“Am I?”
“Yes. You are to go back to Frellingsloe House, put yourself to bed at once and sleep for at least eight hours. You look like a ghost.”
“Nurse,s’il vous plaît...”
“What is it, Monsieur Poirot?”
“I must speak to Catchpool alone for a few moments before he leaves.”
“Very well. I shall give you two minutes. No more.”
Poirot and I agreed to her terms. As soon as she had left the room, closing the door behind her, he said, “You must contact Scotland Yard,mon ami. Who is the person there that you trust most?”
“Sergeant James Wight,” I said without hesitation.
“Then ask him to do this for me as a matter of urgency: ask him to find out what is the thing that connects the Lauriers, or the Surteeses, to the Niven family. For some people living at Frellingsloe House, it might be true that Stanley Niven was a complete stranger—but it cannot be true for all.”
“You could be right,” I said. I reminded him that Vivienne Laurier had told me with great authority that the Nivens were a happy family who all loved each other. She had stated it as a fact, as if she had personal knowledge of them, then claimed to know it only because Dr. Osgood had told her.
“Ask Sergeant Wight also to investigate a possible connection between the Niven family and the two lodgers: Osgood and Rawcliffe,” Poirot said. “And to speak to Stanley Niven’s family—his wife, son and daughter, and his brother Clarence. Tell him to ask the Nivens about Dr. Osgood. Did they, or did Stanley Niven, encounter any problems at St. Walstan’s hospital in which Dr. Osgood played a part? And have Sergeant Wight check again all of the Nivens’ alibis.”
I considered stating the obvious—that James Wight hada job at Scotland Yard to keep him busy—but decided against it. Wight was a stellar chap; he would manage it all somehow.
“Then I need you to return to Frellingsloe House, Catchpool, to perform a task of equal importance: interview everybody. This time, it will not be the friendly and casual chatter around the Christmas trees—pas du tout! This time, they must be in no doubt that each and every one of them is suspected of murder. Ask the five Lauriers who came to the hospital on 8 September what precisely happened from the moment they walked into Arnold Laurier’s room until the moment they left it. Then we will compare their accounts—for that is where the answer lies, I think. As for the other residents of Frellingsloe House, the ones not at the hospital that day—Arnold Laurier himself, Felix Rawcliffe, Enid and Terence Surtees—you will ask them where they were between two o’clock and ten minutes before three that afternoon. Was each one of them alone in a different room of Frellingsloe House during those fifty minutes, or were they all together in the same room? This we need to know! I do not believe it is a question Inspector Mackle bothered to ask. He seems happy to assume that them being at Frelly together at the relevant time gives them all alibis—but what does being together in a house mean? If Terence Surtees, Felix Rawcliffe and Arnold Laurier were all in their bedrooms, would any of them have known if Enid Surtees had left the kitchen and gone to St. Walstan’s to commit a murder?”
“No, they wouldn’t,” I said. I certainly assumed Enidwas always in the kitchen; they might well have done the same. “Is that all, or is there anything else you’d like me to ask?”
“Make Felix Rawcliffe and Vivienne Laurier tell you what their secret conversation was about, the one you overheard on our first night at the house.”
“I think I’ve worked out the answer to that,” I told him.
The door opened. Nurse Olga Woodruff gave us a stern look. “I am sure the two of you must be finished your little chat by now.”
“Oui, oui. Thank you, nurse.” Poirot closed his eyes. Then he opened them and said, “Remember, Catchpool: do not be discouraged by lies.”
“Get some proper rest, Poirot. I will root out all the liars—”
“You misunderstand my meaning. I was referring to the biggest liars of all: your own thoughts and assumptions. Do not believe them. Interrogate and doubt them as you would a murder suspect. And never tell yourself you are confused.”
“Even if I am?”
“You need never be in that most unfortunate condition, and it will not help you to believe that you are. Confusion is the mental state of not being able to think in an orderly fashion. It is a different problem from the one you will have: a temporary inability to make all of the apparent facts fit together. Your clarity of thought is what will enable you to see that the pieces you have so far do not yet form a coherent picture. This conclusion will lead you to deducethat there remain other pieces to be found, and you will pursue those missing facts.”
“I shall indeed,” I promised.
Less than five seconds later, Poirot was fast asleep.
“How certain are you that Poirot’s sickness is not the result of an attempt on his life?” I asked Nurse Olga as we walked together along the ward corridor a few moments later.
“Quite certain,” she said. “Put that idea out of your mind.”
“May I ask you a question about 8 September? Where were you, and what were you doing between twenty past and half an hour past two?”
“In and out of this ward,” she said. “Working. There is no time to do anything else at St. Walstan’s.”
“Do you happen to recall what Dr. Osgood was doing during those ten minutes?”
“Exactly the same as me. Wherever he went, I went. Ward 5, Ward 4, back to Ward 6. If you are asking about those very particular ten minutes—?”
