Sad Cypress (Hercule Poirot 22)

“The light was not quite so dim now. The pattern—the design of the crime—was becoming apparent. The next step was easy. I visited Nurse Hopkins once more. We both played the comedy very prettily. In the end she allowed herself to be persuaded to tell what she had been aiming to tell all along! Only she tells it, perhaps, just a little sooner than she meant to do! But the opportunity is so good that she cannot resist. And, after all, the truth has got to be known some time. So, with well-feigned reluctance, she produces the letter. And then, my friend, it is no longer conjecture. I know! The letter gives her away.”

Peter Lord frowned and said:

“How?”

“Mon cher! The superscription on that letter was as follows: ‘For Mary, to be sent to her after my death.’ But the gist of the contents made it perfectly plain that Mary Gerrard was not to know the truth. Also, the word sent (not given) on the envelope was illuminating. It was not Mary Gerrard to whom that letter was written, but another Mary. It was to her sister, Mary Riley, in New Zealand, that Eliza Riley wrote the truth.

“Nurse Hopkins did not find that letter at the Lodge after Mary Gerrard’s death. She had had it in her possession for many years. She received it in New Zealand, where it was sent to her after her sister’s death.”

He paused.

“Once one had seen the truth with the eyes of the mind the rest was easy. The quickness of air travel made it possible for a witness who knew Mary Draper well in New Zealand to be present in court.”

Peter Lord said:

“Supposing you had been wrong and Nurse Hopkins and Mary Draper had been two entirely different people?”

Poirot said coldly:

“I am never wrong!”

Peter Lord laughed:

Hercule Poirot went on:

“My friend, we know something now of this woman Mary Riley or Draper. The police of New Zealand were unable to get sufficient evidence for a conviction, but they had been watching her for some time when she suddenly left the country. There was a patient of hers, an old lady, who left her ‘dear Nurse Riley’ a very snug little legacy, and whose death was somewhat of a puzzle to the doctor attending her. Mary Draper’s husband insured his life in her favour for a considerable sum, and his death was sudden and unaccountable. Unfortunately for her, though he had made out a cheque to the Insurance Company, he had forgotten to post it. Other deaths may lie at her door. It is certain she is a remorseless and unscrupulous woman.

“One can imagine that her sister’s letter suggested possibilities to her resourceful mind. When New Zealand became too hot, as you say, to hold her, and she came to this country and resumed her profession in the name of Hopkins (a former colleague of hers in hospital who died abroad), Maidensford was her objective. She may perhaps have contemplated some form of blackmail. But old Mrs. Welman was not the kind of woman to allow herself to be blackmailed, and Nurse Riley, or Hopkins, very wisely did not attempt anything of the sort. Doubtless she made inquiries and discovered that Mrs. Welman was a very wealthy woman, and some chance word of Mrs. Welman’s may have revealed the fact that the old lady had not made a will.

“So, on that June evening, when Nurse O’Brien retailed to her colleague that Mrs. Welman was asking for her lawyer, Hopkins did not hesitate. Mrs. Welman must die intestate so that her illegitimate daughter would inherit her money. Hopkins had already made friends with Mary Gerrard and acquired a good deal of influence over the girl. All that she had to do now was to persuade the girl to make a will leaving her money to her mother’s sister; and she inspired the wording of that will very carefully. There was no mention of the relationship: just ‘Mary Riley, sister of the late Eliza Riley.’ Once that was signed, Mary Gerrard was doomed. The woman only had to wait for a suitable opportunity. She had, I fancy, already planned the method of the crime, with the use of the apomorphine to secure her own alibi. She may have meant to get Elinor and Mary to her cottage, but when Elinor came down to the Lodge and asked them both to come up and have sandwiches she realized at once that a perfect opportunity had arisen. The circumstances were such that Elinor was practically certain to be convicted.”

Peter Lord said slowly:

“If it hadn’t been for you—she would have been convicted.”

Hercule Poirot said quickly:

“No, it is you, my friend, she has to thank for her life.”

“I? I didn’t do anything. I tried—”

He broke off. Hercule Poirot smiled a little.

“Mais oui, you tried very hard, did you not? You were impatient because I did not seem to you to be getting anywhere. And you were afraid, too, that she might, after all, be guilty. And so, with great impertinence, you also told me the lies! But, mon cher, you were not very clever about it. In future I advise you to stick to the measles and the whooping cough and leave crime detection alone.”

Peter Lord blushed.

He said:

“Did you know—all the time?”

Poirot said severely:

“You lead me by the hand to a clearing in the shrubs, and you assist me to find a German matchbox that you have just put there! C’est l’enfantillage!”

Peter Lord winced.

He groaned: