Chapter 22 Chapter 21 Pharmacist-Nurse-Doctor

The herbicide tin box set off a new train of associations in my mind.This is the first very suspicious situation I have come across so far.Charles's interest in herbicides, the old gardener's obvious surprise at finding the box almost empty-all seemed to point me in the right direction on how to think. I was excited, but Poirot, as usual, was very uncertain. "Even if the herbicide was used, there's no evidence that Charles took it, Hastings." "But he talks so much to the gardener about herbicides!" "If he's going to take it, it's unwise for him to talk about it."

Then he continued: "If you were asked to name a poison quickly, what would be the most common poison that would come to your mind first?" "I think it's arsenic." "Yes. So Charles paused noticeably before he said the word strychnine to us today, and you see why he paused!" "what do you mean……?" "He wanted to say 'there was arsenic in the soup'. He didn't say it." "Oh!" I said, "why didn't he say it?" "That's right, why on earth! Hastings, I went to the garden to find out the answer to the 'why'. I went to search for materials about herbicides."

"You finally understand!" "I see." I shook my head and said: "It's not a good thing for young Charles. You and Ellen have talked at length about the old woman's condition. Do you think her symptoms resemble arsenic poisoning?" Poirot touched his nose and said: "Hard to say. She had a stomachache—vomited." "Of course—arsenic poisoning is that symptom." "Hmph, I'm not so sure." "Then what do you think she looks like poisoned?" "Eh bien, my friend, I said her symptoms were not so similar to poisoning, but more like liver disease, and she died of liver disease."

"Oh, Poirot," I exclaimed, "she cannot have died of natural causes! It must have been murder!" "Oh, come on, come on, it looks like you and I have switched places." Suddenly he walked into a pharmacy.Poirot talked to the pharmacist for a long time about his stomach upset, and then he bought a small box of indigestion tablets.When the pharmacist finished wrapping the medicine box he had bought and was about to leave the pharmacy, a package of Dr. Lovebarrow's hepatitis capsules, which was exquisitely decorated, caught his attention. "Yes, sir, it's a good back-up medicine." The pharmacist was a nagging middle-aged man. "You'll find that the drug works really well."

"I remember Miss Arundell used to buy it. I mean Miss Emily Arundell." "She did buy it, sir. Miss Arundell of Little Green House, she's a nice old lady, old school. I used to supply her with it." "Does she take a lot of over-the-counter medicines?" "Not much, sir. I could name plenty of old ladies who took far more medicine than she did. Miss Lawson is one now, and used to be her maid, and she's got The person who inherited all of her..." Poirot nodded. "She's just someone who takes all sorts of medicines. She takes pills, tablets, indigestion pills, digestive concoctions, blood concoctions, etc. She finds it a joy to live in the bottle " He smiled wryly, "I wish there were more people like Lawson, but people don't buy as much medicine as they used to. However, we sell a lot of cosmetics to make up for the loss of less medicine. "

"Does Miss Arundell come regularly for this hepatitis medicine?" "Yes, I remember she had been taking it for three months before she died." "One of her relatives, Dr. Tanios, came here one day to make up a concoction, didn't he?" "Yes, the Greek who married Miss Arundell's niece. That's a very interesting mixture. I didn't know it before." Pharmacists talk about this concoction like a precious herbarium. "Sir, the medicine changes when you mix it with something new. I remember it was a very interesting mix of medicines. The gentleman was a doctor, of course. He was very nice--a lovely look."

"Has his wife ever come here to buy medicine?" "Did you ask recently? I can't remember. Oh, yes, she came to buy sleeping pills - chloral. It was prescribed a double dose. Sleeping pills are not always easy for us." Sold. You know, most doctors wouldn't prescribe that much at one time." "Which doctor prescribed that prescription?" "I think it's her husband's. Well, of course, there's nothing wrong with the prescription—but we have to be careful now, you know. Maybe you don't know the situation: If a doctor prescribes the wrong medicine, and we make it up, If something goes wrong, we are to blame - not the doctors."

"That seems so unfair!" "I admit it's a frightening thing. Oh, but I have nothing to complain about. I'm glad I haven't been in that trouble--fortunately." He tapped the counter lightly with his knuckles. Poirot decided to buy a packet of Lovebarrow's hepatitis medicine. "Thank you sir, how many pills do you want in a pack? 25 pills, 50 pills or 100 pills?" "I think the larger ones are a better deal—but still..." "Packs of fifty pills, sir. That's what Miss Arundell used to buy. Eight shillings and sixpence." Poirot agreed, paid him the amount, and took the medicine.

Then we left the pharmacy. We came out of the pharmacy and out into the street, and I exclaimed happily, "Mrs. Tanios bought sleeping pills. Overdose of sleeping pills kills, doesn't it?" "That's the easiest thing." "You think old Miss Arundell--" I remembered Miss Lawson's words: "I dare say if he let her kill, she would!" Poirot shook his head and said: "Chloral is an anesthetic, a hypnotic, it's used to relieve pain, and it's used as a sleeping pill. It can make a person habitual and take it often." "Do you think Mrs. Tanios has this habit?"

Poirot shook his head in bewilderment. "No, I haven't thought of it that way. But it's weird. I think there's an explanation, but that would mean..." He stopped talking, then looked at his watch. "Come, let us see if we can find Nurse Carruthers, who was with Miss Arundell during the latter stages of her illness." Nurse Carruthers was a sensible middle-aged woman. Now Poirot is reappearing in another role, inventing a story about a relative who is ill.He said he had an elderly mother and he was anxious to find a sympathetic nurse for her. "You can understand--I'll tell you very frankly: my mother is a difficult person. We've had some very good nurses, some young female nurses, perfectly qualified for the job, but the fact that they're young doesn't help them. Bad. My mother doesn't like young women, she despises them. She's rude and brusque with them. She's against opening windows, against hygiene. Very difficult."

He sighed, looking a little frustrated. "I know," said Nurse Carruthers sympathetically, "that sort of thing can be irritating at times. But one has to use ingenuity. It's not good to make a patient flustered. It's best to give in to the patient as much as possible. Once they feel you Instead of trying to force them to do this or that, they'll soften up and be at your mercy like little lambs." "Oh, I think you are an ideal man in that respect. You understand old women." "I've dealt with a few old ladies like that in my life," laughed Carruthers. "If you're patient and kind, you'll do well." "It's a very sensible way of saying what you say. I think you have nursed Miss Arundell. She may be a difficult old lady!" "Oh, I don't know. She was stubborn, but I didn't think she was difficult to deal with. Of course, I wasn't with her very long. She died on the fourth day I was there." "I spoke to her niece Theresa Arundell yesterday." "Really? No idea! I always tell people—the whole world is just a small place!" "I suppose you know her?" "Of course I know her. She was here for her aunt's funeral when she died. Of course, I've seen her before when she came here. She's a pretty girl." "Yes, she is very pretty--but too thin--very thin." Nurse Carrather, conscious of her own fullness, said somewhat boastfully: "Of course, people shouldn't be too thin." "Poor girl," continued Poirot, "I am so sorry for her. Entre nous (French: We both say so.)," he leaned forward, indicating the mystery of the matter, "her aunt's The will was a big blow to her." "I think it must be so," said Nurse Carruthers. "I know it's a will that makes a lot of noise." "I can think of no reason why Miss Arundell should disinherit her family. It seems so queer." "I agree with you, it's so weird. So, people say there must be something behind it." "Do you know why? Didn't Miss Arundell say anything?" "No. I mean she didn't tell me." "She told someone else?" "Well, I seem to remember she mentioned something to Miss Lawson, because I heard Miss Lawson say: 'Yes, dear, you know it's at the lawyer' and Miss Arundell say: 'I'm sure It was in a drawer downstairs.' Miss Lawson said: 'No, you sent it to Mr. Purvis. Don't you remember?' Then my patient was sick again. When I went to attend her, Miss Lawson left. But I always wondered if they were talking about wills." "It looks very likely." Nurse Carruthers continued: "If so, I think Miss Arundell was anxious at the time, and perhaps she wanted to change her will—but you see, she was very ill, poor thing. Afterwards—she thought of other things." "Has Miss Lawson participated in Miss Arundell's nursing?" asked Poirot. "Oh, dear, no. She has a bad attitude! She's a little nervous, you know. She can only annoy patients." "So, are you in charge of all the nursing work alone? C'est formidable ca (French: This is inconceivable.)." "The maid—what was her name—was Ellen, and she helped me. Ellen was very nice. She took care of the sick, and used to look after old women. We got on very well. In fact Dr Granger intended to send a night nurse on Friday, but Miss Arundell died before the night nurse arrived." "Perhaps Miss Lawson also helped prepare some sick food?" "No, she's doing nothing. There's really nothing to prepare. I'll say something sweet and comforting to Miss Arundell, and give her brandy--brandy and glucose and things like that, too. That's enough. Miss Lawson just walks up and down the room, yelling, and interfering with other people's work." The nurse's tone of voice was unusually sharp. "I can see," said Poirot, smiling, "that you do not find Miss Lawson very useful." "I think people who serve are usually poor people. They're untrained, they're just laymen. They're usually women who can't do much else." "Do you think Miss Lawson is fond of Miss Arundell?" "She seemed to like it. When the old lady died, she was very restless and very excited. I think she was as good as Miss Arundell's relatives." When Nurse Carruthers finished this sentence , scoffed. "Perhaps, then," said Poirot, nodding gravely, "Miss Arundell knew what she was doing when she decided to leave the money to Miss Lawson." "She's a very shrewd old lady," said the nurse, "and I dare say she knows what she's doing." "Did she mention Bob the dog?" "It's funny you ask that question! She talked a lot about the puppy when she was out of her mind. Sometimes she talked about his ball, sometimes about the fall she took. Bob's a good dog—I'm very happy Loved dogs, when the mistress died. Poor thing, he looked miserable. Dogs are wonderful, aren't they? They're very human." After talking about the dog's understanding of human nature, we said goodbye to the nurse. "It is evident that this man suspects nothing," said Poirot after we had left. He looked a little frustrated when he said this. We had dinner at George's, which was so bland that Poirot complained greatly, especially with the soup.He said: "How easy it is to make good soup, Hastings. Le pot au feu (French: put the casserole on the stove.)…" It was with difficulty that I diverted the subject from discussing cooking. After dinner, something happened to us that took us by surprise. We're sitting in the lounge.There was another person eating here at dinner - a commercial salesman, by all appearances - but he left after the meal.I was idle, leafing through an outdated stockman's magazine or some such periodical, when suddenly I heard Poirot's name mentioned. The voice came from somewhere outside the house. "Where is he? Is it in here? Well—I can find him." The door of the house was rushed open.Dr. Granger strode into the room, his face flushed with excitement, his eyebrows raised.He stopped, closed the door, and walked toward us with steady steps. "Oh, here you are! M. Hercule Poirot, what do you mean when you saw me the other day and told me a lot of lies?" "Is that a ball thrown by a magician?" I muttered sarcastically. Poirot said with tactful emphasis: "My dear doctor, you must allow me to explain..." "Allow you to explain? Allow you? Damn it, I'm going to force you to explain! You're a detective, that's what you are! You're an inquisitive, intelligence-gathering spy! Go to my house and say Plenty of lies about old General Arundel's biography! But I'm a fool, and I'm so damn credulous about your bullshit story." "Who told you who I am?" asked Poirot. "Who told me? Miss Peabody told me. She sees right through you!" "Miss Peabody—yes," Poirot seemed to be thinking, "I think..." Dr. Granger interrupted angrily, saying, "Well, sir, I'm waiting for your explanation!" "Of course. My explanation is simply that it was intentional murder." "What? What did you say?" Poirot said softly: "Miss Arundell fell, didn't she? Did she fall down the stairs shortly before her death?" "Yeah, what's the matter? She let the damn puppy's ball slip." Poirot shook his head and said: "No, doctor, she didn't slip on the puppy's ball. There was a string across the top of the stairs to trip her over." Doctor Granger stared intently at Poirot. "Then why didn't she tell me?" he demanded. "She never confided a word to me about that." "That's probably understandable—if a member of her family had pulled the strings there, she wouldn't want anyone to know about it." "Hmm - got it." Granger cast a sharp look at Poirot, and plopped down on a chair. "Hello?" he said, "how did you get involved in this?" "Miss Arundell wrote to me emphasizing this most secret matter. Unfortunately, the letter was delayed." Poirot went on to give him some carefully chosen details and explain how he had discovered the nail in the corner board. The doctor listened to Poirot, his face darkened, his anger gone. "You can understand how difficult my situation is," concluded Poirot. "I am employed, you see, by a dead old woman. But, in spite of the circumstances, I am It is also our responsibility to do this well.” Dr. Granger frowned, deep in thought. "You know who pulled that string at the top of the stairs, mother?" he asked. "I have no evidence of who pulled that line. But it doesn't mean I don't know." "It's a nasty thing," said Dr. Granger, his face stern. "Yes. Now do you understand Ma? At first I wasn't sure if it would work out, so I was going to tell a little bit of a lie." "Eh? How do you say that?" "Miss Arundell appears to have died of natural causes from every point of view, but how can we be sure that she died of natural causes? There was an accident in which an attempt was made to murder her. How can I be sure, then? Will there be a second time? And this second time will succeed in murdering her!" Dr. Granger nodded thoughtfully. "Doctor Granger, please don't be angry—are you sure that Miss Arundell died a natural death? I stumbled upon some evidence today..." He related at length his conversation with old Angus, Charles Arundel's interest in herbicides, and finally he related the old man's dismay at finding the jar empty. Dr. Granger listened fascinated.When Poirot had finished, he said softly: "I see your point. Many symptoms of arsenic poisoning are diagnosed as acute gastroenteritis, and a diagnosis is given - especially if there is nothing particularly suspicious. Anyway, there is a certain difficulty in diagnosing arsenic poisoning - - It has so many different symptoms. It can be acute, subacute, neurotic or chronic, there can be vomiting and abdominal pain - or none of these symptoms at all - and the patient can suddenly collapse on the floor and shortly thereafter Just die—and possibly unconscious and paralyzed, with very different symptoms." Poirot said: "Eh bien, what is your opinion in view of these facts?" Dr. Granger was silent for a moment.Then he said slowly: "Considering all this, and without any prejudice, it is my opinion that Miss Arundell's case is unlike any case of arsenic poisoning. I believe she died of icteric atrophy. I nursed her a great deal, you know. years. She has suffered from the disease which killed her before. This is my considered opinion, M. Poirot." The problem has to be put aside at this point. Poirot now produced a packet of hepatitis medicine which he had bought at the apothecary, and it was a little anticlimactic, and the orgasm turned into an ebb. "I believe Miss Arundell has taken these medicines, have I not?" said he. "I suppose they can't do her any harm at all?" "The mother? It's not harmful. It has aloe vera in it - podophyllum resin - all very mild and harmless," Granger said. "She loves it. I don't mind." He stood up after speaking. "You're giving her some medicine, too?" asked Poirot. "Yes—I prescribed her a mild hepatitis pill to take after meals," said his eye, with a twinkle. Poisoned, M. Poirot." Then he smiled and shook hands with us both. Poirot opened the packet of medicines which he had bought from the drugstore.This medicine is packed in transparent capsules, three-quarters of which are brown-black powder. "Looks like one of those seasickness pills I used to take," I said. Poirot opened a capsule, examined its contents carefully, and tasted it carefully with his tongue.He made a grimace. "Hmm," I said, plopping down on a chair and yawning. "Everything seems harmless. Dr. Lovebarrow has utterly dismissed the theory of arsenic poisoning. You are convinced at last, my obstinate Poirot." "I'm so stubborn—I suppose that's what you say about me?—yes, I must have a head of granite," said my friend thoughtfully. "Then you think Miss Arundell was the murdered mother, even though the pharmacists, nurses and doctors disagreed with you?" Poirot said softly: "I believe she was murdered. No--not just believe. I'm sure murdered, Hastings." "I think there's one way of proving murder," I said slowly, "and that's exhumation." Poirot nodded. "So is that what we're going to do next?" "My friend, I must proceed with care." "why?" "Because," said Poirot, lowering his voice, "I fear a second tragedy." "what do you mean……" "I'm afraid, Hastings, I'm afraid. Let us stop here."