“Oh, Mr. Poirot–I can’t believe it–you don’t mean–but that is awful–really awful.
You mean it was done on purpose?” “Yes, it was done on purpose.” “But that’s dreadful. It’s almost like–like killing a person.” “If it had succeeded it would have been killing a person! In other words–it would have been murder!” Miss Lawson gave a little shrill cry.
Poirot went on in the same grave tone.
“A nail was driven into the skirting-board so that the thread could be attached. That nail was varnished so as not to show. Tell me, do you ever remember a smell of varnish that you could not account for?” Miss Lawson gave a cry.
“Oh, how extraordinary! To think of that!
Why, of course! And to think I never thought–never dreamed–but then, how If could I? And yet it did seem odd to me at the time.” Poirot leant forward.
“So–you can help us, mademoiselle.
Once again you can help us. C’est epatant!” “To think that was it! Oh, well, it all fits in.” “Tell me, I pray of you. You smelt varnish–yes?” “Yes. Of course, I didn’t know what it was. I thought–dear me–it is paint–no, it’s more like floor stain, and then, of course, I thought I must have imagined it.” “When was this?” “Now let me see–when was it?” “Was it during that Easter week-end when the house was full of guests?” “Yes, that was the time–but I’m trying to recall just which day it was…. Now, let me see, it wasn’t Sunday. No, and it wasn’t on Tuesday–that was the night Dr. Donaldson came to dinner. And on the Wednesday they had all left. No, of course, it was the Monday–Bank Holiday. I’d been lying awake–rather worried, you know. I always think Bank Holiday is such a worrying day!
There had been only just enough cold beef to go round at supper and I was afraid Miss »^ Arundell might be annoyed about it. You see Fd ordered the joint on the Saturday, and of course I ought to have said seven pounds but I thought five pounds would do nicely, but Miss Arundell was always so vexed if there was any shortage–she was so hospitable–” Miss Lawson paused to draw a deep breath and then rushed on.
“And so I was lying awake and wondering whether she’d say anything about it to-morrow, and what with one thing and another I was a long time dropping off–and then just as I was going off something seemed to wake me up–a sort of rap or tap–and I sat up in bed, and then I sniffed. Of course, I’m always terrified of fire–sometimes I think I smell fire two or three times a night–(so awful wouldn’t it be if one were trapped?). Anyway, there was a smell, and I sniffed hard, but it wasn’t smoke or anything like that. And I said to myself it’s more like paint or floor stain–but, of course, one wouldn’t smell that in the middle of the night. But it was quite strong and I sat up sniffing and sniffing, and then I saw her in the glass–” “Saw her? Saw whom?” “In my looking-glass, you know, it’s really most convenient. I left my door open a little always, so as to hear Miss Arundell if she were to call, and if she went up and down stairs I could see her. The one light was always left switched on in the passage. That’s how I came to see her kneeling on the stairs–Theresa, I mean. She was kneeling on about the third step with her head bent down over something and I was just thinking, ‘How odd, I wonder if she’s ill?’ when she got up and went away, so I supposed she’d just slipped or something. Or perhaps was stooping to pick something up. But, of course, I never thought about it again one way or another.” “The tap that aroused you would be the tap of the hammer on the nail,” mused Poirot.
“Yes, I suppose it would. But oh, M.
Poirot, how dreadful–how truly dreadful.
I’ve always felt Theresa was, perhaps, a little wild, but to do a thing like that–” “You are sure it was Theresa?” “Oh, dear me, yes.” “It couldn’t have been Mrs. Tanios or one of the maids, for instance?” “Oh, no, it was Theresa.” Miss Lawson shook her head and murmured to herself, “Oh, dear, oh, dear,” several times.