Chapter 2 chapter 2

Henry Mitchell, a slightly older flight attendant, shuttled back and forth between the small round tables to collect the bill.In half an hour the plane will arrive at Croydon Airport.While collecting banknotes and silver coins, he nodded and said, "Thank you, sir,...Thank you, madam." He came to the side of the French father and son who were arguing fiercely, and waited for two minutes.He had a hunch that it would be impossible to get their tips. On the other end, a small bearded man opened his eyes.He gave the money to Mitchell.He only drank a bottle of mineral water and ate a pack of biscuits.

Mitchell has been busy like this for a long time.Five minutes before the plane landed, he walked up to Mrs. Giselle, bowed and said, "I'm sorry, madam. Your bill." He patted her on the shoulder lightly, but she didn't wake up.He shook her hard again, but her body collapsed from the seat.Mitchell bent down, then straightened up pale. Another flight attendant, Albert Davis, said: "Really?!" "There is no lie." Mitchell's face was pale and his body was trembling. "Surely so, Henry?" "Absolutely. At least, . . . well, a sudden blackout."

They hesitated for a moment, then split up.Mitchell came to the back cabin, bowed his head by the table and asked, "Excuse me, sir, are you a doctor?" Norman Gale said, "I'm a dentist. If there's anything I need to do—" He got up from his seat. "I'm a doctor," said Mr. Bryant. "What's the matter?" "That lady over there, she looks horrible." Bryant followed the flight attendant, followed by the short bearded man.Bryant bent down to look at the woman in black.She has a strong physique and is slumped under seat 2. After a short examination, the doctor said, "She is dead."

Mitchell said: "How did he die? Did he faint?" "It's hard for me to judge until a detailed examination. When was the last time you saw her before she died?" Mitchell thought for a while, "She was fine when I brought the coffee." "What time was that?" "About 45 minutes ago. Then I came to collect the bill and thought she was asleep." "She was dead for at least half an hour," Bryant said. Their conversation caught everyone's attention, and the passengers craned their necks to look at them. Behind Dr. Bryant came a voice, the short man with the beard.

"Look," he said, "she has a mark on her neck." The deceased's head was turned to one side, and there was a small pinhole on the side of the throat surrounded by a red halo. "I'm sorry," put in old Dupont, "but the woman is dead? What's the mark on the neck?" Little Dupont said, "May I make a hypothesis? There was a wasp flying around in the cabin, and I killed it." He looked at the dead wasp on the coffee saucer, "Did the wasp sting the poor thing?" People? I've heard of such things all the time." "Possibly," replied Bryant. "I've seen cases of it. Yes, it's a perfectly valid explanation, especially in heart patients."

"What shall I do, doctor?" said the steward. "The plane will land in Croydon soon." "Quiet, quiet." Bryant moved his body and said, "Don't do anything. Flight attendant, the body cannot move." "Yes, sir, I understand." As Bryant was about to return to his seat, he was surprised to find the short man standing still. "Sir," he said, "you'd better get back in your seat now, the plane is about to land." "That's right," said the flight attendant. "Everyone, please get back to your seats."

"I'm sorry," said the short man, "I've made a new discovery." He pointed with the toe of his leather shoe as an explanation.The flight attendant and Bryant glanced over and saw something orange and black half hidden under a black shirt. "Another wasp?" said the doctor, startled. Hercule Poirot crouched down, took a pair of tweezers from his pocket, and caught his prize with ease. "It looks like a wasp," he said, "but it's not a wasp." He turned the tweezers back and forth until the doctor and flight attendant finally understood.It was orange-yellow velvet at one end, and strangely dyed needlepoints at the other.

"My God, my God!" exclaimed Mr. Clancy.He got up and poked his head over the steward's shoulder. "Strange, really. I've never seen anything like this in my life. I swear, I'd never believe it before." "Could you be more clear, sir?" said the steward. "What is this thing?" "More than knowing." Mr. Clancy showed a trace of satisfaction and pride, "Gentlemen, this thing is a weapon of some primitive tribe, fired by a blowpipe. I'm not sure if this thing came from South America or Borneo. But I'm sure that On the tip of the needle—"

"—with the poison used by the Indians of South America," began Hercule Poirot. "Quite queer indeed," said Mr. Clancy, still agitated. "I'm a detective novelist, and this one just happened to catch me up." The plane slowed down suddenly, and the people standing on the plane shook.The plane landed at Croydon Airport.