“I can see,” said Poirot, smiling, “that you have not a very high opinion of Miss Lawson’s usefulness.” “Companions are usually a poor lot, in my opinion. They’re not trained, you see, in any way. Just amateurs. And usually they’re women who wouldn’t be any good at anything else.” “Do you think Miss Lawson was very attached to Miss Arundell?” “She seemed to be. Very upset and took on terribly when the old lady died. More than the relatives did, in my opinion,” Nurse Carruthers finished with a sniff.
“Perhaps, then,” said Poirot, nodding his head sagely, “Miss Arundell knew what she was doing when she left her money as she did.” “She was a very shrewd old lady,” said the nurse. “There wasn’t much she didn’t take in and know about, I must say!” “Did she mention the dog. Bob, at all?” “It’s funny you should say that! She talked about him a lot–when she was delirious.
Something about his ball and a fall she’d had.
A nice dog. Bob was–I’m very fond of dogs. Poor fellow, he was very miserable when she died. Wonderful, aren’t they?
Quite human.” And on the note of the humanity of dogs, we parted.
“There is one who has clearly no suspicions,” remarked Poirot after we had left.
He sounded slightly discouraged.
We had a bad dinner at The George– Poirot groaning a good deal, especially over the soup.
“And it is so easy, Hastings, to make good soup. Le pot au feu–J) I avoided a disquisition on cookery with some difficulty.
After dinner we had a surprise.
We were sitting in the “lounge” which we had to ourselves. There had been one other man at dinner–a commercial traveller by his appearance–but he had gone out. I was just idly turning over the pages of an antiquated Stock-Breeder’s Gazette or some such periodical when I suddenly heard Poirot’s name being mentioned.
The voice in question was somewhere outside.
“Where is he? In here? Right–I can find him.” The door was flung violently open, and Dr. Grainger, his face rather red, his eyebrows working irritably, strode into the room. He paused to close the door and then advanced upon us in no uncertain fashion.
“Oh, here you are! Now then, M. Hercule Poirot, what the devil do you mean by coming round to see me and telling me a pack of lies?” “One of the juggler’s balls?” I murmured maliciously.
Poirot said in his oiliest voice: J “My dear doctor, you must allow me to explain–” “Allow you? Allow you? Damn it, I’ll force you to explain! You’re a detective, that’s what you are! A nosing, prying detective!
Coming round to me and feeding me up with a pack of lies about writing old General Arundell’s biography! More fool me to be taken in by such a damn fool story.” “Who told you of my identity?” asked Poirot.
“Who told me? Miss Peabody told me. She saw through you all right!” “Miss Peabody–yes.” Poirot sounded reflective.
“I rather thought–” Dr. Grainger cut in angrily.
“Now then, sir, I’m waiting for your explanation!”
“Certainly. My explanation is very simple. Attempted murder ” “What? What’s that?” – Poirot said quietly: “Miss Arundell had a fall, did she not? A fall down the stairs shortly before her death?” “Yes, what of it? She slipped on that damned dog’s ball.” Poirot shook his head.
“No, Doctor, she did not. A thread was fastened across the top of the stairs so as to trip her up.” Dr. Grainger stared.
“Then why didn’t she tell me so?” he demanded.
“Never said a word to me about it.” “That is perhaps understandable–if it were a member of her own family who placed that thread there!” “H’m–I see.” Grainger cast a sharp glance at Poirot, then threw himself into a chair. “Well?” he said. “How did you come to be mixed up in this affair?” “Miss Arundell wrote to me, stressing the utmost secrecy. Unfortunately the letter was delayed.” Poirot proceeded to give certain carefully edited details and explained the finding of the nail driven into the skirting-board.
The doctor listened with a grave face. His anger had abated.
“You can comprehend my position was a difficult one,” Poirot finished. “I was employed, you see, by a dead woman. But I counted the obligation none the less strong for that.” Dr. Grainger5 s brows were drawn together in thought.