Chapter 13 The Mystery of Club K

"Fact," I said, setting aside the Daily Bulletin, "is stranger than fiction!" That phrase, perhaps, was not my own.It seemed to spark my friend's enthusiasm.The little man turned his egg-shaped face on one side, carefully brushed a bit of imaginary dust from his carefully ironed trousers, and said: "How profound: my friend Hastings is What a great thinker." I'm not offended by this gratuitous sarcasm.I patted the newspaper I had just set aside. "Did you read the paper this morning?" "I read it. When I was done, I folded it up symmetrically again, and didn't throw it on the floor like you did. Your lack of organization is pathetic."

The worst thing about Poirot was that, order was his god.He even attributes all of his success to being organized. "So you saw the murder of Henry Rydburn, the theater manager? That's the murder that made me say that. Fact isn't just stranger than fiction—it's more dramatic. Think Think of that well-to-do middle-class British family, the Oglands. Dad, mum, son, daughter, one of thousands of families typical of this country. The man goes to town every day; the woman takes care of the family. Things. Their life is very peaceful and very monotonous. Last night they sat playing bridge in the neat drawing room in the suburb of Streatham, a house called Daisy Mead. Suddenly, there was no sign of it, and the French windows slammed It was opened and a woman staggered into the room. There was a bright red bloodstain on her gray satin dress. She said: 'Killer!' and fell to the ground, unconscious. From her photo It is probable that they recognized her as Valerie St. Clair. She is that famous dancer who has taken London by storm lately."

"Are you talking, or is it the Daily News?" asked Poirot. "The Daily Bulletin rushed to press and was content with the facts. And the possibility of dramatization of the incident attracted me at once." Poirot nodded thoughtfully. "Where there's humanity, there's drama. But -- it's not always where you think it's going to happen, and that's something to remember. However, I'm also interested in this case because I'm also associated with it. Together." "Really?" "Yes. A gentleman called me this morning and made an appointment for Prince Paul of Morenia to meet me."

"But what does that have to do with this?" "You don't read your nice English-language scandal tabloids with the funny stories. 'A little mouse heard—' or 'A little bird wondered—' Look here." I looked along his short and thick fingers: "—is this foreign prince really close to a famous dancer! Does this lady like her new diamond ring?" "Returning now to your dramatic account," said Poirot, "Miss St. Clair has just passed out on the drawing-room rug, and you should remember it here." I shrugged my shoulders: "When the lady came to her senses and was just muttering something, the two men of the Ogland family went out. One went to the doctor to attend to the lady, who was obviously frightened; the other went to Police station--After the statement was taken, he accompanied the police to Heart Chi Hill, Mr. Ridburn's magnificent villa, not far from this house. There they found this great man, who, by the way, His reputation is rotten, lying in his study with the back of his head cracked like an eggshell."

"I am in your way," said Poirot kindly, "forgive me .He was a strange-looking young man, tall and eager, with a limp chin and the dark, passionate eyes of a fanatic. "M. Poirot?" my friend bowed. "Sir, my troubles are bigger than I can express..." Poirot waved his hand. "I understand your anxiety. Miss St. Clair is a very dear friend, isn't she?" the prince replied simply and plainly: "I wish to marry her." Poirot sat up in his chair, his eyes widening. The prince continued: "She and I should not be the first high and low marriage in my family. My brother Alexander has disobeyed the order of the father. We are living in a more civilized era now, and we should no longer be subject to previous hierarchical prejudices." Besides, Miss St. Clair is, in fact, my equal in rank. Have you heard anything about her history?"

"There are many romantic accounts of her parentage - not uncommon for a famous dancer. I have heard that she was the daughter of an Irish maid, and I have heard accounts - that her mother was a Duchess of Russia." "The first statement is, of course, nonsense," said the young man, "but the second is true. Valerie let me guess without saying it. Besides, she subconsciously proved it in many places. .I believe in heredity, M. Poirot." "I believe in heredity, too," said Poirot thoughtfully, "and I have discovered some curious things about it—you tell me . . . What are you afraid of? May I say frankly? Is there anything to implicate Miss St. Clair in this case? Of course she knows Rydboth, doesn't she?"

"Yes. He claims he loves her." "What about her?" "She has nothing to say to him." Poirot looked at him keenly: "Is there any reason for her to be afraid of him?" The young man hesitated: "There was an incident. Do you know Zara? The one with special powers?" "do not know." "She's wonderful. You should consult her when you get a chance. Valerie and I went to her last week. She read us fortunes with cards. She talked to Valerie about Valerie's troubles—Valerie's ominous then she turned over the last card—the cover they called it. It was the King of Clubs. She said to Valerie: 'Be careful. There is one who can make you. Do you know who I mean?' ’ Valerie’s lips were all white, she nodded and said: ‘Yes, yes, I know.’ We left shortly after. Zara’s last words to Valerie were: ‘Beware of Plum K. Danger Threatening you!' I asked Valerie what was the matter. She wouldn't tell me - reassuring me that everything was all right. But now, after last night's incident, I'm even more convinced that Valerie saw Rydboth, and it was this man she was afraid of."

The prince stopped suddenly: "Now you understand my worry when I opened the newspaper this morning. If Valerie loses her mind for a moment-oh, it's impossible!" Poirot stood up from his seat and said kindly Pat the young man on the shoulder: "Please don't torture yourself, leave this matter to me." "Are you going to Streatham? I think she's still there, in that house—exhausted from fright." "I'll go now." "I've arranged everything - through the embassy. You can go anywhere." "Then let's go--Hastings, will you come with me? Good-bye, Mr. Prince."

Xinchi Villa is a particularly nice villa, very modern and comfortable.It only takes a short while from the road to the villa.The villa has several acres of beautiful back gardens. At the mention of Prince Paul's name, the butler who opened the door took us to the scene of the tragedy.The study is very magnificent, running through the whole building from front to back, with a window on each side, one facing the front carriageway and the other facing the garden.The body was found in the alcove of the rear window and had been removed shortly after the police had completed their investigation.

"That's nasty," I whispered to Poirot. "Who knows what clues they'll ruin?" My little friend smiled: "Mmmmm! How many times do I have to tell you that the clues come from the brain The solution to every case is in the head." Turning to the butler, he said; "I suppose nothing else in the house has been touched except the removal of the body, has it?" "No, sir. Exactly as it was when the police came last night." "Now, these curtains, I see them drawn to the right of the window recess. The same with the curtains of the other window. Were those curtains drawn last night?"

"Yes, sir, I draw the curtains every night." "Then Rydboth must have drawn the curtains again?" "I think so, sir." "Did you know your master was expecting a guest last night?" "He didn't say. But he, let's leave him alone after supper. You know, sir, there's a door that leads out of the study to the terrace on the villa side. He can let anyone in that way." "Is he used to that?" The butler coughed cautiously. "I think so, sir." Poirot went up to the door mentioned.The door was unlocked.He walked across to the terrace, which joined the driveway on the right and led to a red brick wall on the left. "That's the orchard, sir. There's a door over there that leads into it, but that door is always locked at six o'clock." Poirot nodded and returned to the study, followed by the butler. "Didn't you hear anything about last night?" "Well, sir, we heard someone talking in the study. It was almost nine o'clock. But it was very common, especially the woman's voice. But of course, we went to the servant's place on the other side together, and we couldn't hear anything. .And then, around eleven o'clock, the police came." "How many voices did you hear?" "It's hard to tell, sir. I only notice women's voices." "what!" "Excuse me, sir, but Dr. Ryan is still here if you want to see him." We eagerly accepted this suggestion.After a while the doctor, a pleasant middle-aged man, came and gave Poirot all the information he needed.Rydburn was lying near the window, his head close to the marble window seat.There were two wounds, one between the eyes and the other, also fatal, behind the head. "Is he lying on his back?" "Yes. The marks are there." He pointed to a small black bloodstain on the floor. "Could the impact on the back of the head be caused by him hitting the floor?" "Impossible. No matter what kind of weapon it is, there is a distance to penetrate the skull." Poirot looked ahead thoughtfully.A carved marble seat sits in the beveled opening of each window, and the armrests are fashioned into the shape of a lion's head. Poirot's eyes lit up: "Suppose he fell backwards on this protruding lion's head, and slid from there to the ground. Would that cause the wound you speak of?" "Yes, it would. But the angle at which he's lying disproves that inference. Besides, there's bound to be blood on the marble seat." "Unless it's washed out, isn't it?" The doctor shrugged. "That's unlikely. It doesn't do anybody any good to make an accident look like a murder." "Indeed it is," said Poirot. "Do you think the blows could have been committed by a woman?" "Oh, I'd say absolutely impossible. I think you're thinking of Miss St. Clair, aren't you?" "I don't think of anyone until I'm not sure," said Poirot softly. He turned his attention to the open French windows, and the doctor continued: "Miss St. Clair escaped from here. Between the trees, you can see the house dimly. Of course, there are many houses on the side of the road. Near the villa, but, as it happens, that house, though at a distance, is the only one visible on this side." Poirot walked ahead, followed the garden path, and walked out of the iron gate of the villa.Crossed a little green and entered the garden gate of the house where Miss St. Clair had called for help.It was a small, unpretentious house, covering about half an acre in all.A short flight of steps leads to a floor-to-ceiling window.Poirot nodded in the direction of the steps. "That's the direction Miss St. Clair was going. As far as we're concerned, we're not as eager to ask for help as she is, and it's better to go around the front door." A maid opened the door for us and showed us into the drawing room, and went to Mrs. O'Grand.It was obvious that the room hadn't been touched since last night.There were still ashes in the fireplace, and the bridge table was still in the middle of the room, and the dummy cards were still laid out on the table, and the others' cards were thrown on the table.There are too many flashy decorations in the room, and there are many portraits of the family on the walls, which are quite ugly. Poirot gazed at the portraits more sympathetically than I did, and straightened one or two that hung a little crookedly. "This family, the relationship is very strong, isn't it? Feelings, it replaces beauty." I agree, my eyes fixed on a family portrait of a bearded man, a lady with towering hair, a wiry, stocky boy, and two little girls with too many bows.I thought this was the image of the Ogland family in the early years, so I studied it with great interest. The door opened and a young lady walked in.Her black hair was neatly brushed back, and she was wearing a brown blazer and a tweed skirt. She looked at us inquiringly.Poirot stepped forward: "Miss O'Grand? I'm sorry to disturb you—especially after what you've been through. The whole thing must be very disturbing." "It's very disturbing," the young woman admitted cautiously.I began to feel that the dramatic element was wasted on Miss O'Grand, that her ignorance was greater than any tragedy.I was all the more convinced of my idea when she went on: "I'm ashamed of the mess. The servants are very foolish, and it excites them." "You were sitting here last night, weren't you?" "Yes, we were playing bridge after dinner when—" "Excuse me—how long have you guys been playing?" "Well—" Miss O'Grand thought for a moment, "I can't really tell. I think it must be ten o'clock. I know we've won several rounds." "Then where are you sitting?" "Facing the window. My mother and I were on the same side. We had just played a game of no draws. Suddenly, without warning, the sky was knocked open, and Miss St. Clair staggered into the room." "You recognized her?" "I vaguely feel that her face is very familiar." "She's still here, isn't she?" "Yes, but she doesn't want to see anyone. She's still exhausted." "I think she'll meet me. Please tell her I'm here at the express request of Prince Paul of Morenia, will you?" Miss O'Grand's composure was disturbed, I thought, by the mention of the prince's name. .She left the house, however, to report without saying anything.She returned almost at once, and said that Miss St. Clair would meet us in her room. We followed her upstairs into a rather large, bright room.A woman was lying on a couch by the side of the universe.When we entered the house, she turned her head.The difference between the two women struck me at once, and the more so by the resemblance in their actual features and complexions--but oh, what a difference!Every look, every gesture of Valerie St. Clair's hands and feet is full of drama.She seemed to exude romantic charm all over her.A red flannel dressing gown covered her feet—very ordinary attire in all conscience.But her personal charm gave it an exotic look, like a bright oriental robe. Her large eyes were fixed on Poirot. "You're from Paul?" Her voice matched her appearance—mellow and weak. "Yes, miss. I'm here to serve him—and you." "What do you want to know?" "What happened last night," added Poirot, "want everything." She smiled wearily. "Do you think I should lie? I'm not stupid. I know very well that it's impossible to hide anything. The dead man had a secret of mine, and he threatened me with it. Because Paul's Because of this, I tried to negotiate terms with him. I couldn't risk losing Paul... Now that he's dead, I'm safe. But despite this, I didn't kill him." Poirot smiled and shook his head: "There is no need to tell me those things, miss. Now tell me what happened last night." "I offered to give him money. He seemed willing to negotiate with me. He asked me to go to Xinchi Villa at nine o'clock last night. I know the place: I've been there before. I have to enter the study by the side door so that the servants can't see it." gone." "Excuse me, ma'am, but aren't you scared out there alone at night?" I don't know if it's my guess, or did she really hesitate before answering? "Maybe I'm scared, but you know, I can't let someone else Come with me. And I'm desperate too. Rydburn let me into the study. Oh man! I'm glad he's dead! He played me like a cat with a mouse. He taunted me .I got down on my knees and begged him.I would give him all my jewels.But it was all in vain! Then he gave his conditions.Maybe you can guess what conditions.I refused.I told him I Thoughts on him. I scolded him, and he was still there smiling calmly. Suddenly, I stopped because there was a voice, coming from behind the curtain... He heard it too. He went to the curtains and flung them open. There was a man hiding there—a dreadful-looking man, like a tramp. He hit Mr. Rydboth—and then he hit him again, He fell down. The tramp grabbed me with his bloody hand. I broke free and rushed through the land space, trying to escape. While running, I saw a light in this room, and ran towards the light The shutters were not drawn, and I saw some people playing bridge. I nearly collapsed in the room. I just said 'Killer' out of breath, and lost consciousness—" "Thank you, miss. It must have been a great blow to your nerves. As for the bum, can you describe it? Do you remember what he was wearing?" "No—it happened too quickly. But I recognize the man everywhere, and his face is burned into my brain." "One more question, Miss. Has the curtain of the French window facing the carriageway been drawn on the other French window in the study of the deceased's house?" For the first time, a bewildered look climbed onto the dancer's face.She seemed to be trying to remember. "What, miss?" "I think - I'm almost sure - yes, definitely, they didn't pull." "That's odd, because the other one is on. Let it be, I dare say, it doesn't matter. Are you going to be here long, miss?" "The doctor thinks I can go back to town tomorrow." She looked around the room.Miss O'Grand had gone out. "These people, they're very nice—but they don't belong to my world. I scare them! As for me—well, I don't like the middle class very much!" There was a hint of resentment in her voice. Poirot nodded. "I understand. I hope my question has not exhausted you?" "Not at all, sir. I'm just anxious to let Paul know as soon as possible." "Good-bye, then, miss." Just as Poirot was leaving the room, he paused and suddenly grabbed a pair of black patent leather slippers: "Your, miss." "Yes, sir. Just cleaned it up." "Ah," said Poirot, as we descended, "the servants don't seem to be too excited, they haven't forgotten to clean their shoes, though they forgot to clean the fireplace. Well, my friend, one There seemed to be one or two interesting points at first, but I was worried, I was worried, that we would have to consider the case closed. It all seemed clear." "What about the murderer?" "Hercule Poirot does not take tramps," replied my friend boldly. O'Grand greeted us in the hall: "If you are waiting in the drawing room for a while, mother would like to say a few words to you." The living room remained motionless, and Poirot gathered the cards leisurely, and with his small , well-groomed hands shuffling cards. "You know what I'm thinking, my friend?" "I don't know. What are you thinking?" I said eagerly. "I'm thinking Miss O'Grand made a mistake in playing No-Trum, she should have played three spades." "Poirot! You are intolerable." "My God, I can't always talk about blood and violence." Suddenly he straightened up. "Hastings—Hastings. Look! The King of Clubs isn't in the deck." "Zara!" I yelled. "What?" He didn't seem to understand what I was referring to, he mechanically stacked the cards and put them in the box.His face was serious. "Hastings," he said at last, "I, Hercule Poirot, came close to making a great mistake—a great mistake." I stared at him without understanding anything. "We've got to start over, Hastings. Yes, we've got to start over. But we can't make mistakes this time." He was interrupted when a dignified middle-aged woman entered the room.She has some family books in her hand.Poirot bowed to her. "I understand, sir, that you are a friend of Miss St. Clare's, are you not?" "I'm from a friend of hers, ma'am." "Oh, I see. I think maybe—" Poirot waved suddenly and roughly to the window. "Were the shutters not drawn last night?" "No—I think that's why Miss St. Clair can see the lights so clearly." "There was moonlight last night. I wonder if you saw Miss St. Clair first, sitting in the seat facing the French windows?" "I didn't look up. I think I was too focused on our hand. And it hasn't happened before." "I am quite sure of that, ma'am. And please rest assured. Miss St. Clair will be leaving to-morrow." "Oh!" The expression on the kind lady's face brightened. "Then have a good morning, madam." A servant was sweeping the steps as we walked out the front door.Poirot said to her: "Is it you who cleaned the shoes of the young lady upstairs?" The servant shook his head: "No, sir. I think the shoes were not cleaned." "Who cleaned the shoes, then?" I asked Poirot as we walked along the road. "I admit you can't get your shoes dirty if you walk the road on a nice evening. But after walking that long stretch of grass in the garden, it sure does." "Yes," said Poirot with a mysterious smile, "in that case, I agree, the shoes will be soiled." "but--" "Wait patiently for another half hour, my friend. We are now going back to Xinchi Villa." The butler looked surprised at our reappearance, but made no objection to our return to the study. "Hey, not that window, Poirot," I called to him as he made his way to the window facing the carriageway. "I don't think so, my friend. Look here." He pointed to the marble lion's head, which was smudged with an indistinct colour.He moved his finger away to point to a similar stain on the polished floor. "Someone struck Rydburn in the middle of the eye with a clenched fist. He fell backwards, onto the sharp point of this protruding marble, and slid to the floor. He was then dragged from the floor to another window. , put there, but at a different angle, as the doctor's testimony says." "But why? It doesn't seem necessary at all." "On the contrary, it is very necessary. And, it is also the key to the identity of the killer - although, by the way, he did not intend to kill Rydburn, so he should not be called a killer. He must be a very strong man. man!" "Because he dragged the body from one side of the floor to the other?" "Not quite. It's an interesting case. I'm almost a fool, though." "You're saying the case can be closed now that you know everything." "yes." I suddenly remembered one thing. "No," I yelled, "there's one thing you don't know!" "what is that?" "You don't know where the lost king of clubs is:" "What? Oh, that's funny! That's very funny, my friend." "why?" "Because it's in my pocket!" He waved his hand and took it out. "Oh!" I said, frustrated. "Where did you find it? Here?" "It's nothing sensational. The card just wasn't taken out with the others, it was in the box." "Hmph! Anyway, it reminds you of something, doesn't it?" "Yes, my friend. I greet His Majesty the King." "Have to pay tribute to Mrs. Zara!" "Ah, yes—greetings to the lady too." "Okay, what do we do now?" "Back to town. But first I have to go to the Oglander's house and talk to some lady first." It was the same little maid who opened the door for us. "They're all lunching now, sir—unless you want to see Miss St. Clair, who's resting." "I want to see Mrs. O'Grand in a few minutes. Could you tell her?" We were shown into the drawing room to wait.As we passed the dining room, I glanced at the family, now joined by two large, stocky-looking men, one with a mustache and the other with a mustache. A few minutes later Mrs O'Grand entered, looking at Poirot inquiringly.Poirot bowed. "Ma'am, we, in our country, have always been kind and respectful to mothers. The mother of a family, she is everything." Mrs. O'Grand was surprised by such an opening statement. "That is why I have come—to reassure a mother. The murderer of Mr. Rydburn will not be discovered. Have no fear. I, Hercule Poirot, tell you so. I am That's right, isn't it? Or do I have to reassure a wife?" After pondering for a while, Mrs. O'Grand seemed to be looking at Poirot with her eyes.Finally she said softly, "I don't know how you know—but, yes, you're right." Poirot nodded gravely. "That's it, ma'am. But don't worry. You British police don't have Hercule Poirot's eyes." He tapped his nails on the family portrait on the wall. "You had a daughter once. She's dead, ma'am, isn't she?" Pausing again, she studied him with her eyes.Then she replied: "Yes, she died." "Ah," said Poirot briskly, "well, we must go back to town. You allowed me to put the King of clubs back in the card, did you? That was your only mistake. You know, bridge has been Played for an hour or so, and got fifty-one cards—well, no one who knows bridge would believe it, not at all! Good-bye!" "Now, my friend," said Poirot, as we walked towards the station, "you understand everything!" "I don't understand anything! Who killed Rydburn?" "John O'Grand, John O'Grand Jr. I don't quite know whether it's the father or the son, but I choose the son. Because he's the stronger and younger of the two. Because of the window, he must have One of them." "why?" "There are four exits from the study—two doors, two windows, and three exits directly or indirectly facing the front yard. Obviously, only one fits the design. Because this tragedy had to happen in the back window, it would appear Valerie St. Clair happened to be at the Oglander house. Of course, she did pass out, and John Ogland carried her over on his shoulders. That's why I said he must have been a Very strong man." "So, did they go together?" "Yes. Do you remember her hesitation when I asked her if she was afraid to go alone? John, O'Grand went with her--I think it made Rydburn's temper Worse. They quarreled, and it's likely that O'Grand hit him for his insult to Valerie. You know the rest." "But why make up the bridge story?" "It takes four people to play bridge. Something as simple as that is very convincing. Who would have thought that there were only three people in the room that night?" I was still puzzled. "There's one thing I don't understand. What's the relationship between the O'Grands and the dancer Valerie St. Clair?" "Ah, I wonder how you didn't see it. Yet you looked at the portrait on the wall for a long time—longer than I did. To her family, Mrs. O'Grand's other daughter may be dead , but God knows she is Valerie St. Clair!" "what?" "When you saw the two sisters together, didn't you see their resemblance?" "No," I confessed, "I just thought how different they were." "That's because your mind is only focused on outward romantic impressions, my dear Hastings. Their features are almost the same, and their faces are the same. It's funny that Valerie is ashamed of her family." , and her family was ashamed of her. However, in times of danger, she turned to her brother for help. When things went wrong, they were especially united. The strength of a family is a great thing. They all acted, that Everyone in the family. It is from that family that Valerie got her acting talent. I, like Prince Paul, believe in heredity, and they deceived me. If it weren't for that lucky flaw that K of Clubs never punched, And that question I used to contradict Mrs. O'Grand and her daughter's description of how they sat, and the O'Grands would beat Hercule Poirot." "What did you tell the prince?" "That Valerie couldn't have committed the crime, and I doubt that the tramp will ever be found. Also, let him pay homage to Zara in my place. A strange pseudo-coincidence, what a coincidence: I think I'll make this little story It's called Plum Blossom K's Adventure. What do you think, my friend?"