Sad cypress - Agatha Christie [42]
‘I don’t go where I’m not wanted, Mr Poirot.’
Poirot looked abashed. He murmured:
‘Besides, you had doubtless matters of importance to attend to that morning?’
‘It was a very warm day, I remember. Very sultry.’ She sighed. ‘I walked to the cemetery to place a few flowers on Mrs Welman’s grave, a token of respect, and I had to rest there quite a long time. Quite overcome by the heat, I was. I got home late for lunch, and my sister was quite upset when she saw the State of Heat I was in! Said I never should have done it on a day like that.’
Poirot looked at her with admiration.
He said:
‘I envy you, Mrs Bishop. It is pleasant indeed to have nothing with which to reproach oneself after a death. Mr Roderick Welman, I fancy, must blame himself for not going in to see his aunt that night, though naturally he could not know she was going to pass away so soon.’
‘Oh, but you’re quite wrong, Mr Poirot. I can tell you that for a fact. Mr Roddy did go into his aunt’s room. I was just outside on the landing myself. I’d heard that nurse go off downstairs, and I thought maybe I’d better make sure the mistress wasn’t needing anything, for you know what nurses are: always staying downstairs to gossip with the maids, or else worrying them to death by asking them for things. Not that Nurse Hopkins was as bad as that red-haired Irish nurse. Always chattering and making trouble, she was! But, as I say, I thought I’d just see everything was all right, and it was then that I saw Mr Roddy slip into his aunt’s room. I don’t know whether she knew him or not; but anyway he hasn’t got anything to reproach himself with!’
Poirot said:
‘I am glad. He is of a somewhat nervous disposition.’
‘Just a trifle cranky. He always has been.’
Poirot said:
‘Mrs Bishop, you are evidently a woman of great understanding. I have formed a high regard for your judgement. What do you think is the truth about the death of Mary Gerrard?’
Mrs Bishop snorted.
‘Clear enough, I should think! One of those nasty pots of paste of Abbott’s. Keeps them on those shelves for months! My second cousin was took ill and nearly died once, with tinned crab!’
Poirot objected:
‘But what about the morphine found in the body?’
Mrs Bishop said grandly:
‘I don’t know anything about morphine! I know what doctors are: Tell them to look for something, and they’ll find it! Tainted fish paste isn’t good enough for them!’
Poirot said:
‘You do not think it possible that she committed suicide?’
‘She?’ Mrs Bishop snorted. ‘No indeed. Hadn’t she made up her mind to marry Mr Roddy? Catch her committing suicide!’
Chapter 5
Since it was a Sunday, Hercule Poirot found Ted Bigland at his father’s farm.
There was little difficulty in getting Ted Bigland to talk. He seemed to welcome the opportunity – as though it was a relief.
He said thoughtfully:
‘So you’re trying to find out who killed Mary? It’s a black mystery, that.’
Poirot said:
‘You do not believe that Miss Carlisle killed her, then?’
Ted Bigland frowned – a puzzled, almost childlike frown it was.
He said slowly:
‘Miss Elinor’s a lady. She’s the kind – well, you couldn’t imagine her doing anything like that – anything violent, if you know what I mean. After all, ’tisn’t likely, is it, sir, that a nice young lady would go and do a thing of that kind?’
Hercule Poirot nodded in a contemplative manner.
He said:
‘No, it is not likely…But when it comes to jealousy –’
He paused, watching the good-looking, fair young giant before him.
Ted Bigland said:
‘Jealousy? I know things happen that way; but it’s usually drink and getting worked up that makes a fellow see red and run amok. Miss Elinor – a nice quiet young lady like that –’
Poirot said:
‘But Mary Gerrard died…and she did not die a natural death. Have you any idea – is there anything you can tell me to help me find out – who killed Mary Gerrard?’
Slowly the other shook his head.
He said:
‘It doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t seem possible, if you take my meaning, that anyone could have killed Mary. She was – she was like a flower.’
And suddenly, for a vivid