Chapter 20 Chapter Twenty

As soon as this remark came out, it caused a very tense situation.Although Poirot's eyes remained on Rosamund's lovely, calm face, he felt the tension. He bowed slightly and said, "You are perceptive, ma'am." "Not necessarily," said Rosamund. "Someone pointed you out to me once in a restaurant, I remember." "But you haven't mentioned it...until now?" "I thought it would be fun not to mention it," said Rosamund. Mike barely controlled his emotions and said: "My... good girl." Poirot's eyes moved to him.

Mike was angry, angry and... worried? Poirot's eyes moved slowly over all the faces, Susan's, angry and alert; Greg, dead and closed; Alert; Helen, tense, panicked... In this case, these expressions are normal.He really wished he could see their faces a second earlier, when the word "detective" came out of Rosamund's mouth, now, of course, it's not the same... He puffed out his chest and bowed to them.His English no longer has a foreign accent. "Not bad," he said. "I'm a detective." George Crossfield again had two white indentations on his nostrils and said:

"Who sent you here?" "I have been entrusted with investigating the circumstances of the death of Richard Abernether." "Entrusted by whom?" "For the time being, it's none of your business. But if you can be sure that Richard Abernethie died of natural causes, you'll be happy, can you?" "Of course he died of natural causes. Who says otherwise?" "Cona Lansquenet said it. And Cora Lansquenet herself died." A slightly restless breath, like an evil breeze, blew through the room. "What she's talking about here...in this room," Susan said. "But I don't really think..."

"Really, Susan?" George Crosfield looked at her ironically. "Why pretend? You can't fool Mr. Pandariel, can you?" "We all thought he was really Mr. Pandariel..." said Rosamund. "Actually his name is Hercule or something." "Hercule Poirot . . . is ready to teach." Poirot bowed. No one appreciated the weight of the name, and no one was shocked by it.His name meant nothing to them. They were not as alert as when they heard the word "detective". "May I ask what conclusions you have come to?" George asked. "He won't tell you, my dear," said Rosamund. "Even if he told you, he wouldn't tell the truth."

She seemed to be the only one who found it interesting. Hercule Poirot watched her thoughtfully. Hercule Poirot did not sleep well that night.He felt uneasy, and he wasn't quite sure why he was uneasy.Unfathomable fragments of conversation, various eyes, strange actions... everything seems to contain a meaning that is ready to be revealed in the silent night, which makes people itch.He has stepped on the steps of Sleeping God, but Sleeping God just refuses to call him.Just when he was drowsy, a thought suddenly flashed in his mind and woke him up.Paint... Timothy and paint.Oil painting... the smell of oil painting... has something to do with Mr. Entwhistle.Oil painting and Kona.Cora's painting... landscape card painting... Cora's painting is deceitful... no, back to Mr. Entwhistle... what Mr. Entwhistle said...or Lan Scamber?A nun appeared the day Richard Abernether died.A nun with a beard.There was a nun at Stansfield Farm...and Richett St. Mary.Too many nuns!Rosamund was awesome on stage as a nun.Rosamund... said he was a detective...everyone stared at her when she said that.Cora said that day "But he was murdered, wasn't he?" Yes, they must have been staring at her that way.What was it that felt wrong to Helen Abernether at the time?Helen Abernethie...leave it all behind...to Cyprus...the wax flower in Helen Abernethie's hand fell to the ground when he said...what did he say?he doesn't remember much...

Then he fell asleep, he fell asleep and dreamed... He dreamed of the green malachite table.On the table was a glass-covered wax flower... but the whole thing was painted with a thick layer of crimson oil paint, painted blood red.He could smell the oil paint, and Timothy moaned, saying "I'm dying... dying... it's over." And Moody stood aside, tall and strong, with a huge blade in his hand, following him Say "yes, it's over..." It's over... a bier, candles burning, a nun praying.If he could see the nun's face, he'd know... Hercule Glass woke up...he really knew!

Yes, it's over... Although the road is still far away. He sorted out his messy thoughts. Mr. Entwhistle, the smell of paint, Timothy's house, there must be something... or there might be something in his house... wax flowers... Helen... broken glass... Helen Abernether, in her room, getting ready for bed.She is thinking. She sat in front of the dressing table, looking at herself in the mirror, turning a blind eye. She was compelled to have Hercule Poirot in the house.She didn't want him to come.But Mr. Entwhistle made it hard for her to refuse.Now things are out in the open.It was impossible to rest Richard Abernethie in his grave.It all started with Kona's words...

The day after the funeral... She wondered, what expressions did they have?With what expressions did they look at Cora?What is her expression? What did George say?About a person seeing himself for himself? To see ourselves as others see us...as others see us. Her gaze in the mirror suddenly became focused.She was looking at herself...but not really herself...not as others saw her...not as Cora saw her that day. Her right... no, her left eyebrow is a little higher than her right eyebrow.What about the mouth?The curve of the mouth is symmetrical.If she could see herself in other people's eyes, of course what she saw would not be much different from the image in this mirror.Unlike Cora.

Ke Na... That scene clearly appeared in front of her eyes... Cora, on the day of the funeral, with her head tilted to one side... asking that question... looking at Helen... Suddenly, Helen covered her face with her hands. "It doesn't make sense...it can't make sense..." Miss Entwhistle was awakened by the ringing of the telephone from her dream of playing cards with Queen Mary. She tried to ignore it...but the phone kept ringing.She looked up sleepily at the watch on the bedside.Five minutes to seven... Who the hell would call at this hour?Must be a typo. The phone still rings irritatingly and incessantly.Miss Entwhistle sighed, grabbed a gown, put it on, and went into the drawing room.

"This is Kensington 675498," she said gruffly, grabbing the phone. "I'm Mrs. Abernethy. Mrs. Leo Abernethy. May I speak to Mr. Entwhistle?" "Oh, good morning, Mrs. Abernethy." A "good morning" was not sincere. "I'm Miss Entwhistle, and I'm afraid my brother is still asleep. I was still asleep myself." "I'm so sorry," Helen was forced to apologize. "But I have to talk to Brother Ling right away, it's very important." "Can't it be later?" "I'm afraid not." "Oh, then, all right."

Miss Entwhistle spoke bitterly. She knocked on her brother's door and went in. "It's those Abernethians again!" she said angrily. "Er, Abernethir?" "Mrs. Leo Abernether. Call before seven in the morning! Seriously!" "Mrs. Leo? My God, that's unusual. Where's my gown? Oh, thank you." Soon he said into the microphone: "I am Entwhistle. Is that you, Helen?" "Yes, I'm very sorry for waking you up. But you once said that if I remembered what was wrong with Cora suggesting that Richard was murdered at the funeral, I would call you immediately." "Ah! Do you remember?" Helen said in a puzzled tone: "Yes, but it doesn't make sense." "You'll have to speak up and let me judge for myself. Did you notice anything wrong with a certain person?" "yes." "tell me." "It doesn't seem to make sense," Helen said in an apologetic tone. "But I'm pretty sure. I remembered looking in the mirror last night. Oh..." After this startled half-cry, there was a strange... a muffled sound, which Mr. Entwhistle could not figure out what it was... He said urgently: "Hey... hello... are you listening? Helen, are you listening?... Helen..."