“This sandwich is absolutely divine, madame... or is it mademoiselle?”
“I am not sure,” said Bee. “I’m afraid French is not my strong suit. Does it depend on whether I am old or whether I am married? I’m not married—never have been—and Ifeelold sometimes, but Verity still calls me a silly girl.Maybe she is right. Maybe I am still young, relatively speaking.” She laughed.
“Mademoiselle, then.” Poirot smiled at her. “I do not believe I have ever before used the word ‘divine’ about a sandwich. This one is extraordinary. I shall have another. It has been too long since I last ate well.”
This led to a confused mock-altercation between Nurse Bee and Gerald Mackle, caused by the nurse’s mistaken assumption that the inspector was responsible for keeping Poirot fed and watered. Naturally, Mackle failed to provide effective clarification, and Poirot was too busy appreciating the victuals to offer any assistance.
Eventually, Mackle remembered that his purpose in coming here was not merely to stare at Zillah Hunt. “I was saying to Mr. Prarrow on the way here, ladies, that you and I are of one mind in the matter of Stanley Niven’s murder. I should like you both to tell our esteemed guest the same thing, if you don’t mind. He still needs some convincing that it must have been a member of the Niven family who did it.”
“Well—” Bee Haskins began, but had managed no more than one word before Mackle started to speak over her.
“Both of these ladies have told me right from the start, Mr. Prarrow, that it cannot have been anyone on Ward 6 that day who killed Stanley Niven.”
“It must have been,” Poirot contradicted him, stifling a sigh.
“I beg your pardon?” said Mackle.
“Death was caused by blows to the head—a murder method that requires the killer to be physically present.”
“Aha! Yes, of course. Quite right. There’s no putting one over on you, is there? What I meant is that the murderer cannot have been anyone who wassupposedto be on the ward or at the hospital that day. Tell him, ladies.”
Bee Haskins impressed Poirot with her first statement: “I will not say what must or must not have happened, because I simply do not know. I do, however, know all the doctors and nurses at St. Walstan’s. The porters, too, and the kitchen staff. Everybody. I have worked at that hospital for fifteen years, and there is not a person working there who is capable of committing a deliberate, cold-blooded murder. And I know most of the patients and their families too—not all, but most. Ward 6 is for long-term patients, and I get to know them all very well indeed.”
“They all love Aunt Bee,” said Zillah. “They confide in her.”
“I knew Mr. Niven, and was extremely fond of him. We all were.” Bee’s eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away. “I cannot believe anyone would want to... to do that to him. He was one of the loveliest people I have ever met. So kind and thoughtful and funny. The stories he told! He used to have the ward in fits.”
“Aunt Bee and I cannot imagine why anyone would want to kill him,” said Nurse Zillah. “There must have been a mistake of some kind. They must have meant to kill someone else.”
Poirot thought immediately of Vivienne Laurier’s fear, reported to us by Dr. Osgood, that Arnold Laurier would be the next victim. Was it possible, he wondered, that thekiller had believed it was Laurier he was killing at the hospital on 8 September and not Stanley Niven?
Inspector Mackle laughed. “You think our killer got the wrong victim, Miss Hunt? There is a problem with that theory: whoever he or she is—and personally I think it’s a he; I think it’s Clarence Niven—he has managed to evade capture for more than three months. He must be clever if he has done that, must he not? No clever man would get his chosen victim mixed up with a stranger he cares nothing about, now, would he?”
“You should not speak so publicly of your suspicion of Clarence Niven, who might be innocent,” Poirot told him.
“I must admit, inspector, that Zillah and I have been wondering...” Bee Haskins began tentatively. “You seem so very sure that the murderer must be one of Mr. Niven’s close relatives, and most probably his brother, Clarence. Is there a particular reason why you think so?”
“There is indeed,” said Mackle amiably. “His excessively elaborate alibi. Thirty-two people, might I remind you. Besides, it is always a close family member who turns out to be responsible.” He nodded, confident that he had covered all relevant points.
“I met Clarence Niven several times,” said Zillah Hunt, with an edge of defiance in her voice. “He seemed a gentle soul. He and his brother seemed to like each other a lot.”
“There was real love between those two men,” Nurse Bee agreed. She pressed her eyes shut, but not before some tears had escaped.
“An evil nature and a talent for acting—for deceiving—often go hand in hand,” said Mackle.
“I know the difference between a loving sibling and an unloving one,” Bee Haskins said sharply. “Monsieur Poirot, Inspector Mackle and I arenotof one mind about this murder. Not at all. I am sorry, inspector, but I completely disagree with you.”
“So do I,” said Nurse Zillah.
“Well, well.” Mackle scratched the side of his face. “Fancy that.”
Having eaten enough to keep him going for the time being, Poirot put down his plate and said, “Inspector, I should like to hear a thorough account of what happened on Ward 6 of St. Walstan’s hospital on 8 September. May I ask you, please, to omit your own theories. I wish to hear only the bald facts.”
“Of course,” said Mackle. “Well, if I might start with the basics, and at the risk of stating the obvious: Stanley Niven was murdered. Death was caused by two blows to his head with a vase that had been in his room, on his nightstand. Flowers and water had been inside it, but those were on the floor. The killer must have emptied the vase before using it to strike Mr. Niven—probably didn’t want to end up covered in water. Someone drenched to the skin might attract attention if they were sneaking out of a hospital ward.”
“So water and flowers were found on the floor,” said Poirot. “Were there fingerprints on the vase?”
“There were,” said the inspector. “Unfortunately, one of my men mislaid them before we had a chance to do anythinguseful with them. We realized our mistake soon enough but it was too late. The vase had been thoroughly scrubbed by then.”
