“She took those too?”
“Yes. Miss Lawson got her them to begin with, and she thought they did her good.”
“Did Dr. Grainger know?”
“Oh, sir, he didn’t mind. ‘You take ’em if you think they do you good,’ he’d say to her. And she said, ‘Well, you may laugh, but they do do me good. A lot better than any of your physic.’ And Dr. Grainger, he laughed, and said faith was worth all the drugs ever invented.”
“She didn’t take anything else?”
“No. Miss Bella’s husband, the foreign doctor, he went out and got her a bottle of something, but although she thanked him very politely she poured it away and that I know for a fact! And I think she was right. You don’t know where you are with these foreign things.”
“Mrs. Tanios saw her pouring it away, didn’t she?”
“Yes, and I’m afraid she was rather hurt about it, poor lady. I’m sorry, too, for no doubt it was kindly meant on the doctor’s part.”
“No doubt. No doubt. I suppose any medicines that were left in the house were thrown away when Miss Arundell died?”
Ellen looked a little surprised at the question.
“Oh, yes, sir. The nurse threw away some and Miss Lawson got rid of all the old lot in the medicine cupboard in the bathroom.”
“Is that where the—er—Dr. Loughbarrow’s Liver Capsules were kept?”
“No, they were kept in the corner cupboard in the dining room so as to be handy for taking after meals as directed.”
“What nurse attended Miss Arundell? Can you give me her name and address?”
Ellen could supply that at once and did.
Poirot continued to ask questions about Miss Arundell’s last illness.
Ellen gave details with relish, describing the sickness, the pain, the onset of jaundice, and the final delirium. I don’t know whether Poirot got any satisfaction out of the catalogue. He listened patiently enough and occasionally interpolated some pertinent little question, usually about Miss Lawson and the amount of time she spent in the sickroom. He was also exceedingly interested in the diet administered to the ill woman, comparing it with that administered to some dead relative (nonexistent) of his own.
Seeing that they were enjoying themselves so much, I stole out in the hall again. Bob had gone to sleep on the landing, his ball lying under his chin.
I whistled to him and he sprang up, alert at once. This time, however, doubtless out of offended dignity, he made a protracted business of despatching the ball down to me, several times catching it back at the last minute.
“Disappointed, aren’t you? Well, perhaps I will let you have it this time.”
When I next went back to the morning room, Poirot was talking about Dr. Tanios’ surprise visit on the Sunday before the old lady’s death.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Charles and Miss Theresa were out for a walk. Dr. Tanios wasn’t expected, I know. The mistress was lying down and she was very surprised when I told her who it was. ‘Dr. Tanios?’ she said. ‘Is Mrs. Tanios with him?’ I told her no, the gentleman had come alone. So she said to tell him she’d be down in a minute.”
“Did he stay long?”
“Not above an hour, sir. He didn’t look too pleased when he went away.”
“Have you any idea of the—er—purpose of his visit?”
“I couldn’t say, I’m sure, sir.”
“You did not happen to hear anything?”
Ellen’s face flushed suddenly.
“No, I did not, sir! I’ve never been one to listen at doors, no matter what some people will do—and people who ought to know better!”
“Oh, but you misunderstand me.” Poirot was eager, apologetic. “It just occurred to me that perhaps you might have brought in tea while the gentleman was there and if so, you could hardly have helped hearing what he and your mistress were talking about.”