Chapter 28 Chapter 28 Suicide

In the morning Poirot was sitting drinking coffee and eating rolls when the telephone rang.He picked up the receiver, and it was Bart who spoke: "Mr. Poirot?" "Yes, I am. What's the matter?" You could tell something had happened just by the detective's tone.His vague doubts came back to him. "Come on, friend, tell me." "It's Mrs. Lorrimer." "Lorimar—how?" "What did you tell her yesterday—or what did she tell you? You never told me; you made me think it was Miss Meredith I should be following." Poirot said calmly, "What's the matter?"

"suicide." "Mrs. Lorrimer committed suicide?" "Yes. She seems to have been very depressed lately, and she has been quite a different person. The doctor prescribed sleeping pills for her, and she overdose last night." Poirot took a deep breath. "Can't be—accident?" "Impossible. It's established. She wrote to all three of them." "Which three people?" "The other three—Roberts, Desper, and Miss Meredith. Frankly, without mincing around, just saying she wanted everyone to know she was out of trouble—she killed Shaitana and gave the other three I apologize for the inconvenience and trouble I personally have caused—apologize! A calm and business-like letter. It fits that woman's style. She is a calm person."

Poirot did not answer for a minute or two. These were the last words of Mrs. Lorrimer, determined to protect Anne Meredith.She would rather die painlessly than die in pain after a long delay, and her last act was also altruistic—to save a girl she secretly sympathized with.Everything was arranged and executed with considerable efficiency - the suicide was carefully announced to the three interested parties.What a woman!He couldn't help admiring her.She is like this, can make a clear determination, can stick to her decision. He had tried to convince her -- but she was clearly partial to her own judgment.Strong-willed woman.Bart's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"What on earth did you say to her yesterday? You must have frightened her to have this effect. But you hinted that you must have suspected Miss Meredith after your visit." Poirot was silent for a minute or two.He decided that Mrs. Lorrimer could not make him do her bidding in life, but she could do it in death. Finally he said slowly, "I was wrong." He wasn't used to saying things like that, he hated it. Bart said, "You're mistaken, eh? But she must think you're targeting her. It's not smart to let her get out of our fingers like this." "You have no way of proving her guilt," said Poirot.

"Well, I think that's the truth. Maybe it's best that way. You—er—you didn't expect it to happen, Monsieur Poirot?" Poirot denied it bitterly.Then he said, "Tell me everything that happened." "Dr. Roberts opened the letter by eight o'clock. Without wasting time, he left and drove off, and asked the maid to contact us, which she did. When he got to Mrs. Lorrimer's, he found the maid hadn't woken her— - rushed into her bedroom, it was too late. He tried artificial respiration, but it didn't work. Not long after, the forensic doctor of our sub-bureau also rushed to the scene and approved his medical procedures."

"What kind of sleeping pills are they?" "Verona, I think. One of the barbiturates, anyway. She's got a jar of tablets by her bed." "Where are the other two? Have they contacted you?" "Desper is out of town and hasn't received this morning's mail." "Where's Miss Meredith?" "I just called her." "Oh?" "She opened the letter a few minutes before I called. The mail over there is late." "How did she react?" "Normal attitude. Masking relief, showing shock and sadness and stuff like that."

Poirot paused for a moment before saying: "My friend, where are you?" "Chiney Lane." "Okay, I'll come right away." Arriving in the lobby of the Kinny Lane residence, he found Dr. Roberts leaving.This morning, the doctor's belligerence is temporarily gone.He was pale and trembling slightly. "Mr. Poirot, this is a very lame affair. From my standpoint, I cannot help admitting I am relieved--but, to be honest, it is a bit shocking. I never thought that Mrs. Lorrimer would stab Shaw to death." Tana. I'm taken aback." "I was taken aback too."

"Quiet, cultivated, self-controlled woman. Can't imagine her doing something so violent. Not sure what the motive was? Oh well, now we'll never know. I admit to being a little curious." "This—must have taken a great deal off your mind." "Oh, indeed, it would be hypocritical not to admit it. It is not pleasant to be suspected of murder. For the poor woman—well, it is certainly the best way out." "She thought so herself." Dr. Roberts nodded. "I guess it's a disturbed conscience," he said as he walked out of the house. Poirot shook his head thoughtfully.The doctor got it wrong.Mrs. Lorrimer did not kill herself out of remorse.

On his way upstairs he stopped to comfort the weeping old maid. "It was dreadful, sir, dreadful. We were all fond of her. You had a quiet, jovial tea with her yesterday; and today she is gone. I shall never forget this morning -- never as long as I live." Mr. Doctor rang the doorbell. I rang the door three times before I opened the door. He yelled: Where is your mistress? She—this is what she ordered. I couldn't say a word. The doctor said: Where is her room? He ran up the stairs, and I followed behind, pointing to the door. He didn't even knock on the door. Rushing in, seeing her lying on the bed, he said: It's too late. Sir, she's dead. He told me to get brandy and hot water, tried to save her, but couldn't save her. Then the police came--really No--really not--decent, sir. Mrs. Lorrimer wouldn't like it. Why call the police? Even if an accident happens, poor mistress takes an overdose by mistake, it's none of their business."

Poirot did not answer her question, but said: "Did your mistress go about her business last night? Did she appear disturbed or worried?" "No, I don't think so, sir. She's tired—I think she's aching somewhere. She hasn't been feeling well, sir." "Ok, I know." His words were sympathetic, and the maid continued. "Sir, she doesn't like to complain, but the cook and I have been worried about her recently. She doesn't move around as much as before, and she gets tired easily. I don't think she can take it anymore when the lady came again after you left."

Poirot stepped up the stairs and turned back again. "Miss? A lady came here yesterday evening?" "Yes, sir, she came as soon as you left. Her name is Miss Meredith." "Did she stay long?" "About an hour, sir." Poirot was silent for a minute or two, then said: "And then?" "The mistress is in bed. She is having dinner in bed and says she is tired." Poirot was silent for a while before he said, "Do you know if your mistress wrote a letter last night?" "You mean after she's in bed? I don't think so, sir." "But you're not sure?" "Sir, there were letters waiting to be mailed on the table in the hall. We always took the letters before we went to bed. But the letters were there during the day." "How many letters are there?" "Two or three—I'm not sure, sir. I think three." "Did you—or the cook—whoever sent those letters notice who they were addressed to? Don't be offended by my question. It's a very important thing." "I sent it myself, sir. I read the one above; it was addressed to Fortnam and Mason. I don't know the other two." The maid's tone was serious and sincere. "Are you sure there are no more than three?" "Yes, sir, I am sure of that." Poirot nodded seriously.He climbed the stairs again.Then say, "You know the mistress takes sleeping pills, right?" "Oh, yes, sir, the doctor prescribed it, Dr. Long." "Where are the sleeping pills?" "In the little cupboard in the mistress' bedroom." Poirot asked no more questions.He went upstairs with a serious expression on his face. On the balcony above, Bart greeted him.The Inspector looked concerned and distressed. "Mr. Poirot, I am glad you have come. I would like to introduce Dr. Davison to you." The branch medical examiner shook his hand.This person is tall and big, with a melancholy expression. "We were unlucky," he said. "An hour or two earlier might have saved her life." Bart said, "Well, I shouldn't say that openly, but I'm not upset. She's—oh, she's a lady. Don't know why she killed Mr. Shaitana, but she probably had a good reason." "In any case," said Poirot, "it is doubtful whether she will survive to stand trial. She is very ill." The medical examiner nodded in agreement. "I think you're right. Well, maybe it's for the best." He walks down the stairs.Bart followed. "Wait a minute, doctor." Poirot put his hand on the bedroom door and said in a low voice: "Can I go in?" Bart nodded back. "No problem, we're done." Poirot walked into the room and closed the door. He walked to the bed and looked down at the peaceful face of the deceased, deeply disturbed in his heart.The dead man went to the grave determined to save a girl from death and disgrace -- or was there a more sinister explanation for the matter? There must be evidence to check. He looked down suddenly to examine a dark bruise on the dead man's arm, then straightened up.There was a cat-like light in his eyes.If you have close friends, you will definitely see it.He quickly left the room and went downstairs.Bart and one of his men stand by the phone.The subordinate put down the receiver and said, "He hasn't returned yet, my lord." Bart said, "It's Desper. I've been trying to find him. Here's a letter postmarked by Chiersey for him." Poirot asked an irrelevant question. "Did Dr. Roberts have breakfast before he came here?" Bart was dumbfounded.He said, "No, I remember him saying he came without breakfast." "Then he must be home by now. We'll call him." "why?" Poirot, already busy dialing, went on: "Dr. Roberts? Is it Dr. Roberts? Yes, I am Poirot. Just one question. Do you recognize Mrs. Lorrimer's handwriting?" " "Mrs. Lorrimer's handwriting? I—no, I haven't seen her handwriting before." "Thank you." Poirot quickly put down the receiver. Bart glared at him. "Monsieur Poirot, what are your marvelous plans?" Poirot took him by the arm. "Listen, friend, Anne Meredith came a few minutes after I left this room yesterday. I saw her come up the steps, but I wasn't sure it was her at the time. As soon as Anne Meredith was gone, Mrs. Lorrimer went to bed. As far as the maid knew, she did not write. And for some reason—you will understand when I explain the visit—I don’t believe she wrote before I came. Okay, those three letters. When did she write them?" "After the servant is asleep?" Bart prompted. "Possibly, but there is another possibility—she didn't write the letter at all." Bart whistled. "My God, what do you mean—" The phone rang.The inspector picked up the receiver, listened for a minute, then turned to Bart. "My lord, Inspector O'Connor is calling from Despar's residence. Despar may have gone to Wallingford-on-Thames." Poirot grabbed Bart's arm. "Quick, my friend, we must go to Wallingford too. I tell you, I'm not at ease. It may not be over yet. I repeat, my friend, that lady is dangerous."