“Was it not the best way? She thought so. There were, you see, the children to consider.”
Dr. Tanios buried his face in his hands.
Poirot came forward and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“It had to be. Believe me it was necessary. There would have been more deaths. First yours—then possibly, under certain circumstances, Miss Lawson’s. And so it goes on.”
He paused.
In a broken voice Tanios said:
“She wanted me—to take a sleeping draught one night… There was something in her face—I threw it away. That was when I began to believe her mind was going….”
“Think of it that way. It is indeed partly true. But not in the legal meaning of the term. She knew the meaning of her action….”
Dr. Tanios said wistfully:
“She was much too good for me—always.”
A strange epitaph on a self-confessed murderess!
Thirty
THE LAST WORD
There is very little more to tell.
Theresa married her doctor shortly afterwards. I know them fairly well now and I have learnt to appreciate Donaldson—his clarity of vision and the deep, underlying force and humanity of the man. His manner I may say is just as dry and precise as ever, Theresa often mimics him to his face. She is, I think, amazingly happy and absolutely wrapped up in her husband’s career. He is already making a big name for himself and is an authority on the functions of ductless glands.
Miss Lawson, in an acute attack of conscience, had to be restrained forcibly from denuding herself of every penny. A settlement agreeable to all parties was drawn up by Mr. Purvis whereby Miss Arundell’s fortune was shared out between Miss Lawson, the two Arundells and the Tanios children.
Charles went through his share in a little over a year and is now, I believe, in British Columbia.
Just two incidents.
“You’re a downy fellow, ain’t you?” said Miss Peabody, stopping us as we emerged from the gate of Littlegreen House one day. “Managed to hush everything up! No exhumation. Everything done decently.”
“There seems to be no doubt that Miss Arundell died of yellow atrophy of the liver,” said Poirot gently.
“That’s very satisfactory,” said Miss Peabody. “Bella Tanios took an overdose of sleeping stuff, I hear.”
“Yes, it was very sad.”
“She was a miserable kind of woma
n—always wanting what she hadn’t got. People go a bit queer sometimes when they’re like that. Had a kitchenmaid once. Same thing. Plain girl. Felt it. Started writing anonymous letters. Queer kinks people get. Ah, well, I daresay it’s all for the best.”
“One hopes so, madame. One hopes so.”
“Well,” said Miss Peabody, preparing to resume her walk, “I’ll say this for you. You’ve hushed things up nicely. Very nicely indeed.” She walked on.
There was a plaintive “Wuff” behind me.
I turned and opened the gate.
“Come on, old man.”
Bob bounced through. There was a ball in his mouth.