“Vivienne, Madeline and Douglas Laurier,” Zillah Hunt told Poirot.
“Yes, but I didn’t see them clearly,” said Nurse Bee. “I only registered them as people in the background. The main thing, the thing I noticed immediately, was that Zillah looked ill at ease. And Jonathan and Janet Laurier looked angry and appeared to be speaking to Zillah in a harsh and unfriendly manner. And the poor love was looking more and more desperate and trapped.”
“That was exactly how I felt,” Nurse Zillah told Poirot. “I spotted Aunt Bee, too, standing by the window with Professor Burnett, and I thought, ‘If only she were here. She would know what to do.’ That Jonathan Laurier is a horrible man. He kept shouting at me, and his wife was echoing everything he said, but sounding more scared than angry. I’ve met that type of wife before: scared the husband will turn his fury on her if she doesn’t make a show of being just as angry as him. And then the other couple, Douglas Laurier and his wife... well, it was the strangest thing. They started to list all the character flaws of Jonathan and Janet in such minute detail. It was horrible. They didn’t once raise their voices, but what they said came across as all the more vicious for being spoken in that quiet, dry way, as if these were all obvious facts that everyone sensible already knew.”
Inspector Mackle leaned over and patted Nurse Zillah’s hand. “Captivating though this is, my dear, it has no connection with the crime we are trying to solve: the murder of Stanley Niven. He and the Lauriers did not know each other. There is no connection—”
“How can you be sure of that?” Poirot asked him.
“Why, they all say so—all the Lauriers and all the Nivens. And I didn’t take their word for it, I will have you know. I looked into it myself and found no connection between the two families.”
“Nurse Hunt, please continue,” said Poirot.
“Well, Aunt Bee could tell from across the courtyard that I was stuck in a room with some horrid people—not Arnold’s wife, mind. She seemed kind and gentle, and as upset by it all as I was.”
“I wanted to hurry back to Ward 6 and help Zillah, but I was accompanying Dr. Wall on his rounds,” Bee Haskins added. “I thought, ‘I’ll just stand here at the window with Professor Burnett and keep an eye on things for a while.’ The shouting seemed to subside a little, and I saw Zillah recover some of her composure—”
“They ran out of steam in the end, once they had said every wounding thing they could think of,” said Zillah. “The argument limped on for a bit longer, then stopped, then started again—but only because no one wanted to admit defeat. You could tell that all the vim had gone out of it. I knew the worst was over when Vivienne Laurier stopped crying. I put on my best cheery, practical face and started to tell her all about St. Walstan’s. Didn’t look at any of the others—only at her, for the rest of the time we were in the room together.”
“When I saw Zillah perk up, I decided it was safe to move away from Professor Burnett’s window,” said Nurse Bee. “But he stayed where he was and would not be talkedback into his bed. And now, having set the scene for you, Monsieur Poirot, I will come to the point: I am certain—could not be more so—that the door of that room on Ward 6, Arnold Laurier’s room, wasopenwhile the worst of the row was taking place.”
“Whereas I am positive that it was shut,” said the younger nurse. “Aunt Bee and I have discussed it endlessly, as you can imagine. Neither of us can be persuaded out of our opinion.”
“Did you see anybody or anything in Stanley Niven’s room?” Poirot asked Bee Haskins.
She shook her head. “I’m afraid my attention was entirely focused on Zillah and the Lauriers. But I believe Professor Burnett saw something. I think that’s why he wouldn’t abandon his vigil at the window. Before Stanley Niven was killed, Professor Burnett had a particular phrase that he used to repeat endlessly. It was the only thing any of us at St. Walstan’s ever heard him say. His family warned us when he was first admitted that he would say nothing else. Well, that has turned out to be untrue! But I mustn’t get ahead of myself. The phrase is a quotation from the Bible: ‘Son of man has no place to lay his head.’ The professor would normally say it at least once or twice if you looked in on him, and healwayssaid it when he first saw you, as a sort of greeting. On the afternoon of 8 September, however, he did not. He said nothing when Dr. Wall and I entered his room—made no sound at all. He was staring out of the window, fixated on the courtyard or on something on the other side. I assumed it was the Laurier family drama thathad so transfixed him; it was not audible to us on Ward 7, but it was certainly dramatic to watch it unfold even without sound. Now, though, I don’t think that was what the professor was watching. I think he witnessed the murder of Stanley Niven. For somebody to lift a heavy vase in the air, more than once... why, he could easily have seen it.”
“Oui,” Poirot agreed. “It is not a subtle way to kill a person. In your opinion, could a woman of average strength have lifted and... wielded this vase easily?”
“Oh yes,” said Nurse Bee. “We nurses do it all the time.”
“And the professor’s room is directly opposite the one in which Monsieur Niven was killed?”
“Not quite but almost. Monsieur Poirot, I believe with all my heart and soul that Professor Burnett knows who the killer is.The tragedy is, he cannot tell us.”
“Mr. Prarrow, you are welcome to speak to the professor yourself,” said Inspector Mackle. “You try getting the name of a murderer out of a man capable only of repeating the same five words all day every day. Besides, he does not know the names of Stanley Niven’s relatives, does he? So he can hardly say, ‘It was the brother, Clarence, who did it.’”
“Ten words,” said Zillah Hunt.
“Pardon, my dear?” Mackle turned to face her.
“‘Son of man has no place to lay his head.’ It’s ten words,” said the young nurse. “And those words have changed, Monsieur Poirot, since Stanley Niven was killed. Quite often now, Professor Burnett says ‘hurt’ instead of ‘lay’: ‘Son of man has no place tohurthis head.’ We never heard that variation before Stanley Niven’s murder. Never.”
“And he started to say it that same day,” said Nurse Bee. “He said it for the first time to the Laurier family, when they and Zillah came out of Arnold’s room. I had left Ward 6 by then, so I didn’t see it myself, but Zillah was there. She heard it.”
“He became almost hysterical,” said Zillah. “And now he says it all the time: ‘To hurt his head! To hurt his head!’”
“He says it to me at least twice a day,” Bee Haskins said. “Sometimes he yells it while pointing at me. It’s horrible.”
“Most interesting,” said Poirot. “Tell me, would the killer have been covered in Monsieur Niven’s blood after committing the crime?”
Inspector Mackle shook his head. “There was some on the vase and on Mr. Niven himself, obviously, but—”
The sound of a telephone ringing made everyone jump, so immersed were they in the conversation.
Zillah Hunt excused herself and left the drawing room. A few moments later, she returned, wearing an anxious expression. “Oh, dear,” she said. “I do hope...”
“What is it, mademoiselle? Tell me at once.”
