Three Act Tragedy - Agatha Christie [69]
‘Nonsense,’ said Sir Charles cheerfully. ‘That woman always knows what to do.’
‘Do be serious, Charles. She sounded—worried.’
‘Egg, my sweet, what do I care for Miss Milray’s worries? What do I care for anything but you and me?’
‘You’d better pay some attention to the trams!’ said Egg. ‘I don’t want to be widowed before I’m a wife.’
They arrived back at Sir Charles’s flat for tea. Miss Milray came out to meet them.
‘There is a telegram for you, Sir Charles.’
‘Thank you, Miss Milray.’ He laughed, a nervous boyish laugh. ‘Look here, I must tell you our news. Miss Lytton Gore and I are going to get married.’
There was a moment’s pause, and then Miss Milray said:
‘Oh! I’m sure—I’m sure you’ll be very happy.’
There was a queer note in her voice. Egg noticed it, but before she could formulate her impression Charles Cartwright had swung round to her with a quick exclamation.
‘My God, Egg, look at this. It’s from Satterthwaite.’
He shoved the telegram into her hands. Egg read it, and her eyes opened wide.
Chapter 13
Mrs De Rushbridger
Before catching their train Hercule Poirot and Mr Satterthwaite had had a brief interview with Miss Lyndon, the late Sir Bartholomew Strange’s secretary. Miss Lyndon had been very willing to help, but had had nothing of importance to tell them. Mrs de Rushbridger was only mentioned in Sir Bartholomew’s case book in a purely professional fashion. Sir Bartholomew had never spoken of her save in medical terms.
The two men arrived at the Sanatorium about twelve o’clock. The maid who opened the door looked excited and flushed. Mr Satterthwaite asked first for the Matron.
‘I don’t know whether she can see you this morning,’ said the girl doubtfully.
Mr Satterthwaite extracted a card and wrote a few words on it.
‘Please take her this.’
They were shown into a small waiting-room. In about five minutes the door opened and the Matron came in. She was looking quite unlike her usual brisk efficient self.
Mr Satterthwaite rose.
‘I hope you remember me’ he said. ‘I came here with Sir Charles Cartwright just after the death of Sir Bartholomew Strange.’
‘Yes, indeed, Mr Satterthwaite, of course I remember; and Sir Charles asked after poor Mrs de Rushbridger then, and it seems such a coincidence.’
‘Let me introduce M. Hercule Poirot.’
Poirot bowed and the Matron responded absently. She went on:
‘I can’t understand how you can have had a telegram as you say. The whole thing seems most mysterious. Surely it can’t be connected with the poor doctor’s death in any way? There must be some madman about—that’s the only way I can account for it. Having the police here and everything. It’s really been terrible.’
‘The police?’ said Mr Satterthwaite, surprised.
‘Yes, since ten o’clock they’ve been here.’
‘The police?’ said Hercule Poirot.
‘Perhaps we could see Mrs de Rushbridger now,’ suggested Mr Satterthwaite. ‘Since she asked us to come—’
The Matron interrupted him.
‘Oh, Mr Satterthwaite, then you don’t know!’
‘Know what?’ demanded Poirot sharply.
‘Poor Mrs de Rushbridger. She’s dead.’
‘Dead?’ cried Poirot. ‘Mille Tonnerres! That explains it. Yes, that explains it. I should have seen—’ He broke off. ‘How did she die?’
‘It’s most mysterious. A box of chocolates came for her—liqueur chocolates—by post. She ate one—it must have tasted horrible, but she was taken by surprise, I suppose, and she swallowed it. One doesn’t like spitting a thing out.’
‘Oui, oui, and if a liquid runs suddenly down your throat, it is difficult.’
‘So she swallowed it and called out and Nurse came rushing, but we couldn’t do anything. She died in about two minutes. Then doctor sent for the police, and they came and examined the chocolates. All the top layer had been tampered with, the underneath ones were all right.’
‘And the poison employed?’
‘They think it’s nicotine.