Chapter 18 Chapter Eighteen

Hercule Poirot sat in his seat by the fireplace in the study and watched the assembled crowd. His thoughtful eyes flicked from Susan, who sat upright, full of vigor and vitality, to her husband, who sat beside her, with a blank expression, playing with a coil of thread in his hands; to George Crosfield, Lively and self-sufficient, talking to Rosamund about the card tricks of the Atlantic sea voyage, Rosamund said mechanically, "That's unusual, my dear. But why?" The voice lost interest; Move on to Mike, who is very personal, morbidly beautiful, and very charming in appearance; on to Helen, calm and a little out of reach; Timothy, with a stocky, preoccupied Moody beside him; finally his eyes shifted to a man who, with an apologetic look, sat outside the family circle... wearing a little too "fancy" Miss Gilchrist in the blouse.He judged that she would get up before long, and, muttering excuse me, would leave the family gathering and go to her own room.Miss Gilchrist knew measure, he thought.She learned it the hard way.

Hercule Poirot sipped his after-dinner coffee, half-closed his eyes, and began to think. He wanted them to come here...all of them, and now they're all here.He thought to himself, what is he going to do with them now?He suddenly felt bored and didn't want to go on.Why do you feel this way?He wondered, was it because of the influence of Helen Abernether?She has a passive resistance that seems surprisingly strong.Had she managed to burn her own reluctance into his mind, despite her outwardly gentle and uncaring?She disapproved of another cloud of smoke when the dust had settled after old Richard's death, he knew.She wanted it to calm down, to fade away.Poirot was not surprised by this.He was surprised at his own inclination to agree with her.

He realized that Mr. Entwhistle's appraisal of each member of the family was admirable.He has described these people very well.With the understanding and evaluation of the old lawyer guiding him, he wanted to understand for himself.Faced with these people, he thinks he'll have a very astute notion, not "how" or "when"... (these two questions he's not going to pursue. Murder is possible...he just needs to know that !) ... but who.For Hercule Poirot was experienced, and being a man who knew a painter by sight, he believed he could recognize an amateur criminal ... the type who would, if necessary ... kill.

However, in fact it is not that simple. Because almost every one of these people has the possibility...although the possibility is not very strong...to be the murderer.George could kill... the dog jumps over the wall.Susan is calm...competent...for further planning.Greg because of his odd, sick personality, which kind of doesn't care, even begging to be punished for his psychotic tendencies.Mike because he is ambitious and has all the overconfident vanity and ego of a murderer.Rosamund was frighteningly naive because of her appearance.Timothy because he hated and resented his brother and longed for the power that his brother's wealth would bring.Moody because Timothy is like her child and she will do anything for the child.Even Miss Gilchrist, he thought, might have murdered someone for it, if she could restore the Willow House to its former grandeur and dame-like life.

So, what about Helen?He couldn't see that Helen would be the murderer.She's too civilized...too far from violence.And she and her husband loved Richard Abernether. Poirot sighed to himself.There are no shortcuts to finding out the truth.Instead, he has to use a more time-consuming, but reasonably clear method, which is to talk, a lot of talk.Because in the end, whether it's through a lie or through the truth, people end up telling themselves... Helen introduced him to everyone, and had managed to get over their annoyance at his presence - a strange foreigner! …show up at family reunions.He uses his eyes and ears.He watches and listens... light and dark come!He noticed the strife that always arose when dividing property.He cleverly arranged to talk to them individually, and then observed and deduced.He talked to Miss Gilchrist about her teahouse days and how to make brioches and chocolate cream pies right, and went with her into the vegetable garden to discuss the proper use of herbs in cooking.He spent a long half hour listening to Timothy talk about his health and the effect of paint on his health.

paint?Poirot frowned.Someone said something about the paint too... Mr. Entwhistle? He also discussed various paintings with them.Pierre Lansquenet's problem as a painter.Miss Gilchrist was fascinated by Cora Lansquenet's paintings, Susan dismissed them. "It's like landscape cards," she said. "She literally drew it from a landscape card." Miss Gilchrist was rather offended at her remark, and said bitterly that dear Lanskinet was always sketching on the spot. "But I believe she is deceitful," Susan said to Poirot after Miss Gilchrist had left the room. "As a matter of fact I know she's a liar, though I don't want to hurt that old lady's feelings."

"how do you know?" Poirot gazed at Susan's firm, confident chin. "This girl has always been confident," he thought to himself. "Maybe sometimes, she will be too confident..." Susan continued: "I'll tell you, but don't let Miss Gilchrist know. There's a picture of Pol Freckson, little harbor, lighthouse, and wharf... the usual angle any amateur painter would take. But the wharf It was bombed during the war, and Aunt Cora's drawing was made a few years ago, so it couldn't be an impromptu sketch, could it? But the landscape cards they sell there still have the pier on it. She has it in her bedroom drawer. There's one. So I figured Aunt Cora went out there and sketched and then came home and sneaked her work out of landscape cards! It's funny, isn't it, to be uncovered like that?"

"Yes, as you said, it's funny." He paused, and then he thought that the opening line was a good one. "You don't remember me, ma'am," he said, "but I remember you. It's not the first time I've seen you." She stared at him.Poirot nodded cheerfully. "Yes, that's right. I was in a car, fully clothed, and I saw you through the window. You were talking to a mechanic in the garage. You didn't notice me. . . it was Natural thing... I was in the car... an old foreign guy covered in clothes! But I noticed you because you were young and good looking and you were standing in the sun. So when I came here I said to myself , 'What a coincidence!'"

"Garage? When?" "Oh, not so long ago... a week... no, a little more." Poirot pretended to say with a panoramic view of the garage of the "Golden Warrior" hotel in his mind: "I can't remember where it is at the moment. Where I have been Too much." "Looking for a suitable house to buy for your refugees?" "Yes. There's a lot to consider, you know. Price...surroundings...possibility of modification, etc." "I suppose you'll have to work a lot on remodeling this place? The cubicles here are horrible." "Upstairs bedrooms, yes, of course. We won't be changing most of the rooms on the ground floor though." He paused and continued.

"Don't you feel sorry, madam, for selling your old house to...foreigners?" "Of course not." Susan said cheerfully. "I think it's the best idea. It's a place no one would want to live in. I have nothing to be sentimental about. It's not my home. I My mother and father lived in London. We only came here sometimes for Christmas. In fact I always thought it rather a nuisance...almost an unrefined temple to wealth." "The temples are very different now. High buildings, hidden lights, and simple and expensive things. But wealth still has its temples. I know... hope you don't think I'm presumptuous... you plan to buy it yourself A mansion like this, huh? Everything is luxurious . . . regardless of cost."

Susan laughed. "It's not a palace...just a place to do business." "Maybe the name doesn't matter...but it costs a lot of money...that's the truth, isn't it?" "Everything is expensive now. But I think the initial cost is worth it." "Tell me about these plans of yours. It interested me to find a beautiful young woman so capable and down-to-earth. In my youth... long ago, I confess...beautiful women thought only of pleasure, Think cosmetics, think clothing." "Women still put a lot of thought into their faces...that's where my business is." "tell me." She told him.I told him in detail, and unknowingly revealed a lot of secrets.He admired her brilliant business sense, the audacity and detail of her plans.A bold and careful planner, sweeping away all trivial problems.Maybe a little ruthless, like all bold planners... He looked at her and said: "Well, you're going to succeed, you're going to get ahead. You're lucky, unlike a lot of other people, who are tied down by poverty. There's no way without capital. Having these ideas and being frustrated by a lack of capital...it's unbearable of." "I can't stand it! But I'm going to try to raise money... find someone to support me." "Ah! Of course. Your uncle, the owner of this house, is rich. Even if he hadn't died, he would have 'supported' you, as you say." "Oh, no, he won't. Uncle Richard has a bit of a problem with women. If I were a man..." A rush of anger crossed her face. "He made me very angry." "I understand... yes, I understand..." "Old people shouldn't stand in the way of young people. I... oh, sorry." Hercule Poirot laughed freely and smoothed his beard. "I'm old, all right. But I don't hinder the young. No one needs to wait for me to die." "What a horrible thought." "But you're a realist, ma'am. Let's admit without fuss that the world is full of young people...or even middle-aged people...who wait patiently, or impatiently, for someone's Dying will give them...not riches...opportunity." "Opportunity!" Susan took a deep breath. "That's exactly what a person needs." Poirot looked behind her and said happily: "Your sir has come to join us in our conversation...Mr. Banks, we are talking about opportunity. Golden opportunities...opportunities that must be seized with both hands. How much can a man's conscience do? Let us hear from you Opinion?" But he didn't listen to Gregg's opinion on opportunity or any other subject.In fact he found it nearly impossible to talk to Greg Banks.Banksy had a peculiar, restless character.Whether it was his own or his wife's will, he didn't seem to enjoy chatter or calm discussion at all.Well, "talking" doesn't work for Greg. Poirot talked to Moody Abernether too... about the paint (the smell of paint), and how lucky Timothy was to be at Enderby, and how Helen even invited Miss Gilchrist It's really good. "Because she's really useful. Timothy often likes a little snack...and you can't expect much from someone else's servant, but there's a small gas stove in the pantry, so Miss Gilchrist I can help him make some Ovaltine and the like, without disturbing others. And she is diligent, and she is willing to run upstairs and downstairs more than a dozen times a day without getting bored. Oh yes, I really don’t think she has the guts to stay alone In our house, it was providence that she followed us to help us, although I admit I was puzzled when she said that." "Have no guts?" asked Poirot, amused. He listened carefully to Moody's account of Miss Gilchrist's sudden emotional breakdown. "You say she's frightened? But you can't say why? It's interesting, very interesting." "I said it was a delayed oscillation." "maybe." "When the war broke out, a bomb fell about a mile away from us one time, and I remember Timothy..." Poirot did not want to know how Timothy was. "Did anything in particular happen that day?" he asked. "What day?" Moody asked puzzled. "Miss Gilchrist's restless day." "Oh, then... no, I don't think so. Seems like she's been that way since she left Richter St. Mary's, she said herself. She didn't care when she was there." And the result, thought Poirot, was a poisoned wedding cake.It was natural for Miss Gilchrist to feel fear after that incident... and even after she was at Stansfield Farm the fear lingered.Not just lingering, but gradually strengthening.Why strengthen?Of course, it must be very strenuous to take care of patients with delusional disorder like Timothy, so the feeling of tension and fear will overflow? But there was something in that house that frightened Miss Gilchrist.what?Does she know it herself? He found an opportunity to be alone with Miss Gilchrist before supper, and Poirot introduced the subject with a foreigner's curiosity. "You know, it's impossible for me to mention the murder to them. But I'm curious. Who wouldn't? A heinous crime...a sensual artist attacked in a remote cabin. To her family , was a horrible thing. But I suppose, too, for you. Because Mrs. Timothy Abernethy told me you were in the house, weren't you?" "Yes, I was there. If you don't mind, Mr. Pendarelle, I don't want to talk about it." "I understand... oh yes, I totally understand." Having said this, Poirot waited.As he had expected, Miss Gilchrist actually began to talk. He didn't hear anything from her that he hadn't heard before, but he played a very sympathetic role, occasionally uttering a voice of understanding, listening with an attentive interest that Miss Gilchrist couldn't help He talked more and more vigorously. After she had exhausted her own feelings, the doctor's words, and Mr. Entwhistle's kindness in her long discourse, Poirot proceeded cautiously to the second point. "I think you were wise not to stay alone in that cottage." "I can't help it, Mr. Pandariel, I really can't help it." "Of course. As far as I understand, you wouldn't dare stay alone in the house when Timothy Abernethy and his wife were coming here, would you?" Miss Gilchrist looked guilty. "It makes me ashamed to death, so stupid. Just a panic on my part...I really don't know why?" "But of course those who hear it will know why. You just came out of the hospital and were almost poisoned to death..." Miss Gilchrist sighed at this, and said at the same time that she couldn't figure out why anyone would want to poison her? "But apparently, my good lady, because the criminal, the killer, thinks you know something that might lead to his arrest by the police." "But what would I know? Some horrible bum, or something half-crazy." "If it's a tramp, it seems impossible to me..." "Oh please stop talking, Mr. Pendarelle..." Miss Gilchrist suddenly became very disturbed. "Don't suggest such a thing, I don't believe it." "What don't you believe?" "Don't believe it's not...I mean...is..." She stopped, not knowing what to say. "However," said Poirot shrewdly, "you do believe it." "Oh I don't believe it. I don't believe it!" "But I think you do. That's why you're terrified...you're still terrified, aren't you?" "Oh no, it won't be when I come here. So many people and such a nice atmosphere. Oh no, everything seems to be okay here." "It seems to me...you'll have to forgive my curiosity...I'm an old man, kind of useless, and I spend most of my time thinking about things that interest me...It seems to me that in history Something must have happened at Tansfield Farm to bring your latent fears to the fore. Doctors these days know what's going on in our subconscious." "Yes, yes...I know they said that." "And I think it may be a specific little thing, maybe a fairly unrelated thing, let's call it the fuse, which detonated your subconscious fear." Miss Gilchrist seemed eager to accept this statement. "I believe you're right," she said. "So, come to think of it, what is this... er... unrelated event?" Miss Gilchrist thought for a moment, then said unexpectedly: "I think, you know, Mr. Pandariel, it's the nun." Just as Poirot was about to continue to follow the line of questioning, Susan and her husband walked in, followed by Helen. "A nun," thought Poirot... "where on earth have I heard a nun mentioned?" He decided to talk to her sometime in the evening about the nuns.