Агата Кристи - Dumb Witness / Безмолвный свидетель. Книга для чтения на английском языке

‘Miss Peabody—yes.’ Poirot sounded reflective. ‘I rather thought—’

Dr Grainger cut in angrily.

‘Now then, sir, I’m waiting for your explanation!’

‘Certainly. My explanation is very simple. Attempted murder .’

‘What? What’s that?’

Poirot said quietly:

‘Miss Arundell had a fall, did she not? A fall down the stairs shortly before her death?’

‘Yes, what of it? She slipped on that damned dog’s ball.’

Poirot shook his head.

‘No, Doctor, she did not . A thread was fastened across the top of the stairs so as to trip her up.’

Dr Grainger stared.

‘Then why didn’t she tell me so?’ he demanded. ‘Never said a word to me about it.’

‘That is perhaps understandable—if it were a member of her own family who placed that thread there!’

‘H’m—I see.’ Grainger cast a sharp glance [495] to cast a glance – бросить быстрый взгляд at Poirot, then threw himself [496] to throw oneself – бросаться into a chair. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘How did you come to be mixed up in this affair?’

‘Miss Arundell wrote to me, stressing the utmost secrecy. Unfortunately the letter was delayed.’

Poirot proceeded to give certain carefully-edited details and explained the finding of the nail driven into the skirting-board.

The doctor listened with a grave face. His anger had abated.

‘You can comprehend my position was a difficult one,’ Poirot finished. ‘I was employed, you see, by a dead woman. But I counted the obligation none the less strong for that.’

Dr Grainger’s brows were drawn together in thought.

‘And you’ve no idea who it was stretched that thread across the head of the stairs?’ he asked.

‘I have no evidence as to who it was. I will not say I have no idea .’

‘It’s a nasty story,’ said Grainger, his face grim.

‘Yes. You can understand, can you not, that to begin with I was uncertain whether there had or had not been a sequel?’

‘Eh? What’s that?’

‘To all intents and purposes Miss Arundell died a natural death, but could one be sure of that? There had been one attempt on her life. How could I be sure that there had not been a second? And this time a successful one!’

Grainger nodded thoughtfully.

‘I suppose you are sure , Dr Grainger—please do not get angry—that Miss Arundell’s death was a natural one? I have come across certain evidence today—’

He detailed the conversation he had had with old Angus, Charles Arundell’s interest in the weed-killer, and finally the old man’s surprise at the emptiness of the tin.

Grainger listened with keen attention. When Poirot had finished he said, quietly:

‘I see your point. [497] I see your point. – Я понимаю, к чему вы клоните. Many a case of arsenical poisoning has been diagnosed as acute gastroenteritis and a certificate given—especially when there are no suspicious contributing circumstances. In any case, arsenical poisoning presents certain difficulties—it has so many different forms. It may be acute, subacute [498] acute, subacute – (мед.) острое, подострое (отравление) , nervous or chronic. There may be vomiting and abdominal pain—these symptoms may be entirely absent—the person may fall suddenly to the ground and expire shortly afterwards—there may be narcotism and paralysis. The symptoms vary widely.’

Poirot said:

‘Eh bien, taking the facts into account [499] to take into account – принимать во внимание , what is your opinion?’

Dr Grainger was silent for a minute or two. Then he said slowly:

‘Taking everything into account, and without any bias [500] without bias – объективно whatever, I am of the opinion that no form of arsenical poisoning could account for the symptoms in Miss Arundell’s case. She died, I am quite convinced, of yellow atrophy of the liver [501] yellow atrophy of the liver – (мед.) острая желтая атрофия печени (в результате воздействия токсических веществ) . I have, as you know, attended her for many years, and she has suffered previously from attacks similar to that which caused her death. That is my considered opinion [502] considered opinion – твердое мнение , M. Poirot.’

And there, perforce, the matter had to rest.

It seemed rather an anti-climax when, somewhat apologetically, Poirot produced the package of Liver Capsules he had bought at the chemists.

‘Miss Arundell took these, I believe?’ he said. ‘I suppose they could not be injurious in any way?’

‘That stuff? No harm at all. Aloes —podophyllin—all quite mild and harmless,’ said Grainger. ‘She liked trying the stuff. I didn’t mind.’

He got up.

‘You dispensed certain medicines for her yourself?’ asked Poirot.

‘Yes—a mild liver pill to be taken after food.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘She could have taken a boxful without hurting herself. I’m not given to poisoning my patients, M. Poirot.’

Then, with a smile, he shook hands with us both and departed.

Poirot undid the package he had purchased at the chemists. The medicament consisted of transparent capsules, three-quarters full of dark brown powder.

‘They look like a seasick remedy I once took,’ I remarked.

Poirot opened a capsule, examined its contents and tasted it gingerly with his tongue. He made a grimace.

‘Well,’ I said, throwing myself back in my chair and yawning, ‘everything seems harmless enough. Dr Loughbarrow’s specialities, and Dr Grainger’s pills! And Dr Grainger seems definitely to negative the arsenic theory. Are you convinced at last, my stubborn Poirot?’

‘It is true that I am pig-headed—that is your expression, I think?—Yes, definitely I have the head of the pig,’ said my friend, meditatively.

‘Then, in spite of having the chemist, the nurse and the doctor, against you, you still think that Miss Arundell was murdered?’

Poirot said, quietly:

‘That is what I believe. No—more than believe. I am sure of it, Hastings.’

‘There’s one way of proving it, I suppose,’ I said slowly. ‘Exhumation.’

Poirot nodded.

‘Is that the next step?’

‘My friend, I have to go carefully.’

‘Why?’

‘Because,’ his voice dropped, ‘I am afraid of a second tragedy.’

‘You mean—?’

‘I am afraid, Hastings, I am afraid. Let us leave it at that.’

On the following morning a note arrived by hand. It was in a rather weak, uncertain handwriting slanting very much uphill.

Dear M. Poirot,

I hear from Ellen that you were at Littlegreen House yesterday. I shall be much obliged if you would call and see me some time today.

Yours truly,

Wilhelmina Lawson.

‘So she’s down here,’ I remarked.

‘Yes.’

‘Why has she come, I wonder?’

Poirot smiled.

‘I do not suppose there is any sinister reason. After all, the house belongs to her.’

‘Yes, that’s true, of course. You know, Poirot, that’s the worst of this game of ours. Every single little thing that anyone does is open to the most sinister constructions.’

‘It is true that I myself have enjoined upon you the motto, “suspect everyone.”’

‘Are you still in that state yourself?’