Peter Lord said:
“Because I don’t wrap it up, you mean? It seems simple enough to me. I want this girl acquitted. I think you are the only man who can do it!”
“You wish me to look into the facts? To find out the truth? To discover what really happened?”
“I want you to find any facts that will tell in her favour.”
Hercule Poirot, with care and precision, lighted a very tiny cigarette. He said:
“But is it not a little unethical what you say there? To arrive at the truth, yes, that always interests me. But the truth is a two-edged weapon. Supposing that I find facts against the lady? Do you demand that I suppress them?”
Peter Lord stood up. He was very white. He said:
“That’s impossible! Nothing that you could find could be more against her than the facts are already! They’re utterly and completely damning! There’s any amount of evidence against her black and plain for all the world to see! You couldn’t find anything that would damn her more completely than she is already! I’m asking you to use all your ingenuity—Stillfleet says you’re damned ingenious—to ferret out a loophole, a possible alternative.”
Hercule Poirot said:
“Surely her lawyers will do that?”
“Will they?” the young man laughed scornfully. “They’re licked before they start! Think it’s hopeless! They’ve briefed Bulmer, K.C.—the forlorn hope man; that’s a giveaway in itself! Big orator—sob stuff—stressing the prisoner’s youth—all that! But the judge won’t let him get away with it. Not a hope!”
Hercule Poirot said:
“Supposing she is guilty—do you still want to get her acquitted?”
Peter Lord said quietly:
“Yes.”
Hercule Poirot moved in his chair. He said:
“You interest me….”
After a minute or two he said:
“You had better, I think, tell me the exact facts of the case.”
“Haven’t you read anything about it in the papers?”
Hercule Poirot waved a hand.
“A mention of it—yes. But the newspapers, they are so inaccurate, I never go by what they say.”
Peter Lord said:
“It’s quite simple. Horribly simple. This girl, Elinor Carlisle, had just come into a place near here—Hunterbury Hall—and a fortune from her aunt, who died intestate. Aunt’s name was Welman. Aunt had a nephew by marriage Roderick Welman. He was engaged to Elinor Carlisle—long-standing business, known each other since children. There was a girl down at Hunterbury: Mary Gerrard, daughter of the lodgekeeper. Old Mrs. Welman had made a lot of fuss about her, paid for her education, etc. Consequence is, girl was to outward seeming a lady. Roderick Welman, it seems, fell for her. In consequence, engagement was broken off.
“Now we come to the doings. Elinor Carlisle put up the place for sale and a man called Somervell bought it. Elinor came down to clear out her aunt’s personal possessions and so on. Mary Gerrard, whose father had just died, was clearing out the Lodge. That brings us to the morning of July 27th.
“Elinor Carlisle was staying at the local pub. In the street she met the former housekeeper, Mrs. Bishop. Mrs. Bishop suggested coming up to the house to help her. Elinor refused—rather over-vehemently. Then she went into the grocer’s shop and bought some fish paste, and there she made a remark about food poisoning. You see? Perfectly innocent thing to do; but, of course, it tells against her! She went up to the house, and about one o’clock she went down to the Lodge, where Mary Gerrard was busy with the District Nurse, a Nosey Parker of a woman called Hopkins, helping her, and told them that she had some sandwiches ready up at the house. They came up to the house with her, ate sandwiches, and about an hour or so later I was sent for and found Mary Gerrard unconscious. Did all I could, but it was no good. Autopsy revealed large dose of morphine had been taken a short time previously. And the police found a scrap of a label with morphia hydrochlor on it just where Elinor Carlisle had been spreading the sandwiches.”
“What else did Mary Gerrard eat or drink?”
“She and the District Nurse drank tea with the sandwiches. Nurse made it and Mary poured it out. Couldn’t have been anything there. Of course, I understand Counsel will make a song and dance about sandwiches, too, saying all three ate them, therefore impossible to ensure that only one person should be poisoned. They said that in the Hearne case, you remember.”
Poirot nodded. He said:
“But actually it is very simple. You make your pile of sandwiches. In one of them is the poison. You hand the plate. In our state of civilization it is a foregone conclusion that the person to whom the plate is offered will take the sandwich that is nearest to them. I presume that Elinor Carlisle handed the plate to Mary Gerrard first?”