“Was anything missing?”
“The tube of morphine was missing.”
“Did you mention this loss?”
“I spoke of it to Nurse O’Brien, the nurse in charge of the patient.”
“This case was lying in the hall, where people were in the habit of passing to and fro?”
“Yes.”
Sir Samuel paused. Then he said:
“You knew the dead girl Mary Gerrard intimately?”
“Yes.”
“What was your opinion of her?”
“She was a very sweet girl—and a good girl.”
“Was she of a happy disposition?”
“Very happy.”
“She had no troubles that you know of?”
“No.”
“At the time of her death was there anything whatever to worry her or make her unhappy about the future?”
“Nothing.”
“She would have had no reason to have taken her own life?”
“No reason at all.”
It went on and on—the damning story. How Nurse Hopkins had accompanied Mary to the Lodge, the appearance of Elinor, her excitable manner, the invitation to sandwiches, the plate being handed first to Mary. Elinor’s suggestion that everything be washed up, and her further suggestion that Nurse Hopkins should come upstairs with her and assist in sorting out clothes.
There were frequent interruptions and objections from Sir Edwin Bulmer.
Elinor thought:
“Yes, it’s all true—and she believes it. She’s certain I did it. And every word she says is the truth—that’s what’s so horrible. It’s all true.”
Once more, as she looked across the court, she saw the face of Hercule Poirot regarding her thoughtfully—almost kindly. Seeing her with too much knowledge….
The piece of cardboard with the scrap of label pasted on to it was handed to the witness.
“Do you know what this is?”
“It’s a bit of a label.”
“Can you tell the jury what label?”
“Yes—it’s a part of a label off a tube of hypodermic tablets. Morphine tablets half grain—like the one I lost.”
“You are sure of that?”
“Of course I’m sure. It’s off my tube.”
The judge said:
“Is there any special mark on it by which you can identify it as the label of the tube you lost?”
“No, my lord, but it must be the same.”
“Actually, all you can say is that it is exactly similar?”
“Well, yes, that’s what I mean.”
The court adjourned.
Two
It was another day.
Sir Edwin Bulmer was on his feet cross-examining. He was not at all bland now. He said sharply:
“This attaché case we’ve heard so much about. On June 28th it was left in the main hall of Hunterbury all night?”
Nurse Hopkins agreed:
“Yes.”
“Rather a careless thing to do, wasn’t it?”
Nurse Hopkins flushed.
“Yes, I suppose it was.”
“Are you in the habit of leaving dangerous drugs lying about where anyone could get at ’em?”
“No, of course not.”
“Oh! you’re not? But you did it on this occasion?”
“Yes.”
“And it’s a fact, isn’t it, that anybody in the house could have got at that morphia if they’d wanted to?”
“I suppose so.”
“No suppose about it. It is so, isn’t it?”
“Well—yes.”
“It wasn’t only Miss Carlisle who could have got at it? Any of the servants could. Or Dr. Lord. Or Mr. Roderick Welman. Or Nurse O’Brien. Or Mary Gerrard herself.”
“I suppose so—yes.”
“It is so, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Was anyone aware you’d got morphia in that case?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, did you talk about it to anyone?”
“No.”
“So, as a matter of fact, Miss Carlisle couldn’t have known that there was any morphia there?”
“She might have looked to see.”
“That’s very unlikely, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure.”
“There were people who’d be more likely to know about the morphia than Miss Carlisle. Dr. Lord, for instance. He’d know. You were administering this morphia under his orders, weren’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Mary Gerrard knew you had it there, too?”
“No, she didn’t.”
“She was often in your cottage, wasn’t she?”
“Not very often.”
“I suggest to you that she was there very frequently, and that she, of all the people in the house, would be the most likely to guess that there was morphia in your case.”
“I don’t agree.”
Sir Edwin paused a minute.
“You told Nurse O’Brien in the morning that the morphia was missing?”
“Yes.”
“I put it to you that what you really said was: ‘I have left the morphia at home. I shall have to go back for it.’”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You didn’t suggest that the morphia had been left on the mantelpiece in your cottage?”
“Well, when I couldn’t find it I thought that must have been what had happened.”
“In fact, you didn’t really know what you’d done with it!”
“Yes, I did. I put it in the case.”
“Then why did you suggest on the morning of June 29th that you had left it at home?”
“Because I thought I might have done.”
“I put it to you that you’re a very careless woman.”
“That’s not true.”
“You make rather inaccurate statements sometimes, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t. I’m very careful what I say.”
“Did you make a remark about a prick from a rose tree on July 27th—the day of Mary Gerrard’s death?”
“I don’t see what that’s got to do with it!”
The judge said:
“Is that relevant, Sir Edwin?”
“Yes, my lord, it is an essential part of the defence, and I intend to call witnesses to prove that that statement was a lie.”
He resumed:
“Do you still say you pricked your wrist on a rose tree on July 27th?”
“Yes, I did.”
Nurse Hopkins looked defiant.
“When did you do that?”
“Just before leaving the Lodge and coming up to the house on the morning of July 27th.”
Sir Edwin said sceptically:
“And what rose tree was this?”
“A climbing one just outside the Lodge, with pink flowers.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“I’m quite sure.”
Sir Edwin paused and then asked:
“You persist in saying the morphia was in the attaché case when you came to Hunterbury on June 28th?”
“I do. I had it with me.”
“Supposing that presently Nurse O’Brien goes into the box and swears that you said you had probably left it at home?”
“It was in my case. I’m sure of it.”
Sir Edwin sighed.
“You didn’t feel at all uneasy about the disappearance of the morphia?”
“Not—uneasy—no.”
“Oh, so you were quite at ease, notwithstanding the fact that a large quantity of a dangerous drug had disappeared?”
“I didn’t think at the time anyone had taken it.”
“I see. You just couldn’t remember for the moment what you had done with it?”
“Not at all. It was in the case.”
“Twenty half grain tablets—that is, ten grains of morphia. Enough to kill several people, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“But you are no
t uneasy—and you don’t even report the loss officially?”
“I thought it was all right.”
“I put it to you that if the morphia had really disappeared the way it did you would have been bound, as a conscientious person, to report the loss officially.”
Nurse Hopkins, very red in the face, said:
“Well, I didn’t.”
“That was surely a piece of criminal carelessness on your part? You don’t seem to take your responsibilities very seriously. Did you often mislay these dangerous drugs?”
“It never happened before.”
It went on for some minutes. Nurse Hopkins, flustered, red in the face, contradicting herself…an easy prey to Sir Edwin’s skill.
“Is it a fact that on Thursday, July 6th, the dead girl, Mary Gerrard, made a will?”
“She did.”
“Why did she do that?”
“Because she thought it was the proper thing to do. And so it was.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t because she was depressed and uncertain about her future?”
“Nonsense.”
“It showed, though, that the idea of death was present in her mind—that she was brooding on the subject.”
“Not at all. She just thought it was the proper thing to do.”
“Is this the will? Signed by Mary Gerrard, witnessed by Emily Biggs and Roger Wade, confectioners’ assistants, and leaving everything of which she died possessed to Mary Riley, sister of Eliza Riley?”
“That’s right.”
It was handed to the jury.
“To your knowledge, had Mary Gerrard any property to leave?”
“Not then, she hadn’t.”
“But she was shortly going to have?”
“Yes.”
“Is it not a fact that a considerable sum of money—two thousand pounds—was being given to Mary by Miss Carlisle?”
“Yes.”
“There was no compulsion on Miss Carlisle to do this? It was entirely a generous impulse on her part?”
“She did it of her own free will, yes.”
“But surely, if she had hated Mary Gerrard, as is suggested, she would not of her own free will have handed over to her a large sum of money.”
“That’s as may be.”
“What do you mean by that answer?”
“I don’t mean anything.”
“Exactly. Now, had you heard any local gossip about Mary Gerrard and Mr. Roderick Welman?”
“He was sweet on her.”
“Have you any evidence of that?”
“I just knew it, that’s all.”
“Oh—you ‘just knew it.’ That’s not very convincing to the jury, I’m afraid. Did you say on one occasion Mary would have nothing to do with him because he was engaged to Miss Elinor and she said the same to him in London?”
“That’s what she told me.”
Sir Samuel Attenbury re-examined:
“When Mary Gerrard was discussing with you the wording of this will, did the accused look in through the window?”
“Yes, she did.”
“What did she say?”
“She said, ‘So you’re making your will, Mary. That’s funny.’ And she laughed. Laughed and laughed. And it’s my opinion,” said the witness viciously, “that it was at that moment the idea came into her head. The idea of making away with the girl! She’d murder in her heart that very minute.”
The judge spoke sharply:
“Confine yourself to answering the questions that are asked you. The last part of that answer is to be struck out….”
Elinor thought:
“How queer… When anyone says what’s true, they strike it out….”
She wanted to laugh hysterically.
II
Nurse O’Brien was in the box.
“On the morning of June 29th did Nurse Hopkins make a statement to you?”
“Yes. She said she had a tube of morphine hydrochloride missing from her case.”
“What did you do?”
“I helped her to hunt for it.”
“But you could not find it?”
“No.”
“To your knowledge, was the case left overnight in the hall?”
“It was.”
“Mr. Welman and the accused were both staying in the house at the time of Mrs. Welman’s death—that is, on June 28th to 29th?”
“Yes.”
“Will you tell us of an incident that occurred on June 29th—the day after Mrs. Welman’s death?”
“I saw Mr. Roderick Welman with Mary Gerrard. He was telling her he loved her, and he tried to kiss her.”
“He was at the time engaged to the accused?”
“Yes.”
“What happened next?”
“Mary told him to think shame of himself, and him engaged to Miss Elinor!”
“In your opinion, what was the feeling of the accused towards Mary Gerrard?”
“She hated her. She would look after her as though she’d like to destroy her.”
Sir Edwin jumped up.
Elinor thought: “Why do they wrangle about it? What does it matter?”
Sir Edwin Bulmer cross-examined.
“Is it not a fact that Nurse Hopkins said she thought she had left the morphia at home?”
“Well, you see, it was this way: After—”
“Kindly answer my question. Did she not say that she had probably left the morphia at home?”
“Yes.”
“She was not really worried at the time about it?”
“No, not then.”
“Because she thought she had left it at home. So naturally she was not uneasy.”
“She couldn’t imagine anyone taking it.”
“Exactly. It wasn’t till after Mary Gerrard’s death from morphia that her imagination got to work.”
The judge interrupted:
“I think, Sir Edwin, that you have already been over that point with the former witness.”
“As your lordship pleases.”
“Now, regarding the attitude of the accused to Mary Gerrard, there was no quarrel between them at any time?”
“No quarrel, no.”
“Miss Carlisle was always quite pleasant to the girl?”
“Yes. ’Twas the way she looked at her.”
“Yes—yes—yes. But we can’t go by that sort of thing. You’re Irish, I think?”
“I am that.”
“And the Irish have rather a vivid imagination, haven’t they?”
Nurse O’Brien cried excitedly:
“Every word I’ve told you is the truth.”
III
Mr. Abbott, the grocer, in the box. Flustered—unsure of himself (slightly thrilled, though, at his importance). His evidence was short. The purchase of two pots of fish paste. The accused had said, “There’s a lot of food poisoning with fish paste.” She had seemed excited and queer.
No cross-examination.
Three
Opening speech for the Defence:
“Gentlemen of the Jury, I might, if I like, submit to you that there is no case against the accused. The onus of proof is on the Prosecution, and so far, in my opinion—and, I have no doubt, yours—they have proved exactly nothing at all! The Prosecution avers that Elinor Carlisle, having obtained possession of morphine (which everyone else in the house had had equal opportunity of purloining, and as to which there exists considerable doubt whether it was ever in the house at all), proceeds to poison Mary Gerrard. Here the Prosecution has relied solely on opportunity. It has sought to prove motive, but I submit that that is just what it has not been able to do. For, members of the jury, there is no motive! The Prosecution has spoken of a broken engagement. I ask you—a broken engagement! If a broken engagement is a cause for murder, why are we not having murders committed every day? And this engagement, mark you, was not an affair of desperate passion, it was an engagement entered into mainly for family reasons. Miss Carlisle and Mr. Welman had grown up together; they had
always been fond of each other, and gradually they drifted into a warmer attachment; but I intend to prove to you it was at best a very lukewarm affair.”
(Oh Roddy—Roddy. A lukewarm affair?)
“Moreover, this engagement was broken off, not by Mr. Welman—but by the prisoner. I submit to you that the engagement between Elinor Carlisle and Roderick Welman was entered into mainly to please old Mrs. Welman. When she died, both parties realized that their feelings were not strong enough to justify them in entering upon matrimony. They remained, however, good friends. Moreover, Elinor Carlisle, who had inherited her aunt’s fortune, in the kindliness of her nature, was planning to settle a considerable sum of money on Mary Gerrard. And this is the girl she is accused of poisoning! The thing is farcical.
“The only thing that there is against Elinor Carlisle is the circumstances under which the poisoning took place.
“The Prosecution has said in effect:
“No one but Elinor Carlisle could have killed Mary Gerrard. Therefore they have had to search about for a possible motive. But, as I have said to you, they have been unable to find any motive because there was none.
“Now, is it true that no one but Elinor Carlisle could have killed Mary Gerrard? No, it is not. There is the possibility that Mary Gerrard committed suicide. There is the possibility that someone tampered with the sandwiches while Elinor Carlisle was out of the house at the Lodge. There is a third possibility. It is a fundamental law of evidence that if it can be shown that there is an alternative theory which is possible and consistent with the evidence, the accused must be acquitted. I propose to show you that there was another person who had not only an equal opportunity to poison Mary Gerrard, but who had a far better motive for doing so. I propose to call evidence to show you that there was another person who had access to the morphine, and who had a very good motive for killing Mary Gerrard, and I can show that that person had an equally good opportunity of doing so. I submit to you that no jury in the world will convict this woman of murder when there is no evidence against her except that of opportunity, and when it can be shown that there is not only evidence of opportunity against another person, but an overwhelming motive. I shall also call witness to prove that there has been deliberate perjury on the part of one of the witnesses for the Crown. But first I will call the prisoner, that she may tell you her own story, and that you may see for yourself how entirely unfounded the charges against her are.”