Chapter 17 Chapter V Division of Labor

"You see, the fish is hooked," said Hercule Poirot. Mr. Satterthwaite had been watching the gate while the two friends were gone.When he turned and saw Poirot he was startled.Poirot laughed, slightly mockingly.He said: "Yeah, yeah, don't deny it. You made me watch 'bait' on purpose the other day in Monte Carlo, didn't you? You made me read that passage, hoping it would interest me enough that I would go all in this matter." "That's true," admitted Mr. Satterthwaite, "but I think I've failed." "No, no. You haven't failed. You've been shrewd about human nature, my friend. I was bored then, to quote a kid playing near us: 'It's boring.' When I was in this (Speaking of this, I think that many crimes also occur in this state of mind. Crime and psychological activities are always closely related.) Let us get back to business. This is a well-planned crime, the motives confuse me."

"Which crime? The first or the second?" "Only one. The first or second murder you speak of is just two acts of one crime. The second act is simple, its motive, its means..." Mr. Satterthwaite put in: "I'm sure it was the same level of difficulty the second time around. No poison was found in anyone's wine glass, and everyone ate food." "No, no. They are quite different. At the first time, it seemed that no one would poison Stephen Babington. If Sir Charles wanted to, he would have poisoned one of the guests, not any particular one." Guest. Temple may have put something into the last glass on the tray. But Mr. Babington was not holding the last glass. No, killing Mr. Babington seemed utterly impossible, and I still feel , he also could not have died of natural causes... But we will soon find out. The second time will be different. Any one of the guests present, as well as the housekeeper and the parlor maid, may have made a big impression on Bartholomew. Strange poisoned. And, no matter what, there was no difficulty."

"I don't understand . . . " began Mr. Satherthwaite. Poirot hastily continued: "One day, I'll show you what I'm talking about with a little experiment. Let's move on to another very important thing. This is the crux of the case. You see (I'm sure you'll find out , you all have compassion and a keen understanding), I can't play a role that kills people." "You mean..." Mr. Sultthwaite began to laugh. "Sir Charles must be the main character! He's used to it. Besides, it's someone's wish. Am I wrong? My participation in the affair has displeased the lady."

"You are what we call a 'quick into character' type, M. Poirot." "Ah, how flattered I am! I am a man of peculiar character. I wish to make love complete, and never interfere with it. Willing to serve Sir Charles Cartwright's happiness and honor. Isn't it so? When the case is solved..." "If the case can be solved..." said Mr. Satterthwaite softly. "There will be a day! I can't allow myself to fail." "Never?" asked Mr. Satterthwaite inquisitively. "On several occasions," said Poirot solemnly, "for a short time I have been what you say 'slow into character'. .”

"Have you never failed before?" Mr. Satterthwaite's inquiry was driven by a curiosity, a pure and simple curiosity.He is wondering... "Well," said Poirot, "only once, a long time ago, in Belgium. Shall we not talk about that? . . . " Mr. Satterthwaite's curiosity (and his premeditation) were satisfied.He quickly changed the subject. "That's it. When you said to solve the case just now..." "Sir Charles can solve the case. That's the point. I'm just a cog in the wheel." He spread his hands. "Anytime, anywhere, I'll say a word or two, just a word or two, a hint and nothing else. I don't seek honor, I don't seek fame. I already have all the fame I need."

Mr. Satterthwaite regarded him with interest.He was amused by the short man's innocent complacency and strong egoism.But he will not easily mistake these words for mere empty boasting, nor will the British be angry at their own failures.Latins, however, place great value on their abilities.If he was smarter, there would be no reason to hide the truth. "I would like to know, and am very interested," said Mr. Satterthwaite, "what do you expect from the affair? Is it the thrill and excitement of the detection?" Poirot shook his head. "No, no, that's not it. I'm just a bloodhound. I'm thrilled to be able to follow a lead, and when I spot a target, I'll go after it. It's all true. And...how should I put it? I have a kind of A passion for truth. There is nothing in this world so great, so valuable, so beautiful as truth...”

After Poirot had finished speaking, there was a silence in the room. Then he picked up a newspaper.Mr. Satterthwaite has just copied the names of the seven from this paper.Now Poirot read aloud: "Mrs. Dax, Captain Dax, Miss Wells, Miss Sutcliffe, Mrs. Mary Lytton Gore, Miss Lytton Gore, and Oliver Mendes." "Well," he said, "some sort of revelation, isn't it?" "What revelation?" "The order in which the names are arranged." "I don't see any revelation in that." "When we wrote the names, we didn't follow any particular order."

"Indeed. The list begins with Mrs. Dax. From that I infer she is the most likely murderer." "Instead of saying most likely," said Mr. Satterthwaite, "it would be more appropriate to say that no crime is least likely." "There is a third theory that is more appropriate: she may be the person you subjectively believe has committed the crime." Mr. Satterthwaite parted his lips impulsively, and gazed tenderly and playfully into Poirot's shining green eyes.He suddenly changed what he was about to say. "I really don't understand, M. Poirot. Perhaps you are right. I didn't realize that it might be true."

"I would like to ask you a question, Mr. Satterthwaite." "Of course, of course," replied Mr. Satterthwaite, triumphantly. "From what you have told me, I recall that Sir Charles visited Mrs. Babington together with Miss Lytton Gore." "yes." "Were you with them?" "No. Three is too many." Poirot laughed. "Another reason, perhaps, is that your own interests have taken you elsewhere. You don't want anything else, as they say. Where have you been, Mr. Satterthwaite?" "I went to tea with Mrs. Mary Lytton Gore," said Mr. Satterthwaite stiffly.

"What did you talk about?" "She was kind enough to confide in me about the troubles in her early marriage." He retells the story of Lady Mary.Poirot nodded sympathetically. "It's a real story. An ideal girl marries a villain, and she doesn't take advice. But, do you talk about anything else? For example, do you talk about Mr. Oliver Mendes?" "We did talk about him." "What about him?" Mr. Satterthwaite repeated what Lady Mary had told him. Then he said: "Why do you think we're talking about him?" "Because that's what you're there for. Oh, well. Don't deny it. You might want Mrs. Dax or her husband to commit a crime. But you think it was Little Manders' crime."

He gags Mr. Satterthwaite's denial. "Yes, yes. You are reserved by nature. You have your own opinions, but you like to keep your mouth shut. I understand that, because I'm a tight-lipped myself..." "I don't doubt him, that's ridiculous. I just want to know about him." "As I said. He is your instinctive choice. I am the same, very interested in that young man. The reason why I am very interested in his eating here that night is because I saw..." "What did you see?" asked Mr. Satterthwaite eagerly. "I saw at least two people (maybe more) playing roles. Sir Charles was one of them." He laughed. "He's playing a naval officer, am I right? It's only natural. A big actor doesn't stop acting just because he stops his stage career. But Little Mendes was too contrived. He played He is a bored and cynical young man. But in real life he is neither bored nor cynical. He is a man of life. Therefore, my friend, I pay attention to him." "How do you know that I have always been suspicious of him?" "It can be seen in many ways. You were interested in the fact that he came to Melfort Abbey that night by accident. You did not visit Mrs. Babington with Sir Charles and Miss Lytton Gore. Why? It's because you're trying to follow your own train of thought for clues that haven't been noticed. You've arrived at Lady Mary's house and want to find out about a person. Who is it? It can only be a local: Oliver Mendes. Later, you put his name at the end of the list. It is telling. Who is the least likely suspect in your mind?—Mrs. After them. Because he is your 'dark horse', the situation is yet to be ascertained. So you want to keep a hand." "My God," said Mr. Satterthwaite, "is that what I am?" "Exactly. Your judgment and observation are great. It's just that you like to hide the results of your observations. Your views on people seem to be your private collection, and you don't want to make them public." "I believe," began Mr. Satterthwaite, who was interrupted by Sir Charles, who had just returned. "Come on," he said. "It's been a crazy night." He poured himself a whiskey and soda. Neither Mr. Satterthwaite nor Poirot wanted to drink any more. "Well," said Sir Charles, "let us lay out the plan of the campaign. Where is the list, Satterthwaite? Well, thank you. Now to Mr. Poirot, Counselor, for your opinion, and if you will, to talk about our How to divide the work?" "What do you think of yourself, Sir Charles?" "I said, we can inquire about these separately. We have our own division of labor, right? First of all, Mrs. Dax, Eggy is obviously very interested in inquiring about her. Mrs. Dax will think that men are not the only ones. Seems like a good idea to approach her from a professional standpoint. Mr. Satterthwaite and I could start a new one if it worked out. Next up is Dax. I know him A couple of racetrack mates. I daresay there are clues to be found through them. And Angela Sutcliffe." "That's your job too, Charles," said Mr. Satterthwaite. "You know her better, don't you?" "Yes. Because of this, I'm willing to let someone else deal with her..." He smiled apologetically, "First, you will blame me for not putting my heart and soul into work. Second, this...she is a friend of mine... ...do you understand?" "Brilliant, you've thought it through perfectly. Everyone is very appreciative of you. Good Mr. Satterthwaite, he'll rearrange your mission." "Lady Mary and Eggs, of course, they weren't included. What about Little Mendes? The night Tory died, he was at the party because of an accident. I still insist on including him." "Mr. Satterthwaite is in charge of Little Manders," said Poirot. "But I think, Sir Charles, that there is a person missing from your list. You have overlooked Miss Muriel Wells." "So I missed her. Well, if Satterthwaite is in charge of Menders, I will be in charge of Miss Wells. Is that all right? M. Poirot, what can I tell you?" "No, no. I don't think it's over. I'm interested in hearing the results of your investigation." "Of course, there is no doubt about it. One more thought: If we had photographs of these few people on hand, we might use them when we visit Gilling." "Excellent," agreed Poirot. "One more thing. Oh, by the way, your friend Bartholomew doesn't drink cocktails, but he does drink wine, doesn't he?" "Yes, he has a special taste for wine." "I really can't figure it out. He hasn't eaten anything strange. But nicotine has a strong stimulant, and the taste is very uncomfortable." "You have to remember," said Sir Charles, "that there may be no nicotine in the wine. Remember? The contents of the glass have been tested." "Oh yes, I'm stupid. But, no matter how the nicotine got him, it always had a very unpleasant taste." "I don't know what it matters," said Sir Charles slowly. "Tolly had a bad case of influenza last spring, which has left him with after-effects which have greatly impaired his sense of taste and smell." "Oh, that's right," said Poirot thoughtfully. "That explains the matter. That makes things much simpler." Sir Charles went to the window and looked out. "It's still blowing. I'll send for your things, Monsieur Poirot. Roses and crowns are beautiful things to the passionate artist. But I know you prefer good sanitation and a comfortable bed." bed." "You are very kind, Sir Charles." "That's not it. I have to take care of you." He leaves the house. Poirot looked at Mr. Satterthwaite. "May I make a suggestion?" "Take it up." Poirot leaned forward and said in a low voice: "Ask Little Mandes why he caused an accident. Tell him the police suspect him, and see what he says."