repeated Poirot thoughtfully. “What did he mean by ‘the four of them,’ do you think?”
“That I can’t say, M. Poirot. I thought perhaps he meant his wife and son, and the doctor, and perhaps Miss Clark, Mrs. Templeton’s companion. That would make four, wouldn’t it? He might think they were all in league against him.”
“Quite so, quite so,” said Poirot, in a preoccupied voice. “What about food? Could you take no precautions about that?”
“I’m always doing what I can. But, of course, sometimes Mrs. Templeton insists on bringing him his food herself, and then there are the times when I am off duty.”
“Exactly. And you are not sure enough of your ground to go to the police?”
The nurse’s face showed her horror at the mere idea.
“What I have done, M. Poirot, is this. Mr. Templeton had a very bad attack after partaking of a bowl of soup. I took a little from the bottom of the bowl afterwards, and have brought it up with me. I have been spared for the day to visit a sick mother, as Mr. Templeton was well enough to be left.”
She drew out a little bottle of dark fluid and handed it to Poirot.
