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‘I had, up to then, regarded the whole matter as fairly simple. Nurse Harrison, I realized, was a fairly young and still handsome woman–she had been thrown closely with Doctor Oldfield for nearly three years–the doctor had been very fond of her and grateful to her for her tact and sympathy. She had formed the impression that if Mrs Oldfield died, the doctor would probably ask her to marry him. Instead of that, after Mrs Oldfield’s death, she learns that Doctor Oldfield is in love with you. Straightaway, driven by anger and jealousy, she starts spreading the rumour that Doctor Oldfield has poisoned his wife.
‘That, as I say, was how I had visualized the position at first. It was a case of a jealous woman and a lying rumour. But the old trite phrase “no smoke without fire” recurred to me significantly. I wondered if Nurse Harrison had done more than spread a rumour. Certain things she said rang strangely. She told me that Mrs Oldfield’s illness was largely imaginary–that she did not really suffer much pain. But the doctor himself had been in no doubt about the reality of his wife’s suffering. He had not been surprised by her death. He had called in another doctor shortly before her death and the other doctor had realized the gravity of her condition. Tentatively I brought forward the suggestion of exhumation…Nurse Harrison was at first frightened out of her wits by the idea. Then, almost at once, her jealousy and hatred took command of her. Let them find arsenic–no suspicion would attach to her. It would be the doctor and Jean Moncrieffe who would suffer.
‘There was only one hope. To make Nurse Harrison over-reach herself. If there were a chance that Jean Moncrieffe would escape, I fancied that Nurse Harrison would strain every nerve to involve her in the crime. I gave instructions to my faithful Georges–the most unobtrusive of men whom she did not know by sight. He was to follow her closely. And so–all ended well.’
Jean Moncrieffe said:
‘You’ve been wonderful.’
Dr Oldfield chimed in. He said:
‘Yes, indeed. I can never thank you enough. What a blind fool I was!’
Poirot asked curiously:
‘Were you as blind, Mademoiselle?’
Jean Moncrieffe said slowly:
‘I have been terribly worried. You see, the arsenic in the poison cupboard didn’t tally…’
Oldfield cried:
‘Jean–you didn’t think–?’
‘No, no–not you. What I did think was that Mrs Oldfield had somehow or other got hold of it–and that she was taking it so as to make herself ill and get sympathy and that she had inadvertently taken too much. But I was afraid that if there was an autopsy and arsenic was found, they would never consider that theory and would leap to the conclusion that you’d done it. That’s why I never said anything about the missing arsenic. I even cooked the poison book! But the last person I would ever have suspected was Nurse Harrison.’
Oldfield said:
‘I too. She was such a gentle womanly creature. Like a Madonna.’
Poirot said sadly:
‘Yes, she would have made, probably, a good wife and mother…Her emotions were just a little too strong for her.’ He sighed and murmured once more under his breath:
‘The pity of it.’
Then he smiled at the happy-looking middle-aged man and the eager-faced girl opposite him. He said to himself:
‘These two have come out of its shadow into the sun…and I –I have performed the second Labour of Hercules.’
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