Chapter 6 Chapter VI Interrogation

In the period leading up to the trial, Poirot was very active.Twice he had private conversations with Mr. Wells: and several long walks in the country.I was already quite dissatisfied that he did not regard me as his confidant, and I was even more indignant when I couldn't guess what he was up to. I thought he might be doing research at Rex Farm; I went to see him at Listerway Cottage on Wednesday evening, but he was not at home, so I walked across the fields yonder, hoping to catch him.However, there was not even his shadow, and after a moment of hesitation, I walked straight towards the farm.As I was walking, I passed an elderly farmer who gave me a sly sideways glance.

"You're from the Hacienda, aren't you?" he asked. "Yes. I'm looking for a friend, and I think he may be walking this way." "A little guy? Talks like a wave? A Belgian from the village?" "That's right," I said hastily. "So, has he been here?" "Hey, been here, that's right, more than once, and he's your friend? Why, you gentlemen of the estates--very often!" He squinted more playfully than at first. . "Why, do the gentlemen of the estate come here often?" I asked as casually as I could. He winked slyly at me.

"There's a regular, sir. Excuse me, I can't name it. A very generous gentleman too! Oh, sir, I'm sorry, really." I continued walking rapidly.So Evelyn Howard was right, and when I thought of Alfred Inglespor throwing away another woman's money, I felt a nasty sharp prick.Was the crime caused by that charming gypsy woman face, or was it something more despicable because of money?Maybe knowingly doing both. At one point Poirot seemed inexplicably fascinated.He had repeatedly told me that he thought Dorcas must have mistimed the quarrel.He had repeatedly suggested to her that it should have been half-past four, not four, when she heard the quarrel.

But Dorcas insisted that there was a full hour, or a little longer, between the time when she heard the quarrel and when she brought her mistress tea at five o'clock. The trial took place on Friday at the villagers' court in the village.Poirot sat with me and we were not called to testify. Has passed the pre-screening.The jury examined the body, and John Cavendish testified for his identification. During further interrogation, he recounted how he was woken up in the early hours of that morning, and the circumstances of his mother's deathbed. The testimony of the medical staff was next heard.There was complete silence, and all eyes were fixed on the eminent London expert, one of the most eminent authorities on the subject of toxicology at that time.

He briefly outlined the cause of death in a few sentences.Strip away the medical jargon and technical details, and his statement speaks to the fact that Mrs. Inglethorp's death was the result of strychnine poisoning.Judging from her dosage appraisal, her dosage of strychnine is no less than one jelly or slightly more. "Is there any possibility of her taking it by mistake?" asked the coroner. "I think it's very unlikely. Strychnine isn't available for home use like some poisons are. Its sale is restricted." "During your examination, was there anything that led you to determine how the poison was administered?"

"No." "I suppose you arrived at Styles before Dr. Wilkins?" "That's right. The car met me outside the gates of the estate, and I got there as fast as I could." "Can you tell us exactly what happened after that?" "I went into Mrs. Inglethorp's room. She was in a typical tonic spasm. She turned to me and said, 'Alfred—Alfred—'" "Is it possible that the strychnine was in that cup of coffee her husband brought her?" "Possibly, but strychnine is a very fast-acting drug. Symptoms appear within an hour or two after taking it. Of course, there are certain cases where it can be delayed, but none of them existed in this case." I would venture to assert that Mrs. Inglethorp drank her coffee about eight o'clock after supper, and that the symptoms appeared in the early hours of the next morning, which on the face of it would suggest that the poison should have been in the I took it late one night."

"Mrs. Inglethorp has a glass of cocoa in the middle of the night. Is it possible that the strychnine is in it?" "Impossible. I've personally sampled the cocoa leftovers in the pan, and there's no strychnine in it." I heard Poirot laugh softly beside me. "What did you learn?" I asked in a low voice. "listen." "I must say,"—the doctor went on—"that I should be rather surprised by any other result." "why?" "In short, because strychnine has a peculiar bitterness. It can also be felt in a solution of 1:70,000. It can only be masked by some flavorful substance. To do this, cocoa is completely Powerless."

A jury member wanted to find out whether coffee had the same disadvantages. "No, the coffee itself has a bitterness that may be used to mask the taste of the strychnine." "So you'd think the poison was more likely to be in the coffee, but for some unknown reason its effects were delayed." "Yes, however, the cup is so shattered that it is impossible to sample and analyze its contents." That concludes Dr. Bauerstein's testimony.Dr. Wilkins corroborated his testimony in various ways.When talking about the possibility of suicide, he completely denied it.He said that although the deceased suffered from heart failure, she fully enjoyed the fun of a healthy person, and she was cheerful and sane.She was the least suicidal type of person.

Next, call Laurence Cavendish.His testimony was worthless and a mere duplicate of that of his brother.Just as he was about to step down, he hesitated, and said rather vaguely: "If I may, I would like to make an opinion?" He glanced disapprovingly at the coroner, who quickly replied: "Certainly, Mr. Cavendish, we have come here to ascertain the truth of the matter, and any observations which may lead to further clarification are welcome." "It's just a little bit of my thinking," Lawrence explained. "It could be very wrong, of course, but I still feel as though my mother's death might have been a certainty."

"How do you prove that, Mr. Cavendish?" "My mother was taking a tonic containing strychnine when she was dying, and for some time before that." "Ah!" said the coroner. The members of the coroner's jury all looked at him with interest. "I believe," continued Lawrence, "that the cause was the accumulation of poisonous ingredients in the medicines she had been taking over a period of time, which eventually caused the death. And is it not possible that she may have taken an overdose of the tonic by mistake?" "This is the first time we have heard of the deceased taking strychnine until his death. We are very grateful to you, Mr. Cavendish."

Dr. Wilkins was arraigned again, and he laughed off Lawrence's idea. "Mr. Lawrence's statement is simply impossible, and any doctor would say it as I do. Turtynine is, in a sense, a cumulative drug, but it is by no means likely to cause sudden death from it. It must There would be a long period of chronic intoxication, and that would catch my attention right away. I think the whole idea is ludicrous." "What about a second opinion? Could Mrs. Inglethorp have inadvertently overdosed on the tonic?" "Triple, or even quadruple, the dose is unlikely to cause death. Mrs. Inglethorp's friendship with the pharmacists at Coote's in Tumminster always manages to dispense more than one dose at a time." A lot of tonics, but judging from the content of strychnine found in the autopsy, she had to take almost a whole bottle at once." "Then, do you think the tonic would not have caused her death anyway, can we rule it out?" "Of course. The speculation itself is absurd." The same jury member who had interrupted him asked whether there was a possibility that the pharmacist who dispensed the medicine might have made an error. "Of course, that's always possible," replied the doctor. But Dorcas, who came next to testify, ruled out even this possibility.Recently, Mrs. Inglethorp had not dispensed a tonic, but, on the contrary, had taken her last dose on the day of her death. Thus, the problem of tonic was finally abandoned.The coroner then proceeded with his own inquest.He learned from Dorcas how she had been awakened by her mistress' loud ringing of the bell, and then the whole family, and he turned to his question about the quarrel that afternoon. Dorcas' testimony on this subject was extensive, and Poirot and I had already heard it, so I will not repeat it here. The next witness was Mary Cavendish, who stood erect and spoke in a low, clear, calm voice.In answer to the coroner's questions, she said that her alarm clock had woken her as usual at four-thirty, when she was getting dressed when she was startled by the sound of something heavy falling to the ground. "That could be the bedside table?" explained the coroner. "I opened my own door," continued Mary, "and listened. After a while the bell rang loudly. Dorcas ran to wake my husband, and we hurried to my mother-in-law's room, But the door is barred—" The coroner's office interrupted her. "Really, I don't think we need to bother you on the subject. We know what happened after that. But if you would tell us about the quarrel you overheard a year before that, We will be very grateful." "I?" There was a hint of arrogance in her tone.She raised a hand and straightened the ruffles in the lace of the collar.At this time, she tilted her head slightly.An idea flashed instinctively in my mind: she was delaying time on purpose! "Yes," continued the coroner without haste. "I understand that you were sitting on the bench outside the French window in the boudoir, reading. Is that so?" It was news to me, I thought, glancing at Poirot, it was news to him as well. After a pause, only a moment's hesitation, she replied: "Yes, that's right." "The boudoir window is open, isn't it?" In truth, her face growing a little paler, she replied: "yes." "Then there's no way you didn't hear the voices inside, especially when the fire raised them? In fact, you can hear them better where you're sitting than in the hallway." "possible." "Can you tell us about a quarrel you happened to overhear?" "I really can't recall hearing anything." "You mean you didn't hear the sound?" "Oh no, I heard voices, but I didn't hear what they were saying." A smear of color appeared on her cheek. "I'm not used to eavesdropping on private conversations." The coroner still insisted. "So you don't remember at all? Not at all, Mrs. Cavendish? Not a single word, not a single phrase, that made you realize it was a private conversation?" She hesitated for a moment, seeming to consider, but her appearance remained as calm as before. "Yes, I remember. Mrs. Inglethorp said something--I don't remember the exact words--about a quarrel between husband and wife." "Ah!" said the coroner, leaning back with satisfaction, "that agrees exactly with what Dorcas heard. But, pardon me, Mrs. Cavendish, though you are aware that this is a private conversation, you do not Didn't leave? Did you stay where you were?" When she lifted those tawny eyes, I saw their fleeting twinkle.I am sure she would have liked to tear the cynical little lawyer to pieces at the moment, but she replied very calmly: "No, I'm very comfortable there, and I'm completely absorbed in my book." "Is that all you can tell us?" "And that's all." That's the end of the interrogation, though I don't believe the coroner was entirely satisfied.I think he must have thought that Mary Cavendish could tell more if she wanted to. The clerk, Amy Hill, was then arraigned, and she testified under oath that she had sold a will form on the afternoon of the seventeenth to William Eyre, Styles' junior gardener. She was arraigned by William Eyre and Manning, who testified to have testified on a document.Manning put the time at about half-past four, William thought it was earlier. Next it was Cynthia Murdoch's turn.However, she spoke very little.She knew nothing about the tragedy until she was awakened by Mrs. Cavendish. "Didn't you hear the table overturn?" "No, I slept deeply." The coroner laughed. "The heart is in a deep sleep," he said. "Thank you, Miss Murdoch, that's all." "Miss Howard." Miss Howard produced a letter written to her by Mrs. Inglethorp on the evening of the seventeenth.Of course, both Poirot and I had read the letter.It adds nothing to the understanding of this tragedy.Here is what the letter read: Dear Evelyn, Styles, Essex: Can't we forget forever that very embarrassing incident?I find it difficult for me to forgive what you have said against my dear husband.I'm an old man, though, and I love you very much.Your dear Emily Inglethorp letter of July 17 was handed over to the jury, and they all circulated it carefully. "I'm afraid it won't help us very much," said the coroner, with a sigh. "No mention of that afternoon at all." "It seems to me quite clear," said Miss Howard abruptly. "It shows very clearly that my poor old friend found out with great difficulty that she had been made a fool!" "That was not stated in the letter," the coroner noted. "No, because Emily can't bear to admit she's wrong. But I know her. She wants me back. But she's not going to admit I'm right. She's going around in circles like most people do. I don't believe it." This set." Mr. Wells smiled.I found out that it was the same for a few jurors.Miss Howard was evidently a very open character. "Anyway, it's all stupidity now, and a great waste of time," continued the Mademoiselle, casting a contemptuous glance up and down the jury. "Speak--speak--speak! We've always known perfectly well--" The coroner interrupted her with great concern. "Thank you, Miss Howard, just come here." I am sure the coroner must have been greatly relieved when she complied. So, the climax of the day arrived.The coroner passed to Albert Mays, a pharmacy clerk. This is our pale, anxious young man.In response to the coroner's questions, he explained that he was a qualified pharmacist and was new to the store because the store's former pharmacist had recently been drafted into the army. As soon as these prologues were concluded, the coroner turned to the business. "Mr. Mays, have you sold Tudenin to an unauthorized person recently?" "Yes, sir." "at what time?" "This Monday night." "Monday? Not Tuesday?" "No, sir, it's Monday, the sixteenth." "Can you tell who we sold to?" At this time, it was so quiet that one could hear a needle drop. "Yes, sir. Sold to Mr. Inglethorp." All eyes turned to Alfred Inglethorp.He sat blankly, expressionless.He was slightly taken aback when these condemning words came out of the young man's lips.I half expected him to get up from his chair, but he remained sitting, though with a strange and wholly feigned astonishment on his face. "Are you sure about what you say?" asked the coroner gravely. "Exactly, sir." "Do you always sell strychnine over the counter indiscriminately like this?" Under the coroner's disapproval, the poor young man looked very depressed. "Oh, no, sir—of course not, but I saw Mr. Inglethorp of the Great Estate, and thought it would be all right. He said it was for poisoning a dog." I secretly sympathize.It's just a human quality.Trying hard to curry favor with the "big estate" - especially when it has the potential to drive customers away from Coote's to local businesses. "Don't people who buy poison usually have to sign a book?" "Yes, sir, Mr. Inglethorp signed." "Did you bring your notebook?" "Here it is, sir." The notebook was delivered, and the coroner sent poor Mr. Mace away after a few stern reprimands. Then, in silence, Alfred Inglethorp was summoned.I suppose he realized how close the noose was to his neck? The coroner cut to the chase. "Did you buy strychnine this Monday evening for the purpose of poisoning a dog?" Inglethorp replied very calmly: "No, I haven't bought one. There are no dogs at Styles, except for an outdoor sheepdog, which is still in good health." "Are you absolutely denying that you bought tuclidinine from Albert Mace this Monday?" "I absolutely deny it." "Do you deny this too?" The coroner handed him the register with his signature on it. "I totally deny it. The handwriting is very different from mine. I will sign it for you." He took an old envelope from his pocket, wrote his name on it, and handed it to the jury.Quite different indeed. "Then what explanation do you have for Mr. Mace's statement?" Alfred Inglethorp answered calmly: "Mr. Mays must be mistaken." The coroner hesitated, then said: "Mr. Inglethorp, as a matter of mere formality, would you please tell us where you were on the evening of Monday, the sixteenth of July?" "Honestly—I don't remember." "This is ridiculous, Mr. Inglethorp," said the coroner sharply. "Think about it again." Inglethorp shook his head. "I can't tell you. I think I was out for a walk." "Which way?" "I really can't remember." The coroner's face darkened. "Is there any company?" "No." "Did you meet anyone on your walk?" "No." "What a pity," said the coroner dryly. "I'm going to believe it if you refuse to say where you were when Mr. Mace must have thought you went to his drugstore for tutyrenine." "If you're that willing to believe it, so be it," "Attention, Mr. Inglethorp." Poirot seemed fidgeting nervously. "Damn it!" he whined under his breath. "Is this idiot trying to get arrested?" Inglethorp was indeed making a bad impression.Even a child would not believe his useless denial.The coroner, however, moved quickly to another question, at which point Poirot breathed a sigh of relief. "Did you have an argument with your wife this Tuesday afternoon?" "I am sorry," interrupted Alfred Inglethorp, "but what you have heard is incorrect. I did not have a quarrel with my dear wife. This whole story is entirely fictional. The whole of that day I'm not at home this afternoon." "Can someone prove this to you?" "You can trust me," said Inglethorp haughtily. The coroner answered immediately. "Two witnesses have sworn to have heard you argue with Mrs. Inlotisan." "Those witnesses got it wrong." I am confused.I was amazed that this man spoke with such ease and confidence.I looked at Poirot.There was a look of complacency on his face which I could not comprehend. "Has he finally admitted Alfred Inglethorp's guilt? "Mr. Inglethorp," said the coroner, "you have heard your wife's dying words repeated here, and can you explain them in any way?" "Of course I can explain." "Can you explain?" "It seemed simple to me. The room was dimly lit. Dr. Bauerstein was about my size and build, and, like me, had a beard. In the dim light, in her agony , my poor wife mistook him for me." "Hi!" murmured Poirot to himself. "That's a weird idea!" "You think that's true?" I asked in a low voice. "I didn't say that. But it's an original idea." "You take my wife's dying words as an indictment against me,"—continued Inlorisson—"on the contrary, they are an appeal to me." The coroner pondered for a moment, then said: "I suppose, Mr. Inglethorp, that you yourself poured out that cup of coffee for your wife that evening?" "I poured it, yes, but I didn't serve it to her. I was about to, when I was told that a friend was at the gate, so I put the coffee on the hall table, pleading After a while, when I passed the aisle again, the coffee was gone." This statement may or may not be true, but it does not seem to improve my opinion of Inglethorp much.In any case, he has plenty of time to put poison. Just then Poirot gave me a slight nudge and pointed to the two people who were sitting together by the door.One was short, thin, dark-haired, with a ferret-like face, the other was tall, fair-faced, and fair-haired. I gave Poirot a questioning look in silence.He whispered into my ear: "Do you know who that little guy is?" I shake my head. "He's Detective Inspector James Japp of the Metropolitan Police—and the other is of the Metropolitan Police, too, and things are going fast, my friend." I stared intently at the two men. They did not look like police officers at all. I had no doubt that they must be official figures. I was still watching, and woke up suddenly startled by the verdict announced by the jury: "The murder was committed by a person or persons that have not yet been identified."

---

Notes: