Chapter 12 Chapter Twelve

Two elderly people sit together in a modernly furnished room.There are no curves in the room.Everything is boxy.It can almost be said that the only exception is Hercule Poirot, who is full of curves all over his body.His belly was pleasingly round, his head was shaped like an egg, and his beard curled up magnificently and ostentatiously. He sipped a glass of syrup and looked thoughtfully at Mr. Cobby. Mr. Cobby is thin and small, as if he has shrunk.His appearance has always been clean and featureless, but now he is even more indescribable, as if he was not there at all.He was not looking at Poirot, because Mr. Goby never looked at anyone.

He was talking, as if speaking to the corner of the chrome grate to his left. Mr. Coby is a famous data-gatherer.Few knew him and few hired him...but the few who knew him and hired him were usually extremely wealthy.They had to be rich, because Mr. Goby charged a lot.His specialty is gathering information quickly.Under Mr. Coby's command, there are hundreds of tireless and patient men, women, children, and people from all walks of life working for him to inquire, investigate, and obtain results. Mr. Coby is actually retired now, but occasionally, due to his affection, it is difficult to refuse the request of a few regular customers.Hercules.Poirot was one of them.

"I've collected all I can for you," he whispered softly and confidently over the grate. "I sent those little boys out. They did the best they could. . . good boys . . . they were all right, but not as good as they used to be. Now they ain't what they used to be. Not willing to learn, that's the thing. Done. It takes a year or two to think they know everything. And they don’t want to work overtime. It’s shocking not to work for a minute.” He shook his head sadly and moved his gaze to a socket. "It's all the government," he told the outlet. "And improper education has caused them to have this kind of concept. When they come back from education, they tell us their thoughts. In fact, they don't use their brains at all, most of them do. All they know is knowledge from books. , doesn't work in our line of business. Find out...it becomes... no thinking."

Mr. Cobbie leaned back sharply and blinked at a lampshade. "But don't blame the government either! We don't know what we would do without it. I can tell you that these days you can go almost anywhere with a notebook and a pencil, dress nicely, and pretend to be a BBC Interviewing journalists, asking people details about their day-to-day life, everything about their background, and what they ate on November 23rd, a test day for middle-class incomes...or whatever excuse (Give 'em a high score, flatter 'em!) ...ask them anything; they'll tell you 90% of the time, without questioning who you are...or if the government really wants to know about you The questions... are completely incomprehensible! I can tell you, M. Poirot," said Mr. Cobbie, still addressing the lampshade, "that this is the best time we've ever seen; better than someone pretending to read a meter or fix a telephone." Times are so much better...yes, or better than pretending to be nuns, Boy Scouts and soliciting donations...although we use those tricks too. Yes, government meddling is a godsend gift to us investigators , may it continue like this forever!"

Poirot was silent.Mr. Gobbe has become a bit of a chatterbox with age, but he gets to the point when he sees fit. "Ah," said Mr. Cobby, and produced a very ugly little note-pad.He licked his fingers and flipped through the pages. "There it is. George. Mr. Crossfield. Let's start with him. Just the facts. You don't want to know how I got it. He's been living in Kiki Street for quite some time. Gambling . . . Mostly at the horses... not very popular with women. Frequent trips to France, and Monte Carlo. Spent most of the time at the casinos. Too shrewd to cash checks there, but have far more than Travel grants to settle large sums of cash. I didn't investigate this because it's not what you want to know. But he has no scruples about taking loopholes in the law...as a lawyer he knows how to get around. There's reason to believe he embezzled clients' money Trust funds. Been speculating blindly lately... large sums of money in stocks and racetracks. Misjudgment, bad luck. Three months without meals. Grumpy, bad-tempered, prone to tantrums at work. But after the death of his uncle, everything changed. Like fried eggs on the breakfast table (if we can still eat it now), it showed a bright side. Then there is the special information you want. He was in Hart His story of betting at the Park races verges on a lie. He almost invariably placed bets through a broker or two. They didn't see him that day. Probably a train ride from Paddington to somewhere. The taxi driver who took him to Paddington, not sure it was him after seeing his picture. But the driver's word is not reliable. He is a general type of person... there is nothing particularly recognizable. Asked Pai Dington's porters etc., no catch. Apparently didn't get off at Josie station...nearest stop to Richett St. Mary. Small station, strangers would draw attention. Probably at Reading station Get out of the bus and take the bus. There are frequent and crowded buses, and there are several routes to a mile's radius around Richter St. Mary's, and a direct bus to the village. He wouldn't take the direct line... ...If he's playing for real. All in all, he's a shrewd kid. If he's been in the village that day, he must have been disguised, different from his usual attire. I'll keep him, okay? I want to keep track of his black market activities .”

"Well, keep it," said Hercule Poirot. Mr. Cobby licked his fingers and turned another page. "Mr. Mike Sheeran. He is very enterprising. Very self-aware. Wants to be famous, to be a big star. Loves money, has a good life. Very attractive to women. They follow him. He himself Never tired of doing it... but career first, so to speak. He hooked up with Suriel Denton, the female lead in his last play. He was in a small role, but he did a great job, Miss Denton My husband doesn't like him. His wife doesn't know about him and Miss Denton. She doesn't seem to know much about anything. Not quite actress stuff, I suppose, but it's nice to watch. Dear Her sir. There were rumors not long ago that the couple was on the verge of bankruptcy, but it seems that the crisis has now been lifted, since the death of Mr. Richard Abernether."

Emphasizing the last sentence, Mr. Cobb nodded sharply at a sofa cushion. "On the crucial day, Mr. Sheen said he met with a Mr. Rosingham and a Mr. Oscar Lewis to discuss a stage play. He did not meet with them. He called and told them he was sorry he couldn't make the appointment. He went to the Emeradu Car Rental Company, rented a car, and drove out at about twelve noon. He returned the car at about six in the evening. Judging from the mileage, it was about the same as the round trip to St. Mary’s. But There is no confirmation from Richter St. Mary. It seems that no one saw strange cars coming in and out there that day. But there are many places where you can park unnoticed within a mile or so. And there are about a few hundred cars in the small alley of the villa. There's an abandoned quarry at the end of the yard where you can park your car. There's three storefronts within walking distance and you can park on the street and the police won't bother. Well, shall we keep Mr. Sheen, too?"

"of course." "Then it's Mrs. Xue'an." Mr. Coby rubbed his nose and talked about Mrs. Xue'an on his left cuff! "She said that she went shopping...she was crazy, that's how they are. Besides, she knew that she had made a fortune the day before, so of course it should be more reckless to buy things. She has one or two signatures Debit card, but I was overdrawn and asked for money, so I didn't use it again. She did go shopping, trying on clothes, looking at jewelry, and bargaining...but she didn't buy anything? She was easy to deal with... …I dare say it. I sent a young lady who should know a lot about the stage world to talk to her. Picked up her at a restaurant and said, 'Honey, I haven't seen you since that play in Darkness.' .You did a great job! Have you seen Harbert again lately?' Harbert is the producer and Mrs. Sheen was a mess in that play...but it was a good pick up. They hit it off right away Talking about the stage, my girl showed a few hands. Then she said, I believe I saw you somewhere at such and such a time, mentioning the fateful day... Most women will deny it and say, 'Oh, it wouldn't be me, that day I...' Whatever she was doing. Except for Mrs. Sheen. She just said blankly, 'Oh, maybe.' What can you do with a woman like that?" The gentleman shook his head violently at the heater.

"There is nothing to be done with her," said Hercule Poirot, feelingly. "I have a point in saying that, don't I? I'll never forget the case of Sir Edgwell's murder. I, Hercule Poirot . . . can hardly compete with a mind of the utmost simplicity and innocence. The most simple and straightforward people often have the gift of committing simple crimes and getting away with it. May our murderer . . . if there is a murderer If so...he is extremely smart, has a high self-esteem, and cannot resist the drive of self-confidence, so he will do things that want to be concealed. This is a digression...continue."

Mr. Cobby flipped through the notebook again. "The Bankses . . . they said they were home all day that day. However, she wasn't home! She went to the garage, got out of her car, and left about one o'clock. Don't know where. About five Home or so. Don’t know how many miles she ran, because she adjusted the odometer once a day, which is not against the law.” "As for Mr. Banks, we have found some strange information. Let me start by mentioning that we don't know what he was doing that day. He didn't go to work. It seems that he took a few days off for the funeral. Then gave up. took that job...not thinking about the company at all. A decent sized pharmacy. They don't like Master Banks very much. Seems like he's got a queer temper and a lot of agitation."

"Well, as I said, the day Mrs. Blue died, we don't know what he was doing. He didn't go out with his wife. It's possible that he stayed at home all day. There was no porter in the apartment they lived in, Nobody knows if the tenant is home or out. Interesting though is his background. Up until about four months ago...just before he met his wife, he was in a mental hospital. No medical certificate...just a so-called mental breakdown It seems that he accidentally dispensed the wrong dose (he was working for McPhail at the time), and the woman who took that dose recovered, and the company apologized desperately to her, but she did not sue. After all, This kind of thing happens, and most decent people will forgive a young guy who makes a mistake by accident...that is, as long as no permanent damage is done. The company didn't fire him, but he resigned himself.. Said he was crazy Irritated. But then it seemed like he was in a very serious condition and told the doctor that he felt so guilty - that he did it on purpose... The woman came into the dispensary and treated him badly, arrogantly, complaining that the last time he helped Her medicine was terrible... He was so angry that he added a little almost fatal medicine or something. He said: 'She should be taught a lesson for daring to talk to me like that!' And he started to cry and said He's too guilty to live or something. The doctor said it's called a... 'guilty complex' or something... don't believe he did it on purpose, just careless, he's just seeing the situation It's too serious." Hercule Poirot uttered a French term which M. Cobby did not understand. "What? Anyway, he went to a mental asylum, they treated him, and he was discharged, and then I met Miss Abernethy. Then he got a job in this little remote pharmacy. To them He had been out of England for a year and a half and asked about his past jobs and he told them about a pharmacy in Eastbourne. The pharmacy didn't have a bad record for him, but a colleague said he was very eccentric and had a strange attitude at times. A customer once joked, 'I wish you'd sell me something that would poison my wife, ha, ha!' and Banks said to him very calmly and gently: 'I can...that'll cost you Two hundred pounds.' The customer laughed it off, uncomfortable. He might have been joking, but Banksy doesn't look like a joker to me." "My friend," said Hercule Poirot. "You really have a set! You have obtained such secret information!" Mr. Coby rolled his eyes around, finally landed on the door, and muttered, "There are ways..." "And then there's the country part, Timothy Abernethys. They live in a very nice place, but it's in dire need of some money to fix it up. They seem to be very poor, very poor, taxes, and unfortunate investments. Abel Mr. Nisser takes pleasure in his ill health, and I stress that he enjoys it. Complains a lot, demands things from everyone. Appetites well, looks fairly robust, day helper No one was in the house after the funeral, and no one was allowed into his room unless he rang the bell. He had a bad temper the morning after the funeral. Cursed Mrs. Jones and ate only one hour for breakfast. Ordered and said he skipped lunch...he had a bad sleep the night before. The next day he got even worse and said the supper she left him was inedible etc. He started at 9:30 that morning He was alone in the house until the next morning, and no one saw him." "Where's Mrs. Abernethy?" "She drove out of Enderby at the time you mentioned. Walked to a small garage called Cass Rock and said her car broke down a few miles away." "A mechanic drove her to where it broke down, checked it out, said they had to be towed back to fix it and it would take a lot of work... there's no guarantee it will be fixed that day. The lady had no choice but to spend the night in a small hotel and called Some sandwiches, said she wanted to see the country... it was almost deserted country place. She got back to the hotel quite late that night. My informant said he didn't suspect her. It was a little place!" "What time?" "She ordered sandwiches at eleven. If she went out to the main road, about a mile, she could hitchhike to Walcaster, then catch the South Coast Express to Reading. The rest by bus, etc. Needless to say. It can be done, if the murder is likely to be quite late in the afternoon." "I know the doctor extended the possible time until four-thirty at the latest." "You know," said Mr. Cobby, "I don't think it's likely. She seems to be a nice lady, and everyone likes her. She loves her husband and treats him like a child." "Yes, yes, motherhood." "She's strong, she chops wood a lot, and she can carry a big bundle in her arms. She's good at the interior of a car, too." "I was about to ask. What the hell happened to her car?" "Would you like to hear the details, M. Poirot?" "No, I don't have a mechanical mind." "It's hard to find what's wrong, and it's hard to fix it. And it could be someone doing vandalism, someone who knows the internals of a car, it doesn't take much." "Well done!" said Poirot sarcastically. "All are convenient, and all are possible. Boy, can't we rule out any one? And Mrs. Leo Abernethy?" "She was a very nice lady too. The late Mr. Abernether was very fond of her. She stayed there a fortnight before he died." "After he visited his sister at Richter St. Mary's?" "No, just before that. Since the war, her income has dropped drastically. She sold her house in England and bought a flat in London. She has a villa in Cyprus and lives in it for part of the year." Here. She educates a young nephew, and seems to support a young artist or two now and then." "A life as flawless as Saint Helen's," said Poirot, closing his eyes. "And it is unlikely that she left Enderby that day without the servants knowing? Tell me it is, I beg you!" Mr. Cobbey's apologetic eyes moved to Poirot's patent leather shoes, and this was the only time his eyes fell as close as Poirot from the beginning, while he murmured: "I am afraid I cannot say so, M. Poirot. Mrs. Abernethor has gone to London to get some of her personal clothes, as she has promised Mr. Entwhistle to stay and look after Enderby." "Except for that, she is invulnerable!" said Poirot with feeling.