Poirot’s Early Cases by Agatha Christie

Poirot smiled.

‘And there you are, you see,’ continued Inspector Sims. ‘It doesn’t fit in what you might call nicely. Why should the girl poison her? Miss Barrowby dies and now the girl will be out of a job, and jobs aren’t easy to find—she’s not trained or anything.’

‘Still,’ suggested Poirot, ‘if the box of cachets was left about, anyone in the house might have the opportunity.’

‘Naturally we’re making inquiries—quiet like, if you understand me. When the prescription was last made up, where it was usually kept; patience and a lot of spade work—that’s what will do the trick in the end. And then there’s Miss Barrowby’s solicitor. I’m having an interview with him tomorrow. And the bank manager. There’s a lot to be done still.’

Poirot rose. ‘A little favour, Inspector Sims; you will send me a little word how the affair marches. I would esteem it a great favour. Here is my telephone number.’

‘Why, certainly, M. Poirot. Two heads are better than one; and besides, you ought to be in on this, having had that letter and all.’

‘You are too amiable, Inspector.’ Politely, Poirot shook hands and took his leave.

III

He was called to the telephone on the following afternoon. ‘Is that M. Poirot? Inspector Sims here. Things are beginning to sit up and look pretty in the little matter you and I know of.’

‘In verity? Tell me, I pray of you.’

‘Well, here’s item No. I—and a pretty big item. Miss B. left a small legacy to her niece and everything else to K. In consideration of her great kindness and attention—that’s the way it was put. That alters the complexion of things.’

A picture rose swiftly in Poirot’s mind. A sullen face and a passionate voice saying, ‘The money is mine. She wrote it down and so it shall be.’ The legacy would not come as a surprise to Katrina—she knew about it beforehand.

‘Item No. 2,’ continued the voice of Inspector Sims. ‘Nobody but K. handled that cachet.’

‘You can be sure of that?’

‘The girl herself doesn’t deny it. What do you think of that?’

‘Extremely interesting.’

‘We only want one thing more—evidence of how the strychnine came into her possession. That oughtn’t to be difficult.’

‘But so far you haven’t been successful?’

‘I’ve barely started. The inquest was only this morning.’

‘What happened at it?’

‘Adjourned for a week.’

‘And the young lady—K.?’

‘I’m detaining her on suspicion. Don’t want to run any risks. She might have some funny friends in the country who’d try to get her out of it.’

‘No,’ said Poirot. ‘I do not think she has any friends.’

‘Really? What makes you say that, M. Poirot?’

‘It is just an idea of mine. There were no other “items”, as you call them?’

‘Nothing that’s strictly relevant. Miss B. seems to have been monkeying about a bit with her shares lately—must have dropped quite a tidy sum. It’s rather a funny business, one way and another, but I don’t see how it affects the main issue—not at present, that is.’

‘No, perhaps you are right. Well, my best thanks to you. It was most amiable of you to ring me up.’

‘Not at all. I’m a man of my word. I could see you were interested. Who knows, you may be able to give me a helping hand before the end.’

‘That would give me great pleasure. It might help you, for instance, if I could lay my hand on a friend of the girl Katrina.’

‘I thought you said she hadn’t got any friends?’ said Inspector Sims, surprised.

‘I was wrong,’ said Hercule Poirot. ‘She has one.’

Before the inspector could ask a further question, Poirot had rung off.

With a serious face he wandered into the room where Miss Lemon sat at her typewriter. She raised her hands from the keys at her employer’s approach and looked at him inquiringly.

‘I want you,’ said Poirot, ‘to figure to yourself a little history.’

Miss Lemon dropped her hands into her lap in a resigned manner. She enjoyed typing, paying bills, filing papers and entering up engagements. To be asked to imagine herself in hypothetical situations bored her very much, but she accepted it as a disagreeable part of a duty.