He was silent for a minute. Then he said:
“There is something….”
“Yes?”
“Something—some little piece of the puzzle that is missing. It is something—of that I am certain—that concerns Mary Gerrard. My friend, you hear a certain amount of gossip, of scandal, down here. Have you ever heard anything against her?”
“Against Mary Gerrard? Her character, you mean?”
“Anything. Some bygone story about her. Some indiscretion on her part. A hint of scandal. A doubt of her honesty. A malicious rumour concerning her. Anything—anything at all—but something that definitely is damaging to her….”
Peter Lord said slowly:
“I hope you’re not going to suggest that line… Trying to rake up things about a harmless young woman who’s dead and can’t defend herself… And, anyway, I don’t believe you can do it!”
“She was like the female Sir Galahad—a blameless life??
??
“As far as I know, she was. I never heard anything else.”
Poirot said gently:
“You must not think, my friend, that I would stir the mud where no mud is… No, no, it is not like that at all. But the good Nurse Hopkins is not an adept at hiding her feelings. She was fond of Mary, and there is something about Mary she does not want known; that is to say, there is something against Mary that she is afraid I will find out. She does not think that it has any bearing on the crime. But, then, she is convinced that the crime was committed by Elinor Carlisle, and clearly this fact, whatever it is, has nothing to do with Elinor. But, you see, my friend, it is imperative that I should know everything. For it may be that there is a wrong done by Mary to some third person, and in that case, that third person might have a motive for desiring her death.”
Peter Lord said:
“But surely, in that case, Nurse Hopkins would realize that, too.”
Poirot said:
“Nurse Hopkins is quite an intelligent woman within her limitations, but her intellect is hardly the equal of mine. She might not see, but Hercule Poirot would!”
Peter Lord said, shaking his head:
“I’m sorry. I don’t know anything.”
Poirot said thoughtfully:
“No more does Ted Bigland—and he has lived here all his life and Mary’s. No more does Mrs. Bishop; for if she knew anything unpleasant about the girl, she would not have been able to keep it to herself! Eh bien, there is one more hope.”
“Yes?”
“I am seeing the other nurse, Nurse O’Brien, today.”
Peter Lord said, shaking his head:
“She doesn’t know much about this part of the world. She was only here for a month or two.”
Poirot said:
“I am aware of that. But, my friend, Nurse Hopkins, we have been told, has the long tongue. She has not gossiped in the village, where such talk might have done Mary Gerrard harm. But I doubt if she could refrain from giving at least a hint about something that was occupying her mind to a stranger and a colleague! Nurse O’Brien may know something.”
Ten
Nurse O’Brien tossed her red head and smiled widely across the tea table at the little man opposite her.
She thought to herself: