Chapter 11 Section 11

Fournier and George Sr. quarreled violently.George said: "There was a woman who came that night. You asked me if I knew her, and I said I have such poor eyesight that I wouldn't recognize her even if she were here now. I've said it four or five times." "It's rare that you don't know her height, age, and skin color." Fournier's words were a bit harsh. "I don't know! I don't want to get involved with the police. The lady was poisoned to death on the plane. Do you police think I, George, are the murderer?" Poirot walked up to Fournier and patted him lightly, "Okay, my friend. My stomach is complaining. Let's go and eat something."

Fournier looked at his watch and said, "It's 1 o'clock, all right. It's really playing the piano..." He gave George a resentful look. Poirot smiled kindly at the old man, "I know that woman is neither tall nor short, neither fat nor thin. But just now you said that she is very beautiful, especially in a swimsuit?" He handed over a picture torn from a magazine to the old man. Say to George, "What do you think?" "It's pretty," said old George, "and it's as good as nothing at all." "Oh. Sunbathing is all the rage these days, so you get more exposure to the sun."

George giggled, and then he watched Poirot and Fournier walk down the sunny street. While eating, Poirot took out his notebook again. "Obviously, people always want to avoid the police. This is the same in any country." "That's your strength," Fournier said. "Private detectives can get things that the official channels can't. But the other side of the coin is that we have official records, we have a whole system." "So we need to cooperate closely." Poirot smiled. Fournier flipped through his notebook and said, "It's more meaningful to take a look at these five." He read:

"CL52. Countess of England. Husband. RT362.Doctor, Harley Street. MR24.Fake antiques. XVB724.British.embezzle. GF45.attempted murder.British. " "Very well, my friend," said Poirot, "we have thought of something together. These are the only five entries in the notebook which relate to one of the passengers on the plane." "Countess of England. Husband," said Fournier. "This may refer to Lady Hobury. We know that she is a gambler and she probably borrowed money from Giselle. There are two kinds of the word 'husband'." Meaning: One is that Mrs. Giselle wants her husband to pay her debts; the other is that she has something about Mrs. Hobrey and threatens to tell her husband the secret."

"Exactly," said Poirot, "but I am inclined to the second possibility. Besides, I suspect that it was Mrs. Hobrey who called on Giselle the night before her departure." "Oh, why is that?" "According to the janitor. His insistence on not remembering anything is a little odd. Mrs. Hobrey is a charming woman. Also, when I showed him the magazine picture of her in a bathing suit, I observed that He was taken aback. Yes, it was Mrs Hobrey who visited Giselle." "She followed Giselle from Pinet to Paris," Fournier said, "and it seemed like she was desperate."

"My friend, I believe I have found a lead, but it is the wrong person. I wonder, my lead is right, but—" "But you don't want to tell me?" Fournier reminded him. "No, I may be wrong, completely wrong. I don't want to drag you into the mud. Let's go on our own lines and continue to read the notebook." "MR24. Fake antique." Fournier read, "It's far-fetched, maybe it has something to do with DuPont and his son. But it's hard to convince you that he is a world-renowned archaeologist and has an excellent character." "That's an interesting idea," said Poirot. "Let's see the next one."

"'XVB724, British. Appropriation.' That's too ambiguous." "It doesn't make much sense," agreed Poirot. "Who is embezzling? Neither writers nor doctors. Only Mr. Ryder is in business, and it is possible for him to embezzle funds, or borrow money from Giselle. The last item." 'GF45. Attempted murder. British' applies mostly, except for the Duponts, who are all British." He gestured to the waiter for the bill. "Where is the next stop, my friend?" "To the Paris police. They may have something new." "Well, I'll go with you."

In the police station, Paris met Mr. Gilles, the detective chief who he had worked with before.After exchanging pleasantries, Poirot said: "This case happened right under my nose. It would be an insult to me to kill someone while I was asleep." "It's an interesting case, M. Poirot. Giselle was a Parisian celebrity and died so queerly." "Quite so," said Poirot. "Well, Fournier and I will see what new developments you've got." Fournier's melancholy face became agitated. "Indeed there is. A Greek antiquarian named Zeropoulos reported that he sold the murderer a blowpipe and needle three days ago. I propose to make an appointment with him immediately. You too, M. Poirot?"

"of course." Zeropoulos' antique shop on St. Honory Street sells items such as Persian pottery, cheap Indian jewellery, silks and embroidery from other countries, and cheap Egyptian items.Mr. Zeropoulos was a dumpy man with dark eyes and a rambling tongue.He welcomed the police, and yes, he had sold blowpipes and needles -- a South American antique. "Gentlemen, I specialize in Persian antiques, and the famous Mr. Du Pont can testify that he often visits my shop. There is no fixed price for my articles. I bid any price at random, and I will sell half of it. Indeed, I also I made some money, and bought most of my things from seamen at low prices." He took a breath, seemed satisfied with his words, and continued: "Here is the blowpipe and needle, and it has been two years It's got an Indian headdress on it, and some shoddy beads. It didn't stand out until the American came, and he asked me what's on it..."

"American?" Fournier asked sharply. "Yes, an American. He doesn't seem to know much. I explained to him the origin of the thing and said it was a very rare thing. He asked how much it was, and I gave him a price. But he paid without haggling. Money. I was stupid and should have asked for more. Then I read about this horrific murder in the papers, and I thought it was weird. So I got in touch with the police." "Thank you very much. Mr. Zeropoulos," Fournier said politely. "Can you describe the blowpipe and needle?" "The blowpipe is so long," he measured a distance on the table, "it's relatively thick, just like my pen, light-colored. There are 4 shooting needles, the pointed end is dyed with an inconspicuous color, and the other end is wrapped around Red silk."

"Strange," said Forney, "is there a black and yellow ribbon around it?" "Black and yellow? No. It's bright red, but a little faded." Fournier glanced at Poirot and was puzzled to find that he was smiling. "Now, describe that American in detail." "He is an American, with a swirling voice in his nasal cavity, can't speak French, chews gum, wears tortoiseshell glasses, has a slender body, and is not too old." "What about skin color?" "I can't tell. He's wearing a cap." "Can you recognize him?" Fournier pulled out some pictures, but Zeropoulos said he didn't recognize any of them. "Probably another futile quest," Fournier said as soon as they walked out of the antique shop. "Possibly," said Poirot, "but I don't think so. The price tag is the same, and there are a few interesting things about what he said. We are now going to the World Airline ticket office." "Of course, but we have already visited, and their answers are nothing special." Poirot patted him on the shoulder in a friendly manner and said, "That depends on how you ask the question." The room at the ticket office is not big.Fournier showed his ID to a short man named Jules Perrault and explained why he was here. "I think I've already answered your question on that," Perrot said. "Exactly. But we want to check the situation in detail. When did Madame Giselle check in?" "I made a reservation by phone on the 17th." "Is it the plane at 12 o'clock the next day?" "Yes, sir." "But her servant says she wishes to book an 8:45 flight." "No, no, that's right. Madam's servant said the flight was scheduled for 8:45, but it was already full, so we booked her for 12 o'clock." "Strange," said Poirot, "a friend of mine is also going to England, but the morning flight is only half full." Perot flipped through the notebook, "Maybe your friend wasn't talking about that day." "No, on the day of the murder. He said that if he missed the morning flight, he would take the Prometheus flight instead." Poirot stared at Perrault, noting that his eyes were blinking and his forehead was oozing. Sweating. "Mr. Perrault, this is a murder case, and it will be extremely bad for you if you conceal any truth." Perrot's mouth was open and his hands were shaking. "Tell me," said Poirot in a firm voice, "how much did they pay you? Who paid it?" "I didn't mean to... I never thought..." "How much? Who is it?" "5,000 francs, I don't know him...it's going to ruin me." "If you don't speak out, you will be ruined. Say it all!" Sweat dripped from Perrot's head, "I didn't mean it. The man said he wanted to go to England and asked Mrs. Giselle to borrow money. He said she was going to England the next day. I told him the morning flight It was full, and I gave Mrs. Giselle a mid-class ticket, seat No. 2. I thought, what's wrong with that? That's how Americans behave." "American?" Fournier asked quickly. "Well, taller, with glasses and a goatee." "Has he made a reservation?" "Reserved, seat No. 1 next to Mrs. Giselle." "What's his name?" "Sylas Harper. I read the papers, and the man didn't get on the plane." Fournier gave him a cold look. "You have concealed the situation from the police. This is very serious." After saying that, he and Poirot left the ticket office.Once in the street, Fournier took off his hat and bowed to Poirot: "I salute you, Monsieur Poirot. How can you think so?" "On the plane that day, a passenger said that the morning flight was half empty, and the morning flight was full when Elise went to book. The two things don't match up. Also, I remember the flight attendant saying that Giselle used to fly 8 The flight at 1:45." "Well, my friend," said Poirot, "it's not easy to pretend to be an American in Paris, though? Nasty voice, chewing gum, beard, glasses -- that's typical American. Stage image." He took out a magazine illustration from his pocket. "What are you looking at?" "The countess in a bathing suit." "But she's beautiful and slender, not like a tall curvy American. No, it can't be." "I didn't say yes." Poirot continued to look at the picture in his hand.