Chapter 22 Chapter Twenty Two

At exactly eleven o'clock Hercule Poirot called an informal meeting in the study.Everyone was present, and Poirot looked intently at the semicircle of faces. "Last night," he said, "Mrs. Sheen announced to you that I was a private eye. I myself wished I could have kept my... shall we say 'disguise'? . . . for a little longer. But it doesn't matter." Today...tomorrow at the latest...I will tell you the truth. Now listen carefully to what I have to say." "I'm a celebrity in my own industry... a very famous person. In fact, my ability is unmatched!"

George Crosfield grinned and said: "Come on, M. Pound... no, it's M. Poirot, isn't it? It's funny how I've never heard of you?" "Not ridiculous," said Poirot sharply. "It's pathetic! Education is terrible these days. Apparently there's nothing to be learned except economics... and how to deal with intelligence tests! Let's leave that aside and carry on. I've been a friend of Mr. Entwhistle for many years." ..." "It turned out that this old boy did a good thing!" "Put what you will, Mr. Crossfield. Mr. Entwhistle was disturbed by the death of his old friend, Mr. Richard Abernethy. He was particularly troubled by Mr. Abernethy's sister on the day of the funeral, Some of the things Mrs. Lansquenet said, just in this room."

"It's ridiculous...that's what Cora is," said Moody. "Mr. Entwhistle should be smart enough to ignore those words!" Poirot continued: "Mr. Entwhistle was even more perplexed after the ... coincidence, shall I say? ... death of Mrs. Lansquenett. He had but one request ... to make sure that her death was a coincidence. In other words, he wanted To ascertain that Richard Abernethir died of natural causes. To this end, he entrusted me with the necessary investigations." He paused. "I did……" He paused again.No one said anything. Poirot threw back his head.

"You will be glad to hear that according to the results of my investigation... there is absolutely no reason to believe that Mr. Abernethir did not die of natural causes. There is absolutely no reason to believe that he was murdered!" He smiled slightly.He spread his arms out in a triumphant gesture. "That's good news, isn't it?" Judging from their expressions, it doesn't seem to be the case.All but one were staring at him with suspicion in their eyes. The exception was Timothy Abernether, who was nodding his head in agreement. "Of course Richard wasn't murdered," he said angrily. "Can't understand why anyone would ever have that thought! It was purely a prank by Cora, trying to scare you, she had a lot of fun. Although she is my sister, I have to be honest, she always Just a little nuts, poor girl. Well, whatever your name is, I'm glad you're smart enough to come to the right conclusions, though if you ask me I'd say Entwhistle is shameless, Dare to commission you to investigate. And if he thinks he can transfer the cost of hiring you to us, I can tell you that he has no way! What a fucking cheek, don't know how to call him happy! What is he? If the whole family is satisfied..."

"But the family is not happy, Uncle Timothy," said Rosamund. "Hey... what do you mean by that?" Timothy raised his eyebrows and watched her unhappily. "We are not satisfied. What do you say about Aunt Helen's business this morning?" Suddenly Moody said sharply: "Helen is just getting old enough to have a stroke, that's all." "I understand," said Rosamund. "You think it's another coincidence?" She looked at Poirot. "Isn't it too much of a coincidence?" "Coincidences," said Hercule Poirot, "do happen."

"Nonsense," Moody said, "Helen just felt sick, went downstairs to call the doctor, and then..." "But she didn't call the doctor," Rosamone said. "I asked her..." Susan suddenly said: "Who did she call?" "I don't know," said Rosamund, with a look of distress passing across her face. "But I dare say I can find out," she added hopefully. Hercule Poirot sits in the Victorian gazebo.He took a large watch out of his pocket and set it on the table in front of him. He announced that he was going to take the twelve o'clock train.There's still half an hour left.Half an hour for someone to make up his mind to come to him.maybe more than one person...

From most of the windows in the house, the gazebo can be clearly seen.Soon, someone must come, right? If not, his understanding of human nature is insufficient, and his main premise is incorrect. He waited... Above him, a spider sat in its web, waiting for the flies to throw themselves into it. First came Miss Gilchrist.She was blushing, irritable, and somewhat incoherent. "Oh, Mr. Pendarelle... I can't remember your other name," she said. "I didn't like it, but I had to come and talk to you... I really felt compelled to. I mean, after poor Mrs. Leo's accident this morning... I thought Mrs. Sheen was quite Yes...not a coincidence, and certainly not a stroke...as Mrs. Timothy suggests, because my father had a stroke, and the expression on his face was quite different, and anyway, the doctor said it was a concussion!"

She paused, said with a breath, and looked at Poirot imploringly. "Yes," said Poirot, encouraging her gently. "You want to tell me something?" "Like I said, I don't like it. . . because she's been so nice to me. She's arranged for me to do things at Mrs. Timothy's and all. She's really nice. That's why I'm so embarrassed and ungrateful She even gave me Mrs. Lansquenett's muskrat coat, which is really nice and fits perfectly, because it doesn't matter if it's a little hairy. And she didn't even listen when I gave her the garnet brooch Do not listen……"

"You mean," said Poirot mildly, "Mrs. Bankes?" "Yes, you know..." Miss Gilchrist bent her head, rubbing her fingers sullenly.She raised her head and said with a sudden gulp: "You know, I hear!" "You mean you happened to overhear some conversation..." "No," Miss Gilchrist shook her head resolutely like a heroine. "I'd rather tell the truth. It's less difficult to tell you, because you're not English." Hercule Poirot understood that she meant no harm. "You mean that for foreigners, eavesdropping on other people's speeches, stealing open their letters, and peeking at other people's letters are commonplace?"

"Oh, I never open other people's letters," said Miss Gilchrist in a tone of astonishment. "Not really, but I heard that day... the day Mr. Richard Abernether went to see his sister. You know, I was curious about him suddenly going to see her after all these years. And I do wonder why ...and...and...you know when you don't have much of a private life or a lot of friends, you get interested...I mean, when you're living with other people." "Naturally," said Poirot. "Yes, I do think it's natural... though, of course, it shouldn't be. But I did! And I heard what he said!"

"Did you hear what Mr. Abernether told Mrs. Lansquenet?" "Yes. He seemed to say... 'It's no use talking to Timothy. He scoffs at everything and doesn't listen to you. But I want to tell you, Cora. ​​It's just the three of us Personal. And though you've always liked to pretend to be ignorant, you've got a lot of sense, so tell me, what would you do if you were me?'" "I couldn't quite hear what Mrs. Lansquenet said, but I heard her say 'police'... and then Mr. Abernether laughed quite loudly and said, 'I can't do this. Can't do that to my dear niece.' Then I had to run to the kitchen because something was coming out of it, and when I got back to where I was, Mr. Abernether was saying, 'Even if I had a bad death, I'd Don't want to go to the police, avoid it if you can. You understand, don't you, my good girl? Don't worry, though. Now that I know, I'll take every possible precaution.' He then went on to say that he immediately Make a new will, she, Cora will be fine. Then he said she was happy with her husband, and he was really wrong in the past." Miss Gilchrist paused. Poirot said: "I understand...I understand..." "But I never wanted to say... tell anyone. I didn't think Mrs. Lansquenett would want me to say... but now... after Mrs. Leo was attacked this morning... and you said so calmly that it was Coincidence. Oh, Mr. Pandariel, that is no coincidence!" Poirot smiled.He said: "No, not a coincidence... Thank you for coming to see me, Miss Gilchrist. It is very necessary for you to come to see me." He had gone to great lengths to get rid of Miss Gilchrist, and he needed to get rid of her badly, because he wanted someone else to come again. His hunch was correct.No sooner had Miss Gilchrist gone than Greg Banks strode across the lawn and hurried into the arbor.His face was pale, with beads of sweat sticking to his forehead.His eyes were particularly excited. "It's hard!" he said. "I thought that stupid woman would never go away. You were wrong about everything you said this morning. You were totally wrong. Richard Abernether was murdered. I killed him." Hercule Poirot let his eyes wander up and down the excited young man.He didn't look surprised. "So you killed him, didn't you? How?" Greg Banks smiled. "It's not difficult for me. Of course you know that. I have a dozen or twenty different medicines that I can use. It takes a little brains to know what to do, but I finally hit upon a recipe. The beauty is that I didn't need to be anywhere near the scene." "Clever," said Poirot. "Yes." Greg Banks bowed his head modestly.He seemed happy. "Yes... I do think it's a smart way." Poirot asked with interest: "Why did you kill him? For the money that will be left to your wife?" "No, no, of course not." Greg's blood boiled suddenly. "I'm not a money-hungry person. I didn't marry Susan for the money!" "Isn't it, Mr. Bankes?" "That's what he thinks," Greg said suddenly viciously. "Richard Abernether! He likes Susan, he admires her, he is proud of her, a model of Abernethian blood! But he thinks she stoops to marry...he thinks I'm bad...he despises Me! I know my accent is not perfect...I don't dress properly. He's a snob...a disgusting snob!" "I don't think so," said Poirot mildly. "From what I've heard, Richard Abernether was not snobby." "He's snobby, he's snobby," said the young man, almost hysterically. "He doesn't look down on me at all. He laughs at me... He pretends to be polite on the surface, but I know he doesn't like me at all!" "possible." "There's no end to anyone who treats me like that! They've had it before! There was a woman who used to dispense medicine. She was rude to me. Do you know what I did to her?" "Yes," said Poirot. Greg was taken aback. "So you know about that?" "yes." "She almost died," he said with satisfaction. "It shows that I'm not the sort to be lightly lightened! Richard Abernethie lightened me... And what happened to him? He's dead." "A very successful murder," said Poirot congratulating him heavily. He added: "But why are you ... confessing to me?" "Because you said you were done! You said he wasn't murdered. I have to let you know that you're not as smart as you think you are...and...and..." "Yes," said Poirot, "and what?" Greg suddenly slumped on the bench.His complexion changed, suddenly showing signs of a coma. "That was wrong...evil...I must be punished...I must go back there...to the land of punishment...to atone! Repent! Retribution!" His face was now suffused with ecstasy.Poirot examined him curiously for a moment. Then he asked: "How anxious are you to leave your wife?" Greg's expression changed suddenly. "Susan? Susan is wonderful... wonderful!" "Yes. Susan is wonderful. It's a burden. Susan loves you too much. Isn't that a burden?" Greg stared straight ahead.And then kind of like an angry little kid, saying: "Why can't she leave me alone?" He jumped up. "Here she is now...on the lawn. I'm going. But you're going to tell her what I told you? Tell her I've gone to the police station. Turn myself in." Susan came in angrily. "Where's Greg? He was just here! I saw him." "That's right." Poirot paused... and then said: "He came to tell me that he was the one who poisoned Richard Abernether..." "What nonsense! I hope you won't believe him?" "Why shouldn't I trust him?" "Uncle Richard hadn't even been around here when he died!" "Perhaps not. Where was Cora Lansquenet when he died?" "In London. Both of us." Hercule Poirot shook his head. "No, no, that doesn't work. Like, you, you drove out that day, and you've been there all afternoon. I think I know where you've been. You went to Richter St. Mary." "I didn't do such a thing!" Poirot smiled. "I met you here, ma'am, as I said, not the first time I met you. You were in the garage of the Golden Samurai after Mrs. Lansquenet's Inquisition Court. You were there with A mechanic talks, and beside you is a car with an old foreign gentleman. You don't notice him, but he notices you." "I don't understand you. It's the day of the investigative court." "Ah, but remember what the technician said to you! He asked if you were a relative of the dead man, and you said you were her niece." "He's a fucking guy. They're all fucking guys." "And what he went on to say was, 'Ah, I think I've seen you somewhere before.' Where had he seen you before, ma'am? It must have been at Richter St. Mary's, because in his mind, He thinks he's seen you because you're Mrs. Lansquenet's niece. He saw you near her cottage? When? That's something worth looking into, isn't it? And it turns out that you There...in Richett St. Mary...on the afternoon of Cora Lansquenet's death. You parked in the same quarry as on the day of the Inquiry Court. The car was seen. The number of the car was also noted. By this time Inspector Morton knows who the owner is." Susan stared at him.Her breathing was a little short, but she didn't appear disturbed. "You're talking nonsense, M. Poirot. And you've made me forget to come here to say... I want to be alone with you..." "Confess to me that the murderer was you and not your husband?" "No, of course not. What kind of a fool do you think I am? And I told you Greg didn't even leave London that day." "Since you've gone out yourself, it's impossible for you to know. Why did you go to Richter St. Mary, Mrs. Bankes?" Susan took a deep breath. "Well, if you must know! What Cora said at the funeral worried me. I kept thinking about what she said. Finally I decided to drive to her and ask her why she had that thought. Greg thinks That was a stupid idea, so I didn't tell him where I was going. I got there about three o'clock and rang and rang the door, but no one answered, so I thought she must be out or on a trip. That's it. I Didn't go around the back of the house, if I had I might have seen the window broken, I just went back to London and didn't think anything was wrong." Poirot looked disbelieving.He said: "Why did your husband admit the crime?" "Because of him..." Susan hesitated to speak.Poirot pressed on. "You were about to say 'because he's crazy'...jokingly said...but the joke was too close to the truth, wasn't it?" "Greg is all right. He's all right, he's all right." "I know something of his past," said Poirot. "He was in the Foddick Mental Hospital for several months before you knew him." "There was no medical certificate that he was mentally ill. He was a voluntary patient." "It's a fact. I agree, he can't be classified as a lunatic. But he is definitely psychologically unbalanced. He has a 'punishment complex'... from childhood, I suspect." Susan said hastily: "You don't understand, Monsieur Poirot. Greg has never had a chance. That's why I desperately need Uncle Richard's money. Uncle Richard is too practical to understand. I know Greg has to build for himself Starting price. He has to feel that he's a man of distinction...not just a pharmacist's assistant to be hired. That's going to change now. He'll have his own laboratory. He'll be able to call up his own recipes." "Yes, yes... you'll give him land and let him grow... because you love him. Love him too much, not just for stability and happiness. But you can't give a man what he can't handle. In the end , he is still not his own equivalent..." "who?" "Susan's husband." "You are so heartless! What nonsense!" "You can do anything about Greg Banks. You want your uncle's money...not for yourself...but for your husband. How desperate you are for his money?" Susan turned and rushed out of the gazebo angrily. "I thought," Mike Sheen said lightly, "drop in to say goodbye." He was smiling, an intoxicating smile. Poirot knew the charm of this man. He looked at Mike Xuean silently for a while.He felt like the whole room, the one he knew the least about, because Mike Sheen was only showing what he wanted to be. "Your wife," said Poirot accostingly, "is a very extraordinary woman." Mike raised his eyebrows. "You think so? She's cute, I agree. But not too smart, maybe that's just my feeling." "She never tried to appear too clever," said Poirot. "But she knows what she wants." He sighed. "That's something very few people can do." "Ah!" Mike smiled again. "You mean about the malachite table?" "Perhaps," said Poirot after a pause, "there is something on the table." "You mean, those wax flowers?" "Those wax flowers." Mike frowned. "I don't know you very well, M. Poirot. Yet," he smiled again. "I can't express how thankful I am to you for keeping us all out of trouble. To say nothing else, it's a painful thing to be suspected of having one of us implicated in the murder of poor old Uncle Richard. " "Is that how he appeared to you when you met him?" inquired Poirot. "Poor old Uncle Richard?" "Of course he didn't look old at all then, and..." "And all the functions are normal..." "Oh yes." "And actually, pretty shrewd?" "Maybe." "Adept at judging people." The smile is still on the face. "You can't expect me to agree to that, M. Poirot. He doesn't like me." "He thinks you are the unfaithful type, perhaps?" said Poirot tentatively. Mike laughed. "What a trite notion!" "But it's a fact, isn't it?" "I wonder what you mean by that?" Poirot crossed his fingers. "It's been looked into, you know," he whispered. "Have you investigated?" "It's not just me." Mike She'an's eyes flicked across his face like a searchlight.Poirot noticed that his reactions were quick.Mike Sheen is no fool. "You mean...the police are interested?" "They've been dissatisfied, you know, with Cora Lansquenet's murder as an accident." "And they investigate me?" Poirot said sullenly: "They were interested in the whereabouts of Mrs. Lanskinet's relatives on the day she was killed." "That's the trouble," Mike says charmingly, intimately but sadly. "Really, Mr. Xue'an?" "More trouble than you can imagine! You know, I told Rosamund that I was having lunch with a man named Oscar Lewis the other day." "And in fact you didn't?" "Yes. I actually drove to meet a woman named Suriel Venton... quite a famous actress. I was with her in her last play. Kind of tricky, I know... because although the police No problem, but Rosamund's level was not easy." "Ah!" said Poirot cautiously, "is there something wrong with this friendship of yours?" "Yes . . . in fact . . . Rosamund made me promise not to see her again." "Well, I can understand that there may be trouble... To keep it a secret, you had a relationship with that lady?" "Well, that's all it is! I don't really love her." "But she loves you?" "Oh, she's a bit of a nuisance . . . women are clingy. Anyway, as you say, the police should be satisfied with my whereabouts." "You think so?" "Well, I'm not likely to kill Cora with an ax if I happen to be flirting with Suriel miles away. She has a cottage in Kent." "I understand...I understand...and this Miss Denton, will she testify for you?" "She wouldn't like it...but it's a murder case, and I think she has to." "Maybe, even if you weren't flirting with her, she would be." "What do you mean?" Mike suddenly looked like he was struck by lightning. "That lady likes you. When women like someone, they will testify for him... even if it is false, they will swear it is true." "You mean you don't trust me?" "It doesn't matter whether I believe you or not. It's not me you have to convince." "Then who is it?" Poirot smiled. "Inspector Morton . . . he's coming out the side steps now." Mike Xue'an turned around suddenly.