wrong–” “Is anything likely to go wrong?” “I do not think so.” He paused, frowning.