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?”