Chapter 19 Section 19

The Countess of Hobury sat at her dressing table in her bedroom, before a huge pile of elegant and fashionable cosmetics, her lips were pressed together, feeling uneasy.She has read the letter 4 times: Countess of Horbury: I have acquired some material of the late Madame Giselle.If you or Mr. Raymond Barclough are interested, it will be my great honor to meet you. Perhaps you would like me to discuss this with your husband? Yours faithfully John Robinson That damned Frenchwoman swore she had arrangements in place to protect her client should something unexpected happen.Mrs. Hobrey's hands were trembling. She picked up a bottle and drank it with her neck held high.What should I do?Of course, you should meet him and learn more about him.She went to her desk and scribbled a reply, inviting Mr. Robinson to meet at her house at 11 o'clock tomorrow night.

"What should I do?" Norman blushed with anxiety. "You're going to perform a comedy, and you'll just have to dress up a little." Poirot drew him up to the mirror. "You look at yourself and imagine yourself as Santa Claus, going to amuse the children. Get some fake mustaches, False eyebrows, false hair, and some hairspray." "I do a lot of amateur theater," said Norman stubbornly. Poirot shrugged his shoulders. "No, my friend. You are a blackmailer, not a comedian. I hope you will instill a sense of dread in Madame, instead of making her laugh out loud at the sight of you. Go to the bathroom." , and then come out with a new look."

A quarter of an hour later, Norman Gale came out refreshed, and Poirot nodded approvingly.He taught Norman Gale face-to-face, and Norman listened carefully, nodded from time to time, and then set off with complicated emotions. Norman was ushered into a small room on the first floor of Mrs. Hobrey's residence, and after a while Mrs. Hobrey came out. "Mr. Robinson?" said Sicily, "I have your letter." Norman pulled himself together, grinned, and said loudly, "I know. How do you feel, Mrs. Hobrey?" "People don't understand what you mean." "Come on, do you want me to be clear? Who doesn't envy the seaside, but your husband doesn't agree. Old Giselle is great, and she's got all the benefits. Now the question is It's up to you or Sir Hobury to handle this matter." Norman's eyes did not leave Mrs Hobre, who was trembling slightly, "I am the seller, and you are the buyer."

"What proof do you have?" "That's another matter, Mrs Hobrey." "I can't believe it. Show me the evidence." "Oh, no," Norman shook his head slyly, "I won't bring evidence, only a novice would do that. If you're willing to cooperate and pay the money, I'll give you something." "You...how much do you want?" "Ten thousand pounds—not dollars." "Where can I get all this money?" "You will find a way. Forget it, for the sake of a woman, I only charge 8,000. I will give you two days to think about it."

"I can't get that much money." Norman sighed, shook his head and said, "Perhaps Lord Horbury knows what to do. I know Barraclough has a bright future, but he's not rich at the moment." He paused and added, "Me and Giselle Say what you say." Before the other party could answer, he hurried out of the room.He came to the street, wiped his forehead, "Thank God, it's finally over." An hour later Mrs Houbrey received a calling card: Mr Hercule Poirot, claiming to have been sent by Barraclough.She hastily asked the porter to invite the guests in.After Poirot entered the room, he bowed deeply to his master, and Sicily stepped forward and said, "Barraclough sent you?"

"Sit down, madam, and speak slowly," said Poirot in a commanding tone. "Madame, I hope you will consider me a friend. I have come to tell you that the situation is serious. I do not need you to tell me that you My secrets, which, as a famous detective, I already knew in advance." "Detective? I remember, you are also on the plane." "Yes, it's me. Well, you've had a call this morning. His name is Brown?" "Robinson." Sicily said quickly. "It's all the same. He changes his name a lot. He came to blackmail you when he got some information from Mrs. Giselle. How much does he want? Seven thousand pounds?"

"8 thousand." "But you can't raise the money for a while?" "Yes, I have some debts that have not been paid." She looked at him, "How do you know these things?" "Because I am Hercule Poirot. Don't be afraid, I know what to do with this Robinson. Believe me, madam, you just have to tell me the truth." "Can you really help me?" "I swear this Robinson Crusoe will never appear again." "Well, I'll tell you all. Eighteen months ago I was living beyond my means and I only had a small loan from her."

"Who introduced it?" "Raymond Barclough. From then on she borrowed as much as I wanted." "Then you are afraid that your husband will know about it?" "Stephen is not a thing, he wants to divorce me and marry another woman." "You don't want a divorce?" "No. I—" "You borrowed so much money, have you thought about how to return it?" "Thinking about it. But I can't pay the money back, and the old woman threatened to tell my husband about it." "Then God blessed you in her death?" Sicily said sincerely: "It is so."

"Yet you were a little disturbed because you were the only one on the plane who wanted her dead, especially since you went to see her the night before you left Paris and you said at the hearing that you didn't know her." "What else can I say? I'm not a murderer, though. I've never moved in my seat, trust me." "I believe you—for two reasons: your sex, and the wasp." "Wasp?" She stared at him. "Perhaps it doesn't mean anything to you. Then I'll ask you two more questions. Was Barraclough in Paris the day before the murder?"

"Here, at our dinner together, he said I'd better go to Giselle alone." "Okay, one more question. Your stage name is Sicily Brand, what about your real name?" "Martha Jebb." "What about the place of birth?" "Doncaster. What?" "Excuse me, just out of curiosity. Lady Horbury, please take one of my suggestions: Divorce the Baron with dignity, because you will get a good fortune." "A large fortune?" "You can go find a billionaire." "Right now there are not many rich people." Sicily laughed. She thought Poirot was funny. "You swear that that person won't bother me again?"

"Hercule Poirot always said what he said."