Chapter 23 Chapter Twenty Two

"You're back," said Hercule Poirot. He took a bookmark and put it carefully inside the book.This time, it was a mug of hot chocolate at his elbow.Poirot really knew how to drink.But this time he didn't ask me to drink with him. "How are you?" I asked. "It's very noisy, it's so noisy. This floor is under renovation, knocking." "Won't they improve?" "Yeah, I guess—but I'm so sick of it, messing everything up for me. And the smell of paint!" He looked at me angrily. Then he waved his hand, waved away these troubles, and asked, "Did you succeed?"

I said slowly, "I don't know." "Ah—that's what happened." "I found what they wanted me to find, but I didn't find the man. I don't know what they wanted. Information? Or a corpse?" "Speaking of the corpse, I read the report of the Crowding Deferred Inquest, which said that the case was a deliberate murder by one or several unknown persons. The name of the deceased has finally been found out." I nod. "Haley Casterton, anyone could be." "His wife recognized it. Have you been to Croding?" "Not yet. I intend to go tomorrow."

"Not yet. I still have a mission, my mission is there—" I was silent for a moment, and then said, "I don't know exactly what happened during the period when I was abroad—I only know some facts about the identification of the dead body. What do you think about this?" Poirot shrugged. "Just wait and see." "Yes—the police are pretty good at it." "It's a credit to being a wife." "Mrs. Melina Riva! Nice name!" "It reminds me of something," said Poirot, "makes me think about what it is..." He looked at me thoughtfully, but I couldn't help him.I knew Poirot, and the name must have reminded him of something.

"I'm going to visit a friend—a house in the country," Poirot thought hard, and then shook his head. "No—it's been too long." "When I'm next back in London, I'll tell you all I know from Hardcastle about Mrs. Anna Riva," I promised him. Poirot waved his hand: "That's not necessary." "You mean, don't let people tell you about these things, you already know it?" "No, I mean I'm not interested in her." "You're not interested—why? I don't understand." I shook my head. "You must focus on the main points when you do things. Why don't you tell me about Ina—the girl who died in the phone booth in Wilbraham Alley."

"I've told you everything I know. I don't know anything about this girl." "Then, all you know," Bai Luo said accusingly, "or all you can tell me is that the poor girl whose heel broke off the iron fence you saw in the typing agency is this girl—" Before he finished speaking, he suddenly asked, "Where is the iron fence?" "Really, Poirot, how should I know?" "If you've got time, you'll know. How do you gather intelligence if you don't know how to ask the right questions?" "But what does it matter where the heel breaks?"

"Probably irrelevant. But then again, we ought to know where the girl actually went—or what happened there." "You're pulling too hard. I know it's not far from the office, though, because she said so, and she said she bought a bun and limped back to the office in silk stockings, and finally she said this How are you going to get home?" "Ah, then how did she come home?" Poirot said with interest. I glared at him. "I don't know." "Ah—you've never asked the right questions! Turns out you don't know anything important."

"You'd better go to Croding and ask yourself." I was really angry. "Oh, there's no way at the moment. Next week there will be an auction of the most interesting authors' manuscripts." "You still haven't given up your hobby?" "Ah, yes," he continued, with a twinkle in his eyes. "There was John Dickinson Carr, who occasionally called himself Carter. Tickenson's works—" Before he could continue, I fled in a hurry to go to an important appointment.I'm not in the mood to listen to him count the masters of the detective story of the past.

I sat on the doorstep of Hardcastle's house, gloomily, and rose to greet him when he came back. . "Hello, Colin? Is that you? You suddenly appeared again without a sound." "I'm in a rage." "How long have you been sitting on my doorstep?" "Oh, about half an hour." "Sorry you can't come into my house." "It's not easy to get into your house!" I said angrily. "You know our training." "Then why don't you go in?" "I don't want to embarrass you," I explained. "The inspector's house is easy to get into. It's always a shame to get out."

Hardcastle took the key from his pocket and opened the door. "Come in, please," he said, "stop talking nonsense." He entered the living room first and prepared drinks. "When did you come back?" I said not long, and we each sat down with drinks. "At last the case has progressed," said Hardcastle. "The deceased has been identified." "I know, I've read in the newspapers that this man looks decent and lives by cheating marriages or getting engaged. Those women saw that he was quite financially literate, and they were all in love with him, so they handed over their savings to him." He, and shortly thereafter, he slipped away and disappeared without a trace."

"He doesn't look like that," I said, running through my mind. "That's his biggest asset." "Nobody ever sued him?" "No—we've looked into it, but it's not easy to gather information. He often uses aliases. Although Scotland Yard knows, Halle Casterton, Raymond Barral, Lawrence Dutton, Roger Byron, It's all the same guy, just kunai proof. You know, those women don't want to talk. They'd rather lose money. This guy is really good at changing names, harvesting everywhere, never changing his methods, but very cunning. For example, Roger Bai Len is disappearing, but a guy named Lawrence Dutton is starting to work. He pretends to be shy to take pictures—to keep the women from taking pictures of him. He's been like this for a long time, fifteen or twenty years, around At that time, he seemed to have really disappeared. There were rumors that he had passed away, and others that he had gone abroad."

"Anyway, nobody heard of him until he died on Miss Pebmarsh's drawing-room rug, did they?" I said. "exactly." "And there are many possibilities for his death." "Of course" "The woman was cheated, and she will never forget it, right?" "You know, there is such a thing. Some women even remember it all their lives." "And if this woman loses her eyesight later—the old enemy, Mi Huan, adds new hatred?" "That's just speculation. Everything has yet to be proven." "What does his wife look like—what's her name... Melina Riva? A beautiful name! It can't be hers." "Her real name was Flossie Garp. This one was her own invention, and it suited her way of life better." "What does she do? A whore?" "Not professional." "This kind of person said in a subtle way, we were called 'unfaithful ladies' in the past, right?" "I don't think she has a bad nature, and she is loyal to her friends. She calls herself an 'ex-fancier', and occasionally does some 'hostess' work for others. She is quite cute." "Is it reliable?" "Very believable. Her identification is very certain, without hesitation." "That's great." "Yes. I was beginning to feel hopeless. You saw a mountain of wives looking for husbands on my table! I have a feeling now that a woman who can know her husband is a smart woman. And, let me tell you, I See Mrs Riva knows more about her husband than she lets on." "Has she ever been involved in a crime herself?" "No record. I think there may have been, and there may be a few problems now, my friend. Something serious--just smut, or something like that." "And those clocks?" "It didn't mean much to her. I think she's telling the truth. We've tracked down the gilded one and the magnetic clock from Dresden to the Portobello market. It's no use! You know that place is a Saturday What it looks like. The owner of the stall said it was probably sold to an American woman - but I think that's just a guess. The Portobello market is full of American tourists. His wife said it was bought by a man Yes, but I can’t remember what that person looked like. The silver clock came from a silversmith. A tall lady bought it for her little girl as a gift! All she remembers is that girl was wearing a green hat.” "Where's the fourth clock? The one that fell?" "Nothing to say," said Hardcastle. I know what his words mean.

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