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  "That's right. Very nasty bit of work. Point is,

  who gave it to her? It must have been administered

  very shortly before death. First idea was it was

  given to her in her food at dinner--but, frankly,

  that seems to be a washout. They had artichoke

  soup, served from a tureen, fish pie and apple

  tart."

  "'They' being?"

  "Miss Barrowby, Mr. Delafontaine and Mrs.

  Delafontaine. Miss Barrowby had a kind of nurse-attendant--a

  half Russian girl--but she didn't eat

  with the family. She had the remains as they came

  out from the dining room. There's a maid, but it

  was her night out. She left the soup on the stove

  and the fish pie in the oven, and the apple tart was

  cold. All hree of them ate the same thing--and,

  apart from that, I don't think you could get

  strychnine down anyone's throat that way. Stuff's

  64

  Agatha Christie

  merit," he said. "There is a mouse in this hole!

  What move must the cat make now?"

  His decision took him to the nearest post office.

  Here he put through a couple of telephone calls.

  The result seemed to be satisfactory. He bent his

  steps to Charman's Green police station, where he

  inquired for Inspector Sims.

  Inspector Sims was a big, burly man with a

  hearty manner. "M. Poirot?" he inquired. "I

  thought so. I've just this minute had a telephone

  call through from the chief constable about you.

  He said you'd be dropping in. Come into my of-rice."

  The door shut, the inspector waved Poirot to

  one chair, settled himself in another, and turned a

  gaze of acute inquiry upon his visitor.

  "You're very quick onto the mark, M. Poirot.

  Come to see us about this Rosebank case almost

  before we know it is a case. What put you onto

  it?"

  Poirot drew out the letter he had received and

  handed it to the inspector. The latter read it with

  some interest.

  "Interesting," he said. "The trouble is, it might

  mean so many things. Pity she couldn't have been

  a little more explicit. It would have helped Us

  now."

  "Or there might have been no need for help."

  "You mean?"

  "She might have been alive."

  "You go as far as that, do you? H'm--I'm not

  sure you're wrong."

  "I pray of you, inspector, recount to me the

  facts. I know nothing at all."

  HOW DOES YOUR GARDEN GROW?

  65

  "That's easily done. Old lady was taken bad

  after dinner on Tuesday night. Very alarming.

  Convulsions--spasms--what not. They sent for

  the doctor. By the time he arrived she was dead.

  Idea was she'd died of a fit. Well, he didn't much

  like the look of things. He hemmed and hawed

  and put it with a bit of soft sawder, but he made it

  clear that he couldn't give a death certificate. And

  as far as the family go, that's where the matter

  stands. They're awaiting the result of the postmortem.

  We've got a bit farther. The doctor gave

  us the tip right away--he and the police surgeon

  did the autopsy together--and the result is in no

  doubt whatever. The old lady died of a large dose

  of strychnine."

  "Aha!"

  "That's right. Very nasty bit of work. Point is,

  who gave it to her? It must have been administered

  very shortly before death. First idea was it was

  given to her in her food at dinner--but, frankly,

  that seems to be a washout. They had artichoke

  soup, served from a tureen, fish pie and apple

  tart."

  "'They' being?"

  "Miss Barrowby, Mr. Delafontaine and Mrs.

  Delafontaine. Miss Barrowby had a kind of nurse-attendant--a

  half Russian girl--but she didn't eat

  with the family. She had the remains as they came out from the dining room. There's a maid, but it

  was her night out. She left the soup on the stove

  and the fish pie in the oven, and the apple tart was

  cold. All three of them ate the same thing--and,

  apart from that, I don't think you could get

  strychnine down anyone's throat that way. Stuff's

  66

  Agatha Christie

  as bitter as gall. The doctor told me you could

  taste it in a solution of one in a thousand, or something

  like that."

  "Coffee?"

  "Coffee's more like it, but the old lady never

  took coffee."

  "I see your point. Yes, it seems an insuperable

  difficulty. What did she drink at the meal?"

  "Water."

  "Worse and worse."

  '!Bit of a teaser, isn't it?"

  "She had money, the old lady?"

  "Very well to do, I imagine. Of course, we

  haven't got exact details yet. The Delafontaines

  are pretty badly off, from what I can make out.

  The old lady helped with the upkeep of the

  house."

  Poirot smiled a little. He said, "So you suspect

  the Delafontaines. Which of them?"

  "I don't exactly say I suspect either of them in

  particular. But there it is; they're her only near

  relations, and her death brings them a tidy sum of

  money, I've no doubt. We all know what human

  nature is I"

  "Sometimes inhuman--yes, that is very true.

  And there was nothing else the old lady ate or

  drank?"

  "Well, as a matter of fact--"'

  "Ah, voild! I felt that you had something, as

  you say, up your sleeve--the soup, the fish pie, the

  apple tart--a btise! Now we come to the hub of

  the affair."

  "I don't know about that. But as a matter of

  fact, the old girl took a cachet before meals. You

  HOW DOES YOUR GARDEN GROW?

  67

  know, not a pill or a tablet; one of those rice-paper

  things with a powder inside. Some perfectly

  harmless thing for the digestion."

  "Admirable. Nothing is easier than to fill a

  cachet with strychnine and substitute it for one of

  the others. It slips down the throat with a drink of

  water and is not tasted."

  "That's all right. The trouble is, the girl gave it

  to her."

  "The Russian girl?"

  "Yes. Katrina Rieger. She was a kind of lady-help,

  nurse-companion to Miss Barrowby. Fairly

  ordered about by her, too, I gather. Fetch this,

  fetch that, fetch the other, rub my back, pour out

  my medicine, run round to the chemist--all that

  sort of business. You know how it is with these old

  women--they mean to be kind, but what they

  need is a sort of black slave!"

  Poirot smiled.

  "And there you are, you see," continued In-spector

  Sims. "It doesn't fit in what you might

  call nicely. Why should the girl poison her? Miss

  Barrowby dies and now the girl will be out of a

  job, and jobs aren't so easy to findshe's not

  trained or anything."

  "Still," suggested Poirot, "if the box of cachets

  was left about, anyone in the house might
have the

  opportunity."

  "Naturally we're onto that, M. Poirot. I don't

  mind telling you we're making our inquiries--quiet

  like, if you understand me. When the pre-scription

  was last made up, where it was usually

  kept; patience and a lot of spade work--that's

  what will do the trick in the end. And then there's

  Il

  tq',

  P

  PC

  bps

  Christie

  Sims, surprised.

  Hercule ?oirot. "She has

  could ask a further que?

  off.

  he wander,d into the room

  sat at her typewriter. She

  .,m the keys at her employer's

  at him inquiringly.

  Poirot, "to figure to your-

  ped her hands into her lap in a

  enjoyed typing, paying bills,

  tering up engagements. To be

  rself in hypothetical situations

  Lch, but she accepted it as a

  duty.

  began Poirot.

  i:ss Lemon, looking intensely

  and friendless in this country,

  for not wisBing to return tO

  fioyed as a kind of drudge,

  d companior to an old lady,

  mcomplaining."

  ss Lemon olediently, but en/

  herself beint meek to any of

  ,,kes a fancy to you. She decide

  kY to you. she tells you so.'

  l "Yes" a lr.

  old

  out something'

  that

  of money

  HOW DOES YOUR GARDEN GROW?

  71

  you have not been honest with her. Or it might be

  more grave still--a medicine that tasted different,

  some food that disagreed. Anyway, she begins to

  suspect you of something and she writes to a very

  famous detective--enfin, to the most famous.

  detective--me! I am to call upon her shortly. And

  then, as you say, the dripping will be in the fire.

  The great thing is to act quickly. And so--before

  the great detective arrives--the old lady is dead.

  And the money comes to you Tell

  me, does

  that

  seemto you reasonable?"

  "Quite

  reasonable," aid Miss Lemon. "Quite

  reasonable for a Russian, that is. Personally, I

  should never take a post as a companion. I like my

  duties clearly defined. And of course I should not

  dream of murdering anyone."

  Poirot sighed. "How I miss my friend Hastings.

  He had such an imagination. Such a romantic

  mind! It is true that he always imagined wrong--but

  that in itself was a guide."

  Miss Lemon was silent. She had heard about

  Captain Hastings before, and Was not interested.

  She looked longingly at the typewritten sheet in

  front of her.

  "So it seems to you reasonable," mused Poirot.

  "Doesn't it to you?"

  "I am almost afraid it does," sighed Poirot.

  The telephone rang and Miss Lemon went out

  of the room to answer it. She came back to say,

  "It's Inspector Sims again."

  Poirot hurried to the instrument." 'Allo, 'allo.

  What is that you say?"

  Sims repeated his statement. "We've fotmd

  a packet of strychnine in the girl's bedroom--

  ,/

  72

  Agatha ©6rill

  s. The sergeant's

  tucked underneath the rattr about clinches it,

  just come in with the news, TiP

  I think."

  that clinches it."

  "Yes," said Poirot, "I thiOtwith sudden con-His

  voice had changed. It rar

  fidence.

  down at his writ-

  When he had rung off, he s/t tjects on it in a

  ing table and arranged the ured to himself,

  mechanical manner. He mufti felt it--no, not

  "There was something W.on$,.g I saw. En avant,

  felt. It must have been SOethi/flect. Was every

  the

  little gray cells. Poncler-!i girl--her anxiety

  thing logical and in order? TP[ontaine; her hus

  about

  the money; Mme. Delns--imbecile, but

  band--his suggestion of usS{ garden--ah! Yes,

  he is an imbecile; the rooh; tp

  the garden."

  / light shone in his

  He sat up very stiff. Th gr¢finto the adjoining

  eyes. He sprang up and ven

  room.

  de the kindness to

  "Miss Lemon, will yo h/ake an investiga-leave

  what you are doing and

  tion for me?"

  t? I'm afraid I'm

  "An investigation, M. Poif

  not very good"

  said one day that

  Poirot interrupted her. "yo

  you know all about tradesner, Lemon with con-

  "Certainly I do," said MiS

  fidence. You are to go to

  "Then the matter is Sitnpl,fo discover a fish-Charman's

  Green and yau a

  monger."

  iss Lemon, sur

  "A fishmonger?" ased

  prised.

  HOW DOES YOUR GARDEN GROW?

  73

  "Precisely. The fishmonger who supplied Rose-bank

  with fish. When you have found him you

  will ask him a certain question."

  He handed her a slip of paper. Miss Lemon

  took it, noted its contents without interest, then

  nodded and slipped the lid on her typewriter.

  "We will go to Charman's Green together,"

  said Poirot. "You to the fishmonger and I to the

  police station. It will take us but half an hour from

  Baker Street."

  On arrival at his destination, he was greeted by

  the surprised Inspector Sims. "Well, this is quick

  work, M. Poirot. I was talking to you on the

  phone only an hour ago."

  "I have a request to make to you; that you

  allow me to see this girl Katrina--what is her

  "Katrina Rieger. Well, I don't suppose there's

  any objection to that."

  The girl Katrina looked even more sallow and

  sullen than ever.

  Poirot spoke to her very gently. "Mademoi-selle,

  I want you to believe that I am not your

  enemy. I want you to tell me the truth."

  Her eyes snapped defiantly. "I have told the

  truth.' To everyone I have told the truth! If the old

  lady was poisoned, it was not I who poisoned her.

  It is all a mistake. You wish to prevent me having

  the money." Her voice was rasping. She looked,

  he thought, like a miserable little cornered rat.

  "Tell me about this cachet, mademoiselle," M.

  Poirot went on. "Did no one handle it but you?"

  "I have said so, have I not? They were made up

  at the chemist's that afternoon. I brought them

  74

  Agatha Christie

  back with me in my bag--that was just before

  supper. I opened the box and gave Miss Barrowby

  one with a glass of water."

  "No one touched them but you?"

  "No." A cornered rat--with courage!

  "And Miss Barrowby had for supper only what

  we have been told. The soup, the fish pie, the

  tart?"

  "Yes." A hopeless "yes"--dark, smoldering

  eyes that saw no light anywhere.

>   Poirot patted her shoulder. "Be of good cour-age,

  mademoiselle. There may yet be freedom--yes,

  and moneyma life of ease."

  She looked at him suspiciously.

  As he went out Sims said to him, "I didn't quite

  get what you said through the telephone--some-thing

  about the girl having a friend."

  "She has one. Me!" said Hercule Poirot, and

  had left the police station before the inspector

  could pull his wits together.

  At the Green Cat tearooms, Miss Lemon did

  not keep her employer waiting. She went straight

  to the point.

  "The man's name is Rudge, in the High Street,

  and you were quite right. A dozen and a half ex-actly.

  I've made a note of what he said." She

  handed it to him.

  "Arrr." It was a deep, rich sound like the purr

  of a cat.

  Hercule Poirot betook himself to Rosebank. As

  he stood in the front garden, the sun setting be-hind

  him, Mary Delafontaine came out to him.

  HOW DOES YOUR GARDEN GROW?

  75

  "M. Poirot?" Her voice sounded surprised.

  "You have come back?"

  "Yes, I have come back." He paused and then

  said, "When I first came here, madame, the

  children's nursery rhyme came into my head: