were definitely planning to do away with

Mrs. Oldfield."

"But you don't think so, yourself?"

"No — no, of course not. ..."

Poirot looked at her searchingly. He

said:

"Nurse Harrison, is there something

more that you know ? Something that you

haven't told me ?"

She flushed and said violently:

''N0. No. Certainly not. What could

there be ?"

cc! do not know. But I thought that

there might be — something ?"

She shook her head. The old troubled

look had come back.

Hercule Poirot said: "It is possible that

the Home Office may order an exhumation

ofMrs.Oldfield'sbody!"

"Oh no!" Nurse Harrison was horrified.

"What a horrible thing!"

"You think it would be a pity ?"

"I think it would be dreadful} Think of

the talk it would create! It would be

84

terrible—quite terrible for poor Doctor

Oldfield.3'

"You don't think that it might really

be a good thing for him ?"

"How do you mean ?33

Poirot said: "If he is innocent—his

innocence will be proved."

He broke off. He watched the thought

take root in Nurse Harrison's mind, saw

her frown perplexedly, and then saw her

brow clear.

She took a deep breath and looked at

him.

"I hadn't thought of that,33 she said

simply. "Of course, it is the only thing to

be done."

There were a series of thumps on the

floor overhead. Nurse Harrison jumped

up.

"It's my old lady. Miss Bristow. She's

woken up from her rest. I must go and get

her comfortable before her tea is brought

to her and I go out for my walk. Yes, M.

Poirot, I think you are quite right. An

autopsy will settle the business once for

all. It will scotch the whole thing and all

these dreadful rumours against poor Doctor

Oldfield will die down.33

85

She shook hands and hurried out of the

room.

V

Hercule Poirot walked along to the post

office and put through a call to London.

The voice at the other end was petulant.

"Must you go nosing out these things,

my dear Poirot ? Are you sure it's a case for

us? You know what these country town

rumours usually amount to — just nothing

at all."

"This," said Hercule Poirot, "is a

special case."

"Oh well — if you say so. You have such

a tiresome habit of being right. But if it's

all a mare's nest we shan't be pleased with

you, you know."

Hercule Poirot smiled to himself. He

murmured:

"No, / shall be the one who is pleased."

"What's that you say ? Can't hear."

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

He rang off.

Emerging into the post office he leaned

across the counter. He said in his most

engaging tones:

"Can you by any chance tell me,

86

Madame, where the maid who was formerly

with Doctor Oldfield --Beatrice her

Christian name was --now resides ?"

"Beatrice King? She's had two places

since then. She's with Mrs. Marley over

the Bank now.3'

Poirot thanked her, bought two postcards, a book of stamps and a piece of local pottery. During the purchase, he contrived