"No.
It wasn't necessary.
She wasn't there when Mrs Crale threatened her husband, and there was nothing she could tell us that we couldn't get from someone else equally well.
She saw Mrs Crale go to the refrigerator and get the iced beer out and, of course, the defense could have subpoenaed her to say that Mrs Crale took it straight down without tampering with it in any way.
But that point wasn't relevant because we never claimed that the coniine was in the beer bottle."
"How did she manage to put it in the glass with those two looking on?"
"Well, first of all, they weren't looking on.
That is to say, Mr Crale was painting - looking at his canvas and at the sitter.
And Miss Greer was posed, sitting with her back almost to where Mrs Crale was standing and her eyes looking over Mr Crale's shoulder."
Poirot nodded.
"As I say, neither of the two was looking at Mrs Crale.
She had the stuff in one of those pipette things - one used to fill fountain pens with them.
We found it crushed to splinters on the path up to the house."
"You have an answer to everything," Poirot murmured.
"Well, come, now, M. Poirot! Without prejudice.
She threatens to kill him. She takes the stuff from the laboratory. The empty bottle is found in her room and nobody has handled it but her.
She deliberately takes down iced beer to him - a funny thing, anyway, when you realize that they weren't on speaking terms -"
"A very curious thing.
I had already remarked on it."
"Yes. Bit of a giveaway.
Why was she so amiable all of a sudden?
He complains of the taste of the stuff - and coniine has a nasty taste.
She arranges to find the body and sends the other woman off to telephone.
Why?
So that she can wipe that bottle and glass and then press his fingers on it. After that she can pipe up and say that it was remorse and that he committed suicide. A likely story."
"It was certainly not very well imagined."
"No.
If you ask me, she didn't take the trouble to think.
She was so eaten up with hate and jealousy.
All she thought of was doing him in.
And then, when it s over, when she sees him there dead - well, then, I should say, she suddenly comes to herself and realizes that what she's done is murder - and that you get hanged for murder.
And desperately she goes bald-headed for the only thing she can think of - which is suicide."
Poirot said, "It is very sound what you say there - yes.
Her mind might work that way."
"In a way it was a premeditated crime and in a way it wasn't," said Superintendent Hale. "I don't believe she really thought it out, you know. Just went on with it blindly."
Poirot murmured,
"I wonder..."
Chapter 3 Hale looked at Poirot curiously.
"Have I convinced you that it was a straightforward case?" he said.
"Almost. Not quite.
There are one or two peculiar points."
"Can you suggest an alternative solution that will hold water?"
Poirot said,
"What were the movements of the other people on that morning?"
"We went into them, I can assure you.
We checked up on everybody.
Nobody had what you could call an alibi - you can't have with poisoning.
Why, there's nothing to prevent a would-be murderer from handing his victim some poison in a capsule the day before, telling him it's a specific cure for indigestion and he must take it just before lunch - and then going away to the other end of England."
"But you don't think that happened in this case?"
"Mr Crale didn't suffer from indigestion.