Chapter 19 Chapter Nineteen

The family was very courteous to Mr. Pandariel, a representative of the United Nations Center for Elderly Refugees.He really chose the right disguise.Everyone took him for granted...and even pretended to know a lot about the United Nations Center for Elderly Refugees!How unwilling are human beings to admit their ignorance!The only exception was Rosamund, who asked him suspiciously: "What is that? I never heard of it." Fortunately, no one else was there.Poirot explained the institution as if Rosamund should be ashamed, since she alone was ignorant of this world-renowned institution.But Rosamund just mumbled, "Oh! Refugees everywhere again. I'm so tired of refugees." That speaks for a lot of people who are too stereotyped to be so frank. Express your true thoughts.

Mr. Pandariel was thus accepted... as a nuisance, and as an unworthy character.He becomes a foreign ornament.The general consensus was that Helen should avoid him on this particular weekend, but now that he was here, they had to try to be as comfortable as possible.Fortunately, this strange little foreigner doesn't seem to know much English.He often can't understand what you say to him, and when everyone speaks together occasionally, he is even more at a loss as if he has fallen into a fog.He seemed interested only in refugees and the post-war situation, and his English vocabulary covered only those subjects.The usual small talk seemed to baffle him.In circumstances more or less forgotten, Hercule Poirot reclined in his chair, sipped his coffee, and watched, like a cat watching a flock of chattering, jumping Jumping bird.This cat is not ready to leap and pounce.

After twenty-four hours of prowling and examining the house, Richard Abernether's heirs were ready to say what each of them liked, and, if necessary, to fight for it. The initial conversation was about a set of Spode china plates for a dessert they had just eaten. "I don't think I have much longer to live," Timothy said, a little sadly. "And Moody and I don't have kids. It's not worth the burden on us to ask for something useless. But for sentimental sake, I want the old dessert plate set. They remind me of the old days. Of course, they're out of date, and I know dessert plates are pretty cheap these days...but I'll take them anyway. I'm pretty content with them...maybe I'll want the wardrobe in the white boudoir."

"You're a step too late, Uncle," said George, casually and cheerfully. "I told Helen this morning that I wanted the Spode dessert plate." Timothy turned purple. "Talk to Helen...Talk to Helen? What do you mean? It hasn't been settled at all. And you haven't married yet, why do you want a dessert plate?" "Honestly, I'm collecting Spode china. And this is a very fine representative set. But that wardrobe you want is all right, uncle, I won't have it." Timothy didn't mention the wardrobe. "Listen here, little George. You don't want to be there 'but' 'but', come with me. I'm older than you...and I'm Richard's only living brother. That dessert The disk is mine."

"Why don't you just have the Dresden set, Uncle? It's a very good set, and I'm sure it will satisfy your nostalgia as well. Anyway, the Spode set is mine. Whoever picks first wins." "Ridiculous... there's no such thing!" Timothy sputtered. Moody snapped: "Please don't make your uncle angry, George, it's very bad for him. Of course he can take that Spode if he wants it! He's got first choice, you young people should let it go. He's Richard's Brother, as he said, and you are just a nephew." "And I can tell you, young man," Timothy said, growing angry. "If Richard had made a proper will, the disposition of everything in this place should be in my hands. All property should be like this, and if it is not, I can only suspect that it is a bad influence. Yes... …repeat…adverse effects.”

"Illegal wills," he said. "Ridiculous!" He lay back on the back of the chair, put one hand on his heart, and moaned: "It's very bad for me. I wish I could . . . have a little brandy." Miss Gilchrist hurried to get it, and returned with a small cup of "tonic." "Here it is, Mr. Abernether. Please... please don't get excited. Are you sure you don't want to go upstairs and lie down in bed?" "Don't be silly," Timothy said, gulping down the brandy. "Go to bed? I intend to defend my rights." "Really, George, you surprise me," said Moody. "Your uncle is telling the whole truth. His wishes take precedence. If he wants the Spode dessert plate set, it's his!" "

"Anyway, it's a shame," said Susan. "Shut your mouth, Susan," Timothy said. The thin young man sitting beside Susan raised his head and said in a trembling voice than usual: "Don't talk to my wife like that!" He half stood up. Susan said quickly, "It's okay, Greg. I don't mind." "But I don't mind." Helen said: "I thought you would be humble, George, and give your uncle that china dessert plate." Timothy was so angry that he spattered his mouth and said, "There's nothing you can't let!"

But George bowed slightly to Helen and said, "Your wish is the law, Aunt Helen. I waive my request." "You don't really want them anyway, do you?" said Helen. He gave her a sharp look, then grinned and said: "The trouble with you, Aunt Helen, is that you're too shrewd! You know more than you want to know. Don't worry, Uncle Timothy, that Spode set is yours. I'm just kidding." "Just for fun, really," Moody Abernether said indignantly. "Your uncle may have a heart attack because of this!" "You don't believe him," said George cheerfully. "Uncle Timothy may outlive all of us. He's what he calls a sick man."

Timothy leaned forward menacingly. "I have no doubt," he said, "that Richard will be disappointed in you." "What does that mean!" George's sense of humor was gone all at once. "You came here after Mortimer's death, expecting to take his place...expecting Richard would make you his heir, didn't you? But my poor brother saw through you soon enough. He knew that if his money came from You control where it goes. I'd be surprised he left you some of it. He knows what happens to it. Horse races, gambling, Monte Carlo, foreign casinos. Maybe worse than that too. Maybe. He suspects you of dishonesty, doesn't he?"

A white dent appeared on each side of George's nose, and he said calmly: "Don't you think you should be more careful when you speak?" "I didn't come to the funeral unwell," Timothy said slowly, "but Moody told me what Cora said. Cora's always been a fool...but maybe she had something to say! If that's the case , I know who I will suspect..." "Timothy!" Moody stood up, calm and steady, like a giant tower. "You've had a hard time tonight. You have to think about your health. You can't be sick anymore. Come with me. You need a sedative for bed. Helen, Timothy and I will take the Spode dessert The china plate and the wardrobe for souvenirs. No objection, I hope?"

She glanced at the people around her, but no one spoke. She put one hand on Timothy's elbow, strode out of the room, and waved away Miss Gilchrist who was standing at the door. After they left, George broke the silence. "A woman not to be despised!" said he. "That's exactly what Aunt Moody is. I daren't stand in her way." Miss Gilchrist sat down again somewhat uncomfortably, and murmured: "Mrs. Abernethy was always so kind." This sentence is a bit self-deprecating, and no one answered it. Mike Sheen burst out laughing and said, "You know, I think it's all very funny! A living 'Fansey Legacy'. By the way, Rosamund and I want that malachite table in the living room." "Oh, no," cried Susan, "I want that." "Here it goes again," said George, looking up at the ceiling. "Oh, we needn't be offended by that," said Susan. "The reason I want that table is for my beauty salon. Just to add a bit of character... I'll put a huge bouquet of wax flowers on it. That will look great. Wax flowers are easy to find, but the green ones Malachite tables are less common." "But, my dear," said Rosamund, "that's exactly why we want it. For a new play, as you say, as a feature ... so period. And whether it's put on wax Make flowers or hummingbirds, they all fit together just right." "I see what you mean, Rosamund," said Susan. "But I don't think your reasons are as good as mine. You can easily use a lacquered malachite table on the stage...it looks like the real thing. But my beauty salon has to use real Malachite table." "Well, ladies," said George, "how about a gentlemen's agreement? Why not flip a coin, or compare the cards? That's quite in keeping with the style of the table." Susan smiled kindly. "Rosamon and I will discuss it tomorrow," she said. She seemed, as usual, quite confident.George looked with interest from her face to Rosamund's.There was a vague, rather distant expression on Rosamund's face. "Whom do you support, Aunt Helene?" he asked. "I daresay they are evenly matched. Susan has determination, but Rosamund is astoundingly dedicated." "Maybe without hummingbirds," said Rosamund. "Take one of those Chinese vases as a lamp holder, it would be lovely with a golden shade." Miss Gilchrist hurried to smooth things over. "There are really beautiful things all over the house," she said. "I'm sure that green table will look very nice in your new house, Mrs Bankes. I've never seen such a pretty table. It must be worth a lot of money." "Of course, it will be deducted from my share," Susan said. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean..." Miss Gilchrist looked embarrassed. "Can be deducted from 'our' share," Mike said. "With wax flowers." "They fit well on that table," murmured Miss Gilchrist. "It's really artistic and very beautiful." But Miss Gilchrist's kindness was ignored. Gregor said again in his high-strung voice: "Susan wants that table." There was an uneasy commotion at this statement, as if Gregor had changed the atmosphere in an instant with his words. Helen quickly said: "What do you really want, George? Besides the Spode china set." George grinned, and the tension eased. "It's kind of humbling to tease old Timothy," he said. "But he's kind of unbelievable. He's spoiled, he wants everything he wants, and over time it becomes a bad habit." "You'll have to accommodate the patient, Mr. Crossfield," said Miss Gilchrist. "I see he's glowing red, and he's not sick at all, just an old delusional," George said. "Of course," Susan agreed. "I don't believe there's anything wrong with him, do you, Rosamund?" "what?" "There's nothing wrong with Uncle Timothy." "No...no, I don't think so." Rosamund said vaguely.she apologized. "Excuse me, I was wondering what kind of lighting would go with that table." "You know that, don't you?" George said. "A single-minded woman. Your wife is a dangerous woman, Mike, and I want you to understand that." "I understand," Mike said a little seriously. George went on cheerfully. "Table Wars! Tomorrow...Gentlemen's Rivalry...but each is strong. We should all be on our own side. I'm rooting for Rosamund who is so sweet and soft on the surface but not. Husband of course Supporting their wife. Miss Gilchrist? Clearly on Susan's side." "Oh, indeed, Mr. Crossfield, I dare not—" "Where's Aunt Helen?" George continued, ignoring Miss Gilchrist. "You're the key vote. Oh, uh... I forgot. Where's Mr. Pandariel?" "Excuse me, what did you say?" Hercule Poirot was bewildered. George considered whether to explain to him, but decided it was better not to.The poor old man couldn't understand a word."It's nothing, it's just a family joke," he said. "Yes, yes, I understand." Poirot smiled kindly. "So you have a decisive vote, Aunt Helen. Whose side are you on?" Helen smiled slightly. "Maybe I want it myself, George." She deftly changed the subject and said to her foreign guest: "I'm afraid you're bored, Mr. Pandariel?" "Not at all, ma'am. I feel honored to be a part of your household life..." he said with a bow. "I want to say... I can't quite express what I mean... It's a pity that this house has to go from you to a foreigner. It's, no doubt... a great pity." "No, really, we're not sorry at all," Susan said. "You are very kind, ma'am. Let me tell you, this place is perfect for my persecuted seniors, such a haven of peace! I ask you to remember this when you are hit hard. I heard There's also a school that wants to come here...not a regular school, but a nunnery...run by women believers...I think you call them 'nuns'? Maybe you'd prefer to sell them?" "Not at all," said George. "St. Mary's Love Foundation," Poirot went on. "Fortunately, thanks to the help of a kind person, we were able to outbid them a little bit," he said to Miss Gilchrist. "I suppose you don't like nuns?" Miss Gilchrist flushed with embarrassment. "Oh, really, Mr. Pendarelle, you shouldn't...I mean, it's not about personal attacks. But I never thought it right to live in isolation like they did...I mean, there's no need for it, and it's too much Selfish. Of course I don't mean the ones who teach, or the ones who do things for poor families... because I believe they are completely self-sacrificing people, and do a lot of good." "I just can't imagine anyone wanting to be a nun," Susan said. "They're very elegant," says Rosamund. "You guys remember... last year when they re-enacted 'The Miracle', Sunia Wells looked stunningly beautiful beyond words." "What I can't figure out," said George, "is why God would be happy in that medieval dress. Because, after all, that's what a nun's dress is. Totally unhygienic, inconvenient, and impractical." "And it makes them all look alike, doesn't it?" said Miss Gilchrist. "It sounds funny, you know, but when I was at Mr. Abernether's I got a big fright when a nun came to collect donations. I thought she was the same nun that day at Richter St. Mary's." Personally. You know, I almost thought she seemed to be following me!" "I thought the nuns always did it in two," George said. "Is there a detective novel that once said so?" "There was only one at that time," said Miss Gilchrist. "Maybe they have to save manpower," she added vaguely. "Anyway, it can't be the same nun, because the other one is collecting donations for an organ, going to St... Bass Bass, I think... and this one is collecting donations for a different institution... with children related." "But they both have the same features?" asked Hercule Poirot.There was interest in his tone.Miss Gilchrist turned to him. "I think it must have been like you said ... her lips ... seemed to have a beard. I thought, you know, that must have alerted me ... I was a little nervous, and I remembered the war There were some stories about some nuns who were actually disguised by people from the fifth column and fell from the sky. Of course, I was really stupid to think so. I also realized later that my own imagination is too rich." "A nun is a good disguise," Susan said thoughtfully. "You can even cover up your feet." "The truth is," said George, "that people rarely really look at other people carefully. So it's surprising that every witness in court says something different. A person is often described as tall...short; Thin...fat; white...black; wearing dark...light clothing; and so on. Only one witness is reliable, but you'll have to judge for yourself which one." "Another weird thing," said Susan, "is that you sometimes see yourself in the mirror and unexpectedly don't know who it is. It just looks familiar, and then you look at yourself Say, 'I know this person very well...' and then suddenly realize it's you!" george said: "What's harder is whether you actually see yourself...not the reflection in the mirror." "Why?" Rosamund asked in confusion. "Because, don't you understand, no one ever sees themselves...as other people see him. They always see themselves in the mirror...that is to say...a side-to-side image." "But does that look any different?" "Oh, yes," said Susan quickly. "There must be. Because people's faces are different on the left and right sides. They have two different eyebrows, one side of their mouth is turned up, and their nose is not really that straight. You can see it with a pencil. . . who has pencil?" Someone handed her a pencil, and they experimented on the spot, placing the pencil parallel to the bridge of their noses, laughing at the ridiculous angles. The atmosphere is much more relaxed now.Everyone is in a good mood.They were no longer the heirs who came together to divide up Richard Abernether's estate.They're a bunch of happy, normal folks gathered for a weekend in the countryside. Only Helen Abernether remained silent and absent-minded. Hercule Poirot rose with a sigh, and bid his mistress a polite good night. "Also, ma'am, I'd better say goodbye at this time. I want to take the train to Tower tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, which is very early, so I take the time to say goodbye to you, thank you for your hospitality. The date of the handover of the house...we will follow Mr. Entwhistle. Of course, it depends on when it is convenient for you." "As long as you like, Mr. Pandariel. I... my purpose of coming here has been fulfilled." "You're going back to your villa in Cyprus?" "Yes." A smile appeared on Helen Abernether's lips. Poirot said: "You're happy, yes. You're not sorry?" "Regret to leave England? Or do you mean to leave here?" "I mean... get out of here?" "No... no. It's no good being attached to the past, is it? One has to leave the past behind." "If it is possible." Poirot blinked, and smiled apologetically at the polite faces all around him. "Sometimes, the past doesn't want to be the past, doesn't want to be forgotten, doesn't it? It still haunts you - it says 'I'm not done with you'." Susan laughed a little disbelievingly.Poirot said: "I mean really... yes." "You mean," said Mike, "that your refugees can't completely forget their past suffering when they come here?" "I don't mean my refugees." "He means us, my dear," said Rosamund, "uncle Richard and Aunt Cora and the axe, and all that stuff." She turned to Poirot. "Isn't it?" Poirot gazed at her impassively, and she said: "Why do you think so, ma'am?" "Because you're a detective, aren't you? That's why you're here, UNCAR, or whatever you say, it's a bunch of bullshit, isn't it?"