Sad Cypress (20 page)

H
ercule Poirot said:

“So you see, my friend, the lies people tell are just as useful as the truth?”

Peter Lord said:

“Did everyone tell you lies?”

Hercule Poirot nodded.

“Oh, yes! For one reason or another, you comprehend. The one person to whom truth was an obligation and who was sensitive and scrupulous concerning it—that person was the one who puzzled me most!”

Peter Lord murmured:

“Elinor herself!”

“Precisely. The evidence pointed to her as the guilty party. And she herself, with her sensitive and fastidious conscience, did nothing to dispel that assumption. Accusing herself of the will, if not the deed, she came very near to abandoning a distasteful and
sordid fight and pleading guilty in court to a crime she had not committed.”

Peter Lord breathed a sigh of exasperation.

“Incredible.”

Poirot shook his head.

“Not at all. She condemned herself—because she judged herself by a more exacting standard than ordinary humanity applies!”

Peter Lord said thoughtfully:

“Yes, she's like that.”

Hercule Poirot went on:

“From the moment that I started my investigations there was always the strong possibility that Elinor Carlisle was guilty of the crime of which she was accused. But I fulfilled my obligations towards you and I discovered that a fairly strong case could be made out against another person.”

“Nurse Hopkins?”

“Not to begin with. Roderick Welman was the first person to attract my attention. In his case, again, we start with a lie. He told me that he left England on July 9th and returned on August 1st. But Nurse Hopkins had mentioned casually that Mary Gerrard had rebuffed Roderick. Welman's advances both in Maidensford ‘and again when she saw him in London.' Mary Gerrard, you informed me, went to London on July 10th—
a day after
Roderick Welman had left England. When then did Mary Gerrard have an interview with Roderick Welman in London? I set my burglarious friend to work, and by an examination of Welman's passport I discovered that he had been in England from July 25th to the 27th.
And he had deliberately lied about it.

“There had always been that period of time in my mind when
the sandwiches were on a plate in the pantry and Elinor Carlisle was down at the Lodge. But all along I realized that in that case Elinor must have been the intended victim, not Mary. Had Roderick Welman any motive for killing Elinor Carlisle? Yes, a very good one. She had made a will leaving him her entire fortune; and by adroit questioning I discovered that Roderick Welman could have made himself acquainted with that fact.”

Peter Lord said:

“And why did you decide that he was innocent?”

“Because of one more lie. Such a silly stupid negligible little lie, too. Nurse Hopkins said that she had scratched her wrist on a rose tree, that she had got a thorn in it. And I went and saw the rose tree, and
it had no thorns
… So clearly Nurse Hopkins had told a lie—and the lie was so silly and so seemingly pointless that it focused my attention upon her.

“I began to wonder about Nurse Hopkins. Up till then she had struck me as a perfectly credible witness, consistent throughout, with a strong bias against the accused arising naturally enough out of her affection for the dead girl. But now, with that silly pointless little lie in my mind, I considered Nurse Hopkins and her evidence very carefully, and I realized something that I had not been clever enough to see before. Nurse Hopkins knew something about Mary Gerrard which she was very anxious should come out.”

Peter Lord said in surprise:

“I thought it was the other way round?”

“Ostensibly, yes. She gave a very fine performance of someone who knows something and isn't going to tell! But when I thought it over carefully I realized that every word she had said on the subject had been uttered with diametrically the opposite end in view. My
conversation with Nurse O'Brien confirmed that belief. Hopkins had used her very cleverly without Nurse O'Brien being conscious of the fact.

“It was clear then that Nurse Hopkins had a game of her own to play. I contrasted the two lies, her and Roderick Welman's. Was either of them capable of an innocent explanation?

“In Roderick's case, I answered immediately: Yes. Roderick Welman is a very sensitive creature. To admit that he had been unable to keep to his plan of staying abroad, and had been compelled to slink back and hang round the girl, who would have nothing to do with him, would have been most hurtful to his pride. Since there was no question of his having been near the scene of the murder or of knowing anything about it, he took the line of least resistance and avoided unpleasantness (a most characteristic trait!) by ignoring that hurried visit to England and simply stating that he returned on August 1st when the news of the murder reached him.

“Now as to Nurse Hopkins, could there be an innocent explanation of her lie? The more I thought of it, the more extraordinary it seemed to me.
Why
should Nurse Hopkins find it necessary to lie because she had a mark on her wrist? What was the significance of that mark?

“I began to ask myself certain questions. Who did the morphine that was stolen belong to? Nurse Hopkins. Who could have administered that morphine to old Mrs. Welman? Nurse Hopkins. Yes, but why call attention to its disappearance? There could be only one answer to that if Nurse Hopkins was guilty: because the other murder, the murder of Mary Gerrard, was already planned, and a scapegoat had been selected, but that scapegoat must be shown to
have had a chance of obtaining morphine.

“Certain other things fitted in. The anonymous letter written to Elinor. That was to create bad feeling between Elinor and Mary. The idea doubtless was that Elinor would come down and object to Mary's influence over Mrs. Welman. The fact that Roderick Welman fell violently in love with Mary was, of course, a totally unforeseen circumstance—but one that Nurse Hopkins was quick to appreciate. Here was a perfect motive for the scapegoat, Elinor.

“But what was the
reason
for the two crimes? What motive could there be for Nurse Hopkins to do away with Mary Gerrard? I began to see a light—oh, very dim as yet. Nurse Hopkins had a good deal of influence over Mary, and one of the ways she had used that influence was to induce the girl
to make a will.
But the will did not benefit Nurse Hopkins. It benefited an aunt of Mary's who lived in New Zealand. And then I remembered a chance remark that someone in the village had made to me. That aunt had been a hospital nurse.

“The light was not quite so dim now. The pattern—the design of the crime—was becoming apparent. The next step was easy. I visited Nurse Hopkins once more. We both played the comedy very prettily. In the end she allowed herself to be persuaded to tell what she had been aiming to tell all along! Only she tells it, perhaps, just a little sooner than she meant to do! But the opportunity is so good that she cannot resist. And, after all, the truth has got to be known some time. So, with well-feigned reluctance, she produces the letter. And then, my friend, it is no longer conjecture. I
know!
The letter gives her away.”

Peter Lord frowned and said:

“How?”

“
Mon cher!
The superscription on that letter was as follows: ‘For
Mary, to be sent to her after my death.' But the gist of the contents made it perfectly plain that Mary
Gerrard
was not to know the truth. Also, the word
sent
(not
given
) on the envelope was illuminating. It was not Mary
Gerrard
to whom that letter was written, but another Mary. It was to her sister, Mary
Riley,
in New Zealand, that Eliza Riley wrote the truth.

“Nurse Hopkins did not find that letter at the Lodge after Mary Gerrard's death. She had had it in her possession for many years. She received it in New Zealand, where it was sent to her after her sister's death.”

He paused.

“Once one had seen the truth with the eyes of the mind the rest was easy. The quickness of air travel made it possible for a witness who knew Mary Draper well in New Zealand to be present in court.”

Peter Lord said:

“Supposing you had been wrong and Nurse Hopkins and Mary Draper had been two entirely different people?”

Poirot said coldly:

“I am never wrong!”

Peter Lord laughed:

Hercule Poirot went on:

“My friend, we know something now of this woman Mary Riley or Draper. The police of New Zealand were unable to get sufficient evidence for a conviction, but they had been watching her for some time when she suddenly left the country. There was a patient of hers, an old lady, who left her ‘dear Nurse Riley' a very snug little legacy, and whose death was somewhat of a puzzle to the doctor attending her. Mary Draper's husband insured his life
in her favour for a considerable sum, and his death was sudden and unaccountable. Unfortunately for her, though he had made out a cheque to the Insurance Company, he had forgotten to post it. Other deaths may lie at her door. It is certain she is a remorseless and unscrupulous woman.

“One can imagine that her sister's letter suggested possibilities to her resourceful mind. When New Zealand became too hot, as you say, to hold her, and she came to this country and resumed her profession in the name of Hopkins (a former colleague of hers in hospital who died abroad), Maidensford was her objective. She may perhaps have contemplated some form of blackmail. But old Mrs. Welman was not the kind of woman to allow herself to be blackmailed, and Nurse Riley, or Hopkins, very wisely did not attempt anything of the sort. Doubtless she made inquiries and discovered that Mrs. Welman was a very wealthy woman, and some chance word of Mrs. Welman's may have revealed the fact that the old lady had not made a will.

“So, on that June evening, when Nurse O'Brien retailed to her colleague that Mrs. Welman was asking for her lawyer, Hopkins did not hesitate. Mrs. Welman must die intestate so that her illegitimate daughter would inherit her money. Hopkins had already made friends with Mary Gerrard and acquired a good deal of influence over the girl. All that she had to do now was to persuade the girl to make a will leaving her money to her mother's sister; and she inspired the wording of that will very carefully. There was no mention of the relationship: just ‘Mary Riley, sister of the late Eliza Riley.' Once that was signed, Mary Gerrard was doomed. The woman only had to wait for a suitable opportunity. She had, I fancy, already planned the method of the crime, with the use of
the apomorphine to secure her own alibi. She may have meant to get Elinor and Mary to her cottage, but when Elinor came down to the Lodge and asked them both to come up and have sandwiches she realized at once that a perfect opportunity had arisen. The circumstances were such that Elinor was practically certain to be convicted.”

Peter Lord said slowly:

“If it hadn't been for you—she would have been convicted.”

Hercule Poirot said quickly:

“No, it is you, my friend, she has to thank for her life.”

“I? I didn't do anything. I tried—”

He broke off. Hercule Poirot smiled a little.

“
Mais oui,
you tried very hard, did you not? You were impatient because I did not seem to you to be getting anywhere. And you were afraid, too, that she might, after all, be guilty. And so, with great impertinence, you also told me the lies! But,
mon cher,
you were not very clever about it. In future I advise you to stick to the measles and the whooping cough and leave crime detection alone.”

Peter Lord blushed.

He said:

“Did you know—all the time?”

Poirot said severely:

“You lead me by the hand to a clearing in the shrubs, and you assist me to find a German matchbox that you have just put there!
C'est l'enfantillage!
”

Peter Lord winced.

He groaned:

“Rub it in!”

Poirot went on:

“You converse with the gardener and lead him to say that he saw your car in the road; and then you give a start and pretend that it was
not
your car. And you look hard at me to make sure that I realize that someone, a stranger, must have been there that morning.”

“I was a damned fool,” said Peter Lord.

“What were you doing at Hunterbury that morning?”

Peter Lord blushed.

“It was just sheer idiocy… I—I'd heard she was down. I went up to the house on the chance of seeing her. I didn't mean to speak to her. I—I just wanted to—well—see her. From the path in the shrubbery I saw her in the pantry cutting bread and butter—”

“Charlotte and the poet Werther. Continue, my friend.”

“Oh, there's nothing to tell. I just slipped into the bushes and stayed there watching her till she went away.”

Poirot said gently:

“Did you fall in love with Elinor Carlisle the first time you saw her?”

There was a long silence.

“I suppose so.”

Then Peter Lord said:

“Oh, well, I suppose she and Roderick Welman will live happy ever afterwards.”

Hercule Poirot said:

“My dear friend, you suppose nothing of the sort!”

“Why not? She'll forgive him the Mary Gerrard business. It was only a wild infatuation on his part, anyway.”

Hercule Poirot said:

“It goes deeper than that… There is, sometimes, a deep chasm
between the past and the future. When one has walked in the valley of the shadow of death, and come out of it into the sunshine—then,
mon cher,
it is a new life that begins… The past will not serve….”

He waited a minute and then went on:

“A new life… That is what Elinor Carlisle is beginning now—and it is you who have given her that life.”